Twenty-Five
Bridgette stared out at the loch that backed up to Culdrich Castle and breathed in the fresh air. She’d come here seeking peace, yet after two days here and almost a fortnight since she’d left Duart and journeyed here, she feared peace would never be hers again. Horrible dreams of Colin plagued her nights, and memories of what could have been with Lachlan haunted her days. The one thing that would not be was a bairn. She’d gotten her flow last night, and she’d never been so happy for her time.
She’d gone to bed with the hope that she would wake up feeling more like herself, but she had woken still a stranger in her own body. Once filled with passion and love, she was now simply numb, except for when she thought of Lachlan and was overcome with sadness.
She could not live like this. She refused to live like this. Something had to change.
The wind blew her hair across her face, and she wrapped her plaid tighter around her to ward off the chill. Behind her, she heard the men preparing to go on a hunt, and then a throat cleared. She turned to find Dermid standing there.
“Ye are sure ye dunnae wish to go, lass?” he asked politely, as he had done yesterday, as well.
“Nay.” She had no desire to hunt and prove herself equal to the men any longer. Colin had taught her she’d never be as strong. She shivered with fear and saw pity flash in Dermid’s eyes. None of the men knew what had occurred, but she wondered if they suspected.
“I’ll stay behind with ye,” Dermid said.
She took a breath to tell him not to, but then she exhaled it. Before Colin, she would have scoffed at a man thinking she needed to be protected, but now, she realized with a start, she feared being alone, and it so enraged her that she wanted to fight back at the fear.
The men called out to Dermid, and he waved them on, then he turned, she suspected to go train.
“Dermid,” she called to his back, filled with a sudden purpose. She would never be as strong as a man, yet she refused to be so cowardly that she’d not even try to defend herself. “I wish ye to teach me how to wield a sword.”
He gaped at her. “Ye’re nae but a woman.”
She gritted her teeth. Lachlan would have never responded like that to her. The thought brought another of Lachlan: how had he felt when he had returned to Duart and she had been gone?
She was pondering this when Dermid’s eyes widened, and behind her, she heard footsteps. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to turn. Lachlan stood before her. She squeezed her eyes shut, sure that she must be seeing things, but when she opened them he was still there—russet bearded, bare chested, and hands locked upon his sword. He was a formidable sight, and her heart stuttered, skipped several beats, and then galloped ahead.
Soft lines crinkled around his beautiful eyes as he stared at her. He swallowed audibly, as if he was struggling to contain something within him, and she knew at once he worked to contain the desire to touch her. Her body heated, then recoiled in the same instant, and he saw it all on her face. She saw that he did by the fading smile, which turned to a fierce frown, followed by his jaw setting in determination.
He looked past her to Dermid. “She is a woman, aye, but she is a strong one. Dunnae ever insult her by thinking she could nae set ye low.”
Bridgette’s heart swelled with love. Whatever else was gone from her, she still loved him passionately.
“I did nae m-mean—” Dermid stammered.
Lachlan held up a silencing hand. “Away with ye. I have the care of Bridgette now.” He said the words with the certainty of a man who would brook no challenge. Dermid, the coward, immediately fled—Lachlan plucking Dermid’s sword from his hands as the man went—and left Bridgette face-to-face with Lachlan, whom she loved with all her heart but could not give herself to as she once had.
“What are ye doing here?” she asked, trying for a cold tone but unable to stop her voice from cracking.
Lachlan pointed each of the swords he held down into the ground and leaned slightly into them. His eyes had a sheen of purpose as he stared at her. “Ye ken why I’m here.”
She backed up a step as if that would help at all. He could overcome her easily and quickly if he wanted to, but she knew he’d never do such a thing. “I’m nae changed, Lachlan.”
The fact that her words were not entirely true struck her. She was not with a bairn. But telling him would be foolish; it would only give him more desire to stay. She feared him staying, yet she heard herself say the words. “I’m nae with a bairn.”
His chest heaved as he took a large breath, and then his lips pressed into a thin line. He stood quiet for a moment, eyes raking over her from head to toe, then back up again. “I kinnae lie and say I’m nae glad, but I swear by God that if ye had been, I would have wanted ye still and treated the bairn as my own.”
She bit the inside of her cheek trying to force back tears that were very near the surface. “I ken that, Lachlan. ’Twas why I left. I could nae ask such a thing of ye. I’m glad to see ye well. I—”
“Colin is dead,” he announced, interrupting her. His eyes filled with hopeful expectation as he looked at her. “I killed him. Ye are free.”
“I dunnae believe I will ever be free of him,” she said in honesty, wishing Lachlan to understand.
“Ye will,” he said with the will of one who would not be denied.
“What of Lena and Graham?” she asked, not wishing to argue with Lachlan about herself.
“Both rescued. Lena is in the care of yer brother and Graham, and they will see her to Dunvegan with Marion. Graham is verra well. He suffered some injuries but nae anything he kinnae recover from easily. And he has released his anger toward us… But even if he had nae, I tell ye honestly, I would have married ye once I got ye back anyway.”
His words filled her with happiness, yet it was dulled by the truth that while Graham no longer prevented her and Lachlan from being together, she did. She wrapped her arms around her waist and noticed anger cloud his eyes.
Before she could ask, he spoke. “I dunnae like when ye do that. Ye look like a wounded animal.”
She inhaled sharply at the apt description of how she felt. He understood so completely. He always had, which was why she had fallen in love with him. “I feel like a wounded animal.”
“Aye, I ken ye do, m’eudail. And I am here to help ye heal.”
She’d asked him not to call her that, yet a great sense of relief flowed through her to hear the endearment from his lips. The smallest, likely very foolish feeling of hope niggled in her gut. “What if I kinnae be healed?”
“Then we will mend ye as best we can, and we will go on with our lives together.”
“And if I will nae ever be able to allow ye to touch me again?” she demanded, challenging him, forcing him to face the possibility.
Savage determination shone from his eyes. “Ye will,” he said simply. “In time, ye will. Ye must trust in me.”
She did not think she could, but she did not have the heart to turn him away once more. She loved him too much. “But if the time comes that we both ken I’ll nae be able to change, I want ye to pledge to me that ye’ll leave and forget me.”
“I’ll nae vow such a thing,” he said quietly and handed her Dermid’s sword.
“What is this for?” she asked, even as she took it.
“I will teach ye to fight as ye asked Dermid to teach ye. When I’m done with ye, there will be few men who can best ye, in spite of their greater strength.”
She didn’t truly believe him, yet fierce desire to learn to fight with a sword and to take back some sense of being able to protect herself rose in her, and she nodded. She stepped back and raised her sword as she’d seen her brother do a thousand times, and it made her think of Alex.
“Alex told ye where I was,” she said, anger stirring slightly within her.
“Aye. Because he kens I kinnae live without ye.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her anger left her with a single exhalation. She could not cling to her ire after what he had just told her. “Teach me,” she said, rather than acknowledge what he’d just told her. She was not sure she could live without him, either, but she was not sure she could live with him yet.
By the end of Lachlan’s first sennight at Culdrich, Bridgette did not flinch every time he drew near, though the thought of him touching her was still intolerable. He held himself under rigid control, which she knew by his tense jaw and the longing she saw in his eyes when she would catch him in an unguarded moment. Yet her own desire did not stir, which made her fear it never would.
By the end of the third week, she had grown accustomed to Lachlan sitting so near her at supper that she could feel his heat and smell his essence, but he never sat so close that he brushed against her. He was always awake and waiting for her in the morning, and he was always the last person she saw at night before she retired. He would stand silently at the bottom of the stairs and watch her go to her bedchamber.
On the last day of the first month, when he was not waiting for her after she awoke, she set out looking for him because she longed to see him. He had given her a sense of safety with his presence, and she had come to rely upon the fact that he was always there. But would he always be there? If she could never conquer her fear, would he not tire of her?
This worry gnawed at her, stayed with her, and compelled her to demand to practice the sword with Dermid in an effort to prove to herself she was not weak and was growing stronger every day. She did much better than she had hoped, countering several forceful blows, and when the match was over, and she handed Lachlan back his sword, his fingers brushed her hand as he grasped the sword and then sheathed it.
A shiver rippled through her from his touch, but it was one of pleasure. The shock of the feeling made her gasp. Lachlan’s gaze held hers as he reached out slowly, gently took her hand with his, and intertwined their fingers. She did not speak. She doubted she could, as all her emotions seemed to be lodged in her throat. She watched him, wondering if he would say something, feeling the heat of his hand searing hers. He swallowed audibly, and she understood then that he was as overwhelmed by their touching as she was.
His fingers curled around hers just a bit tighter, and he silently led her away from the house and into the woods, where he found a spot for them to sit. They sunk to the ground together, twined hands lying between them, and her heart hammering with hope and anticipation of what could possibly be.
“I love ye,” he said breaking the silence, his voice rough with emotion.
“I love ye, too,” she whispered, feeling the simple joy of uttering the words.
His body burned for her, a physical gnawing need, but he’d cut off his hands before ever touching her before she was ready. The moment his fingers accidentally brushed hers when he took his sword from her and she did not flinch or pull away, his body had cried in triumph. The hours of simply holding her hand gave him pleasure like he had never known. To be able to do something he had worried might be lost to him was a gift.
Lachlan could not keep his eyes off Bridgette that night. It was as if the simple act of touching her hand had weakened the control he had maintained since arriving at Culdrich. After dinner, when she suggested they walk and he placed his plaid over her shoulders to guard her from the cold, he forced himself to pull away, but as he did, her hand came to his arm and stilled him.
“Dunnae,” she whispered shyly. “I want to feel yer arm around me.”
He wanted that, too, but God’s teeth, he was afraid his desire would overcome him if he touched her again. “My hold on myself is nae strong presently. Give me a moment,” he said, walking ahead of her into the moonlit night and down to the loch. Near the water, the breeze blew but failed to cool the heat of his yearning for her.
She came up to him and stood facing him. She was very close, closer than she had willingly come to him since she had been seized. “What about now?” she whispered. “How is yer control?”
“A wee weak thing,” he admitted.
A grin he had feared he would never see again flashed on her face. “Let go of yer control. I’ll be yer strength as ye have been mine.”
He arched his eyebrows, and she nodded. Strands of her fiery hair swept across her face, and slowly, with a trembling hand, he reached up, brushed the strands away, and then carefully tucked them behind her ear. He glanced at her to see if she’d flinched, but she had not. She watched him with wide eyes. Her teeth had caught her lower lip between them, and he wondered briefly if it would be too much for her to trail his fingers to her lips and simply touch them.
As if she read his thoughts, she said, “I will tell ye nay if I wish ye to stop.”
He nodded before brushing his fingers across her warm lips, need tightening his loins, and he could not hold back any longer. “Bridgette,” he whispered hoarsely, his heart thundering. “May I kiss ye?”
“I’m scairt,” she whispered. But she did not pull away.
“Aye, m’eudail, so am I.”
She raised her fingertips to his mouth. “Give me a new memory, Lachlan. As ye did that day so long ago in the woods.”
He drew her gently to him, slid his hands into her hair, and cupped her head. For a moment, he simply reveled in the heat of her closeness, the silkiness of her hair between his fingers, her scent of heather encircling him, and the trust she was once more offering him. He brought his lips to hers and brushed them ever so gently across her mouth.
When she moaned and moved nearer, the desire to once again taste her, claim her, remind her of what was between them, rushed through him in hot waves. He forced himself to go slow and let her reaction lead him. Every touch of her lips to his was a treasure. He pressed his lips once more to hers, then gently covered her mouth with his.
Bridgette’s heart pounded, at first with fear and then desire. Lachlan’s kisses sang through her veins and beat back the darkness, shedding new light with each caress, each nip. He kissed her gently, like a breeze in the summer, and his care allowed her to abandon her worries and simply melt into him.
When his tongue gently slid across her upper lip and then lower lip, and then tentatively touched the crease between, she opened her mouth to allow him entry. The joining of his mouth fully to hers gave strength to her weary soul and awoke the desire she had thought was forever gone. A ragged moan ripped from deep within her, and when it did, Lachlan’s lips became more demanding, more urgent, more passionate.
With every slide of his tongue into her mouth, he claimed her back bit by bit, and the horrors she had lived through receded to a shadowy corner in her memory. His hands roamed her back and down over her bottom, and in turn, she explored his chest, his arms, and his face, burning the feel of him once more into her brain.
When his hands moved to cup her breasts, her body froze, unaccustomed as it was to allow such intimacy anymore, and he immediately pulled back. She caught his hands and pressed them to her breasts. It was the moment for her to decide. She could choose fear or faith, and God’s teeth, Lachlan gave her faith. He always had.
“I want ye to destroy the memory of his hands on me with the memory of yers. I’m ready. I’m weary of being afraid of myself and of ye. I dunnae need to fear ye. I ken this.”
She felt his body tremble at her words, and that she could affect this man, who was so strong, made her feel strong. With every word he said, every touch, he gave her back the power Colin had stolen from her, and Lachlan instilled in her the belief that, together, they could face anything.
His fingers gently glided over her breasts as he spoke. “If at any moment ye wish me to stop simply say the words.”
She nodded, and then she reached down and pulled off her gown and léine and bared herself to him, body and soul. He quickly undressed, laid his plaid on the grass, and gently lowered her to it. “What if one of the men comes?” she asked, only just then thinking upon it.
He shook his head. “I threatened them with death if they simply thought of coming outside.”
Bridgette chuckled as she ran her hand down his chest and over the hard muscles of his stomach. Sweet desire quickened her heartbeat and her breathing. His body twitched beneath her fingertips as she trailed them lower over his hip bones, then down to the juncture between his thighs. He was very ready for her by the feel of him—painfully so.
Heat pooled in her belly as need slowly warmed her body, made her breasts grow heavy, and tightened her core. “I will nae be afraid anymore,” she said aloud, both for him and for her.
“Nay,” he agreed. “Give yer fear over to me now and let me destroy it.”
A cry of relief wrenched from her lips as she crushed her body to his and let the thundering beat of his heart become one with hers. His hands came to her slowly, roaming with tentative care over her arms, shoulders, neck, belly, and chest. He splayed his large hands over her heart and stared into her eyes.
“What are ye doing?” she whispered.
“I’m thanking God for bringing ye back to me,” he said before he brought his mouth to hers in a slow, thoughtful kiss. She knew he was restraining himself, so she opened her mouth and invited him to take what belonged to him.
He growled as their tongues met, tangled, and met again. Hunger filled his kiss, and the caress of his lips on her mouth set her body to flames. His kisses became more demanding, and her body cried out with the wish to meet his need. He seared a hot path down her neck with his lips as her hands clutched at the bulging muscles of his thighs. His mouth grazed over one breast and then the other, and when he pulled up, she would have screamed out a protest but he captured her mouth once more, and without words he branded her as his.
She felt her knees weaken as he moved to her breasts and suckled hungrily as if she were all he needed to live. Each time he drew her into his mouth, her desire built until she was arched toward him, gripping his head to her breast, nearly sobbing. His tongue circled her nipples teasingly, and when she thought she could take no more, he lay her back on the plaid and parted her thighs, then immediately disappeared between them.
The first gentle slide of his tongue to her tender, swollen flesh made her scream with pleasure. As he gave to her with abandon and tender care, she relinquished herself as he’d asked. All her fear was left in the wake of her love for him. He took her first to the heights of pleasure with his tongue, and then when she begged for him to do so, he entered her with care.
Holding himself perfectly still above her, he looked into her eyes. “Ye are mine.”
“I’m yers,” she gasped as he slid out slowly to his tip, only to come back in with sweet ease and fill her completely.
“Ye will always be mine,” he said, repeating the delicious, torturous movement.
“Aye,” she agreed on a ragged breath while pressing her palms to his muscular back.
“Nay matter what occurs, nothing can part us. Do ye ken me? We will always overcome. Together we are strong.”
“Together,” she agreed. “Now stop this teasing and take me.”
It seemed to be all the invitation he needed. His hands delved under her and hoisted her body up, and he moved deep within her. They came together in explosive passion, two lovers almost lost but now reunited again, and together they found the tempo that bound them for eternity. Their bodies moved in exquisite harmony until they both cried out, finding release as one.
He melted against her, heavy and hot, and her world was filled with him. She lay with him atop her, utterly secure and nearly drowned in a flood of freedom from the past. Slowly, she succumbed to the numbed sleep of one who had been through a great ordeal and survived.
When she awoke, early-morning light greeted her. Lachlan’s plaid was tucked around her body. He had wrapped her in it but left her arms out. She turned her head and found him lying on his side staring at her arm, which was tilted up to show the cauterized scar. She moved quickly to flip it over, but he reached out and stilled her.
“Let me hide it,” she insisted.
“Nay,” he replied in a stern but loving tone.
“That was given to mark me as his,” she said, as if Lachlan needed reminding.
“Aye, it was. But it marks ye as braw. And it serves to help us keep in our hearts and heads that there is nae a thing we kinnae face and conquer together.”
Love surged within her as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “I love ye, Lachlan MacLeod. I have since the day ye kissed me in the forest.”
“And I love ye, and have since the day ye let me kiss ye in the forest. Now ye must let me do another thing…”
She quirked an eyebrow in question.
He brushed a hand down her cheek. “Let me be yer husband. Marry me.”
“Och, aye. To be sure, I’ll marry ye.” She patted her belly. “I may well be carrying yer bairn after last night.”
He leaned down and kissed her stomach. “I hope so, m’eudail.”