Ransom (18 page)

She did have a fragment of a plan. Once she got Alec home, she was going to plead with his father for assistance in getting her to the MacPherson holding, where Christen was reported to be living. And then what? she thought. Her mind was filled with unanswerable questions, and she prayed she would be able to sort it all out when she was feeling better.

Rubbing her arms to ward off her chills, she forced herself to think about the present. Brodick nudged his mount toward her. He didn't slow the stallion's gait as he approached. He leaned to the side and, with little effort, wrapped his arm around her waist and swept her onto his lap.

She adjusted her skirts to cover her knees and tried to sit straight so her back wouldn't touch his chest, but Brodick wouldn't let her maintain any formality. He tightened his hold and hauled her up against him.

In truth, she was thankful for his warmth, and his masculine scent appealed to her. He smelled like the outdoors. She wanted to close her eyes and rest for just a few minutes and maybe even pretend this nightmare was all over. She didn't dare give in to the foolish fantasy though, because she needed to keep a watchful eye on Alec.

She turned in Brodick's arms and looked up at him. He was really quite handsome, she thought, forgetting for the moment what she wanted to say to him. She had heard stories about the Viking warriors who roamed England centuries before and thought Brodick was surely a descendant, for he was as huge as the Vikings were reputed to be. His bone structure was well-defined from his high cheekbones
to his gently squared chin. Aye, he was handsome all right and had surely caused many a lady to lose her heart. That thought led to another. Alec had told her Brodick wasn't married, but did the laird have a sweetheart at home waiting for him to return?

“Is something wrong, lass?”

“Could Alec ride with us? We could make room for him.”

“No.”

She waited a full minute for him to explain why he had denied her request, then realized he had said all he was going to say. His manner was distant, but she tried not to take offense. Her Uncle Morgan had often told her that the Highlanders were a different breed of men and danced to what he called their own strange tune, and she therefore assumed that Brodick wasn't actually trying to be rude. His abruptness was simply part of who he was.

She leaned back against him and tried to relax, but every so often, she looked behind him to make certain Alec was all right.

“We're almost there,” Brodick said. “You're going to get a stiff neck if you keep looking back every other minute. Alec's fine,” he insisted. “Dylan isn't going to let anything happen to him.” With that, he shoved her head down on his shoulder. “Rest,” he ordered.

And so she did just that.

B
rodick shook Gillian awake when they reached their destination.

She pulled herself from her slumber and rubbed the stiffness in her neck. It took some effort, but she finally forced her eyes to focus, and for a brief moment she thought she was still dreaming. Where was she? What was this place? Lush green hills surrounded her. A narrow stream gently meandered down the slope and in the center of the green valley sat a gray stone cottage with a thatched roof. The yard on either side was ablaze with wildflowers of every color in the rainbow, their perfumed scent floating around her. Birch trees flanked the clear-water stream that flowed on the west side of the cottage, and to the east was a broad meadow blanketed in a thick carpet of grass. A flock of sheep, ready for shearing, clustered together at the far end of the field, bleating at one another like gossiping women, while a rather regal-looking guard dog sat on his haunches with his head held high, eyes ever watchful as he surveyed his charges. Smoke gently curled up into the cloudless blue sky from the cottage chimney. A faint breeze touched Gillian's cheek. This was a paradise.

A shout shook her from her musings. A tall, thin-faced man stood on the front step of the cottage and was smiling and calling to the approaching soldiers. As she watched the men disappear through the doorway, everything that had happened in the last few days flooded back to her memory.

Dylan had Alec on his shoulders and was bending down to go inside. Brodick had already dismounted but was waiting to assist Gillian. When at last she turned to him, he reached for her and she slid into his arms. For a fleeting moment their eyes met, and she studied the face of this man she hardly knew and yet trusted with her life. His piercing eyes made her think he knew all her secrets. She tried to shake herself out of such foolish thoughts. He was just a man, nothing more—and he needed to shave. His cheeks and jaw were covered with golden brown whiskers, and she had the insane urge to find out what it would feel like to run her fingers down the side of his face.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

“The same reason you're staring at me, lass.”

From the sparkle in his eyes, she guessed he had a bit of the Devil in him and she simply wasn't up to the task of being clever or flirtatious. She wasn't even sure she knew how.

She pushed his hands away from her waist and stepped back. “Why have we stopped here? And who was that man in the doorway? Alec shouldn't have gone inside until I—”

He cut her off. “This is the last time I'm going to tell you that Alec is safe with Dylan. He would be highly insulted to know you don't trust him.”

“But I don't trust him,” she whispered so the other soldiers wouldn't overhear. “I don't know him.”

“You don't know me either,” he pointed out. “But you've
decided to trust me, and you therefore have to believe that what I tell you is true. My soldiers will protect Alec with their lives.” The briskness in his voice indicated he was finished discussing the subject.

“I'm too weary to argue.”

“Then don't. It's pointless to argue with a Buchanan,” he added. “You can't possibly win, lass. We Buchanans never lose.”

She thought he might be jesting, but she couldn't be absolutely sure, and so she didn't laugh. Either he had a very strange sense of humor or he was sinfully arrogant.

“Come along. We're wasting time,” he said as he caught hold of her hand and started up the stone path.

“Are we going to spend the night here?”

He didn't bother to turn around when he answered. “No, we'll move on after Annie tends to your arm.”

“I don't want to be a bother.”

“She'll be honored to serve you.”

“Why?”

“She thinks you're my bride,” he explained.

“Why would she think that? I only told the lie to one MacDonald soldier.”

He laughed. “News travels fast, and everyone knows the MacDonalds can't keep secrets.”

“Oh, dear, I've caused you considerable trouble, haven't I?”

“No,” he answered.

When they reached the doorway, he stepped back to let her go inside first. She moved close to him and asked in a whisper, “Do you trust these people?”

He shrugged. “As much as I trust anyone who isn't a Buchanan,” he answered. “Kevin Drummond's sister is married to one of my soldiers, so he's considered kin of a
sort. Anything you say in front of them will be held in confidence.”

Dylan introduced her to the couple. Annie Drummond stood near the hearth and bowed low to Gillian. She was about her age and was heavy with child. Kevin Drummond also bowed and welcomed her into his home. Both of them, Gillian thought, appeared to be extremely nervous.

Their cottage was small and smelled of freshly baked bread. An oblong table took up a good deal of space in the center of the room and from the number of chairs, six in all, Gilliam assumed the Drummonds were used to entertaining visitors. It was a home, warm and comfortable and inviting, the kind of place Gillian dreamed of when she allowed herself to fantasize about falling in love and having a family. Such a foolish notion, she thought to herself. Her life was consumed with worry now, and there wasn't room for such yearnings.

“It's a privilege to have you in our home,” Kevin told her, but his eyes, she noticed, were fully directed on Brodick.

After formally greeting the laird, Annie suggested Gillian take a seat at the table and let her have a look at her injury. She pulled a chair out on the opposite side and waited for Gillian to get comfortable. Then she spread a cloth on the tabletop while Gillian pushed up her sleeve and unwrapped the bandage.

“I would appreciate any medicine you have,” she said. “It isn't a serious injury, but I believe it's become a bit inflamed.”

Gillian didn't think her arm looked all that bad, but Annie visibly blanched when she saw it.

“Ah, lass, you must be in terrible pain.”

Brodick and his men moved forward to look at the injury. Alec ran to Gillian and pressed against her. He looked scared.

“How in heaven's name did this happen?” Dylan asked.

“I cut myself.”

“It's got to be opened and drained,” Annie whispered. “Laird, you're going to have to stay with us a couple of days at the least while I tend to this. She's a lady,” she added, “and I must therefore use the slow method of curing her.”

“No, I cannot stay that long,” Gillian protested.

“If she were a man? What would you do then?” Brodick asked.

Thinking he'd asked the question out of simple curiosity, Annie replied, “I'd open the skin and drain the infection, but then I would pour mother's fire on the open wound, and though the special brew has cured everything I've ever used it on, it causes terrible pain.”

“I've seen warriors shout during Annie's treatment with her mother's fire,” Kevin said.

Brodick waited for Gillian to decide which method would be used.

She believed the Drummonds were exaggerating the treatment, but it really didn't matter. She couldn't afford to lose so much time just to avoid a little pain. Brodick seemed to be reading her mind.

“Do these warriors you've treated with this mother's fire of yours stay for days or do they leave?” he asked.

“Oh, they leave once I've put the healing salve on the wounds,” Annie answered.

“The ones who can stand leave,” Kevin interjected.

Brodick caught Gillian's barely perceptible nod and then said, “You will use this warrior's treatment on Gillian, and she will not make a sound while you're tending her. She's a
Buchanan.” He added the last as though that explained everything.

“I will not utter a sound, Laird?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement over his galling arrogance.

He was serious when he answered. “Nay, you will not.”

She had a sudden urge to start screaming like a wild woman before Annie even touched her just to irritate the pompous man, but she didn't give in to the desire because the kind woman and little Alec would both become upset. When she was alone with Brodick, however, she was going to remind him that she wasn't a Buchanan, and she might also add that she was going to thank God for that fact, because the Buchanans were a little too full of themselves. She had noticed that when Brodick announced that she wouldn't make a sound, every one of his soldiers had nodded.

Oh, yes, she certainly wanted to scream all right.

Annie had turned as pale as milk after Brodick chose the treatment to be used. She leaned against her husband and whispered into his ear. Because she spoke so rapidly, Gillian only caught a word or two, but it was quite enough for her to figure out that Annie was asking Kevin for permission to give Gillian a sleeping draft.

Kevin put the request to Brodick while Annie rushed about the cottage gathering her supplies. Before Brodick could answer, Gillian spoke up. “I don't wish to be drugged. I appreciate your concerns, but I must insist on remaining clearheaded so that we may continue on our journey.”

Brodick nodded, but Gillian wasn't certain if he was agreeing with Kevin's request or with her denial. “I mean what I say,” she pressed. “I don't want to be drugged.”

Alec demanded her attention then by tugging on her sleeve. As she leaned down to him, out of the corner of her
eye she saw Annie sprinkle brown powder into a goblet and then add wine.

“What is it?” she asked Alec.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” he whispered.

“About the cuts on my arm?” He bumped her chin when he nodded. “No, I'm not going to tell, and I want you to stop worrying that I will.”

“All right,” he said. “I'm hungry.”

“We'll get you something to eat in a little while.”

“With your permission, Laird, I would like to toast you and your bride,” Kevin announced as he carried a tray of goblets to the table.

“Oh, but I'm not—” Gillian began.

Brodick interrupted her. “You have my permission.”

She frowned at him, puzzled as to why he hadn't corrected Kevin's misconception, but decided to wait until later to ask him to explain.