Rogue of the Moors

by Cynthia Breeding

  Bridget looked at the physician. He carried his jacket and waistcoat. He’d rolled up his sleeves and had blood spattered down the front of his shirt. He had his bag with him, which meant he was going to leave. Joanna and Robert had not come downstairs. That could be either very good or very bad. Bridget squared her shoulders.

  “Please give us the news.”

  The man nodded. “Shauna lives. The bairn did not survive.”

  Relief swept over Bridget, followed by a wave of sorrow for the babe. Margaret gasped softly.

  Niall placed one hand on Bridget’s shoulder and the other on Margaret’s. “Was Shauna attacked?”

  Alasdair stepped closer to the sofa. “Was she able to tell ye what happened?”

  “Was there a struggle?” Gavin asked.

  “How did she fall?” Braden pressed.

  The doctor held up a hand. “No one attacked her. Shauna told us she was on her way back to the well to thank the women when crippling pain ripped through her belly. She bent over, tried to walk, and fell.” He looked around the group. “Her husband said she’d complained of pain before. I suspect the heavy lifting of the water buckets brought this on.”

  Bridget bit her lip. Shauna had told her just this afternoon that she’d had a pain in her side and tired easily. Why hadn’t Bridget thought to stop her sister from working the fire brigade? She should have remembered how close Jillian had come to losing her bairn the time she was chased and fell and was trapped for hours. “I should nae have allowed Shauna to strain so—”

  “’Tis nae your fault, Bridget,” Alasdair said.

  “Doona blame yourself,” Niall added.

  But she did…and she would until she knew for certain that Shauna forgave her. “Can I go up and see her?”

  The physician shook his head. “I had to give her laudanum to make sure nothing remained—to do a procedure. She should sleep through the night. I did leave a bottle by the bed though. If anyone of ye is brave enough, try to get some of it down Captain Henderson’s throat.”

  “He dinnae swoon then?” Margaret asked.

  “Nae. I thought I had a version of a Viking war god inside that room. ” The doctor looked a little bewildered. “Although in spite of the colorful descriptions of how I would meet my demise if I dinnae save his wife, the mon held her gently as an angel would.”

  Bridget managed a small smile. She knew exactly what he meant, having experienced that gentleness in strength herself with Alasdair.

  * * * * *

  Monday morning dawned clear and bright, the sun rising in a magnificent ball of gold with shards of orange and red spreading across the horizon like spikes on a royal crown as the day heralded a new beginning. The beauty of it contrasted sharply with the burned and blackened timbers of the once pristine house that had been Robert and Shauna’s. Layers of ash and thick mud covered everything in the back of the house that had not been destroyed. Bridget picked her way through the ruins and debris to see what could be recovered.

  “Take care. The roof might be unstable.”

  Startled, she turned around to see Alasdair walking toward her. She didn’t think anyone would be up and about at this early hour, given they’d all gone to bed late. She had even been careful not to wake Margaret, whose room she’d shared, because she wanted to check the extent of damages to Shauna’s house.

  “I wanted to see how bad it was so I would ken what to tell Shauna,” Bridget said.

  Alasdair came to her side and put a hand on her arm when she started to step across what remained of the kitchen threshold. His light touch halted her as effectively as iron shackles might. He pointed upward.

  “The timbers are loose. Any bit of jarring could bring one crashing down. As soon as Robert and my brothers arrive, we will take ladders and start removing them. Until then, ye willnae go inside.”

  Bridget raised a brow. “That sounds like an order.”

  “’Tis.”

  “I doona like to be ordered about.”

  “’Tis for your own good.”

  She frowned. “I am nae a child.”

  Alasdair looked her over slowly, his eyes lighting mischievously. “I would agree with that.”

  What was she supposed to say to that? Worse, she felt herself blushing. Alasdair had a way of unsettling her, something she’d not experienced with Brodie. Last night, when Alasdair had stood behind her in the kitchen massaging her shoulders, they had been in silent accord. Bridget had been tempted to lean back against him and bask for the merest moment in his strength. To let someone else share the burden of responsibility that she always seemed to carry. That foolish idea had dissolved with Niall’s appearance and then vanished completely when Isobel had reminded Alasdair as she left that he was expected to call on her the next day. Bridget had no business allowing herself to be attracted to Alasdair.

  “Aren’t ye supposed to calling on your betrothed?” she asked before she could temper her thoughts.

  “Nae at this hour.”

  How stupid of her. Dawn had broken not an hour ago. No one made social calls this early. What had she been thinking? Bridget felt her cheeks grow warmer. “I meant, ye might nae want to get all dirty working on Robert’s house. Miss Howard willnae appreciate ye arriving filthy.”

  Alasdair looked at her quizzically. “Is your hair getting brighter?”

  “My hair?”

  “Aye.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “It seems to get lighter when your temper is high.”

  “My temper? I doona have a temper.”

  “The fire in your eyes belies the words your tongue speaks.”

  Alasdair let his gaze linger on Bridget’s mouth. She stared back, feeling her face heat even more as she remembered how warm and firm his mouth had felt on hers. She looked away from those sinful lips only to find his eyes glinting like emeralds. Lord have mercy. The temptation in those eyes could shame the devil himself.

  “I doona have a temper,” Bridget repeated and decided to change the subject before she did something really foolish. “What I really wanted to ken was how much of the house could be habitable.”

  “Habitable?” Alasdair drew his brows together. “None of it for now.”

  “None? I can see the kitchen is destroyed, but the fire didn’t get to the parlor. The bedrooms are over that. I think with some cleaning—”

  “Nae. I told ye, we doona ken how solid anything is. No one will be staying here until Robert can rebuild.”

  “That will take weeks, if nae months.”

  “Aye.” Alasdair didn’t look concerned. “Shauna will need time to recover. Our house is a good place for all of ye to stay.”

  “All of us? We couldnae—I couldnae—”

  Alasdair folded his arms across his chest. “Ye can and ye will.”

  “Is that another order?”

  “Only if ye want me to make it one.”

  Bridget put her hands on her hips. “Ye are an arrogant mon, Alasdair MacDonald.”

  He grinned, dropping his hands to his sides. “My mither may have told me that too.”

  “Your mither? Do I remind ye of your mither?”

  Alasdair let his eyes linger on her mouth before he answered. “Nae more than ye remind me of a child.”

  “I…” Dear Lord. Could her face get any hotter without combusting? “What about your betrothed?”

  Alasdair sobered. “What about her?”

  “She willnae like learning I am a guest.”

  “’Tis nae her concern who is a guest at our house.” He folded his arms across his chest again. “Ye are staying with us, and that is the end of it.”

  Bridget suspected it might be more of a beginning. A very perilous and dangerous beginning that could descend into sheer lunacy if she wasn’t careful.

  * * * * *

  Shauna looked gaunt and drawn, her f
ace pale as she sat in the front pew of the church three days later at a memorial service for the babe. Robert sat to her right, gripping her hand as though he might also lose his wife if he loosened his hold. Bridget sat on Shauna’s left, taking her other hand. She could feel her sister tremble, whether from weakness or grief, she didn’t know. Perhaps a bit of both.

  Alasdair had taken the space at the end of the pew beside Bridget while the rest of his family filled in beside Robert and the row behind them. Isobel sat across the aisle, her face grim. Bridget had a feeling the girl’s expression didn’t have anything to do with empathy for Shauna.

  Although the parson kept the service short, quoting a few passages from scripture, he also spoke of not questioning God’s will and accepting things that could not be changed. Bridget felt Shauna tense and knew she was blaming herself for what had happened. Even though the physician had told Shauna that with her previous symptoms, it was highly likely something else would have caused the same result, her sister had not been comforted. Bridget had spent the last two days not leaving Shauna’s room except at night when Robert would return from working on the house.

  “We can leave now,” Robert said, sounding relieved when the parson finished the final prayer.

  Shauna shook her head as the villagers began to converge on the pew to offer condolences. “We should stay a wee bit.”

  Both Robert and Alasdair looked as though they were about to argue. “She is right,” Bridget said, glad to hear her sister’s response. Perhaps having other people around might be a good thing, at least for a few minutes. “So many people have come to your house to help, but we’ve nae let anyone speak to Shauna.”

  Robert didn’t seem convinced, and he put a protective arm around his wife. Bridget and Alasdair stepped away from the pew as many of the women surrounded Shauna, offering pearls of wisdom that probably weren’t necessary.

  Isobel joined them, linking her arm to Alasdair’s as the smith’s wife came over.

  “’Tis sad to lose a child that nae had a chance to be born,” she said. “At least I had my Sally for near twenty years.”

  Sally. The girl that Alasdair was supposed to marry but who’d fallen to her death. Bridget glanced quickly at Alasdair. He wore a somber expression. She turned back to the smith’s wife. “Joanna told me of your daughter’s unfortunate fall. I was sorry to hear of it.”

  The other woman nodded and dabbed at an eye with a crumbled handkerchief. “Nae a day goes by that I doona miss her.”

  “It happened nearly a year ago,” Isobel said.

  “That doesnae make it easier,” Alasdair replied sharply. “Mrs. Macgilly, I would do anything if I could bring your daughter back.”

  “Och, I ken ye would,” she answered and gave him a motherly pat on his arm. “’Tis just hard to understand why my girl would wander so close to the edge of a cliff.”

  “We will probably never know,” Isobel said.

  “’Tis sad but true,” Mrs. Macgilly said and turned to Bridget. “How wonderful that ye are here in your sister’s time of need.”

  “Aye, but I wish the circumstances were different.”

  “We all wish that. My poor Sally…” Mrs. Macgilly paused and then changed the subject. “How long will ye be staying?”

  If Isobel had been an animal, her ears would have perked up. As it was, Bridget saw the alertness in her posture. Since there had not been time to discuss the matter with Robert or Shauna, Bridget was at a loss to reply. Their house had sustained more damage than they thought, and Joanna insisted they live at her place until construction was completed. The rest of Alasdair’s brothers would be returning from Skye soon, which meant continuing to share Margaret’s room. Not that she’d complained, but the room was too close to Alasdair’s, and Bridget didn’t want to risk another half-dressed encounter in the hallway. Lust, as she was discovering, was a very powerful emotion, and she would not disgrace her family. “I have nae had time to decide how long I will be here.”

  Alasdair frowned.

  Mrs. Macgilly looked toward Shauna. “I think I will say a few words to her. They might help coming from one who lost a child as well.”

  “That is verra kind of ye,” Bridget said.

  “She really should not dwell on what happened,” Isobel said as the woman left. “Papa says for everything there is a season. Almost a year is long enough.”

  “’Tis nae easy when ye lose someone,” Bridget said. “Time does nae matter.”

  Alasdair gave her a thoughtful look. “This situation must be hard for ye, bearing grief for your husband and now your sister’s loss.”

  “I am just glad Shauna survived.”

  “Aye, but we should have considered ye as well.”

  “Thank ye.”

  Alasdair looked so concerned that Bridget wished she could assure him she had learned to deal with loss. Not that she didn’t miss Brodie. He had always treated her well, but their marriage had never reached mountain heights nor sea depths. With his lingering illness last year, she’d had time to prepare. And now, Shauna would grieve, but in time she and Robert would have another bairn. This was not the time nor place to say as much, especially with Isobel looking at her with a false smile and cold eyes.

  Isobel. Alasdair’s betrothed. How many times did Bridget have to remind herself of that?

  “If ye will excuse me,” Bridget said abruptly, “I would like to tend to Shauna.”

  “Of course,” Isobel all but purred, “we understand. Do we not, Alasdair?”

  Alasdair nodded, looking so miserable that Bridget almost hesitated, but instead, she hurried to her sister.

  Isobel watched Bridget leave. The damn bitch knows how to play Alasdair to get his sympathy. Acting like a grieving widow. Not that it was hard to fool men. Most of them were incredibly stupid and easy to lead around by their shafts, although she had to admit she was having a difficult time bringing Alasdair to heel.

  Still, she had accomplished the first important step. They were betrothed, even though her father had been foolish in agreeing not to hurry a marriage. She would have to remedy that before the MacLeod woman got her claws any further into Alasdair. Isobel didn’t appreciate how sharply he’d spoken to her, and she’d noted his look of concern and the sympathy in his voice when he’d spoke to that bitch.

  The next thing she needed to do was get that woman out of Alasdair’s house. Isobel had learned that men were more gullible when she acted sweet and gracious. She slid her fingers along Alasdair’s arm and smiled up at him. “Your house is going to be so crowded. Why do I not invite Bridget to stay at the vicarage? We have an extra room.” Alasdair looked at her as though she were daft. “Bridget will want to stay close to her sister.”

  Bloody crafty of Bridget to act like she was the only one capable of caring for her sister. Alasdair’s mother and Margaret were there. Well. Isobel could be cunning too. She remembered something one of her lovers—a colonel in the British army—had said about keeping enemies close. From now on, she would be careful to cloak her true feelings for the MacLeod bitch and act friendly. She might even learn something she could use against Bridget in the future.

  “Of course,” Isobel demurred. “I should have thought of that.”

  Alasdair gave her a wary look, but she managed to smile brightly. The colonel had also said not to give the enemy time to maneuver. Isobel had to get Alasdair alone. The sooner she got herself with child, the better. Not only would the marriage be moved forward, but they could leave for Glasgow shortly after.

  Away from the MacLeod bitch and toward Isobel’s future.

  “It worries me how hard you will be working helping Robert rebuild his house,” Isobel said, “so I insist that you allow me to do something special for you this Sunday.”

  “My brothers and I will be working on the house on Sunday.”

  Isobel kept her smile in place. “The
Bible says Sunday should be a day of rest.”

  “I am sure God will understand.”

  “We are betrothed. The Lord expects women to take care of their men.”

  Alasdair looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and caution. “I doona need anyone to take care of me.”

  Isobel tilted her head slightly to look at him from beneath her lashes. “I will be so disappointed if you do not let me tend to your needs.”

  One of his brows rose. “Doona fash yourself about that.”

  She tried not to grit her teeth. How thick brained was the man? “Papa insists you take Sunday dinner with us. It is only proper.”

  He sighed. “Fine. Then I need to get back to work.”

  Isobel ignored the sigh. “I know. We will have a picnic.”

  “Did ye nae hear me say I would be getting back to work?”

  “Oh, yes. A picnic will not take longer than sitting at a table.” She managed to keep her voice pleasant. “I thought you might enjoy a bit of quiet time before you go back to work.”

  “I—”

  “Please do not say no. My feelings will be so hurt if you do.”

  Alasdair sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “All right, but I willnae be lingering.”

  “As you wish.”

  He looked over to where Robert and Bridget were helping Shauna stand. “I must go.”

  Isobel nodded graciously as she had seen a duchess do once. “Of course.” She started to hold out her hand, but Alasdair had already turned away.

  She watched him make his way to Bridget’s side. Bitch. Isobel lifted her chin and walked regally down the aisle to the church door. She would use extra herbs on the chicken, and this time, she would make sure Alasdair ate them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aided by Robert and Bridget, Shauna stepped into the aisle and Alasdair’s family surrounded them like a human shield. Niall placed himself strategically beside Bridget, leaving Alasdair to trail behind his brothers. A position he didn’t like, but perhaps no more than he deserved.