was well seated before placing the reins on the mare’s head. She smoothed a hand over the soft neck and offered her a soft sound that made the mare’s ears twitch with recognition.
“Yes, my beauty, we’re off again.”
“No, ye wildcat, ye are not.”
Jemma cursed. The words rolled out of her mouth instantly, and she meant every one of them. She turned to find Gordon standing in the aisle, his chin tucked low so that he could see her in the dim light. His body was tense and imposing, and she felt a ripple of apprehension cross her skin.
“Ye have a very bad habit of disregarding wise advice that is given to ye, lass.”
Jemma choked before she sputtered with her outrage. “Advice? You purposely misled me when I asked you where my mare was.”
The barbarian had the audacity to shrug in the face of her temper. “Well now, I did do that sure enough.”
Jemma tossed her head and maintained her grip on the reins.
“So it is advice well ignored.”
She held her chin steady and stared straight back at him. Their wills were clashing, and the friction produced enough heat to send a tingle racing down the back of her neck while Gordon considered her. Determination flickered in his eyes, but she refused to bend in the face of it. Her will refused to surrender while the feel of the leather was still against her palm. She was so close, and yet Gordon was such a large obstacle to overcome.
“Ye are nae going anywhere except back into me tower, lass. The only choice is how ye go there.”
“You have no right to keep me here.”
“I have yer brother’s permission.”
Her jaw dropped, disbelief flooding her. “That cannot be.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but the emotion lacing it caused her mare to dance. Gordon reached forward to grab the reins, and Jemma dropped them in order to step out of his reach.
Why was it that she never seemed to judge just how close the man was until it was too late to avoid his reach? Frustration burned enough of her shock away, but an aching pain remained deep inside her.
She glared at Gordon. “You have spoken to my brother since I have been here? Curan gave you his blessing on keeping me?” It was two questions fired off together, but her mind was working too fast to slow down.
“It is true, lass, but I did nae seek out his permission to cause ye pain.”
His voice was low, and she looked back at him to notice that he saw far too much of her true feelings for her comfort.
“I care not what your or my brother’s reasons are.”
She turned her back on him and left the stable. The pain followed her, digging into her heart like a dull knife. Curan was her brother. How could he grant such permission?
She felt like her throat was being squeezed past the point of endurance. As far as the law went, Curan had every right to decide whom she married. If it pleased her brother, she might warm the bed of some man old enough to be her grandfather, or someone like Gordon who would use her to breed his children while continuing to enjoy his riding with any woman who took his fancy.
But the memory of last night conflicted with her temper. There had been true effort applied to courting her, something that many a bride never received, especially in a time when two queens of England had lost their heads. Men followed their king’s example, doing what they pleased no matter what misery their actions loaded onto a woman’s shoulders.
Gordon hadn’t treated her that way last night. The memory was precious, and she discovered desperation inside her to reach for it and pray that it was a glimmer of hope that would grow into a bright future.
The chamber where she had slept was the only place Jemma’s wounded mind thought to take her. She really had no right to think that her brother would consult her on the matter of her marriage, or to believe that he would waste any more time deciding the matter. She would not be the first sister handed over without warning. Her agreement to meet with Barras had been more than enough discussion upon the topic.
“Does it truly displease ye so much to think of remaining with me, lass?”
Jemma jumped and stumbled when she turned. Her ankle complained as it twisted slightly, making her hop to relieve the odd angle she’d landed on. She growled and clenched her hands into fists because her frustration was so great.
“Why ask me? Neither Curan nor you seem to think my feelings on anything matter in the least.”
Relief shone on his face, and she felt some of her temper cooling. She couldn’t see what had troubled him so much, but something clearly had. Her heart leaped at the chance to think it might be her feelings. It had been a very long time since she had stopped to consider how she felt. Every hour had been about her father for so long, what he wanted, needed, and how she might give him enough of herself to heal him.
“Marriage is normally negotiated between men, lass, but I was hoping to change yer mind last night and get ye to want to stay here so that we might court a bit.”
Jemma felt suspicion ripple through her mind because Gordon’s face was smooth and calm, telling her nothing about his mood.
“I appreciated the effort you placed into last night, but keeping me here is not courting.”
His lips split to flash his teeth at her. “Well now, I disagree with ye there, lass. Name me another man that would have dealt with ye instead of yer brother.”
He was correct and she hated it. Helplessness assaulted her, and she shook her head to deny it. “I suppose you think your grand experience in ‘riding’ has taught you how to court, but I must quibble with you, sir, for ‘riding’ often is not the same thing as courting.”
