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Finn had tried to engage her in conversation at first, but after having been rebuffed for the tenth time, he had given up. “Ye win, Greta,” he told her, sighing. “I cannae compete wi’ yer stubbornness. Let me know when ye come to yer senses.”
If Finn had thought his reprimand would have any effect, he was sorely mistaken until the moment he gathered his men together for the raid.
“Lads,” he said in an authoritative tone as his men gathered around him, “there is no’ much for us here except for the holy relic o’ Saint James.”
“Is it a big relic?” one of the men asked. “Heavy, like?” he was laughing scornfully.
“No,” another one said. “I have heard stories about this one. It is only his finger bone. A totie wee thing.”
“Aye,” Finn agreed, nodding. “Mind ye, lads, I don’t want what happened in Shieldaig tae happen this time. We lost five men, an’ for what?”
Liam looked contemptuously at Greta. “Well, ye got yerself a sweetheart,” he pointed out to Finn. “An’ much good it has done ye.”
Finn felt a surge of rage boil up inside him at Liam’s remark, but he decided to ignore him, reasoning that arguing with him would only make the situation worse. “So we go straight tae the church an’ leave the villagers alone,” Finn went on. “Keep them away from the church, is a’.”
“An’ how do we do that?” Dougie, one of the other men, asked. “Ask them nicely tae stay back while we take their precious wee relic out o’ their church?”
“Aye, I can just see that happenin’,” Liam said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ye’ve gone soft in the heid, Finn, man! That is what happens when ye start thinkin’ wi’—”
He got no further, for Finn bristled, then went up to Liam and grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “Listen, wee brother,” he growled. “If ye would like tae lead this band o’ men, tell me. I will gladly step down an’ give the burden tae ye’, but I think ye will find it a lot heavier than it looks. ’Til then, shut yer face.” He pushed Liam away, and the two men glared at each other for a few moments before Finn turned away and outlined more details before the rest of the gang set off. However, they were still milling around when Greta spoke up.
“I remember when ye helped me tae save the bairns in the church,” she said suddenly. “Ye were kind then. Kind an’ gentle. Why are ye not like this now? Ye can still turn back an’ stop this raid.”
“Oh, ye are speakin’ tae me again, are ye?” Finn asked angrily. “Tae what do I owe this honor, Miss Greta?” He glowered at her from under his deep brows, and she cowered away from him as he walked toward her. “I helped ye because I don’t hurt women or children, but if ye don’t stop speakin’ tae me like that, I might change my mind! Ye have been nothin’ but trouble since I met ye!”
“Well, ye know the answer tae that, do ye no’?” she asked, her eyes flashing with anger. “Let me go.” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger.
“An’ if I set ye free, where will ye go?” He bent down toward her, and his furious blue-gray eyes stared into hers. “Straight to Laird Mackay to betray us, of course!”
“Aye, I will!” Greta took a deep breath. “Ye must see that this is no way tae live, terrifyin’ poor people an’ stealin’ the wee bit they have.”
“This is my life!” he yelled. “It is how I support myself an’ my men. I give them a good life. They have enough tae eat an’ support their families.”
“Oh, aye?” Greta put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “An’ what about the families ye rob? Do they have a good life after ye have stolen everythin’ they have? Remember the bairns we pulled out o’ the church, Finn? Remember them? Ye helped me, an’ ye cared about them. I saw it in yer eyes.”
Finn thought back to the day his mother had disappeared, the day the bandits had overrun his village and made him what he was. He stared at Greta, his heart breaking as he thought of his mother’s dear face, her eyes shining with love and fear. This woman was just like her, protective and caring, full of love for her fellows.
“Would ye no’ prefer a life of honor?” she asked. “One where ye don’t have tae run an’ hide a’ the time? What is good about this life, Finn?”
Finn looked down at her earnest, pleading eyes and once more saw his mother, the woman who would have done anything for him. He gazed at her for a few more seconds then his mind snapped back to reality. Greta was not his mother. He had no mother, or perhaps he did—somewhere. He had never found out what had happened to her. He shook his head in frustration.
“Why are ye no’ with them?” Greta asked. “In the village.”
“Because I had tae stay wi’ ye!” he growled. It was the first answer he could think of because he dared not contemplate the truth. Perhaps he was changing, becoming the kind of man Greta wanted him to be.
“Then let me go!” Greta roared as loudly as she possibly could. “I have asked ye an’ asked ye…” She stepped forward and began to beat her hands against his chest as hard as she could, but she might as well have been pounding them against a tree trunk for all the good it did.
Presently, he caught her hands and looked down at her with a thunderous expression. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left his mouth. Instead, he pulled her forward so that their bodies were pressed together from chest to knee and stared into her golden eyes, his expression gradually changing from one of anger to one of wonder. His gaze moved to her lips, and she parted them as if inviting his kiss.
Greta was absolutely livid with rage, and she expressed it by taking out her fury on the source of it, the exasperating, infuriating, yet strangely fascinating Finn Crawford. When she hit him, his body was as unyielding as a block of wood, and she was about to give up when he gripped her wrists so tightly that it was almost painful. When she stopped beating him, she looked up to find his gaze waiting for her.
His eyes were the color of the sky on a stormy day. He was studying her intently, and she could feel the hardness of his manhood pressed against her belly. Within seconds she felt her own response, and she swallowed nervously before his mouth came down on hers, lightly and gently at first, then more insistently, his tongue teasing her lips apart to stroke hers.
Greta moaned softly as she felt his arms wrap around her, and she knew that if she allowed him to continue, they could stand there for ages because she had never experienced anything quite so glorious in her life.
However, they had to draw apart eventually, and he let her go and stepped back, breathing heavily and hanging his head to avoid her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “I said I would nae do that again.”
Greta put her fingertips to her lips, which were swollen and tingling. She had, indeed, instructed him not to kiss her, but this time she found that she could not reprimand him. Indeed, she could not have told him to stop had her life depended on it. Now, she could think of nothing to say.
