Perfect Strangers (24 page)

"I have doubts. Quite a few of them."

"Aye?" Colin grumbled and shifted, seeking a more comfortable position. "Och! well, 'tis yer right, I suppose. Just keep them to yerself. There's a good lass. I've need for a wee bit of sleep, ye see. I was up all last eve raiding. 'Tis exhausting work."

Gabrielle stared at the man, and for the first time in a long time found herself speechless.

How could he talk about last night's raid so casually? She was sure she'd fight nightmares for months to come, remembering how two men had tried their best to kill each other right before her eyes. In those long, dark hours of the night, she'd seen more blood spilled than she had in her entire lifetime. Good Lord, she'd even watched helplessly as Gilby clung to a tendril of life as Mairghread and Ella diligently nursed him.

Yet here was Colin Douglas, sprawled haphazardly in a chair, referring to the incident as though a bloody midnight raid was so common an occurrence as to be insignificant. A minor inconvenience, an annoying interruption to his sleep.

She remembered the way Mairghread's eyes had glittered; the woman's ancient face had actually been lively and animated as she'd led Gabrielle through Bracklenaer's twisting hallways. She remembered also the way Ella had watched the violent swordplay taking place just outside the mouth of the tunnel with no more concern than she'd show one of the fox hunts Queen Elizabeth was so fond of. Gabrielle herself had literally become ill at the thought of participating in fox hunts!

Perhaps here on the Borders such activity was common?

Was that possible? And was it also possible for something so gruesome and horrifying as last night's raid to become so commonplace as to fade in people's minds before twenty-four hours had elapsed?

The gentle snore emanating from Colin Douglas's direction told Gabrielle that, detestable though the thought was, not only was such a thing possible, it was probable.

She'd heard the tales and many of the ballads. She'd known before leaving London that the Borders were barbaric in both landscape and inhabitants. Yet never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined exactly
how
barbaric.

Gabrielle shuddered and rested her head back against the hard, unforgiving stone. She didn't want to think about how the man who slept so peacefully and soundly near her was the man she should by now be wed to.

Didn't want to, but did.

She closed her eyes, that thought linking itself naturally to others. None of them had a bit to do with Colin Douglas. They had everything to do with his twin brother.

Hot, sultry memories of the night before teased her mind. Her lips burned as she remembered the feel of Connor's mouth moving hungrily on hers. Her fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists when she imagined the warm, smooth skin of his naked back gliding like silk beneath her searching palms.

The fire of passion that had burned inside her last night began to spark anew in her veins, heating the blood that was suddenly pumping hot and furious through her body. A soft, expectant sigh whispered past her lips as she recalled the way Connor's mouth had moved against the oh so sensitive curl of her earlobe, his voice hoarse and ragged as he'd called out her name the instant he'd spilled his seed inside her.

"Gabrielle?"

Her eyes snapped open. Her senses were abruptly alive and alert.

Sweet heavens, that was no dream, that
was
Connor's voice!

Gabrielle's attention jerked to the doorway. She squinted against the clinging shadows, her vision pulling into focus the proof of what her body already told her; that Connor was nearby.

A sconce in the corridor had been lit; the flickering orange backdrop cast his virile body into sharp silhouette. Although she couldn't see his face clearly in such dim light, Gabrielle knew for certain it was Connor Douglas who stood there. No one else had shoulders so wide, hips so hard and lean.

The hem of Connor's kilt brushed his knees as he took a step into the room.

Gabrielle's heart staggered a traitorous beat. The breath she'd been in the process of inhaling clogged in her throat.

She froze, a frown creasing her brow. How strange. In one blink she'd been reclining against the stone wall, thinking of Connor, in the next he was here and she was sitting on the edge of the bed. How had she gotten there?

It took Gabrielle a second to understand that, at the first sight of him, she'd instinctively straightened, scooted to the edge of the bed, and swung her legs over the side. It wasn't until the soles of her too-large boots hit the stone floor that she realized what she was doing. Without her mind giving her body permission to do it, she'd been in the process of standing up and running to him.

She held herself in check, but it wasn't easy. Harder still was her ability to ignore the way her body ached for her to carry the motion through.

Oh, who was she trying to fool? Gabrielle knew exactly what kept her sitting on the edge of the bed instead of surrendering to the urge to run to Connor. It was pride, pure and simple. The thought that he might turn his back on her, might reject her in the same callous way so many others had in the past, stopped her cold. Nothing else had the power to keep her feet rooted to the floor, or to counter her almost overwhelming need to feel Connor's strong arms wrapped around her, holding her so wonderfully, protectively close. The need was so intense it felt like a raw, physical ache clawing her up on the inside.

The cushions in the old chair crunched as Colin moved, walking with slow reluctance. Gabrielle's attention shifted to him in time to see the thick, inky fringe of his lashes flicker upward. The irises were a wee bit darker, a shade or two bluer than Connor's. Why hadn't she noticed that before? she wondered as his gaze met hers. His eyes were narrow and guarded, lacking even a glimmer of compassion, reminding her again of how very dissimilar the brothers actually were.

"Dinny tarry, Cousin. The guard will not stay unconscious fore'er."

The voice was Ella's; it floated into the room on the soft, flickering glow of sconcelight, coming from the direction of the open doorway behind Connor. Gabrielle couldn't see her, but judging by the nearness of Ella's voice, she decided the girl must be just around the corner, probably keeping a watchful eye on the corridor and the aforementioned guard.

Colin's attention left Gabrielle. He leaned to the side, glancing back over his shoulder, past the tattered wing of the chair. His face hardened when his gaze met his brother's, the corners of his lips quirking downward. That he'd been expecting Gilby was evident in his unwelcome expression and the way the disappointed crease carved harsh brackets on either side of his mouth.

Gabrielle's attention shifted cautiously between the Douglas twins.

Connor looked equally displeased to be facing his brother. His gray eyes were narrow, and as he took another step into the room she saw they glittered dangerously. The dagger, which she only now noticed he was holding in his right hand, inched higher. It was poised at striking level. The powerful fingers clutching the hilt tightened until his knuckles were white from strain.

"Gabrielle," Connor said again, his untrusting gaze never leaving his twin. He angled his head, issuing an unspoken command that Gabrielle could not resist.

She stood. Her steps measured, forcibly slow, she crossed the room.

Weeks ago, safe at court, Gabrielle would have sworn this wasn't possible. Imagine, Gabrielle Carelton, ward of Queen Elizabeth, seeking comfort and protection from the likes of Scotland's most notorious reiver, The Black Douglas!

Perhaps the concept wasn't as ludicrous as it might once have been. Aye, she had an unsettling feeling such was the case. Though she was wont to admit it, Gabrielle couldn't deny the hungry feeling that tightened in her stomach, nor the tide of longing that swept through her as she continued to grapple with the potent urge to throw herself into The Black Douglas's arms.

And if, in deed or expression, he'd made even the slightest indication she'd be welcome there...?

He didn't.

Still, the sheer magnitude of the feelings bombarding her was frightening. It made Gabrielle stop an arm's length away from Connor. Where it was safe. She might have erred on many counts since her arrival in Scotland, but she wasn't so foolish as to draw too close to him for fear his tantalizingly familiar scent would invade her, fill her, overwhelm her... that the warmth of his body would seep into hers, melting away her defenses until she had no choice but to surrender to the impossibly strong yearning to again feel the safe haven of his arms enfolding her.

In this harsh, savage country that Gabrielle had been unwillingly thrust into, the shelter of Connor Douglas's embrace was the only warmth and security she'd known. Oh, but how it beckoned.

From the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw Colin push himself to his feet. The suppleness of the movement drew her attention, jarring her from her thoughts and back to her surroundings.

Colin's spine was straight, his shoulders—almost but not quite as broad as his twin's—squared, his stance stiff and tense. The line of his jaw was hard. The dimpled square of his chin jutted at a stubborn angle as his eyes narrowed. Like a freshly honed dagger, his gaze cut through the shadows, stabbing into his brother. "'Tis past time ye showed up,
cuilean."

"If ye call me 'puppy' one more time, ye'll be finding out how deadly this dagger can be, Brother. The blade may be old, but 'tis still sharp." Connor pushed the words through gritted teeth, even as he raised the dagger in question. A sound rumbled in the back of his throat; it resembled a feral growl.

Colin glanced down, his attention focusing on the dagger. A shard of sconcelight winked off a stone embedded in the hilt. The color drained from Colin's face. Suddenly, the hollows beneath his cheeks looked unnaturally pronounced, the cheekbones above high and rigid. His voice, when it came, was a combination of disbelief and outrage. "Where did ye get that?" he demanded.

"Does it matter?" Connor asked, and his voice was as chilly as the draft leaking in through the thick stone walls that surrounded them.

"Aye,
cuilean,
it matters a great deal to me."

The weathered creases shooting out from the corners of his eyes deepened. "And
only
to
ye,"
he said, his voice too low and even to be anything but furious. "What matters to
me
is that the weapon is back with its proper owner. Finally. 'Tis enough."

The twins exchanged a brief glare. Gabrielle's gaze volleyed between the two brothers; so intent were they focused on each other that she might not even have been present for all the attention either paid her.

"Connor!" Ella hissed from the hallway.

Connor angled his head, his eyes shifting to Gabrielle. Was it her imagination, or did his expression soften as he looked at her? Nay, it was nothing more than an illusion of light and shadow, she decided... even as her heart skipped a beat and a breath caught painfully in her throat.

"Come," Connor said, and his free hand lifted, palm up, extended toward her.

Gabrielle looked at that hand. Without warning, her mind was again flooded with memories, with brief, titillating images of last night. She remembered in vivid detail how his big hand had felt as he gently caressed parts of her body that no one else had touched before. Remembered also her own wild, wanton reaction to that skilled caress.

A hot wave of color burned in her cheeks. Dear Lord, what was she thinking? She shook her head, trying to clear it. Considering the circumstances, now was surely
not
the time to be basking in intimate memories! Still, even though she forced the memories aside, her body's response to them, to Connor Douglas's touch, lingered and burned all through her body.

Gabrielle hesitated, then swallowed hard. Finally, she placed her hand in his. A jolt sizzled up her arm, quickly seeping to every part of her. The heat of his touch seeped to her very core, banishing the chill and warming her instantly.

Gabrielle could no more deny the sheer intensity of her response to even this innocent contact than she could stop breathing.

Connor flexed his fingers, curling them around hers. His grip was firm, insistent, but not painfully so. If he noticed the trembling of her fingers, he gave no outward indication. A sigh of relief whispered softly past her lips.

"Footsteps!" While Ella spoke the single word softly, the cry of alarm echoed through the room, and off its three occupants, like a resounding clap of thunder.

A movement at the door attracted Gabrielle's attention. Glancing in that direction, she saw Ella.

The girl's slender back was to the room. She was hunched over, grunting as she struggled to drag the unconscious guard's body over the shadowy threshold. "Och, Cousin, dinny stand there gaping, get o'er here and help me."

Connor thrust the dagger at Gabrielle. Without thinking, she took it, and watched him cross to Ella's side. His greater strength made dragging the guard inside a simple feat. With the sole of his boot, he sent the door careening shut behind them.

The carved steel hilt of the dagger retained the heat of Connor's palm. The stone embedded in the hilt bit into her tender palm, yet Gabrielle refused to allow the prick of pain to make her loosen her grip.

Connor had entrusted her with the only weapon among them, a weapon that meant their only chance at freedom. Gabrielle felt a surge of confusion, countered by a much stronger surge of pride. She would do her best not to disappoint him, or betray his unexpected trust.