Bridget lifted her chin and remained standing while all the women with her lowered themselves before the laird. Eyes widened at her behavior, but the only change in Laird Barras was a slight tightening of his fingers around the cup in his grasp.

“They do nae teach manners in England anymore, Mistress Newbury?”

She stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with the man. He was an arrogant one, but she didn’t think it was unearned. His forearms were cut with muscle, declaring him to be a man of action.

“I do not lower myself in front of those that drug me into compliance.”

One of his fair eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms over his wide chest.

“I take it ye prefer to be chained then?”

Amusement coated his words, and a few snickers escaped from the men surrounding her. Bridget allowed her lips to rise into a small smile that was mild and unworried.

“What I prefer is honesty. Slipping potions into drinks is the age-old skill of traitors, is it not?”

All traces of amusement left his face. His hands landed back on the tabletop with a firm sound that betrayed how little liking he had for her veiled accusations. The hall was silent, so much so, she heard the hounds’ tails thumping against the floor. One of the dogs whimpered, clearly feeling the discontent in the room.

“I did nae order such an action.” His voice was hard as steel and bounced off the wall behind her. “Will ye offer me courtesy now, mistress?”

Bridget made him wait for a response. His eyes clouded with displeasure before she turned in a wide circle, her skirts flaring out as she went. Turning back to face him she sunk into a low curtsy and remained there with her hand spread wide. Several gasps came from the women watching, but most of the men took to stroking their beards while they waited to see what their laird would make of her mockery.

Standing back up, she lifted her own eyebrow at him. “Be assured that my mother had me schooled in the art of soothing arrogant egos, even of those that intend me ill.”

Laird Barras stood up. He was a large man, and he flattened his hands on the tabletop. “Be very sure that I do nae hand out abuse where it is not warranted, lassie. I protect those wearing me colors when needed, and I would nae accept those words from any man.”

“You face those men with honor, not with poison slipped into their cups while you smile in false welcome as has been done here. My cutting remarks have been earned, and I am not given to speaking lies for the sake of being polite.”

“Bridget, mind yer words,” Alice whispered, but it was so silent in the hall that Bridget was sure half the people watching her face down their overlord heard.

“I believe I am finished with minding you, dear cousin Alice.”

Bridget cut a quick glance at her kin to see her cheeks turning scarlet. But a chuckle from the high table drew her attention back to the Scottish laird watching her.

Laird Barras suddenly grinned at her, and the expression transformed his face into a handsome one. “I do believe I understand why Ryppon would be wanting to get ye back. Ye’re a fine bit of spirited lass, to be certain.”

“I have not promised you that there is reason to think Lord Ryppon would wish me back. If it is gain you seek, take me to the ship my father has sent so you may receive a reward from my father’s gratitude.”

Laird Barras left the raised platform the head table stood upon to stride down toward her. The plaid was pinned in place by a large gold broach that kept the fabric flattened against his shoulder. A wide belt went around his waist, holding the back of that plaid in wide pleats against his waist, too. As he came closer, she noticed why he wore the belt over the fabric. Strapped to his back was a large sword. The pommel rested behind his right shoulder, and the tip of the scabbard was tied to the belt near his left hip.

“I am Gordon Dwyre, Laird Barras, and since ye’ve made a point of saying ye prefer honesty, I’ll tell ye straight that I intend to take ye home with me, Mistress Newbury.”

“I am quite sorry to disappoint you, Laird Barras, but I have been summoned by my father and cannot linger in your country. To do anything else would be to disrespect my parents, which is something the scriptures forbid.”

There were several outright laughs in response to her words. Laird Barras tilted his head slightly and grinned at her. The man had a devil’s grin, for it made him too handsome when he allowed his lips to curve.

“Ye’ll be doing a wee bit more than lingering, and that’s a fact. Yer a woman grown, and it’s time for ye to be giving obedience to a husband.”

He reached right out and grasped her forearm. With a quick tug, she stumbled toward him, and the man bent over so that she collided with his muscle-packed shoulder. He rose and lifted her right off her feet, her body falling over his shoulder with the help of a solid whack that landed on her unprotected backside.

Bridget snarled, but the man laughed and strode from the hall with her over his wide shoulder like a sack of grain. Humiliation rose thick and choking up her throat while the blood rushed to her head. The snickers of those waiting in the yard only intensified her shame.

There was no sign of a storm today. Bright sunlight streamed down to illuminate her undignified position. He tossed her up onto a horse without any more effort than he might have used to toss a child. Bridget sat up in a huff, her face red from hanging over his back.

“You are a brute.”

He swung up onto the back of a stallion standing near the horse he’d placed her on. Someone held the reins of the animal and tossed them to him. Bridget looked at the ground, tempted almost beyond endurance to dismount simply because he had placed her on the horse, but that would only see her standing in her cousin’s yard, which she detested more. She muttered something beneath her breath that would have shocked her mother before tightening her grip on the saddle.

Laird Barras chuckled, drawing her attention back to him.

“I am a Scot, mistress, and ye should have expected to run into a few of us when ye crossed so boldly into me country.” His eyes darkened. “We have a reputation of keeping what we find on our land.”

“I am a person, not some possession.” Bridget realized that her skirt was flipped up, exposing her legs. With a growl she sent the fabric down into place. Gordon was grinning at her when she looked back at him.

“What ye are, lassie, is a fine bit of fortune, and I’m nay going to quibble about the details. Ye’ll be riding with me, if I have to tie ye over that saddle. So think a wee bit afore ye slip off that animal. I’ll no give ye the chance to sit upright again.” He tossed the reins at her, and she caught them with a firm hand, determined to show him that she was not beaten by his crude handling.

“Barbarian. Your threats do not intimidate me. Even an Englishwoman knows that a Scottish laird would not keep a woman who brings him nothing. Not unless you are a fool.”

He smiled, flashing even teeth at her. “Careful now, ye’ll be turning me head with such flattery.” His words may have been teasing, but there was a hard glitter in his eyes that warned her he was not pleased.

“We’ll have to be talking about it once we reach me home. I’ve a yearning to tuck ye behind the very sturdy walls of Barras castle.”

The stallion he rode tossed its head, eager to be on its way. Gordon clamped hard thighs about the animal and remained solidly in place atop it. He was the picture of strength, but she didn’t feel any heat licking across her skin.

Not as she did when she watched Curan …

Men mounted all around them, and the gate was raised. Bridget cast one look back to see Alice watching her, but her husband stood one step in front of her, his hands propped on his hips and his face in a set expression that told her not to expect any leniency from him.

From the side of the stable, her father’s men appeared, every one of them stripped of their chain mail and swords. Their horses were strung together with thick rope to keep them from having command over the animals.

“I’ll be getting a bit of silver from your father, too. Just no in trade for you.”

“You sound like a Viking raider.”

Gordon reached up and tugged on a curling lock of his blond hair. “Of course I do, lass. Don’t ye ken that we Scots are Norse blooded?”

He sent his fist into the air, and the mass of horses and men made for the open gate. Her horse followed without any guidance from her. They raced out of the yard and into the rocky hills that made up the border land. Gordon had a good sixty men riding with him, over half of them remaining outside the keep. They joined their laird now, their plaids bouncing with the motion of riding. The sun was warm on her face and the wind just brisk enough to keep her from becoming too warm. There was a certain spark of life in the moment, a sense of freedom that made her want to smile. The men kept her surrounded while they headed overland. Within an hour a fortress came into sight. This one put Alice’s home to shame. It rose up into the sunlight as proud as Amber Hill. But she felt a touch of sadness for the fact that Curan was not there waiting for her.

Thinking of the man killed her enjoyment of the ride. She took a sidelong glance at Laird Barras, and in spite of his well-muscled body she did not feel any passion for him, only a slight annoyance for the arrogance he seemed to radiate.

Well, that was what she could expect from tender feelings. Dissatisfaction forever because she had been foolish enough to allow her passion to rise for Curan. She looked down toward England with a longing that sent a shaft of pain through her heart.