The Eternal Highlander (3 page)

When both men sat on the bed to eat their food, she hastily bit back a protest. One quick glance around the room made her almost certain she was in the laird’s chamber. It was an odd place to put her, but Bridget fought against the suspicions stirring to life in her mind. These men had saved her life. She owed them the courtesy of at least hesitating before accusing them of something.

An idle glance at the food upon the men’s plates gave her a slight start. She quickly ate some bread to hide any hint of surprise in her expression. Her meat was well cooked, but theirs was very rare. It seemed odd that she should be fed something different, but she was glad of it. Meat barely seared over the fire was not to her liking. In fact, she could not think of one person she knew who would like their meat that lightly cooked. She decided it must be some family oddity, rather like her Aunt Mairi who refused to eat cooked vegetables, preferring them raw.

“Why were ye traveling to your cousin’s?” Cathal asked.

“She invited me for a visit,” replied Bridget. “I just passed my nineteenth saint’s day and she felt it was time I saw something aside from the walls and fields of Dunsmuir. She plans to introduce me at court and all of that.”

“Ah. Ye seek a husband.”

“
I
dinnae seek one. I but seek a look at the world outside of Dunsmuir, to meet people who arenae part of my clan.” Feeling compelled to be honest, she added, “I do think my brother wishes me to find a husband, however. He gave me many a lecture on the matter ere I left.”

Cathal had to bite back a smile at the look that swiftly crossed her all too expressive face, for it was clear she had found those lectures highly irritating. Although she said she was not going to her cousin’s to find a husband, he suspected she held a few hopes of finding one. What interested him most was that she was neither married nor betrothed. As a laird holding good lands and a full purse, he would be a satisfactory choice to her kinsmen. The dark rumors about his clan, which grew more numerous every year, could cause trouble, but marrying her quickly would ensure that those rumors did not reach the ears of her kinsmen in time to cause too much difficulty. Once the marriage was consummated, her clan would have to accept it.

He inwardly sighed. It was a mad plan, but he realized he had already accepted it. Her brother wished her to find a husband, and Cathal wished to find a wife. He had land and title, as well as enough wealth to silence any objections. Or, any objections raised by her kinsmen, he mused as Mora took his empty plate away. Instinct told him that the delicate woman seated upon his bed could prove to be very stubborn. However, instinct also told him that, out of all the Outsider brides he might choose, he and his clan had the best chance of being accepted by this slim, golden beauty who was now slicing up an apple with an impressive skill and speed. There was no possibility he could hide the truth from a wife and most Outsiders fled in fear of that truth. Cathal simply could not see this woman doing so, but he would be hard-pressed to explain just why he felt that way.

“That was verra good, Mora,” Bridget said as the woman took her plate. “I thank ye. Now, if ye could tell me where I might have that bath?”

“Ye will have it here, m’lady,” said Cathal. “Please see to it, Mora.”

Not wishing to argue with the man before the servant, Bridget waited until Mora left before saying, “Isnae this your bedchamber, m’laird?”

“It is,” replied Cathal as he moved to stand by the side of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Then I should be shown to the guest chambers, aye?”

“Nay, ye will stay here. Tis best if ye become accustomed to these chambers.”

Bridget sat up straighter and glared at him. “And just what do ye mean by that?” She saw a grinning Jankyn move to stand beside Cathal and was briefly distracted by the sight of his teeth. “Do ye file your teeth to get those fangs? I had an uncle who did that. Filed all his front teeth so that they were sharp and pointed. Thought it made him look fierce.”

Jankyn scowled at her. “
I
have no need of such foolish vanities.”

Cathal watched her frown and, before she could think too long on Jankyn’s words, he said, “Ye will stay in this bedchamber.”

That command pulled Bridget free from her interest in Jankyn’s teeth and she glared at Cathal again. Did he think that, since she owed him her life, she would be willing to warm his bed? The fact that she felt a definite stirring within her blood at the thought made her all the more determined to stand firm against him.

“I am the sister of the laird of Dunsmuir,” she began.

“Ah, good. Good.” Cathal started toward the door, a chuckling Jankyn close at his heels.

That reply made no sense at all, she thought. “Why is that good?”

“Tis best if the bride and groom are of an equal standing.”

“Bride and groom?
What
bride and groom? Who is to be married?”

“Why, ye are to be married, m’lady. To me.”

Bridget was so stunned by his words, the two men were several minutes gone before she could utter a word. She spent several minutes more trying to decide if she had heard him correctly. By then, her bath had been prepared. As, with Mora’s help, she bathed and dressed in a warm night shift, Bridget convinced herself he had been making a poor jest. When Mora refused to take her to another bedchamber, Bridget climbed into the laird’s huge bed. She snuggled down beneath the warm covers and felt exhaustion sweep over her. For a little while she fought it, determined to be alert for the man’s return, for any attempt at seduction or worse, but soon knew it to be a losing battle. She told herself no man could take her innocence without waking her up and then welcomed sleep’s embrace.

“Ah, ’tis a fine day. I will just get a wee fire going in the hearth to take the chill off this room, aye?”

Bridget opened one eye and peered over the covers at the woman by the fireplace. For a long frightening moment she could not recall who the woman was or where she was and in whose bed. Then her mind cleared enough for her memory to return. She glanced at the pillow next to her, but saw no sign that anyone had shared the bed with her. She inwardly cursed when she realized she felt faintly insulted by that.

Cautiously, she sat up, relieved to find that her ordeal had not left her too sore. She glanced toward the window Mora had revealed and frowned. It was grey outside, grey and raining. That was not unusual, but she did not understand how Mora could think it was so very fine. It made Bridget feel strongly inclined to crawl back beneath the covers and sleep a few more hours.

“Ye are looking much better, lass,” said Mora. “A good sleep has brought some color back into your bonnie wee face.” Mora helped Bridget out of the high bed and led her over to where a deep basin of hot water was set on a table near the fire. “Ye have a wee wash and I will fetch something for ye to wear. The lads brought your clothes up earlier.”

Mora chatted away about how lucky Bridget was to be alive, how lovely her clothes were, and even carried on a lively debate with herself as to whether Bridget would look best in the green gown or the blue. Bridget let the woman talk, listening with only half an ear, and making the appropriate noises when she felt it was necessary to reply in some way. As she washed and cleaned her teeth, Bridget tried to recall everything that had been said to her last night. Just as Mora returned to her side, Bridget finally remembered those startling remarks the laird had made before he had left the room.

“Bride and groom?” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the dark blue gown Mora was tugging over her head. “What is the big fool talking about?”

“Seemed most clear to me,” said Mora as she began to lace up Bridget’s gown. “He means to make ye his wife.”

“How can ye be sure of that? Ye werenae here when he said those things.”

“I heard him and Jankyn speaking of it as they left the bedchamber. I was just outside the door.”

“Is he mad?”

“Nay. Why would ye think that?” Mora pushed Bridget down into a seat before the fire and began to brush out her hair.

“I dinnae ken,” drawled Bridget. “Mayhap ’tis the way he but looks at me once and declares us betrothed.”

“A lot of people wed with the wife and husband barely kenning a thing about each other. Ye are the laird’s equal in birth, he doesnae need a dowry, and ye are a bonnie, young lass, ripe for marrying. Tis most reasonable. A perfect solution.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Perfect for him. Mayhap nay so perfect for me.”

“Why? He is a braw lad, handsome, has a fine keep and good lands, and is a good laird.”

“Weel, mayhap, but why doesnae he go to court himself or visit some other laird’s holdings? At least look about a wee bit for a wife?”

“He doesnae like to leave Cambrun. The MacNachtons prefer to stay close to home.”

There was a certain tone to Mora’s voice that made Bridget feel compelled to ask why. She bit back the words. There could be many reasons why such a handsome man would be reluctant to travel to other keeps or the king’s court. It did not have to be anything particularly strange. Nevertheless, it
was
strange to abruptly decide to marry some woman he had just met. Bridget seriously doubted that he had fallen passionately in love with her at first glance.

“
I
wished to go to my cousin’s,” she said. “I have spent my whole life at Dunsmuir, rarely seeing anyone but the others in my clan. I want to see different places, different people. I want to dance, to see all the fine courtly clothes and manners.”

Mora snorted. “A crowd of sly fools who spend their days mocking and betraying others in a bid to gain favor and their nights in all manner of licentiousness.”

That sounded wonderously interesting to Bridget, but she was wise enough not to say so. There was a hint of Nan in Mora and such a remark would certainly bring on a lecture. She suddenly felt a pang of sorrow and concern for Nan. The woman had not deserved her fate, whatever it may have been.

“I was told the men who found me searched for my companion, Nan,” Bridget said, the hint of a question in her voice.

“Aye, they did.” Mora began to braid Bridget’s hair. “If they couldnae find her, lass, she wasnae there.”

“So strange, isnae it? Where would she go? As I see it, she had but two choices when the thieves attacked. She either died with the others or fled.”

“If she had fled, Jankyn would have been able to see that and followed her trail.”

“It was dark. He may have missed whate’er trail she left.”

“Nay. Jankyn could track a wee mousie in the dark. But, it wasnae so verra dark, was it? Moon was full.” Mora moved to stand in front of Bridget. “There. Ye are looking verra bonnie. I will lead ye to the great hall now, aye?”

Bridget’s stomach answered the question by growling. As she let Mora lead her out of the room, Bridget wondered what time it was, but was too embarrassed to ask. To judge by the poorly lit hallway they walked along, one would think it was night, but she knew that was not true. Grey and rainy though it had been, it had still been day she had viewed out of the window. The MacNachtons, however, apparently favored the dark. Perhaps they feared the daylight would fade all the fine tapestries and carpets, she mused as she entered the great hall. It, too, was shadowed, the windows thickly shrouded with heavy drapes of burgundy cloth and the room lit by candle and torch.

“Ye awoke just in time to break your fast,” said Mora as she tugged Bridget toward the laird’s table.

“Oh, so ’tis morning, is it?”

“Weel, nay. Tis the middle of the day. But, ye woke up in time for a meal. Which meal doesnae matter much, aye?”

There was no argument to be made to that so Bridget watched Sir Cathal rise from his seat to bow to her as Mora led her to a seat on his left. He did not look like a madman, Bridget thought as she took her seat. He was too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind, calm, and clear-eyed. As she filled her plate with tender lamb, turnips, bread, and cheese, she wondered if there was any way to gently inquire if she had heard him correctly last night. Since Mora had confirmed her rather uncertain memory of that conversation, Bridget was sure Cathal had mentioned marriage. It needed to be discussed, but she was unable to think of a clever way to broach the subject and to discuss it calmly.

She glanced around the great hall as she began to eat. There were not that many people in it. About half a dozen people who bore a distinct resemblance to Sir Cathal watched her closely as they ate. The ones serving looked as if they were related to Mora. Bridget did not think she had ever seen such a clear difference between those who served and those who were waited upon. In her clan there was only one real distinction between the laird’s close kin and ones like Mora, but it was not one so easily detected.

Just as she gathered enough courage to begin a conversation with Sir Cathal, two people who immediately grasped her full attention strode into the great hall. A tall, slim man and a slender woman made their way to the laird’s table, watching her as intently as she watched them. The woman was strikingly beautiful with gleaming black hair and milk white skin, her bright golden eyes glinting with emotions Bridget could not guess at. The man’s hair was a duller black, enlivened by a few streaks of white. There was a similarity in his features to Sir Cathal’s, but the lines of his face were far harsher, almost threatening. The look he gave her from his too dark eyes sent a chill down her spine.

“Scymynd, Edmee,” murmured Sir Cathal as the couple stopped by his chair. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence? Ye rarely join us in the great hall.”

“We have come to meet your guest,” replied Scymynd.

Cathal introduced Scymynd and Edmee to Bridget. Although Bridget’s replies were calmly said and very polite, Cathal detected a tension in her, as if she sensed a threat was near. He could not blame her. He sensed one as well. Scymynd was the leader of the Purebloods and had made his dislike of Cathal’s plan all too plain in the last few months. It was not a good sign that Scymynd would venture into the upper keep to meet Bridget. When he felt Edmee’s long, cold fingers stroke his neck, Cathal knew all too well what game she intended to play. He fought the urge to use his power as their laird to send them away. Rebellion was brewing in the caves the Purebloods called home, and he would not aid it by insulting the two most prominent members of that group. However, he would not allow them to intimidate Bridget.

“Are ye to join us for the meal, then?” he asked.

“Nay.” Scymynd glanced at the food upon the table, grimaced faintly with distaste, then looked at Jankyn who sat at Cathal’s right. “Tis nay to my taste. I am surprised to see ye partaking of it.”

Jankyn smeared thick brown honey on a chunk of bread. “I have an adventurous palate.”

“So do I,” murmured Edmee as she ran her fingers through Cathal’s hair.

Bridget was surprised to find herself feeling annoyed by the way the woman touched Cathal. Even more so by the way Cathal allowed it. Edmee was behaving in such an openly lustful, sensuous way, Bridget was amazed she was not blushing at the sight. It did make her think, however, that Cathal’s talk of marriage had been some odd jest and nothing more. That, she suspected, was at the root of her annoyance. She did not like being teased. A little voice in her head told her she was lying to herself. Bridget sternly gagged it.

“Cease your games, Edmee,” Cathal snapped, pulling away from her touch. “They dinnae amuse me.”

“Amusing ye wasnae what I had in mind.”

Cathal ignored her and looked at Scymynd. “As ye can see, Lady Bridget has recovered from her ordeal.”

“Aye.” Scymynd smiled at Bridget. “She must be eager to continue her journey.”

It was not easy, but Bridget hid her reaction to Scymynd’s smile. It was not a pleasant expression, but coldly threatening. What caused the flicker of alarm she felt, however, was that he had teeth just like Jankyn. She was coming to the unsettling conclusion that those teeth were not the result of some clever work with a file, some odd vanity practiced by some of the MacNachtons. Why someone would have fangs to make a wolf envious was not something Bridget cared to think about. She softly dragged her fingernails over the hard surface of the table to reassure herself that they were still long, sharp, and hard.

Cathal idly noted Bridget’s move and inwardly frowned. He suddenly realized that she had rather long fingernails, not one of which appeared to have suffered even the smallest chip from her ordeal, either. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jankyn intently staring at Bridget’s hands. Cathal decided he would have to discuss Bridget with Jankyn for there was obviously something about the woman that held his cousin’s interest. Jankyn knew a great deal about almost every family in Scotland and, if he had some knowledge about the Callans, Cathal wanted to know what it was. But, now, he thought as he looked at Scymynd, he had other problems to deal with.

“She is staying at Cambrun,” Cathal announced, taking one of Bridget’s hands in his and keeping his gaze fixed upon Scymynd and Edmee. “She was headed to her cousin’s to seek a husband. I have decided that she need look no further.”

The touch of Cathal’s hand sent a warmth through Bridget that startled her. The way he was idly stroking her palm with one of his long fingers was sending small, delightful shivers through her. She had to force herself to pay attention to the confrontation going on between the MacNachtons. One look at the faces of Scymynd and Edmee made Bridget very glad she had been too distracted to immediately gainsay Cathal. Cathal’s plan to marry her plainly did not meet with this couple’s approval, and Bridget had a strong suspicion it was due to a lot more than Edmee wanting the laird for herself. She had the chilling feeling that she was rapidly being pulled into the middle of some battle for power.

“Ye still intend to marry an Outsider? To sully our bloodline?” Scymynd asked, his voice taut and cold.

A brief squeeze of her hand from Cathal caused Bridget to bite back the angry defense of her clan she had been about to make. The look of cold fury upon Cathal’s face, one echoed by Jankyn, told Bridget that she was not the only one who had just been insulted. A quick glance around the great hall revealed that everyone’s attention was fixed upon this confrontation. The MacNachtons may have rescued her from one perilous confrontation, but it was increasingly clear to Bridget that the laird had set her down in the middle of another.

“I believe I made my plans verra clear months ago,” replied Cathal.

“Ye dinnae e’en ken who this woman is,” snapped Edmee. “She could be some thief.”

“She
is
Lady Bridget Callan of Dunsmuir, sister of the laird, cousin to Lady Barbara Matheson, and my betrothed.” Cathal was pleased Bridget made no protest, that she had the wit to know that now was not a good time to argue his plans for her. “I have found nothing to e’en hint that she may not be exactly who she claims she is. Thus, she is a perfect choice.”

“Ye should choose one of your own. Ye put us all at risk, try to destroy all that we are,” said Scymynd.