Rogue of the Moors

by Cynthia Breeding

  “You dreadful, horrible man!” Isobel narrowed her eyes to mere slits. “You will be sorry you did this.”

  “I doona think so,” Alasdair said, taking care to keep an eye on her lest she throw something else as he backed into the hallway. “I will show myself out.”

  Something else crashed against the wall as he left, but he didn’t look back.

  He was going to find Bridget and tell her that he was free at last.

  * * * * *

  “You know neither Alasdair nor Niall want you leaving the marine office without an escort.” Gustav Fredrickson frowned at Bridget as she got ready to leave with Annie for an afternoon meeting of the LP club. “There will be the devil’s dues to pay.”

  “Maybe Niall can face the devil for us,” Annie retorted. “’Twould be an even match.”

  “That is not the point. Men are riled up. There has been talk in the taverns ever since your group attacked the weavers’ union last week.”

  “We dinnae attack them,” Annie said. “We simply stood outside the Trades House with signs that we women were ready to work.”

  “And take away the jobs from men who need the money to support families? That is how they see it.”

  “Then they should come to agreement and return to work,” Annie replied. “Besides, what would be wrong with us working alongside them?”

  Gustav looked heavenward. “You might as well ask why you cannot live at Holyrood Palace.”

  “Pish. Why would I want to put up with the prince regent and his gaggling courtiers and fancy women?” Annie asked. “Now, if I could land a seat in Parliament like Alasdair is going to do—”

  “That is nae final,” Bridget intervened. “Alasdair said he was meeting with the colonel and some other men this afternoon.” She smiled at Gustav. “We will be back before Niall arrives to escort me home. Doona fash.”

  Gustav didn’t look convinced, but at least he didn’t argue as they left. Since Gordon hadn’t returned from the rather long lunch he’d taken, at least Bridget didn’t have to put up with his smirk. She secretly suspected he applauded whenever she left, but they had reached a truce of sorts. They didn’t speak unless they had to, and the invoices she had to check were always stacked in a neat pile on the edge of his desk. She would have liked to have gone over the actual ledgers as well, but she was biding her time. As was obvious from what Gustav had just said, men didn’t think women should be seeking any kind of equality and Gordon was a prime example of such thinking.

  But she didn’t want to waste her thoughts on Gordon when her heart was full of joy that Isobel was not carrying Alasdair’s child. Bridget had been hard pressed to remain seated when Alasdair had given them Annie’s news last night. Happiness had welled up inside her like a rushing burn about to flood its banks. Even now, she had a hard time keeping from grinning like a fool.

  She smiled and said hello to two men standing on the sidewalk as she and Annie went into the tearoom near Glasgow Cross. That they didn’t respond didn’t affect her mood at all. Let the rest of world be surly. She was in too good a mood to care.

  Bridget even waved away the customary dram of whisky that the group started their meetings with. She wanted a clear head to completely recall Alasdair’s words of last night, even though she’d replayed the scenario numerous times.

  Aileen opened the meeting with a summary of how successful she thought their stance at the Trade House had been last week, and Fenella proposed doing another one, which met with hearty applause, but Bridget scarcely listened.

  She was aware Alasdair was not a free man yet, but the burden of impending fatherhood had been lifted. There had to be some honorable way for him to break off the betrothal, even if there wasn’t evidence of a scandal. According to her brother’s and cousin’s wives, both of whom were English, it was not unheard of for a man to withdraw his offer, albeit with a sizable amount of funds to add to the girl’s dowry. Did Alasdair have that kind of money? Bridget had never thought about his financial situation. In the Highlands, honor, integrity, and loyalty were more important than coin.

  “Are ye listening at all?” Annie whispered.

  Bridget felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. She’d hardly heard a word said. “I—”

  “I dinnae think so,” Annie said and winked. “I ken where your thoughts are.”

  Bridget’s cheeks grew hot, not from embarrassment this time, but from desire for Alasdair. Desire she had kept under wraps for so long it threatened to explode like steam from a kettle whose lid had been left on too long. She could hardly wait to see Alasdair and find out how his day had gone.

  “So we are in agreement that we will keep our presence at the Trade House?” Aileen asked the group.

  Bridget forced herself to focus. While she would love to remain in her warm cocoon of what the future might hold, the world around her was real. These women were real. Their ambition to better women’s lots in life was real. She hadn’t joined the group last week since three ships were awaiting loading, but now she nodded along with the rest of the group.

  “I am glad to see ye will be joining us, Bridget,” Aileen said. “Right now, ye are the one woman in our group who is working a job that normally a man holds.”

  “I have nae thought of it that way,” Bridget answered. “My father made sure my sisters and I had educations and that we put them to use.”

  “Ye are one of the lucky ones,” Aileen replied.

  “I will make more signs,” Fenella said, “so it doesnae look like we are just repeating ourselves.”

  “Although persistence is a virtue,” Cora remarked and everyone laughed.

  “The men might call it stubborn,” Diedre said, causing more laughter.

  The meeting ended on a merry note. Annie, as treasurer of the group, was settling the amount of the bill so Bridget waited for her. According to the clock on the mantle, she had a good thirty minutes before Niall was due at the office. More than enough time to walk back.

  Annie tucked the change into her reticule as she and Bridget walked out the door onto the sidewalk. The sky had turned overcast while they had been inside, and a cool, damp breeze threatened rain.

  “We’re going to have to hurry if we doona want to get wet,” Bridget said as they started to walk. They’d nearly reached the corner when the two men she’d noticed earlier stepped out from the indented entryway of a building.

  “That’s the one,” the first man said, pointing at Annie. “She’s the ringleader of that damn group.”

  The second man grabbed Annie. She pushed at him, attempting to get away.

  “Let her go,” Bridget said.

  “By whose orders?” The first man asked. “Who do ye think ye are? Boudicca?”

  “Let her go,” Bridget said again, pulling the second man’s arm as Annie continued to struggle.

  The first one grinned, revealing missing teeth. “Well, now. I like a lass with fire. Maybe ye should come too.”

  He reached for Bridget, but she sidestepped him and reached down to pull her knife out of her boot. Before she could grasp its handle, she felt a heavy fist alongside her head and pitched forward, the world fading into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alasdair rounded the corner onto High Street just as a burly man struck Bridget and she hurdled toward the ground.

  Roaring like an enraged bull, Alasdair charged toward them. With one arm, he tore a man away from Annie and flung him aside. Without breaking stride, Alasdair had his hands around the neck of the other man, lifting him off the ground before he had any clue someone was behind him.

  The man kicked his legs and clawed at Alasdair’s hands, choking and gasping for air. Alasdair was tempted to finish the blackguard off, but reason overtook his fury. He tossed the man on top of the one who still lay on the sidewalk and then knelt by Bridget.

  She lay so still. Did sh
e breathe? His hands trembled as he put his fingers to her throat to feel for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. He leaned closer and a shudder of relief flowed through him when he felt her soft breath skim his cheek. He straightened.

  Annie knelt beside him. “Is she all right?”

  “I doona…” he started to say when Bridget moaned and then slowly opened her eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a sight so beautiful as her hazel eyes. Eyes that were clear with no sign of dilation.

  “Lie still for a moment,” Alasdair told her and felt a bit of surprise when she actually did as he asked.

  The next thirty minutes of his life passed in a blur. The owner of the tearoom had dispatched a lad to get a magistrate, and Annie flagged down a hired hack to take Bridget home. Alasdair held her pressed to him the few short blocks it took to get to the boarding house. She didn’t protest and kept her eyes closed, which worried him a little, but he also felt her arm curve around his waist. Once they arrived at the boarding house, he carried her inside and up the stairs as though she were fragile china that might break.

  Now, he paced like a caged animal in the hall outside her chamber waiting for the physician to come out. When the man finally did, Alasdair was hard put not to grab him by his labels to shake the information out. “Will she be all right?’

  Apparently, the doctor was used to slightly crazed men waiting in hallways, because he took a careful step out of reach. “Yes. I saw no sign of concussion. She will have an ugly bruise on her cheek, but that will heal. Just a bit shaken up I think. Sleep is what she—”

  “Later,” Alasdair said and pushed past him into the room and shut the door.

  Bridget lay on the bed with her eyes closed. Her pallor nearly matched the whiteness of the sheets except for the contrasting bruise that was already turning from red to purple. Alasdair clenched his fists. He would be paying a call to the magistrate tomorrow to make sure Bridget’s assaulter got what was coming to him.

  Alasdair paused by the door, hesitant to wake her. Perhaps the physician was right. Sleep would be the best thing. He would just keep her company. Alasdair started to walk toward the armchair in the corner of the room when Bridget opened her eyes and smiled at him.

  “Ye are here. I thought I was dreaming.”

  “’Tis me in the flesh,” he said, feeling inordinately pleased that she would dream of him. “Do ye wish to rest?”

  “Nae.”

  She started to sit up and Alasdair rushed to the bedside to help. Feeling her softness as he put his arms around her to lift her to a sitting position almost made him forget she’d just had a nasty experience. She made a soft noise that sounded like a kitten mewling.

  “Are ye hurting? I think the physican is still here—”

  “Nae,” she said again, positioning herself against the headboard. “I doona need the doctor.”

  “Ye are sure?” Alasdair said as he plumped a pillow behind her head and sat on the edge of the bed.

  She smiled and reached out a hand to pat his. “Thank ye.”

  Alasdair folded his hand around hers. “I am glad I got there in time.” He wanted to tell her never to do anything like that again, but he might as well be telling thistles not to grow in Scotland. At any rate, they could have that discussion later. “I have some important news.”

  “The meeting went well?”

  “Aye. Very well.”

  Bridget studied him. “Do ye think ye will have enough votes to secure a seat?”

  Alasdair nodded. “Colonel Boothe introduced me to Baron Ross who will have an open seat in his constituency soon.”

  “That is good news then.”

  “’Tis nae the good news I meant though.”

  Bridget raised the eyebrow on the unbruised side of her face. “Oh?”

  He tried to restrain his glee as he told Bridget what he’d learned of Isobel, but he finished grinning like a fool. “’Twas luck—or a miracle—that I found out. I went straight to Isobel and told her we would nae be marrying.”

  Bridget broke into a grin too. “’Tis truly over?”

  “’Tis over.”

  Her grin faded, changing to concern. “Isobel willnae take that well.”

  Alasdair shrugged. “’Tis nae matter. We are nae betrothed any longer. That is the end of it.”

  A look of relief washed over Bridget’s face. “The old crone was right then.”

  “Old crone?”

  “Aye. A woman I met at the glade in the hills one day. She asked me if I had come to see my future in the water. When I said no, she gave me an acorn and explained it meant to have patience. I guess she kenned what she was talking about.”

  A little shiver slid through Alasdair. Bridget’s meeting sound a lot like Annie’s dream. But this was not the time to dwell on the Fae. Or maybe it was. He might need all the help he could get with his next question.

  “Bridget. Will ye marry me? I promise to love ye forever.”

  She blinked, her color fading and then returning to spread a pinkish hue across her face. “I—”

  “Ye doona have to answer right now,” Alasdair interrupted, not sure if he was prolonging the agony of a rejection or hoping to buy time for the ecstasy of acceptance. “Ye have just been through a bad time. Ye should think on it. Take a night—”

  “Cease your blethering.” Bridget put her fingers against his mouth and then removed them. “I will marry ye.”

  “Ye will?”

  She frowned at him. “Did ye just nae ask me to?”

  “I did.”

  “And I said aye. I think I can manage to love ye as well.”

  Alasdair took her hand again. “Ye willnae mind having to go to London part of the year for Parliament’s session?”

  “It might be better for ye if I stayed here,” Bridget answered with a smile. “I am nae the docile kind to fit into London Society.”

  “London Society may need to be turned on its ear,” Alasdair said. “I want ye by my side every day of the year. I willnae accept the seat if ye doona agree.”

  Bridget’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Ye should be careful what ye ask for, Alasdair MacDonald.”

  “My prayers have just been answered, Bridget MacLeod.” He smiled. “I cannae wait to make ye my wife. I will go tomorrow to get a special license for us to wed. We will need to have a big gathering of both clans to celebrate, but that can happen—”

  “Will ye cease your blethering?” Bridget tilted her head. “I want ye to make me your wife now.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye. According to the auld ways, a promise is enough.” Bridget squeezed his hand slightly. “Come here.”

  A tiny part of his mind told him he should be a gentleman and clarify that what she said was what he thought it meant, but a much bigger part of him was already growing hard in anticipation. The gentleman would have to step aside.

  “Are ye going to get rid of your clothing or nae?” Bridget asked.

  Had he been sitting there like a dolt? Alasdair kicked off his boots and shed his clothes so quickly that pieces went flying in every direction. He turned to slide onto the bed, his cock thrust out, thick and ready. Bridget gave a small gasp, which only made him even larger. Alasdair pushed back the coverlet and pulled at the laces of the night rail Bridget wore. Her hand stayed him. He bit back a groan of frustration. If Bridget had changed her mind, if she wanted him to stop, he would, although he suspected it might just kill him. He looked into her eyes, half-expecting her to be frowning. Instead, she was smiling.

  “Ye are making knots of the laces.”

  He looked down at the ribbons. Sure enough, the one he had tugged on was now tight, not loose. He hadn’t made such a stupid mistake even when he was a green lad panting after a milkmaid who’d taken him to the hayloft. He began to pick at the knot, wondering when his fingers had bec
ome so clumsy. The damn thing wouldn’t give. He was tempted to rip it apart when he noticed the shiny blade of a knife in his side vision. Startled, he looked up.

  Bridget flipped the sgian dubh over and offered him the handle. “This will be quicker.”

  Where had Bridget kept that hidden? And why hadn’t he seen her reach for it? Questions that could wait. Nor could he think of some comment to make. Silently, he took the knife. It’s sharp, honed edge sliced neatly through the knot and cut through the other three ribbons that held the gown together. He placed the knife on the bedside table where the light from the oil lamp glinted off the razor-sharp point. Alasdair sucked in a breath. “I dinnae realize ye had put such a fine tip to it. I could have hurt ye.”

  Bridget’s eyes widened. “I trust ye.”

  It almost sounded as if she meant something besides the knife, but his body was demanding action, not conversation.

  Alasdair pushed the gown back, revealing the soft, ivory mounds of Bridget’s breasts. He took a moment to savor their beauty. They were as perfect as he had imagined. Lush and round, just large enough to fit nicely into his hands. The nipples were coral, surrounded by pale brown aureoles, puckered slightly to resemble sand left from receding tide.

  He palmed one breast, lifting it slightly as he brushed his thumb across the nipple, which pebbled under his touch. Alasdair looked into Bridget’s eyes, watching her pupils grow large as he gently rolled the nipple between thumb and forefinger, then tugged, then rolled again. A soft moan escaped her lips and he bent and flicked his tongue across the other one. He felt, rather than heard, her sharp inhalation. Bridget moved her hands over his shoulders, pressing her fingers into his muscles, drawing him closer. Alasdair obliged, covering her breast and beginning to suckle. Another moan escaped her and he increased the pressure, alternating sucking and pulling and then flattening his tongue over the delicious nib while he massaged and kneaded the other breast.

  Alasdair lay down beside Bridget and feathered kisses along her collarbone. She arched her neck, exposing her throat, and he showered kisses there too, nuzzling her neck before nibbling on an earlobe. Her response was a slight shudder and something that sounded very much like a satisfied cat purring. He covered her mouth with his, and she opened immediately, inviting him in. Their tongues met and tangled, the kiss deepening on its own accord.