Rogue of the Moors

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Mayhap Annie is prickly with ye because she thinks your smooth words are insincere,” Alasdair replied.

  “I gave her a compliment. What lass does nae like one?”

  “Ye might have had better results if ye’d complimented her mind then. She likes to put it to good use.”

  “I am nae sure ye are speaking of Annie or Bridget.” Niall said.

  “Both maybe,” Alasdair answered. “I find discussing ideas preferable to needless chatter and gossip.”

  Niall grinned again. “In that case, I will declare it my duty to listen to as much chatter and gossip from every available lass I can.”

  Alasdair frowned. “Why in the world would ye want to do that? Apart from your usual pursuit of winning lasses’ affections, I mean.”

  “Have ye learned nothing about women?” Niall shook his head as if Alasdair were to be pitied in his ignorance. “They can scent a scandal and stalk a rumor like hounds on a fox trail. Their comments may be couched in pretty words, but if ye listen, ye will hear the element of truth.”

  “Based on what? Envy? Jealousy? Competition for a wealthy man or a title?”

  Niall shrugged. “There is that, but here’s the point. If there is even a hint of impropriety regarding Isobel, I would trust another woman to spot it.”

  “The kind of women ye refer to are those of Society,” Alasdair said. “A vicar’s daughter does nae travel in those circles.”

  “But she does have connections. How did she get them?”

  “She said through her father. Or maybe the charity events.”

  “Hmm.” Niall looked skeptical. “I did a wee bit of observing at the ball. There were several men who kept glancing back at you…and her.”

  So Niall had noticed that too? The hair at Alasdair’s nape began to bristle, but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding. “We cannae deny that Isobel is pleasing to the eye.”

  Niall snorted. “So is mistletoe, especially when an unsuspecting lass stands under it, but it can lay a mon flat with its poison.”

  “’Tis true. What is your opinion then?”

  “I am nae sure yet. I also noticed the colonel’s wife was watching the two of you.”

  Alasdair felt like he was playing the devil’s advocate, but he wanted to be sure he and Niall were thinking along the same lines. “Since her husband has gotten me invitations, perhaps she wants to make sure his sponsorship is justified.”

  “The colonel strikes me as a mon who makes his own decisions.” Niall grew thoughtful. “My instincts are nae as sharp as our brother Lachlan’s, but something just does nae feel right about this lass.”

  That was an understatement if Alasdair had ever heard one.

  * * * * *

  “Has Alasdair talked with you about his seeking a seat in Parliament?” Niall asked Bridget the next morning as he walked with her to the marine office.

  Bridget shook her head. “Only what I have heard at dinner.” She was somewhat surprised that Niall would ask since, when he wasn’t escorting her somewhere, he stayed close to Alasdair. Annie usually came to her room for an hour after the meal to talk to her about the women’s club as well. When would she have had the chance to speak to Alasdair? Bridget knew she should probably be thankful Providence—in the human forms of Niall and Annie—was keeping them separated, but it was hard going to sleep knowing Alasdair was in the next room. Last night, she’d dreamed of their kisses—again.

  “What do ye think of the idea?” Niall asked.

  Bridget walked for a few steps before answering. “I think we Scots need more representation than we have. Even in the Commons, too many seats are controlled by lords of the aristocracy, even if those members are voted in.”

  Niall glanced at her. “Have ye been studying the subject then?”

  “In a way. The women’s club that Annie belongs to has discussed it.”

  Niall frowned. “When have ye been attending the meetings?”

  Bridget refrained from rolling her eyes. She hoped he wasn’t going to start on how much she needed protection. “They have met a few times in the afternoons at a tearoom on Argyle Street. ’Tis nae far from the office. But,” she went on before he could start on her needing to be escorted, “ye were asking about seats in Parliament. Since each constituency is allowed two members and some of those are small parcels owned by a lord, he can pretty much decide who he will put into office. ’Tis a thing that should be changed so the people actually do the voting.”

  “I doona think Alasdair likes the method either,” Niall said.

  “What choice does he have in the matter?” Bridget asked. “If Alasdair wants to help the Scots, he must first get a seat. To do that, he needs the support of Colonel Boothe’s influential friends. I met both an earl and a viscount at the ball. I saw Isobel talking to both of them later.”

  “Isobel seemed to be talking to quite a lot of men,” Niall said.

  Bridget had noticed that too, but at the time she had just been glad she didn’t have to watch Isobel clinging to Alasdair’s arm. Bridget thought for something to say that wouldn’t sound petty. “She was probably being supportive of Alasdair.”

  Niall muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

  “Do ye believe that?” he asked.

  “I…I’m nae sure what ye mean.”

  “Bridget. Ye are nae stupid. Do ye think there is any affection between the two of them?”

  She hoped not, but what right did she have to say so? “’Tis nae my place to say.”

  Niall muttered something else and then stopped suddenly. Bridget stopped too. “What is it?”

  He hesitated as if having an internal conversation with himself and finally took a deep breath. “’Tis as plain as the noses on our faces that Isobel is ambitious and sees Alasdair’s obtaining a seat in Parliament as her entry to Society, but Lachlan thinks the waters are muddied around her.”

  Bridget raised a brow. “In what way?”

  “I doona ken. My brother is known to be a wee bit rebellious and wild—”

  “Really?” Bridget’s eyebrow arched higher. “Does that nae describe all of ye? Your mother has the grey hair to prove it.”

  “Och, well. ’Tis some truth to that,” Niall said, “but Lachlan always has the devil’s own luck at coming out of a scrape like a cat landing on its feet. Of all the MacDonalds, he seems to have an instinct about people and is nae often wrong.”

  Bridget felt a little shiver slide down her spine. “What does he think is wrong with Isobel?”

  Niall shook his head. “He cannae put a finger on it, but ’tis one reason Alasdair came to Glasgow.”

  “I thought he was dealing with the strikers.”

  “That too, although since we offered bonuses for production, the matter has been pretty much taken care of,” Niall replied. “Alasdair has asked our solicitor to find out what he can about Isobel.”

  Bridget felt a small glimmer of hope flicker in her mind. “Has he any results?”

  “Nae yet, but if there is anything shady about Isobel’s past that can give Alasdair just cause to dissolve the betrothal, he will do it.” He paused. “It will have to be something strong enough to protect Margaret too.”

  Bridget wrinkled her brow. “Margaret?”

  “Aye,” Niall replied and told her about Isobel’s original threat to ruin their sister’s reputation.

  Bridget was silent for a moment. “Isobel will stop at nothing, will she?”

  “Her type usually doesnae,” Niall said, “but then, she’s not met up properly with MacDonald justice. If Simon can find a thread of scandal, we will weave an entire plaid of it.”

  Hope began to kindle in her head. “Even if Isobel is with child?”

  “It’s been six weeks and nae sign of her increasing,” Niall said.

&nbs
p; “But he cannae be sure just yet.”

  “Mayhap, but Alasdair has nae memory of the event taking place.” Naill grinned suddenly. “We MacDonalds doona forget something like that even if a potion was put into our drink.”

  Hope sprang into full flame. Could Bridget’s prayers have been answered? Isobel would not bear Alasdair’s child? Bridget tried to put a damper on the excitement that was building inside her. “But what about Margaret?”

  Niall grew serious. “If we find Isobel’s past is tarnished in any way, we MacDonald men will pay a call to Reverend Howard and give him the sordid details. In that case, my guess is he and Isobel will leave Arisaig as soon as they can get packed.” He gave Bridget a steady look. “Alasdair will throttle me for saying this, but ye ken the mon loves ye?”

  A sense of giddiness swept through Bridget. “I… He…uh.”

  “Doona say anything,” Niall said as he held up a hand. “I may have spoken out of turn. Nae about Alasdair, but about ye. I ken ye have nae been widowed a year.”

  Bridget’s elation leveled. Niall was watching her and she thought of how to put her feelings into words. “I doona mean to disrespect my husband in any way. We had met but once before we married. I thanked God that Brodie was a good, kind mon who treated me well.” She hesitated again. “But I doona think he would want me to grieve more than I have done.”

  Niall remained silent, studying her. Then he nodded. “Ye will make Alasdair a fine wife, Bridget MacLeod.”

  The giddy feeling came over her again, but somehow she managed to sound calm. “Ye are forgetting that Alasdair is still betrothed.”

  “Have faith, Bridget. Lachlan’s instincts are rarely wrong.”

  Did she dare hope that Niall was right? She prayed that he was. Suddenly she remembered the acorn the old woman by the glade had given her. She had kept it because she liked the reminder that she needed to be patient. She just hoped she would persevere in the end.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Ye did what?” Alasdair stared at Niall, considering whether to pummel him to a pulp. He had been leaving Simon’s office when he saw Niall coming up the street toward him. His first thought was that something had happened to Bridget, since it was barely mid-morning, but Niall’s admission that he’d talked to Bridget about Isobel was almost as disastrous. “Have ye taken complete leave of your senses?”

  “I doona think so,” Niall answered nonchalantly, although he took care to stay well out of Alasdair’s arm-swing range as they walked down the street. “Bridget deserved to ken.”

  “Ken what? That is the problem. We have nae proof that Isobel has done anything but act like a damn saint in Glasgow.”

  “Isobel would singe any angel’s wings she got close to, more like,” Niall said wryly.

  “That may be, but we doona have proof,” Alasdair replied. “The day after the ball, I gave Simon the list of men who’d attended and asked him to find out what he could, especially about the ones Isobel conversed with at length. All he could come up with was comments that some of the wives who handled the charities dinnae like Isobel. Such gossip is hardly enough to act on.”

  “Gossip sometimes has an element of fact to it,” Niall said. “The more important question is why do these ladies nae like her? Given they work with charities, I would think they would have more charitable thoughts.”

  Alasdair shrugged. “Who can say? The matrons could be jealous.”

  “Maybe they have cause to be,” Niall answered. “Maybe the wives suspect Isobel is nae so innocent as she acts.”

  “I doona think Isobel innocent, but Simon was nae able to get any information about her taking up with any mon. Would that he had. ’Twould be the ammunition I need.” Alasdair shook his head. “Some of the men have mistresses, but Simon hadn’t heard a word of anyone bragging about Isobel.”

  “Ye need to have faith in Lachlan’s instincts, that things will work out for ye,” Niall said. “’Tis what I told Bridget too.”

  Alasdair halted and eyed his brother. “Just what else did ye tell Bridget?”

  A look of apprehension crossed Niall’s face and he took a step back. Alasdair grew suspicious. Niall was not one to back away. “What have ye said?”

  “Nothing that was nae the truth.”

  Alasdair narrowed his eyes. “What would that truth be?”

  Niall gave him a wary look. “That she would make a good wife for ye.”

  Alasdair felt his mouth start to drop open and snapped it shut. The urge to put his brother on his arse was overwhelming, shadowed only in some dim recess of his brain that Niall had just admitted he was not courting Bridget. Alasdair had won that battle, except the real fight wasn’t with his brother. The real competition was between himself and Bridget’s deceased husband.

  “Ye are completely barmy,” Alasdair said when he regained control of his temper. “Bridget has been a widow but a few months.”

  “Six,” Niall said promptly. “She told me.”

  Alasdair frowned. “What difference does that make? Her widow’s year is nae up. She needs time to grieve.”

  “Not every widow needs a year,” Niall responded. “Bridget told me that too.”

  The urge to plant Niall on the ground returned. “Ye must have had a verra good conversation. What else did Bridget tell ye?”

  Niall grinned. “Are ye jealous, brother?”

  “Doona tempt me to wipe that grin off your face.”

  The grin widened, and Alasdair clenched his fists. Niall was getting very close to being hurt. “What else did she say?”

  Niall eyed Alasdair’s fist and his grin lessened, although a small smile remained. “Nae need to be so ill-tempered, brother. The good news is that Bridget’s marriage was arranged by her clan and Brodie’s. ’Twas amiable, but she said that he would nae want her to grieve further.”

  Alasdair unclenched his fists, a sudden sense of euphoria sweeping through him. He felt a silly smile forming.

  Niall watched him and then shook his head. “Ye are as besotted as a green lad.”

  “I am nae—”

  “Aye, ye are, but here is more news. I am nae such a fool that I cannae see that Bridget loves ye, although why is a mystery to me.” Niall turned to walk away. “I will leave ye with that thought.”

  Alasdair stared after him. Could it be true? Bridget loved him? Could the kisses they’d shared have meant as much to her as they did to him, and it wasn’t simply her body reacting to need? He wanted to find out.

  * * * * *

  Bridget looked around the boarding house’s dining room table that evening and hoped nobody struck a match, since it felt like she was sitting in the midst of a powder keg about to explode.

  Owen MacLean had arrived this afternoon, presumably to discuss financial arrangements for investment in kelp on Eigg. That he’d made his way to Mrs. Ferguson’s establishment on the recommendation of two of Alasdair’s brothers didn’t sit well with either Alasdair or Niall. Bridget was pretty sure both of them thought Gavin and Braden had made the recommendation to irritate them. Which they probably had. As luck would have it—and Owen did seem to have more than his share of luck—one guest had departed that morning, leaving a room available. Alasdair hadn’t been too pleased that Niall had not snapped it up. But the crowning thorn in this thistle batch was the arrival of Isobel just as they were about to sit down to eat. She had invited herself to stay and now sat between Alasdair and Owen. Niall had pulled out a chair for Annie and then sat down beside her, a move that left Annie looking wary.

  The room fairly crackled with tension. Bridget could almost feel it slithering across the table like a snake about to strike.

  Annie must have been blissfully unaware of all of it. “There seems to be a lot of interest in the kelp trade recently. Is that why ye choose to invest in it, Mr. MacLean?”

  “Aye,” he said with an
easy smile, “but please call me Owen. May I call you Annie?”

  “Ye have just met the lass,” Niall said.

  Annie gave him a sharp look and then turned to Owen. “Do ye have your own shipping line as well, Owen?”

  “Nae. Once I have the financial arrangements made, I plan to visit both MacLeod and Henderson lines.” He glanced at Niall and then back to Annie. “And perhaps a third as well. However, business can wait. May I say that you have lovely eyes, Annie?”

  “Miss Ferguson does nae care for sweet talk,” Niall said.

  “I never said that,” Annie replied and turned to Owen. “Thank ye.”

  Bridget heard something close to a growl come from Niall, and Alasdair’s mouth twitched, although his amusement stopped when Isobel laid a hand on his arm and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  “Some women appreciate a compliment,” she said to him.

  “I am sure most women do,” Alasdair answered and flicked a quick glance at Bridget, “although I find women who do not seek out such flattery rather interesting.”

  Bridget felt her cheeks warm. Alasdair’s remark didn’t warrant a response from her, and it was probably better to stay silent given Isobel’s peevish look in her direction, but a pleasant feeling of warmth surged through Bridget anyhow.

  “Miss Howard, you are dressed as stylishly as ever,” Owen said smoothly. “I assume that is the latest fashion?”

  Isobel preened, her irritation momentarily forgotten as she adjusted the puff to her sleeves. “Why, yes it is. The modeste on Buchanan Street said this gown just arrived from London days ago.”

  “Few women can resist a new dress,” Owen said.

  “Actually, I have ordered a number of new things,” Isobel said and looked directly at Bridget. “I have to prepare my trousseau for my wedding.”

  Bridget felt her cheeks warm again, although this time not in a pleasant way. She caught Niall’s warning glance and remembered what he’d said. A muscle twitched in Alasdair’s jaw.

  Owen looked from one to another of them. “When is the wedding?”

  “Soon,” Isobel said.