The Eternal Highlander (4 page)

Cathal shifted the grip of his hand upon Bridget’s just enough so that he could stroke the inside of her wrist. “Do I? I believe my intentions will save us. Do ye have a son, Scymynd? Does Edmee have a child? Considering how often she
amuses
herself, she ought to have a dozen clinging to her skirts. Where are they?”

“Unlike the Outsiders, we dinnae need to breed like rabbits.”

“I wasnae suggesting we do so, but e’en we need the occasional renewal.”

“Tis madness. Ye have forgotten who ye are and would try to have us all do the same. Be warned, Cathal,” Scymynd said as he started to walk away, “if ye push too hard, those ye try to corner
will
push back. Hard.”

Edmee glared at Cathal, then hissed at Bridget. Bridget hissed right back. She had the fleeting pleasure of watching Edmee’s eyes widen in surprise before the woman followed Scymynd out of the great hall. Once the pair were gone, Bridget pulled her hand free of Cathal’s grasp. She then gave a chuckling Jankyn a stern frown which only seemed to add to his amusement. She forced herself to turn her attention back to her meal, fighting to hide the turmoil in her mind and heart. There really was something odd about the MacNachtons, not the least of which was the way their laird could make her feel all hot and itchy with but a touch of his hand. There were secrets at Cambrun and, although her curiosity was stirred to nearly a feverish pitch, Bridget knew it would be far wiser to ignore them, even wiser to flee them.

Cathal almost smiled at the way Bridget was attempting to act as if nothing had happened. “Ye have naught to say, m’lady?”

“I have heard it said that ’tis best to nay indulge the deluded,” she murmured.

“And ye think I am deluded?”

“What else could one call it when ye tell all who will listen that ye intend to marry a woman ye have just met? One who hasnae said
aye
, either.”

“And why do ye hesitate to say aye? I dinnae think I am hard to look upon. I am wealthy enough to keep ye weel clothed and fed. I am a laird, have good lands, and those lands are weel protected. Ye couldnae find much better at court, although it sounds vain of me to say so.”

It might sound vain, but it was the truth, Bridget mused as she took a long drink of cider to wash down the last of her meal. She had no intention of agreeing with that view, however. Neither did she intend to be dragged into a marriage with a man she had just met, one who was knee deep in plots that were stirring up rebellion within his clan. She slowly stood up and looked at Sir Cathal.

“I was going to court to see a world outside of the walls of Dunsmuir, to be entertained by the elegant clothes and intriguing gossip, and to dance until my feet hurt. If some fine gentlemon decided to woo me, I might have taken a husband. Please note the use of the word
might
. Now, if ye will excuse me, I believe I will go and compose a letter to my cousin to explain my delay and let her ken that I
will
arrive for my visit with her as soon as possible.”

“Aye, ye do that, m’lady.” Cathal enjoyed the gentle sway of her slim hips as she walked away. “I am certain we can arrange to visit your kinswoman at some time after we are married.” He grinned when she clenched her hands into tight fists, hesitated briefly, then continued out of the great hall. Mora flashed him a wide grin and hurried after Bridget.

“She has a temper,” murmured Jankyn. “She set Edmee back on her heels for a moment.”

“Aye,” agreed Cathal. “If Lady Bridget was frightened, she hid it weel. Tis good. She will need courage and strength to be my wife.”

“I think she will try to escape.”

Cathal nodded. “We will watch for it.”

“What if she continues to refuse you? Ye cannae want an unwilling bride.”

“She willnae be unwilling.”

“Ye sound verra sure of that.”

“I am. There is an attraction. I feel it and, when I held her hand, I kenned that she felt it, too. Twill take but a wee while for her to understand and accept it.”

“Then I hope ye listened carefully to what she said as she left. There were two words ye must needs remember.”

“Aye, woo and dance.”

“Exactly. Woo and dance. Do ye ken how to dance?”

Cathal grimaced. “Nay, but if my wooing isnae enough, I suspect I can learn. Lady Bridget can hiss and scratch all she likes, but, in the end, she
will
be
my
wife.”

The sound of howling drew Bridget to the window. Moonlight bathed the hillside, softening the sharp edges of rock and shrub. What held her gaze, however, were the dark figures that seemed to fly out of the rocks the keep was built upon. They moved so swiftly she had no time to look carefully at any one figure, but she knew they were human. Despite the feral noise, the swift way they moved, Bridget recognized that she was watching cloaked men and women run nimbly over the rough ground to disappear into the forest. She had heard the sounds last night, her second night at Cambrun, but had not looked out of the window. Bridget heartily wished she had not looked this time.

Bridget let the thick drape fall back over the window. She moved to stand in front of the fireplace, holding her hands toward the flames as she sought to chase away the chill of fear from her body. It was just a hunt, she told herself. Everyone hunted. There was probably some game that was best caught at night.

She cursed and began to pace before the fire. It was time to stop ignoring things and lying to herself. Most people did not hunt at night even if there was a full, bright moon. Most people did not go hunting on foot, racing out of the bowels of a keep, howling like a pack of wolves. Most people did not race across the ground so fast you could miss seeing them if you blinked, once.

Now that she was facing the truth, all the other odd things she had noticed came swiftly to the fore of her mind. People should not have fangs. Bridget was very sure of that. The MacNachtons seemed very fond of the dark. She saw very few of the darkly beautiful MacNachtons about during the day and every window was kept heavily draped. Even though he was at the table for every meal, Cathal did not eat exactly what she did. Jankyn ate very little aside from some alarmingly raw meat. All the MacNachtons were alike in appearance, more so than any other clan members she had ever seen. They all had eyes that would not look out of place on a wolf. The only MacNachton she had seen outside the walls of the keep during the day was Cathal and he had been heavily cloaked. He had also stayed outside for only a short time.

Pausing before the fire, Bridget stared hard into the flames and struggled to recall exactly what she had seen just before she had fainted on the night she was rescued. She had seen Jankyn grinning his fang-baring grin. She had seen those cloaked figures sweep by her, swiftly and silently. Bridget shuddered as she recalled the screams of the men who had been chasing her. The MacNachtons had set upon the thieves, but there had been no sound of swords clashing. There had been blood, however. She could recall seeing it, smelling it. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, all she could recall of that last moment before sinking into unconciousness was swirling black forms surrounding the thieves, screams, and blood. If she had seen how the MacNachtons had killed her enemies, it was locked deep in her mind and did not want to come out.

One thing did slip out that she suddenly wished she could tuck away again. All too clearly she could hear Nan telling her about the man in the village with eyes and teeth like a wolf, had inhuman strength, wounds that healed like magic, and who only ventured out at night. Demon and witch the villagers had called him, but other words tickled at the edge of Bridget’s mind, ones she did not care to even whisper aloud. She had no doubt that that man had been a MacNachton.

And their laird wished to marry her, she thought and shivered. A marriage at least two of his clan were adamantly opposed to. Cathal had spent the last two days courting her. Even more alarming was the fact that she was slowly succumbing to his wooing. He was beautiful and made her knees weak. He was dangerous.

Bridget hurried over to her chest of clothes. She took out her old cloak, piled a few clothes and carefully chosen personal items into the center of it, and tied the four corners together to make a sack. Donning her new cloak, she slipped out of the bedchamber. Silently, but quickly, she crept through the hall, down the stairs, and out the doors into the bailey. She was just about to run out through the gates, surprised but pleased to see them open, when a man dropped to the ground right in front of her. A soft screech escaped her as she stumbled back a step, even as she frantically looked around in a vain attempt to see where he had come from.

“Greetings, lass,” the man said in a deep, rough voice. “Ye probably dinnae remember me. I am Raibeart. I drove your wee bonnie cart back here after we saved ye from those thieving swine.”

“Ah, weel, I thank ye. Now, if ye will just excuse me,” she tried to dart around him, but the man swiftly put himself in her path.

“Now, ye dinnae really want to go out there. Tis dark, aye? Too dangerous for such a wee lass.”

“Ye arenae going to let me leave, are ye?” She cursed when he shook his head.

“The laird wants ye to stay here.”

“I dinnae care what
he
wants. He isnae
my
laird. He isnae my kinsmon, either.” Bridget could feel panic clawing at her insides and struggled to push it aside. “
I
wish to go to my cousin’s and none of ye have the right to stop me.”

She felt a light touch upon her shoulder. Blindly, she turned and struck out, raking her nails across the face of the man who stood behind her. As her fingernails scored soft flesh the feeling pulled her free of the tight grasp fear had upon her. She looked in horror at the bloody furrows she had left upon Jankyn’s cheek. He touched a hand to the cuts as he stared at her, his gaze holding more intense consideration than shock. Mumbling a heartfelt apology, Bridget pulled a square of daintily embroidered linen from a pocket in the lining of her cloak. However, by the time she reached toward Jankyn, intending to clean the blood from his wounds, there was no need for such care.

“Your wounds appear to be closing,” she whispered.

“Aye. They were only shallow cuts,” he said. “Ye have verra sharp nails, lass.” Keeping his gaze fixed upon her face, he slowly licked the blood from his fingers.

“Oh, it needed only that.” Bridget closed her eyes, took a deep breath to calm herself, then scowled at Jankyn.

“That was a strange thing to do, lass,” murmured Raibeart as he moved to stand beside her.

It was, but Bridget would never admit it. “Nay, it wasnae. I felt a touch and thought I was in danger. Jankyn also crept up behind me when I was feeling agitated.” She abruptly made a dash for the gate, not surprised when both men quickly appeared to block her way. “That could become verra annoying.”

“E’en if we were inclined to let ye leave,” Jankyn said, “we certainly wouldnae let ye march off into the night all alone.”

Bridget realized she was no longer afraid. That seemed strange. Nothing had occurred to alter the conclusions she had come to. In truth, what had just happened with Jankyn had only strengthened them. Yet, as she stood before these two MacNachtons, she only felt a very natural annoyance that these men would not allow her to do what she wanted to do. The only expression she could see in their feral eyes was a manly annoyance over a woman not doing as she was told. She felt no threat from these men and, considering what she was now sure they were, that truly made no sense at all.

“Ah, so ye will escort me to my cousin’s then, will ye?” she said in a voice so sweet she was surprised it did not make her teeth ache.

“Nay, they willnae,” drawled an all too familiar voice from behind her.

Inwardly cursing, Bridget turned to face Cathal. “I have decided ’tis time for me to continue on my journey.”

“And ye decided ye had to do it now? Right now? Without most of your belongings?”

“Aye. I got to thinking—”

“A dangerous thing for a lass to do. Ow!” Jankyn rubbed his stomach where Bridget had just hit him with her sack of belongings, and grinned at her.

“Why are ye nay out with the others, howling at the moon?”

“At least I am nay dancing beneath it.” He laughed when she blushed.

“Ye were watching me?”

“I heard ye singing.”

“That was so rude.” If he had been drawn by her singing then he could not have seen her naked, Bridget mused, and relaxed. “I had left the camp to seek a few moments of privacy.”

Cathal grasped Bridget by the arm, turning her attention back to him. “Why were ye leaving?”

Bridget could feel the blunt truth on the tip of her tongue, but could not bring herself to speak it. It was as if she feared that, in speaking the words, the truth could no longer be ignored. That was absurd. She knew the truth. By the way the three men looked at her, they knew she had guessed all their secrets. It made no difference. She simply could not utter the dark, terrifying name aloud. In some odd, twisted way, she was actually concerned about offending them.

“I decided I wasnae going to play your game any longer,” she replied. “I was going to my cousin’s.”

“Alone? At night?”

“Tis the best time for an escape.” But not here, she realized, and inwardly cursed her own stupidity. At Cambrun high noon on a sunny day would have been a better choice. “I have prepared for a visit with Barbara for months. I want to go to court, to see all the fine clothes, and to watch all the courtiers and their ladies. I want to sit down to a feast and listen to all the whispers about who is sinning with whom. I want to hear the minstrels sing and I want to dance with some fine, courtly gentlemon who will tell me all manner of sweet lies about how bonnie I am. I want—”

A squeak of surpise and outrage escaped her when Cathal suddenly picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. The soft laughter of Jankyn and Raibeart only added to her anger over being so roughly handled. Bridget dropped her belongings and proceeded to pound her fists against his broad back. Cathal did not even flinch as he continued to take her back to her bedchamber and that, too, increased her fury. Under her breath she cursed him and his stubborness.

“Tis nay just me who is blindly stubborn,” muttered Cathal as he entered the bedchamber and kicked the door shut behind him. “Tis ye who refuses to give up this plan to go to court. And for what? To hear empty flatteries and malicious tales?” He paused by the bed. “Undo your cloak.”

Even as she blindly obeyed that terse command, Bridget wondered why she did so. Such quick obedience was not in her nature. She growled softly when her cloak was pulled from her and tossed to the floor. Before she could say anything, she was tossed down onto the bed. Her body was still bouncing slightly when Cathal sprawled on top of her, gently but firmly pinning her down. Bridget scowled at him, more angry than afraid, and tried not to let the beauty of his face distract her. She had a right to be angry and she would hold fast to that feeling no matter how warm and itchy he made her feel.

“Ye are staying here,” Cathal said. “I am going to woo ye and then we will be married.”

“Oh! What arrogance! Ye may woo me, but that doesnae necessarily mean ye will win me.”

Bridget suspected he had some right to that arrogance for she had been softening toward him, but now she knew the truth. He was a man whose looks made her heart skip and her breath quicken. Feeling his big, lean body pressed against hers was beginning to make her feverish. To her ears, the sound of his voice was like a caress. Unfortunately, he was also a dangerous creature, one whose name she still felt almost afraid to say aloud.

Then again, she mused, he did not feel as if he was a dead man. He felt warm, strong, and alive. There was a glow of health to his lovely skin. He certainly did not smell of the grave. Yet, if one could believe all warnings given and tales told, the devil was prone to trick the unwary with beauty and lust. Cathal was beautiful and Bridget suspected that warm, itchy feeling he stirred within her was lust.

Cathal watched the expressions darting across her lovely face. She had made no accusations, but he was sure she had guessed the truth, or part of it. He took hope in the fact that she was not terrified. There was the occasional glint of fear in her eyes, but no more, and he felt he could deal with that.

“I will ne’er hurt ye, Bridget,” he said softly and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I swear it.”

“And why should I accept your vow?” She shivered when he touched a kiss to her right cheek, feeling the warmth of his lips flow through her veins.

“Ah, I think ye do already.” Cathal felt the subtle changes in her breathing and knew she was stirred by his kisses. “I think ye ken that ye are safe with me. I think ye also ken that ye are safe with Jankyn, Raibeart, and Mora. Aye, and many others.” He lightly rubbed his lips over hers and reveled in the faint trembling of her lithe body.

“And there are others I am nay safe with, ones who wish me gone.”

“I willnae allow them to harm ye.”

“Ye may try. It doesnae matter. Ye have no right to hold me here.”

“Why are ye so anxious to leave, lass? Can ye no spare a week or two for the ones who saved your wee life?”

“How devious ye are to play upon my sense of gratitude.”

“Stay. Give me one week. If ye cannae abide marrying me, can see naught to gain, then we can discuss your continuing on to your cousin’s.”

“A week?”

“Aye, one week.”

“I should send word to my cousin. She must be fretting o’er the fact that I havenae arrived yet.”

“I will see that she is told that ye are safe and hale.”

Bridget was about to tell him that one week would not change her mind about leaving, when he kissed her. His surprisingly soft lips pressed against hers, rubbing and nibbling, quickly robbed her of the ability to think clearly. When he nipped a little sharply at her bottom lip, she gasped softly. For a brief moment she was startled by his tongue in her mouth, but the stroke of his tongue against the roof of her mouth quickly changed shock to pleasure.