Six
Bridgette dreamed of her and Lachlan. Then she dreamed of Lachlan and Lillias. Lastly, she dreamed of Lachlan and Helena. She awoke with a start and jerked upright in bed. She blinked and realized immediately that she had been crying in her sleep. Angry at herself for weeping over a man who obviously lusted after all women, she swiped at her damp cheeks and rubbed her wet eyes dry. Lachlan was the devil, and she refused to be tempted and tormented by him any longer.
She dragged herself out of bed and padded over to her window. She leaned forward into the narrow space to peer out the small pane of glass. She was glad to see that the sun was coming into the sky. She didn’t want to continue to lie in bed and think of Lachlan. She was going to fill her days so full that there would be no time for images of the green-eyed Scot to fill her head. She made haste through her morning routine, yanked on her gown, and rushed downstairs determined to find some suitable task to take her attention for the day.
Perchance she’d offer her assistance in the kitchen. She started toward the kitchen with that idea in mind, but when she passed the great hall, she stopped at the sight of a group of men gathered there. Rory Mac raised a hand to her in greeting. She peered into the room and did not see Lachlan, so she went in and approached Rory Mac.
“What are ye men preparing for?” she asked.
“A bull intent on defending its young has gone wild and stabbed one of our men in the arse as he was traveling home through Portree, and it stabbed another in the leg. Iain has ordered us to find the bull and kill it.”
“These are the men going with you?” she asked, an idea forming in her mind.
“Aye.”
“Perfect!” she exclaimed, realizing how odd her words must have sounded when Rory Mac frowned at her. She scrambled to think of how to explain. She certainly could not reveal she wanted to have time away from Dunvegan and that devil Lachlan. “I dunnae see a marksman better than me in yer group, so I’ll join ye.”
Rory Mac’s mouth fell open in a gape. “Ye? Join us?”
Bridgette clenched her teeth in frustration. “I am better with the bow and arrow than most men. I can take the bull out from a distance without anyone being endangered.”
“Ye’re a woman,” Rory Mac said, his tone and scowl showing that she’d not swayed him.
She arched her eyebrows at the clot-heid Scot. “And they say ye’re nae observant.”
Rory Mac narrowed his eyes. “I’m observant enough to see that ye’re a soft woman and, therefore, could nae ever outshoot a man.”
Her temper boiled, but she managed to force a smile she hoped looked sweet and not murderous. “Who is yer best marksman attending the hunt?”
“Me,” he replied, his tone and expression smug.
“If I outshoot ye, will ye let me join ye?”
“Certainly,” he replied with a grin that said he didn’t believe she had any chance of doing so.
Not long later, Bridgette stood in the courtyard surrounded by six of the men going on the hunt and Alanna, who had wandered up as the party was making its way outside. Rory Mac stood beside her, and they both were preparing to shoot.
Alanna winked at Bridgette and then patted Rory Mac on the arm. “Dunnae fash yerself. When Bridgette triumphs, I’ll still think of ye as braw.”
Rory Mac glared at Alanna, who threw her head back and laughed. “Bridgette will nae trounce me,” he said.
Alanna set her hands to her hips. “De ye care to make a stake, husband?”
Bridgette’s palms started sweating. She didn’t doubt her ability to outshoot Rory Mac, but what if she made a mistake and he bested her this time? She didn’t want Alanna to suffer for it. She subtly tried to catch Alanna’s eye, but the woman was staring too intently at her husband to take note of Bridgette.
“What sort of stake do ye propose, wife?”
“If Bridgette beats ye, then ye will get up with the bairn tonight when she wails even after I’ve fed her, and I’ll get some sleep.”
“But I’m a man.”
Alanna’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I ken that well, husband. If ye’re scairt…”
“I’m nae scairt,” he growled. “When I best Bridgette, I also want to claim a prize.”
“What might that be?” Alanna teased.
“Ye have to pledge nae to ask me ever again to get up with the bairn in the night.”
Bridgette’s stomach coiled as Alanna laughed. “That’s yer prize, is it? A fine thing that says about ye that ye dunnae wish to hold yer own bairn when she’s distressed,” Alanna mocked even as she smiled.
“I wish to hold her,” Rory Mac growled. “In the day hours.”
Suddenly Alanna grabbed Bridgette by the arm and tugged her away from Rory Mac. When they stopped, Bridgette turned to look into her friend’s serious eyes.
“Dunnae fail me, Bridgette.”
Bridgette jerked her head in a nod, swiped her sweaty palms on her gown, and moved to retrieve her weapon. She could hear the murmurs of the men and women who had stopped near the courtyard upon seeing the group gathered. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and her heart picked up a beat.
Lachlan was near. She knew it before she searched the area and found him. He stood at the door of the castle with Iain and Marion, who were talking to each other. She felt his stare through her flesh and bone. The knowledge of his presence made her nervousness increase, yet she managed to step forward when bid to do so, raise her bow and arrow, and focus on the target that hung on the tree at the edge of the courtyard.
All she had to do was make sure her arrow lodged into the target first and hit the bull’s-eye perfectly. She inhaled the air, heavy with excitement, tension, and the underlying smell of the loch. She noted the breeze blowing from the west and positioned her body to best use the breeze to help carry her arrow the fastest. Her steady inhalations and the thump of her heart filled her ears, but the call to shoot, when given, pierced through the sounds, and she let her arrow fly with a prayer.
With bated breath, she watched her arrow soar through the air beside Rory Mac’s and tried to distinguish which arrow would reach the target first, but they were so close it was difficult to tell. A thud resounded in the silence, followed by another, and then Neil, who had taken up position by the target, called out, “Bridgette is the winner!”
Her breath exhaled on a rush as Alanna let out a yelp of excitement and hugged her. Murmurs rose up around Bridgette once again, and as soon as Alanna released her, she immediately looked to where Lachlan had been standing and saw that he, Iain, and Marion were making their way to her.
Rory Mac stepped in front of her. “Ye had to have used deceit.”
Alanna smacked him on the arm. “Dunnae be a clot-heid. Woman or nae, she’s better than ye with the bow and arrow. Ye were too stubborn to admit that, but now ye must.”
“My finger slipped,” Rory Mac grumbled.
“Och,” Lachlan said, stepping up beside Rory Mac. “From where I stood yer fingers did nae appear to slip.” Bridgette’s breath caught at the nearness of him. His russet hair was unbound and grazed his powerful shoulders, and his eyes gleamed with an emotion she was having trouble placing. He turned his gaze on her, raking her from head to toe, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment before he looked away. The moment was long enough for Bridgette to realize what she’d seen in his eyes: pride. The shock of the knowledge made her tremble. Unlike the other men around her, Lachlan was proud of her for besting Rory Mac. How could he be so wicked as to kiss another woman after kissing Helena last night and then be so good-hearted today in his freely given acceptance and admiration of her skill. Lachlan confounded her.
“What was the contest for?” Iain asked, sliding his arm around his wife and pulling her close. The obvious consuming love on both their faces made Bridgette’s heart ache with longing. She’d never have that. She forced the melancholy thought from her mind and answered Iain. “Rory Mac and I made a stake. If I could best him, he pledged to let me join the hunt as I requested.”
Iain scowled at Rory Mac. “Ye should be shamed,” he growled. “I’ve taught ye well nae to underestimate yer opponent. That includes a woman. Have ye forgotten that my mother was a warrior who could best many a man?”
“Nay,” Rory Mac grumbled.
Iain cocked his head as he stared at Bridgette. “Would ye be willing to help Rory Mac and Lachlan train the younger boys in shooting?”
“I-Iain!” Rory Mac sputtered.
“Silence,” Iain said, his tone stern.
Bridgette’s heart squeezed with happiness. “I’ll be happy to do so,” she quickly replied in case he changed his mind.
“The men will nae like this,” Rory Mac insisted, and several of the men behind him nodded and offered their dislike of the idea.
“The men will do as their laird commands, or they’ll answer to me,” Lachlan said, a dark look settling on his face.
Bridgette felt a flutter in her heart for Lachlan’s championing her that vexed her greatly. What was the matter with her that she could still have feelings for a man who had given promises of a likely future to a woman to whom he did not intend to be faithful and who was the brother of the man who would one day soon be her husband? She really needed to pay some coin to Father Murdock for her wickedness.
Rory Mac scowled but jerked his head in a nod.
Alanna grinned at her husband. “Ye men and Bridgette better make haste to hunt the bull.”
“Bridgette’s nae earned her place on the hunt yet,” Rory Mac answered.
Bridgette glared at the obstinate man. “I have, and ye ken it.”
“Nay.” He shook his head, a sly look coming to his face. “When ye asked me who the best marksmen was attending the hunt, I understand now I was boastful and wrong. Lachlan is the best marksmen, so truly, ye should best him to be allowed to come.”
“What?” Bridgette gasped. “That’s nae fair!”
Rory Mac cocked an eyebrow. “If ye’re scairt…”
Bridgette’s gaze flew to Lachlan, and his knowing green eyes met hers. He could best her and he knew it. She knew it as well. And blast Rory Mac! He comprehended it for certain, and he also comprehended she could not decline without looking as if she was scared.
Yearning seemed to be Lachlan’s constant companion these days. As he glanced over at Bridgette, whose eyes held a world of misery, the need to soothe her made his hands shake. He fisted them quickly and then flexed them. No one seemed to notice anything unusual except Iain, who narrowed his eyes and gave a subtle shake of his head.
Lachlan turned his gaze away from whatever Iain was trying to tell him and back to the target being set up in the distance. He was glad for a moment to bow his head and prep his bow without anyone seeing his face or reading the indecision there. He could easily best Bridgette, yet he couldn’t. He was more skilled to be certain, but causing her pain and shame by besting her and taking away her chance to hunt the bull, would kill him. Yet, neither did he want her endangering herself by joining the men on the hunt.
If he let her win the contest, he would have to shadow her on the hunt, and it would be torturous to be so near her. And he still had the problem of how to let her win without it appearing obvious. If he was not careful, Rory Mac or one of the other men would see through what he’d done.
He was still contemplating how to accomplish helping her when she swatted at a bee buzzing around her ear, and an idea occurred to him.
As he readied his bow and arrow for the match, he was acutely aware of her beside him. She gracefully raised her bow and lined her body for the shot, and he found himself holding his breath in hopes that she’d have the best one she’d ever had.
He withdrew his arrow and readied his bow as everyone watched. The bee was nowhere in sight, which was ill luck for certain. Yet he would not alter his course. He drew the arrow all the way back as Bridgette did the same. Then Rory Mac gave the call to release, and just before Lachlan complied, he cursed loudly and smacked at the left side of his neck. The arrow released, flew through the air, and lodged into the target a moment after Bridgette’s and to the left of her arrow, which had hit the center perfectly.
“Bridgette won!” Alanna gasped.
Rory Mac groaned.
Bridgette’s eyes rounded wide, and then a glorious grin lit her face and brightened her eyes. Lachlan’s chest tightened at the sight of her joy, which made all the teasing he was going to have to endure worth it.
“How could ye miss that shot?” Rory Mac demanded, coming to stand directly in front of Lachlan, his ruddy brows dipping together in a fierce frown.
Lachlan scrubbed at his neck, hard, to ensure it would be red. “I was stung by a bee! I could nae help it.”
The men around him guffawed, but he didn’t care. Rory Mac glared at him, and Iain gave him a disbelieving look. Rory Mac shook his head. “I’ve seen ye split arrows when ye’ve been shot by one or stabbed with a dagger, and ye mean to say a wee beesting made ye miss?”
Lachlan narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I dunnae mean to say anything. I’ve said it. And that’s the end of it. I lost. Bridgette won. She may go on the hunt.”
Marion stepped forward and gave Lachlan a long look he did not care for. He adored Iain’s wife, but she was keen, meddlesome, and a good friend of Bridgette’s. The three of those things together made him uneasy.
“Ye should let me see yer beesting,” Marion said sweetly.
“There’s nae a need,” he quickly replied. “It hardly pains me.”
Marion nodded as she moved toward him, an obstinate gleam in her eye. “That may be so, but sometimes people can have strange reactions to stings. I’ll be able to tell if ye’re going to by simply looking at the place where ye were stung.”
“It’s nae troubling me,” he insisted more firmly.
“Let her look at ye,” Iain demanded. “She’ll fret over ye the whole time ye’re gone, and I’m the one who will have to listen to it.”
Marion playfully smacked Iain on the arm as she advanced on Lachlan until she was standing beside him. With no way to deny her without it seeming odd, he lowered his head so she could see his neck. Marion suddenly exclaimed, “This is the worst beesting I’ve ever seen!”
Lachlan jerked his head toward her, and her gaze met his. Laughter swam in her eyes, but when she looked away from him and toward the group, he noted that she made her expression somber. “Bridgette, come see what ye think of this beesting.”
Lachlan glared at Marion. She knew very well he wasn’t stung, so why was she calling Bridgette over? Was she vexed about only just learning the truth about him and Helena? She had not seemed overly annoyed this morning. He’d rose early and sought Iain out telling him about Helena’s questions about the Fairy Flag and Lachlan’s suspicion that part—or all—of the reason she had been ordered to pledge to marry him was to learn the location of the flag and steal it. He’d then told Iain his idea of seeing if Marion could mix a potion that would loosen Helena’s tongue so they may possibly learn something from her, and Iain had agreed it was a good idea. He had even decided they should tell Marion the truth about Helena immediately so she could mix the potion and help keep a watchful eye on Helena.
Marion had seemed surprised but not angry. In truth, she had grinned and exclaimed her relief. Marion had assured him she could fix a potion if she could find the herbs she needed. Once everything had been decided, the three of them had waited in hiding for Helena to appear, and she had not disappointed. The woman was most definitely seeking out the Fairy Flag.
“I’ve been teaching Bridgette some about the healing arts,” Marion said, which pulled him back into his current problem. “We had a lesson not too long ago on stings. I want to see what she has learned.”
He shrugged, trapped by his own deception. Bridgette approached slowly and stopped beside him. She tilted her head, and their eyes met. “I’ll need ye to bend to me,” she said, her voice coming out husky.
Having her so close, knowing her hands would soon be on him, sent jolts of lust through his body. Every muscle hardened, and his blood hummed. Behind Bridgette, the men were moving away as Iain ordered them to ready for the hunt. Lachlan bent his head toward her, glad his face would be hidden. When her warm fingertips grazed his neck, his breath released in a harsh exhalation, and a shudder coursed through him. The subtle intake of her breath whispered in his ears, and her fingertips curled harder against his skin as she moved them over his neck in search of a wound that was not there.
“I dunnae see the sting,” Bridgette murmured, her fingers gliding over the skin of his neck in long, torturous strokes.
“It’s right there,” Marion said, giving his neck a hard poke. “See where the stinger went in?” She sounded so sincere, but Lachlan knew it was a pretense. She was a gifted healer, and he didn’t have a doubt that she knew he’d lied about being stung, but that did not mean she knew why he had lied.
Bridgette leaned closer to him, her heat teasing him and her scent tantalizing him. Her soft, full breasts brushed his arm, and he had to cough to cover the groan of wanting that escaped him. Her fingers rubbed back and forth, then paused suddenly. She inhaled sharply, and he jerked his head up in time to see a knowing look pass between her and Marion.
Marion turned quickly and scampered away, leaving Lachlan standing alone with Bridgette. What was Marion about? Surely the woman was not meddling with the intent of bringing him and Bridgette together? Marion had to know such a thing could never be so.
“Why?” Bridgette asked, her voice an awed whisper.
“Why what?” he asked slowly, wondering if she meant why had he feigned a beesting or if she was possibly referring to what she had likely witnessed last night in the courtyard between him and Helena and then him and Lillias. Bridgette, unlike Marion, thought he really did desire Helena.
“Why did ye let me win the contest?”
“Because,” he said, swallowing, “I could nae bear to see ye hurt.” He gently removed the hand that still lay upon his neck, each passing moment his desire growing from her touch.
A crease puckered between her russet brows. “I dunnae understand ye, Lachlan MacLeod. One minute I believe ye to be good and honorable, and then I believe ye to be pure wicked. Then ye do something to make me believe ye are honorable again.”
She’d seen him for certain last night. She cocked her head. “So which is it?” she hissed. “Are ye honorable or nae?”
His throat ached to tell her he was honorable, but it would be folly to do so. He wanted her, and he felt more certain than ever that she felt the pull to him, too. If her fight to deny her feelings was even a small portion of his own fight to deny what he felt for her, the wisest thing to do would be to let her hate him.
He stepped back, putting a distance between them. “I’m honorable when I choose to be,” he offered lamely.
Her eyebrows arched, and her lips pressed together. “Yer answer tells me ye’re nae honorable at all. Shall we hunt?”
He nodded.
“Do ye need to bid Helena farewell first?”
Helena was trapped, much to her irate protest, helping Alanna in the kitchens again today, and Marion intended to force Helena to embroider later, so he did not have to concern himself with her whereabouts for the day. He shook his head, knowing it seemed odd not to speak, but he could not have even if he had known what to say. Anger had risen in his throat and was close to choking him. What Bridgette thought about him should not matter to him so. He could not comprehend why he could not rid himself of the desire he felt for this woman, knowing how very wrong it was.