by Connie Mason
With a snort of disgust, Ross whirled and stomped off.
“Did you tell MacKenna that you loved Sinclair and wished to stay with him?”
“Aye,” Gillian readily admitted. “Unfortunately the foolish man believed me.” She proceeded to explain everything that had happened after shed left McHamish.
“You were always impulsive, Gillian, but attempting murder after you were forced to leave Ravenscraig tops everything. What in God’s good name made you think you could kill those responsible for attacking MacKenna? You are but a woman. You were fortunate McHamish refused to accept your challenge, but challenging Sinclair in his own keep was stupid. You couldna have been thinking rationally”
Gillian shot a glance at Ross’s departing back. “Ross lay near death, I could think of naught but revenge.”
MacKay sighed. “MacKenna wants me to take you back to Braeburn with me. I canna fix this, lass. You’re on your own.”
Gillian’s chin notched upward. “I amna leaving Ravenscraig.”
MacKay nodded. “I assumed as much. That’s why I refused MacKenna’s request. You’re too much like me to surrender.” He rose. “Now hug your old da so I can leave.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ross wasn’t on hand to bid MacKay farewell. He was too angry to think clearly and had sought refuge in the stables. He had wanted Gillian gone, but MacKay had outwitted him. Though he was loath to admit it, the old fox was right: Gillian had been forced to leave Ravenscraig and had returned. The truce had not been broken. But that didn’t satisfy Ross. He would never trust Gillian again. No one wanted her here; why didn’t she realize her life would be miserable if she remained?
“Why is the lass still here?” Gordo asked when he found Ross in the stables.
“MacKay insisted Gillian hadna broken the terms of the truce because she was forced to leave and then returned of her own free will. I did everything I could to convince him to take her to Braeburn with him, but the wily old fox outwitted me.”
Gordo shook his head. “Och, what a coil, lad. Gillian must know she isna welcome.”
“Aye, she knows. I no longer share her bed.”
Gordo stroked his chin. “Has Gillian offered an explanation ? We all heard her say she was Sinclair’s leman.”
Ross’s face hardened. “She could explain away until doomsday and I wouldna believe her.”
“Ross! I know you are avoiding me, but I’d like to speak with you.”
Ross bit back a curse when Gillian, wrapped to her ears in her plaid, entered the stables.
“That’s my signal to leave,” Gordo muttered.
“Stay, Uncle.”
“Nay this is between you and the MacKay lass,” he said as he darted past Gillian and out the door.
“We need to talk,” Gillian said once they were alone. “Since you insist on avoiding me, I decided to come to you.”
“We have naught to say to each other,” Ross bit out.
“First, thank you for saving my life. You could have let me die outside your gate.”
“I wouldna let an animal die in the snow like that.”
Gillian shuddered and pulled her plaid closer around her. His voice was as frigid as a winter night. Thawing him wasn’t going to be easy He had already tried and convicted her.
“I truly did intend to kill Angus Sinclair when I set out for his keep, but I made a serious mistake in thinking I could do it alone.”
Ross turned away. “No explanations are necessary. Naught can justify the fact that you became Sinclair’s leman. Return to the keep; ’tis cold out here.”
Exasperation colored her words. “Why do you refuse to listen to me? Why must you be so stubborn?”
“Some things canna be explained nor forgiven.”
“Verra well, think what you will. I willna, however, be driven from my home. I belong at Ravenscraig, at your side, in your bed, mistress of your keep.”
“You will never, ever take your place in my bed again,” Ross replied. “Now, I have duties to perform. You are still recovering, and ’tis best you return to the keep, where it is warm and dry.”
“Doona think you can ignore me forever, Ross MacKenna, for I willna allow it. And if you take a leman, I will make you verra, verra sorry,” she added as she whirled on her heel and stormed off.
Gillian was still fuming when she entered the hall. If Ross refused to listen to her, how could she ever get back in his good graces? She settled into a chair before the hearth and stared thoughtfully into the flames. She could be as stubborn as Ross, and she was not about to let him ignore her. She had been ready to die for Ross, and she had to find a way to make him aware of the sacrifices she had made on his behalf.
The weather turned again. It snowed for days; the wind howled, and frost covered the windows. Inside, games were played, men diced, women sewed or embroidered, and musicians brought out their instruments and played for the enjoyment of those who had no musical skills. Feople gathered around storytellers of an evening, enthralled by tales of heroism and past battles.
During those long evenings, Gillian sat in the hall with the others, yet felt isolated because she was ignored. After a few days of people walking circles around her, Gillian decided she had had enough and planned a night Ross wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon.
As people began drifting off to their beds one blustery evening, Gillian returned to her chamber. When Alice arrived to help her get ready for bed, Gillian requested a tub and water to be brought up for a bath. She waited with bated breath until Alice relayed her wishes to the kitchen, fearing that her request would be denied. To her surprise, a tub promptly arrived and was filled in due time while Alice built up the fire and brought towels and soap.
Gillian luxuriated in the bath until the water grew cool. Then she stepped into a warm towel and let Alice dry her. After she dismissed her maid, she rubbed fragrant cream Gizela had made up for her into her skin and studied herself in the mirror, noting that while her pregnancy was scarcely noticeable, her breasts were larger. Shivering in the cool air, she pulled on her warmest bed robe and slippers and sat down before the fire to brush her hair dry.
Gillian’s mind raced. What if her plan failed and Ross rejected her? How could she continue to live in such a hostile environment? Would her bairn be accepted ? Or would he be ignored by everyone, including his father? Gillian refused to contemplate failure. But of one thing she was certain: She would return to Braeburn if Ross refused to accept their bairn. At least there her babe would be loved and protected by her father and brothers.
Gillian inhaled sharply and rose when she heard the church bells chime matins. It was midnight, the darkest part of the night, when everyone in the keep would be sleeping. It was time. Gillian opened the door, pleased to find the corridor outside her chamber deserted. Cautiously she made her way through the chill air and up the stairs to Ross’s chamber on the floor above the solar. She had learned from Alice where Ross slept. Dragging in a sustaining breath, Gillian eased the door open.
The only light in the small chamber came from the hearth. The room held welcome warmth after the cold bite of the drafty corridor. Gillian slipped through the door and closed it behind her. The well-oiled hinges did not betray her presence.
Gillian glanced toward the bed. The curtains were drawn. She offered a quick prayer that Ross was alone in his bed. She crept on tiptoe to the bed, dropped her robe, and kicked off her slippers. Shivering without the protection of clothing, she parted the curtains and slid beneath the covers.
Ross didn’t awaken. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. Her hands itched to touch him, and they did, roaming freely over his warm, naked body. She heard Ross moan and smiled. While his mind might reject her, his body welcomed her. He rolled over on his back. She slid one hand downward, over the hardening length of his manhood, caressing lower to cup the sac beneath.
Gillian gasped as Ross awoke and grasped her wrist in a bruising grip. With his other hand he pushed aside the bed curtai
ns, admitting feeble light from the hearth.
He murmured her name, his voice a low growl in his throat. “Gillian.”
“Aye, did you expect someone else?”
“I thought I made it clear I doona want you in my bed.” He shoved the covers down and started to rise.
Gillian wasn’t about to let him up until he’d heard everything she had to say. Nimbly, she rose up and straddled him. “You’re not going anywhere, Ross MacKenna.”
“Are you so hungry for a man between your legs that you’d go where you’re not wanted?”
Anger ate at the edges of her brain. Arrogant and impossibly dense were the only words she could think of at the moment to describe Ross. “I want only you, Ross, no one else. Why do you nae believe me?”
Ross raised his hands to push her off of him and had the bad fortune to make contact with her breasts—full, wonderfully warm, and firm breasts with ripe, chenyred nipples. And she smelled delicious. Did she know what she was doing to him? She was naked; he’d realized it the moment she had climbed on top of him. He felt branded by the hot wetness of her sex pressing against his loins.
“Gillian,” he gasped in a strangled voice. “You have to leave. We will talk in the morning.”
“I’m not leaving, Ross.” She stretched out over him, so they were breast to breast, hip to hip, sex to sex.
Ross felt himself spinning into a turbulent whirlpool of sensations. And when she lifted herself slightly and kissed him, he nearly exploded.
Ross tried not to return Gillian’s kiss. Tried to remain motionless and uninvolved, but he was no statue made of stone. To his credit, he kept his lips tightly closed. But he couldn’t control his randy cock. Half heartedly, he tried to lift her off of him, but she clung tenaciously. Never had he felt so weak and ineffectual.
“I doona want you, Gillian. You’re embarrassing yourself by forcing my response.”
She curled her fingers around his arousal. “Deny it all you wish, but your body doesna lie. I am your wife, Ross. I didna betray you. I sought revenge against those who had hurt you.”
Ross gave a bitter laugh. “I doona call sleeping with the enemy revenge.”
“I didna sleep with Angus. I lied to save your life. He would have killed you had I not sent you away”
“Bah! Think you I canna take care of myself? You shouldna have taken up the sword in my defense, if that’s what you did. I am still not convinced of it. Explain how Sinclair convinced you to bed him instead of kill him?”
“Damn you, Ross! What can I say to convince you of my innocence? I have been judged harshly. You canna deny I was driven away by your kinsmen after being unjustly accused of trying to harm you. I am through talking; ’tis time for action.”
Rising up on her knees, she positioned herself over his sex and took him inside her. His hard, smooth length slid deep. Ross groaned as her sheath tightened around him. He fought a battle to control his need to move, to drive hard and deep inside her, and lost as he surrendered to the velvet heat and slick wetness of her feminine core. He watched her feverishly, sweat popping out on his forehead as her hips rose and fell, tak ing all of him.
“What ... do ... you hope to ... gain from ... this?” he bit out from between clenched teeth.
“Be quiet and let our bodies do the talking.”
“It willna ... work.” Ross gasped. “But I willna turn down a whore who accosts me in my own bed.”
He saw Gillian wince and immediately wished his words back. How could the flame-haired witch incite such fury in him? How could he love and hate a woman at the same time? How could he want to empty himself inside her so badly that he shook from the need? A smile curved his lips. If Gillian wanted sex, he would give her sex—wild, mindless sex.
His arms went around her, and he turned with her until she was trapped beneath him.
“Wha ... ! What are you doing?”
“Giving you what you want. Just so you doona make too much of it, I want you to ken this means naught to me. I am giving you no more than I would a leman who came to my bed to pleasure me.”
He gripped her hips, lifted her slightly, and thrust deep and hard. His rhythm was fast and relentless. His speed increased until his furious strokes were pressing her into the mattress. He felt her writhing beneath him and abruptly pulled out. She screamed in protest. He bent to her breasts, sucking her swollen nipples into his mouth.
“Ross ...”
“Is this what you want, Gillian?” He fought a difficult battle to gain the upper hand. Temptation didn’t whisper ; it roared.
“I want you, Ross. Not a man without a heart or soul.”
“You want my lust, and so you shall have it.”
He trapped her breasts between his hands, returning his mouth to her nipples, scraping his teeth against them, creating heat and flames with his lashing tongue. If this was punishment, Gillian no longer cared. If she and Ross could find pleasure in bed, how long would it be before he realized he had misjudged her, that she was but an innocent victim?
Gillian ached to have him back inside her. She raised her hips, inviting him, tempting him, needing him. Ross ignored her plea as he slid down her body, spread her with his fingers, and found her with his mouth. Gillian cried out.
“Ross, please!”
He didn’t even glance up at her as he tortured her with his tongue, gliding in and out of her wetness, lapping and teasing, until she felt herself spinning out of control. Gillian felt the first wave of orgasm start at her toes, swelling as it swept through her, stealing her wits, her senses, rising ever upward into a shattering climax.
Before she had time to recover, Ross rose up, lifted her hips high, and thrust inside her. Instinctively she wrapped her ankles around his back. She looked into his eyes just as a bursting spark from the hearth offered - a glimpse of dark fire igniting beneath his lashes. Before she could grasp the meaning behind the brief glance into his soul, Ross grasped her hips and thrust forcefully inside her, pounding relentlessly, driving her to the brink of madness. She lowered her lids, surrendering to Ross’s mastery, to the magic flowing between them. She sensed him watching her as she writhed beneath him, a faint smile curving his lips.
Her senses unraveled. She tried to breathe as he sank deep, withdrew, sank deeper. Grasping his head, she brought his lips to hers, forcing a kiss he seemed reluctant to give. But it mattered not to Gillian, for the torrent of release roared through her. On a wave of inconceivable pleasure, she was flung to the pinnacle of ecstasy, suspended for one incredibly intense moment, and then released to float to earth in a silken cocoon of bliss.
Dimly she heard Ross shout and felt him collapse on top of her. She lay limply beneath him, unable to move, to think, to wonder if this would lead to reconciliation. She didn’t have long to wait. Ross lifted himself up and off of her. He lay beside her, unmoving, one arm raised to cover his eyes.
“Ross, that—”
“... changes naught. Doona read too much into this, Gillian. You came to me; I didna invite you. You wanted sex; gave you sex.”
“You know it was more than that. I lo—”
He lowered his arm and glared at her. “Nay, doona say it.”
“Verra well, but there is something else you need to know.”
“I doona want to hear that either. You can leave now. You got what you came for”
Gillian fought tears with anger. Anger she could handle ; tears she could not. Weakness wasn’t something the MacKays were noted for. She shoved herself off the bed, pulled on her hastily discarded bed robe, and stepped into her slippers.
“Deny me if you wish, Ross, but doona take me for a coward. You canna drive me away again. One day you will realize how wrong you are about me.”
Her head held high, Gillian made a regal exit.
The moment the door closed behind her, Ross hit the pillow with his fist again and again, cursing his weakness for letting Gillian get to him. He should have been able to deny her, deny himself as well, and send her on her w
ay.
Vaguely he wondered what she had wanted to tell him. Had he been right in refusing to listen? He didn’t know what she could tell him that would ease the situation between them. The day she had slept with Sinclair, the bonds of matrimony had been broken.
Though a wee voice of doubt whispered inside him, Ross effectively silenced it. Gillian had admitted her guilt, after all. Still, Tearlach MacKay believed his daughter innocent, was quite adamant about it. Was Ross wrong to condemn Gillian without hearing her out?
The answer still hadn’t arrived when dawn’s gray fingers peeled the night away. More confused than ever, Ross rose and readied himself to face the day. He groaned aloud when he opened the door and found Gizela loitering in the corridor.
“What do you want?” he asked, steeling himself against the sharp edge of her tongue.
“The flame will prevail in the end. Naught you can do will dim her light.”
“Is that all?”
“Nay, laird, have come to warn you.”
Ross’s patience began to wear thin. “Warn me about what?”
“I doona know yet, but danger comes as surely as I am standing here.”
Ross brushed past her. “Be sure to let me know when it gets here.” His sarcasm was sharp and cutting. Gizela appeared to take no offense, for she merely shook her head, tsked loudly, and hobbled off.
Despite his apparent detachment, Gizela’s words worried Ross more than he cared to admit. The old woman had the “sight,” and like most Scotsmen, he was superstitious about such things. But until the danger arrived, and he knew from whence it came, he had no weapon to use against it.
Ross joined his kinsmen in the hall and took his seat at the high table. He was quick to notice that Gillian was absent. He frowned. Had he been too rough on her last night?
“What are you frowning about, cousin?” Niall asked as he joined Ross.
Ross forced a smile. “ ’Tis still snowing,” he said, avoiding the question. “Mayhap we can organize swordplay and wrestling in the hall. I grow weary of dicing.”
