Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

"Aye!" they echoed.

"Who else have we been jabbering aboot?" Ella asked smugly. "'Tis what we've been trying to tell ye, Cousin. She be the one who did all the cursing."

"And you should have heard what she called your man's mother!" Gabrielle added. "'Tis not fit to repeat, and even if 'twere, 'tis simply not physically possible!"

Clearing his throat, Connor's narrowed gaze shifted to Ella. "After the swearing was through, what happened?"

"She attacked Gilby."

Gabrielle nodded. "Aye, jumpe

d right on his back, she did. And clung to him like a she-cat. 'Twould have been a comical sight were the circumstances not so dire. Your man, Gilby, dropped his sword in the struggle—she had her arms wrapped around his throat and he couldn't breathe. By the time he managed to shake her off, the boy had already recovered his own sword."

"From there," Ella added with a grimace and shiver, "the situation became maun unpleasant."

"Maun unpleasant? 'Tis possible?" Connor asked, surprised. From what he'd heard, the situation couldn't get worse. Nay, that wasn't true. The Maxwell might have been successful in stealing Gabrielle from him, that would have been a good deal worse.

"Aye," she replied gravely. A few red curls had come free of the plait, curling softly against her cheek and brow. Ella swept them behind her ear, crossed her arms over her stomach, and again began pacing in front of the hearth. The hounds whined and scooted out of her path as far as their leashes would allow. "But that isn't how Gilby got hurt."

"Nay?"

"Nay." It was Gabrielle who answered. Ella merely snorted in agreement, gave a toss of her fiery red head, and picked up her pace in front of the hearth. "His back will no doubt be sore come morning, but I don't think he was hurt when Mairghread jumped on him. The second he saw her flying toward him, he dropped his sword and put his hands up for protection. I was already outside the tunnel. Ella tried to grab your aunt and haul her back into the tunnel, but the old woman is amazingly quick. 'Tis lucky for your aunt that Gilby was unarmed by the time she reached him. Ella says he wields the blade expertly, that you and he learned to fight together, and that he's almost as good as you."

"Aye." Connor sighed and raked his fingers through his inky hair. The story was getting more convoluted by the moment. More and more he wished Gilby would regain consciousness, and regain it soon, so that he could learn precisely what had happened without female embellishments and melodramatics. "But I still dinny understand how—"

"Don't rush me, m'lord, I'm getting to that part," Gabrielle admonished saucily. "At the same time Gilby was dropping his sword and Mairghread was cussing and pouncing on him, the boy Willis Tom Something, was fumbling for his own blade and gaining his feet. 'Twas he who wounded Gilby."

Connor had suspected as much, and wondered why the devil the two women hadn't told him this in the first place. He decided it best not to quibble. If he knew nothing else about women, the Black Douglas knew that it didn't pay to rush one into telling a tale they were determined to tell at their own leisurely pace. Not, that is, unless one wanted a longer story, a story enhanced beyond credibility. "So that was when Margie was taken by the Maxwell?"

"Er, not exactly, m'lord."

"I ne'er said she was taken by the Maxwell. Did ye say so, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle sneezed twice, sniffled loudly, and shifted her gaze to the flames snapping in the hearth as her fingers toyed with the hem of her tunic. The trews suddenly felt embarrassingly snug. So much had been happening before that she'd had no time to care about the tight fit. She had adequate time to care now. Especially when Connor Douglas's gaze gravitated to her, trailed slowly, slowly over her legs, his gray eyes darkening to a mysterious shade of midnight blue. "I-I don't think so, no," she muttered finally.

Connor gritted his teeth. Except for the ticking of a muscle in his jaw, and the way his hand closed in a fist around the arm of the chair, his demeanor remained as neutral as his voice. It wasn't easy. The sight of Gabrielle Carelton's legs, indecently encased in snug trews, had caused an odd tightness in his chest, constricting his breathing and wreaking havoc with his heart rate; the sight was an uncomfortable distraction. He forced himself to look away and focus on his cousin. "So now ye're saying she wasn't taken by the Maxwell?"

"Did I say that?" Ella asked.

Her tone was much too sweet and innocent for Connor's liking. It took a good portion of his self-restraint not to bound out of the chair, grab Ella by the shoulders, and shake the rest of the story out of her. Where was Mairghread? Who had taken her? Which way had they ridden off, and how long ago? He must learn these things before a rescue attempt could be launched. If only Gilby hadn't been wounded. A man would have told the story while they rode to the old woman's rescue, and done it in a far less dramatic fashion.

It was Gabrielle who finally provided the answer he sought. Leaning forward and pillowing her elbows atop trews-encased thighs that he refused to look at again, she confided "'Tis your brother who took Mairghread."

"Nay!" Connor roared.

"Aye!" Ella confirmed. "Ye may not have seen him and his men, for they stayed in the back, but I did. Sassenach though she be, the lass isn't lying, Cousin. Colin rode with the Maxwell on Bracklenaer this night."

Connor was out of the chair in a beat, and furiously matching step with his cousin in two. The dogs strained, reaching the end of their leash. "Nay!" he repeated so loudly that the family shield hanging over the hearth threatened to fall to the floor. His voice bounced off the hard stone walls, echoing around them with all the force of a close clap of thunder. "'Tis a lie. A Douglas would ne'er ride with the Maxwell. not e'en Colin would dare such an insult."

"Ne'er say ne'er, Cousin. I ken what we saw. As for what Colin dares... Och! mon, have ye forgotten the lad is e'ery bit yer brother? E'ery bit a Douglas? Whether ye care to admit it or not! What would ye have done were the situation reversed, and he had stolen yer bride? And dinny be telling me 'nothing,' for I'll have none of that nonsense. I'll tell ye exactly what ye'd have done. First ye would have ridden over to Gaelside and confronted that unruly cousin of mine, then ye would—" Ella's tirade was cut short when Connor shot her a silencing glare.

He stopped pacing abruptly. A thoughtful scowl furrowed his brow. What would he have done were the situation reversed? Was it not obvious?

"I'd have reacted in the appropriate fashion," he replied finally, determinedly. "I'd have stolen me bride back."

"Aye! Can't ye see? 'Tis exactly what yer brother was aboot."

Connor muttered a thick Gaelic cuss under his breath. "Where Colin failed, however, I would have succeeded."