Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

Was that possible? And was it also possible for something so gruesome and horrifying as last night's raid to become so commonplace as to fade in people's minds before twenty-four hours had elapsed?

The gentle snore emanating from Colin Douglas's direction told Gabrielle that, detestable though the thought was, not only was such a thing possible, it was probable.

She'd heard the tales and many of the ballads. She'd known before leaving London that the Borders were barbaric in both landscape and inhabitants. Yet never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined exactly how barbaric.

Gabrielle shuddered and rested her head back against the hard, unforgiving stone. She didn't want to think about how the man who slept so peacefully and soundly near her was the man she should by now be wed to.

Didn't want to, but did.

She closed her eyes, that thought linking itself naturally to others. None of them had a bit to do with Colin Douglas. They had everything to do with his twin brother.

Hot, sultry memories of the night before teased her mind. Her lips burned as she remembered the feel of Connor's mouth moving hungrily on hers. Her fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists when she imagined the warm, smooth skin of his naked back gliding like silk beneath her searching palms.

The fire of passion that had burned inside her last night began to spark anew in her veins, heating the blood that was suddenly pumping hot and furious through her body. A soft, expectant sigh whispered past her lips as she recalled the way Connor's mouth had moved against the oh so sensitive curl of her earlobe, his voice hoarse and ragged as he'd called out her name the instant he'd spilled his seed inside her.

"Gabrielle?"

Her eyes snapped open. Her senses were abruptly alive and alert.

Sweet heavens, that was no dream, that was Connor's voice!

Gabrielle's attention jerked to the doorway. She squinted against the clinging shadows, her vision pulling into focus the proof of what her body already told her; that Connor was nearby.

A sconce in the corridor had been lit; the flickering orange backdrop cast his virile body into sharp silhouette. Although she couldn't see his face clearly in such dim light, Gabrielle knew for certain it was Connor Douglas who stood there. No one else had shoulders so wide, hips so hard and lean.

The hem of Connor's kilt brushed his knees as he took a step into the room.

Gabrielle's heart staggered a traitorous beat. The breath she'd been in the process of inhaling clogged in her throat.

She froze, a frown creasing her brow. How strange. In one blink she'd been reclining against the stone wall, thinking of Connor, in the next he was here and she was sitting on the edge of the bed. How had she gotten there?

It took Gabrielle a second to understand that, at the first sight of him, she'd instinctively straightened, scooted to the edge of the bed, and swung her legs over the side. It wasn't until the soles of her too-large boots hit the stone floor that she realized what she was doing. Without her mind giving her body permission to do it, she'd been in the process of standing up and running to him.

She held herself in check, but it wasn't easy. Harder still was her ability to ignore the way her body ached for her to carry the motion through.

Oh, who was she trying to fool? Gabrielle knew exactly what kept her sitting on the edge of the bed instead of surrendering to the urge to run to Connor. It was pride, pure and simple. The thought that he might turn his back on her, might reject her in the same callous way so many others had in the past, stopped her cold. Nothing else had the power to keep her feet rooted to the floor, or to counter her almost overwhelming need to feel Connor's strong arms wrapped around her, holding her so wonderfully, protectively close. The need was so intense it felt like a raw, physical ache clawing her up on the inside.

The cushions in the old chair crunched as Colin moved, walking with slow reluctance. Gabrielle's attention shifted to him in time to see the thick, inky fringe of his lashes flicker upward. The irises were a wee bit darker, a shade or two bluer than Connor's. Why hadn't she noticed that before? she wondered as his gaze met hers. His eyes were narrow and guarded, lacking even a glimmer of compassion, reminding her again of how very dissimilar the brothers actually were.

"Dinny tarry, Cousin. The guard will not stay unconscious fore'er."

The voice was Ella's; it floated into the room on the soft, flickering glow of sconcelight, coming from the direction of the open doorway behind Connor. Gabrielle couldn't see her, but judging by the nearness of Ella's voice, she decided the girl must be just around the corner, probably keeping a watchful eye on the corridor and the aforementioned guard.

Colin's attention left Gabrielle. He leaned to the side, glancing back over his shoulder, past the tattered wing of the chair. His face hardened when his gaze met his brother's, the corners of his lips quirking downward. That he'd been expecting Gilby was evident in his unwelcome expression and the way the disappointed crease carved harsh brackets on either side of his mouth.

Gabrielle's attention shifted cautiously between the Douglas twins.

Connor looked equally displeased to be facing his brother. His gray eyes were narrow, and as he took another step into the room she saw they glittered dangerously. The dagger, which she only now noticed he was holding in his right hand, inched higher. It was poised at striking level. The powerful fingers clutching the hilt tightened until his knuckles were white from strain.

"Gabrielle," Connor said again, his untrusting gaze never leaving his twin. He angled his head, issuing an unspoken command that Gabrielle could not resist.

She stood. Her steps measured, forcibly slow, she crossed the room.

Weeks ago, safe at court, Gabrielle would have sworn this wasn't possible. Imagine, Gabrielle Carelton, ward of Queen Elizabeth, seeking comfort and protection from the likes of Scotland's most notorious reiver, The Black Douglas!

Perhaps the concept wasn't as ludicrous as it might once have been. Aye, she had an unsettling feeling such was the case. Though she was wont to admit it, Gabrielle couldn't deny the hungry feeling that tightened in her stomach, nor the tide of longing that swept through her as she continued to grapple with the potent urge to throw herself into The Black Douglas's arms.

And if, in deed or expression, he'd made even the slightest indication she'd be welcome there...?