A slow grin tugged at the corners of Ella's mouth. "Aye, and well I ken it. Nae doubt they'd have written yet another ballad aboot The Black Douglas, to."
"Methinks they'll be writing ballads of a different nature once Margie is done with Colin. There's never been any love lost between them, and methinks this will make that rift wider. I almost, almost, pity me brother. I wager he'll be pounding upon the door, begging us to take the auld woman back within a fortnight."
"Ye're o'erly generous. My guess would be half that time."
A pair of sneezes drew their attention to Gabrielle.
Gabrielle's cheeks heated as she sniffled and shifted position, the bench beneath her felt suddenly hard and uncomfortable under the intensity of their stares. She tried to glance away, but her attention settled on Connor, and his gaze, sharp and gray and piercing, held hers ensnared.
"Ye should be thanking yer lucky stars me brother wasn't successful this night, lass, or 'tis in front of Gaelside's hearth ye'd be warming yeself right now."
Gabrielle stared at him mutely. Had she heard right? Had he said she should be thankful not to be rescued from The Black Douglas? She shook her head, thinking that only an insane woman would feel so.
Then again...
Perhaps her own sanity should be questioned? Although she'd rather die than admit it, Gabrielle felt a tiny shred of relief that the fire warming her emanated from the huge stone hearth at Bracklenaer. All things considered, it was not a rational response. Perhaps it was caused by her fever? The unexpected excitement of the night? The nauseating, charred scent that lingered in the air making her stomach churn and her head spin? While all were flagrant lies, any was better than the truth... that the heat of Connor Douglas's gaze boring into her muddled her mind, warmed her cheeks, and made her heart pound at an alarmingly fast rate. What it did to the pattern of her breathing and the stability of her knees was beyond description.
It was Ella who voiced the thought that had just occurred to Gabrielle. "The poor lass looks confused, Cousin. And who can blame her? She's Sassenach. She cannot understand the way of things here, maun especially how a woman can be thankful not to be rescued from The Black Douglas's infamous clutches."
Gabrielle's back stiffened. Her chin tilted at a proud angle, and her shoulders squared. Green eyes narrow, she returned Ella's gaze with a level one of her own. "Don't be so hasty to judge. I know precious few Englishmen who wouldn't be out right now trying to get Mairghread back. Yet the two of you sit idly in front of a fire, joking about her capture. Aye, you're quite right in saying that I find all of this most confusing."
"Nae harm will come to me aunt, lass. Dinny worry aboot that. Remember, Colin is her nephew, too."
Connor's thick, deep voice trickled down Gabrielle's spine like a drop of sun-warmed butter, melting the rigidity of her posture. Her gaze shifted to him, and she regretted the impulse immediately. The flames in the hearth snapped and popped, the muted light played in a soft orange haze over his harshly carved features. Softening planes, emphasizing angles. His hair was tousled; a thick, silky black tendril curled appealingly against his brow. Gabrielle's fingers closed into white-knuckled fists. Unfortunately, the bite of her fingernails digging into her palms wasn't the distraction she'd hoped it would be. She still longed to lean forward, to reach out and smooth that errant strand into place. The urge was as tempting as it was strong. Frighteningly so.
Her voice, when it came, sounded a pitch huskier than usual, even considering the state of her stuffed nose and sore throat. "You don't know that. From what I've seen tonight, blood relations means precious little to you people."
"There ye be wrong." Connor had stopped pacing; he now stood a mere foot away from her. Small and insignificant weren't feelings Gabrielle was accustomed to experiencing, yet again she noticed that with The Black Douglas's virile body towering over her, it was exactly how she felt. "Blood kinship means everything. 'Tis why I can say with such certainty that Colin will not hurt Margie."
"And yet—"
"M'lord?"
An intrusive fourth voice cut Gabrielle's words short. That w
as probably for the best. Judging by the determined set to Connor's hard, square jaw, and the decisive glint in his sharp gray eyes, winning an argument with this Scotsman would be akin to Queen Elizabeth accepting a man's proposal of marriage. In other words, it simply wouldn't happen.
Their attention shifted to the woman who stood framed in the arched stone doorway. She was tall of stature and heavy of build. Her blond hair had been worked into a plait that trailed down over a beefy shoulder; the ends grazed her matronly thick waist.
"What is it, Siobhan?" Connor asked. "Has Gilby awakened?"
The woman nodded. "Aye, m'lord. And 'tis surprised I be that ye dinny hear him all the way down here. He came 'round yelling aboot what he plans to do to Will O' Nill's Tom when he gets his hands on the poor lad." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "He's not shut up since."
Connor tipped his head back and laughed.
Gabrielle shivered; the sound was like black velvet—smooth and rich and dangerously appealing. It sent a tingle through her blood that both baffled and warmed her.
"'Tis good to hear," he said to Siobhan. "Naught else could assure me as well that the mon will indeed recover."
"Oh, aye, he'll recover," Siobhan said, then snorted and rolled her eyes. "That is, if he stops thrashing aboot and pretending he isn't wounded. Och! but he be a stubborn one. Why, he'd nae more opened his eyes when he tried to crawl out of the bed. It took me and twa others to hold him down, and all the while he kept muttering something aboot getting dressed and hunting down Tom afore dawn. The knowledge that a mere lad wounded him seems to have pricked his pride."
"As well it should, especially when the lad in question is a Maxwell. Dinny look so concerned, Siobhan. I'll go up and see him. While I'm there, I'll have a talk with Gilby and see to it that he takes care of himself whilst he heals and make sure he gives ye nae more trouble. Meanwhile..." Connor had started to walk toward the door, but he stopped, hesitated, then turned back to Ella and Gabrielle. His gaze quickly raked the former, then narrowed and darkened as it lingered assessively on the latter. "Ella, take Gabrielle back to her room, please. We dinny want her to get sicker from exhaustion, and 'tis been a maun eventful night."
That said, he spun on his heel and followed Siobhan out of the room.
Gabrielle listened to the sharp click of his bootheels on stone. They slowly faded as he ascended the stairs leading up to the bedchambers. When she could no longer hear them, she turned her attention to Ella, who had plopped down on the bench across the table from her. "What about Mairghread?"
The girl frowned. "What aboot her?"