Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors) (9 page)

‘I sent her to
Dougal’s
, to take him some oatcakes. I said that I’d watch
wee Gracie.’ She must have seen the laird’s look of horror. ‘Just to talk,’
Mrs
Moffat said. ‘I thought it might be nice for them to
have a wee bit of time to get to know each other. There will be no mischief -
Bridie’s a good girl.’

But she was
talking to the slamming door.

The laird ran to
the stables and, as he did, he saw again in his minds eye the stick being
raised to the dog. There was a mean side to
Dougal
and he did not want Bridie alone with him for even a minute.

He mounted his
horse, did not wait for the other men to escort him, his only thought to get to
Bridie. Alasdair charged out of the castle and towards the village, taking a
short cut across a field, the hooves tearing at the soft heather, still hoping
he might catch Bridie before she got there.

He kicked his
horse faster and there was mounting urgency as he kicked him further on for he
did not want Bridie alone with
Dougal
.

‘You didn’t fight
before…
’ 
Dougal
was
tearing at her clothes, his anger building, for last time she had just lain
there. Why now, when she was soon to be his, did she fight?

He knocked her to
the ground and she felt his great weight over her, he was pushing up her kirtle
as Bridie bit his cheek. It was like her nightmares, but worse, for there was a
face to them now and there was no laird to wake her and to tell her she’d be
safe. No laird to tell her that it was just a dream but then for Bridie there
was the relief of his voice - the laird’s voice and he was roaring and savage
as she’d never heard him.

‘You filthy
animal…’ He bellowed as he hauled
Dougal
off just in
time.

‘You can have her
after.’
Dougal
didn’t care it was the laird, he just
wanted back. ‘This time I’m going to be fir…’

He didn’t even
finish the word, Alasdair had contained his anger on so many occasions, had
held onto the spew of bile when Angus had been the one to deal with William
Hunt, but he contained nothing now – all that trapped fury was unleashed
in one brutal punch. A mountain of a man was no match for Alasdair’s rage, his
fist slamming into the stone of
Dougal’s
jaw and
felling him like a log. Bridie heard the crack of
Dougal’s
skull as it hit the rocks around the fire and her relief at seeing the laird
faded as she
realised
what could have been and Bridie
started screaming.

‘It’s all right
Bridie.’
The Laird said, scooping her in his arms, telling
her she was safe, only still she screamed, still she fought him.

‘You’re safe,
Bridie.’ He was trying to calm her, except, seeing the Laird leave, his men had
followed and had reached
Dougal’s
home now. The sight
of warriors entering, dirks ready, had Bridie scream louder but then suddenly
she stopped.

She just gave in
then.

And the Laird
watched as, before his eyes, she went back to that place.

She was in the
turret, just staring to the hills.

Dougal
was
buried,
Mrs
Moffat told her. ‘Bridie, if I had
thought for just a moment
Dougal
had been involved…’
Her lips quivered. ‘I guess he fooled us all - but not the Laird.’ She kneaded
Bridie’s shoulders. ‘Come on lassie,
dinnae
go back
there, it didn’t happen again, the Laird got there in time. It’s done now.’

It could never be
done.

She could remember
it all now and just lay, staring out to the loch, remembering the lads cheering
Dougal
on.

And she wished death
would come.

‘She
disnae
speak…’ Alasdair was losing his patience with the
McClelland healer’s never ending advice to just give it time. ‘How much time?’
He demanded, for he had been patient, he had been tender, he had spoken
reassuring words, yet none of them seemed to reach her and again the healer was
saying that nothing more could be done.

Even poor Mary
tried.

‘Please Bridie,’
Mary begged. ‘I miss speaking with you.’ But when that didn’t work she tried
something else. ‘I’ve got all the rooms to make up for the ball, all the beds
to prepare…’

‘Don’t worry her
with work.’
Mrs
Moffat, addled with guilt, stopped
Mary there.

Not even Gracie
cuddling into
Bridie,
seemed to reach her.

‘Ma.’ Gracie’s
voice was so sweet and clear as she said her first word, her little hand came
and pressed Bridie’s cheek, pleading for her mother to look at her. ‘Ma!’

  Bridie
stared at her sweet
daughter,
only not even Gracie
could save her now. She would be better off with the Campbell’s Bridie thought
darkly and she turned her face from her daughter.

‘Take Gracie down
for some porridge.’
Mrs
Moffat took Gracie and handed
her to Mary.

‘Bridie, I know
you’ve been through a terrible time…’
Mrs
Moffat
shook her head as the Laird knocked and came in, her knees creaking as she walked
over to him.

‘She doesn’t want
to speak to anyone.’

‘Aye, well I’m
speaking with her.’

‘Be gentle Laird.’

‘For all the good
it’s done,’ Alasdair said.

‘She’s been
through something terrible, she does not need strong words.’ And then
Mrs
Moffat blushed, for who was she to tell the laird what
to do. ‘I’m sorry, Laird.’

‘I just want to
talk to her.’

‘She
disnae
need scolding.’

‘Bridie.’ He tried
to keep his voice even, tried to not be harsh, except he wanted to go over, to
shake her back to life, but, in this, he accepted
Mrs
Moffat surely knew best.

‘Come on, Bridie.’
He took a breath, wanted to tell of the plans he was making for them, but
didn’t know how appropriate that would be, if it was right to talk of such
things given what she had been through.

‘Bridie.’

She did not
respond.

‘You’re home is
here,’ the laird attempted. ‘No matter what the new Lady says…’ He saw her eyes
shutter and so too did
Mrs
Moffatt and the laird’s
voice was rising. ‘Bridie, will you just listen to me!’

‘Laird.’ The auld
woman stepped in and Alasdair conceded, for now his words would just have to
keep.

Bridie lay in her
bed and did not sleep, saw the moon drift over the loch and she could not stand
to wait for the sun to start its climb. Could simply not face another day.

She was no good to
anyone.

She wasn’t even a
very good servant; poor Mary had to do all her work and she brought shame to
the laird for housing an
illegit
.

All she
was,
was a burden.

Even her own
mother had left her at the burn.

The laird was to
wed, the castle would be partying soon and Bridie could not bear to hear the
sound of
revelling
.

She looked out to
the loch, to the mist over the cold dark waters and they were so tempting.

The
Campbells
were God-loving people and would not put Gracie
in harms way as Bridie felt she almost had.

Gracie would be
loved.

Bridie opened the
whisky Mary had given her to take on her wedding night and took a taste. Maybe
the water wouldn’t feel so cold with the
whisky,
maybe
she wouldn’t feel a thing?

Bridie climbed
from her bed and kissed Gracie, then took the same secret route through the
passages that she had when she’d gone looking for fox cubs.

It would all be
done with soon.

Alasdair could not
sleep.

 He ordered
hot water and lay in the bath but it did not relax. He fought the urge to go up
to the turret and speak with Bridie, to bring her back to his bed and lay her
beside him.

It would surely
terrify her though, if he did.

 Alasdair,
for once, simply did not know what to do. He climbed out of the bath and threw
a log on the fire and then paced his chamber and wondered what more could be
done?

Could he send
again for Morag, the wise woman?

Did they deal with
such things?

 He opened
the drapes and dragged in air and then he saw a flash of white in the distance
and, with his heart in his mouth, he
realised
it was
Bridie moving across the grounds. He grabbed his plaid and wrapped it around
himself as he raced down the castle stairs, knew what she was intending, for he
had seen her eyes linger too long on the loch before Gracie was born.

‘Bridie…’ He
charged into battle, the most vital he had fought, for it was a battle for
Bridie’s life.  She was waist deep in the rushes when he glimpsed her
again and he sped across his land, not slowing as he neared the water, just
striding towards.

‘Bridie!’ He
roared, catching her by the hair and spinning her round to face him. Alasdair
saw the dull of her eyes and he wanted the fire back. His mood was not tender -
he had never been more angry, not even with
Dougal
,
for he knew full well that, had he not been watching he’d have been woken with
the news that she was forever gone.

‘Bridie…’ he
hauled her back to land, shook her by the shoulders. ‘Did you not think of wee
Gracie…
’

‘Leave me…’ she
was trying to fight him off, to get back to the peace she had almost glimpsed.
‘She’d be better with me gone…’

And he could not
stand to hear it, could no longer listen to the healer who said to give it
time, or to
Mrs
Moffat’s endless warning to be
gentle.

‘I’m not biding my
time anymore.’

He threw her over
his shoulder carried her up to his chamber as she beat at his back to be freed,
and his temper had not receded an iota by the time they were there.

‘You’d throw
yourself into a loch would you?’ He sat on his bed and hauled her over his
knee. ‘You’re too dramatic Bridie, you’re too up or down. Well you’re coming
back to me right this minute - I’ll beat the life back into you if I have to,
so I will…’ He raised his hand and slapped.

Through her wet
kirtle it stung and then he slapped her again and it stung even harder. In his
chambers, Bridie was starting to
realise
the madness
as to what she had done, but if he’d just let her explain she’d say she was
sorry, that she’d been wrong to do what she almost did.

‘Laird, please.’

‘Oh, please now is
it, lassie?’

He slapped her
bottom again and saw her hands come to the back to stop him, but he brushed
them away, took them by the wrist, his elbow keeping her back firmly down.

‘Oh you don’t like
that?’ He said as she struggled.  ‘You don’t like a bit of pain… you’re fighting
now are you Bridie?’ He demanded as she yelped. ‘Well, fight some more, fight
for you life Bridie. How dare you think of leaving Gracie, leaving McClelland,
leaving
me…

‘Laird…!’ She
begged.

‘Life is painful
sometimes…’ He lifted the wet cloth, slapped her bare buttocks and she felt the
warmth and the sting and yet there was pleasure there too, for she felt his
passion. ‘I’ll
skelp
your backside, for daring to
leave me.’

And
skelp
it he did. ‘You’re not to think like that again.’ He
warned her. ‘You’re not going to the dark place, you’re staying here in
McClelland, here at your home, here with me…’

‘Laird, please…’
But the laird had not finished.

‘You will listen
to me lassie
..,
I love you, even if I
cannae
make you my wife, I will not lose you…’

‘Laird!’ Her hands
gave in defending themselves then, but happily so and as he loosened his grip
they dropped, she couldn’t breath now but for different reasons
-  for
the laird really loved her.

 ‘I love you
Bridie.’ She could hear his ragged breathing, and he turned her to him then,
pulled her fierce into his chest and held her, cold and wet in his arms, but
safe. Like a warm cloak wrapping around them, they found each other, were back
to each other and never wanting to let go.

He was hesitant at
first to kiss her, for passion roared in his veins and there would be no
stopping him. But then he was hesitant no more, for this was love and he knew
Bridie knew it and fierce was the mouth that claimed hers, there was nothing
held back in his kiss, his mouth crushing hers was met by equal passion.

She kissed him
hard back, held on to hard to his face, till he released her.