“I am not coming into your house, damn you! I have said what I came to say, and now I will go home,” Rosamund told him.
Logan Hepburn shook his head. “You will not be an easy woman to live with,” he told her. Then he picked her up and strode into his hall with the struggling, swearing woman in his grasp.
“Put me down, you damned Scots bastard!” she yelled at him. “I don’t want to go into your house! I want to go home!Put me down!”
He put her on her feet and then stopped her mouth with a hard kiss. Rosamund reared back and hit him a blow that caused him to see stars. He kissed her again, this time his arms wrapping themselves tightly about her, pulling her hard against his long, lean body. She tried to draw away, but he held her fast. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, but then she was able to yank her head away from his. Still he had her arms pinioned firmly, and she could not hit him.
“Let me go!”she said through gritted teeth. Her eyes spit sparks at him.
“Never!” he growled back. “You and I have played this game long enough, Rosamund Bolton. I love you, though why I do not know, for you are the most difficult woman I have ever met. I want you for my wife. I have driven my clansmen to distraction by refusing to wed because I would have none but you. Now the time has come for us to marry, and for you to give me an heir, for I know you are capable of it. God only knows I am capable of it as the number of my bastards will attest. I have not been stealing your sheep. The only thing I want from Friarsgate is its mistress.”
“Well,” she said, gasping. “Dammit, Logan Hepburn, I cannot breathe if you will hold me so tightly; if you are not stealing my sheep, then who is? There are any number of Scots, I suppose, from which to choose.”
He loosened his grip on her. “I will help you find the culprits, Rosamund,” he said calmly to her, “and then you will pick a wedding day, my fine auburn-haired lass.”
“I can find the guilty myself. I’ve already set a trap for them.And I’ll not marry you.I’ll not marry ever again. How dare you, Logan Hepburn! I am not some ewe sheep to be bred by the Scots ram. If you want heirs, then get them on some simpleminded lass who will think you are wonderful.I do not!”
“You’ll spend the night,” he said calmly.
“I’ll not!” she shouted, pulling away from him and hitting him a blow that he barely avoided, seeing it coming. Her fist glanced off his shoulder, and it stung him.
“Why would I want some milk-and-water lass when I could have you?” he asked her. “I like a woman with spirit. She breeds up fierce sons and fiery daughters,” he said with a wicked grin.
“You will not get Friarsgate,” she said stonily.
“I don’t want it. It belongs to your lasses by Owein Meredith. Our bairns will be of Claven’s Carn, not Friarsgate.”
“I am going home now,” she said, and turned away from him.
“Very well,” he said. “My men and I will ride with you, for you cannot travel the borders so close to the full moon without a proper escort. We’ll remain and help you catch the thieves.”
“No!”
“Aye!Mata, for God’s sake reason with her.”
“My lady,” the young priest began, but Rosamund walked from the hall without another word.
“Have some whiskey,” the Hepburn said to Lord Cambridge. “Are you really her cousin?”
“Aye, I am, but aren’t you going to stop her?” Thomas Bolton looked a bit nervous.
“She can’t go anywhere until she has her horse back, and she’ll not get it until I give the word. Mata, find my brothers and tell them to gather the men and be ready to leave immediately.” He went to a sideboard and poured out two dram cups of whiskey, handing one to Lord Cambridge. “What the hell is your name?” he asked.
“Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge, at your service, my lord.”
“Are you in love with her?” Logan Hepburn demanded.
Lord Cambridge laughed. “Nay, though I do love her. She reminds me of the sister I lost. Do you mind?”
“Nay,” Logan Hepburn said, and downed his whiskey in a gulp.
“And you actually intend to marry her?” Lord Cambridge asked. “You do understand that she is not an easy woman?” He quaffed down the dram cup of whiskey, gasping, his eyes watering at its potency.
“Aye,” Logan Hepburn said, and added, “I make the whiskey in my own still. Do you like it?”
“Oh, it’s grand,” Lord Cambridge said, wondering if all the flesh had just been stripped off the insides of his throat, or just the top layer.
The young priest came back “The men are ready, Logan, and Rosamund is walking because they would not give her her mare.”
