Two
The breeze blowing off the loch as the birlinn glided through the water failed to cool the flare of desire seeing Bridgette caused in Lachlan. His body burned as his eyes devoured her. He felt like a starving man who could only obtain sustenance from one source: Bridgette.
Beside him, Helena Campbell—the woman Lachlan recently pledged to marry and daughter of the distrustful Campbell laird—set her hand on his arm and squeezed. Her touch caused wary tension to course through him. “Yer home is lovely,” she exclaimed, yet her taut tone belied her words.
“Thank ye, lass,” he replied dutifully, playing the part of doting possible future husband, though he was anything but doting, nor did he intend their futures to be joined. But in the immediate present their situation was a necessary farce. For both of them, he suspected.
King David had called upon Lachlan when they were at the Campbell holding with a suspicion that the Campbell laird was plotting with David’s nephew, Robert Stewart—High Steward of Scotland and heir apparent to the Scottish throne—to stir a rebellion against David. Yet he had no proof, and he needed it to act decisively and harshly against his nephew and his allies, whoever they were.
David had not trusted Robert after the day he fled the battlefield at Halidon Hill eleven years ago and left an injured David to be captured by King Edward. And now that David had been released, it was quite apparent that he no longer intended to govern with the permission of the greatest nobles. Many of the Scottish lords disliked this greatly, as they were used to having absolute control of their own domain and, therefore, Scotland itself. There were whispers that the Campbell laird was chief among those in disagreement, though he had denied it when David bluntly questioned him.
Lachlan had been surprised—and immediately suspicious—to learn that the Campbell laird had suggested that Lachlan and Helena exchange promises to marry in the future if they found they suited. David was sure it was because the Campbell knew Lachlan was one of David’s most trusted men, and he intended for his daughter to use Lachlan to learn all she could of the king and his plans.
Lachlan had not needed any time to consider the king’s request, though David had offered him a day. He had no ties to any woman that prevented him from making this sacrifice, except his deep, impossible yearning for Bridgette. The thought of her drew his attention away from Helena, who the king had charged him with seducing if necessary. The idea of joining with any woman other than Bridgette, even one as beautiful as Helena, held no appeal to Lachlan, but he had no intention of it coming to that and binding himself to the woman for life. There were many ways to pleasure a woman without the actual joining, and in his experience from the past, women did love to talk of secrets when pleasured, though in truth, any sort of seduction of Helena did not appeal to him.
Sunlight shone down on Bridgette’s unbound hair. It tumbled over her shoulders in chaotic disarray, the red tresses a stark contrast to the simple light-colored gown she was wearing. Her fair skin glistened in the sunlight, and his loins tightened mercilessly. The months apart had not quelled his desire for her as he had hoped it might.
Graham stood beside her, an arm thrown over her shoulder, using her—Lachlan realized with a wince—as support. Graham’s gaunt face and too-lean frame stirred the guilt and remorse that usually simmered beneath the surface to a violent swirling storm inside Lachlan. Graham had almost died because of Lachlan’s desire for Bridgette. The day his brother, Bridgette, and Marion had been ambushed, Lachlan had seen them riding away from the keep and had thought then that his brother should have more men with them for protection. No one had been readily available, however, and Lachlan had not wanted to go himself, afraid his longing for Bridgette would show on his face, or in his voice, or perchance he’d allow his hand to brush hers and linger too long. Yet he had been serving as laird while Iain was away, and it had been Lachlan’s duty to set his own feelings aside—to control them at the very least—and he had failed.
He’d sworn to their mother long ago that he would protect Graham, and Lachlan’s lust for Bridgette tempted him every day to break that vow. Again.
He took a long deep breath and struggled not to look at her, but he lost the fight. Their gazes met and locked for one brief moment before Graham leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. She broke the eye contact as she turned to look at Graham. That one moment took Lachlan’s breath and left him feeling weak. He exhaled. She was dangerous for him, and she didn’t even know it. She was beautiful and bold, witty and contemplative, fearless and determined.
“Do ye think the king will make his way here soon?” Helena asked, pulling him from his thoughts of Bridgette.
He met Helena’s dark-brown eyes. “I dunnae ken,” he lied. “Why do ye ask?”
She licked her lips in what he believed was a show of nervousness. She was very good at hiding her true intentions, but she was beginning to slip the more they were around each other. “I’ve heard he took up with an English mistress while in captivity and that she’s distantly related to yer brother’s wife, which is why he helped the MacLeod retrieve her. I thought he might bring his mistress here to meet Marion.”
Lachlan laughed to cover his astonishment. “I ken nothing of a mistress or any intentions,” he lied. The fact was David did have plans to bring his mistress here, but only four people knew of those plans—the king, his nephew Robert, Iain, and Lachlan. Lachlan knew well that only Robert would betray David’s trust.
He stared hard at the cunning woman before him. “Who told ye such a thing?”
“I dunnae remember,” she said with such false sincerity that his skin tingled.
The birlinn docked, stopping the conversation, and Lachlan found his gaze drawn back to where Bridgette stood, but as his clansmen began departing the ship, he lost sight of her. He placed a hand on Helena’s back to guide her and descended the ship to cheers, claps on the shoulder, and cries of welcome. He stopped multiple times to answer questions and introduce Helena, who greeted everyone so warmly one might have thought the Campbells and MacLeods were currently allies instead of the enemies they were. He wished to warn his poor, unsuspecting clansmen and women, but he’d vowed to David—as had Iain—to tell no one of the falseness of the union, nor David’s suspicions.
Anxious to see his younger brothers, Lachlan moved Helena through the crowd without stopping again. Instead, he responded with a quickly returned greeting as he passed. Yet the thick throng made it impossible to move with much haste, which was likely good. His blood nearly heated to a boil when he thought of standing near Bridgette again. He needed a moment to bring himself under control before being face-to-face with her.
Despite the swarm of people, he found her easily. She had her arm around Graham’s waist and an intense look of concentration on her face. There could have been a thousand—nay, a hundred thousand—others around her, and he knew, in this moment, that he’d always find her. His body sensed when the fiery, flame-haired lass was near even before his gaze rested upon her. It had been that way ever since the day he’d kissed her in the forest. What he did not know, what he would never know, was if it was simply lust and admiration, or something more.
As Graham raised a hand to greet Lachlan, Bridgette turned his way. The green of her eyes darkened a shade and filled with emotion, but he struggled to put a name to it. Sadness? No. He dismissed it as immediately as it had come to him. Happiness? No, not that, either. The word tugged at the back of his mind. What did he see there in those emerald depths?
The answer struck like lightning, ripping his breath from his lungs and stilling the beat of his heart. Longing. That’s what he saw. He stepped forward, drawn by a need to get a closer look, but she lowered her thick lashes. When she raised them again, she looked in his direction, but through him as if he weren’t there.
His stomach tightened the way it did when he was preparing to take a blow during a fight. Was her longing for him?
He shoved the question back, but his thoughts battered at his control, chinked it, and slipped into his mind like a scourge that would destroy his soul. What if he’d somehow missed a sign from her and—His nostrils flared, and he clenched his teeth to silence the question. He’d looked for a sign from her long ago when he’d seen her at tournaments and gatherings, but she’d given none. It was better that way, though, for if she had, he could not imagine the torment of knowing she wanted him as he wanted her.
Thou shall not covet.
He repeated the mantra as he came to a stop beside Rory Mac and in front of Bridgette and Graham. Yet when he inhaled her spicy scent underlaid with heather, he felt dazed and weak, as if he’d drunk a barrel of mead. The sour taste of guilt filled his mouth. Despite the daily battle he fought with himself not to, he coveted. He still wanted her. It was as simple and as sinful as that.
“Lachlan,” Graham said with a curious look at Helena. “It’s good to see ye returned healthy. We were just asking Rory Mac about the battle, and he’s told us ye felled the most English knights. It seems ye were the conquering hero once again.” The bitterness that laced Graham’s words was unmistakable, and Lachlan felt a deep stab of guilt knowing Graham was angry because his injuries had prevented him from joining them in battle.
“I’m sure ye would have felled more had ye been there, Graham,” Lachlan replied.
“I dunnae agree,” Helena spoke up, surprising Lachlan. She ran a palm over Lachlan’s chest, which irritated him. What was her devious intention with this new tactic? She’d not touched him with any hint of desire before, just as he’d not laid hands upon her with the intent of a joining. Why now? He glanced at her to find her gaze locked on Bridgette. Jealousy? Helena was jealous of Bridgette! His instinct to protect Bridgette from this conniving woman reared up.
Helena tossed her hair. “My father says ye are the greatest fighter he’s ever seen, which is why he agreed to our striking a bargain to marry if we suit. I kinnae imagine any man felling more knights than ye,” Helena continued with a sweet smile. “Though—” she glanced at Graham “—I’m sure ye’re verra braw.”
“Ye’re married?” Graham asked, acknowledging only one part of what Helena had said and wrongly so at that.
“We have pledged to see if we suit each other for marriage,” Lachlan replied as his gaze moved to Bridgette, who looked very pale. “Are ye ill?” he asked her, the words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Nay,” she responded, her tone no more than a whisper. “When did this occur?”
“A fortnight ago.” He inclined his head toward Helena. “This is Helena Campbell,” he added. “And, Helena,” he motioned to Graham and Bridgette, “this is my brother Graham, and this is Bridgette MacLean.”
Helena curtsied on cue. “I’m so verra glad to meet ye both,” she cried out, giving Graham a quick hug. “And Bridgette MacLean!” She embraced Bridgette. “Of course I’ve heard of ye, seeing as my brother wished to marry ye and ye refused him. Ye hurt him,” Helena said with a pout and then a smile.
Bridgette pressed her lips together. “I was nae aware yer brother had a heart.”
Lachlan had to stifle the laugh that tried to escape. He’d not appear very doting if he laughed at Helena’s expense, no matter how foul her brother was. And the man was foul. A cheat and a liar.
Helena’s eyes narrowed slightly, betraying her anger even as she smiled brightly. “Great leaders dunnae always have the pleasure of being soft,” Helena said in a voice that was barbed yet gentle.
Bridgette looked as if she wanted to say more, but Graham spoke next. “We’re pleased to meet ye, Helena.”
Lachlan forced himself to draw his gaze away from Bridgette, who looked anything but pleased, and back to his brother. “How fare ye?”
Graham’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I fare as a cripple would, for now,” Graham said gravely before shrugging. “Riding a horse is nearly impossible because of the pain.”
The words punched one by one into Lachlan’s gut. “Graham, I’m verra sorry.”
“Dunnae be,” Graham replied, his voice tense. “I’ll be riding and walking well enough to best ye soon.”
“I’ve nae a doubt ye will. And I can help ye train,” Lachlan offered.
“Nay. I dunnae need yer help.”
Lachlan tensed, though he was used to his brother not accepting his aid. Ever since they were younger and their sister, Lena, had drowned when Graham was supposed to be watching her, Lachlan’s relationship with his brother had been strained. Lachlan didn’t blame Graham for Lena’s death; he blamed himself. He’d teased Graham the morning it happened, saying that Graham was not a good hunter, and Graham had left Lena in the loch alone while he tried to catch a rabbit.
“Ye ken Lachlan is the best rider of all of us. Ye should let him work with ye,” Rory Mac said, drawing Lachlan’s thoughts back to the present.
“I’d be more than glad to,” Lachlan tried once again, hoping Graham would accept but knowing it was a futile hope.
“If I need ye, I’ll ask,” Graham replied dismissively.
An awkward silence ensued, which Rory Mac broke by speaking to Bridgette. “I’ve nae properly greeted ye, Bridgette,” he said, giving her a hug. Lachlan watched, aware of the jealousy surging through him. He could not take Bridgette in his arms as Rory Mac just had. He could not touch her in any way, not in harmless greeting or benign parting. There was nothing harmless or benign about what he felt for Bridgette.
Suddenly, Helena took his hand in hers, and when his gaze met hers, he saw knowledge in her dark, deceptive eyes. He’d have to be very careful around her, especially when it came to Bridgette. He suspected that surrounded as he was in a castle full of people who had known him for years, Helena—a stranger—might see what others did not.
Bridgette cleared her throat. “Graham, should nae ye rest now?”
The concern in Bridgette’s voice made the already-unwelcome jealousy flow faster through Lachlan.
Graham chuckled. “Bridgette does worry over me so, but I like it.”
Lachlan forced a smile. “Do ye need aid returning to the castle?”
Irritation flashed in Graham’s eyes. “Nay. Bridgette will help me.”
Bridgette immediately slipped her arm around Graham’s waist once again. As they turned away, Lachlan’s chest tightened. Suddenly, Bridgette turned back, her gaze coming to rest on Lachlan, then Helena. “I did nae offer my congratulations. I’m sorry.”
Helena beamed. “We shall be as family in spite of ye nae marrying my brother! How strange fate is!”
Lachlan had memorized Bridgette’s happy smile long ago, and the one that came to her lips now was forced. Did she sense something odd in Helena? Or perchance it was simply that Helena was Colin Campbell’s sister, and Bridgette disliked the man that had tried to force her brother to marry her off, despite the fact that she did not want to marry Colin.
“Certainly,” Bridgette replied before turning and walking away with Graham.
Hunger ripped through him as he watched her retreating form. What he felt for Bridgette was a mad sort of lust.
Lachlan watched as Bridgette and Graham made their way slowly through the crowd. He did not blink, nor move, nor breathe until they disappeared.
“Ye’re staring at that woman,” Helena said evenly, her voice displaying only a hint of anger. It occurred to him that these words were likely the first honest ones she’d spoken to him.
Lachlan met Rory Mac’s amused gaze and then looked at Helena. “She’s a beautiful woman,” he said simply.
“I’m a beautiful woman,” she replied with ire.
Rory Mac let out a cough that did not fully cover his muffled laughter. Lachlan shot his friend, who believed Lachlan had temporarily bound himself to Helena out of lust, a warning look.
“Ye are, lass. More beautiful,” Lachlan added.
A smirk came to Helena’s lips. “Now ye’re lying.”
He quirked his eyebrows. “What makes ye say such a thing?”
She pressed a finger to his bottom lip, looked as if she was about to admit something, and then gave a false laugh. “Because I have eyes. Bridgette MacLean is the sort of beauty minstrels sing about. My brother said so and I did nae believe him, but he was right.”
“So are ye,” Rory Mac said.
Lachlan frowned as he thought of what Helena had just said. He despised the thought of her brother fantasizing about Bridgette, but more than that, he wondered if Helena being here could have something to do with Bridgette. Tension radiated through him causing knots in his shoulders and neck. He didn’t believe for a breath that the Campbell laird really wanted a union between Lachlan and his daughter, but he knew the man had wanted a union between Bridgette and Colin. The Campbell was cunning and knew that such a union would mean Alex, as Bridgette’s loving brother, would not wish to raise forces against the Campbell if the king ever requested it.
Was Helena here to get information from Lachlan, or was she here to somehow help Colin wed Bridgette? Or was it both? Until he knew for certain, he would need to keep a very close watch on Bridgette.
The idea of having an excuse to observe her both excited him and made him fearful. He would need to guard her from a distance, so as to keep the temptation she presented away.
Lachlan knew Colin was traveling with King David and that the king was making his way here, and suddenly Lachlan had a deep, uneasy feeling about it. He glanced at Helena. Somehow he had to get the information he needed from her. “I imagine yer brother was verra angry after Bridgette refused his offer of marriage. Yer father, as well, I suspect.”
A flash of fear appeared in Helena’s eyes before it was gone. She stared steadily at him, proving she was quite adept at recovering from her stumble. “Och, nay. Allegiances are made and broken every day.”
“That belief does nae bode well for our allegiance, does it?” he said, studying Helena for her reaction.
She fidgeted with her gown. “I dunnae mean us, of course,” she replied sweetly, offering a smile that did not reach her eyes. “I’m verra tired.”
He imagined she was. Being deceptive was rather exhausting.
“Are ye, lass?” he asked mildly.
She nodded. “I’m sure ye wish to visit yer clansmen. Would ye mind a servant showing me to a bedchamber?”
He noted that she’d not said his bedchamber, and he was glad of it. He’d get no rest if he had to be on constant guard with her in his room.
He caught one of the servant’s attention, a girl called Lillias who often flirted with him but with whom he had never dallied. He waved her over. “Lillias, this is Helena Campbell. We’re pledged to marry.”
Lillias gaped at him, then her mouth set into a pout. He tugged a hand through his hair, aware of Rory Mac grinning like a clot-heid beside him. “Will ye show Helena to a guest bedchamber?”
“Aye, my lord.”
As the two women turned and started to walk away, Lillias suddenly looked back at Lachlan and winked before batting her eyelashes at him and continuing on her way.
Rory Mac burst out laughing. “It seems Lillias still wants ye in spite of ye being pledged to marry Helena.”
Lachlan rubbed at the knots in his neck. “So it seems,” he replied, distracted by trying to determine how he could get information from Helena.
“What’s the matter?” Rory Mac asked, suddenly serious. “Are things unwell with Helena?”
Lachlan shrugged. The fewer lies he told the fewer lies to remember.
Rory Mac snorted. “I told Iain something about her made me uneasy.”
Lachlan froze. Did Rory Mac suspect something?
“Is she nae willing in the bed?” Rory Mac continued in his usual bold manner.
Lachlan grasped the excuse Rory Mac had offered. “She’s nae the warmest of lasses.”
Rory Mac motioned in the direction Lillias and Helena had gone. “Ye should break the pledge to Helena then and take what Lillias so clearly wants to give ye.”
He could not break his vow yet, nor did he wish to take what Lillias had to offer. The truth was that since Bridgette had come to Dunvegan as Marion’s guest, he had not had the slightest desire for another woman. It was a problem for which he had no solution. All he had was a constant ache to touch Bridgette, which was going to be his undoing if he did not master it soon.
Rory Mac snickered. “Ye learned to ignore what’s been said to ye from me, ye ken.”
“I ken,” Lachlan said with a chuckle, glad Rory Mac was not pushing for answers that would force Lachlan to lie to his friend. “And I thank ye.”