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

by Julie Johnstone

  “What was the contest for?” Iain asked, sliding his arm around his wife and pulling her close. The obvious consuming love on both their faces made Bridgette’s heart ache with longing. She’d never have that. She forced the melancholy thought from her mind and answered Iain. “Rory Mac and I made a stake. If I could best him, he pledged to let me join the hunt as I requested.”

  Iain scowled at Rory Mac. “Ye should be shamed,” he growled. “I’ve taught ye well nae to underestimate yer opponent. That includes a woman. Have ye forgotten that my mother was a warrior who could best many a man?”

  “Nay,” Rory Mac grumbled.

  Iain cocked his head as he stared at Bridgette. “Would ye be willing to help Rory Mac and Lachlan train the younger boys in shooting?”

  “I-Iain!” Rory Mac sputtered.

  “Silence,” Iain said, his tone stern.

  Bridgette’s heart squeezed with happiness. “I’ll be happy to do so,” she quickly replied in case he changed his mind.

  “The men will nae like this,” Rory Mac insisted, and several of the men behind him nodded and offered their dislike of the idea.

  “The men will do as their laird commands, or they’ll answer to me,” Lachlan said, a dark look settling on his face.

  Bridgette felt a flutter in her heart for Lachlan’s championing her that vexed her greatly. What was the matter with her that she could still have feelings for a man who had given promises of a likely future to a woman to whom he did not intend to be faithful and who was the brother of the man who would one day soon be her husband? She really needed to pay some coin to Father Murdock for her wickedness.

  Rory Mac scowled but jerked his head in a nod.

  Alanna grinned at her husband. “Ye men and Bridgette better make haste to hunt the bull.”

  “Bridgette’s nae earned her place on the hunt yet,” Rory Mac answered.

  Bridgette glared at the obstinate man. “I have, and ye ken it.”

  “Nay.” He shook his head, a sly look coming to his face. “When ye asked me who the best marksmen was attending the hunt, I understand now I was boastful and wrong. Lachlan is the best marksmen, so truly, ye should best him to be allowed to come.”

  “What?” Bridgette gasped. “That’s nae fair!”

  Rory Mac cocked an eyebrow. “If ye’re scairt…”

  Bridgette’s gaze flew to Lachlan, and his knowing green eyes met hers. He could best her and he knew it. She knew it as well. And blast Rory Mac! He comprehended it for certain, and he also comprehended she could not decline without looking as if she was scared.

  Yearning seemed to be Lachlan’s constant companion these days. As he glanced over at Bridgette, whose eyes held a world of misery, the need to soothe her made his hands shake. He fisted them quickly and then flexed them. No one seemed to notice anything unusual except Iain, who narrowed his eyes and gave a subtle shake of his head.

  Lachlan turned his gaze away from whatever Iain was trying to tell him and back to the target being set up in the distance. He was glad for a moment to bow his head and prep his bow without anyone seeing his face or reading the indecision there. He could easily best Bridgette, yet he couldn’t. He was more skilled to be certain, but causing her pain and shame by besting her and taking away her chance to hunt the bull, would kill him. Yet, neither did he want her endangering herself by joining the men on the hunt.

  If he let her win the contest, he would have to shadow her on the hunt, and it would be torturous to be so near her. And he still had the problem of how to let her win without it appearing obvious. If he was not careful, Rory Mac or one of the other men would see through what he’d done.

  He was still contemplating how to accomplish helping her when she swatted at a bee buzzing around her ear, and an idea occurred to him.

  As he readied his bow and arrow for the match, he was acutely aware of her beside him. She gracefully raised her bow and lined her body for the shot, and he found himself holding his breath in hopes that she’d have the best one she’d ever had.

  He withdrew his arrow and readied his bow as everyone watched. The bee was nowhere in sight, which was ill luck for certain. Yet he would not alter his course. He drew the arrow all the way back as Bridgette did the same. Then Rory Mac gave the call to release, and just before Lachlan complied, he cursed loudly and smacked at the left side of his neck. The arrow released, flew through the air, and lodged into the target a moment after Bridgette’s and to the left of her arrow, which had hit the center perfectly.

  “Bridgette won!” Alanna gasped.

  Rory Mac groaned.

  Bridgette’s eyes rounded wide, and then a glorious grin lit her face and brightened her eyes. Lachlan’s chest tightened at the sight of her joy, which made all the teasing he was going to have to endure worth it.

  “How could ye miss that shot?” Rory Mac demanded, coming to stand directly in front of Lachlan, his ruddy brows dipping together in a fierce frown.

  Lachlan scrubbed at his neck, hard, to ensure it would be red. “I was stung by a bee! I could nae help it.”

  The men around him guffawed, but he didn’t care. Rory Mac glared at him, and Iain gave him a disbelieving look. Rory Mac shook his head. “I’ve seen ye split arrows when ye’ve been shot by one or stabbed with a dagger, and ye mean to say a wee beesting made ye miss?”

  Lachlan narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I dunnae mean to say anything. I’ve said it. And that’s the end of it. I lost. Bridgette won. She may go on the hunt.”

  Marion stepped forward and gave Lachlan a long look he did not care for. He adored Iain’s wife, but she was keen, meddlesome, and a good friend of Bridgette’s. The three of those things together made him uneasy.

  “Ye should let me see yer beesting,” Marion said sweetly.

  “There’s nae a need,” he quickly replied. “It hardly pains me.”

  Marion nodded as she moved toward him, an obstinate gleam in her eye. “That may be so, but sometimes people can have strange reactions to stings. I’ll be able to tell if ye’re going to by simply looking at the place where ye were stung.”

  “It’s nae troubling me,” he insisted more firmly.

  “Let her look at ye,” Iain demanded. “She’ll fret over ye the whole time ye’re gone, and I’m the one who will have to listen to it.”

  Marion playfully smacked Iain on the arm as she advanced on Lachlan until she was standing beside him. With no way to deny her without it seeming odd, he lowered his head so she could see his neck. Marion suddenly exclaimed, “This is the worst beesting I’ve ever seen!”

  Lachlan jerked his head toward her, and her gaze met his. Laughter swam in her eyes, but when she looked away from him and toward the group, he noted that she made her expression somber. “Bridgette, come see what ye think of this beesting.”

  Lachlan glared at Marion. She knew very well he wasn’t stung, so why was she calling Bridgette over? Was she vexed about only just learning the truth about him and Helena? She had not seemed overly annoyed this morning. He’d rose early and sought Iain out telling him about Helena’s questions about the Fairy Flag and Lachlan’s suspicion that part—or all—of the reason she had been ordered to pledge to marry him was to learn the location of the flag and steal it. He’d then told Iain his idea of seeing if Marion could mix a potion that would loosen Helena’s tongue so they may possibly learn something from her, and Iain had agreed it was a good idea. He had even decided they should tell Marion the truth about Helena immediately so she could mix the potion and help keep a watchful eye on Helena.

  Marion had seemed surprised but not angry. In truth, she had grinned and exclaimed her relief. Marion had assured him she could fix a potion if she could find the herbs she needed. Once everything had been decided, the three of them had waited in hiding for Helena to appear, and she had not disappointed. The woman was most definitely seeking out the Fairy Flag.

  “I’ve been teaching Bridgette some about the healing arts,” Marion said, which pulled him back in
to his current problem. “We had a lesson not too long ago on stings. I want to see what she has learned.”

  He shrugged, trapped by his own deception. Bridgette approached slowly and stopped beside him. She tilted her head, and their eyes met. “I’ll need ye to bend to me,” she said, her voice coming out husky.

  Having her so close, knowing her hands would soon be on him, sent jolts of lust through his body. Every muscle hardened, and his blood hummed. Behind Bridgette, the men were moving away as Iain ordered them to ready for the hunt. Lachlan bent his head toward her, glad his face would be hidden. When her warm fingertips grazed his neck, his breath released in a harsh exhalation, and a shudder coursed through him. The subtle intake of her breath whispered in his ears, and her fingertips curled harder against his skin as she moved them over his neck in search of a wound that was not there.

  “I dunnae see the sting,” Bridgette murmured, her fingers gliding over the skin of his neck in long, torturous strokes.

  “It’s right there,” Marion said, giving his neck a hard poke. “See where the stinger went in?” She sounded so sincere, but Lachlan knew it was a pretense. She was a gifted healer, and he didn’t have a doubt that she knew he’d lied about being stung, but that did not mean she knew why he had lied.

  Bridgette leaned closer to him, her heat teasing him and her scent tantalizing him. Her soft, full breasts brushed his arm, and he had to cough to cover the groan of wanting that escaped him. Her fingers rubbed back and forth, then paused suddenly. She inhaled sharply, and he jerked his head up in time to see a knowing look pass between her and Marion.

  Marion turned quickly and scampered away, leaving Lachlan standing alone with Bridgette. What was Marion about? Surely the woman was not meddling with the intent of bringing him and Bridgette together? Marion had to know such a thing could never be so.

  “Why?” Bridgette asked, her voice an awed whisper.

  “Why what?” he asked slowly, wondering if she meant why had he feigned a beesting or if she was possibly referring to what she had likely witnessed last night in the courtyard between him and Helena and then him and Lillias. Bridgette, unlike Marion, thought he really did desire Helena.

  “Why did ye let me win the contest?”

  “Because,” he said, swallowing, “I could nae bear to see ye hurt.” He gently removed the hand that still lay upon his neck, each passing moment his desire growing from her touch.

  A crease puckered between her russet brows. “I dunnae understand ye, Lachlan MacLeod. One minute I believe ye to be good and honorable, and then I believe ye to be pure wicked. Then ye do something to make me believe ye are honorable again.”

  She’d seen him for certain last night. She cocked her head. “So which is it?” she hissed. “Are ye honorable or nae?”

  His throat ached to tell her he was honorable, but it would be folly to do so. He wanted her, and he felt more certain than ever that she felt the pull to him, too. If her fight to deny her feelings was even a small portion of his own fight to deny what he felt for her, the wisest thing to do would be to let her hate him.

  He stepped back, putting a distance between them. “I’m honorable when I choose to be,” he offered lamely.

  Her eyebrows arched, and her lips pressed together. “Yer answer tells me ye’re nae honorable at all. Shall we hunt?”

  He nodded.

  “Do ye need to bid Helena farewell first?”

  Helena was trapped, much to her irate protest, helping Alanna in the kitchens again today, and Marion intended to force Helena to embroider later, so he did not have to concern himself with her whereabouts for the day. He shook his head, knowing it seemed odd not to speak, but he could not have even if he had known what to say. Anger had risen in his throat and was close to choking him. What Bridgette thought about him should not matter to him so. He could not comprehend why he could not rid himself of the desire he felt for this woman, knowing how very wrong it was.

  Seven

  How was it possible to long to be near someone yet desire he go away at the same time? The question burned in Bridgette’s mind as her horse galloped across the rolling hills directly behind Lachlan’s. The hunting party had split into two groups, and Lachlan had insisted she come with him. That was the only thing he’d said to her since departing Dunvegan.

  A steady rain fell from the gray sky, and she blinked several times to clear her vision. The wind had picked up, and despite her cloak, it cut through her and set her teeth to chattering. She was as miserable in body as she was in spirit. She felt as if her emotions had been bunched up, straightened, and then bunched again. She had once believed Lachlan to be one of the most honorable men she knew, but his recent actions made her unsure of everything and angry at herself for not being capable of simply forgetting the man.

  As Lachlan slowed their pace and sent his horse up a steep crag and then slowly down the other side, she could see Portree in the distance. She stared at Lachlan’s broad back as he led them around the boggy moorland and through a thicket of birch, oak, alder, hazel, and pine.

  Even as her eyes scanned the area for the bull, a question plagued her: why had he pretended a bee had stung him and let her win the last contest?

  A picture of him kissing Helena and then kissing Lillias danced in her head. God’s teeth, she was a clot-heid. Lachlan lusted after her. It was as simple as that. He did not have good, honorable intentions. He wanted her and apparently had decided that pretending to be honorable just might lead to their joining. He was definitely the devil incarnate, and clearly she was quite the sinner herself because, knowing all she now did, her insides clenched with yearning at the thought that he wanted to put his hands upon her. She disgusted herself!

  Lachlan raised a hand and gave a signal to stop. Bridgette rubbed at her aching temple with one hand while using the other to pull up on her reins and slow her horse. Rory Mac and Neil, who had been riding behind her, came to a stop beside her.

  Framed by the mountain in the distance, Lachlan turned his beast toward them. His russet hair hung down on either side of his face, and his green eyes blazed. “I smell the bull.”

  Bridgette frowned and sniffed the air. She smelled nothing but heather and dirt, yet she instinctively knew to trust Lachlan on this. He dismounted, as did Rory Mac and Neil, so she followed their lead. They quickly tied up their horses, and then Lachlan gestured to the ground. “Do ye see the bull’s tracks?”

  Bridgette didn’t know if he was talking to her or Rory Mac and Neil, but she answered. “Nay.”

  He surprised her when he gripped her hand in his and pulled her toward the ground. “Here.” He pointed toward the dirt, and she saw the imprint of which he spoke. “And here. And there.”

  He released her hand and followed the tracks up the steep incline. She scrambled to follow him, shoving branches out of her way as she went. When they all got to the top of the hill, Lachlan pointed to the valley below and raised his voice to be heard over the roaring of the waterfall that snaked down the mountain below them. “Rory Mac and I will track the bull down there.” Lachlan turned to Neil. “Ye and Bridgette stay here and make ready yer bows. If ye see the bull coming, ye both ken what to do.”

  Neil gave a nod, and then Lachlan faced her. His gaze pierced her. “Dunnae move,” he commanded.

  She didn’t care for being ordered about by him, but it was pointless to argue. She’d stay here—while it suited her. She nodded, which he acknowledged with a tilt of his head, and then he turned and she watched silently as he and Rory Mac readied their swords and started their descent down the rocky mountain toward the lush green woods and white water that pooled to blue below. Bridgette stared at Lachlan until she could no longer see him, and then she turned to find Neil had moved back down the hill and was studying the ground where Lachlan had first shown them the bull’s tracks. She squinted against the glare of the sun as she watched Neil brush leaves away, then sit up on his haunches and scrub a hand across his face.

  She peered at th
e ground to study the indentions. “Aye.”

  “Dunnae they look bigger than the other ones?”

  Bridgette stared at the tracks, but she could not tell for certain. Her heart clenched. If there was even the possibility of two bulls… “We have to warn them!”

  Neil shook his head. “Lachlan said to stay here.”

  Bridgette scowled. “I’ll nae stay here when they may be facing two bulls. I’m going to warn them.”

  “Lachlan will nae like being disobeyed.”

  “Lachlan would nae like being dead, either,” she retorted while withdrawing her bow and arrow.

  Neil shook his head. “I’ve a notion this is nae going to end well.”

  “All will be fine,” she replied confidently.

  Neil scowled but withdrew his bow and arrow and started beside her down the steep embankment, past the roaring waterfall, and into the dark woods. Once inside the canopy of the large trees, the sounds of the waterfall became muted and the temperature dropped. Bridgette scanned the shadowy area as she followed Neil slowly through the woods.

  “Should we call to them?” she whispered to Neil’s back.

  Neil shook his head. “If they’ve spotted the bull, we dunnae want to distract them, nor do we want to let the bulls ken we’re here.”

  Fear lodged in her chest and made breathing difficult. As they walked over gnarled roots and dead leaves, the crunching beneath her feet making her grind her teeth. With all the noise they were making, she feared a bull would find them anyway. And just as the thought filled her head, she heard a deep bellowing come from the darkness ahead of them. The bull appeared out of the shadows, its long, reddish coat shaking and sharp gray horns unmistakable as it charged toward Neil. Her breath seized as she realized Neil didn’t have time to raise his bow and nock his arrow. The bull butted headlong into Neil and knocked the Scot on his back. His bow and arrow went flying from his hands.