My Fair Highlander. Mary WineЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 and Gordon grunted. “Speak yer mind, Ula. I have never dictated that ye must hold yer tongue. That is an English trait.”
“Ye have never needed to because I know when to keep my lips from flapping, Laird.”
Gordon shrugged and took another swallow from his mug. “Aye, ye are wiser than many that I’ve met. But I see that ye disagree with me on the girl. Why? Yer own son was riding with me. I didna think ye would care to hear that he was run through because of some English noble lass that does nae have the sense to remain inside her home when the sun is setting.”
“I would nae care for such news, ’tis true.”
“But?” Gordon pressed her, for some reason craving to know why the housekeeper disagreed with him when it came to Jemma Ramsden.
“But I have heard from Lilly who is the daughter of the blacksmith and has a sister married over on the Ramsden land to their cobbler Samuel Jerkins, that the girl was nursing her father for the last four years.” Ula tilted her head to the side, obviously considering her thoughts before speaking. She lifted one finger. “She could have left it to the maids, but Lilly said the lass tended her father with her own hands, even sleeping in the manservant lodgings alongside the master chamber. That is nae a spoilt child but one who loves their parent.”
“She was still riding along the border land with the sun sinking on the horizon. Maybe ye have nae heard, but we rescued her from a band of English rogues who were moments away from raping her.”
Gordon felt a prickle of relief cross his skin to settle into his bones. It surprised him because it was not the first time he’d intervened in foul plans. None of those times had made his knees feel weak or lingered in his thoughts much beyond a good mug of ale. He finished off what remained in his grasp, hoping to be done with the entire event.
It persisted, though, and Ula refilled his mug as though the housekeeper knew that he would not dispense with this bit of business easily.
“Fine, she is nae spoilt. At least no when it comes to being devoted to her family. But that does nae change the fact that the woman is senseless. She would require a great deal of effort to protect.”
“She would no be the first to make mistakes while her heart was full of grief. The talk is that the girl only took to riding when her father died. That is a powerful blow that many buckle beneath.” Ula lowered herself before turning to face the hallway. The housekeeper walked down the length of it and entered the room that Jemma was in. A moment later she emerged without the pitcher.
Gordon had to force the ale in his mouth down his throat or risk choking on it.
Grief... aye. There was something that sent more than one person off to doing things they normally never would have. Things that they regretted when the pain had dulled enough for them to resume thinking clearly.
Of course, the more strength the person had, the more insane the recklessness. His fellow laird, Deverell Lachlan, was grieving hard for his lost bride and riding the night like a highlander. The man’s face was covered in a beard that grew longer every time Gordon saw him, and there seemed to be no easing of the pain etched into his friend’s eyes.
Aye, grief was a powerful thing.
He turned around to look back down the hallway from where he’d left Jemma. He was suddenly not so disgusted with her, part of him longing to go back into the room where Ula had placed her.
It was a bedchamber, even if the bed was all the way across the room from where they had been talking. Still, there would be plenty of people who condemned him for being alone with a maiden in there.
Jemma was a maiden. He’d stake his stallion on that fact. She’d shivered against his back, her heart racing while she tried to keep that knowledge from being noticed. A woman with experience wouldn’t have been so flustered. A knowing gleam would have entered her eyes. Maybe she would have lowered her lashes to conceal such, but only maidens looked back with such wide-eyed surprise when they met a man who drew their interest.
Jemma had cast those looks at him when he walked into her home to meet with her brother. She was drawn to him as surely as he was to her despite the fact that she was virgin still. He should call Ula back to stand as witness to what transpired between them, but he was finished with watching while surrounded by others. He’d done the chivalrous thing and visited her brother, and all that had done was allow Jemma to hide from him.
That knowledge did not stop him from moving back down the hallway. With his firm belief that she was nothing but a spoilt nuisance removed, there was nothing to keep him from seeking her out.
Jemma sniffed at the ale and wrinkled her nose. She had never cared for it, which was almost considered a sin because ale was a staple of English food. She liked all grains well enough, but once they were fermented with yeast, she found them sour. Hot porridge was her preferred way of taking in her barley and wheat.
“We’ve cider if ale does not please ye.”
Jemma jumped and then muttered a word that her brother didn’t think she knew. Of course she’d learned it from his men, but like all males, Curan liked to think that the women of the house were deaf anytime the men were cursing.
“I do not need anything save for the sun to rise.”
“Which will nae happen for many hours.”
Gordon Dwyre strode back into the room, his hand wrapped around a mug. She suddenly noticed the bed in the room, which sat some twenty paces across the floor. The Barras tower was built in the older fashion, without walls to divide the floor. Newer construction afforded a receiving chamber separated by a wall from the actual bedchamber. She was strangely aware of that bed and the way her body had responded to Gordon’s while they were pressed together.
“I thought you were gone from me. Disgusted by my lack of forethought.” She walked away from the ale and the bed, moving off into the semidarkness just beyond the candles’ glow.
“Why do ye ride as ye do?”
Jemma felt her eyes widen and took another step into the darkness to cover her expression. Gordon placed his mug on the table and