comfort. She refused to whine to anyone. She would console herself; she’d been doing so for the past few years and now would be no different.
His eyes narrowed. “I never meant to hurt yer feelings, lass, and be sure that yer brother was nae an easy man to bring around to my way of thinking. I hear the hurt in yer voice, but I’ll nae be trusting that to keep ye down past the morning. Ye have too much spirit.”
His attention lowered to one foot that was sticking out past the hem of her dress. “I’ll be having those boots.”
“You will not.”
His eyebrows arched as challenge lit his eyes again. “Well now, lass, are ye sure ye want to make another choice about gambling on whether or not I’ll do what I please in spite of yer denial?”
Jemma pulled her leg back but felt every muscle tighten in her body. Her courage rose, refusing to allow her to submit.
“You shall simply have to deal with a little uncertainty, just as I seem to be forced to endure this agreement between you and my brother.”
“It seems that the first thing ye will learn during our courting, lass, is that I never leave anything to chance. I’d be a dead man if I did.”
The bed rocked, drawing a shriek from Jemma, but it wasn’t a fearful one. The need to resist erupted in a flurry of motion that refused to be controlled. Gordon reached for her foot, his hands sliding beneath her skirts, and she launched herself at him, shoving his shoulders with every bit of strength she possessed.
The man landed on his backside at the foot of the bed. He lifted a surprised look toward her that sent victory surging through her.
“I told you no!”
He rose up, looking larger and more muscular than she’d noticed before. Determination shone brightly from his eyes, and his hands planted themselves on the edge of the bed, each fingertip pushing the soft surface in.
“And I want yer boots, lassie, and what a Scot wants, he takes.”
This time he pounced on her. His huge body sprung off the floor, cutting through the air before he pushed her down onto the surface of the bed. Jemma flung her arms up to resist, slapping at him, but he rolled her over onto her belly to trap her arms again.
“Ye are definitely a wildcat, Jemma Ramsden. Are ye sure yer mother did nae take ye in, because I’d swear ye had Scottish blood flowing through yer veins.”
“I’m English, you troll! English! Do you hear me? Go and find yourself some Scots girl who likes this manner of rough wooing, for I detest it.”
A hard hand landed on her bottom in response. The breath rushed out of her chest as outrage filled her. She shook with her rage, bucking against the hold he had on her.
“I heard ye sure enough, and most likely half the maids in the kitchen, too. Ye need taming.” He slapped her bottom once again before flipping her skirt up to find her foot. He gripped one and began pulling the leather lace loose that held the buttons closed.
Gordon having both hands on one foot allowed her to roll over and kick at him with her other foot. She planted one kick solidly on the back of his head, breaking his grip on her foot.
“I do not need taming! You need to learn some manners. This is not courting.” She tried to roll over the edge of the bed, but a hard arm hooked around her waist and lifted her up. Gordon dropped her back in the middle of the bed and pushed her thighs wide apart. He shoved his back against her spread body and leaned his weight down on top of her belly and chest.
“It’s my form of courting, lass, so ye’d best do some better planning if ye intend to outfox me.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at the canopy above the bed. Shock held her in its grip because she was indeed on her back and spread wide with a man between her thighs. He pressed his lower back against her mons and belly to keep her pinned. She’d never had anyone touch her in so private a place before, and even his back sent a pulse of awareness through her. Her face flamed but her pride refused to give up the battle. Gordon yanked the lace free and pulled one boot off her foot. He held it up for a moment like a prize.
“A bare foot will nae find the stable floor such an easy place to travel.”
Jemma reached forward and grabbed his bonnet. One yank tore the thing off his head, gaining a snarl from him. “A bare head will not care for the cold weather, either.”
“I should have spanked yer arse a few more times.”
He flipped over and caught her hands. With ridiculous ease he pressed her arms down on either side of her head.
“But I find that I like this sight of ye beneath me too much to turn ye over.”
She bucked, trying to dislodge his weight, but all the motion did was compress the pleats of his kilt against her spread sex. She gasped and froze, because sensation rushed up her passage and into her from the contact. Her skirts were raised, and there was nothing but the thin linen of her chemise shielding the opening to her body. It would be too simple for him to take her. But the worst part of it was how much her body seemed to enjoy the contact; her clitoris was throbbing, eager for him to move against her again.
“I won’t wed with you, even if you rape me.” She was frightened, more so than she cared to admit. It was a deeper emotion than the one that had filled her while facing down the English knights. She didn’t want Gordon to value her so lowly that he would force himself on her, and she didn’t want him to try for fear that she would yield.
But she had no reason to hope for such mercy.
“If that was my thinking, I’d have done it the first night ye were here so that I could face yer brother with the fact that yer virgin’s blood had stained my sheets already. There would have been no reason to walk away from ye last night, either. I could have saved myself the torment of craving ye most of the night.”
