‘Bridie…’ he couldn’t just lie and watch her cry. ‘Come here.’
‘I think Dougal is kind and will be good to us, it’s just….’ He could feel the fear in the shoulders that shook beneath his hands as she sat on his bed and Bridie, given all she had been through, was rightly terrified of what was to come.
‘What happened to you is very different than what happens between a man and his wife.’ Alasdair held her in his arms and tried to comfort her. ‘Have you spoken to the other lassies about what you can expect?’
‘Aye,’ she gulped. ‘Mary says I should use my imagination.’ She felt his strong chest on her cheek and she breathed in the laird’s male scent and maybe Mary did know what she was talking about, for Bridie was petrified of men, but not this one, here in his arms she felt safe. ‘Or that I should take a few whiskies.’ Bridie screwed up her face. ‘But I dinnae like the taste. Still, Mary says I’ll be half asleep and it will no hurt as much and if I have enough to drink I might be lucky and not even remember it.’
Alasdair held her shoulders, thought of the halfwit Dougal and had to loosen his grip, for his hands fisted at the very image – Dougal would not be taking any time to reassure his young bride, and perhaps Mary, for all her tender years, had given Bridie the best advice – whisky was perhaps the only thing that could help. ‘It will be all right.’
Bridie pulled her head back, released herself from the Lairds arms and stood from his bed then, just a little bit angry and not sure why, perhaps because for the first time she didn’t believe the words that came from the Laird’s lips. ‘That’s fine for you to say.’
He called her as she reached his door. ‘Bridie, if there is anything I can do…’
She left without answer and if he was not mistaken did a lowly servant just slam the door to his chamber?
Yes, Alasdair realised, she did, for he could hear her crying as she ran down the passage - he could call her back and warn her for her cheek, have Mrs Moffat scold her, but of course he would not – for she was right, it was fine for him to say.
He did not have to climb into bed and be taken by Dougal.
Chapter Six
Bridie wanted to know more about kissing.
The girls were getting the Grand Room ready for the ball, hanging up fine tapestries and cleaning and Mrs Moffat was keeping a close eye on them.
‘So the Glenbarachs are invited?’ Mary was trying to understand why they would come here to the McClelland Castle, for the Glenbarachs were hated.
‘Aye, Laird Peter will bring his sister Lady Donalda,’ Mrs Moffat explained. ‘Though the Laird would fall on his dirk before he chose a Glenbarach, but all eligible ladies have to be invited, though the talks have already begun…’ Mrs Moffat was explaining things but she was called away when the seamstress arrived.
‘It’s to be Lady Catherine or Lady Helena,’ Mary said. ‘Angus told me.’
‘Between kisses,’ Bridie said as Mary blushed. ‘So what did Angus do when he kissed you exactly?’ Bridie asked, for she really wanted to know.
‘He pressed his lips to mine,’ Mary said.
‘And then what?’ Bridie frowned, she was really starting to think that Mary was lying.
‘I can’t explain it,’ Mary said.
‘Aye, because you’re telling fibs,’ Bridie said.
‘I’m not.’
‘You two!’ Mrs Moffat warned when she walked back in and saw the two girls arguing. ‘I’ll keep you apart…’ but she didn’t stay cross for long - the Laird’s outfit for the ball had arrived and it was heavenly - a heavy plaid, in the deep purples and greens of the McClellands and there was a dark purple jacket too in the softest of velvet. Mrs Moffat slapped the girls’ hands away when they touched it, but more worrying for Mrs Moffat than them making a mess of the Laird’s outfit, was the gleam in Mary’s eyes when she saw the sash the chosen Lady would be presented with at the end of the ball.
‘Would Angus’s wife get a sash?’ Mary asked. ‘Even though Angus isn’t a laird.’
‘Yes, she’ll get a sash.’ Mrs Moffat said. ‘And even if Angus isn’t a Laird, still he has to marry a lady.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, the same as the Laird - Angus will be marrying for the good of McClelland.’
It was a busy day but it didn’t end for Bridie when she’d got Gracie to sleep, because Mrs Moffat decided there was enough water for the girls to bathe and more than anything they loathed it. ‘I’m frozen,’ Mary said after as she braided Bridie’s damp hair. ‘I hate Mrs Moffat sometimes…’
‘You’re just angry because of what she said about Angus,’ Bridie pointed out. ‘But she’s just speaking the truth - Angus can only marry a lady.’
‘Perhaps,’ Mary said, ‘but do you remember Miriam?’
Bridie frowned as she recalled the lady who lived in a fine house near the burn. ‘She was the auld laird’s leman. Everyone knows that he loved her and not Lady McClelland…’
‘Mary,’ Bridie interrupted. ‘Mistress Miriam was well born, she wasn’t a peasant or a servant - you’re to stop getting grand ideas.’ Bridie’s words were harsh, maybe because she was jealous - Mary would marry a young lad from the village and she’d already been kissed. The only thing Bridie had to look forward to was a marriage to Dougal.
Bridie closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it simply wouldn’t come so she rose from her bed and stared out to the still night. She could hear the noise drifting from the village, hear the singing from the alehouse and it was not a sound that soothed – what a fool to go wandering that night, Bridie thought, but back then it had never entered her head that she might be in danger.
Her heart thumped in her chest and Bridie screwed her eyes closed as memories started to fling in. She didn’t want to remember that time, didn’t want to think, so bathed, her hair damp and thick in a coil and wearing a fresh kirtle she wandered through the castle, her bare feet not making a sound as she headed down to the kitchen.
Bridie walked past the great hall Grand Room that was starting to take shape and peeked in. She tried to imagine it lit by candles and filled with ladies dressed in white, all waiting for their dance with the laird. There would be harps and pipes and drums to play the reels and the place would be filled with flowers too. She could not wait to see the room decorated with heather and thistle. Mrs Moffat had said there would be forget-me-nots too but just the thought of them had tears sparkle in Bridie’s eyes as she realised by then she’d be nearly wed.
Poking out of a sheet was the sash the soon to be Lady McClelland would wear and, unable to resist, Bridie unwrapped it from the sheet and held it to her kirtle, remembering being wrapped in the Laird’s plaid as she’d lain in his bed. And then she imagined being wrapped in his plaid for different reasons and, though she wasn’t so bold as to put it on, a shiver of pleasure ran through her as she imagined the laird presenting her with his sash.
‘Bridie!’
Bridie’s cheeks burnt as she turned around to his voice, embarrassed to be caught and wondering if she was going to be told off, but instead there was ghost of a smile on his lips.
‘I was just…’
‘It’s all right, Bridie.’
‘I’m sorry Laird.’ She put the cloth down. ‘I was dreaming about being a bride, though I dinnae think my wedding will be very grand. Not that it matters.’ She paused for a moment then looked to the laird, her green eyes narrowing with curiosity, for she was desperate to find out, before Mary did, whom the laird would choose. ‘I hear Lady Helena is very beautiful.’
‘Enough, Bridie.’ He halted her there, he knew about all the whispers and he certainly wasn’t going to add to them and Bridie heard the warning.
‘Sorry, Laird.’
‘Away to bed.’ Alasdair said and she went to obey, but then she changed her mind, for she could always speak to the laird and she did not want to find things out from Dougal.
‘You know I told you I was scared?’ The laird nodded. ‘And you sai
d if there was anything you could do…’
‘I did.’ Alasdair said carefully.
‘I’ve never been kissed.’ She was very practical. ‘As far as I can tell the whole business is disgusting.’
‘Not always.’
She lifted her eyes to his, took a deep breath and simply made herself say it.
‘Would you kiss me, laird?’
‘Bridie!’
‘Well you’ve kissed lots of women.’ Bridie said, because she knew the laird had, too often she had to hide her blushes when she brought him in his breakfast and Angus had kissed Mary after all. ‘It would be no big deal to you – but maybe…’ she looked at him, ‘maybe if I knew what to expect then I wouldn’t be so scared.’
‘Bridie that sort of talk can get you into trouble.’
‘Aye, well I’ve already got myself into trouble without the talk. Would you be my first kiss?’ And he looked at her, a year a mother and never been kissed and like it or not, soon she would be wed and yes, Alasdair thought, her first kiss should not come from Dougal.
‘Just one kiss, Bridie.’ Alasdair agreed. ‘Come here.’
She walked over to him and he cupped her face and her skin started to burn just at the touch of his palms, she could smell his scent and though his face was tough and hard, as she closed her eyes, she expected something more brutal, except his lips were very soft and they moved over hers, sort of kneading hers and she wriggled a bit.
‘Stay still,’ Alasdair said, ‘you’ll soon get used to it.’
She would never get used to it, Bridie thought, how could you get used to the weight of lips, except the laird was so slow and so patient, his breath so clean that though she could not get used to it, surely she would like to, for it was soft and made her curl up inside, but then he pulled back a little.
He moved his head back, went to tell her it was over, except despite her just standing there, kissing Bridie had been a pleasure, and used to woman a bit more worldly, perhaps he should practice tenderness for his soon to be bride and so the Laird did not release her. ‘Your lips should move too.’
‘All right.’
This time she moved her lips with him and his hand moved from her face and to her shoulders, and really it was very nice. She sort of leant into him a little and she felt his long breath as his mouth opened and her hands moved up to his chest. It was so wide and strong but her hands got between them and so they moved now to his waist and then down to his hips. She felt the leather of his belt and the rough of his plaid and her breath was a little more rapid now, because Mary was right, it made you feel warm and not just at your mouth.
She opened her eyes to check she was doing okay, but the laird’s eyes were closed so she closed hers back too. His mouth was harder now, the rough of his chin scratched and one of his hands moved from her cheek and down to the small of her back. She felt the heat of his palm through the flimsy kirtle and moved still closer to him . She was breathless, the hand that still held one cheek moved into her hair and he pressed her face harder to his, his mouth more urgent and her lips readily parted and then as she thought she might sink in, the laird pulled her right in and there was a sudden cold wet slab of tongue in her mouth, and Bridie jerked her head away.
‘It’s okay….’ His head moved back towards her, but she wriggled hers away.
‘That’s awfy.’
Alasdair tried not to smile, really he was rather more used to compliments but she was so disgusted, so shocked, so innocent to it all that he simply could not take offence.
‘Most would differ.’ Alasdair said. ‘Anyway, you’ve been kissed now Bridie.’
She nodded, screwing up her face still at her first taste of tongue. ‘Thank you Laird.’
She looked at his eyes, they were black now rather than blue and his breathing was ragged as if he’d just come back from riding and his voice a bit more gruff than usual when he spoke. ‘I think you should away to your bed.’
‘I will.’ She turned and smiled, ‘Laird?’
He did his best to meet her eyes, yet he could see her swollen nipples through the threadbare kirtle, see the blush on her neck and her lips wet from his kiss and Alasdair found out then just how much self control he had, for he stood there, his face rigid, as she spoke. ‘Sorry if I spat you out.’
‘That’s fine Bridie.’
And then, even if she did not know it, Bridie smiled a wanton smile. ‘Could you maybe show me other things…’
‘Off to bed, Bridie.’
Walking through the castle, smiling, Bridie felt like singing. Apart from the horrible bit at the end she had loved being kissed. Mary was right.
‘What are you doing up…’ Mrs Moffat asked as she walked into the kitchen.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Bridie’s face was flushed.
‘Well don’t be wandering the castle with just your nightgown on.’ It was just like Mrs Moffat, Bridie thought; she was always worrying about her girls catching a cold. ‘Off to bed now Bridie,’ she bundled her into a shawl, ‘you’re to be up early.’
Bridie couldn’t wait to be up.
Could not wait for the morn and to take breakfast to the Laird.
Chapter Seven
Was he cross? Bridie wondered as she walked up the cold stairs, shivering. Had she been rude spitting him out?
All night she had lain reliving it.
She went to knock, but then didn’t.
Slipping in to his chamber Bridie put the tray down and went to the drapes except, instead of opening them, she turned, saw the Laird asleep, a fur rug to his waist, his chest naked and bare and she felt a shiver down low as she remembered just how nice it had felt to be kissed by him.
Would it be nice for the Laird to wake up to a kiss? Bridie wondered. Should she show him she regretted how things had ended last night, that she wished she hadn’t reacted so poorly to the full taste of his mouth?
Bridie went over to the bed and looked down to where the Laird slept - his lips were slightly apart and she remembered the warm feel of them on hers. He stirred a little, perhaps sensing her close, his hand moving below the fur rug and Bridie swallowed when she saw the swell in the fur beneath. She should move to open the drapes, Bridie knew, except her head lowered down, and softly, gently, her lips grazed his.
She felt his hand slide to the back of her head and this time he would not let her move from the taste of his tongue, this time Bridie did not want to. His tongue slid in, and now hers welcomed it. There was still a start of shock, but with the Laird holding her steady as she grew accustomed Bridie could see now why others might differ, for it felt sublime. She could feel his breath in her mouth and the slow sensual swirl of his tongue and she remembered what he had said - that her lips could move too, so perhaps so too could her tongue. She made little licks of his, and his kiss hastened, and their tongues sworded till little licks were not enough for Bridie and she took the wet flesh and suckled, it was the Laird who halted things, who gently pulled her head back.
‘What are you doing Bridie?’
‘I wanted to thank you for my kiss…’
‘You should be a wee bit careful when you kiss a man, especially when he first wakes in the morning…’
‘Why the morning?’
He took her hand and moved it to the fur, saw her eyes widen in shock as she felt the hard outline of what was beneath - hard because all night he had been doing his level best not to think of Bridie, and by morning he was fit to burst. To be woken with a kiss like that was pushing things beyond any mans limits - even a laird.
Especially a laird.
Her hair was still damp, taken out of its braid, it hung in dark damp ringlets.
He was hard still beneath the sheets, wanted her gone so he could complete but her hands were searching the fur for him, burrowing beneath and he caught her wrist.
‘Bridie.’ His voice was stern, ‘you have to go down to the kitchen.’
‘I don’t want to,’ she begged. ‘I want you to show me…’
<
br /> ‘Bridie.’ He growled but it did not deter.
‘Please Laird! I know it’s not going to be like this with Dougal…’
Alasdair closed his eyes, she should not say such things.
‘I could try remembering being with you.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’ Alasdair abhorred the thought of her with Dougal. He peeled her off him. ‘Go now and see Mrs Moffat.’
‘Laird?’
‘This is not to happen again. It’s to be forgotten,’ the laird said and he saw the flush on her cheek and the glitter in her eyes and he knew he was lying for both of them, but for now he stayed strong. ‘I’m to choose my bride and your banns will soon be read.’
Except Bridie couldn’t think of that, all she could think of was the laird’s kiss.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Mary asked when she came back down, for Bridie had certainly changed her tune.
‘She’s to be a bride soon,’ Mrs Moffat said, glad to see that Bridie had picked up; for she worried that the girl was so labile. ‘All brides smile.’
The laird wasn’t smiling as he rode with his men through the village.
‘Laird.’ Dougal stood as he passed and the Laird halted his beast and looked at him, but said nothing.
He had never paid Dougal much attention, had never had a need to, but he paid him attention now, Alasdair’s knowing eyes took in every detail and there were hackles rising on the back of his neck as if in battle and no, he decided there and then, she would not marry Dougal.
The laird kicked his horse forward, he would speak with Mrs Moffat as soon as he returned. He knew his decision was the right one, especially when he looked over his shoulder, saw Dougal raise a stick to the dog that lay on his back. It was a side to Dougal he had not seen before and Alasdair was tempted to turn around and challenge him, for black anger suddenly rose, but there were warriors charging towards them bringing important news - the English were approaching, not McClelland but further south at the gateway of the Highlands.
‘They’re going to take Stirling - there are hundreds,’ he was told.
Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors) Page 4
