“Yearenae in her bed.”
“Ihavenae tried to get there. There was such a coldness in the woman when shearrived, I felt it would be fruitless to even try. I have no wish to beat myhead against a locked door.” A strong urge to kick the twice-cursed door downmayhap, he mused, but he was not about to confess that to Rosse.
Rosseshook his head and started down the narrow stairs to the bailey. “Ye want her,but ye insult her and show her how truly unacceptable she is, and then yecomplain that she doesnae want you. Mayhap, my friend, ‘tisnae Sorcha who ischasing away these possible brides.”
“Areye saying that I am unattractive to them? Ye jest. I am young, healthy, have afat purse and a fine keep. What more could any of these lasses want?”
“Someonewho will treat them as something a little more important than his chair.”
Oncedown on the solid dirt of the bailey, Ruari spun around and glared at hislifelong friend. “Do I ask for your advice in this matter? Nay. I do this forGartmhor.”
“Nay.”Rosse shook his head. “I begin to think ye do this for yourself. Ye want SorchaHay. Ye are so eaten up with wanting that it has made ye sour of temper andverra short of sight. I think ye now cling to your plan for a certain sort ofwife with a certain sort of dowry so that ye cannae e’en look at Sorcha as apossible mate. After all, if she doesnae meet all these qualifications ye haveset, then ye couldnae possibly wed her and so ye will be safe.”
“Safe?What do ye mean?”
“Imean just what I said—safe. Safe from thinking and feeling. I believe SorchaHay affected more than what dangles between your legs, and ye fight that ashard as ye have ever fought an Englishmon. I dinnae ken why and, mayhap thereis no real reason, but ye are afraid of the emotions she stirs up inside of ye.”
“Thatis utter codswallop,” Ruari snapped.
Rosseshrugged. “I didnae expect ye to heed what I say as ye clearly cannae even heedwhat your own heart tells you. I but pray that ye try to open your eyes ere itis too late to mend things, or one day ye shall awake to find that ye have thewife, the son, the power, and the heavy purse, but that there is a deep gnawinghunger inside of you that isnae satisfied and will never be fed.” He turned andleft before Ruari could even think of a reply.
Cursingsoftly to himself, Ruari returned to the great hall. He was beginning to resentthe constant advice and criticism he was belabored with. How could anyone knowwhat he thought and felt, even Rosse whom he had known since birth?
Hestruggled to dismiss Rosse’s words as he sat down to try to finish the meal hisprospective bride’s abrupt flight had interrupted. No matter how hard he triedto shut the words out, they continued to echo in his mind, forcing him toexamine them closely. He did not like the idea that some small, brown-eyed lasscould frighten him and he wanted to find the perfect rebuttal to Rosse’s claim.Try as he would, however, nothing came to mind except for a vague acceptance ofhis friend’s idea which he struggled mightily to suppress.
Witha heavy sigh that was a mixture of resignation and fury, he leaned his elbowson the table and thrust his fingers through his hair. Sorcha Hay was everythingthat was opposite of what he had always been taught was the perfect lady. Sheand her family would bring whatever husband she managed to snare a lifetime oftrouble and upset. Her passion, however, was perfection. He had finallyadmitted that he would never find its like in another woman’s arms. It wascertainly a strong argument in her favor.
Onthe side of the scales that weighed in against her was a great deal to contendwith. She was poor, she had no lands, she could fight like a man, and sheinsisted on talking to ghosts. He was working to add to that list when he hearda soft footfall and looked up to see the bane of his existence, Sorcha Hay,looking at him with undisguised curiosity. He idly admitted that another thingin her favor was that pair of fine brown eyes.
Shestood before him in a borrowed gray gown that was a little too big and toolong. Her hair was loosely tied with a black leather thong, a few thick wavesof it falling over her shoulder to drape over her chest. She was small yetbeautiful, and every part of his body ached for her. He did not know whether tolaugh or curse. There was a very good chance that Rosse was right, but Ruarihad no idea of what he should do about it or even if he should try.
Sorcharesisted the urge to shift from foot to foot under his steady gaze. There wasthe oddest look in his eyes, a mixture of anger and amusement as well as astrong hint of accusation. She wondered nervously if he had guessed that shewas the one sending all his little brides running for the hills. She had notreally considered the consequences of being caught out in her game. It would behard to make any sort of reasonable explanation without exposing a great dealabout the state of her heart.
“Whereare your guests?” she asked, deciding to take the direct approach.
“Asbefore, the lass suddenly took fright and fled for her home as fast as she could.”
“Oh,how odd,” she murmured as she sat down and helped herself to some cider.
“Veryodd, considering that each one of them had expressed a keen interest in amatch. What is even odder is that I actually wondered if ye might havesomething to do with that.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his wine.
“Me?What could I possibly have to do with your skittish brides?”
“Nothing,I suppose.”
“Exactly,nothing. Even if I was to talk to them, what could I possibly say that wouldmake them run away from you, from a marriage many a lass would work verra hardto secure?”
“Quitetrue. What could ye say? ‘Twas but a passing thought.” He stretched out in hischair. “And how does life at Gartmhor treat you?”
“Quiteweel, thank ye kindly. One cannae call me a guest, yet I am treated with allthe courtesy usually offered one. There is one question—is there a maid herecalled Mary?”
“Nearhalf the women in Scotland and England are called Mary.”
“Iken it. I thought ye might have only one, but that would be far too lucky.”
“Whydo ye ask?” He frowned and sat up straighter when she looked guilty then triedtoo hard to keep her face averted. “It doesnae have anything to do withspirits, does it?” he demanded.
“Yetold me never to speak of it,” she reminded him.
