by L. L. Muir
“Nay, love. Not ye. I’d like to pummel the man who told me ye’d run away.”
She started to sit up, but he stopped her with a gentle touch to the center of her chest. “First, Lady Vivianne should help ye right yer plaid, aye?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
His heart melted. His hand lingered. He remembered how Vivianne had tricked Ian into a kiss earlier, and he realized he should back away quickly. After all, if Bridget could soften him enough, he might reveal his secrets—and it was vital that he keep them.
But, Heaven help him, when her hand reached for the front of his shirt, he could only watch it come.
She pulled him lower and looked from his eyes to his lips and back again. “You’re not afraid of me?”
He answered truthfully. “Terrified.”
“Good.” Her hand shook as she pulled herself up to meet him, so he moved his hands to her shoulders to support her for the duration of the kiss, however long that might be.
The sweetest kiss yet. A farewell kiss. A kiss that said a thousand things besides goodbye. The careful press of soft lips with a message violent enough to break his heart…
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The blood in Bridget’s veins swirled faster as the hours of the day dwindled. Closely watching faces, she was baffled that others didn’t seem to sense the growing urgency in her. How could they stand so close and not feel it?
Rory seemed as restless as she, but he was careful to stay on the opposite side of the fire from her, always. Their eyes would meet from time to time and she could tell when he was remembering the kiss in the heather, just as she was. One corner of his mouth would tug back into his cheek for a heartbeat or two. Then he would bite his lips together and find an excuse to move about the camp.
Most startling was the fact that Rory no longer scowled at her, no longer tried to deny there was something important between them. The dozen or so times she’d caught him watching her, he offered a regretful smile and turned away.
But the sun had set and the trails of light followed it from the sky, and still the urgency grew. There was little excuse to stay awake, and yet, no one suggested she and her friends should find their beds in the carriage. Everyone seemed…expectant.
She turned to Mallory and whispered, “What is everyone waiting for?”
Her cousin rolled her eyes and shook her head without answering, but her gaze settled on Phinny. Vivianne, too, was staring at her brother. A quick glance around the fire proved everyone shared the same thought. But what?
She looked to Rory. He simply dropped his eyes to the fire.
Phinny exhaled sharply. “Fine,” he barked. “Five minutes, but that is all.” Then he grumbled something about everyone knowing anyway.
Suddenly Rory jumped across the fire and came to stand in front of her for the blink of an eye, and then he was gone. But Bridget realized quickly that he was taking her hand with him whether or not she was still attached to it, so she hurried to keep up with him. Since Phinny didn’t stop them, she assumed all the pointed looks at her brother had something to do with the tension inside herself. Apparently, everyone had noticed more than she’d imagined.
They were a hundred yards from camp before Rory stopped and turned to face her. He put his hands on her waist and urged her back against a tree.
“I’m terribly relieved,” she said quickly. “There are things I must say to you, Rory.”
His mouth descended on hers. His body moved close, though she wouldn’t have minded him moving closer still. He glanced back at camp, then kissed her again, frantically.
“We dinna have much time,” he whispered, then put his hands to either side of her face and forced her to look into his eyes. “Never doubt a Highlander, do ye ken?” He gave her a gentle shake to emphasize his command.
She tried to nod, but his hold prevented all but a wiggle.
“Promise me,” he hissed.
“I promise, even though I don’t understand what you mean by it.”
He shook his head fiercely. “In dark moments, my love. Remember it.” He lowered her face and kissed her forehead, then her eyes, then pulled her close and hugged her tight to him. “I don’t know why ye affect me so,” he whispered. “God’s blood, yer English and still I cannot resist anything about ye.”
Wrapped in his strong, warm arms was absolute Heaven. His heart pounded against her own chest and counted out the seconds as they turned to sand and fell away.
Time.
Time.
Time.
They had no time!
She would have gladly stood that way for hours, but Phinny wouldn’t allow what he couldn’t understand. Though she hated to do it, she pulled back and looked into Rory’s eyes. She tried to show him, with her sincerity, that her heart was breaking.
“Now, you must promise me something,” she said quietly. “Promise me, you’ll walk away from me once we reach our destination. Promise you won’t try to do something noble. I will marry the baron, no matter what my feelings are for you. You must not ask me to explain. And you must let me go.”
He smiled sadly and wiped a heavy tear from her cheek. “Lady Vivianne warned me of as much.” He clasped her hands in his, lifted them, and hugged their twined arms between their bodies. “If it is what ye wish, I will do as ye ask, even if it breaks my heart to do it.”
Noisy footsteps headed their way, cracking branches and shuffling against the dirt. They held tight, smiling in the moonlight. Bridget hoped he understood all the emotion she couldn’t put into words. She wouldn’t sully the moment by allowing anyone to overhear.
The footsteps stopped ten feet away. She knew it was Phinny, but her brother said nothing.
Finally, Rory leaned over their hands and kissed her lips. He then put his mouth to her ear. “Remember.” She nodded slyly against his cheek, then slowly peeled her hands from his and stepped back.
She suddenly remembered. “I never thanked you!”
Rory smiled in the shadows. “There was never a need.”
Tender, painful emotion swamped her senses and she turned away before she could embarrass herself. Phinny stood waiting. She reached for him and he hurried to her and offered his arm.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling and choking through tears that refused to wait for a private moment.
Phinny led her to the fireside where she bid everyone a good night, then he tucked her up into the carriage and lit the sconce for her to take the chill out of the air.
He climbed down and turned back, but it took him a moment to choose his words. Finally, he bid her good night. “And I should confess that I’ve learned a great deal in the past two days, sister.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He blushed and ducked his head for a moment, then lifted his chin. “Grandfather tried to convince me that most Scots are dishonorable and disagreeable. I’d like to think I never believed it wholesale. But I cannot deny it tainted me.” He paused. She waited. “Macpherson and his friends are honorable men, I admit it.”
“You like them.”
Phinny nodded and he relaxed. And she finally understood what he was actually trying to say.
“So you understand why I admire him?”
“Precisely. And I’m sorry.” He waved his hand to encompass all the reasons he might add. Then he cleared his throat. “And I’m glad you got your one last adventure, but if you tell anyone I said so, I will deny it with my last breath.”
She suppressed her urge to laugh and was grateful her face was in shadows. “Thank you, Phinny.” She motioned him closer and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad too.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In the morning, she never caught a glimpse of Rory. The camp was an orchestra of clattering men and stomping horses. She barely had a chance to stretch her legs before she was hustled back into the carriage and the step was removed the instant her foot no longer needed it. As soon as they were on their way, however, time stilled to a crawl.
The
road to Edinburgh was tedious and filled with ruts. The damage to her backside had healed well with Rory’s salve, and twice that day, Phinny came alongside her window and offered to slow the company so she could walk beside the carriage for a short while, but she declined. After parting from Rory the night before, she feared that each subsequent glimpse of the man was going to cause greater pain than the last.
No. It was time to start protecting her heart.
Fearing what the Highlander would do once they reached Edinburgh made her pulse race and her breath short. He’d promised. But would he be able to keep that promise? Even with the consequences in mind, she couldn’t be sure what she would do when she faced Braithwaite again. How could she count on anyone else playing their part?
Why she should care for the ginger-haired Scot, she could not say, but she did. The knowledge that the rest of her life would be empty without his face, his voice, the touch of his hand, made her downright morose. Thankfully, her friends kept their chatter to a minimum, elsewise she could have harmed their feelings with what she might say in her melancholy state.
She wasn’t expecting it when the carriage came to a halt and the door opened. Her heart jumped, hoping against wisdom that it was Rory. But alas, it was Phinny who poked his head through the portal.
“We’re just outside Edinburgh,” he said. “I thought it best if you had the chance to stomp about a bit. When we arrive, it will be less awkward for you if you can walk a straight line.”
During the suggested exercise, she looked for Rory and found him standing at the edge of the road looking at the city beyond. He kept his attention on the scenery, but she refused to find fault with him. Perhaps it caused him pain to look at her as well. She was disappointed, however, to find him wearing breeches again even though she’d had his plaid returned to him when the travelling dresses arrived. She preferred to remember him draped in his colors.
She finally took her attention off the man and followed his gaze. The city rose before them like an unwelcomed camp of gypsies. The castle on the hill reined like the old mother with her grassy skirts spread around her, and because it had become a dreaded destination, Bridget climbed back into the carriage to avoid the view.
Mallory and Vivianne sat across from her, both staring at their hands. Were they, too, sick at heart that their adventure was over? Did they feel about Connor and Ian the way she felt for Rory?
“Are you sorry, Bridget?” Mallory didn’t look up from her hands.
Bridget knew just what she was asking; did she now wish she’d never met Rory Macpherson?
“No.” She didn’t even need to think about it.
“Neither am I.” Vivianne’s smile was back, though it was dimmer than usual. “I’ve had a wonderfully memorable time of it. I wouldn’t wish it away.”
But it’s over now.
The words hung in the carriage like a sick black smoke, making the three of them cough and choke until all were sniffling like children crying for their mothers.
The carriage rolled on, heedless of the sounds escaping from its depths.
After a few minutes of indulgence, wherein the nightmare of their capture was purged and cleansed with a generous portion of tears—or at least packed away in salt to be worried over at a later date—Bridget and her companions were able to emerge smiling, if not dry-eyed.
Phinny looked disappointed as he handed them down, as if he regarded their smiles as inappropriate. Perhaps he considered, in payment for his inconvenience, they should still be weeping in sack cloth and ashes. Bridget was the last out, and her brother squeezed her hand and pulled her to one side. His mouth opened, then snapped shut, before he grunted and walked away.
Bridget had no time to worry over him; it was Rory whom she sought. But she couldn’t see him amidst the flurry of horses, soldiers, and servants. Dread froze in her chest. What if he were already gone?
Rory gone? And somewhere in the city, possibly in this very house, Braithwaite is waiting…
The great doors flew wide, and out of the duchess’s family home came a parade of liveried men and maids pouring down the steps to meet them. Grandmother followed with her arms flung wide, like the center of a quickly-blooming flower. All smiles and tears.
Behind her, the handsome but loathsome figure of Baron Braithwaite followed like a patient spider bedecked in rich brown and gold filigree that shone in the early afternoon sun.
Despite the borrowed gown and the recent chance to stretch her legs, Bridget was hardly in a proper state to greet anyone—or answer their questions. But if she hurried away to freshen herself, Rory might well be on his way without a priceless backward glance.
“Bridget, my precious girl.” Grandmother came at her like a diving bird, cutting through the throngs of bodies now posing on the lower steps.
Thank heavens. Grandmother was just who she needed at the moment.
“Oh, my sweet child, I thought you’d never get here. I should have insisted you come by ship.” The commanding woman spoke loud enough for the entire audience. “When I decided we should do our shopping here, I didn’t consider how long a carriage might take. Forgive me.”
Bridget was happy to play along. The woman had very possibly saved their reputations with just a sentence, and though she cared little for her own, Mallory and Vivianne’s good names would ultimately garner them a better match.
Grandmother pulled her into a fierce hug. “I’ve done what I can,” she whispered against Bridget’s ear. “You should decide, though, if you actually want to save this betrothal. And quickly.”
When the old woman moved on to greet Mal and Vivianne, Bridget finally looked at the faces around her. A line of servants stood looking down the drive, no doubt waiting for a mountain of luggage that would not be coming. She looked once more for Rory and his friends, but to no avail.
Mallory seemed to understand the opportunity and began complaining about the conditions of their travel, as if they’d been locked inside that carriage since the moment they’d left home. When she announced that she’d leave Edinburgh by ship or not at all, she happened to be looking straight into the eyes of Connor McGee who had appeared quietly on the steps.
Was she teasing him? Reminding him that she was still on the hunt for a piece of pirate’s treasure? How Mallory managed not to blush in reaction to the look Connor gave her, Bridget had no idea.
Phinny exchanged a bow with the spider whose face was blocked, momentarily by the feather on his cap. Her stomach jolted when he straightened and looked her way.
What a coincidence her response to the baron was so similar to her reaction to Cranky’s attention. Was the sudden throb in her backside caused by the menace in Braithwaite’s eyes? Even when his glare softened, for the benefit of anyone watching, the throb did not dull.
Phinny watched her closely. She bowed politely to the baron, and when the man started walking along the wide step toward her, it was the broad body of a Highlander that blocked his way.
Rory! He hadn’t left!
But her relief was cut short when she realized the moment was at hand. She was about find out if the Scot would be able to keep his word. She desperately needed him to be strong—for the both of them!
Feeling foolish and ragged, she could not stop her feet from carrying her to his side. She reached him at the same time Braithwaite was forced to either stop and face him, or take a step down to move around him.
She gave the baron a nod instead of a curtsy. “This is Rory Macpherson, Baron Braithwaite. He and his friends were our protection and escort through Scotland.”
“Macpherson.” Braithwaite lifted his nose.
“Baron. Ye must be the man who’s to wed Kennison’s sister.” Rory bowed slightly, his arm brushing against Bridget’s for which he begged pardon.
“If nothing has happened to change her mind.” Braithwaite looked from Bridget’s offended arm, up to her eyes. The bastard was going to make her beg him, in front of everyone! But what else could she do?
“Nothing has changed, Baron.” She tried to smile. Heaven only knew what it looked like, but at least Phinny didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with it as he joined their little cluster by taking the step above.
“My lady.” Braithwaite finally took her hand and made a knee. Before he let go, he kissed her knuckles while painfully squeezing her fingers.
Phinny smiled. From his viewpoint, he couldn’t have noticed.
She rubbed her hand behind her back, but made the mistake of looking at Rory. He hadn’t missed a thing. His face was red as he looked away to glare daggers at Braithwaite.
“Lady Bridget,” the bastard seemed to spit out her name, as if it left a bad taste behind. “Are you quite certain you haven’t had your...heart...stolen away by one of these smooth-talking Scotsmen?”
Bridget wouldn’t look to see, but it seemed she wasn’t the only one to be holding her breath.
She let hers out with a laugh. “Of course not, Baron. You know I am devoted.” Right then she was devoted to finding a spot between the man’s ribs to run him through, but she wouldn’t. Even standing near Rory didn’t help settle her stomach with her hated bridegroom so close. When the man grabbed her hand once more, to pull her to his side, she was saved by another source.
“Forgive us, gentlemen, but I’m sure you’ll agree the ladies need some rest now. They’ll be happy to visit with you later, or possibly in the morning.” Grandmother took Bridget’s elbow and started pulling her up the stairs, but when the woman realized her granddaughter was dragging her feet, she gratefully paused. She looked curiously at Bridget, then back to the men. “Mister Macpherson?”
“Aye, madam?”
“I’d like you and your friends to remain for a few days. There is nothing that would make me happier than a story or two about Alistair Graham.”
Bridget’s heart leapt. She dared not show interest in his answer. The baron might kill Rory in his sleep if he saw anything more than he already had. But she shut her eyes, savoring the sound of his voice, until she realized what he was saying.
