"Gabrielle?"
Her eyes snapped open. Her senses were abruptly alive and alert.
Sweet heavens, that was no dream, that was Connor's voice!
Gabrielle's attention jerked to the doorway. She squinted against the clinging shadows, her vision pulling into focus the proof of what her body already told her; that Connor was nearby.
A sconce in the corridor had been lit; the flickering orange backdrop cast his virile body into sharp silhouette. Although she couldn't see his face clearly in such dim light, Gabrielle knew for certain it was Connor Douglas who stood there. No one else had shoulders so wide, hips so hard and lean.
The hem of Connor's kilt brushed his knees as he took a step into the room.
Gabrielle's heart staggered a traitorous beat. The breath she'd been in the process of inhaling clogged in her throat.
She froze, a frown creasing her brow. How strange. In one blink she'd been reclining against the stone wall, thinking of Connor, in the next he was here and she was sitting on the edge of the bed. How had she gotten there?
It took Gabrielle a second to understand that, at the first sight of him, she'd instinctively straightened, scooted to the edge of the bed, and swung her legs over the side. It wasn't until the soles of her too-large boots hit the stone floor that she realized what she was doing. Without her mind giving her body permission to do it, she'd been in the process of standing up and running to him.
She held herself in check, but it wasn't easy. Harder still was her ability to ignore the way her body ached for her to carry the motion through.
Oh, who was she trying to fool? Gabrielle knew exactly what kept her sitting on the edge of the bed instead of surrendering to the urge to run to Connor. It was pride, pure and simple. The thought that he might turn his back on her, might reject her in the same callous way so many others had in the past, stopped her cold. Nothing else had the power to keep her feet rooted to the floor, or to counter her almost overwhelming need to feel Connor's strong arms wrapped around her, holding her so wonderfully, protectively close. The need was so intense it felt like a raw, physical ache clawing her up on the inside.
The cushions in the old chair crunched as Colin moved, walking with slow reluctance. Gabrielle's attention shifted to him in time to see the thick, inky fringe of his lashes flicker upward. The irises were a wee bit darker, a shade or two bluer than Connor's. Why hadn't she noticed that before? she wondered as his gaze met hers. His eyes were narrow and guarded, lacking even a glimmer of compassion, reminding her again of how very dissimilar the brothers actually were.
"Dinny tarry, Cousin. The guard will not stay unconscious fore'er."
The voice was Ella's; it floated into the room on the soft, flickering glow of sconcelight, coming from the direction of the open doorway behind Connor. Gabrielle couldn't see her, but judging by the nearness of Ella's voice, she decided the girl must be just around the corner, probably keeping a watchful eye on the corridor and the aforementioned guard.
Colin's attention left Gabrielle. He leaned to the side, glancing back over his shoulder, past the tattered wing of the chair. His face hardened when his gaze met his brother's, the corners of his lips quirking downward. That he'd been expecting Gilby was evident in his unwelcome expression and the way the disappointed crease carved harsh brackets on either side of his mouth.
Gabrielle's attention shifted cautiously between the Douglas twins.
Connor looked equally displeased to be facing his brother. His gray eyes were narrow, and as he took another step into the room she saw they glittered dangerously. The dagger, which she only now noticed he was holding in his right hand, inched higher. It was poised at striking level. The powerful fingers clutching the hilt tightened until his knuckles were white from strain.
"Gabrielle," Connor said again, his untrusting gaze never leaving his twin. He angled his head, issuing an unspoken command that Gabrielle could not resist.
She stood. Her steps measured, forcibly slow, she crossed the room.
Weeks ago, safe at court, Gabrielle would have sworn this wasn't possible. Imagine, Gabrielle Carelton, ward of Queen Elizabeth, seeking comfort and protection from the likes of Scotland's most notorious reiver, The Black Douglas!
Perhaps the concept wasn't as ludicrous as it might once have been. Aye, she had an unsettling feeling such was the case. Though she was wont to admit it, Gabrielle couldn't deny the hungry feeling that tightened in her stomach, nor the tide of longing that swept through her as she continued to grapple with the potent urge to throw herself into The Black Douglas's arms.
And if, in deed or expression, he'd made even the slightest indication she'd be welcome there...?
He didn't.
Still, the sheer magnitude of the feelings bombarding her was frightening. It made Gabrielle stop an arm's length away from Connor. Where it was safe. She might have erred on many counts since her arrival in Scotland, but she wasn't so foolish as to draw too close to him for fear his tantalizingly familiar scent would invade her, fill her, overwhelm her... that the warmth of his body would seep into hers, melting away her defenses until she had no choice but to surrender to the impossibly strong yearning to again feel the safe haven of his arms enfolding her.
In this harsh, savage country that Gabrielle had been unwillingly thrust into, the shelter of Connor Douglas's embrace was the only warmth and security she'd known. Oh, but how it beckoned.
From the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw Colin push himself to his feet. The suppleness of the movement drew her attention, jarring her from her thoughts and back to her surroundings.
Colin's spine was straight, his shoulders—almost but not quite as broad as his twin's—squared, his stance stiff and tense. The line of his jaw was hard. The dimpled square of his chin jutted at a stubborn angle as his eyes narrowed. Like a freshly honed dagger, his gaze cut through the shadows, stabbing into his brother. "'Tis past time ye showed up, cuilean."
"If ye call me 'puppy' one more time, ye'll be finding out how deadly this dagger can be, Brother. The blade may be old, but 'tis still sharp." Connor pushed the words through gritted teeth, even as he raised the dagger in question. A sound rumbled in the back of his throat; it resembled a feral growl.
Colin glanced down, his attention focusing on the dagger. A shard of sconcelight winked off a stone embedded in the hilt. The color drained from Colin's face. Suddenly, the hollows beneath his cheeks looked unnaturally pronounced, the cheekbones above high and rigid. His voice, when it came, was a combination of disbelief and outrage. "Where did ye get that?" he demanded.
"Does it matter?" Connor asked, and his voice was as chilly as the draft leaking in through the thick stone walls that surrounded them.
"Aye, cuilean, it matters a great deal to me."
The weathered creases shooting out from the corners of his eyes deepened. "And only to ye," he said, his voice too low and even to be anything but furious. "What matters to me is that the weapon is back with its proper owner. Finally. 'Tis enough."
The twins exchanged a brief glare. Gabrielle's gaze volleyed between the two brothers; so intent were they focused on each other that she might not even have been present for all the attention either paid her.
"Connor!" Ella hissed from the hallway.
Connor angled his head, his eyes shifting to Gabrielle. Was it her imagination, or did his expression soften as he looked at her? Nay, it was nothing more than an illusion of light and shadow, she decided... even as her heart skipped a beat and a breath caught painfully in her throat.
"Come," Connor said, and his free hand lifted, palm up, extended toward her.
Gabrielle looked at that hand. Without warning, her mind was again flooded with memories, with brief, titillating images of last night. She remembered in vivid detail how his big hand had felt as he gently caressed parts of her body that no one else had touched before. Remembered also her own wild, wanton reaction to that skilled caress.
A hot wave of color burned in her cheeks.
Dear Lord, what was she thinking? She shook her head, trying to clear it. Considering the circumstances, now was surely not the time to be basking in intimate memories! Still, even though she forced the memories aside, her body's response to them, to Connor Douglas's touch, lingered and burned all through her body.
Gabrielle hesitated, then swallowed hard. Finally, she placed her hand in his. A jolt sizzled up her arm, quickly seeping to every part of her. The heat of his touch seeped to her very core, banishing the chill and warming her instantly.
Gabrielle could no more deny the sheer intensity of her response to even this innocent contact than she could stop breathing.
Connor flexed his fingers, curling them around hers. His grip was firm, insistent, but not painfully so. If he noticed the trembling of her fingers, he gave no outward indication. A sigh of relief whispered softly past her lips.
"Footsteps!" While Ella spoke the single word softly, the cry of alarm echoed through the room, and off its three occupants, like a resounding clap of thunder.
A movement at the door attracted Gabrielle's attention. Glancing in that direction, she saw Ella.
The girl's slender back was to the room. She was hunched over, grunting as she struggled to drag the unconscious guard's body over the shadowy threshold. "Och, Cousin, dinny stand there gaping, get o'er here and help me."
Connor thrust the dagger at Gabrielle. Without thinking, she took it, and watched him cross to Ella's side. His greater strength made dragging the guard inside a simple feat. With the sole of his boot, he sent the door careening shut behind them.
The carved steel hilt of the dagger retained the heat of Connor's palm. The stone embedded in the hilt bit into her tender palm, yet Gabrielle refused to allow the prick of pain to make her loosen her grip.
Connor had entrusted her with the only weapon among them, a weapon that meant their only chance at freedom. Gabrielle felt a surge of confusion, countered by a much stronger surge of pride. She would do her best not to disappoint him, or betray his unexpected trust.
Her attention shifted to Colin. Even in this dim light, his expression was unmistakable; he was relieved to see the weapon transferred to a less skilled hand.
The line of Gabrielle's jaw hardened. The man was in for a surprise. Little did he suspect her determination to see to it that his relief was to be painfully short-lived. Her spine stiffened, her green eyes narrowed rebelliously.
Could she use the dagger if need be? Aye, she thought she could. Especially if it meant proving to Connor that his trust in her had not been misplaced.
A small portion of Gabrielle's mind acknowledged that although violence was uncharacteristic for her, it was well in keeping with her barbaric surroundings. A larger portion of her mind refused to acknowledge the same, and indeed refused to do anything but focus intently on Colin Douglas.
She watched, waited.
Colin would make his move and make it soon. She knew it, could sense it.
And when he did? What then?
Gabrielle wondered if she would have the courage and strength needed to commit a violent act. Oh, but how it went against her upbringing. In the end, she could only hope and pray that, if and when the time came, she would find the inner strength needed to do what was necessary.
The time came more quickly than she'd anticipated.
No sooner had the thought entered Gabrielle's mind than Colin Douglas grinned and lunged for her.
She reacted swiftly and on instinct. In a quick, jerky motion, she lashed out with the dagger. The blade sliced through Colin's tunic, carving a bloody arc into his shoulder as she ducked out of his reach and scooted to the side.
Toward Connor.
Toward safety.
In the second it took to reach Connor, she was shaking and breathless. Ella was staring at her with an expression akin to awe. Behind her, Colin Douglas howled in pain and clutched at his wound; ribbons of blood streamed past his fingers, the drops splashing on the cold stone floor.
The footsteps in the hallway quickened, drawing closer; their beat was out of time with the wild thumping of her heart in her ears. A voice called out in alarm as the first man reached the door and thrust it open.
"Douglas!" The intruder was Roy Maxwell, and his furious roar demanded attention. As Gabrielle watched, Roy's green eyes narrowed and his gaze swept accusingly from an ashen, wounded Colin to an ashen, defiant Connor. "Dinny be a fool, mon. The castle is full of men. There'll be nae escape for ye this night."
"Aye," Connor agreed tersely, "men who are no doubt celebrating their victory down in the hall. How many of them are sober enough to come to yer aid?"
From the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw Ella inch slowly toward Roy. The man, intent on Connor, seemed not to notice. Gabrielle held her breath expectantly.
A grin curved over Roy's lips, while a glint of confidence sparkled in his eyes. "It takes but one Maxwell to do the job, Douglas. Have ye nnot learned that? 'Twas the same amount that took ye prisoner."
"Wrong. There was not one abductor, there were o'er half a dozen. And they were armed," Connor reminded his adversary coldly.
Roy's grin disappeared as quickly as it had formed. His right hand reached for the hilt of his sword, but his reaction time was leadened, as though the men below weren't the only ones deep into their cups.
His fingers grappled with air. The sword was not there.
"Looking for this, fule?" Ella asked. It was her turn to grin as she pricked the nape of Roy Maxwell's neck with the tip of his own sword; the hilt was warm in her palm, for it was a mere second ago she'd cannily slipped the weapon, unnoticed, from where it nestled in the sheath at his side.
Roy stiffened perceptibly. He started to angle his head to look behind him, but the blade nipping at his skin must have made him think better of it because he stopped abruptly.
"Call me a fool if ye'd like, lass," Roy spat through gritted teeth, "but 'tis ye who be a fool if yer thinking to get out of Caerlaverock alive. Me clan will not allow it."
"Yer clan will not have a choice," Connor intervened, his alert gaze volleying between Roy and his wounded twin. The latter had stumbled backward and was now leaning against the far wall, inspecting his wounded shoulder. Connor tried without success not to notice the way Gabrielle clung to his arm, the way her ripe body shuddered violently against him, the way his body—good Lord, even now—responded to her closeness, her touch.
"There are always choices, Douglas."
"Are there?" Connor countered. "E'en when a Maxwell's life is on the line?"
"Do you dare threaten me? In my own home?" Ray's nostrils flared indignantly. "Make no mistake, Douglas. Killing me will gain ye naught."
"Mayhap." It was Ella who answered, and her voice was equally as cold and hard as her cousin's. "Whether honored to commit the deed or only watch it, either would give me great pleasure. Or do ye forget so soon the way ye dragged me to me horse this morn? Me shoulders still ache from yer roughness, and I'm of a mind that these scratches and burns from the rope ye bound too tightly around me wrists might ne'er go away. Och! aye, seeing ye suffer is something I will not deny I've a strong yearning for."
The man winced when, to emphasize her point, Ella flicked her wrist and lightly jabbed the sensitive nape of his neck with the tip of the sword.
A few drops of blood trickled under the collar of Roy's shirt; they felt discomfortingly warm and sticky. His jaw hardened as he gritted his teeth, waiting for the blade to sink deeper or lift to strike the killing blow. As the girl had so arrogantly stated, he'd tested her mettle earlier and not found it lacking. Oh, nay! Just the opposite.
Her sweet face and meager size was woefully deceptive; Ella Douglas easily possessed both the strength and stamina for committing such a deed. Then, of course, there was the matter of The Black Douglas. If his cousin did not do the job of ending Roy's life, surely that man would.
Two dozen heartbeats slipped past with torturous slowness. The blade did not move.
Roy relaxed
... not a lot, but a wee bit. His gaze shifted, locking on to the room's only occupant who, he hoped, might be sympathetic to his cause. His attention focused on Gabrielle Carelton. She was standing beside Connor, her full, round cheeks as pale as a bolt of undyed linen. In the shadows that cloaked her, her green eyes looked wide and alert.
That a Maxwell was being forced to look to a Carelton for aid was not something to take pride in, nor something Roy dared allow himself to contemplate too closely. "Mistress, please, ye've a drop of Maxwell blood in yer veins, therefore ye maun be able to see reason where a Douglas is blind. Can ye not somehow convince these devils what I say be true? That there is no way out of this keep alive?"
Gabrielle hesitated thoughtfully, then shook her head. "How can I convince them of something I'm not convinced of myself?"
"But—"
Colin grunted and lurched away from the wall, drawing attention to himself and abruptly cutting Roy Maxwell's words short. "There be many ways in and out of a keep, it doesn't matter on which side of the Border the keep rests. If one kens the way."
Connor's attention sharpened on his twin. "Especially when one is a traitor to his clan and has spent many a night, as ye no doubt have, within the keep in question's walls. Is that not so?"
"It is," Colin agreed unabashedly. If he was offended by Connor's accusation, it didn't show in either his expression or his tone. Both remained level, although the former did tighten a wee bit when he lifted his wounded shoulder and rolled it gingerly back and forth in its socket, testing its flexibility.
"And...?" Connor prompted when the other did not immediately continue.
"And..." Colin echoed as a slow grin tugged at his mouth, the gesture deeply creasing the corners of his shrewd gray eyes, "when it comes to Caerlaverock, I happen to ken several. I'll be maun happy to share them with ye, cuilean. For a price."
Perfect Strangers Page 17
