in platters of food. Though Gillian offered, she wasn't allowed to lift a finger. She was astonished that such a grand feast could be so quickly prepared. There were pigeon pies and pheasant, salmon and salted trout, thick crusty bread (black and brown), sugared cakes, and sweet apple tarts, and to wash it all down were glistening pitchers of wine and ale and icy cold water, fresh from a mountain stream. There was also goat's milk, and Gillian drank a full goblet of the creamy liquid.
During the meal, Alec was passed around from soldier to soldier. He was too excited to eat and was talking so fast, he stammered.
'My son has dark circles under his eyes,' Iain said. 'And so do you, Gillian. You will both have to catch up on your sleep.'
'They both have nightmares.' Brodick made the comment in a low voice so that only Iain would hear. 'Where will Gillian sleep tonight?'
'In Graham's old room,' Iain replied. 'You needn't worry about her. Judith and I will make certain she isn't disturbed.'
The music started again and Patrick immediately stood up. He put the baby in Judith's lap, then pulled his wife to her feet. Frances Catherine's face was flushed with excitement as she followed her husband to the center of the room. Other couples quickly joined them. They danced to the accompaniment of men stomping their feet and clapping their hands to the lively rhythm of the tune.
Several bold young soldiers came forward to ask Gillian to dance, but one dark look from Brodick sent them scurrying away.
He was getting angrier by the second. By all that was holy, couldn't they see she was wearing his plaid? And couldn't they leave her alone for one damned night? The lass was clearly all worn out. Why even Iain had remarked about the dark circles under her eyes. Brodick shook his head in disgust. What in thunder did he have to do to make certain that Gillian got a little peace and quiet?
And what right did he have to be so possessive? She didn't belong to him. They had simply been thrown together for Alec's sake.
'Hell,' he muttered.
'Excuse me?' Gillian's arm rubbed against his when she leaned toward him. 'Did you say something, Brodick?'
He didn't answer her. 'He said, 'hell,'' Iain cheerfully informed her. 'Didn't he, Judith?'
'Yes, he most certainly did,' she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she patted her nephew. 'He said, 'hell.''
'But why?' Gillian asked. 'What's wrong with him?'
Iain laughed. 'You,' he answered. 'You're what's wrong with him.'
Brodick scowled. 'Iain, let it alone.'
'Milady, could I have a dance with you?'
Alec stood right behind Gillian, poking her between her shoulders to get her attention. When she turned around and smiled at him, he bowed low. Lord, he was adorable, and she had to resist the urge to scoop him up in her arms and hug him tight.
While Brodick was patiently explaining to the child that Gillian was too tired to dance, she stood up, curtsied as though the King of Scotland himself had honored her, and then put her hand out for Alec to clasp.
Alec thought that dancing meant circling until he was dizzy. Brodick moved to the side of the hall and leaned against a pillar with his arms folded across his chest while he watched. He noticed how Gillian's dark curls shimmered red from the light of the fire blazing in the hearth behind her, and he noticed her smile too. It was filled with such sweet joy.
Then he noticed he wasn't the only man noticing. As soon as the dance ended, soldiers, like vultures, came swooping in. At least eight men surrounded her, begging for her attention.
All of them wanted to dance with her, but she politely declined their requests. She found Brodick in the crowd, and without even thinking about what she was doing, she walked over to him and stood by his side. Neither looked at the other and neither spoke, yet when she moved closer to him, he moved toward her, until their bodies touched.
He stared straight ahead when he asked, 'Do you miss England?'
'I miss my Uncle Morgan.'
'But do you miss England?'
'It's home.'
Several minutes passed in silence as they watched the dancers, and then she asked, 'Tell me about your home.'
'You wouldn't like it.'
'Why not?'
He shrugged. 'The Buchanans aren't like the Maitlands.'
'And what does that mean?'
'We're… harder. They call us Spartans, and in some ways I think perhaps we are. You're too soft for our way of life.'
'There are other women living on the Buchanan land, aren't there?'
'Yes, of course.'
'I'm not certain what you meant when you said I was too soft, but I have a feeling it wasn't flattery. Still, I'm not going to take offense. Besides, I'd wager that the Buchanan women aren't any different than I am. If I'm soft, then so are they.'
He smiled as he glanced down at her. 'They'd have you for their supper.'
'Meaning?'
'Your feelings would be destroyed in a matter of minutes.'
She laughed, and heads turned in response to the joyful sound.
'Tell me about these women,' she asked. 'You've made me very curious.'
'There isn't much to tell,' he replied. 'They're strong,' he added. 'And they can certainly take care of themselves. They can protect themselves against attack, and they can kill as easily and as quickly as any man.' With another glance at her he added, 'They're warriors, and they sure as certain aren't soft.'
'Are you criticizing them or praising them?' she wanted to know.
'Praising them, of course.'
She moved so that she stood directly in front of him. 'What was your purpose in telling me about the women in your clan?'
'You asked.'
She shook her head. 'You started this conversation. Now finish it.'
He sighed. 'I just wanted you to know that it could never work.'
'What couldn't work?'
'You and me.'
She didn't try to pretend she was outraged by his impudence or insulted by his arrogance. 'You're a very blunt man, aren't you?'
'I just don't want you to get your hopes up.'
He knew he'd pricked her temper with his last comment-her eyes had turned the color of an angry sea-but he wasn't going to take the words back or soften the truth.
He dealt in reality, not fantasy, yet the thought of walking away from her was becoming more and more unacceptable to him. What the hell was the matter with him? And what was happening to his discipline? It fairly deserted him now, for though he tried, he found it impossible to make himself look away from her. He focused on her mouth, remembering all too well how wonderfully soft her lips had been pressed against his. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her again.
His eyes narrowed, and he looked as though he were about to start growling at her any moment.
'You probably feel you're being very noble by telling me you could never love me…'
Surprised by her interpretation, he replied gruffly, 'I didn't say I couldn't love you.'.
'You most certainly did,' she argued. 'You just told me that a life together is out of the question.'
'It
