Resisting the Highlander: A Scottish Romance

by Marian McBride

  Bridget smoothed down her green skirt nervously. She was proud of her parents and where she came from but was worried about how she might look to her wealthy grandfather in her modest attire. She turned her thoughts instead to what her life would be like if she did move into the castle. Her pace increased, worries forgotten.

  It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the castle from her home. She hadn’t gone far when she saw her cousin Margaret coming toward her. Her cousin was a nondescript young woman about Bridget’s age but with few redeeming qualities. Margaret had light brown hair and pale blue eyes in a an expressionless face devoid of color. Born into a large family, she had been taken and raised by her grandparents. Although Bridget could never identify anything in particular that was wrong, there was something about Margaret that made her feel equal parts compassion and unease. Bridget always tried to be kind and friendly towards her, though Margaret rarely seemed to deserve it.

  “Hello, Margaret,” she greeted, and before she could be stopped, she quickly added, “Sorry, I can’t stop and talk with you now. I’m heading to my grandfather’s house. He has something important he wants to talk to me about, and I mustn’t keep him waiting.”

  “Oh, Bridget, can’t I come with you?” asked Margaret. “I haven’t got a thing to do. Please let me.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Bridget said, and shook her head. “This is family business and Grandfather might not like anyone else present while he talks to me.”

  Margaret’s face tensed, and she scowled. “You are so lucky, Bridget, to have a rich relative who thinks so much of you. I wish I were in your shoes.”

  Bridget laughed and tried to cheer her cousin up, “Don’t look so glum, Margaret. I may be spending more time at the castle now, and if I do, I will see to it that you come and visit me often. But now I must hurry. It is getting darker, and I want to get there before they sit down to supper.” With a wave of her hand, she hurried on her way.

  Margaret stood unmoving and watched Bridget go with an odd look on her usually somber face.

  TWO

  As Bridget neared the bluff above the ocean, she could hear the waves crashing on the rocks below and the plaintive calls of seagulls and curlews nesting down for the night. The birds’ cries sounded eerie in the fading light.

  A brisk wind was blowing in from the North Sea as Bridget climbed the hill to the castle grounds. She was breathing hard when she reached the top. She stopped for a moment to watch the rays of the setting sun. Having inherited her grandfather’s love of the sea, this had always been one of her favorite spots and she never tired of looking at it.

  As she entered the gate of the stone wall surrounding the estate, a brown and white collie came running to meet her. Rearing up on his hind legs, he put both paws on her shoulders and uttered guttural sounds of welcome.

  “Hello there, Sarge, you beautiful thing, I’m glad to see you too,” she said, stopping to caress the dog. It was nice to see he was still spry, like a giant puppy who would never grow old. “Where’s Robert? Let’s go look for him, shall we?”

  The dog bounded off a little ways and barked as he went, but then stopped to let her catch up, tail wagging furiously.

  They walked towards the stables located some distance from the house. She was certain that her grandfather would be there. As she came closer, she turned her nose up as the pungent smell of horses reached her nostrils.

  Hearing Sarge’s barking, Robert MacDonald emerged from the stables and came towards her, a big grin on his face.

  “Bridget, my girl,” he cried out, “so you did come. And looking more beautiful than ever. I was afraid I might have frightened you off with my request.”

  Bridget smiled with amusement and secret pleasure that he didn’t judge her for her clothes. Her grandfather had always been direct and appeared truly glad to see her. Bridget was surprised to feel a wave of joy flow through her, catching her up and moving her forward. Laying the basket she carried on the ground, she reached out to embrace him warmly. “Grandfather, you old charmer, I don’t know how you do it, but you nearly always get your way, don’t you? And yes, I have decided to be hostess for your club supper, but I don’t know about moving in with you. I shall have to give that some serious thought.” She wondered how sincere he was in his welcome. She knew him to be a proud man, not one to apologize or admit past mistakes. But she was a proud lass, not one to forgive without being asked.

  “Well, my dear,” said Robert, clearly pleased by what she had said, “first things first, eh? We’ll talk about that later, but I’m right proud you have decided to come to the party I am giving.”

  Putting his arm about her shoulders, he went on, “Supper will be ready shortly but now come and meet my right hand man, Aidan MacLeod.”

  Bridget had seen him from a distance before but never had an occasion to be introduced.

  “Aidan, lad,” yelled the old man toward the interior of the stable, “come on out here. I want you to meet my granddaughter.”

  “Be there in a minute, sir, soon as I get some of this muck off my hands,” a deep male voice yelled back. Bridget recoiled at his words, hoping he didn’t plan to shake her hand until it was clean.

  While waiting for him to join them, Robert said, “Aidan is a nice lad, Bridget, and I would like you to become good friends with him. He has certainly made himself indispensable to me, and I don’t think I could get along without him now.”

  She bit back a reply that she was old enough now to choose whom she befriended. “He is from the Highlands, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yes he is, lass, and quite ambitious. Very anxious to make something of himself. I could see this when I first met him on one of my visits there, so I decided to give him his chance, and it has worked out well for both of us. He is young still but hard-working and has a great love for animals, horses especially are in his blood. I had him take special training for his line of work and it has definitely been to his advantage. He has bred and raised some fine animals for the laird out at Pholorth Castle. The word has got around about the grand work he does along this line and our business is flourishing.”

  The object of their conversation emerged from the stables. Bridget suddenly felt self-conscious again at her appearance. The way Aidan’s smile grew upon taking her in was equally reassuring and disconcerting. She noticed he was clad in brown riding breeks, knee high boots, and a loose-fitting tan jersey. As he walked towards them, he slapped his leather boots with his riding crop.

  “Ah, Aidan my lad,” said Robert, looking back and forth between the pair, “this is my favorite granddaughter, Bridget Campbell. I want you two to become better acquainted with each other.” Then, looking at Bridget proudly, he added, “She has agreed to be the hostess at my club supper I am giving next month.”

  Aidan came forward and extended his hand in greeting towards Bridget. It appeared rough, but at least it was clean.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Bridget. I feel that I already know you quite well. Mr. MacDonald often talks about you.”

  Bridget was surprised by his words and was already of a mind not to like him after Robert’s urging, but not wanting to appear rude she shook his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Aidan, and you must forgive Robert if he boasts about his family.” She said the last word pointedly, not liking how out of place she felt while he, a relative newcomer, seemed at ease.

  Aidan smiled, his dark eyes burning into hers. The touch of his hand brought disturbing sensations. Color reddened Bridget’s cheeks as she gazed into his rugged face, suntanned to a deep brown beneath tousled black hair. His face was clean shaven, making him appear a few years older than she despite the weathered skin. His lopsided smile gave him an insolent look. He was a picture of health and surely attractive, but there was something ruthless about him that made her apprehensive.

  They gazed at each other for a long moment. She barely repressed a shudder as she realized he was still holding her hand.

  Smiling, Robert brok
e in, “Well now, shall we get going to the house? Supper should be ready, and we better get there before Besse gets upset.”

  Bridget pulled her hand from Aidan’s grasp and picked up the basket she had brought from home. She accepted her grandfather’s arm gladly, surprised at how comfortable she was with him, as if she were a child again. She felt safe as he led her away, but from what, she wondered?

  The three people walked towards the house, she and Aidan on opposite sides of Robert, Sarge trotting along at their heels.

  The house was a replica of a medieval castle that had been built by Robert’s grandfather, Bridget’s great, great grandfather. She’d been told that he was a retired sea captain who had come down to the Lowlands after the defeat of Prince Charles Edward on Culloden Field in 1746 and the resulting clearances of the Highlands, when chiefs were outlawed and all clans ordered to disband. Many of them emigrated en masse to the new Americas, leaving their beloved homeland forever.

  Robert’s forbearer had preferred coming to the Lowlands to be near the sea, his intention being to reconstruct the ruins of the old Fraser Castle that stood on Kinnaird Head, a point of land jutting into the North Sea, and also to build a much needed lighthouse on the point.

  But about that same time, the British government decreed that no lighthouse could be privately owned, and they built one themselves on the only stable part of the old castle that was still standing.

  Undaunted, Bridget’s ancestor leased several acres of land in close proximity to the lighthouse and built his own castle by the sea. In time, he became custodian of the lighthouse.

  The home he’d built was two stories high with stone walls two feet thick and veneered on the outside with rough white harl. Bridget thought that it made a marked, pleasing contrast to the red tile roof. The four decorative turrets on each corner of the building and mock battlements around the roof gave the semblance of a castle. Two storage garrets atop the second floor were roofed in with red tile and came to within three feet of the battlements, creating a balcony all the way around accessible by a doorway from one of the garrets.

  On the south side of the building, Robert had added a hexagonal-shaped room with walls of heavy glass on four sides and strong oaken shutters for protection against winter storms. The stables he had added to the estate when Aidan had come were matched to the castle with rough white walls and red tile roof.

  Veritably, it was a show palace, standing on a grassy knoll that sloped down to the sea and a sheltered sandy cove, girded on two sides by large rocks and tide pools. Bridget, now taking this all in, was awed by the thought that some day this might belong to her.

  Her reverie was broken by Aidan’s voice asking, “Are you interested in animals at all, Bridget? I would like to show you around so you can get an idea of the work I do here. We have some very fine horses, which I’m sure you would enjoy getting acquainted with.”

  “I have never been around animals very much, but I think I would enjoy seeing some of the horses here and getting to know just what you and Robert do.”

  He smiled with amusement, “Fine, Bridget, anytime you say then.”

  They were met by Besse when they reached the house. Bridget felt herself tense at the sight of the dour faced, forbidding housekeeper. Short and plump with an ample bosom, she had the look of a woman who had lived a hard life. Judging by the look of her face at the moment, Bridget thought that she had nothing much left to smile about.

  “You’re late, sir,” Besse grumbled, “I’ve been holding supper for you.” The look she gave Bridget made her feel as if she were to blame.

  “Besse,” said Robert, quite unperturbed, “my granddaughter will be having supper with us. Please set another place.”

  Bridget sensed the woman’s displeasure and wished she could go home to eat but knew her grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. Trying to sound cheerful, she said, “Oh, Besse, here are some things my mother sent over.” She handed her the basket.

  Besse took it with as much grace as she was capable of and answered, “Thank you, Miss Bridget, and thank your mum for sending them.” She flounced around the corner of the house towards the kitchen door.

  Aidan, smiling enigmatically, said he would head to his quarters to wash up and change clothes for supper.

  “Come, lass,” said Robert, “let’s go in the front way.” The front way was a heavy oaken door with the MacDonald crest in the center and the words Ty-Runach, Gaelic for “beloved house,” inscribed on a glass panel above the door.

  Upon entering the parlor, Bridget looked around the beautiful room she had always admired. The lofty ceilings and wood paneled walls gave it an air of warmth and elegance, as did the deep red carpet on the floor. A semicircular staircase of twenty red carpeted steps dominated the east side of the room. On the wall at the turn landing hung a portrait of Robert’s wife, Bridget’s grandmother Katherine.

  Mahogany tables and chairs polished to a brilliant shine attested to Besse’s housekeeping ability. Objects d’art from foreign lands were everywhere, and although Bridget had seen the room many times, she looked at it in a completely different light. She thought how wonderful it would be to actually live in this exciting atmosphere and make it her home.

  Across the spacious room on the west side was the large stone fireplace where a fire was always burning and another painting of a full rigged sailing ship hung on the wall above the mantle. Two leather armchairs were placed on each side of the fireplace and a leather upholstered settee sat directly in front of it.

  On the north side of the room was the dining area just off the kitchen, which in turn was reached by a doorway under the stairway. On the far side from the dining area stood a magnificent grand pianoforte that Bridget has never seen before. Everything about the room looked elegant and inviting, but the pianoforte called out to her the most.

  Bridget thought that maybe her mum had been right. She could own it all some day if she tried her best to make Robert happy now. Looking around the room again she exclaimed, “How lovely everything looks, Grandfather. So cosmopolitan with all your different artifacts, yet so cozy and home like.”

  Robert looked at her fondly, replying, “It will be much more so, lass, with you in it.” Then in a more serious tone he continued, “I need someone of my own near me in my declining years.”

  She studied him, seeing lines on his face she hadn’t noticed before. His shoulders stooped slightly and his skin sagged. Though the fire in his eyes hadn’t lessened, Bridget could see the years on him and it scared her. She hugged him and answered, “We’ll see, Grandfather, we’ll see, but I’m not promising anything yet. Tell me though, when did you get the lovely pianoforte?”

  “Oh, lassie, I thought it time you had one of your own and got it for you a few weeks ago. It would be a comfort having you play for me this evening.”

  Bridget spoke seriously, “Don’t spoil me, Robert. I’m not used to it, but I am very glad you got the pianoforte.”

  “Well, my dear, whether you come to live here or not, you can use the piano any time you want. It’s yours, and now here comes Aidan. Let’s sit down to supper. I see Besse has it all laid out.”

  Aidan, with his black hair neatly combed and face shining as after a good scrubbing, came towards her and held the chair as she seated herself. He looked most attractive in tan colored trousers and a white, high-necked jersey. She found herself wishing she could feel more friendly towards him, but there was something about him that repelled her, and which for Robert’s sake, she would have to try and get over. He was far too self-assured for her liking, but if she decided to move into the anchorage, she would hopefully learn to cope with it.

  Aidan sat directly across the table from her, Robert at the head between them. Every time she looked his way, Aidan’s dark eyes were upon her making her feel ill at ease and shy, but also furious with herself at the strange feelings within her. From the smug look on his face, she felt he was highly amused and knew exactly what was going on in her mind.

&nb
sp; As she toyed with her food, Robert’s voice broke in on her, “What’s the matter, lass? You’ve hardly touched your supper. Don’t you like it?”

  She looked startled for a moment, “I like the smoked fish well enough, but I never eat oat cakes. I’m going to the kitchen to get a piece of bread.” She got up from the table, glad of an excuse to get away for a moment, and hurried to the kitchen.

  Besse, eating her supper, looked up inquiringly. “I just want a piece of bread, Besse. Do you mind if I toast it?”

  Then, without waiting for an answer, Bridget took a fork from one of the drawers, stuck it into a bread slice, and held it in front of the open fire, first one side and then the other. Smiling at Besse she said, “I don’t like oat cakes.”

  Surprisingly, Besse answered, “Well here, lassie, put some butter on your bread.” She pushed the butter plate toward Bridget.

  Bridget smiled,“Thank you, Besse.”

  She walked back into the dining room when she was done, unaware of Besse’s eyes watching her closely.

  On returning to the dining room, she found the two men deep in conversation about horse breeding. They stopped conversing as she sat down at the table, causing her to look at them inquiringly.

  “Now look you two,” she almost snapped at them, “I’m grown up now and know all about baby horses, so don’t stop your discussion on my account.”

  Ignoring the two of them, she plowed into her food without another look or word. Aidan and Robert smiled at each other and resumed their talk.

  When the meal was over, the two men retired to their respective chairs by the fire. Bridget helped Besse clear the table and carry the dishes to the kitchen.