A Lesson in Passion (11 page)

“I forgive you,” her face serene.
Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

Ian hrumpfed and walked off. Ginny figured
that was the best she could hope for. Shaking her head, she turned
to seek out Aileana and see if she had anything to eat before she
was forced to get back on a horse with Broderick.

• * Chapter 9 *
  

After hours of silent riding, Broderick
finally spoke. While pointing to a rock wall in the distance, he
stated, “Our home.”

His economy of words did nothing to quelch the
joy Ginny was feeling over the prospect of getting off that damn
horse and away from Frankenstein. During the hours of silence,
Ginny began to assign nicknames to those of the clan she knew.
Broderick was Frankenstein, for his big, brooding ugliness and lack
of communication skills.

Ian was “the emperor.” Do not speak unless
spoken to, do not do unless told to and do not think unless you're
a man. Charming to the end.

Alec was “the knight.” He seemed the only one
with an ounce of gentility. He was probably more like his brother
than she had yet to see, but at least he could be
accommodating.

Ginny's excitement was short lived
since she came to realize that the wall was still miles away from
where they were going.
Damn Frankenstein
for getting my hopes up
, she thought to
herself since she had no one else to talk to.

Ginny began to look around and admire the
scenery. The chill in the air told her that they were pretty high
up in altitude. The craggy mountains were covered in huge boulders,
that Ginny imagined climbing. During these summer months, the hills
were covered with sprays of color from all forms of wildflowers.
She began to try to identify the species that might assist her in
healing.

The longer they rode, the cooler it got. Even
during the middle of the day, it was starting to feel more like
winter in the Northeast US than the summer in Scotland. Ginny had
always complained about the cold. Her blood had thinned after so
many years in Arizona. She was used to a January that even if it
was cold, you could count on warming up in the sun. The sun barely
penetrated this place and she began to shiver. Then the shiver
turned into chills. Her feet and hands had long ago gone
numb.

She knew that Broderick would not appreciate
her snuggling against him, but his skin, although mostly bare and
exposed, was generating delicious heat. So, slowly, she moved
against him. Closer and closer until she was practically inside his
kilt. She put her hand on his chest, trying to be nonchalant and
acting like she was steadying herself, but all the while enjoying
the tingling feeling of warmth. Normally, she would sit on her
hands to warm them up, but that was not an option.

Broderick would stiffen every time she moved
closer. Ginny knew he didn't like her, which was actually an
understatement of his true feelings for her and all English folk.
He would try to lean further away from her as she would try to inch
herself closer. Suddenly, Ian was at their side eying her
suspiciously.

“Yes, Laird?” Ginny asked, knowing
she was in for something.

Ian looked at Ginny, then looked at Broderick.
The look on his face went from disgusted to sympathetic. As usual,
the sympathy was not for Ginny. He let out a great sigh and had
Broderick stop his horse. Ian reached over, and with little effort,
grabbed Ginny and pulled her back onto his horse. Ginny had to
admit that she was grateful for the change, but knew she was in for
some lecture on decorum or proper behavior. It was almost laughable
considering his behavior over the last few days.

Before she could say anything to explain
herself, Ian put his arm around her and dragged her back against
his body. As with Broderick, Ian was oozing heat from his pores.
Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder and relished in the
warmth of his body. She was reminded of the books she'd been
reading on her vacation about hard, strong bodies. Ian definitely
fit that bill, with broad shoulders, well defined chest muscles and
a hard six pack. Ginny yawned against his chest and started to fall
asleep. She didn't want to be rude, but figured Ian didn't want to
speak to her anyway. In no time, she was dozing.

Ian looked down at the top of
Ginny's head in wonder.
How could she be
cold when it was so goddamn hot out.
She
was nuzzled against him like a kitten on a windowsill on a sunny
day. He found it hard to admit that it was quite erotic and even
this was turning him on. Ian was well known for his discipline and
he found himself losing it for this Englishwoman.

It would all change when they reached his
keep. He loathed to admit that he had no idea what he was going to
do with her. His people had good reason to distrust the English and
would not accept her willingly. She was a great healer, so that
might help smooth things over. They were without a decent healer
since the elderly woman, Gretchen, had died last fall.

Ian leaned down and smelled her hair. It was
fresh, like wildflowers. Being as disciplined as he was, this
attraction was absurd. Ian had had women. Many would offer
themselves up freely to him whenever he wanted. Lately, with all
the extra responsibilities that came with being the chieftain, he
thought little about his own needs and hadn't bedded a woman in
months. That was the reason he was losing his mind around this girl
so often. Once he got back, he reasoned, he would seek out some
female attention and it would cure him of this crush. Then he could
get back to business as usual.

• * Chapter 10 *
  

Ian nudged Ginny awake as they began riding up
the last hill to his village. She woke with a start and almost fell
off his horse. Chuckling, he explained, “Ya see the keep on the
hill? That's my home.”

“Oh, we're here. Thank God. I will
be grateful to get off this horse.” Ginny wasn't kidding. Although
she'd fallen asleep riding with Ian, she was stiff and
uncomfortable. What she wouldn't give for a hot bath, a good meal
and a chance to walk off her leg cramps.

The village that surrounded the keep was
filled with small, utilitarian huts. As the warriors approached,
many of the clan came out to greet them. Once inside the village,
Ian helped Ginny to the ground and dismounted his horse. Pulling
the reins, he began to walk the rest of the way to the keep,
greeting his clan on the way. The villagers were happy to see them
return, with many asking Ian about Aileana. He was polite, but
evasive. It would be up to Alec to provide more answers if he was
inclined.

Ginny walked behind Ian's horse and to the
left. She was looking around and admiring the scenery that she
didn't hear the first gasp, followed by several slurs aimed at her.
When a small, older woman stopped her, Ginny was taken by surprise.
The woman stared at her and asked, “Are ya English?”

“I was rescued by Ian at the keep
where Aileana was being held,” Ginny said, sensing that being
English around here was not in her favor.

“Dear God,” the woman said,
crossing herself as if she were in the presence of the devil. “YAR
not welcome here!” And with that, she picked up some mud on the
ground and threw it in Ginny's face.

Shocked beyond belief, Ginny could
only stand there. The woman began to spit on her until some other
villagers came along and pulled her away. Ginny then recognized the
litany of curses and slurs being directed at her.
What the hell have I done
, she thought as more of the villagers began to throw things
at her.

Turning her body to protect her head, Ginny
felt the rain of objects connecting with her body. It was a good
thing she had turned, because a rock narrowly missed her head and
hit her shoulder instead. Looking in every direction for a route to
escape, Ginny realized she was surrounded and trapped. Her body
went into preservation mode and she was about to start fighting
back when Ian appeared at her side, picked her up and carried her
off on his shoulder. He was screaming at the clan to stop their
attack, but they were in a frenzy and would not be so easily put
off.

Ginny could still feel rocks hitting her butt
and legs, so she kept her arms over her head. Suddenly, there was a
roar, much like the battle scream Ian gave before entering the keep
in the south. This time, however, it was Broderick. It seemed that
no one was going to cross the enormous warrior and the screams,
slurs, taunts and rocks suddenly stopped.

Ian ignored his clan and kept going until he
had Ginny safely inside the keep. He entered an enormous room and
dropped her down. Ginny barely had time to steady herself. She was
covered in mud and spit. The shock was starting to wear off and the
anger began to set in. She was attacked, without provocation, and
Ginny sensed that they would not have stopped until her head was on
a pike. With the fear of that possibility, came more
anger.

“WHAT the hell was THAT,” she
screamed at Ian. Although she knew logically that Ian had saved
her, not just this time, but before with the men who kidnapped her,
he was the only other person in the room to rail against. Her face
was red, she was sweating from the anger and fear, and she needed
to release the stress or go mad with it. Unfortunately, Ian didn't
understand this.

“Don't yell at me, wench. I dinna
spit or throw rocks at ya.”

“No. You just forced me to come to
this God awful place, where men throw rocks at women for no good
reason. Where it's freakin' cold and smells and where I'm
hated.”

Ian looked shocked. Did she really think of
his home at God awful? Could she really be mad at him for saving
her from certain death if he'd left her behind? This girl needed to
learn her place and fast. The sun was setting, so he knew it was
time for her to go to bed and cool off before he dealt with her
again.

“Ya will come with me, NOW!” he
screamed at her, grabbing her arm and dragging her to a small room
off the great room. He threw her inside and turned to say, “Ya will
stay here until morning, Lady Chatham,” spitting her name out as if
it disgusted him to say it. “We will talk in the morning.” And with
that, he closed the heavy wooden door and locked it.

Ginny looked around. The room was no bigger
than her walk-in closet at home. There was a small window, situated
high up the wall that provided little light. She could see some
straw in the corner and a blanket on the only piece of furniture in
the room, a wooden chair. The room had no bathroom, only a
chamberpot in the corner and no where to wash off the spit and mud.
This would be a grim night indeed.

Ripping off the bottom of her chemise, Ginny
used it to wipe off her face and arms. It smelled so bad, like this
room was used for animals. For all she knew, it probably was. Dogs,
maybe. She sat on the chair, shaking from head to toe. If this was
a romance novel, it was the worst ever. All the books she read did
not have situations as awful as hers.

Looking over the blanket and straw, she
couldn't see any fleas, but would she see them in the very little
light she had? Ginny wrapped the blanket around herself and laid
down on the straw. Exhaustion over took her and she feel asleep.
Tossing and turning most of the night, the only sleep Ginny got was
filled with nightmarish dreams about her head on a pike.

• * Chapter 11 *
  

The next morning, after getting no
sleep, Ginny was in the worst mood of her life. She couldn't
remember feeling this bad when her beloved grandmother died. It was
worse than defeated, it was utterly glum. She had heard the door
being unlocked early in the morning, before there was even enough
light to see the door.

Once the sun began to shine into
the small window, she decided to venture out. The small room was
beginning to feel more like a tomb, where she should have expired
during the night. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

Ginny was grumpy, thirsty, hungry
and pissed. A bad combination for anyone to be around. She walked
to the great hall of the keep, in search of some water. On the
table, there was a pitcher and several goblets. Ginny walked over
and smelled the contents of the pitcher.
Thank God
, she thought as she poured
herself some water.

She drank several glasses and sat
on the bench of the long table. She was too absorbed in her own
thoughts to notice that Ian, Alec and Broderick had all walked into
the room. She began to pour herself some more water when Ian scared
the breath out her by speaking.

“What are ya doing?” he asked in
his usual menacing voice.

Christ, I now have to ask
permission to drink some damn water? How much more am I supposed to
take? This is medieval! Oh wait, this really is
medieval.

Ginny turned to face the men. “I
was very thirsty. I found this pitcher with water and was drinking
it,” Ginny said in as sweet a voice as she could muster considering
her circumstances, her position as a pariah, her lack of sleep, and
her current state of uncleanliness.

Ian had about enough insolence
from this wisp of a woman. Did she not understand anything of the
way things were done. She was not a guest, she now belonged to him
and would behave as such. “Who told ya that ya could drink the
water?” Ian asked, obviously trying to control his unfounded anger,
again.