Gordon stared straight back at Curan without flinching. “Aye, lad, I do.”

The English baron held his thoughts for a long moment, studying him.

“Why? To bed her before wedding her?”

“Why do ye want her returned so quickly, Ryppon? Is there another offer that is better? I’ll match it if I bed her.”

“If?” Curan raised one eyebrow in question.

Gordon shrugged. “I told ye, Ryppon, I want to court the lass. It may be that I will send her back to ye happily.”

“Careful, Barras. Jemma might have made a mistake yesterday, but she took my father’s passing very hard, for she tended him for the years that he was ill. A woman’s heart is tender, as I am discovering with my own wife. Don’t make the mistake of thinking ill of Jemma for loving our father so greatly she faltered under the pain of his passing. That capacity to love is the thing that makes a woman worth more than any treasure on this earth. Women love deeply, and sometimes that sends them into despair when they lose the person they give their heart to.”

There was a light in the baron’s eyes that made Gordon envious. The emotion surprised him, stealing the heat from his next words.

“I want the chance to discover who yer sister is, and I can nae do that with ye about.” Gordon shrugged. “I’ve been the master of my own home too long, just as ye did nae take too kindly to anyone telling ye how to treat yer own bride. Ye have been in command too long to sit and perform like an untried lad.”

“That is true enough.” Curan rubbed his chin. “But if you bring tears to Jemma’s eyes, I swear I will smash your face, Barras. Business or no business, and that is my solemn promise to you.”

Gordon smiled, the expression cocksure and arrogant, drawing a chuckle from Curan.

“I promise you, Barras, you won’t enjoy this fight.”

“Neither will you.” There was thick promise in his voice but also a good amount of boyish merriment. Curan shook his head but not completely with disgust.

“I’ll be back, Barras, and soon.”

Curan rode back to join his men, and smiles appeared on their faces when they learned that they would not be ordered into battle. Gordon knew that his own men would be wearing similar expressions. He could feel their relief hitting his back while he maintained his position and watched the English baron turn his men around. There was a single knight who defied his lord’s command. Two white plumes were mounted on the back of the man’s helmet, signifying his rank. He remained facing the Scots, and Gordon could feel the heat of the man’s glare. But his lord jerked his head, and the knight bent beneath the order.

Kerry joined him with an expression that was smooth. But there were questions brimming in the man’s eyes.

“Keep yer thoughts to yerself, man. I’ve enough to think about.”

A low whistle was his captain’s reply, one that Gordon had heard before when the man was teasing him over something. Today, Gordon didn’t find any humor in the moment, and his captain’s whistle irritated him. He sent Kerry a deadly glare, but Kerry only chuckled.

“A wee bit touchy now, aren’t ye, Laird?”

It wasn’t really a question but a statement of how his man felt about his behavior. Gordon stared at the withdrawing English and felt satisfaction fill him. Too much satisfaction for his mind.

Maybe he should have given Jemma back to her brother.

His body rejected that idea instantly, but he couldn’t deny that his pride didn’t like the notion that any woman might become so important to him. Love wasn’t what he sought. He needed a family and felt that lack in his life more and more lately. That was the only explanation for how often he’d gone out to watch his neighbor riding across the border land. He didn’t seek love, only a woman who could give him the family he longed for without boring him.

Jemma had spirit, and her brother would think twice about invading Barras land if his sister was wed to his neighbor. It was a common arrangement along the border land. One that would serve him and his clan well.

It was a good plan, and he’d always followed through with a good plan. Jemma Ramsden would have to understand that.

Ula was a tough taskmaster to satisfy. The housekeeper came looking for Jemma the moment Barras left her. Jemma felt her cheeks heating because she was sure that the woman knew exactly what her laird had been doing with her, too.

“Idleness brings naught but trouble,” the older woman declared before beginning to direct Jemma just as she did with the other women that crossed her path. “Besides, winter comes sooner to us here.”

“Ula, Amber Hill is not so far from Barras Castle.”

“It is nae?”

Jemma shot the woman a glare. “No, it is not.”

Ula retaliated with a knowing grin. “Well then, I can see what the laird is thinking in courting ye.”

Courting. A misplaced word if ever she had heard one. It was like calling a goat a stallion. They both had four legs and that was as far as the similarities went.

But Ula offered her something to do, and there was part of her that loathed returning to her days of nothingness. It would be far worse to have time on her hands at Barras Castle because it would further alienate her. If she were a man, she would expect to find herself sleeping in the dungeon.

But that idea only gave rise to the thought that because she was a woman, she needed to worry about ending up in the laird’s bed.

Who would detest it . . . ?

Her inner thoughts were becoming quite bothersome. Jemma ordered them to stay away from Gordon, but her mind was full of nothing but the man. He was well built, and she found his frame quite pleasing. She could not say just why, only that she noticed him more than other men. He was certainly different from the men who followed her brother. There was his kilt, for instance.

Her cheeks heated even more because she suddenly thought about what was beneath that pleated garment. Or, more precisely, how quickly the man might be able to ride. Scots had a reputation for tossing skirts, even lowland Scotsmen like Gordon.

She wasn’t sure there was much difference. Gordon was far removed from the Englishmen she knew. His dress, his speech, and even his mannerisms made him Scottish to her.

Did he find me as foreign?

It was a fair question. In all her musing she had never considered how different she might be from the sort of woman he would have preferred for a bride.

Last night he had been certain that she didn’t possess the necessary knowledge to be his wife. Well, sense was a better word. Her pride still stung, but there was the fact that he had returned and found her more to his liking the second time.

How would she fare tonight?

That was a dangerous thought, one that stirred up the embers of the fire he’d lit in her with his kiss. The sun was already high above her head and beginning to arch back toward the horizon. Emotions swirled through her, building in strength as the day progressed.

What captured her attention the most was the excitement brewing inside her. It stunned her and pricked her temper, but she could not deny that it was flickering in the pit of her belly, eagerly awaiting another encounter with Gordon Dwyre.

Jemma hissed at herself. The word “foolish” seemed to be firmly attached to her.

Barras Castle did have a fine bathhouse. Jemma sighed as she leaned forward and washed her feet. She was happy to discover that at least one rumor she had heard of Scotland was true, that the Celtic people liked to bathe often, unlike many of her English brethren.

She had never been among those who believed bathing too often led to a lack of immunity from disease. Amber Hill had a bathhouse behind the kitchen, and she used it every day.

Barras Castle put Amber Hill to shame. There were twice as many slipper tubs here. Quite a statement when one considered that each tub cost a large sum. There was also soap and linen for drying with. The bathhouse was built along the back of the huge hearths that were used to cook. The heat came through the wall, heating the room so much that the window shutters were wide open to prevent the room from becoming too hot. But the amount of heat made a cool bath soothing. A large water wheel gently lifted water from the river that ran alongside the castle. A portion of the bank had been dug out to form a pool that the water wheel might work from without risking damage to its wooden slats. The water poured into a long spillway that ran along the outside wall. Every few feet, a thick slab of wood was placed over a cut-out section of the spillway. With a tug it came free, and water spilled down into the tub below it. You only had to replace the slab to stop the flow of water.

There was a small hearth where iron kettles might be used to heat water, but the room was so warm that Jemma didn’t bother. The cool water felt good against her skin, and she sat down in the water wearing her chemise so that the garment might gain a washing, too.

“Here now, there is no need for ye to worry about wearing soiled clothing.”

Ula entered the bathhouse and placed a folded cream-colored garment on a nearby stool.

“This one should fit ye, but a dress will prove a bit harder to locate. Maybe on the morrow.”

“I appreciate the chemise, Ula.”

The housekeeper smiled. “Ye earned yer keep today. No one is forced to stink at Barras Castle. Perhaps the laird will bring a few of yer things back with him.”

That would mean that she was staying at Barras Castle.

Jemma felt a prickle of a chill cross her nape. Ula moved to the fireplace and lifted one of the kettles. She tested it with her finger before bringing to to Jemma. There was a hint of something in her eyes that suggested she was preparing Jemma for her laird and that she was quite happy to do so.