"The devil you say!" Connor stormed to his feet. In two sure strides he crossed the distance separating them. Her upper arms felt soft and warm beneath his palms as he coiled his fingers around them, tugged, forced her to face him. The muscles in his jaw bunched hard when he gritted his teeth, unable—or unwilling?—to believe what she was telling him. His gray eyes flashed angrily as he glared down into her speculative green ones. "I've ne'er hurt a bairn in me life! Many's the time I've gone out of me way to spare them!"
"Really?" Gabrielle asked. She surprised them both by the level way she met his glare and the calm timbre she injected into her tone. "'Tis not what they say."
"They say a lot of things aboot me, Gabby. Just because they say it does not make it true."
"Then it's not true you snuck into Caerlaverock in the dead of night, aided by a mere one hundred and fifty men? That you stole two hundred of the clan's livestock, took another half that amount in prisoners, and snuck out again, with Johnny Maxwell none the wiser until morn. Even then the poor man only realized what happened because no one was there to fetch his morning meal. Apparently, you'd kidnapped his cook."
"Johnny Maxwell is not a 'poor man.' " Connor's grin was wicked and quick. "As for Siobhan... truth to tell, I was after the beasties. Howe'er, had I known the lass was so gifted with flour and an oven, I'd have made her my goal instead."
"You admit it then?"
"Aye. Nay! I mean... Och! lass, ye've got me so rattled I dinny ken what I mean." His grip on her arms loosened but didn't drop away. "There's no shame in admitting that the last time I heard the tale, the amount of beasties I pilfered, not to mention the amount of men who helped me pilfer them, was but only a fraction of that."
"Then you do admit it." Her voice was as suddenly as stiff as her spine.
"Admit what? To riding against a rival family? I took from the Maxwell in the spring what the Maxwell took from the Douglas last autumn. Aye, I admit it. Open yer eyes, lass. Take a good look around ye. I ken ye've been on this side of the Border but a short time, but 'tis long enough to see the way of things here. Good God, wench, reiving is our way of life! How else would we get blankets to survive the winter? Without stolen beasties, how could we feed the children and old people through the long, snowy months? Compared to most raids, the one you speak of was tame."
"M'lord, have you not thought of weaving your own blankets? Of breeding your own cattle and sheep? There's no need to steal from your neighbor that which your clan can provide for itself."
"Provide," he countered, "only to have it stolen by others."
Gabrielle didn't need to think about what he said for long. Reluctantly, she had to admit he had a very good point. Raising their own livestock, making their own cloth... while the solution sounded good, in practice it would be another matter entirely. It was only a patch remedy, one that couldn't hope to solve the underlying problem: that anything the clan Douglas provided for themselves they would have to provide in profusion, for it would be just as quickly stolen by rivals who didn't share the same values. From what she'd seen, no family on either side of these disreputable Borders shared such exalted values.
Connor released her arm. With the tip of his index finger he traced the soft, full line of her jaw, the curve of her chin. His fingertip hesitated, then turned upward, skimming the sensitive bend of her lower lip.
The flesh beneath his touch trembled and, God help him, he trembled himself in response. His mind flashed him an image of her nibbling the skin he now touched; her lip was still temptingly moist and full from it. The muscles in his stomach knotted as his tongue ran restlessly over the backs of his teeth. Had the urge to kiss her diminished at all? Not that Connor was aware of. It still raged hot and fast in his blood.
He tipped his head to the side, lowered it slowly, his eyes blazing with hungry intent.
There was more than enough time to stop him. The fingers gripping her upper arm had loosened, now merely draping over her sleeve instead of holding her in place. Little effort would be needed to break the contact and step away from him. Gabrielle considered doing exactly that, but only for a moment.
Her attention lifted...
And she saw the passion shimmering in his piercing gray eyes...
And she was lost...
The topic they'd been discussing dashed from her mind with all the speed of half-starved hounds catching the scent of a nearby fox. The nearness and the heat of Connor's body suddenly consumed her thoughts. The night sounds, indeed the very night itself, seemed to close in around her, tunneling down until all she was aware of, all she wanted to be aware of, was Connor Douglas and the way his mouth inched ever closer in its path to claiming hers.
Her lips tingled with the promised contact. Dizzily, she swayed toward him. Her chin rose, her eyelashes flickered shut. Her right hand opened, lifted, splayed over the sculpted plane of his tunic-clad chest. His heart pounded wildly beneath the ball of her palm; the rhythm matched the one drumming loudly in her ears.
Connor's breath whisked warmly over Gabrielle's face an instant before his mouth settled hungrily over her own.
Chapter 13
His arms stole around her waist. A hot shiver skated down his spine as he dug his fingers into her bottom. He pulled her close, grinding their hips together in a rhythm that was older than time. Her breasts pushed against his chest; they felt deliciously heavy and full. Even through the barrier of cloth separating their flesh, he could feel her nipples bead into mouth-wateringly rigid peaks.
He swallowed her moan of pleasure.
His tongue skated over her parted lips, then plunged into the hot, moist inner recesses of her mouth. Her teeth felt like warm, slick pearls as they skimmed beneath his searching tongue. Her taste was more intoxicating than all the whisky in Scotland.
Connor groaned and angled his head, his tongue stroking deeply, teasing and tasting. The sensations that built inside him were overwhelming in their intensity. Desire sizzled through him like a lightning bolt. It was all he could do to hold himself in check and not surrender to the urge to strip off their clothes and spread her naked body down on the ground, covered by his own. Now.
Soon, he promised himself... Very soon. But not yet. First he wanted to savor the thrill of longing, prolong the tingling anticipation of what lay ahead until neither of them could stand waiting a second longer.
Gabrielle's response was as immediate as it was brazen and bold. Her hands, restless for the feel of him, shifted their attention.
Her fingers clutched at the sleeves covering his upper arms. Nay, in truth she clutched at the muscle playing beneath. She could feel the hard bands of sinew bunching beneath her touch. Her breath caught at the sensations that thundered through her. Last night she may have been a stranger to desire, but no more. Connor Douglas had taught her the ways of a man and a woman, and taught her well. She knew exactly what she wanted. And she was not at all shy about getting it.