Ransom (16 page)

“But it's mine.”

“I know it's yours. I would just like to borrow it,” she assured him.

He handed the dagger to her, but as she turned to walk away, he whispered, “It's awful dark here.”

“I'm here with you, so there isn't any need to be afraid.”

“I hear them coming.”

“I do too,” she whispered back.

“Gillian, are you scared?”

“Yes. Now, be quiet.”

She rushed down the center aisle and stood in front of the altar to wait. A moment later she heard Waldo shouting the order to halt. The command was obviously ignored because a second later the door flew open, and there in the center of the arch stood the most intimidating warrior she had ever seen. He was a towering figure with long, flaxen hair and deeply tanned skin. Barely covered, he wore only a muted plaid that didn't quite reach the tops of his knees. A wide strip of the cloth angled over his massive and scarred chest and draped down over his left shoulder. A dirk protruded from one of his deerskin boots, but he didn't carry a sword.

The man hadn't even stepped inside the church yet, but she was already quaking in her shoes. The sheer size of him blocked out most of the sun, though streaks of golden light shone all around him, making him appear almost ethereal. She gripped the dagger behind her back, and after slipping it into the sleeve of her gown, she slowly brought her hands forward and folded them in an attempt to fool him into believing she was thoroughly composed.

The warrior stood immobile for several seconds, his gaze searching for any threat that might be lurking in the corners, and when he was convinced she was all alone, he ducked under the doorframe, stepped inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.

B
rodick strode down the aisle, shaking the rafters of the little church with each hard step as specks of dust rained down from the ceiling. Gillian valiantly held her ground.

Blessedly, when he was just a couple of feet away, he stopped, then clasped his hands behind his back and insolently studied her, his gaze moving from the top of her head to her feet and then back again. He took his sweet time, and after he had finished his rude inspection, he kept his eyes locked on hers and waited for her to speak.

She had planned for this moment and had rehearsed exactly what she would say to him. She would begin by introducing herself because that was the polite thing to do, and then she would ask him his name. He would tell her he was Brodick, but she wouldn't believe him until he had proven his identity by answering several questions she had cleverly come up with, a test, actually, to determine that she could trust him.

Aye, she was going to be clever with her questioning, and just as soon as she could calm down, she would begin. The way he was looking at her was unnerving, and she was having difficulty coming up with a single thought.

He quickly grew impatient. “Are you the woman claiming to be my bride?”

The anger in his voice heated her face. She felt herself blush with mortification. “Yes, I am.”

He was surprised by her honesty. “Why?”

“I lied.”

“Obviously.”

“I don't usually . . .”

“Usually what?” he asked, wondering why she was so nervous. His stance was relaxed, his hands were clasped behind his back, and he had given Dylan his sword before coming into the church. Surely she realized he wasn't going to do her any harm.

“I don't usually lie,” she explained, thrilled that she could remember what she was talking about. Staring at his chin helped, for his eyes were too intense. “You aren't old.” She blurted out the thought and then smiled. “I was told you were very old,” she whispered, “ . . . with white hair.”

And then she laughed, convincing Brodick she was out of her mind.

“I believe I should start all over. My name is Lady Gillian, and I really am sorry I lied, but claiming to be your bride was the only way I could think of to get you to travel such a long distance.”

He shrugged. “The distance wasn't great.”

“It wasn't?” she asked in surprise. “Then, pray tell, why did it take you so long to get here? We've been waiting in this church for a very long time.”

“We?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, we,” she replied. “The Hathaway brothers . . . the two guards outside the door . . . and I have been waiting all that time.”

“Why were you so certain I'd show up at all?”

“Curiosity,” she answered. “And I was right, wasn't I? That's why you came.”

A hint of a smile softened his expression. “Yes,” he agreed. “I wanted to meet the woman who dared such audacity.”

“You are Brodick . . . I mean to say, you are Laird Buchanan, aren't you?”

“I am.”

Her face lit up with relief. Damn, but she was pretty. The messenger hadn't lied about her appeal, Brodick thought. If anything, Henley had understated her beauty.

“I was going to test you to make certain you really were Brodick, but one look at you convinces me. I was told, you see, that your glare could part a tree trunk, and from the way you're scowling at me, I do believe you could do it. You're quite intimidating, but you know that, don't you?”

He didn't show any reaction to her remarks. “What is it you want from me?”

“I want . . . no, I need,” she qualified, “your help. I have a very valuable treasure with me and I need assistance getting it home.”

“Aren't there any Englishmen who could come to your aid?”

“It's complicated, Laird.”

“Start at the beginning,” he suggested, surprised by his own willingness to extend this meeting. Her voice appealed to him; it was soft, lyrical, yet husky and sensual, as sensual as the woman herself.

Brodick was conditioned to keeping his thoughts hidden, and for that reason he was certain she didn't have any idea of the effect she was having on him. Her wonderful scent was a clear distraction. It was very feminine and
smelled faintly of flowers, which he found both alluring and arousing. He had to fight the urge to move closer to her.

“This should explain everything you need to know,” she said as she slowly removed the dagger and sheath from her sleeve and held it up for him to see.

He reacted with lightning speed. Before she could even guess his intent, he'd snatched the dagger out of her hand, grabbed hold of her injured arm, and jerked her forcefully toward him. Towering over her, he demanded, “Where did you get this?”

“I will explain,” she cried out. “But please let go of me. You're hurting me.”

The tears in her eyes confirmed her words. Brodick immediately let go of her and stepped back. “Now explain,” he demanded again.

“I borrowed the dagger,” she said, and then she turned and called out, “Alec, you may come out now.”

Brodick had never been so close to losing his composure. When the Maitland boy came running toward him, he felt his knees buckle and his heart lodge in his throat. He was too stunned to say a word, and then Alec threw himself into his arms. Brodick's hands shook as he lifted him up and clasped him to his chest.

The little boy wrapped his arms around his protector's neck and hugged him. “I knew you would come. I told Gillian you would help us.”

“You are well, Alec?” he asked, his voice trembling with emotion. He turned to Gillian questioning her with his eyes, but she was watching Alec with a soft, motherly smile on her face.

“Answer him, Alec,” she instructed.

The child leaned back in Brodick's arms and nodded.
“I'm very well, Uncle. The lady, she took good care of me. She gave me her food to eat and went hungry when there wasn't enough for both of us, and you know what? She wouldn't let nobody hurt me, not even when the man wanted to.”

Brodick stared at Gillian while Alec chattered away, but nodded when the little boy had finished his explanation.

“You will tell me exactly what happened,” he told Gillian. It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I'll tell you everything.”

“Uncle, you know what?”

Brodick turned to Alec. “No, what?”

“I didn't drown.”

Brodick was still too shaken to laugh over the ridiculous understatement. “I can see you didn't,” he answered dryly.

“But did you think I did? I told Gillian you wouldn't believe it, 'cause you're stubborn, but did you?”

“No, I didn't believe you drowned.”

Alec leaned around Brodick so he could see Gillian. “I told you so,” he boasted before turning his attention to his uncle once again. “They put me in a wheat sack, and I got real scared.”

“Who put you in a sack?” he demanded, trying to keep the anger out of his voice so he wouldn't frighten the child.

“The men who took me. I maybe even cried.” He sounded as though he were confessing a terrible sin. “I wasn't brave, Uncle, but you know what? Gillian said I was.”

“Who were these men who put you in a sack?”

His abruptness worried the boy, and he looked down when he answered forlornly, “I don't know. I didn't see their faces.”

“Alec, he isn't angry with you. Why don't you go and collect our things while I speak in private to your uncle.”

Brodick gently lowered Alec and watched him run to the front of the church.

“Will you help me get him home to his parents?” she asked.

He turned to her. “I'll make certain he gets home.”

“And so will I,” she insisted. “I made Alec a promise, and I mean to keep it, but I must also speak to his father. The matter is extremely urgent. Besides,” she added, “I trust you, Laird Buchanan, but I don't trust anyone else. I was told eight men ride with you today. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to see every one of them before Alec steps outside.”

“You want to look at them?” he asked, puzzled by the bizarre request. “They're Buchanans,” he added, “and that's all you need to know.”

Alec came running down the aisle just as Gillian made her demand once again. “I will see them first.”

“'Cause you know why, Uncle?”

Brodick looked at the little boy. “Why?”

“She saw the traitor,” he blurted out, wanting to be the first to explain. “I fell asleep, but Gillian saw him good. She told me so. She made us hide a long time just so she could see him. He's a Highlander,” he thought to add.

“Oh, Alec, you weren't supposed to tell anyone—”

“I forgot,” he interrupted. “But Brodick won't tell nobody if you ask him not to.”

“The man I saw is probably just now on his way back to the Highlands,” she said. “I don't know how long he was going to stay in England, but I'm not taking any chances. It's better to be safe.”

“And you want to see my soldiers just to make certain
one of them isn't the man you saw?” he asked, his outrage clearly evident.

She was suddenly feeling so weary she needed to sit down, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to be diplomatic and come up with a suitable reply that would placate the laird. “Yes, that's exactly what I'm wanting to do, Laird Buchanan.”

“You have said that you trust me.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and then quickly qualified her answer. “But only because I have to trust someone, and you are Alec's protector, but I'm not going to trust anyone else. Alec told me he thought that there were three Highlanders who took him from the festival, but there could be more besides the man who planned the kidnapping, so you see, Alec is still in danger, and I'm going to continue to guard him until I get him safely home.”

Before he could respond to her argument, a whistle sounded outside, drawing his attention. “We must leave now,” he announced. “My men grow impatient, and it's only a matter of time before the MacDonalds gather more soldiers and come back here.”

“Are you feuding with the MacDonalds?” Alec asked.

“We weren't,” Brodick answered. “But now it seems we are.”

“Why?” Gillian asked, puzzled by his half-given explanation to Alec. “The MacDonald I met was a very pleasant gentleman, and he obviously was also a man of his word because he kept his promise and took my message to you.”

Brodick nodded. “Aye, Henley was his name, and he did give me your message, but only after he had told his laird and pricked the curiosity of his clan.”

“And they came here to fight you?” she asked, trying to understand.

He smiled. “Nay, lass, they came to steal you, and that, you see, is an insult I cannot allow.”

She was astounded. “Steal me?” she whispered. “Why in heaven's name would they want to do that?”

He shook his head to let her know he wasn't willing to go into further explanation. “As much as I would like to kill a few MacDonalds, I will have to wait until after I have gotten you and Alec to the Maitlands. We're leaving now.”