Ransom by Julie Garwood Page A

what he says.”
    â€œHe’s clearly infatuated with you,” Ramsey added. “Would you like time to consider his proposal? Perhaps if you were to sit down with him and discuss this matter—”
    â€œNo,” she blurted out. “I don’t want to sit down with him, and I don’t need time to consider his proposal. I would like to give my answer now. Would you please tell Dunstan that I thank him for his proposal, but . . .”
    â€œBut what?” Gideon asked.
    â€œI won’t have him.”
    Those were the identical words she had used to deny eight other men.
    â€œWhy not?” Ramsey demanded, his irritation obvious.
    â€œI don’t love him.”
    â€œWhat does love have to do with a marriage proposal? You could learn to love this man.”
    â€œI will love the man I marry or I won’t marry at all.” After making her vehement statement, she took another step back.
    â€œHow do I reason with such an absurd belief?” Ramsey asked Gideon.
    â€œI don’t know,” he replied. “Where could she have gotten such notions?”
    Their rudeness in openly discussing her as though she weren’t even there angered and frustrated her, but she triedto control her temper because Ramsey was her laird and she should respect his position.
    â€œYou won’t change your mind about Dunstan?” Ramsey asked.
    She shook her head. “I won’t have him,” she repeated.
    â€œAh, Bridgid, you are a stubborn lass to be sure.”
    Being criticized a third time stung her pride, and she found it impossible to keep silent any longer.
    â€œI have been in your presence less than ten minutes, but in that short while you have called me obstinate, difficult, and stubborn. If you are through insulting me, I would like to join my aunt and uncle.”
    Ramsey was astonished by her burst of anger. She was the first woman ever to speak to him in such a tone. Her behavior bordered on insolence, yet he couldn’t fault her because he had said those very words to her, and they were insulting.
    â€œYou will not speak to your laird with such disrespect,” Gideon commanded. “Your father would turn in his grave if he could hear you now.”
    She lowered her head, but Ramsey saw the tears in her eyes. “Let’s leave her father out of this,” he said.
    â€œBut, Laird, at the very least she should apologize.”
    â€œWhy? I insulted her, though not deliberately, and for that I apologize.”
    Her head snapped up. “You apologize to me?”
    â€œYes.”
    Her smile was radiant. “Then I must tell you I’m sorry for being so contrary.” She bowed, then turned and ran outside.
    Gideon frowned after her. “She’s a difficult woman,” he remarked. “I pity the man who does marry her, for he will have a fine battle on his hands.”
    Ramsey laughed. “But what an invigorating battle it would be.”
    Gideon was surprised by the comment. “And would you be interested in pursuing a—”
    A shout stopped his question and he turned to the entrance just as a young soldier came running inside the tent. He was Emmet MacPherson’s son, Alan, and he looked as though he had just seen the ghost of his father.
    â€œLaird, come quickly. There’s been a terrible accident . . . terrible . . . at the falls,” he stammered, panting for breath. “Your brother . . . oh, God, your little brother . . .”
    Ramsey was already running outside when Alan’s next words hit him.
    â€œMichael’s dead.”

CHAPTER TWO

    England, in the reign of King John
    H e was hanging by a thread. In his desperation to hide from his enemy, the little boy had wrapped the old discarded rope he’d found in the corner of the stables around and around the jagged boulder, then tied a tight triple knot the way his Uncle Ennis had taught him to do, and