Page 37 of A Laird and a Fugitive

“Then what are we daeing, Ryan?” she asked with a challenging glare. “Are we tae spend our whole lives like this? I suppose ye hae nae given any thought about me, though, hae ye? Yer mind dinnae work like that. There’s nae room in yer heart for compassion.”

“There ye gae again, assuming that ye know me. Ye hae nae idea of what ye speak, lass.”

“Then tell me. Give me something. Anything.”

She opened her palms to him. There was a desperate look on her face. He studied it for a few moments and then leaned forward, deciding that he was going to give her what she wanted.

“Fine, lass, ye want tae know what made me this way? It was yer Da. My Da and brother went out tae protect their land, and they fell foul of Laird Gilmour. They were struck down in battle, their blood soaking the Highlands. They were brought back with their wounds gaping and their eyes staring intae the abyss. I was just a lad. I was wracked with guilt that I hae nae been there tae defend them, or tae die with them.

It seemed wrong that the clan was robbed of its laird and the rightful heir, leaving me behind. What right did I hae tae survive? Why was I spared this fate? I was just a lad and I hae tae bury my da and my brother, and then I was named Laird. I was forced tae grow up and ever since that day I hae done what I need tae dae in order tae protect my people, just like my Da and brother would hae wanted, just like they would hae done.

I hae done my best tae live up tae their memory, but I can never forget the fact that yer clan took their lives. I cannae let that gae without punishment. Sae if I am a man without emotion, it’s only because yer clan and yer Da made me this way. I changed that day. The boy I was, he died along with them, only he was nae buried in the ground, he was buried in my heart.”

These last few words crashed through the air. Ryan jabbed his fingers into the middle of his chest, the raw emotions taking him by surprise. His throat was tight and he gasped for breath. The tension in the air dissipated. Caroline tilted her head towards him and a look of sympathy came into her eyes.

“Ye must hae been around the same age as Tara,” she said softly, and this seemed to frame his plight in a different way in her mind.

“Aye,” he averted his gaze, hating how she made him talk about this.

He had kept it locked up for so long. Caroline stepped towards him, closing the distance between them with silent footsteps.

“It must hae been hard for ye tae lead the clan.”

“It was always my brother’s right. I was always taught tae support him.”

“Da told me that ruling a clan was the hardest thing anyone could ever dae.”

“That sounds about right,” Ryan inclined his head.

“By the looks of it, ye hae done a fine job. The people here are healthy, and they look at ye with respect. I must admit, I dinnae quite understand how they could treat ye like this, but I suppose ye treat them differently tae me.”

There was a hint of humor in her voice. She stopped just short of him, but close enough that he could catch her sweet scent in the air.

“I know ye want me tae be afraid of ye, Ryan, but I want tae work with ye. If what ye say is true, then our goals are aligned, and I can help ye.”

Her eyes were wide and liquid and beautiful. He searched them for deceit, fearing that if he allowed himself to yield to these feelings, then he would be exposing his soul to betrayal.

“Tell me why ye believe my uncle killed Da,” she whispered.

“I cannae,” he replied, continuing to hold on to these cold, stoic feelings. Then she did something that took him completely by surprise. She reached out and took his hands. Her slender fingers rested in his palm, spreading heat that rose up his arms and then through his entire body. Surprise flashed across his face.

“I want my clan back, Ryan, and I will dae whatever it takes tae make that happen,” she tilted her head back to look at him directly.

There was no hint of doubt in her voice whatsoever. Errant strands of hair rested against her cheeks. Her wide eyes were as inviting as the sea, and he found himself wanting to plunge into their depths and never come up for air. Her lips were slightly parted, full of color, and her chest rose and fell steadily. Her hands did not tremble in the slightest.

There was no hint of nerves, and after all this, he was stunned that she could be so close to him without wilting with fear. If not for the Gilmour name, she would have been everything he wanted for a wife. Could he forget just for a moment that she was a Gilmour?

“Whatever it takes?” he asked, attempting to call her bluff.

He moved his head towards her. She angled hers back. Closer and closer he became until their breath swirled together, until their lips touched and suddenly, his mouth was awash with her honeyed kiss.

He expected her to pull back, to beat him away with her fists and accuse him of being a wanton brute once again, of rushing out of the room and leave him bristling with the burden of unbridled desire.

But she did none of these things. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She melted in his arms and kissed him back. The pressure of her lips felt righteous. He ran his hands through her hair and along her back. A soft murmur rolled between her lips, entering his mouth. He prickled with arousal all over. She smiled as she pressed her hips into him, feeling his desire.

“If this is what it takes for ye tae trust me, Ryan…” she trailed away, and stepped back a little.

She slipped her dress off, and it fell in a puddle at her feet, revealing her perfect, creamy skin. He drank all of her in as she sinuously lay upon the bed, curling her legs beneath her and beckoning him with a finger.

It was too much for him to resist. His knees shook as he came beside her, and then they rolled about the bed, limbs entangled, as he gave into his weakness and they consummated their marriage.