The Secret - The Secret Part 72

Patrick's hold on her knee became painful.

"My name is Douglas Maclean," he answered.

"Are you commander over these men or just the most outspoken?"

He ignored the insult. "I'm the laird's son," he said. "Now tell me who-"

He stopped his demand when he noticed the radical change that came over the beautiful woman. The color had left her face. She almost fell off her horse, and didn't even seem to notice. He reached over and grabbed hold of her arm.

She was daring to shake her head at him. "You cannot be his son."

The vehemence in his voice confused him. "The h.e.l.l I can't," he replied.

She refused to believe him. A thought popped into her mind. Her father must have been married once before. Yes, that was it, she told herself. Douglas looked several years older than she... "Who was your mother?" she demanded.

"Why are you asking me such questions?"

"Answer me."

The fury in her voice surprised him. "And if I do answer you, will you then tell me who you are?"

"Yes," she promised.

He nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice mild once again. "My mother was an English b.i.t.c.h. Her accent was very like your own. That much I remember. Now tell me who you are," he demanded again.

She was desperately trying to keep her wits about her. "How old are you?"

He told her, then painfully squeezed her arm.

Judith thought she was going to be sick. Douglas was five years older than she, and his eyes, dear G.o.d, his eyes were the same color as her own. Was his hair the exact shade, too? No, no, she told herself. Hers was much lighter.

She had to take a deep breath to keep herself from gagging. She slumped to the side of her saddle, close to Patrick's side.

Dear G.o.d, it was true. Douglas was her brother.

Patrick tried to put his arm around her. Douglas jerked her toward him, then lifted her from her mount and settled her in front of him.

"What the h.e.l.l's wrong with her?" he asked.

No one answered him. Douglas growled in frustration. He still didn't know who the woman belonged to, but he recognized Patrick, all right.

"The Maitland laird will come after his brother," he told his men. "We'll be ready to give him a proper greeting. Bring them to my father's holding," he ordered with a nod toward Graham and Patrick.

The length of time it took to get to the Maclean keep was shortened considerably because they were able to ride directly there, across Dunbar land. Patrick memorized every detail on the way for future use.

Judith didn't pay any attention to where they were going. She kept her eyes tightly closed while she tried to sort out this G.o.d-awful situation in her mind.

She wanted to weep with shame over her mother's treachery. How could she abandon her child? Judith was so sickened inside, she could barely concentrate on anything but keeping her stomach settled.

As they rode, she wondered how Douglas would react if she threw up all over him.

She finally opened her eyes. He noticed. "Did the Maclean name scare you into a faint?"

"I didn't faint," she snapped. "I want to ride my own mount."

"I want you to stay here," he replied. "You're very beautiful," he added almost as an afterthought. "I might decide to let you warm my bed."

"That's disgusting."

She hadn't meant to blurt out her thought, but she couldn't keep it inside. Douglas took exception to the appalled look on her face. He took hold of her chin and forced her face up to his.

Good G.o.d, was he going to kiss her? "I'm going to be sick," she stammered out.

He hastily let go of her.

She took several deep breaths to convince him she really was having difficulty, then relaxed. "I'm better now," she lied.

"All the English are weak," he told her. " 'Tis yet another reason we despise them."

"English women as well as English men?" she asked.

"Aye," he answered.

"I'm English," she said. "And you contradict yourself. If you hate all of us, why would you hint at wanting me in your bed?"

He didn't answer her. A few minutes pa.s.sed before he spoke again. "Tell me your name."

"Judith," she answered.

"Why are you wearing the Maitland plaid?"

"My friend gave it to me. I'm here on a visitation and will return to England after my friend has had her baby."

He shook his head. "The Maitlands wouldn't let you leave. You're lying, Judith."

"Why wouldn't they let me leave?"

"You're too beautiful to-"

"I'm English." She interrupted him with that reminder. "They don't like me."

"Don't lie to me," he ordered. "Tell me who you belong to."

"She's telling you the truth," Patrick shouted. "She's a guest, nothing more."

Douglas laughed. He wasn't believing any such nonsense. His hold on Judith's waist became painful. She reached down to pry his fingers away. She saw the ring on his finger then. She let out a little gasp. Her hand flew to her bosom where her father's identical ring was hidden. "Where did you get this ugly ring?" she asked.

"It was my uncle's," he answered. "Why do you persist in asking such personal questions?"