Rogue of the Moors

by Cynthia Breeding

  Alasdair sighed. Perhaps Will was more a sign of divine intervention than demon Until this problem of Isobel and his betrothal was cleared up, he had no business either encouraging or taking advantage of Bridget. He knew that. She knew it too, but what he’d seen in her eyes and how her body had responded to his told a different story. He could still feel the tight, taut tips of her breasts scraping against him, igniting flames in his groin. Lust burned in both of them, so hot he wouldn’t have been surprised to see their clothing singed.

  Alasdair leaned back against the bulwark and watched the sky fade into the darkened colors of the night. He’d wait a little longer and give Will a chance to begin snoring, then he’d take his post again to keep Bridget safe.

  From the crew, at least.

  * * * * *

  Beyond Will’s sustained, clamorous snoring on the other side of her door, Bridget heard the sound of footsteps coming from the companionway. Footsteps that stopped short of her cabin and did not continue.

  Alasdair must be standing watch over her again.

  Bridget lay back on her cot, too restless to sleep, but neither did she want to open the door and wake Will. The boy needed his rest. She grimaced, knowing that was not the real reason she didn’t want to open the door. Alasdair was out there too. She had no intention of incurring the captain’s wrath, nor of upsetting the sailors again by having Alasdair escort her to the deck. She certainly could not ask him to come inside to chat. His suggestion that he keep her company when he’d brought her noon-day meal had been enough to keep her mind occupied all afternoon with fantasies of sharing her cramped space with him. Fantasies she should not be having.

  The low wick from the gimbaled oil lamp sent shadows dancing across the ceiling of her small cabin. The rocking motion of the ship made their movement erratic and as unsettled as her emotions. The awakening of desire, the wanting to be close to Alasdair, not just to touch, but to press the length of her body to his and keep it there, was overwhelming. She felt a need to meld with him, to become one, to not know where her essence ended or his began. The urge made no sense and was unexplainable, which further bothered her. Never in her entire life had anyone ever accused her of being flighty, impulsive, wanton, foolhardy, giddy, or witless. Yet she felt all of those things when she was near Alasdair. It was as if he had the ability to open a door to an invisible room…one that was filled with all sort of delightful pastimes in which she could partake with him.

  Perhaps she was going mad. Cousin Shane had mentioned cabin fever overtaking crew who had to spend too much time below deck for too long. She had not left her cabin since yesterday’s twin incidences of near mutiny by certain sailors and the close capitulation of herself to Alasdair’s embrace.

  Allowing herself to succumb to Alasdair would be true madness.

  With a sigh, Bridget turned the lamp’s wick down, rolled over, and closed her eyes. In the almost pitch darkness, she could sense Alasdair’s presence stronger than ever, almost as if he filled the cabin. Bridget flipped onto her back to turn the wick up and stared at the shadows playing across the ceiling again. Funny how the shape now seemed to be that of a dancing girl, arms held out as if beckoning Bridget to join her…to leave logic lying on the bed and cavort in carefree frivolity.

  Bridget blinked, but the image did not go away. If anything, it became stronger, almost as if the dancer was going to materialize in front of her. Her sister Fiona believed in the Fae. Bridget had never taken her seriously before, but now, staring at the movement on the ceiling, she began to wonder if she had been wrong.

  * * * * *

  The Sea Wolf approached the dock in Glasgow the next morning, the sailors on deck throwing lines to the waiting dockhands on the quay. Alasdair stayed out of the way, knowing anyone not involved in the docking procedure was a liability. He looked around for Bridget and spotted Will’s head pop up from the hatchway. He emerged carrying Bridget’s duffel bag. In another moment, Bridget climbed onto the deck behind him.

  She had changed from the tunic and breeches into a modest traveling dress and had her brown cape over her shoulders. She looked tired, and he wondered if she’d slept. He had only gotten a little more than an hour himself, but he’d wanted to make sure no one decided at the last minute to do something foolish like avenge the sea gods and attempt to enter her cabin.

  The gangplank was lowered and secured. Alasdair started toward Bridget to escort her down when Captain Nels approached.

  “A word with you before you disembark,” he said.

  Alasdair hesitated, watching Will offer his arm to Bridget as she walked down the plank, hoping the lad had enough sense to wait with her by a rented hack until Alasdair could get there. He didn’t want Bridget being driven to wherever she was staying without an escort. He turned to the captain. “Aye?”

  “I just wanted to alert you that there’s been some unrest amongst the textile weavers. Talks of strikes and such. Other trades are supporting them.”

  “I ken,” Alasdair answered. “Our solicitor sent a letter remarking on it. I came to Glasgow to make sure kelp production of ash was not affected.”

  The captain nodded and then gestured toward Bridget, who was walking down the quay with Will. “My understanding is that the lady plans to oversee Erik Henderson’s shipping office?”

  “Oversee might be putting it too strongly,” Alasdair answered. “Robert has asked her to check on the ledgers and accounts to make sure shipments match the bills of lading. Why do ye ask?”

  One of Captain Nels’s eyebrows shifted upward slightly. “’Tis unusual for a woman to work along the quay.”

  “I ken all too well,” Alasdair replied, “but that particular lady is a wee bit stubborn. She did promise me she would not be about the docks at night.”

  “That is to the good then,” the captain said, “but you need to know there’s some unrest amongst the merchants and traders as well, and it has nothing to with union strikes.”

  “Nae? What is it then?”

  “Women.” The captain shook his head. “The last time I put into port here there was a lot of muttering, some not so polite. It seems there is a group of women who seek to have greater rights to work and earn wages, which the men do not like.”

  Uneasiness began to build in Alasdair. “Are ye saying Bridget might be putting herself in danger?”

  “I think the lady needs to be very careful.”

  “I will keep a close eye on her then.”

  Captain Nels gave him a wry look. “That might be easier said than accomplished.”

  Alasdair suspected the man was right. “I will just have to do it.”

  “Good luck then,” the captain said and turned away to give orders to his men.

  Alasdair hurried down the gangplank to follow Bridget. She was already inside a hack that was starting to leave when he called out. The driver checked the horse and waited. “I will escort the lady to wherever she is going.”

  The driver nodded as Alasdair opened the door to climb into the carriage. He took his place opposite Bridget. “I will see ye to your residence,” he said.

  She furrowed her brows. “’Tis nae need. The driver said it was nae far.”

  Alasdair folded his arms across his chest. “Far enough without an escort.”

  Bridget looked as though she were about to argue, but then she turned her head to look out the window. “I am sorry I acted like a wanton the other night.”

  Alasdair started. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say…and the last thing he wanted her to say. The recollection of how close they’d come to kissing had stuck in his mind, driving him to near distraction. He doubted he would have gotten much sleep the past two nights, even if he hadn’t stood watch outside her cabin.

  “Ye have nothing to apologize for.”

  Bridget shook her head and looked at him. “I do nae throw myself at men, especially on
es who are betrothed.”

  Alasdair wished he could tell her that might soon change, but he couldn’t be sure of it. Better to make light of the situation for now. “I would say ye tried throwing yourself overboard instead.”

  “I did nae such thing!”

  He forced a smile, even though the memory of Bridget’s feet leaving the deck still haunted him. “Are ye sure ye were nae trying to avoid me instead?”

  She gave him wide-eyed stare and then a blush covered her cheeks. “I was nae trying to avoid ye, Alasdair MacDonald, although mayhap I should.”

  This might be a good time to tell her she’d be seeing more of him, not less, given what the captain had told him. Alasdair was quite sure Bridget would not take kindly to having a permanent escort. Before he could tell her that the carriage slowed to a stop.

  Bridget smiled and looked relieved. “This must be the boarding house.”

  Alasdair looked out the carriage window and managed not to grin. He opened the door, stepped down, and turned to offer Bridget his hand. After she had alighted, he took her valise and his duffel bag and started toward the door.

  She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Why are ye taking your bag? The driver will wait for ye.”

  “The driver has nae need to take me anywhere.”

  She looked around and her brow furrowed. “Ye are going to walk to your hotel?”

  Alasdair shook his head. Bridget wasn’t going to like hearing what he had to say. “I willnae be walking anywhere. I am staying here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bridget stared at him, not quite sure she heard correctly. “Here?”

  “Aye.”

  “But it is a boarding house for women.”

  “Nae.” Alasdair pointed to the sign hanging above the door. “Do ye see anything that says so?”

  Bridget looked up. The sign simply said Rooms to let. “Robert gave me a letter of introduction to the proprietor so she would accept me.”

  “That the widow Ferguson will do,” Alasdair answered. “She owns the building since her husband died several years ago. We always stay here when we are in Glasgow, so Robert kenned ye would be safe.”

  Safe. She might very well be safe from the dangers on the streets, but how safe would she be with Alasdair residing in the same house? Or, more truthfully, how strong would her resistance be? The situation was eerily similar to staying at his house in Arisaig. The reason she had come to Glasgow was to avoid such enticement and here it was, practically being handed to her on a serving platter.

  The image of the dancing shadow from last night beckoning her to frolic flitted through Bridget’s mind and she wondered if perhaps the Fae had a hand in this after all. Maybe one of them had decided to prove to her that they existed by thwarting her practical plan to put time and space between herself and temptation. She thought she heard the sound of laughter, but it was so faint and soft she couldn’t tell for sure. There wasn’t anyone around except Alasdair. Perhaps she was going barmy after all.

  “Are ye coming?”

  With a start, she realized she had been standing on the curb like a halfwit staring into space. Alasdair was already headed down the walk. She followed quickly, ascending the four steps to the door as he pushed it open and stepped aside.

  She entered and glanced around. The entryway was spotlessly clean, the wooden floor polished and the walls freshly painted in a pale shade of blue. A watercolor of the River Clyde hung on one wall. Two armchairs in a darker blue brocade sat on either side of an open door to her right. Like most boarding houses, the ground floor contained a public room for eating, but the usual scent of stale ale and tobacco did not accompany the delicious aromas of cooking meat and savory pies drifting into the entryway. The conversation sounded muted as well and not bawdy.

  Alasdair stepped over to the small wooden counter on their left that held the register. A plump, silver-haired woman stood behind the counter. She peered over the spectacles perched on the edge of her nose with eyes twinkling bluish-green, like the water did when sun shone on it.

  “’Tis a long time since I’ve seen ye, Alasdair MacDonald. If I were a woman to take insult, I might be thinkin’ ye were avoiding my establishment.”

  “Och, Ilse, forgive a mon for such a breach,” Alasdair said with a grin and leaned over the counter to plant a kiss on her weathered cheek. “’Tis busy I’ve been.”

  Ilse turned her bright look on Bridget and then back to Alasdair. “I will forgive ye if ye tell me ’tis because ye’ve taken such a fine-looking bride.”

  Bridget almost choked, although Alasdair only looked amused. “I am nae married to him.”

  One of the Ilse’s eyebrows rose and her expression grew more scrutinising Bridget felt her face grow warm once she realized the woman probably thought she was Alasdair’s leman. “I mean, I am nae—”

  “Allow me to introduce ye,” Alasdair said to Bridget, his mouth still in a half-quirk. “This is Ilse Ferguson, the owner of this establishment.” Turning to the lady, he added, “My companion is Bridget MacLeod, sister-by-marriage to Robert Henderson.”

  Bridget unfolded the letter of introduction and held it out. “Robert gave me this.”

  “I’ll nae be needing it,” Ilse said. “’Tis enough that ye came with Alasdair.”

  Not that she had intended to. She really needed to let Mrs. Ferguson know she was not attached to Alasdair in any way. “Actually, Robert asked me to supervise his shipping office for several weeks. Mr. MacDonald is here on other business.”

  Ilse’s eyebrow arched again, but she made no remark. Instead, she turned the register around for Alasdair and handed him a quill. He signed his name and handed the pen to Bridget. She glanced down at the assortment of names already on the sheet. Most of the women’s names had room numbers on the third floor and the men had numbers on the second. Bridget breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she wouldn’t be next door to Alasdair like she had been in Arisaig. “I see we will be housed on different levels.”

  “Usually, that is true, but I am nearly full right now,” Ilse said. “The last two rooms open are on the second floor at the end of the hall.” She smiled with a glint in her eye. “’Tis a bit out of the way back there.”

  Bridget stifled a moan while Alasdair practically smirked. Behind Ilse, Bridget could have sworn she saw the dancing shadow of a girl and the sound of soft laughter once again.

  A strange tingle slid down Bridget’s spine and she wondered if the Fae truly were at work.

  By the time they reached their rooms, Alasdair realized he had a dilemma on his hands. It didn’t take much deduction on his part to know Bridget was not pleased with the situation. Her straight back, stiff shoulders, and fast walk told him that. He could even understand why—at least partly—since powerful lust raged in his blood and he thought it might in Bridget’s too. He also knew honor was as important to her as it was to him, and that it probably wasn’t particularly wise to be next door to each other.

  However, they were housed on the second floor that mainly had men letting the rooms. Alasdair had already observed two of them on the stairs giving Bridget covert looks while another one coming out of his room gaped at her openly until Alasdair’s glare sent him hurrying past them.

  He was going to make damn sure each and every male residing here understood Bridget was off-limits. He also was quite sure she wouldn’t appreciate how he was going to do it.

  Bridget stopped in front of the door second from the end of the hall and inserted her key into the lock, pushing the door open. The room was simply furnished with two narrow beds separated by a bureau and a small table with two chairs, but as with all of Ilse’s rooms, it smelled of wax polish and fresh sheets. Alasdair saw Bridget nod approval as she turned and held out her hand for her valise.

  “I can take that now.”

  “I want ye to have the other room.”


  She frowned. “Why? This one looks perfectly fine.”

  “Fine it may be, but the other room is at the very end of the hall and gives ye better protection.”

  “From what?”

  “Not from what, lass. From whom. Did ye nae see the men giving ye the eye on the way up here?”

  The frown deepened. “Nae.”

  Alasdair sighed. As refreshing as it was that Bridget gave herself no airs nor fussed about her appearance, that she remained unaware of how attractive she really was could put her in danger. “Ye are in the city now. Nae all men have good intentions.”

  Bridget folded her arms. “I doona think I will be accosted in this boarding house.”

  “I will make sure of that.”

  She gave him a wary look. “What do ye plan to do?”

  Instead of answering, he moved to the next room and unlocked the door, shoved it open with his boot, and carried her valise inside.

  Bridget followed him but remained standing in the doorway. “Ye did nae answer my question.”

  “Aye. Come inside. I doona want other ears hearing.”

  She hesitated, looking as though she was going to argue the point, but finally stepped in and closed the door behind her. “If ye think to tell men I am your leman to protect me, ye need to think again.”

  “I would nae ask ye to pretend to be such.”

  Bridget arched a brow. “What then?”

  “I want ye to be my intended.”

  Her eyebrow went higher. “Ye already have a betrothed.”

  Alasdair wanted to say not for long. Instead, he swallowed hard. “’Tis the safest way to protect ye.”

  She shook her head. “I will ask it again. Why do ye think I need protecting? I am nae a child and nae stupid.”

  “I never said ye were stupid nor a child. Captain Nels told me there is unrest in Glasgow because there is an organization of women demanding rights to work and wages.”