Free In the Highlander's Bed by Cathy Maxwell Page B

cried more over my kiss than any of what you just said.”
    She studied the weave in his tartan’s plaid. “I think I like you better when I’m angry at you.”
    He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Constance glanced up, noticing the muscles in his neck, the shadow of his whiskers along his jaw, and her heart seemed to twist in a funny little way she’d never experienced before.
    She didn’t want to like him. At all costs, shemustn’t be attracted to him. She wasn’t staying in Scotland or England. She wouldn’t.
    And that quickening inside her, that consciousness of exactly how close his body nestled her, that awareness of his very scent, his every breath—that couldn’t happen, either.
    She had to be strong. For the first time, she understood what the prophets meant when they said, “Gird your loins.”
    Her loins needed protection now. She didn’t know what a “gird” was, but an iron wall would be a start.
    She didn’t have an iron wall. She had words, and she used them. “If you aren’t careful,” she warned, “it will be hard to murder me if the duke doesn’t give you the sword.”
    That sobered him. The camaraderie, the connection between them, vanished.
    He looked away, frowned. “You aren’t easy, are you, lass?”
    “I just want to go home.” She’d never meant those words more.
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    Gordon nodded as if he knew. “The problem may be that you can’t. It’s not easy to go back to what you’ve left…and that may be what scares you.”
    He’d summed up her doubts perfectly.
    No one had ever paid this much attention to her. She was the youngest, the afterthought. Everyone was always too busy with important matters to think of her.
    This man, herkidnapper, understood her better than her own sisters. No wonder she had to gird her loins.
    “I just don’t like making a fool of myself,” she admitted.
    “You didn’t. I pushed you.” He kicked his horse forward. They rode a bit before he said, “Sometimes we are all too hard on ourselves. But I’ll tell you a secret. Often, when life takes us where we don’t want to go, that’s where we find what we truly need.”
    “And you need rebellion?”
    He considered her words a moment. “I needed to stand for something. Six years ago, you and I would have met at a ball. My collar points would have been up to here”—he indicated a position halfway up his jaw—“and my boots would have shone with champagne blacking. Or at least, what was left of the champagne after my friends and I had a go at the bottle.”
    “You were a fop?” she asked, not able to picture him in theton , let alone worrying about the cut of his coat or the style of his hair, which right now was wind-blown and sun-kissed.
    “I was the dandiest of the dandies,” he said. “I studied law by day and begged entrance to all theton nish gatherings by night. I said I believed in justice, but I didn’t even know what it was.”
    “Your father’s death changed that.”
    “That, and realizing that everyone I confided in, everyone I had thought a friend, didn’t give a care. The death of a crusading Scottish magistrate meant nothing when one was planning the next ball to attend and whether to wear a green coat or a red one. Some even warned me to correct my accent or change my name. That’s when I opened those books and read them with purpose.”
    “You wanted justice,” she said.
    “Aye. And I couldn’t have it. You asked earlier about the law. The law is expedient, Constance. The ones in power set the rules. But once I have that sword—”
    “You make the rules,” she finished for him.
    “And I will make men who use the law to their own advantage pay for their sins.”
    He believed he would do it. He had enough conviction to save the world…but she knew better. “There was never justice for my mother and brother’s death.”
    “Because the Indians who murdered