“Perfidy?” David asked. “I was about to kiss a lovely lady to whom you are not betrothed. How does that breach the trust of our friendship?”
Instead of answering–because he had no response that made sense – Ram addressed Hugh the hyena. “Do you find humor in my intent to disembowel a man who used to be my friend?”
“Perhaps he finds humor in my plan to sever the head you’ve ceased using,” David suggested.
“I’d ask which one,” Hugh said, “but a nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse. And ye’re both wrong. I’m amused that the two of ye are daft enough to kill each other and leave the field clear for me.”
Ram and David exclaimed, “What?” Then both turned on Hugh, advancing with curses and threats until he glanced back, held up a hand and asked a question.
“Where did the lass go?” Hugh asked, biting back a smile as the other two whirled around so fast to look that they bumped into each other. “She was pure white, too terrified to speak, and shaking from head to toe. She must’ve hied back to camp.”
Ram and David both headed that way, separately, walking a ways apart, but at the same speed, thanks to the glances they kept shooting at the other from the corners of their eyes. A very short distance away they arrived at the outskirts of the Sutherland camp. Ram nodded to the warriors standing guard, made a gesture with his hand and kept walking. He didn’t pause or look back but he did allow himself a tight grin at the creative epithets flung by David when the warriors stopped his entry.
Naturally, Ram headed straight for Rose’s wagon. Before he arrived, two of the young lads dashed up, shouting for him, telling him that on the outskirts of their camp, some of the Sinclair warriors were engaged in a battle with some of their warriors. It made no sense, for despite his words with Hugh, they weren’t feuding with the Sinclair clan. Unless – “What caused this skirmish, lad?” Ram asked.
The elder boy’s chest puffed up at being addressed directly by the laird. “Sir, there were talk about stealing a bride.”
The laird set to running after growling a curse that broadened both lads’ eyes and vocabulary. When Ram arrived at the skirmish, he called for his first without taking the time to assess the situation or notice that Conall’s clanging sword was engaging two Sinclar warriors. Ram didn’t notice that until his first, Conall, barked for his second, Fergus to summon Ian, who was his third–or maybe his fourth. ‘Twas difficult to keep account of facts that didn’t relate to Rose.
Ram asked Fergus why he’d appeared when he hadn’t been summoned and Fergus had to point out that his first was fully engaged. In some wee corner of his brain, Ram knew he should feel at least a bit abashed that he hadn’t noticed. That wee corner quickly fell to the force occupying most of his head. Ram made a dismissive gesture to Ian and said, “Unimportant. So, the cause of all this– I understand that the bastard Sinclairs are here to try to steal a bride? Damn their souls. They canna’ have her.”
Fergus started to speak up but the sound of a new force arriving took all of their attention and the swords of all but Fergus. Upon the arrival of Clan Ross, Ram engaged David while Fergus just looked bemused. Hugh arrived about then, spotted Fergus and deciphered his expression. Hugh called Fergus and had a quick word to confirm his guess before summoning his first and Ram’s. Both men shrugged, ceased their combat and hied over.
Once they spoke, they realized the mutual mistake, which had caused several minor wounds and one serious one. They made a single quickly aborted attempt at grabbing the combatants to try to communicate and were nearly skewered for their trouble.
Hugh didn’t move or speak until the others gave up. Then, he screamed one word at the top of his lungs–but ‘twas the only one he needed to say to get Ram to force an immediate halt to the combat. “ROSE!”
It worked instantly. Ram ceased his swordplay with David. Then he pushed aside two burly warriors and stepped between them, lifting their arms to walk beneath their joined swords. He kicked aside a pair of warriors grappling on the ground and jumped a shrub to land before Hugh. With his sword raised, Ram howled, “You’ll nae steal her, you bastard.”
Slightly winded, David arrived in time to interject a personal opinion. “Ye’re bloody barmy Ramsay.”
“Barmy am I?” Ram asked, gesturing with his sword in an almost–slightly–haphazard manner that made Hugh sidestep and David duck. “I’m barmy enough to lead Clan Sutherland to vanquish both your clans.”
A burst of wind blowing through the trees sounded as loud as a shout. Every man in the fray ceased battling and stood silent in gap-jawed astonishment at the dangerously awkward error of Laird Sinclair, one of the greatest swordsmen in all the Highlands. ‘Twould have shamed the greenest of lads. But the laird seemed not to have even noticed. He’d gone on to near declare a feud with Clans Ross and Sinclair.
That didn’t sit well a’tall. No, sir, it didn’t. The lads recalled that they bloody liked each other. The disgruntled murmurs might–should-cause Ram to turn to his men and chastise ‘em to Hades and back. Did it? No, sir, it didn’t.
To cover the awkward moment, David piped up. “You’d best be more worried about your betrothed and the real feud you’ll start with her clan if you don’t –“
“What?” Ram jumped in. “If I don’t step aside so you can steal a bride this eve?”
Instead of backing off, David leaned close and was nearly in his friend’s face when he said, “You’d not have a care about that if the bride I was here to steal was –“
“ENOUGH!” Hugh shouted, loud enough to cover David’s final word, which he said–though the stubborn sod hardly needed to finish that sentence. Still, Ram should’ve had the intelligence and the blooming restraint not to finish it for him.
“I’d nae have a care if ye were here to steal Flora, ye mean,” Ram said. “So you claim.’ He shrugged. “Yet we’re nae discussing Flora. Ye’re here–the both of you–to steal Rose. And I’ve said –“
“You’ve said a load of horse dung,” Hugh interjected. “Neither of us is here to steal any bride, including Rose. One of my lads got the barmy notion to sneak in here and steal Fiona.”
“Fiona Aiken?” Ram asked, unnecessarily. Of course ‘twas Fiona Aiken, Arthur and Alice’s lass–nicknamed “the problem” since her extraordinary beauty first manifested as a wee lass. Most of the lads fancied themselves in love with her. She caused shouting matches, fist fights, duels, depression, despair and some damned amusing one-upmanship antics. She had a doting mother and an adoring father with a temper that rivaled Ram’s. She also had a pair of older brothers who threatened to–and had on one occasion–cut off hands that got too fresh. Hell, Fiona had turned down enough proposals to fill a book. “If your lad wishes to die there are easier ways to go.”
The other two howled with laughter and, after a moment or two, Ram joined them. ‘Twas a much needed reminder of their bond, a fact they all realized about the same time. It dissolved their laughter into smiles.
Ram turned to announce to the gathering at large, “Fiona Aiken is in the care of her parents and her brothers. All of them are in my care. None of our women may be stolen and claimed. ‘Tis a custom I disavow as the Sutherland and I give notice of that here and now. Violation of this rule will bring swift retribution to the violator, his family and his clan.”
As quiet bursts of conversation echoed loudly, fading as the area emptied, Ram turned to find his friends grinning like demented trolls. “What?”
“You know very well what,” Hugh said. “Your Grandfather stole his bride. Two of your Uncles and four–no–five of your cousins stole brides. More than a score of your warriors have wives they stole gracing their beds right now. Given all that–isn’t this rule rather unexpected?”
“Bride stealing is as fine an ancient tradition as we have in the Highlands,” David said.
Ram tilted his head, raised his brows and said, “I’m not a’tall surprised that both of you hold with such a practice.”
Hugh shook
his head. “Ram, last month the family of the bride your cousin stole demanded her return. You met them at the boundary of your land with a group of warriors. You told her father that she was wed to your cousin because he had claimed her and you were the Sutherland and you said ‘twas so.”
Defensively, Ram said, “There was a ceremony two days later. I had the Priest fetched. Besides, a claiming is a wedding and every bit as legal.”
“Claiming is every bit as legal in the Highlands as bride stealing–is it not?” David asked, pushing his friend a little farther.
“The pair of you argue like barristers,” Ram snorted, “and to as little avail. You will steal no brides from my clan.”
“And if I’ve a fancy for the fair Fiona?” Hugh asked.
Ram blinked. “Have you?”
“Your question gives an answer,” Hugh said. “You have no concerns over my absconding with Fiona, or with every unmarried female under your clan’s protection–save one.”
“You’ll not steal Rose,” Ram said.
“I agree as does Hugh,” David said, while Hugh confirmed his agreement by nodding. “But we dinna agree because of your silly proclamation. We agree because Rose is not the type of female who would appreciate having such a decision made for her.”
“One of us may persuade her to our way of thinking, though,” Hugh added.
“What the almighty Hell does that mean?” Ram asked.
“It means that we’re both free–quite, quite free-to court her,” David said. “It also means that we dinna ken why you’re not. Talk to us Ramsay. You know there’s nothing you canna tell us. Explain why you’re wedding Flora when you have such strong feelings for Rose.”
Ram nearly broke and spoke of his father’s disgrace. He nearly described how his wedding to Flora was a vengeful Fate’s retribution for the years of marriage his father stole with his mother. Stole? Nay. If only his father had stolen his mother– that would’ve bespoke courage and conviction. No, his father subjugated himself to the MacKenzie, begging and pleading. And when that hadna been enough, his father subjugated his clan and his people to the MacKenzie’s will and whims.
He could speak of his family’s shame to no one. All he could do was be man enough to shoulder the burden his father’s groveling shoved upon his shoulders. That was nearly beyond him, nearly beyond what he could bear. Yet, if he bitched and moaned to his friends he’d be spreading word of his father’s dishonor. ‘Twould also make him no stronger than his father. Nay. Just–nay.
“I’ve no explanations to make to anyone,” Ram said. “Do as you will and I’ll do as I must.”
And Ram walked away from the friends who remained standing, staring after him in dismay and confusion. He’d keep walking, he resolved. He would take himself straight to his own bed, despite that memory of the kiss between Rose and David. No matter how he felt or what had passed between them, Rose had every right to kiss David and David had every right to kiss Rose. Ram, on the other hand, had no right to intervene between what might pass between Rose and his friends. No right a’tall.
So he would just keep walking.
CHAPTER TEN
About an hour later, Rose’s eyes fluttered open and quickly closed again, finding the sight of the swirling green canopy a wee bit sickening. She drew in a breath, hoping to find the evening air bracing, but instead ‘twas cloyingly sweet, setting her head to pounding, ever so slightly. But the warm fingers stroking her cheek were comforting, and eased the other distress.
Wait–warm fingers?
Her eyes flew open as she gasped and raised her head. She identified the warm fingers as Ram’s as he said, “Ssh, love,” and raised a flask to her lips.
“Have a sip of water,” he urged.
She wanted to yell at him, intended to yell. But first, her lips curved around the flask and she took a deep gulp and tried to take another, but he moved the flask away, saying, “Not too much now. “ But her lips were still dry so she flicked out her tongue to spread some of the moisture around.
He groaned and sealed his lips over hers before she could open her mouth to protest. Still, she’d have kept to her resolution to remain impassive had she not realized three things at once: (1) she was cradled on his lap; (2) the arms holding her there trembled; and (3) he kissed her like she was his sole hope for salvation. That echoed the way she felt about him, so her body reacted before her mind could resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
His invasion was tender but relentless. The tracing laps of his tongue tracking the interior rim of her lips made her gasp, o’er and o’er. He drank her gasps, sipping them like the finest cognac. She didn’t recall why she was uneasy until his mouth left hers and she nearly forgot again when his roving lips landed on her earlobe.
“You…,” she panted, “how…”
“Chloroform,” he panted back to her.
She planted her hands on his chest and wriggled until she faced him, his hands keeping her firmly on his lap. “You drugged me!”
“Yes,” he said, bracing himself for the slap he deserved.
She delivered it, and despite how well-deserved ‘twas, it still ignited his temper–along with something else. He caught her hands. When she turned to face him she’d straddled his lap. Pushing her onto her back so that he straddled her was all too easy and it felt all too right.
“Let me go, you bastard!” Rose shouted.
Lying there, bathed in moonlight and clad only in a tissue thin, nearly threadbare nightgown, she squirmed, twisted and coiled like a snake whose bite was her beauty. And like a deadly serpent, once she struck, her venom could never be eradicated. She sunk her fangs into Ram so deep that now she controlled him at an instinctive, instinctual level he couldn’t predict or control. Did she bite David tonight too?
“How can I let you go when you won’t release me?” Ram mumbled, unsure if he asked her or himself.
She heard his question as an accusation–of something–because the other choice was to believe him insane. She believed herself insane but not Ram, never Ram. The wily laird was carrying out some strategy only he understood. “What?”
“Aren’t I enough? Did you bite David tonight too?” Ram demanded.
He loomed over her as he growled the question out between gritted teeth. His arms rippled with strength, showing her that he could snap her like a twig. Of course, the way he growled and nearly barked told her that he might just bite her in two-wait, he’d said something about–“Did you accuse me of biting David?”
His eyes narrowed and–dearest divinity–she hadn’t though he could look more terrifying. He grunted something that might’ve been, “Did you? Tell me!”
She wiggled harder, trying to scoot out from under him, which was idiotic. He didn’t intend to let her go anywhere and she lacked the ability to make him. “What do you mean, aren’t you enough? I suggest you go and ask your betrothed that question. ‘Tis for her that you must be enough. I’m perfectly free to…… to….. bite anyone I wish.”
Fire shot from his eyes–rage, pure and undiluted–and he collapsed down to his elbows to loom, and grit and growl nearly nose to nose. “The hell you are,” Ram swore. “The bloody hell you are. You thrust your fangs deep into my most tender flesh, sending your venom coursing through my body. It compels me stronger than my blood or the beat of my heart. You drive me stronger than any force I’ve ever known. You canna possess me so and then blithely set your fangs to your next victim. How heartless are you?”
“Me?” Rose twisted, turned and wiggled with all her might, losing her wits enough to try to lever herself up to push him off. She only succeeded in grasping the hard length between his legs, pulsing with enough force to put his rippling muscles to shame–or rather, with enough force to give her a heady reminder of her shame. ‘Twas more shameful still how she craved it, him, again, now, right now. “You took my –“
He looked taut enough to shatter, but he didn’t back off or calm down as he awaited the accusation he
fully deserved, the blade of truth she’d throw that he couldn’t sidestep.
But it never came. She shook her head, no, no, and changed her words. “You took nothing. I gave you my virginity. Granted, you used your charm and the wizardry of your touch to drive me out of my mind with desire, but you didn’t take me. I gave myself to you. If I assumed things, well, that was my own fault, my own error.”
“Dinna say that, love,” Ram said, the broken shards of his growl so much harder to stand than his rage. “I should never have touched you until the situation with Flora was finished. And having been intimate with you, I should have wed you, regardless. I intended to do that but at the time, I thought I had a choice. Honor and duty dictated otherwise.”
“That sounds like an apology,” Rose said. “Did you drug me and carry me out here to tell me you’re sorry for what passed between us in the cave?”
“Nay,” Ram said, instantly, vehemently. A second later, his inner laird whispered in his ear, saying that he should be ashamed, most ashamed. Apologizing wouldn’t be in order, of course, for lairds did not apologize. But he should be honorable enough to at least feel regret and express that, in some small measure, to her.
The laird opened his mouth to do just that but the man shut it for him, pushing him to shake his head no and to confirm, his statement, albeit, qualified ever so slightly by the laird’s concerns. “I’m not a’tall sorry. I acknowledge that honor dictates that I should be sorry but in truth, ‘twould drive me air chuthach, for any other man to be your lover–bloody hell, ‘twould drive me past madness.”
Her lower lip trembled before she bit it, but she couldn’t stop the single tear from falling any more than she could stop Ram from crooning the words “no” and “don’t cry” as he licked away the tear and traced the corner of her lips until they parted. “You want to hear of my sorrow? Is that why you cry? Are you sorry?”
“I don’t want you to be sorry for that,” Rose said. “Or, perhaps I do. I don’t know. But you must be sorry for this and you must let me go and leave me be to court others. You can not go around fighting and feuding with your friends or drugging and kidnapping me just because I kissed David–not when you’re -.”
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