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

by Julie Johnstone

  “Why are ye nae eating?” Alanna, Rory Mac’s wife, asked Bridgette.

  Bridgette held her finger out to Moira, Alanna’s bairn. The chubby-cheeked infant grabbed hold of Bridgette’s finger with a coo of delight. “I’m nae hungry, ’tis all.”

  “When I first fell in love with Rory Mac,” Alanna said, tossing her curly red hair over her shoulder, “I had little appetite.”

  Heat immediately warmed Bridgette’s neck and face. She knew very well Alanna was speaking of Bridgette and Graham. She gripped the edge of the bench until her fingers throbbed. She wished to heaven she was in love with Graham. She respected him and she liked him very much, but she was afraid she may never feel for him the sort of passion she felt for his brother. The burning need that promised great love. She shoved the useless worry away. Love would grow for Graham, and it would be steady and good. Bridgette stared down at her food and hoped her lack of response would prompt Alanna to leave the talk of love be.

  Instead, Alanna moved Moira to her other hip and leaned closer to Bridgette. “Ye’re verra lucky, ye ken.”

  Bridgette made herself nod. “I ken.”

  Alanna smiled, and fine lines crinkled the skin around her warm brown eyes. “It’s verra clear how much Graham loves ye. It’s plain on his face.”

  She stared at Bridgette so hard that Bridgette suddenly feared that her own face clearly showed that she did not feel the same. She interlaced her fingers to keep from fidgeting. When the bairn gave a cry, Alanna turned her attention to Moira. Bridgette exhaled with relief, but before the breath had even been fully expelled Alanna asked, “Has he asked ye to marry him yet?”

  “Nay,” Bridgette replied, miserable that instead of being disappointed, she felt glad that her unchangeable future had not yet come to pass.

  Alanna patted Bridgette on the hand. “Dunnae fash yerself. I’m sure, he’ll ask ye soon.”

  Bridgette had not thought it possible to feel worse than she already did. She was lying to Alanna, yet she’d not uttered a false word. Still, her silence was as good as a lie. Yet it was for Graham’s sake, the man to whom she owed her life, so surely God would forgive her. “I’m nae concerned.” That, at least, was true. “Graham says,” she whispered, “he’ll ask me when he’s whole again. He wants to be recovered from his injuries.”

  Alanna frowned. “The clot-heid should nae have declared such a thing. What if he does nae recover completely?”

  Bridgette’s mind instantly turned with the implications of that.

  Alanna heaved an irritated sigh. “Does he expect ye to wait on him forever, or does he intend to turn ye from him because he does nae consider himself worthy of ye? Bah,” she grumbled. “Men are fools.”

  Bridgette’s breath caught in her throat. Turn her from him? Then she’d not have to wed him… Hope filled her and she nearly sobbed with the wretchedness of the emotion.

  “What are ye two lasses discussing?” Graham asked over her shoulder, causing her to twitch with surprise.

  Alanna scowled at him. “We’re talking about—”

  “Bairns!” Bridgette blurted, then turned her head to give Alanna a narrow-eyed warning look.

  Alanna pressed her lips together, but she nodded, indicating she had understood Bridgette’s hint. Alanna bounced Moira up and down. “Aye. I was saying how tired I am because Moira sleeps verra little.”

  Bridgette nodded enthusiastically. “And I said that Rory Mac should take a turn with the bairn at night,” she added loudly enough for Rory Mac to hear. Bridgette happened to know the stubborn Scot thought Alanna should do all the work with Moira while he snored peacefully in his bed.

  Rory Mac’s lips twisted in an amused smile. “Caring for bairns is a woman’s work, Bridgette MacLean. When ye’re married and have one of yer own, ye’ll ken it well enough.”

  Bridgette frowned at him. “I’d never marry a man who possessed such a clot-heid notion. It takes a husband and wife to make a bairn; therefore, both the husband and wife should care for the bairn.”

  “Then ye’ll nae be marrying Graham because he believes as I do that the husband provides for the wife and bairn, and the wife cares for the bairn and husband. Dunnae ye believe it to be so, Graham?” Rory Mac prodded.

  Certain Graham would deny what Rory Mac had said, Bridgette looked at him. “Surely, ye dunnae believe that?”

  He shifted in his chair a bit, avoiding her gaze. Rory Mac whistled and chuckled while Alanna glared at him. “Dunnae tell me, Graham MacLeod, that ye’re going to bow down to a lass’s wishes,” Rory Mac said.

  “Ye bow to my wishes all the time, Rory Mac.” Alanna shifted the bairn yet again to free a hand so she could smack her husband on the shoulder.

  “Woman,” Rory Mac grumbled, “I choose to pacify ye sometimes when it suits me. Dunnae forget who is the head of the family. ’Tis me.”

  Alanna snorted and shifted Moira once more as the bairn started to cry again. “Ye keep telling yerself that wee lie if it makes ye feel better.” Moira let out a piercing scream, and Alanna blew out a frustrated breath and then stood. “I’m going to put Moira down.”

  She gave Rory Mac a pointed look. When he didn’t move, Alanna shook her head. “Dunnae come looking for comfort in my arms tonight, Rory Mac,” she muttered as she walked away from the table.

  “Ye ken ye kinnae resist me,” he hollered at his wife’s departing back.

  Alanna’s response was a loud bah.

  Bridgette knew most men expected obedience from their wives and didn’t think of them as equal, but it still bothered her. Her own brother had never treated her as an equal, except when he allowed her to hunt, but that was only after Lachlan had helped her prove her worth.

  “God’s truth,” she said, her voice quiet but strong, “I will nae ever obey a man like a mindless dog.” She stared hard at Graham as she spoke, willing him to look at her. She owed him her life and her allegiance, but that did not mean she was prepared to let him order her about and treat her as his personal serving wench for the rest of her days.

  He shifted again but drew his gaze upward to hers. “I dunnae think Rory Mac expecting Alanna to care for their bairn is the same as him treating her like a mindless mutt,” Graham offered with a shrug.

  Bridgette opened her mouth to argue, but Iain, who was seated at the head table on the dais at the front of the room, stood up and called for music and dancing. It didn’t take long for the chairs and tables to be moved to the side and couples to fill the middle of the room.

  After a bit, Cameron and Lachlan departed the head table themselves and went out to dance a jig. Graham insisted on trying to dance and even challenged both brothers to a contest where the winner got to pick the lass he wished to dance with for the rest of the night. Bridgette sat with Rory Mac and found her gaze wandering repeatedly back to Lachlan, despite her effort not to look at him. When Graham caught her eye and winked at her, her face heated with guilt.

  She could tell by his erratic movements and the pinched expression that kept crossing his face, that dancing, even as tamely as he was, caused him great pain. Finally, the song ended and Marion and Iain whispered conspiratorially to each other, likely to choose the winner. Suddenly, Iain’s jaw dropped open, and then he grinned and gathered Marion into his arms to give her a passionate kiss.

  Cheers erupted in the hall, and Bridgette grinned, suspecting that Marion had just given Iain the news.

  “Who’s the winner?” Graham demanded as the cheers died down. He rubbed at his leg, and she could see the sweat on his brow glistening.

  “Aye,” Lachlan added. “Which of us has triumphed?”

  “I’m certain I’m the winner,” Cameron said, crowing with laughter.

  “Nay, I’m the winner,” Iain announced. “I’ve a bairn on the way!”

  With that, Iain leaped over the table and attempted to dance a jig, making Bridgette laugh. But the laughter died on her lips as Lachlan took to the dance floor with one of the servants, Lillias, who was not shy ab
out lusting after him. She glanced around the great hall but did not see Helena.

  As Lillias threw her head back and laughed at something Lachlan had said, jealousy flared in Bridgette’s chest, followed swiftly by shame when she noted Graham walking slowly and awkwardly toward her and Rory Mac.

  “Iain has declared Lachlan the winner,” Graham muttered as he clutched his leg.

  Bridgette frowned, though Lachlan had clearly been the best dancer. “Why is Lachlan nae dancing with Helena?”

  “Because a man like my brother could nae ever be faithful to one woman. He’s always had a different lass in his bed near every night,” Graham said in a bitter tone. “I dunnae think he intends to change, either. I feel terrible for Helena. I spoke to her earlier, and she worships Lachlan.”

  Bridgette inhaled sharply at both the jealousy in Graham’s voice and the accusation that Lachlan would not be faithful to Helena. Was that true? Her gaze flew once more to Lachlan. He looked very much like a man going through the motions of dancing but not enjoying it, yet Lillias clung to him, her brown eyes trained on him. She smiled up at him with a mixture of lust and adoration that made Bridgette want to slap the woman.

  “Ye speak harshly of yer brother,” Rory Mac chided. “And I dunnae ken Helena is as sweet and warm as she seems.”

  Graham frowned. “What makes ye say such a thing?”

  Rory Mac shrugged as an uncomfortable look flittered across his face. “Just a feeling,” he mumbled, but Bridgette noted that the tips of his ears had turned deep red and she suspected he was not telling the whole truth. Her heart skipped several beats.

  Had Lachlan pledged a future with Helena for some reason other than love or even desire? She should not question his reasons—they were his alone to know—but even as she told herself this, she felt her lips forming a question. She faced Rory Mac so she could carefully watch his face when she asked, “Dunnae it seem odd that the Campbell would propose his daughter marry a MacLeod, given the Campbells dunnae particularly care for the MacLeods?”

  Rory Mac’s eyes had grown round, giving Bridgette pause. Was her question too obviously intrusive? Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck tingled, and an overpowering heat kissed her back. A woodsy, masculine scent swirled around her. She knew without question that Lachlan stood behind her. Slowly, she turned, her gaze traveling lightning-quick up his broach chest, past his strong jaw, to his full lips, which were quirked ever so slightly, as if he was unsure whether to smile or not. Finally, she met his gaze. For one breath, she thought she saw bafflement there, but the moment disappeared the way a white ring of exhalation vanishes on a cold winter day. His russet eyelashes lowered, and when they raised once more, she read only amusement in his eyes.

  “Surely ye ken well enough, Bridgette, that alliances are made all the time between two houses seeking peace, and that it’s nae odd,” Lachlan said, his voice brushing like silk against her ears.

  She struggled to control her body’s reaction to his nearness, managing to suppress all but the need to swallow. Yet to her ears, the noise was deafening and betrayed her. A quick glance at Rory Mac and Graham told her they had not noted anything, but Lachlan… Had his eyes narrowed a fraction? She pondered it for a second before she realized the silence had grown and he was waiting on her to answer.

  “Is that what yer pledge to Helena is?” she asked, cursing herself for the clawing need to know. “An alliance between two clans hoping for peace?”

  Lachlan offered an easy smile that made her chest tighten mercilessly. “Nay, lass. What I have with Helena is born of desire.”

  Searing heat flooded her cheeks and spread rapidly down her neck and across her chest. She wished to heaven she’d never asked. It was far worse knowing than not. She struggled to find a suitable reply that would not give away her anguish when Graham spoke. He stepped around Bridgette and clapped Lachlan on the shoulder.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Graham said. His unusual friendliness toward Lachlan made Bridgette momentarily frown, but she forced a smile when Graham’s gaze landed on her. “I dunnae think I’ve ever seen ye speechless, Bridgette.”

  “Bridgette!” Marion called from amid the dancers, startling Bridgette. She looked at her friend, grateful for the interruption. “Come! Dance with us!” Marion motioned between herself and Iain, and Bridgette.

  She barely stopped herself from gaping at Marion. Her friend knew very well dancing pained Graham! Bridgette had a strong suspicion Marion was meddling again.

  “Do ye wish to dance, Bridgette?” Graham asked softly.

  “Nay!” she immediately replied, even as her gaze strayed to the couples laughing and twirling. When she glanced back at Graham, he looked disgruntled and irritable.

  “Graham, ye best take some advice from me,” Rory Mac spoke suddenly. “I ken from marriage to Alanna that when a lass adamantly replies nay to something, she really means aye.”

  “Ye dunnae ken what ye’re talking about,” Bridgette snapped at Rory Mac, but the maddening Scot chuckled in response.

  “I’d dance with ye,” he said teasingly, “but I likely need to go attend to Alanna.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Bridgette, making her blush from moments ago resurface and Rory Mac hoot with laughter. He slapped Lachlan on the back. “Lachlan, take pity on sweet Bridgette and dance with her.”

  Bridgette gasped. “Nay. I kinnae leave Graham,” she rushed out, grasping the first excuse that popped into her mind. When Graham’s eyes turned flinty, she knew her choice of words had been wrong.

  “I insist,” he said in a stiff tone. “I’ll nae let my injuries deprive ye of some merriment.”

  “I dunnae feel like dancing,” she said, looking from Graham to Lachlan and remembering the time Lachlan had told her that he did not dance. He had either lied or learned since.

  As stark relief crossed Lachlan’s face, she frowned. The man didn’t have to be so obvious that he did not wish to dance with her. He could at least have feigned a slight interest. He cleared his throat. “If ye wish to dance,” he said, sounding strained, “then I’ll oblige ye.”

  If her blush of mortification were any hotter, she was positive she’d expire. “Nay, I—

  “Dunnae be silly,” Graham said in a steely tone she’d never heard him use before. “Ye were tapping yer foot as ye watched the dancers.”

  Had she been? She couldn’t recall anything beyond her jealousy. If her foot had been tapping, it had done so without her even thinking upon it. “That does nae mean I wish to dance.”

  “Then do so for me,” Graham said, surprising her by grasping her hand, bringing it to his lips, and kissing her fingertips. “I kinnae dance, but watching ye do so will bring me great joy and pleasure. And who better to watch over ye than my own brother?” Graham’s gaze moved swiftly from Bridgette to Lachlan. “Just dunnae fall under her spell.” His expression was serious, but then he winked. “She’s an enchantress.”

  Bridgette felt her mouth part in shock at Graham’s words, even as her eyes went to Lachlan to see what he’d say.

  His face gave not a hint of what he was feeling. He smiled, but it did not touch his beautiful eyes. “If I feel myself weakening,” he finally replied, “I’ll call for help.”

  The exchange was too much like what she had long hoped would happen—Lachlan succumbing to her charms. She was suddenly very uncomfortable and wanted simply to get away, even if it meant torturing herself in Lachlan’s arms. “Come,” she fairly ordered. “Ye can see how enchanting I am when I trod all over yer toes. I’m much more graceful when trying to kill something.” She thrust her hand toward him and arched her eyebrows.

  Lachlan burst out laughing and clasped her hand. His touch lit a fire at the point of contact, and it raced from her fingertips, up her arm, and to her chest. Then the heat washed over her entire body, making her want to gasp and snatch her hand away. Instead, she inhaled a long, slow breath and concentrated on trying to calm herself as she followed him into the middle of the floor.

&nbs
p; Just when she thought she might be succeeding, his fingers curled tightly around hers, he stepped nearer, and slid his hand to the small of her back to guide her through the gathering dancers. “Are ye ready, lass?” he asked in a deep, sensual voice.

  She could do no more than nod and felt lucky she had even managed that.

  Four

  Lachlan’s fingers pulsed where they touched Bridgette’s back. He could barely contain the lust he felt for her. He clenched his teeth and forced control as he led her toward the circle of dancers. When they got to Marion, she grinned at them both and held her hand out to Bridgette, as the women were forming a circle and would dance first. When she started to release his hand to step toward Marion, his fingers curled tightly around hers and her shocked gaze met his. This could be the last time he ever got to touch her so, and his treacherous body did not want to release her. Her mouth parted in further surprise, yet he held on for two more breaths before finally unclasping his fingers and stepping away from her.

  He was determined not to watch her, but it was futile. Even as he decided it, his eyes sought her out and devoured her. She turned in the circle with the other women, her skirts flying around her. She had her arms above her head in a vee, and her hair created a red cascade behind her as she twirled. The joyous smile that spread across her face made his chest ache with the beauty of it. He ran his greedy, hungry gaze over her hips, her slender waist, and up to her high firm breasts. The need within him made him shudder. Suddenly, he felt eyes upon him, and he looked around, half suspecting to see Helena back in the great hall instead of in her bedchamber with the aching head she had claimed to have. Instead, he found Graham watching him, his eyes cold, hard, and knowing.

  Shame nearly choked Lachlan, and he wanted to look away and break the contact, but he didn’t. He deserved the censure in his brother’s eyes. Graham nodded once, as if to acknowledge he knew Lachlan’s secret thoughts, but then Iain appeared at Graham’s side, glanced toward Lachlan, and said something to Graham, and then together they quit the great hall. Lachlan had no time to consider why as the women were now dancing out of the circle and in the direction of the men. Without thought, Lachlan stepped toward Bridgette, grasped her around her waist, and lifted her above his head in the motions of the dance. As he lowered her, their bodies brushed—chest to chest—and he could not stop the violent shudder that shook him.