Perfect Strangers (22 page)

Johnny Maxwell licked his parched lips and quickly plucked up the stray silver disks. He tucked them back into the pouch, then, with a sharp tug on the leather laces, tied it securely shut. "By all that's holy, I swear if there be so maun as a pence missing, mon—" His tone brooked no nonsense as he enclosed the pouch in his big fist.

"'Tis all there, as we agreed," Colin interrupted. To Gabrielle's ear, his tone sounded too low, too even to be anything but offended at the insinuation he was trying to cheat his rival by a single coin. Oh, aye, he was a Douglas all right "Count it yerself if ye dinny believe me. But be quick aboot it. I've a bride to whisk back to Gaelside a'fore this day is o'er."

He looked like Connor, but he did not sound like him. Colin's voice was a pitch higher, and a good deal rougher; the timbre of it scratched down Gabrielle's spine like fingernails scraping slowly down a slab of slate.

Her heart skipped a heavy beat, then thudded to vibrant life. The echo of it, pounding loudly in her ears, sounded like repeating claps of thunder. She would have swallowed hard, maybe even have attempted to speak a protest, but she found she suddenly hadn't enough moisture left in her mouth for either. Flexing her fingers, she tightened them around each other until her knuckles were white and ached from the strain of her grip. It was either that or let these men see how badly her hands had begun to shake.

Pursing his lips, Johnny bounced the pouch in his hand, as though he could tell the exact amount it contained merely by hefting it and hearing the muffled jingle as the coins clattered inside. The frown that had drawn his bushy red eyebrows together eased, and a glimmer of respect darkened his eyes. "Ye're many things, Colin Douglas. A scoundrel and a rogue to name but two. Howe'er, a cheat isn't one of them."

Johnny's glance shifted to Gabrielle and his green eyes narrowed. He stood, then walked around the table, stopping at her side. His hand felt big and hot as he placed it in the crook of her arm and tugged her to her feet.

Despite her resolve not to, she felt her cheeks suffuse with color when all six men's attention shifted to focus exclusively on her. If she'd ever wondered what the prized goose displayed prominently on fair day felt like, now she knew. Gritting her teeth, she willed strength to flow into knees that felt watery and weak, threatening to buckle out from under her at any second as she stepped over the bench and stood beside Johnny Maxwell.

"As ye can see," Johnny said to Colin, "a Maxwell is equally as trustworthy. For payment in full, I present to ye the Lady Gabrielle Carelton."

Gabrielle's gaze locked with Colin's. As she'd expected, his eyes were the same blue-gray shade as his twin's, fringed by a thick, dark sweep of inky lashes.

There, the similarity began and ended.

Even at his angriest, Connor's eyes glistened with an inner warmth and lust for life. Colin's gaze, on the other hand, was hard and cold, calculating and devoid of emotion as it swept her from head to toe. A humorless grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, a mouth that looked far too much like his twin's for her peace of mind. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

She staggered forward a step when Johnny Maxwell splayed his big palm in the center of her back and nudged her forward. It took supreme effort for Gabrielle to force her knees to lock, thereby avoiding by a mere fraction the embarrassment of falling against the hard, chiseled width of Colin Douglas's chest.

Colin's gaze shifted dismissively, fixing on a point just past her shoulder. "Are ye sure 'tis the right lass ye're giving me, Johnny? Except for her green eyes and the... er, stockiness of her build, she doesn't look like any Maxwell I've e'er laid eyes on."

"Aye, and well I ken it," Johnny replied. It grated on her nerves the way the older man sounded so proud of that fact "Howe'er, ye need remember that a goodly dose of Sassenach blood o'er the decades has diluted her fine Maxwell lineage."

"'Tis the lass Queen Elizabeth sent to wed ye," Gordie Maxwell interjected. "Dinny doubt it, mon."

Roy nodded his shaggy red head in agreement and added gruffly, "Aye, that she is. With me own twa eyes, I saw her laying naked as the day she was born in yer brother's arms. If that doesn't prove she's Gabrielle Carelton, nothing can."

A muscle twitched in the base of Colin's jaw. That and the darkening of his stormy gray eyes were his only outward reactions to Roy's admission. It was enough to make Gabrielle shift uneasily. Was her imagination running away with her, or could she really sense a swirl of anger churning just beneath Colin Douglas's outwardly placid surface?

Without warning, Colin reached out and coiled his fingers around her upper arm. His grip was bitingly tight. Gabrielle gasped sharply and winced. She tried to wrench her arm free, but quickly gave up when she was rewarded by a still tighter squeeze from his thick, powerful fingers.

"I thank ye for the help, Maxwell," Colin said, and nodded briskly at Johnny Maxwell. "Now that our business is concluded, I bid ye good day."

That said, Colin turned on his heel and, yanking Gabrielle in step beside him, headed toward the arched stone doorway leading out of the great hall. His bootheels echoed crisply atop the bare stone floor.

Gabrielle's spirits plummeted with each forced step that led closer to her departure from Caerlaverock. Her thoughts whirlwinded helplessly.

Connor was being held prisoner somewhere within these thick stone walls; if she allowed herself to be taken away, how could she ever hope to find him and set him free? Not that she stood a chance of being able to accomplish such a feat, she knew. How could she forget what had happened when she attempted much the same thing for Mairghread! Still, at least while she was being held under the same roof, she stood a
chance,
no matter how slim, of being able to liberate him. Away from Caerlaverock, she could do naught.

And what of Ella?

Gabrielle could not in all good conscience allow the girl to remain a prisoner of the dreaded Maxwell if she could in some way prevent it. Heaven alone knew what these ruffians would do to such a comely lass, especially a girl who was so close a relation to their arch rival, The Black Douglas.

Sweet Lord, she had to do something, anything, and do it quickly.
But what?

The question had no more entered Gabrielle's mind when they reached the threshold. She wasn't a bit closer to coming up with an answer when she heard a harsh rumble echo out from behind. It was the sound of Johnny Maxwell clearing his throat.

The guards standing in wait outside the doorway stepped forward, blocking the exit.

Colin hauled Gabrielle to an abrupt stop.

The two guards who'd been posted there earlier had been joined by ten more. All had swords drawn, the sharp steel points aimed with deadly precision at various parts of Colin Douglas's anatomy. Gabrielle hadn't a doubt that at Johnny Maxwell's command they would not hesitate to use those weapons to slice both her and Colin Douglas to ribbons.

Colin let go of her arm and spun around to face his adversary.

Gabrielle seized the opportunity to take a few shaky steps away from the furious man. She didn't go far—she didn't dare, for she was very much aware of Gordie Maxwell's watchful eye on her—but she was careful to move far enough to the side as to be out of Colin's reach.

She felt the wall come up against her back, cold, hard stone grinding against her skin even through the tunic, and she sagged against it gratefully. Her knees were shaking so right now that they could not have held her upright for much longer without the support.

Colin, Gabrielle noticed only now that she was safely out of his reach, seemed ready to explode with fury. His complexion was ruddy, his eyes narrow and spitting hot gray fire as his gaze locked on Johnny Maxwell. If looks could kill, the older man would be sucking in his last breath.

"What is the meaning of this, Maxwell? Or did ye forget,
we had a deal."

"Aye," Johnny said evenly. "A deal made and met. Och! I can tell from ye expression that ye've forgotten exactly what the deal was." He stroked his gray-streaked beard and shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Let me be reminding ye, lad. I agreed to get ye the Lady Gabrielle in return for a hefty sum of coins. As ye can see—" he hefted a thick, calloused thumb in Gabrielle's direction "—get the lass, I did. And that pouch Roy is holding proves ye've upheld yer end and paid dearly for the service. 'Tis where our deal begins and ends. Leaving Caerlaverock... och! well, the matter was ne'er discussed, therefore it can't be part of our deal."

Everything happened at once.

Colin made to lunge for Johnny Maxwell.

The men at the table sprang to their feet, the bench toppling loudly to the floor behind them. Steel hissed against steel as swords were drawn hastily from scabbards. Bootheels scuffed atop stone as they rushed to Johnny's defense.

They needn't have bothered.

The guards barring the door were well trained; they reacted instantly. In the blink of an eye, they surrounded Colin, cutting off his access to Johnny as well as any available route of escape.

The largest of the bunch grunted something in Gaelic. To Gabrielle's untutored ear, the words sounded like gibberish, yet in tone resembled a dare.

As she watched, the man grinned threateningly and pressed the razor-sharp tip of his blade against the pulse throbbing in the base of Colin Douglas's throat.

Confused, her gaze volleyed between Johnny Maxwell and Colin Douglas.

What on earth was going on here?!

* * *

"Did ye hear me, lad?" a deep, gruff voice demanded. "I asked what the devil is going on here!"

Connor pressed his ear against the slats in the oak door, listening intently to what transpired in the corridor outside.

Curse his rotten luck! In the past half hour, the boy—Simon, the lad had confided was his name, Johnny Maxwell's youngest son—had begun to warm to Connor and answer his questions. In a voice filled with a respect that made Connor more than a wee bit uneasy, the lad started to repeat the latest Border ballad being circulated about The Black Douglas. It was at that point when a guard, judging from the intruder's authoritative tone, had stumbled upon Simon tarrying outside the cell door.

Close to Connor's side, her head tipped as she also listened, Ella fidgeted nervously.

"Well?" the older voice asked. "Are ye going to tell me what ye're aboot, or shall I fetch yer da and let ye try explaining to
him
what yer doing down here? I'm thinking the Maxwell will not like hearing that his wee bairn was down here visiting such prized, not to mention
dangerous,
prisoners. What think ye of that, lad?"

"I, er, m-meant nae harm," Simon stammered. "I was curious and wanted but a peek at The Black Douglas, 'tis all. Gordie likes to tell me the beast has fangs as long as my little finger and sharper than any blade. I was of a mind to see if me brother is right. Besides," the boy added, and his voice took on a softly shrewd note, "if ye run and tell me da that I was down here, I'll not have a choice but to also tell him that the only way I was able to get so close to The Black Douglas's cell was because ye'd left yer post. I ken 'twas for but a wee dram to quench ye thirst, and well I ken it that the prisoners could not get free no matter how many guards were posted, these doors be to thick and sturdy. Still, I'm not so sure Da would agree leaving a Douglas unguarded, The Black Douglas at that, was a wise thing to be doing. What think ye on the matter, Seamus? Mind ye, I'm nae squealer; I've nae wish to tattle on ye."

Connor and Ella exchanged a quick glance.

A pause was followed by a muffled chuckle. "Ye be a crafty one, lad. I've not a doubt that in the years to come, ye'll do the Maxwell and yer pack of brothers proud. Aye, that ye shall. Meanwhile..." The man sighed heavily. "Weeell," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "since ye already be here, 'twould seem the damage is done. I suppose there's nae harm in letting ye take a wee peek."

"Do ye truly mean it?" the boy asked excitedly.

"Aye, God help me, I do. After all, 'tis not like Caerlaverock's dungeon is graced with such illustrious hostages e'ery day. Fact is, this dreary place may ne'er see the like again. Besides, were I a bairn such as yerself, I'd be doing me best to get an eyeful and slake me own curiosity. All right, lad, come here. I'll hoist ye up on me shoulders so ye can look yer fill, but as soon as I set ye down, ye're to scoot straight up those stairs and not e'en
think
of coming down here again. And ye'll not breathe so maun as a word of this to yer da. Do ye ken?"

"Aye!"

The man grunted something in response.

Connor and Ella moved quickly away from the door.

In no time at all, Connor was again sitting upon the cold stone floor with his back against the wall, eyes closed as though he was dozing.

Ella pretended to recommence her pacing in what little space was available on the shadow-strewn floor between her cousin's extended, ankle-crossed feet and the far wall.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway; they stopped directly outside the door. "All right, up ye go. Ugh! Ye're at least a stone heavier than the last time I hoisted ye. Shift a little to the left, would ye? A wee bit more. Och! that's a good lad. Now, take a peek through those bars and ye'll be getting a rare look at the notorious Black Douglas, prisoner of the Maxwell. Go ahead, take a good look, Simon, and remember all ye see. Mark me words, lad, 'tis a sight ye'll be recounting to yer own wee bairns one day, don't ye ken?"