Page 24 of The Sweet Surrender of Janet Buchanan
William scowled at her, but knowing that arguing with her was fruitless, he turned to face Darach directly. “Ye said Roddie took her from ye just before dawn. Can I assume then that ye spent the night with my sister?”
Darach nodded, not bothering to deny it.
“Was she properly clothed when ye both fell asleep?”
“William,” she said, taking a step toward her brother, “this is not the—”
But he silenced her with his palm held in the air. “Well?” he asked Darach. “Was she?”
“Nae, she wasna’ properly clothed,” Darach confessed. He didn’t bother to move out of the way when her brother’s fist sailed into his face. He took a blow to his jaw that clipped his lip and arched his spine backward and produced lights before his eyes. But he didn’t fall, and he didn’t strike William back.
Janet covered her mouth to stop herself from shouting at her brother. As her guardian, he had every right to beat Darach senseless. But he didn’t. One punch and he seemed satisfied. He said nothing when she hurried to Darach’s side, her anger forgotten, and wiped the blood from the old tear in his lip with her thumb.
“Ye’ll need stitches again. Come home, and I’ll see to it.”
He smiled, consenting to her wishes and melting her heart all over her ribs. “Nae singin’ while ye do it this time, wife.”
They left the tent together, leaving William stuttering after them. “What? Did ye just call her wife or witch? What the hell did he say? Janet?”
She didn’t answer him. Not when Darach’s glorious mouth needed tending.
Chapter Sixteen
Darach paced the hall outside Janet’s chamber while her cousins Margaret and Agnes helped unravel her from his plaid, bathe her, and dress her properly. He should be out hunting Menzie, not waiting in the hall, wasting time. Hell, this is what became of men who fell in love. They gave in. They were conquered with a mere slant of a lass’s lips, a veiled look, the alluring sway of her hips. He should go. He should be out there finding the man who’d tried to take Janet from him.
He eyed the other man waiting in the hall with him. William Buchanan leaned against the opposite wall, staring at him with eyes as frosty as his sister’s on her worst day.
“Tell me again,” Janet’s brother demanded quietly, “about this Highland law that makes my sister yer wife without benefit of a priest or any witnesses.”
Aye, Will was angry that Darach had spent the night alone with his sister. In a forest. With her unclothed.
Darach sighed and told him again, though he suspected William Buchanan knew of it well enough. “’Twas the only way to keep Roddie from attackin’ ye again.” Darach stared at him. “Ye didna’ want another battle, aye?”
“So ye wedded and bedded my sister?”
Darach’s eyes slipped to the door, hoping Janet hadn’t heard. He’d let Buchanan hit him once. He wasn’t going to let him dishonor Janet by speaking about their night together. Not when he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Now that he knew she was safe, he wanted her in his arms, in his bed. Hell, what had become of him? His cousins would mock him, just as he’d mocked them for falling in love.
“Does she know that ye did this only to avoid a war?”
Darach let his irritation spark his eyes when he looked at her brother again. “And to save ye from havin’ to kill Menzie yerself… or did ye ferget?”
“I see,” Will said, equally irritated. “So ye did us a favor.”
“Aye,” Darach growled, frustrated and tired, not to mention his lip stung like hell. “I did. Someone had to. Ye can thank me fer it later.” He was angry, frustrated, tired. He didn’t mean a word of what he said, and when he looked up and saw Janet standing at her door, looking hurt and angry, he made a move to rush to her.
“Menzie!” she screamed, motioning behind him.
Like a slow motion dream, Darach turned to see Roddie Menzie at the end of the hall, a pistol in his hand. The shot rang out, close enough to deafen Darach’s ear as the ball sliced through the air where he’d been standing an instant earlier. Instead of going into him, it went into Janet.
“Nae!” Darach heard his own voice shout, though he wasn’t certain it was him. Terror struck him like never before in his life. He heard William shouting… or was it him. She was going down. He moved in a blur of speed and caught her. Blood seeped through her gown at the tip of her shoulder. Her shoulder. It was a flesh wound. She would live!
He turned, blood before his eyes, and saw Roddie trying desperately to load another shot.
Darach handed Janet over gently to her brother with orders to get her to her bed and send for help, then he stalked forward, defiantly continuing when Roddie aimed the pistol at him. It jammed and didn’t fire. Darach smacked the weapon out of his hand and then tackled his enemy to the floor. He wanted to kill the Menzie chief, but it was too easy this way. He needed to send a message to the rest of them. With three crushing punches to the face, Roddie was knocked out cold. Tomorrow morning, the drawbridge would be lowered and Roddie Menzie would hang in view of what few men he had left. Let the rest of them come back. Let them try to start a feud. Darach was ready. His kin would be ready, too.
For now though, he had more important things to see to.
He entered Janet’s chambers and swallowed his heart when he saw her, beautiful and bloody, in her chair, her wound being tended to by her cousins. When she saw him, she tried to leave her chair but Darach held up his palm and went to her instead. He thought of what to say. He was a bard’s son, after all. But pretty, practiced words failed him and he let his heart speak. Kneeling at her feet, he took her hand and kissed it. “I didna’ return the first time because I was afraid of how ye made me feel. But ’twas stayin’ away from ye that hurt the most. I know this because now that I’m with ye again, I feel healed, and made whole. Ferget what ye’ve heard aboot m’ past. ’Twas ye I was searchin’ fer. I was a fool once, and I may be once again, but no’ aboot ye, Janet. Ye mean more to me than any other. I want to spend the rest of m’ days with ye.” He paused and looked toward her brother, who nodded his agreement. “I love ye, lass. I will love ye and only ye fer the rest of m’ days.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Ye’re only saying this because I was shot. If ye’re sincere ye’ll sing to me later on tonight.”
He laughed. “Ask me fer m’ heart and it’s in yer hands, heartless wench.”
She graced him once again with her bonny smile. Och, but if it was songs she wanted, he’d sing to her night and day. Already, he thought of a thousand words to describe her.
Love. It made bards out of warriors. Hell, his cousins would never let up.
