Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors)

by Rachael Kennedy

  ‘Hush a moment…’ Alasdair said. ‘There’s nothing to fear.’

  ‘Laird…’ Bridie breathed. ‘Is this how it should be?’

  ‘It’s better than this.

  ‘It couldn’t be…’ she was biting on her lip, trying to hold something back, something she did not know existed. ‘I feel as if my heart has fallen.’ It must have for it was beating somewhere that it never had before and she flailed in his arms a moment. ‘Help me Laird.’

  ‘It’s all right Bridie,’ The Laird could feel both her excitement and terror and it was both for Bridie, for she could feel the dizzy hurtles of her body, but it did not startle the Laird. He held her and she clung onto him as she twitched and he smothered her sobs with his mouth and kissed her till she stilled and then kissed her again while she calmed. Slowly he pulled his head back, looked into her eyes that shone for him and as she smiled a decadent smile, he had, the Laird realised, awoken insatiable.

  ‘Go down now,’ he told her a short while later. ‘Or she’ll wonder why you’re taking so long and you’ll not be allowed back up here.’

  ‘I want back, Laird.’ Bridie breathed and the Laird looked into her glittering eyes and he told her his truth.

  ‘You will be.’

  ‘Did he take his ale?’ Mrs Moffat asked.

  ‘Aye.’ Bridie said, picking up Gracie and smothering her blushes in her daughter’s curls.

  ‘And did you add another log to the fire?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What took you so long?’ Mrs Moffat asked, but Bridie didn’t answer, instead she told Gracie she would get her some lunch. ‘Bridie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dinnae cheek me lassie,’ Mrs Moffat said. ‘I’ve a job for you. Take some oatcakes to Dougal.’ She wrapped the warm oatcakes up as she spoke. ‘You can tell him how you’re looking forward to the banns being read at the weekend.

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Bridie shook her head, felt the happiness fizzing out of her, for she did not want to spend even a moment alone with Dougal Blaine until she had to, but Mrs Moffat would not be swayed.

  ‘It will be nice to have some time, maybe have a wee talk, get to know each other a little before your wedding.’

  ‘I’ve got Gracie’s lunch to sort.’

  ‘I’ll feed Gracie.’ Mrs Moffat said handing her the package.

  Bridie had no choice.

  She walked along the loch, holding the cloth that contained the warm cakes, thinking about the Laird and hoping that Dougal wasn’t home. Maybe she could just leave the oatcakes by the door and knock and run off.

  Except Dougal was there at the front of his hut, letting blood from a highland cow and he stood as she approached

  ‘Bridie!’

  She had never really spoken much to Dougal and certainly Bridie had never been alone with him.

  ‘Come in.’

  She walked into the small stone cottage, could not imagine herself and Gracie here. It was smoky from the peat fire and smelt dank, but that wasn’t the problem - Dougal was so large, so imposing and she was shaking as he added the blood to the pot on the fire.

  Bridie’s eyes wandered the small cottage and came to rest on a half built box bed – a bed that was used for three things. She would be taken there on her wedding night and then again for birthing and then, once again, when she was dead.

  Bridie hoped the latter came first.

  And Dougal saw her eyes dart there.

  ‘I brought you some oatcakes.’ Bridie offered him the cloth package. ‘Mrs Moffat says you should eat them while they’re still warm.

  ‘I’m no hungry.’ Dougal said. ‘Well, not for oatcakes.’ His face was near hers, she could smell his rancid breath, when the Laird smelt so lovely

  She shouldn’t be so choosy.

  She was damaged goods, Bridie reminded herself, and Dougal was patient and kind, if a bit slow.

  But as his hand moved to her cheek, she turned her head away; even with the best imagination she could not pretend it was the Laird.

  But it did not deter Dougal, his hand moved then to her breast, but it didn’t feel like the Lairds’ hand had.

  ‘Maybe you could take this off, his fingers prised open her kirtle.

  ‘Dougal Blaine!’ Bridie scolded, burning red, not with anger, but with guilt, because she didn’t mind when the Laird touched her. ‘We’re not even married. Why would you think I’d want to take my clothes of for you?

  But his scent was suddenly familiar, and she thought she might be sick as she remembered that meaty hand on her body and the weight, the horrible weight of Dougal as others urged him. Surely she was imagining things, for everyone had told her Dougal was kind, except she was remembering otherwise now. As her horrified eyes lifted to his, Dougal merely smiled and she felt the rip of her kirtle and the filthy sound of his voice.

  ‘You didn’t mind last time.

  Chapter Ten

  The Laird woke and all the pain left him as he remembered Bridie’s kiss and the pleasure of watching her come in his arms.

  He wanted her happy. Did not want the burden she was carrying on her shoulders there for even a minute more. He would speak now with Mrs Moffat and tell her that Bridie would not be marrying Dougal.

  He rose from his bed and pulled on his plaid but for once he did not bother with his dirk, just headed straight down to the kitchen.

  ‘Laird!’ Mrs Moffat blushed when she saw that the Laird was down in the kitchen. ‘You should be resting, what are you doing down here?’

  ‘I need to speak with you about Bridie.’

  ‘Bridie?’

  ‘Aye.’ Alasdair said. ‘Where is she?’ He checked for he did not want her walking in on this conversation.

  ‘I sent her to Dougal’s, to take him some oatcakes. I said that I’d watch wee Gracie.’ She must have seen the laird’s look of horror. ‘Just to talk,’ Mrs Moffat said. ‘I thought it might be nice for them to have a wee bit of time to get to know each other. There will be no mischief - Bridie’s a good girl.’

  But she was talking to the slamming door.

  The laird ran to the stables and, as he did, he saw again in his minds eye the stick being raised to the dog. There was a mean side to Dougal and he did not want Bridie alone with him for even a minute.

  He mounted his horse, did not wait for the other men to escort him, his only thought to get to Bridie. Alasdair charged out of the castle and towards the village, taking a short cut across a field, the hooves tearing at the soft heather, still hoping he might catch Bridie before she got there.

  He kicked his horse faster and there was mounting urgency as he kicked him further on for he did not want Bridie alone with Dougal.

  ‘You didn’t fight before…’ Dougal was tearing at her clothes, his anger building, for last time she had just lain there. Why now, when she was soon to be his, did she fight?

  He knocked her to the ground and she felt his great weight over her, he was pushing up her kirtle as Bridie bit his cheek. It was like her nightmares, but worse, for there was a face to them now and there was no laird to wake her and to tell her she’d be safe. No laird to tell her that it was just a dream but then for Bridie there was the relief of his voice - the laird’s voice and he was roaring and savage as she’d never heard him.

  ‘You filthy animal…’ He bellowed as he hauled Dougal off just in time.

  ‘You can have her after.’ Dougal didn’t care it was the laird, he just wanted back. ‘This time I’m going to be fir…’

  He didn’t even finish the word, Alasdair had contained his anger on so many occasions, had held onto the spew of bile when Angus had been the one to deal with William Hunt, but he contained nothing now – all that trapped fury was unleashed in one brutal punch. A mountain of a man was no match for Alasdair’s rage, his fist slamming into the stone of Dougal’s jaw and felling him like a log. Bridie heard the crack of Dougal’s skull as it hit the rocks around the fire and her relief at seeing the laird faded as she realised w
hat could have been and Bridie started screaming.

  ‘It’s all right Bridie.’ The Laird said, scooping her in his arms, telling her she was safe, only still she screamed, still she fought him.

  ‘You’re safe, Bridie.’ He was trying to calm her, except, seeing the Laird leave, his men had followed and had reached Dougal’s home now. The sight of warriors entering, dirks ready, had Bridie scream louder but then suddenly she stopped.

  She just gave in then.

  And the Laird watched as, before his eyes, she went back to that place.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was in the turret, just staring to the hills.

  Dougal was buried, Mrs Moffat told her. ‘Bridie, if I had thought for just a moment Dougal had been involved…’ Her lips quivered. ‘I guess he fooled us all - but not the Laird.’ She kneaded Bridie’s shoulders. ‘Come on lassie, dinnae go back there, it didn’t happen again, the Laird got there in time. It’s done now.’

  It could never be done.

  She could remember it all now and just lay, staring out to the loch, remembering the lads cheering Dougal on.

  And she wished death would come.

  ‘She disnae speak…’ Alasdair was losing his patience with the McClelland healer’s never ending advice to just give it time. ‘How much time?’ He demanded, for he had been patient, he had been tender, he had spoken reassuring words, yet none of them seemed to reach her and again the healer was saying that nothing more could be done.

  Even poor Mary tried.

  ‘Please Bridie,’ Mary begged. ‘I miss speaking with you.’ But when that didn’t work she tried something else. ‘I’ve got all the rooms to make up for the ball, all the beds to prepare…’

  ‘Don’t worry her with work.’ Mrs Moffat, addled with guilt, stopped Mary there.

  Not even Gracie cuddling into Bridie, seemed to reach her.

  ‘Ma.’ Gracie’s voice was so sweet and clear as she said her first word, her little hand came and pressed Bridie’s cheek, pleading for her mother to look at her. ‘Ma!’

  Bridie stared at her sweet daughter, only not even Gracie could save her now. She would be better off with the Campbell’s Bridie thought darkly and she turned her face from her daughter.

  ‘Take Gracie down for some porridge.’ Mrs Moffat took Gracie and handed her to Mary.

  ‘Bridie, I know you’ve been through a terrible time…’ Mrs Moffat shook her head as the Laird knocked and came in, her knees creaking as she walked over to him.

  ‘She doesn’t want to speak to anyone.’

  ‘Aye, well I’m speaking with her.’

  ‘Be gentle Laird.’

  ‘For all the good it’s done,’ Alasdair said.

  ‘She’s been through something terrible, she does not need strong words.’ And then Mrs Moffat blushed, for who was she to tell the laird what to do. ‘I’m sorry, Laird.’

  ‘I just want to talk to her.’

  ‘She disnae need scolding.’

  ‘Bridie.’ He tried to keep his voice even, tried to not be harsh, except he wanted to go over, to shake her back to life, but, in this, he accepted Mrs Moffat surely knew best.

  ‘Come on, Bridie.’ He took a breath, wanted to tell of the plans he was making for them, but didn’t know how appropriate that would be, if it was right to talk of such things given what she had been through.

  ‘Bridie.’

  She did not respond.

  ‘You’re home is here,’ the laird attempted. ‘No matter what the new Lady says…’ He saw her eyes shutter and so too did Mrs Moffatt and the laird’s voice was rising. ‘Bridie, will you just listen to me!’

  ‘Laird.’ The auld woman stepped in and Alasdair conceded, for now his words would just have to keep.

  Bridie lay in her bed and did not sleep, saw the moon drift over the loch and she could not stand to wait for the sun to start its climb. Could simply not face another day.

  She was no good to anyone.

  She wasn’t even a very good servant; poor Mary had to do all her work and she brought shame to the laird for housing an illegit.

  All she was, was a burden.

  Even her own mother had left her at the burn.

  The laird was to wed, the castle would be partying soon and Bridie could not bear to hear the sound of revelling.

  She looked out to the loch, to the mist over the cold dark waters and they were so tempting.

  The Campbells were God-loving people and would not put Gracie in harms way as Bridie felt she almost had.

  Gracie would be loved.

  Bridie opened the whisky Mary had given her to take on her wedding night and took a taste. Maybe the water wouldn’t feel so cold with the whisky, maybe she wouldn’t feel a thing?

  Bridie climbed from her bed and kissed Gracie, then took the same secret route through the passages that she had when she’d gone looking for fox cubs.

  It would all be done with soon.

  Alasdair could not sleep.

  He ordered hot water and lay in the bath but it did not relax. He fought the urge to go up to the turret and speak with Bridie, to bring her back to his bed and lay her beside him.

  It would surely terrify her though, if he did.

  Alasdair, for once, simply did not know what to do. He climbed out of the bath and threw a log on the fire and then paced his chamber and wondered what more could be done?

  Could he send again for Morag, the wise woman?

  Did they deal with such things?

  He opened the drapes and dragged in air and then he saw a flash of white in the distance and, with his heart in his mouth, he realised it was Bridie moving across the grounds. He grabbed his plaid and wrapped it around himself as he raced down the castle stairs, knew what she was intending, for he had seen her eyes linger too long on the loch before Gracie was born.

  ‘Bridie…’ He charged into battle, the most vital he had fought, for it was a battle for Bridie’s life. She was waist deep in the rushes when he glimpsed her again and he sped across his land, not slowing as he neared the water, just striding towards.

  ‘Bridie!’ He roared, catching her by the hair and spinning her round to face him. Alasdair saw the dull of her eyes and he wanted the fire back. His mood was not tender - he had never been more angry, not even with Dougal, for he knew full well that, had he not been watching he’d have been woken with the news that she was forever gone.

  ‘Bridie…’ he hauled her back to land, shook her by the shoulders. ‘Did you not think of wee Gracie…’

  ‘Leave me…’ she was trying to fight him off, to get back to the peace she had almost glimpsed. ‘She’d be better with me gone…’

  And he could not stand to hear it, could no longer listen to the healer who said to give it time, or to Mrs Moffat’s endless warning to be gentle.

  ‘I’m not biding my time anymore.’

  He threw her over his shoulder carried her up to his chamber as she beat at his back to be freed, and his temper had not receded an iota by the time they were there.

  ‘You’d throw yourself into a loch would you?’ He sat on his bed and hauled her over his knee. ‘You’re too dramatic Bridie, you’re too up or down. Well you’re coming back to me right this minute - I’ll beat the life back into you if I have to, so I will…’ He raised his hand and slapped.

  Through her wet kirtle it stung and then he slapped her again and it stung even harder. In his chambers, Bridie was starting to realise the madness as to what she had done, but if he’d just let her explain she’d say she was sorry, that she’d been wrong to do what she almost did.

  ‘Laird, please.’

  ‘Oh, please now is it, lassie?’

  He slapped her bottom again and saw her hands come to the back to stop him, but he brushed them away, took them by the wrist, his elbow keeping her back firmly down.

  ‘Oh you don’t like that?’ He said as she struggled. ‘You don’t like a bit of pain… you’re fighting now are you Bridie?’ He demanded as she yelped. �
��Well, fight some more, fight for you life Bridie. How dare you think of leaving Gracie, leaving McClelland, leaving me…

  ‘Laird…!’ She begged.

  ‘Life is painful sometimes…’ He lifted the wet cloth, slapped her bare buttocks and she felt the warmth and the sting and yet there was pleasure there too, for she felt his passion. ‘I’ll skelp your backside, for daring to leave me.’

  And skelp it he did. ‘You’re not to think like that again.’ He warned her. ‘You’re not going to the dark place, you’re staying here in McClelland, here at your home, here with me…’

  ‘Laird, please…’ But the laird had not finished.

  ‘You will listen to me lassie.., I love you, even if I cannae make you my wife, I will not lose you…’

  ‘Laird!’ Her hands gave in defending themselves then, but happily so and as he loosened his grip they dropped, she couldn’t breath now but for different reasons - for the laird really loved her.

  ‘I love you Bridie.’ She could hear his ragged breathing, and he turned her to him then, pulled her fierce into his chest and held her, cold and wet in his arms, but safe. Like a warm cloak wrapping around them, they found each other, were back to each other and never wanting to let go.

  He was hesitant at first to kiss her, for passion roared in his veins and there would be no stopping him. But then he was hesitant no more, for this was love and he knew Bridie knew it and fierce was the mouth that claimed hers, there was nothing held back in his kiss, his mouth crushing hers was met by equal passion.

  She kissed him hard back, held on to hard to his face, till he released her.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No…’ she was climbing up his chest, kneeling on his lap, facing him, kissing him, answering him, ‘yes…’ she breathed, ‘but it was the best hurt, Laird, for it brought me back to you.’

  ‘Let’s get you out of these wet…’ he went to pull at the wet kirtle that clung to her and with the laird she could never be scared and she lifted her arms for him as he peeled the garment off and finally she was naked in his arms.