Border Fire(48)

The tears evaporated, and she said indignantly, "I did no such thing!"

"How else would you describe this impulsive flight to Branxholme?"

Belatedly, she remembered telling Margaret that she had run away from home. She had not meant what he meant, however, and Margaret had known that. Quinton should know it, too.

Raising her chin and straightening her shoulders, she tried to match his even tone when she said, "You sent me away, sir."

"I did not send you to Branxholme."

"No, but you sent me away like a child to my room without so much as a discussion of what had transpired. You never asked why I followed you and your men. You merely assumed that I had acted stupidly."

"I assumed nothing. I would not have been so unkind as to call your action stupid. But you acted impulsively and without using good sense, you defied my orders, and you deserved my anger, Jenny. You deserve more now."

She knew what she deserved, but she would not give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Still striving for calm, she said, "I might well have acted impulsively, Quinton, but you must understand that I am not accustomed to seeking advice before I act. For years, I've had no one to advise me but Hugh, and I generally knew what he would say. And for that matter, you did not expect me to seek your advice before I purchased dungs for Broadhaugh or hired new servants, even a new cook."   





 

"That is different, but even so, had you hired anyone I did not like, I would have told you so and expected you to get someone else. Moreover, in matters concerning the household, I know that you are capable. Most women are."

Having no interest in discussing most women with him, she said firmly, "I am also competent to express opinions and to make decisions for myself."

"Not decisions that go against my orders, lass. You will meet grief every time, taking that road. Surely, you are not going to try to tell me that your decision to follow us was a sensible one. You do recall what nearly happened to you as a result, do you not?"

"That was unfortunate," she said, adding hastily, "and I will admit that in my haste I did not think carefully enough about my own safety, but-"

"Or Tip's," he interjected.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded.

He was silent.

"If you-"

"We are not going to discuss Tip," he said. "You have admitted that you did not think before you followed us. We need not discuss that, either. In future, you will control your impulses and do as I bid you."

Fighting frustration and anger, she nibbled her lower lip.

Quinton said evenly, "I do not want to be a harsh husband, Jenny, but I would be failing in my duty toward you if I did not take steps to prevent you from flinging yourself into danger."

"I did not fling myself. I feared for your safety, and as it happened, you'd have run into an ambush if those louts had not stumbled over me!"

"I know that you have little faith in my ability to look after myself or my men," he said.

"That is not true!"

"It is true," he snapped. The sharp tone silenced her. He said more calmly, "I cannot blame you for harboring such feelings, considering how we met. Nevertheless, even if I had somehow been unable to look after my lads, you could have done nothing to help the situation."

Much as she wanted to argue the point, she knew that she could not win it. Worse, she suspected that he was right, that in thinking she might have been of help in any situation, she had been harboring a delusion. What had seemed logical while she sat by herself worrying about what might become of him seemed anything but logical now. And without logic firmly on her side, it would be particularly difficult to make him understand her point of view.

The ache returned to her throat. That, added to her frustration, kept her silent.

He said, "Why did you run away from me?"

The first thought that leapt to her mind was, "So you would discover how much you would miss me." Suppressing it, she muttered instead, "I was angry, sir, as angry as you were." The ache eased enough for her to add, "I know that much of your anger was stirred by fear. You said as much, and I understand that kind of anger. I wish you would try to understand that my need to follow, to help if I could, was born of a like fear."

"I do understand that," he said.

"I don't think you do. It was not what you think."

"It does not matter," he said with an impatient gesture. "I swear, lass, you would try even Job's patience." He drew a deep breath, clearly finding it difficult to keep his temper. "We are not going to debate this further."

The note of finality in his voice irritated her, but her irritation turned to wariness when he turned away and began to unfasten his belt.

Defensively, she said, "You should not treat me like a child, sir. At home, I have dealt with many responsibilities much like yours over the years, and I am capable of dealing with them competently. Even Hugh does not ignore my advice or opinions out of hand. I just think you should-"

"Take off your clothes, Jenny."

She froze. "What … what are you going to do?"

"We are going to bed, lass. I am too tired to fratch, and if you press me too hard, I am like to do something we will both be sorry for. Now, can you manage by yourself or do you need help?"

"I … I'll need help," she admitted. "This dress has too many laces and hooks in the back for me to do it myself."

Quin watched the play of emotions on her expressive face and hoped that he had made his position clear to her. He understood her difficulty. Living with a man like Hugh Graham and lacking the guidance of a mother or any other responsible female, she had grown up in a most haphazard way. He would not quickly teach her to submit to his authority unless he were willing to treat her as he believed her brother would. He did not want to be harsh, but his hands fairly itched to shake her for what she had done. She could ignite his temper more rapidly than anyone he had ever known before.   





 

He had taken off his belt and his doublet and pulled his shirt free of his breeks before he could trust himself to touch her. He was glad that she did not speak. She just watched him, and her expression remained wary.

He was glad, too, that she showed the good sense to be a little frightened of him. He would never have another peaceful moment if he could not trust her to rein in her impulses and behave sensibly. The Borders were too dangerous, and the Scotts had far too many enemies. Not all of those enemies lived across the line, either. Jenny did not know whom she could trust and whom she could not.

She trembled when he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her away so that he could unhook her gown.

His body stirred, just being near her, and he wanted to take her in his arms and make love to her, to force her complete surrender to his will. Gently, resisting the temptation, he helped her take off her dress, then loosened the lacing of her underbodice. A few minutes later, standing in her smock, with her fine, silvery-blond hair unbound and pushed back behind her ears, she looked like the child she insisted that he believed she was. She was no child, though. The soft, inviting breasts beneath her smock were plain testimony of that. Her nipples thrust hard against the linen. She was getting chilled.

"Get into bed, Jenny," he said gruffly.

"Quinton, I want to-"

The words ended in a gasp when he grasped her shoulder and turned her toward the bed with one hand and gave her a smack on the backside with the other.

"Go," he said, knowing from her reaction that he had smacked harder than he had intended. Watching her scramble into the bed, he felt an impulse of his own to apologize, but ruthlessly he quashed it. He knew that any apology would be spurious. So, too, was the thought that he had smacked her harder than he had intended. He had not. In truth, he had wanted to punish her, to put her across his knee and skelp her until she promised never to give him such a fright again.

He was not sure even now if his failure to do it sprang from nobility or fear that he might do her an injury.

She had terrified him, not once but twice. First she had nearly got herself raped, maybe even murdered, and then, only a few hours later, she had defiantly left Broadhaugh with only a single lad to protect her.

He paused to put two more logs on the fire before divesting himself of the rest of his clothing and moving to join her in the bed. She had not asked again about Tip, and that was just as well. He knew her well enough to believe that, as punishment, her worry about the little man's fate would serve as well if not better than any beating.

She wriggled away to the other side of the bed when he got in. Plumping the pillows behind him, he leaned against them, extended an arm, and said, "Come here, lass. I have some few things left to say to you. I want you to pay attention."

Though her reluctance was plain, she obeyed, shifting herself to lie stiffly in the curve of his arm with her head against his shoulder.

This would not do, he decided. He wanted to watch her expression while he spoke to her. With the fire dancing high again and the bed curtains open, there was enough light, but the angle was wrong. He was looking at the top of her head.

Shifting onto his side, he felt her stiffen more and knew that she was still afraid of what he might do. "Relax, Jenny," he said. "We're in bed because you were getting cold and because I did not want to chance becoming so angry with you that I'd do something I do not want to do."