lad."
Gordon frowned. "Enough. Bring the lad to me, or would you have me take him from you?"
Jillian clenched her teeth, wishing she was close enough to the wretch to make good use of her sgian dubh . Smoothing Ian's tear dampened hair away from his face, she slowly carried him across the room. "Ian, this is Gordon MacRae, Father's distant cousin." She put him down in front of Gordon, but stood behind him with her hands protectively on his shoulders. He looked so small and helpless standing there in his nightshirt.
Gordon immediately appeared to soften, as he bestowed a smile upon Ian that was clearly insincere. "Lad, I've come to Lochstorm to instruct and guide you in the ways of a laird and baron. There's much to be learned before you become of an age to perform your duties adequately."
Ian drew himself up to the full height of his four years. "Papa already taught me."
Jillian felt pride for her wee brother as he so bravely faced the stranger before him. She could almost see the warrior he would one day become as a man.
Gordon 's eyes narrowed. "You are now my ward, which means that you will do as I say. I'll see to Lochstorm until you become of an age to do so yourself. Is that clear?"
Ian l ooked up at his sister. "Jilly can do that."
" Certainly not." Gordon snorted. "She's but a female and incapable of providing you with the same sort of guidance I can offer."
Ian reached up and placed his small hand over Jillian 's. "Papa died and he was the laird of Lochstorm. Jilly told me that now I am."
Gordon laughed, but his e yes flashed with outrage. "Of course you are, but before you may truly rule, you've much to learn. Now, back to bed with you, lad. 'Tis still early."
With her teeth tightly clenched, Jillian listened to Gordon spout his nonsense to her brother. She had much to say about it, but decided to hold her tongue for the moment. "Sleep well," she said, kissing Ian on top of the head before handing him over to Winnie, who quickly hurried back upstairs with him in tow.
Jillian waited until Winnie and Ian had disappeared down the corridor—and out of hearing—before she turned her full wrath onto Gordon. "You've no right to come here thinking you can just take over. 'Tis Ian who holds the barony here—not you. He's but a wee lad of four years, and he didn't understand half of what you said—for he's much too young. I well ken, Gordon MacRae, that whatever 'tis you have in mind for him is but for your own good and no one else's."
His face was a glowering mask of rage and she thought for a moment her life might be in danger. "Don't cross me on this, Jillian," he bellowed, his voice echoing against the high beams of the great hall.
She seethed with anger as she shook her finger in front of his face—a habit her father had always found quiet annoying. "If you think I'll idly stand by and let you destroy everything my father worked so hard to build, or watch you pretend to instruct my brother for your own selfish reasons, you're greatly mistaken, cousin." She spat the last word out as if it were a bitter herb on her tongue.
He sighed. "I'd hoped you and I could reach some sort of agreement. But if you're going to insist on this way of thinking, I've no other option than to have you remain in your bedchamber—'til you decide to come to your senses and see things my way. There will be no use for you to try and leave, for a guard will be posted outside your door 'til I say otherwise.
Jillian couldn 't believe what she was hearing. "How dare you! I'm the mistress here. You, Gordon MacRae, have no rights over me whatsoever, or anyone else who abides under this roof."
He shrugged. "Who will stop me?" He pretended to look about the room. "I see no one." His voice held a note of mockery. "Take her to her bedchamber," he ordered the man nearest him.
As the guard reached for Jillian's arm, Roderick—who'd been left alone—stepped in front of her, and knocked the man's hand away. "Leave her be," he said, his
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley