Rogue of the Moors

by Cynthia Breeding

  “I talked with Robert. Since he’s busy repairing his house, I offered to check on things at his father’s shipping office in Glasgow.”

  “Robert agreed to let ye do this? Alone?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is the mon barmy? ’Tis nae safe.”

  A defiant look took over Bridget’s expression. “I will be safe enough. There are people about during the day. I ken nae to walk the quay at night.”

  “I doona like the idea.”

  One of her eyebrows rose. “’Tis my decision, is it nae?”

  “Aye. I mean, nae.” Alasdair ran a hand through his still-damp hair and slicked it back. “’Tis foolishness for ye to be sent to Glasgow when one of my brothers could have gone.”

  “I was nae sent. I wanted to go.”

  Alasdair paused. She wanted to get away from him? “Why?”

  Bridget hesitated as well. “I thought it would be best.”

  “Why?” he asked again.

  She took a deep breath. “Because I doona care to witness your nuptials.”

  “Witness…” he began and then managed to keep from grinning like a fool when the implication sunk in. Bridget was more attracted to him than she’d let on. The idea made him nearly giddy. He was a man who always controlled his actions and he found himself wanting to leap around the deck like a drunken sailor attempting an Irish jig. At the very least, he wanted to take Bridget in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he managed not to move.

  “Ye ken nae date has been set.”

  Bridget shrugged. “That will change if Isobel is with child.”

  He didn’t need to be reminded, but at least the thought had the effect of both chilling his heated blood and sobering him. “We will soon ken that.” It did not look like she was increasing, but maybe that was wishful thinking—or praying—on his part. Still, it had been a month…

  “Aye.” Bridget gave him a steady look. “And if she is nae, will ye break the vow ye made to her? Go back on your word?”

  Did her voice have a hint of chastisement to it? Alasdair wasn’t the sort of man who reneged on promises. He wanted Bridget to know that. He was going to Glasgow to see what he could find out about Isobel’s background that would allow him to honorably dissolve the betrothal. Not quite so honorably, he might have to use blackmail to fight blackmail so Isobel would agree and to ensure that Margaret’s reputation was not endangered. He couldn’t tell Bridget that until he had evidence of some sort. “’Tis nae dishonor if Isobel and I agree to nae marry.”

  Bridget shook her head. “That she will never do.”

  Alasdair knew Bridget was right. Isobel would never willingly agree, not because she cared about him, but because she was ambitious and needed a husband. He prayed he could find the evidence he needed.

  * * * * *

  Bridget sat down on her bunk again, only mildly surprised when she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the cabin door. She wondered if it was for her protection or simply because the captain was ensuring there would be no more altercations aboard the Sea Wolf. Either way, she suspected she would be virtually a prisoner for the rest of the trip.

  Or perhaps it was Alasdair who had just locked the door. After Captain Nels had delivered Will to his father, he’d returned to the deck. Alasdair and the captain had discussed what precautions should be taken regarding her safety for the remainder of the journey. Several times she’d tried to intervene, only to be listened to politely and then have the conversation resume where the men had left off. Although she could not fault Captain Nels for imposing rules—the ship was a captain’s floating kingdom—she was especially irritated when Alasdair said he would personally accompany her every time she stepped out the cabin door, as though she were a child in need of a nanny. Or worse.

  Captain Nels had actually applauded the idea that she be chaperoned when she ventured out. Bridget had wanted to tell him that Alasdair acting as chaperone wasn’t exactly protection. She would be safe from superstitious sailors, but would she be safe from Alasdair?

  That, of course, was her real quandary. She’d left Arisaig because her feelings for Alasdair were growing stronger each day and so was her lust. She’d not realized how powerfully strong such an emotion was. When her brothers and cousin had all become besotted with English women, she’d half-smiled, thinking they’d taken leave of their senses. Not one of them had ever planned to step foot south of Scotland’s borders, certainly not in search of sassenach wives. She remembered shaking her head on more than one occasion when her strong-willed relatives, used to having their commands obeyed without question, acquiesced to their wives. Not that they didn’t argue, but those sessions would be followed by retreating to bedchambers and afterwards, grinning like fools when they emerged.

  Bridget was perilously close to wanting the same experience. As a widow, she could possibly take a lover discreetly without being taken to task by anyone, but the only person she wanted was Alasdair. Even if Isobel were not carrying his child, Bridget had seen the look on his face when she’d taunted him with asking if he’d go back on his word. She knew he wouldn’t. Nor could she become his leman.

  While trying to run away from Alasdair, Bridget had run directly into him. Suddenly, Glasgow seemed a dangerous place. What was she going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alasdair took the key to Bridget’s cabin door from his pocket. When he’d talked with Captain Nels this morning and offered to be Bridget’s protector, the captain had handed him the key. Alasdair didn’t much like keeping her door locked, but it was for her protection. Either that, or he would have to stand guard in front of it. He doubted his willpower, strong though it was, would be enough to keep him from outside the door for long. He had never felt such an irresistible attraction to a woman in his life. Her presence felt like a magnet, pulling him closer.

  He tapped on her cabin door, inserted the key into the lock, and opened the door. Bridget sat curled in the corner of the bed, her back braced by the bulkhead and the inner panel of the hull, which left plenty of room for him to sit on the bunk with her. Immediately, both the head on his shoulders and the one in his nether region wanted to lie down and have the length of Bridget’s body pressed against his, breast to chest, limbs entwined. He remained standing.

  “Would ye like to go up on deck?”

  She arched a brow at him. “Is this the time for the prisoner’s reprieve from solitary confinement?”

  He winced. “Ye are nae a prisoner.”

  Bridget looked at the key in his hand. “Nae?”

  “’Tis for your protection.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before he realized from her expression that it was the wrong thing to say. When it came to her defense, Bridget was as bristly as a hedgehog. A rather attractive hedgehog with her red hair loose from its braid and sticking out in fiery spikes from the wind and sea salt. Alasdair bit back a grin, knowing it would only infuriate her to smile. She might not want his protection, but she was going to have it anyway. “The sun is setting. ’Tis a bonny sight at sea.” He refrained from saying most of the men were below decks eating, and the ones getting ready to stand the evening watch were contented with their stomachs full, so this was the safest time for her to leave the cabin.

  She frowned. “Is it that late already? I cannot tell with no porthole.”

  Alasdair felt a twinge of guilt. Bridget probably did feel the cabin was a cell. He would hate to stay cooped up for hours with no way to see out, but there wasn’t much he could do. “Come,” he said, “before the light fades.”

  Bridget swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. Dressed in breeches, the action allowed Alasdair to appreciate every inch of her long legs. Legs that could wrap around his thighs…or his waist if he held her. He blinked. What in the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t keep his mind focused? Not that he wasn’t focusing. He was definitely. Just not on th
e right thing. Alasdair held out his hand to help Bridget up, but she’d already stood with a graceful balance that made him wonder how often she’d been on a ship. “Are ye used to sailing?” That should be a safe enough question to distract his wayward thinking.

  She shrugged. “Aye, I’ve had experience.”

  Alasdair almost choked. Experience. Did she have to use that word? His lustful thoughts returned to the bed she’d just left. Damnation. He needed to get out of here. He turned abruptly and held open the door. “Let us go.”

  Bridget preceded him, which was a mistake too when they got to the ladder leading up to companionway hatch. The rounded curves of her hips swayed practically in his face as she nimbly climbed up, turning his incorrigible thoughts to how lovely that arse would be bared with her bent over, his hands on her waist while he entered her from behind.

  His foot missed a rung.

  Bridget looked over her shoulder. “Are ye all right?”

  No, he was definitely not all right. He seemed to have taken complete leave of his senses, while his body hardened like a green lad anticipating his first tumble with a willing maid. Except he was not a green lad, and Bridget was not a willing maid.

  “I’m fine,” he said between gritted teeth. Hell, how many steps did this ladder have?

  “Well, be careful. I wouldn’t want my protector getting hurt.”

  Alasdair thought he heard a note of humor to her voice although he couldn’t see her face. Just her lovely, lovely arse inches from his face. This close to her in tight quarters, he caught her feminine scent as well. He bit back a groan as his groin tightened further until he feared he might tear his own breeches with the swollen state he was in.

  As Bridget moved on to the deck, Alasdair could see the open hatch above him. Perhaps the fresh breeze would cool his fevered brain. He hoped.

  As Alasdair stepped through the hatch and joined her on the deck, Bridget noticed a peculiar expression on his face, one she hadn’t seen before. He looked as though he might be in pain but wasn’t ready to admit it.

  “Did ye hurt your foot?”

  Alasdair started. “My foot?”

  His voice sounded strange too, like he was having difficulty speaking. “Aye. When ye slipped on the rung.”

  “The rung…” Alasdair shook his head. “My foot is nae hurt. Why do ye ask?”

  “Ye look like ye are hurting somewhere.” Bridget blinked as Alasdair’s eyes darkened to the color of dense forest pine and she thought his cheeks flushed, but in the dusky light, it was hard to tell. “Are ye sure ye are feeling all right? Ye look fevered.”

  He made an odd sound, one Bridget couldn’t decipher.

  “I am fine,” he said and gestured toward the bow. “Let us enjoy the sunset.”

  They walked forward, keeping one hand each on the rail until they were near the bowsprit. The two flying jibs had been lowered and secured for the night sail, leaving only the outer jib hoisted and giving them a wonderful view of the sea. To their starboard side, brilliant streaks of orange and red and gold splayed across the waves like ribbons unfurling toward the purpling horizon. Bridget remembered her mother telling her that the ancient Celts thought the sun was reminding them it was not dying and would be returning on the morrow.

  “Red at night, sailors’ delight,” Alasdair said. “’Tis a favorite saying of my stepfather’s.”

  “I’ve heard my cousin Shane say the same.” Bridget glanced up at Alasdair. “A fair evening sky should mean no storms tomorrow. Perhaps the crew will get over their superstitious idea that I’m bad luck.”

  A corner of Alasdair’s mouth quirked. “And ye are thinking the captain might allow ye to move about the deck?”

  “Aye. Even with good winds, it will be a full twenty-four hours before we reach Glasgow.”

  “’Tis nae a good idea.”

  Bridget crossed her arms. “Why nae? I will stay out of everyone’s way.”

  “There are still rumblings amongst some of the men. ’Tis safer ye stay down below.”

  “But I…” She didn’t finish as a large wave slammed against the hull, causing the Sea Wolf to shudder and then lift her bow to clear it. The movement unbalanced Bridget and she lurched sideways, dangerously close to sliding over the rail. The churning green swell rose higher, the white curling arms of its crest seeming to reach for her as the bow dipped into the trough behind it. Flecks of foam sprayed her face.

  For a moment, Bridget felt weightless as her feet left the deck and it seemed she was flying into the sea. Then she felt Alasdair’s strong arms around her waist. He spun her around and moved both of them away from the rail. She grabbed his shoulders and closed her eyes against the dizzying sensation, then the comforting, solid bulwark of the ship pressed against her back. Bridget opened her eyes to Alasdair’s face inches from hers. She could feel his heart beating wildly, since his body was pinning her in place. Her own heartbeat was just as fast and erratic.

  “Ye saved my life,” she whispered.

  “I thought I’d lost ye.” Alasdair’s voice was hoarse. “Doona give me such a fright again, lass.”

  “I should have kept a hand on the rail like I was taught,” Bridget said and then realized she still had both hands on Alasdair’s shoulders. She started to remove them, but Alasdair covered her hands in his and returned them to his shoulders. The movement created a delicious friction as her peaked nipples rubbed against the hard planes of his chest. Bridget looked into his eyes, darkened again like they had been before. He had moved only marginally back and she could feel his body heat rolling off him like steam from a boiling kettle. Her own body warmed in response and her pulse began to race again, but this time not from fear.

  Alasdair lowered his head toward hers. Bridget slipped her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes again, parting her lips for his kiss. Suddenly, their embrace was broken as she felt him being shoved away.

  Bridget opened her eyes to the sight of Will pummeling his fists against Alasdair as hard as he could.

  “Ye leave the lady alone!” he screamed. “I willnae let ye—”

  “Quiet, lad,” Alasdair said and in one deft move, scooped the boy up and tucked him under his arm. Will’s arms and legs flailed to no avail, but he kept screeching as Alasdair carried him to the companionway. Alasdair glanced over his shoulder once at Bridget before he disappeared behind the bulkhead. “Later.”

  Bridget leaned against the topside. Lord have mercy. What had she almost done? She could probably blame her sudden needy desire for Alasdair on fear, although she knew in her heart that wasn’t true. She wanted him and he wanted her. It had nothing to do with her near drowning.

  She closed her eyes. There would be no later.

  * * * * *

  Alasdair fingered the key to Bridget’s cabin as he stood on deck squinting at the sun dipping behind the jutting hills of Kintyre. Strange how different the colors were this evening. Instead of the bright, brilliant reds and oranges from last night, this evening’s colors were subdued…pale pinks and lavenders feathering into a bluish-grey sky. Alasdair felt it might be an omen that he needed to keep his emotions under control and not let the fire he felt in his veins when he was near Bridget consume him.

  The tip of the peninsula they had rounded an hour ago sloped out to sea. From his stance near the ship’s rail, the darkened silhouette looked like a sleeping dog’s paw. Perhaps another warning that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

  Alasdair shoved the key back into his pocket. It was no longer needed to keep others out of Bridget’s cabin or her in it. Young Will had planted himself firmly in front of her door, scowling ferociously at anyone coming down the companionway who even began to veer in his direction. Not that any member of the crew couldn’t have picked the lad up like a pup and set him aside, but the men all seemed in accord to let the boy be Bridget’s protector. Neither did anyone mention that
guards did not fall sleep at their posts, even though Will snored as loudly as a lumberjack sawing timber…a fact that had kept Alasdair amused when he had taken his own position of guard not too far away from Bridget’s door last night.

  He had slipped away this morning before Will woke to allow the boy his pride. Alasdair didn’t expect any trouble from the crew who were under the captain’s orders, but neither was he taking any chances. That the wind had picked up and held steady throughout the night and today had improved the sailors’ attitudes considerably, although Alasdair did hear Douglas and Shamus muttering and casting dark looks at the companionway as though they expected Bridget to appear again.

  Bridget had been wise enough not to venture out and further agitate the superstitious crew. At least, that’s what Alasdair told himself she was doing, but he wondered if she were really avoiding him. He’d taken her midday meal to her, and when he’d asked if she’d like some company, she’d quickly shaken her head and said Will was all the company she needed. The boy’s chest had puffed out so much, Alasdair had thought it a wonder his shirt’s buttons didn’t burst. He’d actually had to squelch a stab of jealousy and chide himself for begrudging the boy, who was obviously besotted. Not that Alasdair should judge, given he was acting nearly as idiotic. He was just grateful none of his brothers were here to see he’d been bested by a green lad.

  He replayed the events of last night in his mind for the thousandth time. How his heart had lurched into his throat as Bridget’s feet had left the deck, sending her airborne and hurdling toward the rail. How frantically he’d grabbed for her, fearing he wouldn’t be quick enough. How grateful he’d been for the solid feel of connection and the dizzying spin away from churning water. Nearly losing her overboard had made his breath quicken and his heart beat faster, but the reaction was nothing compared to the recollection of feeling her pressed against him, her arms around his neck, her eyes dark with desire and her lips full and moist as she tilted her mouth to his…only to be interrupted by that little devil, Will.