Brodick strode down the aisle, shaking the rafters of the little church with each hard step as specks of dust rained down from the ceiling. Gillian valiantly held her ground.
Blessedly, when he was just a couple of feet away, he stopped, then clasped his hands behind his back and insolently studied her, his gaze moving from the top of her head to her feet and then back again. He took his sweet time, and after he had finished his rude inspection, he kept his eyes locked on hers and waited for her to speak.
She had planned for this moment and had rehearsed exactly what she would say to him. She would begin by introducing herself because that was the polite thing to do, and then she would ask him his name. He would tell her he was Brodick, but she wouldn't believe him until he had proven his identity by answering several questions she had cleverly come up with, a test, actually, to determine that she could trust him.
Aye, she was going to be clever with her questioning, and just as soon as she could calm down, she would begin. The way he was looking at her was unnerving, and she was having difficulty coming up with a single thought.
He quickly grew impatient. "Are you the woman claiming to be my bride?"
The anger in his voice heated her face. She felt herself blush with mortification. "Yes, I am."
He was surprised by her honesty. "Why?"
"I lied."
"Obviously."
"I don't usually…"
"Usually what?" he asked, wondering why she was so nervous. His stance was relaxed, his hands were clasped behind his back, and he had given Dylan his sword before coming into the church. Surely she realized he wasn't going to do her any harm.
"I don't usually lie," she explained, thrilled that she could remember what she was talking about. Staring at his chin helped, for his eyes were too intense. "You aren't old." She blurted out the thought and then smiled. "I was told you were very old," she whispered, "… with white hair."
And then she laughed, convincing Brodick she was out of her mind.
"I believe I should start all over. My name is Lady Gillian, and I really am sorry I lied, but claiming to be your bride was the only way I could think of to get you to travel such a long distance."
He shrugged. "The distance wasn't great."
"It wasn't?" she asked in surprise. "Then, pray tell, why did it take you so long to get here? We've been waiting in this church for a very long time."
"We?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, we," she replied. "The Hathaway brothers… the two guards outside the door… and I have been waiting all that time."
"Why were you so certain I'd show up at all?"
"Curiosity," she answered. "And I was right, wasn't I? That's why you came."
A hint of a smile softened his expression. "Yes," he agreed. "I wanted to meet the woman who dared such audacity."
"You are Brodick… I mean to say, you are Laird Buchanan, aren't you?"
"I am."
Her face lit up with relief. Damn, but she was pretty. The messenger hadn't lied about her appeal, Brodick thought. If anything, Henley had understated her beauty.
"I was going to test you to make certain you really were Brodick, but one look at you convinces me. I was told, you see, that your glare could part a tree trunk, and from the way you're scowling at me, I do believe you could do it. You're quite intimidating, but you know that, don't you?"
He didn't show any reaction to her remarks. "What is it you want from me?"
"I want… no, I need," she qualified, "your help. I have a very valuable treasure with me and I need assistance getting it home."
"Aren't there any Englishmen who could come to your aid?"
"It's complicated, Laird."
"Start at the beginning," he suggested, surprised by his own willingness to extend this meeting. Her voice appealed to him; it was soft, lyrical, yet husky and sensual, as sensual as the woman herself. Brodick was conditioned to keeping his thoughts hidden, and for that reason he was certain she didn't have any idea of the effect she was having on him. Her wonderful scent was a clear distraction. It was very feminine and smelled faintly of flowers, which he found both alluring and arousing. He had to fight the urge to move closer to her.
"This should explain everything you need to know," she said as she slowly removed the dagger and sheath from her sleeve and held it up for him to see.
He reacted with lightning speed. Before she could even guess his intent, he'd snatched the dagger out of her hand, grabbed hold of her injured arm, and jerked her forcefully toward him. Towering over her, he demanded, "Where did you get this?"
"I will explain," she cried out. "But please let go of me. You're hurting me."
The tears in her eyes confirmed her words. Brodick immediately let go of her and stepped back. "Now explain," he demanded again.
"I borrowed the dagger," she said, and then she turned and called out, "Alec, you may come out now."
Brodick had never been so close to losing his composure. When the Maitland boy came running toward him, he felt his knees buckle and his heart lodge in his throat. He was too stunned to say a word, and then Alec threw himself into his arms. Brodick's hands shook as he lifted him up and clasped him to his chest.
The little boy wrapped his arms around his protector's neck and hugged him. "I knew you would come. I told Gillian you would help us."
"You are well, Alec?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion. He turned to Gillian questioning her with his eyes, but she was watching Alec with a soft, motherly smile on her face.
"Answer him, Alec," she instructed.
The child leaned back in Brodick's arms and nodded. "I'm very well, Uncle. The lady, she took good care of me. She gave me her food to eat and went hungry when there wasn't enough for both of us, and you know what? She wouldn't let nobody hurt me, not even when the man wanted to."
Brodick stared at Gillian while Alec chattered away, but nodded when the little boy had finished his explanation.
"You will tell me exactly what happened," he told Gillian. It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.
"Yes," she agreed. "I'll tell you everything."