Ransom

by Julie Garwood

  “The plaid is very important to the Highlanders, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Judith said. “They . . . I mean to say, we . . . are a very fanciful people. The plaid should always cover the heart,” she added. “We wear our colors proudly.” She stepped back and inspected Gillian. “You look lovely,” she announced. “Now come and sit by the fire and let me brush your hair. It looks almost dry. Will you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She laughed then. “I’m terrible, I admit. I made my husband wait, and now I’m impatient.”

  “I don’t mind answering your questions. What is it you want to know?”

  “How did you end up with Alec? Were you also taken captive?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “But why? You’re English and surely you could appeal to your king for help.”

  “My king is fast friends with the men responsible for the trouble Alec and I were in, and in a way John is fully responsible for it all.”

  While Judith brushed her hair, Gillian told her about Arianna’s treasure. Judith was captivated by the story, and when Gillian told her about the death of her father, the dear lady looked genuinely saddened.

  “Prince John fell in love with Arianna, and though it sounds quite romantic, ’tis the truth he was married at the time of his infatuation. It’s tragic that Arianna was murdered, but I have no sympathy for my king. He betrayed his vows to his wife.”

  “He’s been married twice now, hasn’t he? And it’s my understanding his first wife is still alive.”

  “Yes, she is,” Gillian replied. “John was granted an annulment from Hadwisa after many years of marriage. They had no children,” she added. “And they were second cousins. The Archbishop of Canterbury had forbidden the marriage, but John got a dispensation from Rome.”

  “If John’s first marriage was recognized by the church, how, then, did he manage to marry a second time?”

  “The Archbishop of Bordeaux and the bishops of Poitiers and Saintes pronounced that the first marriage wasn’t valid.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Consanguinity,” she answered.

  “Because they were too closely related as second cousins.”

  “Yes,” Gillian said. “John immediately married Isabella and stirred up all sorts of trouble for himself because she was already betrothed to another. She was only twelve years old when they married.”

  “John takes what he wants,” Judith remarked. “Doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he does,” she agreed.

  Judith shook her head. “England has changed considerably since I lived there.”

  “John is the culprit for all the unpleasant changes. He’s alienated many powerful barons and there are whispers of insurrection. Worse, he’s alienated the church, and our pope has retaliated by placing all of England under interdict.”

  Judith gasped. “Has John been excommunicated?”

  “Not yet, but I believe Pope Innocent will be forced to do just that if John doesn’t bend, and soon, to the pope’s decision. The issue centers around the position of Archbishop of Canterbury. John wanted the Bishop of Norwich, John de Grey, to be elected, and the younger monks of Canterbury had already selected Reginald and sent him off to Rome to be confirmed by the pope.”

  “And the pope settled on Reginald, then?”

  Gillian shook her head. “No, he chose his own man, Stephen Langton. John was so furious he refused to let Langton enter England and took control of the monastery at Canterbury, and that is when our pope placed the entire country under interdict. No religious services can be performed. Churches are closed and locked, and priests must refuse to bless marriages. They can’t administer any of the holy sacraments, except those that are of extreme necessity. It’s a black time in England now, and I fear it will only get worse.”

  “I have heard that John acts out of anger.”

  “He’s well-known for his ferocious temper.”

  “No wonder you didn’t appeal to him for help.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” she said.

  “Do you have family worrying about you?”

  “My uncle Morgan is being held captive now,” she whispered. “And I’ve been given a . . . task . . . to complete before the fall harvest. If I fail, my uncle will be killed.”

  “Oh, Gillian, you’ve had a time of it, haven’t you?”

  “I need your husband’s help.”

  “He’ll help any way that he can,” Judith promised on Iain’s behalf.

  “The man who holds my uncle is a close adviser to the king, and John will listen to him, not me. I thought about asking one of the more powerful barons for help, but they are all fighting amongst themselves, and I didn’t know who I could trust. England,” she ended, “is in chaos, and I worry about the future.”

  “I’m not going to hound you to answer any more questions,” Judith said. “You’ll have to go through it all with my husband and Ramsey later.”

  “Thank you for your patience,” she replied.

  A knock sounded at the door, but before Judith could answer, Alec came running into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Gillian.

  She stood up and smiled at him. “Is something wrong, Alec?”

  “You look . . . pretty,” he blurted out.

  Judith agreed. Gillian’s long hair had dried into a riot of curls that spilled across her slender shoulders and framed her delicate facial features. She was a striking woman who was going to cause quite a stir tonight, Judith predicted.

  “Mama, Papa bids you come downstairs right this minute. He says, ‘Can’t you hear the music?’ Everybody’s here, and they’re ready to eat the food. Gillian, you got to come downstairs too. Uncle Brodick said so.”

  “Judith, you go ahead,” Gillian said. “I’ve gotten this bandage all wet, but I’m supposed to take it off, anyway.”

  Judith wanted to help, but Gillian insisted she join her husband. Once she was alone, she sat back down and slowly unwound the bandage, dreading what she was going to see. The wound was more appalling than she’d expected, but thankfully it wasn’t seeping, and the swelling appeared to be gone. The skin was puckered, blistered in spots, raw, and horribly ugly. She reminded herself it was a sin to be vain and she shouldn’t care about scars. Besides, the arm would always be covered by the sleeves of her gowns, and no one other than herself would ever see it. The injury was still extremely tender to the touch, though, and she grimaced while she cleaned the area with soap and cool water. By the time she was finished following Annie Drummond’s instructions, her arm was throbbing.

  She patted the skin dry, pulled the sleeve back down to her wrist, and put the matter of her paltry injury aside. There were so many more important matters to worry about. Her thoughts turned to her Uncle Morgan. Was he being treated well? If his own staff had been allowed to stay with him, Gillian knew he would do all right, but if Alford had moved him . . .

  She buried her face in her hands. Please God, take care of him. Don’t let him catch cold or take ill. And please don’t let him fret about me.

  The sound of laughter intruded on her prayers, and with a sigh, she stood up and reluctantly went to join the Maitlands.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Just as Judith had predicted, Gillian did indeed cause a commotion.

  Quite a crowd had gathered to celebrate Alec’s return, and the mood was festive and loud. The hall was awash with candlelight. A young man was playing the lute in the corner as servants threaded their way through the throng balancing silver trays of drinks. A pig roasting on a spit was being watched over by an older woman with a poker in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. She used the spoon as a weapon to discourage the soldiers from tearing off pieces of meat before it was ready to be served.

  The lively music and joyful banter surrounded Gillian as she surveyed the great hall. She started down the stairs, and suddenly the music stopped. The lute player looked up, and then one by one the voices hushed as men and women turned their faces toward he
r.

  Brodick was in the process of answering yet another question Iain had posed when he happened to glance up and see Gillian slowly descending the steps. He promptly lost his train of thought. He forgot his manners too, for he was in the middle of a sentence when he abruptly turned his back on his brother and his friend and walked to the stairs.

  While Brodick had certainly noticed her shape before, the gentle curves of her body were more obvious to him now. He didn’t much like the cut of her gown, thinking it flattered her figure a bit too much, and he seriously considered fetching another Buchanan plaid and draping it around her neck so that it would hang down and hide her feminine attributes from the spectators.

  Damn, but she was lovely.

  Gillian took one look at the scowl on Brodick’s face and felt a sudden urge to turn around and go back upstairs. But she was already halfway down and wasn’t about to look like a coward by retreating now. The attention was mortifying, the silence defeaning. Several men, she noticed, appeared startled; others looked befuddled. Only Brodick’s soldiers, loyal men, Robert, Stephen, Liam, Keith, and Aaron, smiled at her, and she decided to look at them and ignore the crowd, and Brodick, as she continued on.

  Brodick wasn’t about to be ignored, however. He waited at the bottom of the steps, and when she finally reached him, he put his hand out. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his and looked up at him. Embarrassed to see that he was still glowering at her, she smiled sweetly and whispered, “If you do not stop glaring at me, I swear I will kick you soundly. Then you will have something to frown about.”

  He was so startled by her puny threat, he burst into laughter. “You think you could injure me?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  He laughed again, a wonderful booming sound, and, Lord, how his eyes sparkled with devilment. She suddenly felt much more in control and sure of herself. She barely minded her audience at all. Besides, they couldn’t gawk at her now, because Brodick’s men surrounded her on all sides as was their peculiar habit.

  “Laird, you shouldn’t allow the Maitlands to stare at milady. It’s unseemly,” Robert muttered.

  “And how would you have me stop them?” he asked.

  “We’ll be happy to see to that task,” Liam offered, a glint of eagerness in his voice.

  “Aye, we’ll make them forget about their lustful thoughts,” Stephen muttered.

  Shoving an elbow into Liam’s side, Aaron said, “Don’t use the word ‘lust’ in front of milady.”

  Blessedly, the music started again, and the crowd resumed their celebration.

  Brodick continued to hold her hand as he answered a question Liam had asked, and since he wasn’t watching her, she pretended to be listening to what he was saying so she could stare at him. He was so ruggedly good-looking, she wondered if he had any idea how he surely affected women.

  He also looked dangerous tonight, with his long golden hair about his shoulders and his day’s growth of whiskers. He’d obviously washed, as his hair was only partially dry, and he was wearing a clean white shirt that either he had packed with him or Iain had loaned to him. His skin looked even more bronzed against the white fabric, and a strip of Buchanan plaid was draped over one of his broad shoulders.

  He caught her watching him. The gleam in his eyes made her feel breathless, and she had a sudden urge to move into his arms and kiss that scowl right off his face. She sighed instead and thanked God the man couldn’t read her unladylike thoughts.

  “I say we take the Maitland soldiers outside and have a word with them, Laird,” Robert suggested.

  “A fist is more powerful than a word, Robert,” Liam said. “What say we take them all on?”

  Gillian hadn’t been paying much attention to the Buchanan soldiers’ grumblings until she heard the word “fist.”

  “You will not fight tonight,” she ordered. “This is a celebration, not a brawl.”

  “But, milady, a good fight is always cause for celebration,” Stephen explained.

  “Are you telling me you enjoy fighting?”

  The soldiers looked at one another, obviously perplexed by her question. The usually dour-faced Robert actually grinned.

  “It’s what we do,” Liam told her.

  Gillian kept waiting for Brodick to put a stop to the outrageous talk, but he didn’t say a word. When she squeezed his hand, he merely retaliated by squeezing hers.

  “I don’t care if you enjoy fighting or not,” she began. “Laird Maitland will be most displeased if you cause trouble tonight.”

  “But, milady, his soldiers continue to stare at you. We can’t allow that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “It’s insolent,” Stephen explained.

  “If anyone is staring, then it’s my own fault.”

  “Aye, it is your fault.” Brodick finally spoke. “You’re too damned beautiful tonight.”

  She couldn’t make up her mind if she was pleased or irritated. “Only you could make a compliment sound like a criticism.”

  “It was a criticism,” he told her. “You simply cannot look the way you do and expect to be ignored. It’s your own fault people are staring at you.”

  She jerked her hand away from his. “And just exactly what could I do to change the way I look?”

  “It’s your hair, milady,” Aaron said. “Perhaps you could bind it up for tonight and cover it with a cloth.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “It’s also the gown she’s wearing,” Liam decided. “Milady, couldn’t you find something less . . . fitted . . . for tonight?”

  She glanced down at herself and then looked up. “Would a wheat sack do, Liam?” she asked.

  The daft soldier looked as though he were actually considering the possibility. She rolled her eyes in vexation. “Those soldiers who might have glanced my way were probably just perplexed because they’ve noticed I’m wearing the Buchanan plaid. I shouldn’t have put the thing on.”

  “Why not, milady?” Robert asked. “We like seeing you in our plaid.”

  “Only a Buchanan should wear your colors,” she replied. “And I shouldn’t proclaim to be something I’m not. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go back upstairs and put my old clothes on.”

  “No, you won’t,” Brodick said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. His goal was to get her to Iain and Judith so that they could introduce her to those they wanted her to meet, but the Maitland soldiers kept interfering with eager requests to meet Gillian. One upstart, built like a bull, was a little too enthusiastic and persistent for Brodick’s liking, and he had to knock the man to his knees to get him out of their path as they made their way forward.

  Gillian was appalled by his behavior. “You’re the Buchanan laird,” she reminded him in a whisper.

  “I know who I am,” he snapped.

  If he wasn’t going to worry about being overheard, then she wouldn’t worry about it either. “Then act like it,” she snapped back.

  He laughed. “I am. In fact, I’m upholding our reputation and our traditions.”

  “You and your soldiers are acting like bullies.”

  “It’s good of you to notice.”

  She gave up trying to reason with him. Elbow shove by elbow shove, they finally reached Iain and Judith. The Maitland laird bowed to her before turning his attention and his obvious displeasure on Brodick.

  “Control your soldiers,” he ordered. “Or I will.”

  Brodick grinned. Gillian turned around to find out what Brodick’s men were up to and was further distressed to see that they were all doing their best to incite the Maitlands to fight.

  She had no right to give orders to the Buchanan soldiers, but she still felt somehow responsible for their actions. She had become quite fond of all of them in a very short while, and she didn’t want them to get on Iain’s bad side even though the five rascals seemed to thrive on trouble. Fighting, it appeared, was as enjoyable to them as sweets to a child.

  “Pray excuse me for one
moment, Laird Maitland. I would like to have a word with Brodick’s soldiers.”

  She made a curtsy to her host and hostess, ignoring Brodick altogether because she was having to do his duty for him, and then hurried over to his soldiers, who were in the midst of antagonizing a large group of Maitland warriors.

  In a voice loud enough to be overheard by the Maitlands, she said, “It would please me if you act like gentlemen tonight.”

  They looked crestfallen, but quickly nodded their agreement. She smiled as she turned to the Maitlands.

  “Your laird has decreed that none of his soldiers will fight tonight. I realize what a disappointment that must be for all of you good men, but as you know the Buchanans are honorable men, and they will not provoke you further.”

  “If they cannot fight us, why bother?” Liam said. “Your laird has taken the fun out of the game.”

  One of the Maitland soldiers slapped his shoulder. “Then what say we break open a keg of ale? We’ll show you how Eric can down a full jug without once swallowing. I wager you can’t top that feat.”

  Aaron disagreed, and after bowing to Lady Gillian, the Buchanans followed the Maitlands to the buttery to fetch the ale.

  The competition, it seemed, was on.

  “Children, every one of them,” she muttered as she picked up her skirts and hurried back to the Maitlands.

  Judith pulled her away from the men to introduce her to her dearest friend, a pretty, freckle-faced, redheaded lady with two full names, Frances Catherine.

  “Her husband, Patrick, is Iain’s brother,” Judith explained. “And Frances Catherine and I have been friends for many years.”

  Frances Catherine’s smile made Gillian feel at ease in a matter of seconds.

  “Judith and I have been whispering about you,” she admitted. “You have captured Brodick’s attention, and that is no small accomplishment, Gillian. He doesn’t like the English much,” she added, softening the truth.