All she had to do was lie to him. If she didn’t increase soon after their marriage, it would be too late.
* * * * *
“Ye are nae talking this afternoon?” Niall asked when Alasdair came back to Robert’s house after the disastrous Sunday dinner. “Ye have nae said a word for near an hour. Did the lass wear ye out?”
Alasdair glowered at him, glad he wasn’t holding a tool that could be used as a weapon at the moment. If only he knew what had happened at the vicarage.
Niall’s gaze sharpened and his voice lost its teasing tone. “Did something happen?”
“’Tis nae your business.” Alasdair picked up a board from the stack near them and started walking toward the back yard.
Naill followed him. “I ken ’tis nae my business, but I have never seen ye look so…so…I doona ken how to explain it.”
“Then doona try.”
“Try what?” Robert asked as he and Gavin joined them.
“To explain my brother’s expression,” Niall said.
Robert studied Alasdair. “You do look a bit haggard.”
Gavin grinned. “Maybe the lass decided to have her way with him.”
Alasdair glared at him. “Stop your damn blethering.”
His grin faded and his jaw dropped open. “Did she? Try? Did ye—”
“I said to shut your mouth.” Alasdair dropped the board and fisted his hands. “Now.”
“’Tis looking like a fight might break out,” Braden said as he hurried toward them and flexed his hands. “Whose side should I be on?”
“No reason to fight,” Robert said. “We have work to do.”
Braden looked at his brothers. “If we are nae going to fight, then what is going on? Ye all look mad as bulls in the same pasture. Why are ye arguing?”
“Ask him.” Niall gestured to Alasdair. “He has nae spoken a word since he came back from the parson’s house.”
Braden raised a brow. “What happened at—”
“Doona ask that,” Gavin warned. “’Tis the question that has Alasdair mad as a disturbed hornet.”
Braden took a different tack. “We ken ye are nae fond of the lass. Did ye break off the betrothal and she—”
“I dinna break off the betrothal.”
“What then?” Braden pursued the topic. “If ye dinna tell her…” He paused and then widened his eyes. “Did ye tumble her?”
Alasdair fisted his hands again. His brothers tensed, shifting their weight to be ready if he swung at them, but they also looked more curious than eager to fight. He sighed and loosened his hands.
“I doona ken.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Niall found his voice first. “Ye doona ken—”
“If ye tupped her?” Brenden tried to keep a smirk off his face.
Gavin laughed outright. “Did she hit ye over the head with something that ye doona remember?”
“Damn it. She plied me with herbs. I doona remember.”
The brothers stared at him, any look of mirth gone from their faces.
“You passed out?” Robert finally asked.
Alasdair looked around to make sure Rauri and Ewan were nowhere in sight, nor any other men within hearing distance. “Aye,” he said and told them what had happened. “Go ahead and make your jests,” he said when he finished. “I deserve it for being so stupid.”
His brothers merely shook their heads.
“She is deceitful,” Braden said, “and cunning to boot.”
Gavin frowned. “Ye cannae marry the woman.”
Niall nodded in agreement. “She will bring dishonor to our name.”
“And what kind of dishonor would I bring to our name if she carries my bairn?” Alasdair asked. “I willnae allow a MacDonald to be a bastard.” He sighed. “If she is with child, I will have nae choice but to marry the woman.”
His brothers looked at him, for once all of them speechless. Alasdair clenched his jaw and reached down to pick up the board he’d dropped. “’Tis my problem, nae yours. Robert’s got a house to repair. We’d best be at it.”
They each picked up a board and followed him silently to the back wall. A hammer had never felt so good in Alasdair’s hands. As Robert held the plank in place, Alasdair swung the hammer. It usually took three hits to drive a nail all the way, but he was doing it in one stroke.
His brothers joined him, the bang of hammers striking nails in unison the only sound.
* * * * *
Bridget picked up paperwork the harbour master had left on Robert’s desk and looked over at Shauna. A little over three weeks had passed since the fire and her sister still looked gaunt and pale, but at least she was no longer moping and lying abed. Working at the marine office was just the thing to help keep Shauna’s mind occupied.
Or maybe Bridget was the one who needed to keep her mind occupied. She remembered Isobel’s apology quite clearly. The girl had gone on about how much she loved Alasdair, that he was the most precious gift to come into her life. She had trouble controlling her jealousy when another woman was near him, which was why she had been rude. Bridget could understand that, having for the first time in her own life known what it felt like to be jealous. Brodie had never given her reason to be jealous of another woman. Not that she had any right to be jealous of Isobel. Still, a devious demon in her mind—that she hadn’t even known existed—wanted to lash out at Isobel.
The girl had been very friendly since the apology. She stopped by every morning before taking lunch to the men and insisted Bridget join her. A way to make up for her rudeness, she said. Bridget tried to be pleasant, at least until yesterday. Isobel had giggled and confidentially confided that she had given in and allowed Alasdair to have his way with her the past Sunday. Then she’d added they would be moving up the wedding date…just in case.
The just in case had nearly done Bridget in. Somehow she’d managed to keep a smile plastered on her face, although she’d felt as she had once when she’d fallen off a horse and landed on her back with all the air knocked out of her. That Isobel could be carrying Alasdair’s child… The cold reality of that possibility had washed over Bridget and brought air back into her lungs. It also explained why Alasdair had been missing dinner and not returning to the house until after most of them had retired. He was probably spending time with Isobel. Bridget didn’t want to think about what they were doing.
“Is the news bad?” Shauna asked.
Bridget frowned. “What news?”
Her sister pointed to the papers. “From the way you’re scowling, I thought maybe some kelp orders had been cancelled.”
The paperwork. Bridget had been staring at it without even knowing what it contained. She needed to stop dwelling on what she could not control. “Nae,” she said as she shuffled the pages. “A ship is due to arrive this week and another two should be putting into port after that.”
“The rest of Alasdair’s brothers should be returning from Skye too,” Shauna said. “Are any of the ships coming in named Gunhilde?”
Bridget glanced down. “Aye. The one due in this week. Is it one of Robert’s ships?”
“His father’s,” Shauna answered. “It means ‘battle maid’ in Norwegian. They’re descended from Vikings.”
“I ken.” Bridget remembered how glad Robert had been to find out his father was still alive…and that he had stepbrothers and half brothers and one half sister thrown into the mix. With all of them back home, things were going to get really crowded.
With the crowding, perhaps God—or Neptune—was giving Bridget the perfect excuse to move on to Glasgow…and escape attending a wedding she did not want to see.
Chapter Fourteen
Alasdair turned down the wick on the oil lamp in Robert’s office and leaned back in the chair behind the desk. Since that disastrous Sunday dinner, he’d started co
ming here after work and staying through the evening. He told himself he was making sure Robert’s paperwork was in order while Robert concentrated on rebuilding his house, even though Bridget came by in the afternoons to check on things. The small room smelled faintly of the spicy scent she used to wash her hair, and he found that strangely comforting. Especially since he was doing his best to avoid Bridget in person.
Things were bad enough during the daytime when Isobel showed up with Bridget in tow for lunch. He wasn’t sure why Isobel had suddenly started acting friendly toward Bridget. He didn’t think Isobel was remorseful, in spite of the apology. He would even have suspected her to lie about having made one, but Bridget had affirmed it when he’d asked her. She’d said it with no emotion in her voice and no spark in her eyes.
She spent lunchtimes sitting with Niall, who had begun acting like some damn knight in shining armor. Bridget had even called him Galahad once, and his brother had bowed and kissed her hand. Alasdair had wanted to knock the smirk off Niall’s face. His brothers were all womanizers, but Niall was the worst. Thanks to his quick reflexes, Niall had avoided having his pretty face beaten by protective older brothers from several neighboring clans.
Alasdair wanted to warn Bridget not to allow herself to be taken in by his brother’s smooth talk, but what kind of a hypocrite would he be when he’d allowed himself to be snared by Isobel? Alasdair still couldn’t believe how effectively she’d maneuvered both the episode at the glade and the one in her parlor.
If there had been an episode in the parlor. He’d never been in such a state before, so he had no way of knowing what he was capable of doing and not remembering. The blood on Isobel’s thighs had been real.
Now all he could do was wait the six weeks out, which was why he’d taken to coming to Robert’s office each evening. He couldn’t bear the idea of sitting across the dinner table from Bridget and watching Niall flirt with her. Worse, Alasdair hated the way Bridget looked at him when he managed to catch her eye. She kept her expression neutral, her voice flat and monotone if she responded at all.
He missed the camaraderie they’d begun to establish while working together in the office. Bridget had a quick mind and a sharp wit, both attributes he admired. He’d seen the strength of her spirit as well. She’d worked the water brigade the night of the fire until she was near exhaustion—damn it, if he didn’t remember curing her hysterics with a kiss and how she’d responded to it—and then, with a resilience he’d seldom seen, she forged ahead to take care of Shauna. Alasdair wanted to tell Bridget how much he admired her, how much he’d begun to care, but those were words to remain unspoken. Yet he didn’t trust himself not to say them if he had the opportunity. Hence, he spent the evenings in Robert’s office to avoid temptation.
Alasdair looked at the clock as it chimed, then he leaned forward to extinguish the lamp. The hour was late. It should be safe to go home.
* * * * *
Margaret slept as soundly as a bairn in the bed beside Bridget, and she envied the girl’s youthful ability to fall asleep as soon as her head landed on the pillow. Bridget had lain awake for over an hour, staring at the ceiling and trying not to toss and turn.
The evening was unusually warm for Scotland and, even though the window was open, no refreshing breeze blew in from the water. Robert had said earlier the mercury in his glass was falling, which meant another storm was probably on the way. Maybe that was making Bridget restless tonight. The fire that had resulted from the storm had made her edgy…maybe she was anticipating another disaster.
Her sleeplessness had nothing to do with Alasdair MacDonald or his upcoming nuptials. Nothing. She rolled over and punched her pillow. Just how much of Isobel Howard’s company was he enjoying each evening?
Bridget heard footsteps coming up the stairs and then someone making their way past the door and down the hall. Alasdair had returned a little earlier than usual, not that she kept track of what time he returned each evening. She waited a good ten minutes to make sure he hadn’t decided to come back out and then she rose. Maybe sitting outside on the bench by the rose garden would soothe her nerves.
She didn’t bother with a wrap over her night rail since the air was so heavy and still. No one would see her in the backyard anyway. Bridget opened the door quietly and padded silently on bare feet down the stairs and toward the back door. As she entered the kitchen, a premonitory flash of lightning illuminated it suddenly, silhouetting a dark specter sitting at the kitchen table. Bridget stifled a gasp just as the figure muffled a curse and pushed back the chair.
“What—”
“Who…”
Another flash of lightning lit the room again and Bridget saw her specter was Alasdair. A moment later, she heard a match being struck and the light from an oil lamp filled the kitchen.
“What are ye doing here?” Bridget asked, her voice a little shaky.
His mouth quirked. “’Tis my house.”
“I meant, what are ye doing in the kitchen?”
Alasdair looked at the plate on the table. “Eating?”
Bridget noticed now he had cheese and bread in front of him. Why was he eating so late? What had he been doing at Isobel’s that he hadn’t had time to eat? The thought of what they might have been doing made Bridget suddenly aware that she was standing in front of Alasdair wearing nothing but her white muslin night rail, and that the material was thin and well-worn. She folded her arms across her breasts, wishing Alasdair hadn’t turned the wick so high on the lamp.
His gaze followed her movements, and she could have sworn his eyes gleamed like twin flames of fire. “I heard you come upstairs,” Bridget said.
Alasdair moved his gaze from her hands to her face and tilted his head sideways. “Were ye waiting for me to come home?”
“Nae! I mean…I heard footsteps go past the door.”
“Probably Robert,” Alasdair replied. “With the storm coming, he most likely wanted to check on his house.”
She should have thought of that. Robert would not want to leave loose boards about, or anything else that could be picked up by wind and cause more damage. Well, she couldn’t just continue to stand here. Bridget turned to go.
“Wait, lass.”
Bridget stopped. “Why?”
“I would like your company while I eat.”
“I am nae so sure ’tis a good idea.”
Alasdair glanced at the window that had started to rattle, indicating the wind was picking up. He turned back to Bridget and smiled. “Then keep me company because I am afraid of storms.”
“I doona think ye are afraid of anything, Alasdair MacDonald.” Bridget started when a clap of thunder cracked. Alasdair didn’t move. “Ye see? Ye just proved it.”
His grin widened. “’Tis said when the thunder cracks like that it opens the graves of the dead and the spirits walk about looking for unsuspecting souls to snatch.”
“Any wraith that encounters ye would do well to leave ye alone.” She couldn’t keep a corner of her mouth from lifting in a smile. “Ye looked like a demon yourself sitting alone in the dark just now.”
“And ye could have been a ghost, dressed in white as ye are.”
“I am hardly a ghost.”
“Aye, I can see that now.”
His eyes glinted mischievously as he looked her over, reminding Bridget she was wearing very little. She turned and walked toward the door.
“Wait.”
Alasdair’s voice was near. Bridget could feel his warm breath by her ear. How in the world had he moved so quickly and silently? She turned around, nearly bumped into him, and took a step back. Looking into his eyes, she found no humor in them now. Instead, his look was intent.
“Ye are very much alive, Bridget MacLeod, but ye haunt me anyway. Ye are in my thoughts when ye should nae be.” Alasdair’s gaze traveled to her mouth. “Yet the more I try to push those thoughts asi
de, the more they intrude.” He leaned closer. “What are ye doing to me?”
Something inside Bridget stirred. Heat seared through her and became a hot, pulsing sensation between her thighs. Such quick, strong reaction was foreign. What was Alasdair doing to her? Her face felt flushed and her breasts suddenly ached with wanting the friction of brushing across Alasdair’s chest. He was so close…
The village bell began to ring, a short sound followed by a longer toll, another two short and three more long. Alasdair abruptly turned and headed to the door. Bridget heard pounding on the stairs and a moment later, Robert ran into the kitchen.
“What is it?” Bridget asked. “Another fire?”
“Nae, the bell clangs continuously for that.” Alasdair grabbed a slicker off the hook by the kitchen door. “’Tis a distress signal.”
Robert hurried past them both. “There’s a ship out there and it’s in trouble.”
* * * * *
Wind whipped the trees, bending branches and scattering leaves as Alasdair and Robert raced toward the water’s edge. Before they got there, heavy rain slashed at them sideways, making it hard to keep their eyes open.
“’Tis worse than I thought,” Alasdair yelled above the howling wind and pounding rain.
“I was afraid this would happen,” Robert answered, pulling the brim of his seaman’s cap down. “A cold wind off Iceland meeting the warm air off the moors makes a bad brew. The barometer was falling faster than I’d ever seen it.”
“The ship should have put back to sea to ride this thing out,” Alasdair said as they joined a group of men already at the shore.
“They may not have had time,” Robert replied. “Remember how fast this storm came in. If they were already in the loch, they wouldn’t have been able to turn back.”
One of the men pointed. “She’s foundering.”
Alasdair slicked his wet hair back and brought his hand up to shield his eyes from sting of the rain. Past the rocky breakwater that sheltered Arisaig, he could barely make out a vessel slightly larger than a fishing boat listing badly to its port side. A lantern appeared to be swinging from the bow, the light flashing and disappearing sporadically. The sailor on deck was probably trying to signal their position with a cloth over the lamp, but the wind was too strong to decipher the message. In any event, they’d already been spotted. The harbour master, only half-dressed, was already returning the signal with the help of two men working the cloth while he held the lantern high. The problem now was to get the sailors to shore before their boat went down.
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