Wicked Highland Wishes (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 2)

by Julie Johnstone

  Graham nodded. “I agree, and I’ll try it later. In private.”

  Perchance he did not want to fumble around with everyone watching. She could understand that, and it seemed by Cameron’s nod and his reaching for the stick that he understood it, as well. Only Angus still looked irritable, but he said no more.

  Bridgette and Graham moved slowly through the crowd of gathered MacLeods and led the procession down the seawall stairs. The pipers immediately started playing, and Bridgette was grateful for the musical notes that filled the air and made talking unnecessary. With every step, the anticipation of seeing Lachlan built. Behind her and Graham, Angus and Cameron carried on a lively conversation about Cameron’s latest ship he was helping to create for his brother’s fleet.

  “Ye’re verra quiet,” Graham said to Bridgette.

  She got a glimpse of the birlinn ahead, and her heartbeat doubled. It took a great amount of control to drag her gaze to Graham and quit staring ahead to where she knew Lachlan stood. “I suppose I’m thinking on Marion and yer family, and wondering if they’ll be verra changed after the battle they endured.”

  “Perchance Marion will,” Graham mused. “Who knows what awful things she was subjected to when that English swine knight Froste seized her and had her in his control. Iain has seen great battles many times and they never change him. Though this one did involve his wife. And Lachlan”—Graham’s gaze bore into hers—“each battle he wins serves to make him more arrogant.”

  “I dunnae believe he’s arrogant,” she corrected, sensing a bit of brotherly rivalry that seemed unlike Graham. “Simply confident in his abilities. A great warrior must be confident.”

  When a hurt look crossed his face, she quickly added, “Take yerself. Ye’re confident because ye ken ye’re a fine warrior.”

  “I was,” he said with a scowl. “And if I’d nae been injured I would have been able to finally best Lachlan in a contest.” Determination set on Graham’s face as they descended the steps in awkward, slow motions. “I will grow strong again, Bridgette. Dunnae fash yerself,” he said, leaning heavily on her as she helped him down the last step and they made their way toward the approaching birlinn.

  “I’m nae,” she replied as they struggled across the rocky terrain.

  Marion stood at the front of the birlinn with Iain and Rory Mac, who was like a brother to the MacLeods, though he was no relation. She looked so tiny with the giant Scots flanking her, but her friend also looked well. Bridgette grinned and waved, but her smile faltered as she searched the faces on the ship for Lachlan.

  Where is he? What if something happened to him since Alex wrote me?

  They had, after all, traveled through Scotland with King David for two months after they had rescued Marion in England. The king—who had recently been released from an eleven-year imprisonment by the King of England—was intent upon making his way across Scotland granting land and titles to those he deemed loyal to him while he had been absent from his throne. They had covered a great deal of Scotland with the king, and then had returned to England after parting ways with the king so that Marion could finally see to the welfare of the servants from her home she had to leave at the king’s command. And now they had finally made their way back to Dunvegan and the king was to follow soon.

  Fear tightened her throat, and her lungs failed to work as she and Graham stopped and Angus and Cameron came to stand beside them. She bit her cheek hard as she scanned the faces on the birlinn.

  Graham pressed his mouth close to her ear. “I’m going to become a legend, Bridgette,” he whispered.

  She looked at him, confused by his sudden words. Why declare this now?

  He glanced at the birlinn, then whispered, “I will become a legend as great—no, greater—than either Iain or Lachlan. I’ll nae ask ye to marry me before I achieve this. Then I ken ye’ll forget the man who has yer heart.”

  “There’s Lachlan,” Cameron announced.

  Bridgette jerked her gaze back to the boat where Lachlan now stood by Iain’s side. Her lungs immediately started to work again, and her heart thumped as if she’d run all the way down the seawall stairs. Her stomach roiled, and dizziness fluttered through her. She locked her knees to keep from falling.

  Lachlan was speaking to his brother, and she took the moment to drink in the sight of him. His hair was longer than she remembered, and the shadow of beard he had left with was now full and lent him a wild, utterly male appearance. He wore no shirt, and a fresh red scar snaked from his muscled right shoulder down the length of his carved stomach and disappeared beneath the material of the plaid covering his hip bones. She sucked in a breath, suddenly consumed by a yearning to simply be near him that was more intense than any she’d previously experienced.

  “What’s vexing ye?” Graham asked, concern filling his voice.

  Her mind, so clouded by desire, could not find a suitable lie so she simply shook her head. She tensed, sure Graham would not be satisfied with her response, but Angus came to her rescue. “She’s a lass. If ye dunnae understand by now, let me explain. Lassies get all weepy when they are overjoyed. When they are weepy, they kinnae speak.”

  Normally it angered her to be thought of as a weak woman, but she welcomed the notion now. She even sniffled to support the idea.

  “I suppose seeing Marion well is what did it,” Graham said in a voice that sounded almost inquisitive.

  She forced a nod but hated herself for the lie, so she added in a choked voice, “Seeing all of yer family returned brings me joy.”

  As if the wind captured her words and carried them to the very person she was thinking of, Lachlan’s eyes finally met hers and his burning gaze held her captive. For the space of one shuddering breath, she thought she saw longing in his eyes, but then his gaze became hard as stone. A tremor ran through her body that she prayed Graham did not feel, or if he did that he’d attribute it to her being overwhelmed with happiness for everyone’s return. Lachlan moved his gaze from her, and she finally exhaled, released from the spell he cast on her without even trying.

  Graham squeezed her hand. “I need ye. Dunnae leave me.”

  He could have been speaking of this moment or the future, but it didn’t matter. Both times were one and the same, woven together and inseparable like the thick, twisted roots of the trees that stood near the MacLean hold. She nodded, acknowledging his words. His need. Her debt to him.

  Cameron shifted beside her. “It appears as if someone brought home more than new scars from the battle in England,” he said with a snicker.

  Bridgette frowned as she looked at him. “What do ye mean?”

  He pointed toward the birlinn. “There, by Lachlan.”

  Bridgette’s gaze flew back to Lachlan. Beside him now stood a woman with long brown hair and a silk gown that shimmered in the sun. Bridgette’s chest tightened as the woman placed a hand on Lachlan’s arm. Jealousy surged, unwelcome and unstoppable.

  Who was she?

  Two

  The breeze blowing off the loch as the birlinn glided through the water failed to cool the flare of desire seeing Bridgette caused in Lachlan. His body burned as his eyes devoured her. He felt like a starving man who could only obtain sustenance from one source: Bridgette.

  Beside him, Helena Campbell—the woman Lachlan recently pledged to marry and daughter of the distrustful Campbell laird—set her hand on his arm and squeezed. Her touch caused wary tension to course through him. “Yer home is lovely,” she exclaimed, yet her taut tone belied her words.

  “Thank ye, lass,” he replied dutifully, playing the part of doting possible future husband, though he was anything but doting, nor did he intend their futures to be joined. But in the immediate present their situation was a necessary farce. For both of them, he suspected.

  King David had called upon Lachlan when they were at the Campbell holding with a suspicion that the Campbell laird was plotting with David’s nephew, Robert Stewart—High Steward of Scotland and heir apparent to the Scottish throne—
to stir a rebellion against David. Yet he had no proof, and he needed it to act decisively and harshly against his nephew and his allies, whoever they were.

  David had not trusted Robert after the day he fled the battlefield at Halidon Hill eleven years ago and left an injured David to be captured by King Edward. And now that David had been released, it was quite apparent that he no longer intended to govern with the permission of the greatest nobles. Many of the Scottish lords disliked this greatly, as they were used to having absolute control of their own domain and, therefore, Scotland itself. There were whispers that the Campbell laird was chief among those in disagreement, though he had denied it when David bluntly questioned him.

  Lachlan had been surprised—and immediately suspicious—to learn that the Campbell laird had suggested that Lachlan and Helena exchange promises to marry in the future if they found they suited. David was sure it was because the Campbell knew Lachlan was one of David’s most trusted men, and he intended for his daughter to use Lachlan to learn all she could of the king and his plans.

  Lachlan had not needed any time to consider the king’s request, though David had offered him a day. He had no ties to any woman that prevented him from making this sacrifice, except his deep, impossible yearning for Bridgette. The thought of her drew his attention away from Helena, who the king had charged him with seducing if necessary. The idea of joining with any woman other than Bridgette, even one as beautiful as Helena, held no appeal to Lachlan, but he had no intention of it coming to that and binding himself to the woman for life. There were many ways to pleasure a woman without the actual joining, and in his experience from the past, women did love to talk of secrets when pleasured, though in truth, any sort of seduction of Helena did not appeal to him.

  Sunlight shone down on Bridgette’s unbound hair. It tumbled over her shoulders in chaotic disarray, the red tresses a stark contrast to the simple light-colored gown she was wearing. Her fair skin glistened in the sunlight, and his loins tightened mercilessly. The months apart had not quelled his desire for her as he had hoped it might.

  Graham stood beside her, an arm thrown over her shoulder, using her—Lachlan realized with a wince—as support. Graham’s gaunt face and too-lean frame stirred the guilt and remorse that usually simmered beneath the surface to a violent swirling storm inside Lachlan. Graham had almost died because of Lachlan’s desire for Bridgette. The day his brother, Bridgette, and Marion had been ambushed, Lachlan had seen them riding away from the keep and had thought then that his brother should have more men with them for protection. No one had been readily available, however, and Lachlan had not wanted to go himself, afraid his longing for Bridgette would show on his face, or in his voice, or perchance he’d allow his hand to brush hers and linger too long. Yet he had been serving as laird while Iain was away, and it had been Lachlan’s duty to set his own feelings aside—to control them at the very least—and he had failed.

  He’d sworn to their mother long ago that he would protect Graham, and Lachlan’s lust for Bridgette tempted him every day to break that vow. Again.

  He took a long deep breath and struggled not to look at her, but he lost the fight. Their gazes met and locked for one brief moment before Graham leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. She broke the eye contact as she turned to look at Graham. That one moment took Lachlan’s breath and left him feeling weak. He exhaled. She was dangerous for him, and she didn’t even know it. She was beautiful and bold, witty and contemplative, fearless and determined.

  “Do ye think the king will make his way here soon?” Helena asked, pulling him from his thoughts of Bridgette.

  He met Helena’s dark-brown eyes. “I dunnae ken,” he lied. “Why do ye ask?”

  She licked her lips in what he believed was a show of nervousness. She was very good at hiding her true intentions, but she was beginning to slip the more they were around each other. “I’ve heard he took up with an English mistress while in captivity and that she’s distantly related to yer brother’s wife, which is why he helped the MacLeod retrieve her. I thought he might bring his mistress here to meet Marion.”

  Lachlan laughed to cover his astonishment. “I ken nothing of a mistress or any intentions,” he lied. The fact was David did have plans to bring his mistress here, but only four people knew of those plans—the king, his nephew Robert, Iain, and Lachlan. Lachlan knew well that only Robert would betray David’s trust.

  He stared hard at the cunning woman before him. “Who told ye such a thing?”

  “I dunnae remember,” she said with such false sincerity that his skin tingled.

  The birlinn docked, stopping the conversation, and Lachlan found his gaze drawn back to where Bridgette stood, but as his clansmen began departing the ship, he lost sight of her. He placed a hand on Helena’s back to guide her and descended the ship to cheers, claps on the shoulder, and cries of welcome. He stopped multiple times to answer questions and introduce Helena, who greeted everyone so warmly one might have thought the Campbells and MacLeods were currently allies instead of the enemies they were. He wished to warn his poor, unsuspecting clansmen and women, but he’d vowed to David—as had Iain—to tell no one of the falseness of the union, nor David’s suspicions.

  Anxious to see his younger brothers, Lachlan moved Helena through the crowd without stopping again. Instead, he responded with a quickly returned greeting as he passed. Yet the thick throng made it impossible to move with much haste, which was likely good. His blood nearly heated to a boil when he thought of standing near Bridgette again. He needed a moment to bring himself under control before being face-to-face with her.

  Despite the swarm of people, he found her easily. She had her arm around Graham’s waist and an intense look of concentration on her face. There could have been a thousand—nay, a hundred thousand—others around her, and he knew, in this moment, that he’d always find her. His body sensed when the fiery, flame-haired lass was near even before his gaze rested upon her. It had been that way ever since the day he’d kissed her in the forest. What he did not know, what he would never know, was if it was simply lust and admiration, or something more.

  As Graham raised a hand to greet Lachlan, Bridgette turned his way. The green of her eyes darkened a shade and filled with emotion, but he struggled to put a name to it. Sadness? No. He dismissed it as immediately as it had come to him. Happiness? No, not that, either. The word tugged at the back of his mind. What did he see there in those emerald depths?

  The answer struck like lightning, ripping his breath from his lungs and stilling the beat of his heart. Longing. That’s what he saw. He stepped forward, drawn by a need to get a closer look, but she lowered her thick lashes. When she raised them again, she looked in his direction, but through him as if he weren’t there.

  His stomach tightened the way it did when he was preparing to take a blow during a fight. Was her longing for him?

  He shoved the question back, but his thoughts battered at his control, chinked it, and slipped into his mind like a scourge that would destroy his soul. What if he’d somehow missed a sign from her and—His nostrils flared, and he clenched his teeth to silence the question. He’d looked for a sign from her long ago when he’d seen her at tournaments and gatherings, but she’d given none. It was better that way, though, for if she had, he could not imagine the torment of knowing she wanted him as he wanted her.

  Thou shall not covet.

  He repeated the mantra as he came to a stop beside Rory Mac and in front of Bridgette and Graham. Yet when he inhaled her spicy scent underlaid with heather, he felt dazed and weak, as if he’d drunk a barrel of mead. The sour taste of guilt filled his mouth. Despite the daily battle he fought with himself not to, he coveted. He still wanted her. It was as simple and as sinful as that.

  “Lachlan,” Graham said with a curious look at Helena. “It’s good to see ye returned healthy. We were just asking Rory Mac about the battle, and he’s told us ye felled the most English knights. It seems ye were the conquering hero onc
e again.” The bitterness that laced Graham’s words was unmistakable, and Lachlan felt a deep stab of guilt knowing Graham was angry because his injuries had prevented him from joining them in battle.

  “I’m sure ye would have felled more had ye been there, Graham,” Lachlan replied.

  “I dunnae agree,” Helena spoke up, surprising Lachlan. She ran a palm over Lachlan’s chest, which irritated him. What was her devious intention with this new tactic? She’d not touched him with any hint of desire before, just as he’d not laid hands upon her with the intent of a joining. Why now? He glanced at her to find her gaze locked on Bridgette. Jealousy? Helena was jealous of Bridgette! His instinct to protect Bridgette from this conniving woman reared up.

  Helena tossed her hair. “My father says ye are the greatest fighter he’s ever seen, which is why he agreed to our striking a bargain to marry if we suit. I kinnae imagine any man felling more knights than ye,” Helena continued with a sweet smile. “Though—” she glanced at Graham “—I’m sure ye’re verra braw.”

  “Ye’re married?” Graham asked, acknowledging only one part of what Helena had said and wrongly so at that.

  “We have pledged to see if we suit each other for marriage,” Lachlan replied as his gaze moved to Bridgette, who looked very pale. “Are ye ill?” he asked her, the words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  “Nay,” she responded, her tone no more than a whisper. “When did this occur?”

  “A fortnight ago.” He inclined his head toward Helena. “This is Helena Campbell,” he added. “And, Helena,” he motioned to Graham and Bridgette, “this is my brother Graham, and this is Bridgette MacLean.”

  Helena curtsied on cue. “I’m so verra glad to meet ye both,” she cried out, giving Graham a quick hug. “And Bridgette MacLean!” She embraced Bridgette. “Of course I’ve heard of ye, seeing as my brother wished to marry ye and ye refused him. Ye hurt him,” Helena said with a pout and then a smile.