Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

"Methinks it cannot get messier. Look at the blood! 'Tis all o'er. E'en Gilby is covered in it, as is the ground and—"

Gabrielle grimaced when her stomach churned, lurched, then convulsed with a heave.

Fresh air.

Aye, fresh air! Gabrielle seized on the thought. She had to get a breath of fresh air, had to get it soon. Already her vision was getting familiarly dark around the edges. Thanks to the memory of her arrival at Bracklenaer, she knew exactly what that meant!

Gabrielle's gaze went to the opening, past the two women huddled there, locking desperately on to the midnight sky and the icy drizzle of rain that fell from it. Did it do nothing but rain in this country?!

Her feet felt leadened as she lurched forward. Her hands were shaking almost as violently as her knees as she settled her palms atop each woman's shoulders, clenched with a strength she'd not normally have given herself credit for possessing, then parted Ella and Mairghread as though they were double doors.

The women were apparently too shocked to protest. Or Gabrielle too desperate and too intent on her goal to notice if they did.

She was only a few short feet away from filling her burning lungs with much-needed fresh air.

Gabrielle didn't burst from the narrow opening so much as stagger and explode from it. The rain pounded the top of her head, splattered her face and neck and shoulders. Its icy drops accomplished exactly what she'd meant for them to: they made her shudder and suck in a long, deep gasp of blessedly fresh night air.

Hers wasn't the only gasp.

The two men, scarcely ten feet in front of her, came to an abrupt halt. Their attention jerked in Gabrielle's direction.

The one standing had to be Gilby, for she remembered the big redhead as the man who'd brought her from the inn in Dumfrees to Bracklenaer. That meant the other one—much younger and lighter of hair and complexion—the one on whose stomach Gilby had a booted foot planted and was standing over, the one he was about to lunge the point of his sword into the chest of, must be Willie O' Nill's Tom.

Once his surprise at seeing her had worn off, and it did so with alarming swiftness, Gilby raised his sword and prepared to strike.

Later, Gabrielle would regret that she'd no time for thought or deliberation, but only one throbbing heartbeat of time in which she was forced to take immediate action.

Chapter 6

Connor bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted the sharp tang of blood on his tongue. He was hoping the sting of pain would distract him, stop him from laughing.

It didn't.

He shifted his thoughts, tried to concentrate on the lingering odor of smoke, on how much work it would take to rebuild the small portion of the first floor that the Maxwells had torched; luckily, the damage was minor. That plan didn't work very well, either; he could still feel a grin tugging at the muscles in his cheeks, tempting him no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. Oh, aye, he knew this was not a laughing matter. Yet things could be worse and, grave though the situation might be... well, it was comical the way Ella flailed her arms, stomped her small feet, and otherwise used her whole body to reenact the account she breathlessly narrated.

How much of what his cousin said was actual fact, Connor didn't know. Yet. Nor was there any way to discern it. Until Gilby regained consciousness, he'd only Ella and Gabrielle's version of the mishap to go by; he wasn't sure about the Sassenach, but he did know his cousin was wont to stretch the truth a wee bit if it suited her purpose.

"It all happened so fast, Connor! We snatched Gabrielle the way ye asked, and the three of us made it to the tunnel without mishap. E'erything seemed to be going smoothly. Until we reached the end of the tunnel. One minute, we were waiting until 'twas safe to scoot into the woods and join the others, the next..." She shook her head, sending the tight red braid swaying against the curve of her bottom. "Ye should've been there, should've seen it. 'Twas so much blood!"

"Aye, and yelling," Gabrielle added with a nod of her dark head as she watched Ella pace in front of the fire blazing in the great hall's hearth. The half dozen hounds, usually asleep at this late hour, scrambled to their feet and tipped their heads as though sensing and reacting to the young woman's agitated excitement.

"Dinny forget the swearing," Ella reminded her.

"Good heavens, how could anyone forget it?" Gabrielle replied with a shiver. "I think there was more cursing than yelling," she told Connor, "if you can believe it. Never have I heard such language before. M'lord, I blush just remembering it."

One dark brow cocked as Connor glanced at Gabrielle. In the crackling firelight, her cheeks looked flushed with excitement; his shrewd eye couldn't detect even a hint of a blush. For her first raid, he had to admit that she'd held up quite well. Admirably so. His glance volleyed between her and his cousin. "'Tis not surprising," he decreed finally. "Gilby was hurt, of course he swore. 'Tis what men do in such situations. I've been kenned to—"

"Gilby?!" Ella and Gabrielle exclaimed in unison.

Gabrielle waved a hand, indicating that Ella should continue the story.

Ella gave a toss of her fiery red head and abruptly stopped pacing. Planting her fists on her hips, she glared at Connor as though he'd lost his mind. "Nay, Cousin, ye've got it wrong. Whilst I dinny doubt that Gilby cussed—God's truth, I dinny remember, so maun happened so fast—'twas Mairghread we be talking aboot."

It took a second for the full impact of what Ella said to sink in. When it did, Connor found himself grinding his teeth together in order to keep his jaw from sagging in disbelief. "Margie?"

"Aye."

"Mairghread Douglas?!"