‘Then there will be thousands to meet them,’ Alasdair said, thundering back to the castle summon his men for battle.
Bridie had been cleaning the Grand Room when the news came. Still smiling from her morning with the Laird she was sweeping the rugs that had been spread as if it were her white gown she was preparing the floor for. She carried heavy candles imagining the room lit and that it was she dancing with the Laird, for nothing could spoil this morn.
Except battle.
As soon as word came, Mrs Moffat gave orders. There was much to quickly do and she sent Bridie to the basement room where she dragged up salted meat and wine to the kitchen and then set about packing up supplies for the men to take with them. Supplies that would hopefully sustain them and give them strength for the battle ahead. Bridie was choking back tears as she wrapped up food and carried it out to the supply carriage.
‘Where’s Mary?’ Mrs Moffat shouted, when she was nowhere to be found.
The horses were ready and the carriages too that would ride behind with supplies and also bring the injured home.
‘Where’s Angus?’ The laird was already mounted, his face fierce, his mind already on the battle ahead and Bridie was jealous when Angus appeared and a wee while later so did Mary, for she wanted to kiss the laird farewell, but he had told her this morning it was to be forgotten, that there must be no more.
She caught his eye, just once, he stared at her but for a moment and then he kicked his horse on and the warriors rode out of the castle as the women watched on, Mary crying.
‘Why do they have to go?’ Mary sobbed. ‘It’s not their land…’
‘Because the Scots need to stick together,’ Mrs Moffat said. ‘The Glenbarach Clan are riding down south too…’
‘Aye, but the Glenbarach laird won’t be going in to battle…’ Bridie flared. ‘So why does our laird have to?’
‘You watch your tongue lassie.’ Mrs Moffat turned. ‘Our laird is the McClelland Clan Chief too. Would you rather a laird who sat and did nothing as his men did his work?’
Yes, Bridie thought, but did not say, if it meant that the laird was safe.
‘I hate the Glenbarachs.’ Bridie settled for instead.
Alasdair hated the Glenbarachs too, had been born and raised to hate them, could hear their pipes playing in the distance as they set up camp for the night. They had been travelling for three days, forging ahead, pushing to get to the ford where the battle was to be held. Rapid was the English approach too though and the reports of their numbers were increasing. The Scots were way outnumbered, the Welsh were marching with the English too and so tonight the men drank wine, for there was little doubt that otherwise it would be wasted, but then Callum came over with news. ‘There’s a Glenbarach approaching.’
Alasdair stood as solid as a rock as Hamish, the Glenbarach War Chief rode up and he offered no greeting as Hamish dismounted and faced him.
‘There are thousands approaching,’ Hamish said.
‘I heard.’ Alasdair nodded.
‘We’re to spread the word that they’re not coming across the ford now…’ Hamish said. ‘Instead they’re coming the quicker route across Stirling Bridge, which is just as Wallace wanted.’
Alasdair smiled, for at the ford the English could ride many men abreast but Stirling Bridge would only allow for two, maybe three of them to ride side by side and would create a bottle neck.
‘Wallace and Moray want us to position ourselves. We’re to let enough through that we can take and then attack.’
‘And what about the men still coming through on the bridge?’ Alasdair looked to Hamish. ‘Spearsmen?’
‘Aye.’ Hamish nodded. ‘And archers. The English have no idea what they’ll be riding into. We know the land…’
‘Because it’s our land.’ Alasdair said. ‘I’ll pass it on.’
He sent Callum to ride to the next clan to pass on the news as Hamish returned to his men and they drank wine and ate bread and meat and spoke about strategies for a while.
‘Moray knows the lowlands.’ Angus said as they spoke of the plans.
‘Aye, but Wallace knows the Highlands like no other.’ Alasdair said. ‘They’ll not get through.’
‘Have you made up your mind, who’ll be your bride?’ Angus asked, because there was now a chance that there would be a wedding after all.
‘Not yet,’ Alasdair said. ‘Though I know who it won’t be,’ he nodded in the direction of the sound of the Glenbarach bagpipes.
‘Och, and there was me thinking they were playing their pipes!’ Angus said and bought a rare smile to Alasdair’s lips, for Peter had a sister, Donalda - a rotund, angry woman who had a voice and a laugh that was not pleasing to the ears. ‘They must have brought Lady Donalda with them.’
Alasdair stretched out under his oilskin and thought about the battle that would be waiting for them when they arrived tomorrow. There would be no Bridie bringing him breakfast in the morn and on this, perhaps his last night on earth, he closed his eyes and thought of her in his arms that morning, sinking into his own pleasure as he recalled their kiss, thought of her wanton in his arms, but then his eyes snapped open as he remembered Dougal raising a stick to the dog, for he had not spoken to Mrs Moffat.
Alasdair had never been nervous going into battle, had always said he would die a happy man if he died defending the land he so loved – but there was all the more reason to defeat the English tomorrow.
He had to stop the marriage.
For Bridie’s sake, he had to make it home.
Chapter Eight
The English knew full well that the Scots were outnumbered and were expecting a rabble they could quickly crush.
Instead there was order.
The rival clans were united - poised and waiting as the vanguard approached the bottleneck of the bridge. And they watched them thunder over.
Watched silent and smiling and not afraid to die, for the English would be beaten today.
Every Scot knew it.
‘If I don’t make it back.’ Alasdair turned to his brother. ‘Bridie’s not to marry Dougal.’
‘Aye.’ Angus said and did not ask for more details, for idle words were not said before you went into battle and he shook his brothers hand and gave him his word as the order went into attack and attack they did.
The spearsmen and archers went first, taking out what men they could and then they focussed on the bridge as the men charged ahead, first on horseback armed with spears and then they fought with dirks and swords.
It was not just his land Alasdair fought for, but to make it back for Bridie. Side by side with the Glenbarach’s and other clans they must block the advance of the English, would see them retreat. It was filthy and bloody and the waters ran red for a while, but this was war and he fought it, savage like never before. Every English man was the one who might take torches to his village, while Bridie and Gracie lay sleeping in their beds in Dougal’s home instead of safe at his castle. Alasdair blocked every sword with his shield, for without him or Angus to stop the marriage, Bridie would be in that brute’s bed and he would make it home for her.
He would, Alasdair realised, for there was a roar of elation as the English finally retreated, some choosing to take off their armour and swim from the Scots in fear.
The victory was a costly one though and the elation faded as Alasdair picked through the bodies on the battlefield and the riverside and claimed the McClelland dead and injured. Though weary they dug their fellow warriors’ graves and loaded the injured into the carriage, ready to head for home and then by the riverside Alasdair saw movement.
‘It’s a Glenbarach….’ Duncan growled, seeing the moss and brown plaid, but the Glenbarachs had already left.
‘He’s a Scot.’ Alasdair said. ‘And we need every last man, go and fetch him – he’ll travel with us.’
And so a Glenbarach was loaded on to the McClelland carriage as the victorious men began the long, tiring journey home, though it was not till a f
ew nights later that Bridie was woken from her sleep.
‘The men are returning.’ Mrs Moffat said. ‘Go and prepare the laird’s room. Mary, go and prepare for Angus and then you’re to join me in the kitchen.’
The laird was coming home!
Bridie flew up the castle steps lit candles and lanterns and then she started on the fire, determined to have the place warm and ready. She put on water over the fire and pulled back the fur to ready his bed and as she did there was a stir of memory as she remembered laying here in this bed, though not from the time she had spent here with Gracie.
Bridie was terrified to remember that time, did everything she could not to, but as she heard the sound hooves approaching the castle, she remembered for the first time opening her eyes and the laird imploring her to stay with him.
Remembered the laird bringing her home.
Bridie screwed her eyes closed, for she could not stand to think of it, but yes, she had wanted death, had been sure it had arrived but then she had opened her eyes to find it was Laird Alasdair’s arms she was in, and the fear had escaped then, just safe in his arms as he carried her home.
‘Oh, Laird.’ She wanted safe in his arms now, wanted to be with the laird.
Wanted.
‘Bridie!’ She could hear Mary shouting for her and with the laird’s room ready she headed down to the kitchen. Even though it was the middle of the night there was the aroma of fresh bread baking and Mrs Moffat was adding herbs to a vast pot of stew and there were birds on the spit for the men would be starving.
As the men approached a messenger came ahead and it was then they learned there was an injured Glenbarach returning with them.
‘Trust the Glenbarachs to leave a man behind.’ Mrs Moffat huffed.
‘Aye, well he’ll not be eating with us, The laird says he’s to be bought into here and fed and his injuries dealt with and then in the morn Callum will ride him home.’
It was as if the devil himself had been bought into the castle - Mary ran off and Mrs Moffat was anxious. Only Bridie wasn’t scared. Remembering how Morag had helped Gracie, she washed the man and did her best with his wounds though he barely stirred. He was a huge man, and elderly and was dressed in the moss and brown plaid of the Glenbarach’s.
‘How could they leave a man behind?’ Bridie asked.
‘It can happen.’
It was the laird’s deep voice that answered and she turned and looked. There was a huge gash on his neck and he stood, staring down at what once had been the enemy. ‘Hamish, their War Chief was badly knocked out, he’d never have left him otherwise. The other men would have thought he was in with the injured, or buried…’
The man was stirring, looking up to the Laird his face scowled, his teeth bared.
‘You’ll be back with your men tomorrow.’ The Laird said. ‘For now you’ll be looked after here.’ He turned to Bridie. ‘Give the man a drink.’
She filled a goblet with ale and approached the Glenbarach and at first he shrunk back as if afraid.
‘He looks like he’s seen a ghost.’ Mary said from the far end of the kitchen, brave because it wasn’t she who had to approach him.
‘It’s just ale.’ Bridie said as she offered it to him, nervous now, because his eyes never left her face and she let out a squeal of terror when he suddenly lifted her hand and kissed it.
‘Laird!’ Bridie called out, taking her hand back and spilling the ale.
‘Enough!’ Alasdair roared at the man and then called for Callum. ‘We’ll take him out to the keep where he’s to be fed and watered and then you’re to take him to Glenbarach at first light.’
He and Callum went to lift the injured man and the Laird glanced over to Bridie and for the first time since his return from battle he properly saw her. She was in her kirtle, her hair wild and to the laird she had never looked more beautiful. There was a scald to her cheeks as he stared and there was fierce want in his groin.
‘Bridie, you’re to away to your bed,’ Mrs Moffat suddenly said and the laird snapped back to attention, dragged the man out to the keep but his mind was with Bridie, asleep now in bed.
He wanted her in his though, wanted to follow a heart that had once only beat for McClelland.
Chapter Nine
‘He hardly stirred.’ Mrs Moffat said the next morning, for it was she who had taken the laird his breakfast. She who had ordered a bath for him and who had been there while the healer had dealt with the laird’s wounds, for she had seen the look that had passed between the two of them.
He was deeply asleep now, after having barely sat up to take a drink, Mrs Moffat thought as she huffed down the steps after collecting his tray and when lunchtime came around and Mary was no where to be found and she could not face the castle steps again she called for Bridie.
‘Take the laird this. Make sure he takes a drink of ale and you’re not to worry him with your chatter - the laird needs his rest and then you’re to come and find me,’ Mrs Moffat said. ‘I have a treat for you.’
Bridie took the tray and climbed the steps and then walked into the darkened chamber. She placed the ale by his bed and put another log on the fire, and the room lit some more. She could see the laird, his body bruised, saw the huge gash to his neck that had been closed now with a needle. ‘Savage bastards,’ Bridie hissed.
‘Bridie,’ he warned, his eyes still closed.
‘Even half dead, still ye scold me,’ Bridie said.
‘Always,’ the Laird said and there was just a small smile on his mouth.
‘You’re to take some ale.’
He didn’t want any, all he wanted was to sleep, but she lifted his head and he took a drink, and he felt the soft pillow of her breast he wanted more than sleep now. Wanted to turn his head to her but common sense had returned a little. The laird knew Bridie needed gentle and he had had no thought of being gentle last night. He would deal with this properly – once rested he would speak with Mrs Moffat. So, instead of giving into want he lay back, wincing as he did so, for he had taken on many injuries.
‘Savage bastards.’ The Laird said, repeating her words, and this time it was Bridie who gave a small smile, but she could see now the damage. The Laird who only ever rested on return from battle was already back to sleep and she looked to the outline beneath the fur, saw it gently moving and her breath was tight in her throat.
He thought he was dreaming at first as soft lips dusted his chest and he let himself stay in it for a moment, felt the cool of her tongue, gentle on his skin and the scent of her hair and he let her explore him a moment.
She lifted her mouth and looked down to his body, it was like surveying a feast, only this time she got to partake and her lips descended on his nipple.
‘Bridie…’
‘It’s just a kiss laird.’ She breathed and kiss him she did and then lifted her head, choosing where next she might go, but the laird bought her lips to him. ‘I’ll show you a kiss, Bridie.’ He would not tell her his plans yet, did not even want to mention Dougal’s name here, he just wanted this time with Bridie.
He would not rush her.
Even now, fierce with want and a need to be sated, somehow her needs came first.
He kissed her, but removed his hand from her head, so she could halt at any given moment and it moved to her waist as he kissed her. Unlike Bridie’s, his eyes were open, gauging her face as his hand moved to her breast. He felt her swallow, watched her blink as his hand started to stroke her through the fabric.
‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘No Laird…’ she murmured, reeling at the bliss, made more blissful for as his hand stroked her breast, so too, between words did he kiss her.
‘How do you feel Bridie…’
His mouth licked down her neck
‘Nervous…’ she said, ‘but a nice nervous..’
‘Like?’
‘Like when you can’t breathe…’ He licked the top curve of her breast and then nuzzled it out of the fabric and his tongue was s
wirling her nipple now, ‘like when you’re tickled.’ She closed her eyes as he took her breast into his mouth and suckled, her hand stilling on the fur and her eyes closing as she felt him suckle again and again, ‘Oh Laird…’
She did not know how she was feeling. ‘It’s the best and the worst.’
‘The worst?’
His mouth moved off, and she looked down to her wet breast to her large nipple so near his mouth.
‘It’s cruel…’ Except her lips were smiling and he smiled too at her choice of word.
‘Cruel?’
‘That you stop.’
He blew on her nipple. ‘Is that cruel?’
‘Aye.’
And he blew again.
‘I want more.’
‘You want more of the worst?’
‘I do Laird. It’s the worst because it’s so cruel to tease.’
He pulled her down close to him so she lay side on in the bed and his mouth found hers and they kissed again, except it was more thorough than ever before. His strong arms held her tight to him yet his hands roamed her body till she was dizzy with heat and with want. She could feel his arousal, hard beneath the warm fur, at her intimate place, a place she hated, a place there had only been pain except now it ached in a different way. She pressed into him and that earned her a growl from his throat and so she did it again, and so too did Alasdair, a frenzy building in Bridie.
‘Laird…’ her neck arched back and he kissed now her throat, his hand was on her bottom and pressing her further in. ‘What’s happening to me?’
‘Hush Bridie…
He pushed harder against her, held her bottom still, when she wanted to move but, oh the heaven of his mouth on her neck and now to her ear.
Her hands moved down his back, such a strong muscled back and now she was making noises, little whimpers that she could not stop and a hum was building in her throat.
‘I feel hot…’ she could not describe it, ‘I feel… oh, Laird, I need to … ‘ she was incapable of a sentence, a strange feeling of panic was building, but it was a panic she had never known.
Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors) Page 5