antics as much as her young brothers did. She was soon engrossed in the show.
Gamel stopped so abruptly that Ligulf walked into him. He paid little heed to the younger man’s angry query. His gaze, as well as most of his attention, was fixed upon Catriona. Suddenly the bear-baiting and the wagers to be won and lost were of no interest to him.
Ligulf groaned softly. “So ye have found her.”
“Aye. Alone as weel.”
“She has the lads with her.”
“They shall prove no problem.”
“Farthing must be near at hand.”
“Not near enough.”
“Can ye think of nothing to cure him of this madness?” Ligulf asked the husky Sir Lesley.
“Nay, not this sort,” replied Sir Lesley as he rubbed a hand through his thick brown hair. “It seizes a mon by that which far too often leads him into folly—his loins. Come, or we willnae have time to lay our wagers.”
“Place one for me, Lesley,” Gamel ordered in an absent tone even as he started toward Catriona.
He could hear his brother still muttering as he deserted his companions. There was nothing he could say to ease Ligulf’s concerns. The younger man was right to have them. Gamel heartily wished his own were stronger, at least strong enough to stop him from charging in where he did not belong.
But ye do belong, an inner voice whispered, and he grimaced. That was what drove him—a deep sense of rightness, the conviction that Catriona Magnus should and would belong to him. There had to be a way. He did not want to believe he had found all he had searched so hard for only to lose it. That was unacceptable.
“That mon comes our way,” hissed Dane, putting a swift end to Sine Catriona’s laughter. “Shall we fetch Farthing?”
“Nay,” she murmured.
“But that is what he told us to do.”
“Do it only if I fail to divert trouble. Leave Farthing to his sport for now.”
She watched Gamel pause in his determined advance to buy three ticklers from a passing vendor. With a courtly bow, Gamel presented the sticks with the gaily colored ribbons tied on one end to her and her brothers. It was impossible not to smile at such a frivolous gift. However, she frowned when, uninvited, he sat next to her on the rough-hewn bench beneath the tree. The man was too impertinent for words.
“Thank ye, kind sir.” She scowled when she realized there was no room for her to sidle away from him since her brothers were taking up the remainder of the bench.
“Ye dinnae look verra pleased with my wee gift.”
“I am puzzled by the absence of your friends. Surely they were to join ye at this fair?”
“They have gone to the bear-baiting.”
“And ye have no liking for the sport?”
“I spotted something I had far more liking for. Where is Master Magnus?”
“He is also at the bear-baiting. They will no doubt espy each other.”
Gamel smiled slightly. “And then he will hie to your side, for he will ken where I have gone.”
“Aye, he will.” That knowledge eased her increasing nervousness only a little.
“Then I must hasten to make the best use of my fleeting time with ye.”
“Nay, ye waste your time, sir. There is naught here for ye.”
“There is heaven,” he whispered, tracing the line of her cheek with his fingers.
“Mayhaps death,” she said.
Her gaze shifted to her brothers, but they were paying her no heed. The lack of any immediate threat had caused their attention to quickly wander. They were now chasing each other about with the ticklers. She edged away from Gamel, making swift use of the new space upon the bench.
“Sir,” she cried as he followed her retreat and suddenly caught her to him, curling one strong arm about her waist.
“Ye were about to go off the end, dearling.” He held her close enough to feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against his chest.
She glanced around to ascertain that he spoke the truth, then mumbled, “I see that now so ye may release me.”
“Nay, I think not.”
“What do ye want from me?” she asked, her voice nearly a moan. “I am no gay lass whose favors may be gained by pretty words or a shiny coin. I cannae be won for I have already been claimed.”
“A prize I mean to snatch from the one who holds it now.”
“If that could be done ’tis a thing that requires more time than ye have. We stay here only briefly, as do ye, then we will travel far away. I can think of no way that is honorable for ye to achieve what ye seek.”
“Then I will use a way that is dishonorable. All I willnae do is kill Farthing Magnus.” He met her gaze and held it. “Though ’tis sore hard to resist when he sets his hands upon ye.”
A soft gasp escaped her as, sheltered from view by their bodies, he slid his hand up her rib cage to cup her breast. She felt herself swell to his touch, her nipple tautening. A tingling began there which cried out for soothing. She felt pinned in place by the heated look in his eyes, unable to tear herself from his touch or escape his gaze.
“’Tis Farthing’s right.” It was a struggle for her to say the words.
“I will make it my right,” he replied.
“Nay, leave me be. I dinnae want this.” But she knew she was lying and feared it showed in her voice.
“Will ye tell me that my touch leaves ye cold?”
“Aye, cold and insulted.”
“Then ye lie. ’Tis neither coldness nor insult that has the tip of your breast boring into my palm. ’Tis neither coldness nor insult that has it crying out to be taken between my lips and sipped upon. Aye, ’tis offering me its nectar.”
His thick, husky voice and the words he spoke caused a melting warmth to seep through her body. She closed her eyes, but that only turned his words into visions. In her mind she could see his bright crowned head pressed against her breasts. A moan that contained as much helplessness as desire escaped her. She could not stop herself from succumbing to his touch.
It was not supposed to happen like this, she thought a little frantically. She had heard the minstrels sing of such things. A fierce passion such as this was supposed to be a man’s province. Love was what a woman sought. This could not be love. That came slowly, often after marriage. She was being pulled into something she did not understand and it frightened her. However, even that fear did not give her the strength to break free.
She shuddered when he brushed his thumb over the hardened tip of her breast. “Nay,” she whispered.
“Aye, ye burn as hot for me as I do for ye. Ye will be mine.”
“I think not. She is mine.”
Sine Catriona was both relieved and disappointed to hear Farthing’s cold voice. She watched Gamel, worried that the violence she read in his face would be turned upon Farthing, who placed his hand upon her shoulder. When Gamel slowly stood up, he kept her hand clasped in his. He pressed a soft, warm kiss on her palm before releasing her. Only then did Gamel meet the look of cold fury on Farthing’s face.
“For now,” Gamel said, and strode away.
Staring at her hand, wondering why she had closed it as if to hold his kiss there, Sine Catriona sagged a little with relief and murmured, “He is verra arrogant.”
“This