His expression tightened. “Well now, lass, ye see there is our conflict. Returning ye to any place that can nae keep ye from harm.”
“I told you, it was my own doing.”
Laird Barras folded his arms over his chest. “I recall that very well, lass, which is why I hesitate to take ye back where ye are clearly able to work yer will over those who should be doing their duty to keep ye from harm.”
“I made a mistake in leaving so late in the day.”
“Ye did that, sure enough, and it nearly cost ye yer life.” There was no mistaking the judgment in his tone. Jemma bristled beneath its cutting edge.
“It is not my normal way to challenge the rules set down by my brother.”
“I disagree, lass. I’ve watched ye riding across that section of land too many times to count.”
Watched me riding?
Jemma twisted her hands in the fabric of her skirt while pacing a few steps away from him. Her belly twisted with sensation.
He’d watched her, too many times to count?
“You shouldn’t have done that.” There were only the candles on the table, and as she moved, she left their light behind her. The shadows felt more secure with their darkness to help conceal her emotions.
“Nae, lass, ye should not have been out where me men and I could watch ye.”
His voice rang with heavy judgment. It needled her pride, setting a spark to her temper.
“I am not your concern, sir, and I was always on my father’s land.”
He followed her, and she stood torn between the urge to retreat farther or stand fast to remain in the glow from the candles. Something flickered in his eyes that looked like approval.
“At the moment ye are, because it was my men that I just risked to save ye. Be very sure that I do nae place me men in jeopardy for just any reason, even if ye are too foolish to be allowed the freedom yer brother has given ye.”
Jemma gasped, caught somewhere between pride and astonishment that he would consider it his right to decide what was best for her. That desire struck her as oddly intimate, rippling over her skin like a caress.
“Making an offer for me does not grant you the right to dictate to me, sir.”
He uncrossed his arms and she shivered, her memory filling with how it felt to be pressed against him. A flicker of excitement returned to her so quickly she chewed on her lower lip, needing some outlet for all the churning sensations trapped within her.
“No, lass, pulling ye off the ground before ye were raped does.” His voice cut through the air like a hot knife. There was nothing friendly in his expression, only harsh judgment.
“I asked yer brother for the right to court ye only, I never offered for ye and I’m thinking that a wise thing at the moment. I do nae need a wife that has nae got the sense of a child.”
His rejection stung.
Jemma felt it traveling through her like a lash from a whip. She’d only felt leather bite into her flesh once and for the very same reason. Lack of attention to what was happening around her.
She had been a mere ten years old and walked into a section of the training yard she had no place being. A thick, braided leather whip sliced down across her back before the men noticed that their space had been invaded. It had been her mistake to go there, and her father had made that clear with a lecture witnessed by every man training in that yard. It had been her sire’s place to reprimand her. It was a lesson she had never forgotten until her father died.
That made Gordon Dwyre’s judgment sting even more. She was not perfect, but that did not mean she needed another man attempting to act as her parent.
“Well then, it seems we are in agreement. I do not belong here, Lord Barras.” She pronounced his title with an English accent to drive home just how different they were.
The man snorted at her.
One direct sound that communicated just how much he disagreed with her. Jemma felt her chin rise—just a tiny amount—but his attention lowered to it, noticing the stubborn motion. His eyes flashed with an equal amount of determination to see her accept his will.
Which she would not do.
“I will look forward to sunrise and my departure.”
He didn’t care for her telling him what would be. Jemma witnessed the flare of resistance that lit his eyes, but he drew in a sharp breath, battling against the urge to argue with her. Jemma turned her back on him. It was a bold thing to do, possibly as foolish as riding out of Amber Hill against Synclair’s wishes.
But the tension was becoming unbearable. She had to move, do something to force the moment to pass before she buckled beneath the strain.
It was more than that . . .
She dug her fingernails into her palms while time felt as though it was frozen. She could still feel Gordon behind her.
Gordon?
When had she begun thinking of the Scot with his first name? To be sure that was going to bring her nothing but lament. The man wasn’t interested in her, far from it. He considered her foolish and a nuisance. His judgment stung in spite of her determination to cast it aside by reminding herself that she shouldn’t care a bit what he thought. Just because she enjoyed his glances.
And being pressed against his hard body . . .
She stiffened, trying to force the memory aside, but it was a battle that her body wasn’t willing to lose. The tension became too much, and she turned her head to look back at him. The spot where the large Scot had stood was empty. Jemma turned and scanned the dark corners of the room but found them empty of anything except furniture.
He did move silently. It was a pity that it was not so simple to remove his memory from her mind. Disappointment flowed through her, prickling her with a sense of loss that she cursed.
“Men do not always grasp what drives a woman to do the things she does.”
Ula spoke in a quiet tone that drew a snarl from her laird. But the sound did not disturb the housekeeper. She kept moving on even steps that never faltered. The woman walked right up to him and offered him a wooden mug with no fear of his temper.
“It does nae matter. I’m going to take her home and let her brother have the pleasure of dealing with her. I see why she’s uncontracted now.”
Gordon took the mug of ale and drew off a long swallow. Ula didn’t agree with him. He could see it in the woman’s eyes, and it annoyed him because it was the sort of look that women often gave men. One that suggested they felt that whatever was on their minds, men were incapable of understanding.
“The lass was riding out on the border land without a care for any harm that might befall her. ’Tis clear that she is nae married because she’s spoilt.”
Ula stiffened
