Authors: Rebecca Sinclair
His fingers closed around the woolen trews he'd taken great pleasure in stripping Gabrielle of, and he swallowed back a groan. He remembered the way they clung to her hips and thighs, outlining every lush curve. How many stares would this woman's delectable body get with
those
on? A more important question was how far he could stretch his self-control. Could he hold his temper in check if any of the men who'd been ogling her tried to do so again, or worse...?
His fingers clenched into fists around the wool as he thrust the trews at Gabrielle. Pushing the words through tightly gritted teeth, he said, "Och, dinny dally, lass. Get yerself dressed and do it quickly. Maxwells aren't reputed for their patience."
"Then what
are
they reputed for?" Gabrielle asked as she accepted the bundle of clothes. Casting surreptitious glances at the men's backs, she yanked the tunic over her head.
"Ye dinny want to ken," Connor muttered as he pulled his own tunic on. The kilt would have to wait; at the moment, it was draped prudently under and around Gabrielle's naked lap. Connor had no urge to reclaim the garment yet. It would be just his luck to have one of the Maxwells choose such an inopportune moment to glance back at them. As far as he was concerned, they'd seen far more of Gabrielle than he was comfortable with.
Should any of the men try to ogle her while she dressed, Connor knew he would loose the tattered reins of his composure and challenge the man. Unarmed as he was, the outcome of such a skirmish was dangerously preordained.
Och! what good would he be to the lass if he was lying bleeding on the ground? For that matter, what good was he to the lass now?
Connor winced. Like the point of Gordie's sword had pricked the tender flesh of his throat, the last thought pricked his pride in a way he'd never imagined possible. Without realizing he was doing it, he fingered the scratch on his neck. The blood had begun to dry; the newly formed scab felt warm and rough against his fingertips.
Gabrielle had pulled on the trews and was in the middle of tugging on the oversize boots when a disturbance in the woods, quite close to the left of where the Maxwell and his men stood, drew her attention.
Gabrielle glanced at Connor, but he simply frowned and shook his head.
"Keep yer filthy hands off me, ye... ye... stinking
Maxwell!"
The feminine grouse was followed by a harsh, masculine grunt "Ye think
that
hurts? Wait! 'Tis but a wee scratch compared to what I'll be giving ye if ye dinny unhand me, and unhand me
now!"
"Ella?" Gabrielle and Connor sighed the name in unison, yet their voices held entirely different inflections; Gabrielle's was a sigh of relief, Connor's one of utter frustration.
Careful to still keep The Black Douglas in his vision—one could never,
never
trust a Douglas, even an unarmed one—Gordie shifted the brunt of his attention to the commotion. One eyebrow cocked in surprise when he saw a slender girl with flaming red hair being tossed, literally, out from behind a thick oak tree trunk.
Ella landed on her backside with a thump and a curse at the big man who strode casually out of the woods behind her. The big man stopped, rubbed his shin briefly with the calf of his other leg, winced, then went over to Gordie.
In less than a second, Ella was on her feet and furiously dogging his steps, a mere pace behind him.
"Oh, no." Gabrielle swallowed back a groan. That Ella was about to do something stupid was evident in the icy spark of anger in the girl's blue eye and the determined tightness of her jawline.
As Gabrielle watched, Ella swung back her foot and delivered to the back of the offender's knee another bone-jarring kick. The man howled, stumbled against Gordie, then quickly regained his balance and spun on his heel. His dark-green eyes flashed with anger as his right hand went for his sword.
Gabrielle didn't think about what she was doing, nor the consequences of doing it, she simply flung Connor's kilt at him, even as she sprang into motion.
It took four running steps to reach them. For a big woman, she'd enough Maxwell blood coursing through her veins to be unexpectedly quick on her feet.
By the time she reached Ella's side, the angry man's free hand was making an arch toward the girl's defiantly upturned cheek. Gabrielle stepped between the two in time to receive the brunt of the blow. The man's open palm collided painfully with her shoulder.
She staggered sideways a step under the force of the impact, grunting despite her resolve not to when a ripple of pain quivered down her arm and at the same time shot across her neck to lance through the other shoulder.
Her attacker was not tall, nor was Gabrielle short. They stood on eye-level, glowering at each other.
"Does hitting a poor, defenseless woman make you feel like more of a man?" Gabrielle demanded scornfully, ignoring the throbbing pain in her shoulder. Her hands, tightly fisted, were planted with defiance atop her hips as she glared into eyes equally as green as her own.
"Defenseless?"
the man roared. A thick blue vein pounded in the center of his forehead, and the outer corner of his left eye twitched in time with it. "The bitch tried to run me through with her sword when I found her. Then, after I finally wrestled the weapon away, she kicked me. Hard.
Twice.
I dinny call that defenseless!"
Gabrielle's gaze raked the man's sturdy body. "Are you a Maxwell?"
"Aye, Roy Maxwell, and proud of it!"
"Is it only you, or are all Maxwells afraid of being kicked by a girl? A girl who is," she hastened to add, "by your own admission, unarmed?"
The second the words had slipped off her tongue, Gabrielle knew that she should have resisted the urge and bitten them back. Baiting the enemy was never wise, especially when one had no means with which to back up one's words and, more importantly, the enemy in question was a seasoned reiver from one of the most brutal riding families on either side of the Border. By the time she realized her mistake, of course, it was far too late to correct it.
A pregnant pause hung heavily in the cool morning air; it was broken by the sparkle of Ella's laughter. The sound severed the tension and was quickly joined by more than one husky chuckle from the band of Maxwell men.
"Och! fancy that," Ella said in a taunting tone that made Gabrielle wince. Thanks to the men's encouraging reaction, the girl had apparently grown bold. That Ella was enjoying herself, Gabrielle hadn't a doubt. "A big, strong Maxwell afraid of being kicked by a wee lass such as m'self. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Yer da would be ashamed of ye, Roy, truly he would. And speaking of Johnny Maxwell... where is the auld brute?"
Roy Maxwell's attention narrowed on Ella. The vein in his forehead seemed to thicken even as his eyes narrowed to furious green slits.
Gordie, sensing his younger brother's mounting ire, answered before Roy had the chance.
"Last I saw, he was being slashed up by yer aunt's sharp tongue, lass."
"Ah, I see," Ella said, and nodded almost sympathetically. Almost. Her attention never left Roy. "Like father, like—
Eek!"
Roy made a grab for Ella's wrist. The girl, however, was much too quick for him; she quickly stepped behind Gabrielle. Cursing under his breath, Roy tried to go after her, but Gabrielle squared her shoulders and took a sidestep to block him. A warm tingle of awareness along the right side of her body told her without glancing in that direction that Connor had put on his kilt and was now standing by her side. His presence comforted Gabrielle in ways she didn't dare try to understand.
"Leave her alone, Maxwell," Connor growled, and the words made Roy stop cold. "Gabrielle is right, the lass isn't armed, she cannot harm ye."
A change came over the Maxwell men. They were not chuckling now, nor even smiling. Instead, they regarded The Black Douglas with the sharp, wary eyes that a reiver of his stature and reputation deserved.
The previous tension returned in force; it electrified the early morning air until Gabrielle could have sworn she felt it crackle against her skin.
She glanced at Connor. Was it only an hour ago she'd seen this man's face relaxed, his eyes dark and sparkling with passion? Aye, it surely was. His expression was no longer calm, and the glint in his gray eyes would never be mistaken for passion as his narrowed gaze, sharp and piercing, assessively scanned the Maxwells.
Gabrielle swallowed hard and resisted the urge to take a step backward.
So
this
was the man whom ballads had been written about. It was her first real glimpse of the Border reiver side of Connor Douglas. Gabrielle knew she'd be lying if she said she didn't admit to feeling a shard of intimidation shoot through her.
She'd an inkling it was a feeling she shared with quite a few of the Maxwell men; two of whom, while they bravely stood their ground, shifted their weight uneasily from one foot to the other. Was it any wonder?!
Hard.
Cold.
Powerful, determined, and undeniably ruthless.
All those words and more summed up her impression of the legendary Black Douglas. Even unarmed, his presence radiated strength and authority. Standing nearly a head taller than his rivals, his virile form, harshly chiseled features, and chilly gray eyes commanded attention, respect, and more than a little awe.
Gabrielle felt Ella squirm behind her. Reaching back, she swatted the girl on the bottom to get her to be still.
It was Gordie who finally spoke. "Enough o' yer bickering, they'll be maun than enough time for it later. Right now, we ride. As 'tis, Da and Colin should reach the keep hours sooner." He shifted his attention first to his brother, then to one of his men. "Roy, fetch their horses. Magnus, get some rope. Seamus and the rest of ye, stand ready to tie them onto their mounts. Hostages so distinguished dinny come 'round often. Take care that we dinny lose them."
The area was suddenly full of activity as the men hurried to do Gordie Maxwell's bidding.
Four of the Maxwell men placed themselves around the Douglas trio, guarding to make sure no chance of escape was available.
Gabrielle leaned close to Connor and whispered, "It doesn't look good for us, does it?"
"Nay, not at all," he replied, his distant tone indicating his thoughts lay elsewhere. His gaze, she noticed, was still on Gordie Maxwell. His scowl was deep.
Gabrielle nibbled her lower lip and mirrored his frown. Oh, if only she could pretend she was unaware of who was to blame for this entire mess! Herself. Who else? If she hadn't been so stubborn, hadn't surrendered to what she felt was her moral obligation and convinced Ella to help her rescue poor old Mairghread...
A stab of guilt sliced through Gabrielle. "What will happen to us now, m'lord?"
"We'll be ransomed, of course. What else?" It was Ella who answered.
Gabrielle glanced back at the girl. "Ransomed?"
Ella nodded. "'Tis when a family pays the person who stole ye to give ye back, don't ye ken?"
"Aye, I think I, er, 'ken.' " Gabrielle's frown deepened thoughtfully.
"Spending any time amongst Maxwells isnae something to be looked upon fondly," Ella agreed. Her tone softened; if she didn't know better, Gabrielle would have sworn the girl was trying to comfort her. "Dinny worry, we'll be with them but a short time, methinks. Gilby will see to it the ransom is paid posthaste."
"Aye, for you and Connor mayhap."
The girl scowled at her. "Eh?"
"Until I wed, I'm a ward of the English court, Ella. Nay, don't frown at me like that. I can see exactly what you're thinking, and I'll tell you right now, you're wrong. Elizabeth's purse strings are tighter than her corset laces. She won't pay so much as a shilling to get me back."
"But—"
Whatever Ella was about to say was cut short when Roy led the horses toward them.
The one named Magnus passed out strips of rope to the men who'd been standing guard. Gordie gave a brief nod, and the men stepped over to the prisoners and began tying their hands in front of them.
"Ouch! have a care, mon!" Ella snapped. "Must ye be so rough?" The man binding her was Roy; the fierce scowl that creased his brow said he was in no mood to be gentle.
Luckily, the guard who tied Gabrielle's wrists with the thick, rough, scratchy piece of rope was not so cruel. The knots were competent but the binding was not so tight as to cut off circulation to her hands and fingers. She chanced giving the guard a quick smile of gratitude, and was surprised when he blushed before turning hastily away.
Binding the women had been a chore easily carried out. Tying up The Black Douglas was something else again. Two men approached him warily for the task. Connor did not hold out his hands in resignation, the way Gabrielle had done; instead, like Ella, he kept his elbows locked and his arms held down rigidly at his sides. Roy had forced Ella's arms in front of her. The hard set of Connor's jaw and even harder look in his eyes challenged the men who'd approached him to do the same.
The two men hesitated, exchanging an uneasy glance. Neither looked willing to commence the struggle it would undoubtedly take to get the ropes in place.
Roy was leading Ella—no, make that
dragging
Ella
—
over to her horse when Connor, who'd been glaring at the two men standing nervously in front of him, shifted his attention to Gordie Maxwell. "Is this necessary?"