Page 43 of Desire's Ransom
“Just like the English always have,” grumbled a bald-pated brute.
“Aye,” some of the other woodkerns chimed in.
Ryland heard the menacing growl of his men behind him, which triggered menacing growls from the two wolfhounds.
Before a fight could break out, Gray held up her hand for silence. “Bran! Flann! Hush.”
The hounds calmed at once.
Ryland wished he could calm his men so quickly. But he understood their anger. He was beginning to regret engaging the outlaws’ help. All this delay was troubling his spirit and trying his patience.
“Look,” he told them. “This quarreling is pointless. Either you’ve seen the woman or you haven’t. Either you’ll help me or you won’t. Every moment we waste, hurling insults and arguing politics, brings her closer to danger. She’s out there somewhere in the woods—frightened, lost, hungry. Whether you agree with this marriage or not, I would think you’d at least want to keep your countrywoman safe.”
Gray’s eyes actually softened at his words. A hint of a smile graced her lips.
The gentleman outlaw let out a sigh of shame. “He’s right. A good Irish lass’s welfare is at stake.”
“True.” The tall, jolly fellow sheepishly hooked his thumbs into his woven belt. “I suppose we ought to help him, for her sake.”
The others shrugged and nodded.
“Wait.” Gray stepped in front of Ryland. Her beautiful silver eyes locked with his. It took all his willpower not to let his gaze slip down to her soft, kissable mouth. “This bride o’ yours, does she have a name?”
For one inexplicable instant, captivated by her gaze, he couldn’t remember. For one mad moment, he imagined being married to a brash and beautiful outlaw instead of a frightened bride who’d fled into the forest.
But his strong sense of duty turned the lock on that idea.
“Her name is Temair O’Keeffe.”
