Julie Garwood: Ransom

"Someone… stole my dagger… Gillian's father must have…"

John's voice lashed out like a whip. "Her father wasn't in court, but you were, Alford. You killed her."

"No, I didn't…"

John pounded the tabletop with his fist. "If you want to live, you will tell me the truth."

"If I want to live…"

"I won't kill you as long as you tell me the truth," John promised. "I want to know exactly what happened, but first you will admit it to me. You killed her, didn't you?"

"She was going to betray you," he stammered. "She wouldn't listen to my… counsel… and she was determined to come between you and your advisers. I sought only to protect my king. She had gone mad with power because she knew… yes, she knew she could control you."

"I want to know exactly what happened," the king demanded, his voice shaking with fury.

"I went to her chamber to reason with her, and she mocked me, my lord. Aye, she did. Your squire carried in the box and put it on the table. It was open and your dagger was inside. The squire didn't see me, and after he left, Arianna took your dagger and cut a lock of her hair. She put the dagger and the hair in the box-"

"And you continued to reason with her?" John demanded.

"Yes, but she wouldn't listen. She swore she wouldn't let anyone get in her way. She attacked me, and I had to defend myself."

"And so you cut her throat."

"It was an accident. I'll admit I panicked. Your squire had returned and was pounding on the door, and without thinking, I threw my dagger in the box and closed it. I was going to tell you. Yes, yes, I was," Alford cried out.

"And because you had a key to the chamber, your escape was so simple, wasn't it? You locked the door and took the box to your chamber. Is that right, Alford?"

"Yes."

"And then you consoled me when I found her body-good friend that you are."

"I was going to confess, but you were so distraught, I decided to wait."

"No, you decided to blame the Baron of Dunhanshire."

"Yes," Alford admitted, trying to sound contrite. "Gillian's father had come to my estate to discuss the common land we shared. He saw the box when he came into the hall unannounced but pretended he hadn't, and the second my back was turned, he stole it. He was going to keep it for himself," he ended.

"You didn't believe that," John muttered. "You knew he would bring it to me, didn't you, Alford? And so you lay siege to Dunhanshire and killed him to silence him."

"I had to kill Arianna," Alford repeated. "She would have destroyed you."

"Me?" the king shouted. He couldn't continue the game any longer. He stood behind Alford now and raised Iain's sword. "The Devil take you," he screamed as he thrust the blade through Alford's back.

The baron rigidly arched up and then slowly fell forward. John stepped back, his chest heaving with rage. The room was deathly quiet as John picked up the box and walked toward the door.

"Your son has been avenged," he told Iain Maitland as he motioned to his soldiers to follow him.

Hugh, who had been cowering behind the soldiers, called out to him. "My king, Edwin and I had no part in Alford's treachery."

John ignored his baron. As he was striding past the three lairds, he said, "They're all yours."

The door closed as Iain and Ramsey and Brodick slowly advanced.

Ramsey and Brodick weren't easily embarrassed or intimidated, but by the time Baron Morgan Chapman finished giving them a piece of his mind and a thorough tongue-lashing, the lairds were clearly mortified.

And men enough to admit it. Although they both wanted to argue with the crusty old man, they didn't dare because they had been taught to respect their elders, but Morgan was making it difficult for them with his wild accusations.

It seemed to take him forever to get to the heart of the matter. He stood facing the lairds with his arms folded and acted like a father who was chastising his boys. It was damned humiliating, but Ramsey and Brodick suffered through it.

"I've lived a peaceful life, but in the past two days I've heard enough wailing and carrying on by two very angry young ladies to last me a lifetime. You had the gall to dump them in my lap and send them home with me, and I swear to you my ears were ringing by the time we arrived. But did it end there?"

Ramsey made the mistake of guessing it didn't and shook his head, gaining him a scowl and a blasphemy from the cantankerous baron.

"Nay," he ranted. "The sweet lasses had only just got started. I thought about taking to my bed, but I knew they'd follow me." Nodding to Brodick, he declared, "You've broken my Gillian's heart, and she wants never to see you again."

"Then she can keep her eyes closed, but I assure you she's going home with me."

"You married in haste."

"I knew what I wanted, and I took it."

"It? We're talking about my niece, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir, we are."

"She says you gave her your word, and then you broke it."

"Yes."

"She believes you used her."

"I did."

"Hell, man, you could at least explain why."

"You know why," Brodick countered. "I couldn't allow her to be in such danger. If anyone should be angry, it is I, for she recklessly followed me."

Morgan threaded his fingers through his white hair. "She doesn't believe you love her, and she insists she's going to live here with me."

Before Brodick could respond, the baron turned his hot temper on Ramsey. "Bridgid has also decided she wishes to stay with me. She insists she likes the English, God help me."

"She's going home with me," Ramsey announced.

"Why?"

Ramsey was surprised by the question. "Because she's a Sinclair."

"That isn't a sufficient reason. She says you keep trying to marry her off to get rid of her. She also says her mother tossed her out. Is that true?"

Ramsey sighed. "Yes, it's true."

"And aren't you doing the same thing?"

"No, I'm not," Ramsey insisted. "Bridgid told me she's in love, but she refuses to tell me who the man is."

Thoroughly exasperated, Morgan shook his head. "Did she tell you he was a stupid man?"

"As a matter of fact she did," he replied.

The baron's head dropped down, and he peered at Ramsey through his bushy eyebrows for a long, silent minute. Then he sighed. "Were you born yesterday, son? Who in God's name do you think she loves? Think hard and I'm sure it will come to you."

It wasn't what he said as much as how he said it that sparked the epiphany. The light dawned, and with it came a slow, easy smile.

Morgan nodded with relief. "So you finally figured it out, did you? And high time, if you ask me," he muttered. "If I have to suffer through another long-winded description of your charms, I swear I won't be able to keep my food in my belly. Are you going to forget this nonsense about marrying a lass named Meggan to keep peace with your clans?"

"She told you about Meggan?" Ramsey couldn't stop smiling.

"Son, I don't believe there's anything she hasn't told me about you. Have you stopped being stupid then and come to your senses?"

Ramsey didn't take insult. "It seems I have," he agreed.

"She's a handful," he warned.

"Yes, sir, she is."

The baron straightened up. "Now then, I want both of you to listen carefully, because I'm going to give you my conditions."

"Your conditions, sir?" Brodick asked. He nudged Ramsey to get him to stop grinning like an idiot and pay attention. "I could use some help here," he muttered.

"My conditions," Morgan repeated. "Do you think I want to be saddled with two lovesick women?"

"Then let us take them," Brodick reasoned.

The suggestion earned him another glare. "I can see from the look in your eyes that you love Gillian. You might want to tell her so, son, and soon, because she's gotten it into her head that you don't care about her at all."