“Ye did what?” Alasdair stared at Niall, considering whether to pummel him to a pulp. He had been leaving Simon’s office when he saw Niall coming up the street toward him. His first thought was that something had happened to Bridget, since it was barely mid-morning, but Niall’s admission that he’d talked to Bridget about Isobel was almost as disastrous. “Have ye taken complete leave of your senses?”
“I doona think so,” Niall answered nonchalantly, although he took care to stay well out of Alasdair’s arm-swing range as they walked down the street. “Bridget deserved to ken.”
“Ken what? That is the problem. We have nae proof that Isobel has done anything but act like a damn saint in Glasgow.”
“Isobel would singe any angel’s wings she got close to, more like,” Niall said wryly.
“That may be, but we doona have proof,” Alasdair replied. “The day after the ball, I gave Simon the list of men who’d attended and asked him to find out what he could, especially about the ones Isobel conversed with at length. All he could come up with was comments that some of the wives who handled the charities dinnae like Isobel. Such gossip is hardly enough to act on.”
“Gossip sometimes has an element of fact to it,” Niall said. “The more important question is why do these ladies nae like her? Given they work with charities, I would think they would have more charitable thoughts.”
Alasdair shrugged. “Who can say? The matrons could be jealous.”
“Maybe they have cause to be,” Niall answered. “Maybe the wives suspect Isobel is nae so innocent as she acts.”
“I doona think Isobel innocent, but Simon was nae able to get any information about her taking up with any mon. Would that he had. ’Twould be the ammunition I need.” Alasdair shook his head. “Some of the men have mistresses, but Simon hadn’t heard a word of anyone bragging about Isobel.”
“Ye need to have faith in Lachlan’s instincts, that things will work out for ye,” Niall said. “’Tis what I told Bridget too.”
Alasdair halted and eyed his brother. “Just what else did ye tell Bridget?”
A look of apprehension crossed Niall’s face and he took a step back. Alasdair grew suspicious. Niall was not one to back away. “What have ye said?”
“Nothing that was nae the truth.”
Alasdair narrowed his eyes. “What would that truth be?”
Niall gave him a wary look. “That she would make a good wife for ye.”
Alasdair felt his mouth start to drop open and snapped it shut. The urge to put his brother on his arse was overwhelming, shadowed only in some dim recess of his brain that Niall had just admitted he was not courting Bridget. Alasdair had won that battle, except the real fight wasn’t with his brother. The real competition was between himself and Bridget’s deceased husband.
“Ye are completely barmy,” Alasdair said when he regained control of his temper. “Bridget has been a widow but a few months.”
“Six,” Niall said promptly. “She told me.”
Alasdair frowned. “What difference does that make? Her widow’s year is nae up. She needs time to grieve.”
“Not every widow needs a year,” Niall responded. “Bridget told me that too.”
The urge to plant Niall on the ground returned. “Ye must have had a verra good conversation. What else did Bridget tell ye?”
Niall grinned. “Are ye jealous, brother?”
“Doona tempt me to wipe that grin off your face.”
The grin widened, and Alasdair clenched his fists. Niall was getting very close to being hurt. “What else did she say?”
Niall eyed Alasdair’s fist and his grin lessened, although a small smile remained. “Nae need to be so ill-tempered, brother. The good news is that Bridget’s marriage was arranged by her clan and Brodie’s. ’Twas amiable, but she said that he would nae want her to grieve further.”
Alasdair unclenched his fists, a sudden sense of euphoria sweeping through him. He felt a silly smile forming.
Niall watched him and then shook his head. “Ye are as besotted as a green lad.”
“I am nae—”
“Aye, ye are, but here is more news. I am nae such a fool that I cannae see that Bridget loves ye, although why is a mystery to me.” Niall turned to walk away. “I will leave ye with that thought.”
Alasdair stared after him. Could it be true? Bridget loved him? Could the kisses they’d shared have meant as much to her as they did to him, and it wasn’t simply her body reacting to need? He wanted to find out.
* * * * *
Bridget looked around the boarding house’s dining room table that evening and hoped nobody struck a match, since it felt like she was sitting in the midst of a powder keg about to explode.
Owen MacLean had arrived this afternoon, presumably to discuss financial arrangements for investment in kelp on Eigg. That he’d made his way to Mrs. Ferguson’s establishment on the recommendation of two of Alasdair’s brothers didn’t sit well with either Alasdair or Niall. Bridget was pretty sure both of them thought Gavin and Braden had made the recommendation to irritate them. Which they probably had. As luck would have it—and Owen did seem to have more than his share of luck—one guest had departed that morning, leaving a room available. Alasdair hadn’t been too pleased that Niall had not snapped it up. But the crowning thorn in this thistle batch was the arrival of Isobel just as they were about to sit down to eat. She had invited herself to stay and now sat between Alasdair and Owen. Niall had pulled out a chair for Annie and then sat down beside her, a move that left Annie looking wary.
The room fairly crackled with tension. Bridget could almost feel it slithering across the table like a snake about to strike.
Annie must have been blissfully unaware of all of it. “There seems to be a lot of interest in the kelp trade recently. Is that why ye choose to invest in it, Mr. MacLean?”
“Aye,” he said with an easy smile, “but please call me Owen. May I call you Annie?”
“Ye have just met the lass,” Niall said.
Annie gave him a sharp look and then turned to Owen. “Do ye have your own shipping line as well, Owen?”
“Nae. Once I have the financial arrangements made, I plan to visit both MacLeod and Henderson lines.” He glanced at Niall and then back to Annie. “And perhaps a third as well. However, business can wait. May I say that you have lovely eyes, Annie?”
“Miss Ferguson does nae care for sweet talk,” Niall said.
“I never said that,” Annie replied and turned to Owen. “Thank ye.”
Bridget heard something close to a growl come from Niall, and Alasdair’s mouth twitched, although his amusement stopped when Isobel laid a hand on his arm and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“Some women appreciate a compliment,” she said to him.
“I am sure most women do,” Alasdair answered and flicked a quick glance at Bridget, “although I find women who do not seek out such flattery rather interesting.”
Bridget felt her cheeks warm. Alasdair’s remark didn’t warrant a response from her, and it was probably better to stay silent given Isobel’s peevish look in her direction, but a pleasant feeling of warmth surged through Bridget anyhow.
“Miss Howard, you are dressed as stylishly as ever,” Owen said smoothly. “I assume that is the latest fashion?”
Isobel preened, her irritation momentarily forgotten as she adjusted the puff to her sleeves. “Why, yes it is. The modeste on Buchanan Street said this gown just arrived from London days ago.”
“Few women can resist a new dress,” Owen said.
“Actually, I have ordered a number of new things,” Isobel said and looked directly at Bridget. “I have to prepare my trousseau for my wedding.”
Bridget felt her cheeks warm again, although this time not in a pleasant way. She caught Niall’s warning glance and remembered what he’d said. A muscle twitched in Alasdair’s jaw.
Owen looked from one to another of them. “When is the wedding?”
“Soon,” Isobel said.
“That has not been decided,” Alasdair countered.
“Ah,” Owen said. “There seems to be some confusion.”
“No confusion. My brother will make that decision,” Niall said and eyed Isobel. “If he decides to.”
She blanched and then colored. “That decision may be closer than he thinks.”
“Enough!” Alasdair’s tone was not loud, but it brooked no dissention. “This topic is closed.”
But was it? Bridget started to reach for her wine but decided against it since her hand was shaking. If Isobel was with child, there would be no decision to make at all.
As if heaven had heard Bridget and decided to answer that the possibility might be real, Isobel clutched her stomach, moaned, and slipped sideways in a swoon.
* * * * *
Hell fire and damnation. Alasdair’s temper was barely contained the next morning as he got dressed. Had he committed such a grievous sin that God had sent Isobel to torture him? Perhaps Satan had adorned himself in the guise of the blasted woman. Alasdair had seen the hurt in Bridget’s eyes before she’d looked away last night. The look had haunted his dreams. Or perhaps nightmares was a better choice of term.
To complicate his misery, Isobel’s swoon—that he would wager was staged—had caused her to spend the night at the boarding house and share Annie’s room.
A light knock sounded on his door, and he frowned, wondering if it was Isobel. She was the last person he wanted to see this morning. He’d told her he would see her back to her aunt’s this morning, but damn it, it would be on his time. Alasdair knew Niall had taken Bridget to the marine office, so it couldn’t be her knocking. Alasdair sighed and stomped to the door, anticipating a confrontation with Isobel.
Annie stood in the hall when he opened the door. She wore such a somber expression that his anger vanished. “What is wrong? Has something happened to Bridget? Did Niall come back—”
“Niall is not back. Bridget is fine,” Annie said. “May I come in?”
Alasdair stepped back to allow her entrance. “Do ye want me to leave the door open?”
She shook her head and blushed slightly. “Please doona take that the wrong way. I just have something I must say without other ears hearing.”
Alasdair nodded, closing the door. “What is it, lass?”
She looked highly uncomfortable. “I…doona quite ken how to put this. ’Tis nae something a woman talks about to a man.”
Since Annie wasn’t the type to act coy, he was confused. “Is it Niall? Did he say something to offend ye?”
She shook her head quickly. “’Tis nae Niall, although the mon can be irksome.”
Most women didn’t think so, but Alasdair was beginning to suspect there might be more interest behind that remark than Annie would admit to. Still, it was not his business. “What is it then? Just speak plainly. I willnae judge.”
“Ye ken Isobel shared my room and my bed last night.”
“Aye” He didn’t want Isobel in his bed either. “’Tis sorry I am about that.”
Annie shrugged. “Perhaps it was for the best.”
Now Alasdair was thoroughly confused. “I doona understand.”
She hesitated another moment and then took a deep breath. “This morning when Isobel arose to do her ablutions, I noticed blood on the sheet where she had lain. I made the bed quickly so she wouldn’t notice.”
Alasdair stared at Annie as comprehension soaked in. “Her courses?”
Annie nodded. “’Twas nae much, but enough. Isobel is nae with child.”
He refrained from picking Annie up and twirling her around. He doubted Annie would appreciate it. He wanted to shout his jubilation to the entire world, although sticking his head out the window and yelling the MacDonald victory cry probably wouldn’t be the best thing to do. He was free. At least partially. The relief at knowing he had not sired a child with the woman was staggering.
“Do ye want me to save the sheet?” Annie asked.
“That might be a good idea,” Alasdair said, thinking that it was somewhat ironic that displaying blood on sheets was usually to attest to virginity, but this would be proof if he needed it. “I cannae tell ye how grateful I am ye noticed the blood.”
Annie gave him a little smile as she moved to the door and opened it. “’Twas strange actually. I had been dreaming of sitting on a rock in a glade near a burn, enjoying the warmth of the sun. When I looked up—in my dream—an old woman stepped out from the trees across the water. She pointed down to where a whirlpool began to form. The center of it was red though, and the sky suddenly grew dark. That’s when I awoke and looked down at the sheet and saw the blood.” Annie gave a little shiver. “Do ye think it could have been a faerie who invaded my dream?”
Alasdair felt the same shiver. Annie had just described the place in the hills near Arisaig. He didn’t know of any faerie mounds near the place, but the Highlands were rife with stories of the Fae, so it was better not to be too skeptical. “I doona ken, Annie.”
“Well, who are we to question?” Annie said philosophically. “I have another piece of good news though.”
Alasdair pulled on his coat. “What is that?”
“Mr. MacLean offered—insisted might be more accurate—to escort Isobel back to her aunt’s. She is gone.”
Alasdair couldn’t help grinning. Another problem solved. And if MacLean was interested in Isobel, he was more than welcome to her.
* * * * *
Isobel stepped into the rented hack and gave the driver instructions for an obscure hotel bordering the East End. She wished Gordon would have chosen a better establishment for their rendezvous, but he had explained he didn’t want her reputation ruined by possibly being seen by someone of importance. It made sense, she supposed, although she was still suspicious of his motive.
She wouldn’t have to be making this trip at all if the seed of one of the damn fools she’d lain with had taken. But no. This morning when she’d gotten back to her aunt’s townhouse, she’d discovered her courses had come, despite taking that foul-tasting potion the old crone had said would work. Fie. Isobel couldn’t trust anybody.
Especially not that loathsome Owen MacLean. She’d been waiting for Alasdair to come down to escort her to her aunt’s when Owen had appeared and said he’d like a private word with her. Since he had been watching her at dinner last night, she’d naturally assumed he’d changed his mind and wanted to arrange for an assignation. Spreading her thighs for one more man was a small price to pay. Owen had wealth and ambition, and she could have used such a social connection.
Instead, he had issued a warning, perhaps even a threat. It had been subtle and mixed with stories of Highland pride that she had to listen to, but the message was still clear. If she cuckolded Alasdair, not only would the MacDonalds unite behind him, but the MacLeans and MacLeods as well.
She didn’t really care about all that clan nonsense since she had no desire to live anywhere near Scotland once she married Alasdair, but she was troubled that Owen was trying to sniff out a scandal.
Not that she should have anything to worry about. The men she had taken for lovers all had considerable influence and status. Not one of them would acknowledge any kind of liaison since they had too much to lose. It was precisely for their affluence that Isobel had chosen them in the first place. None of them wanted their wives to find out and possibly risk divorce, since it was becoming more common, and more importantly, the potential loss of wealth that came with it.
No, her secrets should be safe.
The carriage stopped in front of the shabby hotel and the driver, probably not impressed with the neighborhood, didn’t jump down to help her out. Isobel opened the door and kicked the steps down to descend. She paid the driver and deliberately left the steps down so he would have to get off his bench anyhow.
Isobel heard him mutter a curse, but she didn’t look back. Gordon would be waiting. She didn’t know if it was possible to get with child while she had her courses, but she wanted to keep a weekly dalliance going with Gordon.
After all, she was running out of time.
* * * * *
Although Alasdair didn’t want to gloat, especially since he thought some form of non-human intervention had played a part in finding Isobel not with child, he still felt euphoric as he made his way to Walker’s the next afternoon.
Last night, he’d asked Bridget and Niall to join him at a secluded table in the back of the dining room and he’d told both of them what Annie had discovered. Bridget had given him such a radiant smile that he’d been tempted to take her upstairs, tear off their clothing, and spend the entire night coupling with her. His desire must have shown, because Niall had clapped him so hard on his back that he’d spilled half his ale. His brother said it was congratulatory, but Alasdair also understood what wasn’t said. He was not quite a free man—yet.
Several of the same men he’d met the last time he’d come to Walker’s greeted him, but one was a stranger.
“This is Baron Ross,” the colonel said as he introduced the man. “He is lord of Hawksnest, County Renfroe.”
The man’s handshake was firm, but it was his hawk-like gaze that impressed Alasdair the most. His eyes penetrated, as though he searched the depths of the soul hidden behind a man’s outward façade. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. MacDonald,” the baron said without preamble. “Perhaps we could find a table?”
“Aye. Wherever ye wish to sit,” Alasdair replied. He noted that after the baron had chosen a corner table, the other men gave him curious looks. Two took chairs close by only to move after the baron glanced at them. Apparently, Baron Ross wielded a great deal of authority.
“Would you like a whisky?” he asked.
“Nae, thank ye.”
“Brandy then? Ale perhaps?”
“Nae,” Alasdair said again. “I prefer to keep a clear head during the day.”
“As do I,” the baron said.
Alasdair had the feeling he may just have passed some kind of test. Some time later, he was sure of it. For almost an hour, the baron grilled him on everything from the working conditions surrounding Arisaig to Glasgow’s unions striking, and the lingering acrimony between England and Scotland. At the end of the conversation, he asked about Alasdair’s family and said he’d met Erik Henderson on several occasions. Then the baron took his leave.
Colonel Boothe joined Alasdair a short time later, a small smile lifting a corner of his mouth as he set down two tankards of ale. “You look like you could use this.”
“Aye.” Alasdair took a big swallow and allowed the liquid to soothe his parched throat. He hasn’t realized how much talking he’d done.
“Baron Ross is not a man to mince words,” the colonel said. “Did you find him intimidating?”
Alasdair shook his head. The man had interrogated him like a prisoner, but he hadn’t felt intimidated. But then, he was a MacDonald. “Baron Ross was direct. I like that in a mon.”
“Good.” The colonel took a swallow of ale and set the tankard down. “He will be the one to sponsor you in Parliament.”
“He will help me acquire the number of votes I need?” Alasdair asked.
“In a manner of speaking. The baron’s constituency allows for two representatives. One of those is quite close to receiving pension. Once that occurs, it’s simply a matter of the baron collecting the votes from his people. That poses no problem.” The colonel paused. “There is one other thing, however.”
“What is that?”
“Baron Ross believes in fidelity.”
Alasdair blinked at the sudden change in subject. “So do I.”
The colonel took another sip of ale. “The baron is one of the few happily married men that I know.”
A touch of uneasiness stirred inside Alasdair. It had probably been obvious at the ball that he was not besotted with Isobel. Had he spent too much time watching Bridget and been observed? Did the colonel think Alasdair was probably already cheating on his betrothed? Of course, Alasdair hoped to rectify that issue. Still, he didn’t want the colonel to think Bridget was the kind of woman to be someone’s mistress.
“I am nae a mon to stray. Nor would I trifle with another woman’s affections.”
“No, I suppose you would not.”
The colonel looked like he wanted to say more. He coughed, then cleared his throat, after which he surveyed the room, a strange expression on his face.
“What is it ye are getting at, Colonel Boothe?” Alasdair asked. “I would ask that ye just speak plain.”
The colonel cleared his throat again, looked up at the ceiling, then down at his ale. Finally, he met Alasdair’s gaze. “Before I say anything, I want you to remember dueling is outlawed, however much it might be the right thing to do.”
“Dueling? Why would I wish to duel with ye?”
“Not just me.” The colonel took a deep breath. “Probably half a dozen men in this room have had intimate relations with Isobel Howard.”
“What?”
“I will not give you names because, as I said, dueling is outlawed. Still, I think before you accept a seat in Parliament, you should know that Baron Ross will not approve of your betrothed’s past, should he find out.”
Alasdair forced himself to remain seated, although what he really want to do was a full rendition of a Highland jig. He had to be sure he had heard correctly. “’Tis a serious accusation. How do ye ken that Isobel has had…relations with these men?”
The colonel eyed him warily, probably wondering how many weapons he carried “It is a serious accusation. I would not say it if it were not true.”
Alasdair put his hands on the table to show he had no intention of drawing any of the knives he had tucked away. “I would hear the truth.”
Colonel Boothe took another deep breath. “About three years ago, Lord Kinney—an elderly lecher who passed away a year ago—noticed Isobel Howard at a charity event. He thought it would be grand sport to entice and deflower a vicar’s daughter. When he approached her and offered coin, he was surprised at how eager she was to accept. The old fool bragged to a friend that the girl was willing to do whatever he asked. For enough coin, of course. Soon the friend wanted a sample. Then he passed her on to another. And so it went.”
Alasdair stared at Colonel Boothe. Why had Simon not heard of this? “Did that nae create a scandal?”
The colonel shook his head. “The men involved knew, or at least thought, they had a good thing. Lord Kinney introduced Isobel to a healing woman who kept her from getting with child and also kept the pox away. The fewer men who knew about Isobel, the better. Besides, everyone had status or a position to protect.” He paused. “I am sorry. I understand you want to defend her honor.”
Alasdair didn’t want to do anything of the sort. He was tempted to go around the room and shake the hand of every man in it, but they’d think he was a barmy Highlander for sure. He couldn’t help grinning though. He’d just been handed all the information he needed.
The colonel watched him apprehensively. “You are not exactly reacting as I would have thought.”
Alasdair’s grin widened. “Nae? Ye doona ken how much I have wanted to break the betrothal. Now I can.” He stood and looked around the room, which had grown silent. “Thank ye,” he said and walked to the door. “Thank all of ye.”
* * * * *
“What vicious lies!” Isobel declared a half hour later when Alasdair confronted her in the parlor of her aunt’s townhouse. “Lies! Why would you even listen to such dribble?” She sank to the sofa and began to sob. “How could you believe such horrible lies?”
Alasdair remained standing. He had no intention of staying any longer than needed to finish this. “Because I suspect what I was told is truth.”
“Oh!” She threw a pillow that bounced harmlessly off him. “How can you insult me this way?”
“I have nae wish to insult ye. I came to tell ye this betrothal is broken.”
“You cannot go back on your word.”
Alasdair set his jaw. “I can if my oath was given to false circumstances.”
“You lied to me then.” Isobel put a hand over her stomach protectively. “What if I am with child? I have not been feeling well in the mornings. I have not had my courses either.”
“Ye are the one who lies, Isobel.”
She glared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Blood was found on the sheets ye slept on. ’Tis proof ye doona carry a child.”
“That was Annie’s blood, not mine.”
“I doona think so.”
Isobel studied him, her eyes as cold as a winter’s frozen burn. “Are you not forgetting about your sister? All I have to do—”
“Ye will do nothing.”
She arched a brow and smiled. “You think not?”
He regarded her much as he might a gambler at a poker table. “Ye forget, Isobel, that I will soon be a Member of Parliament, thanks to your efforts.” Alasdair grinned at the irony. “If any of the wives of the men ye cuckolded were to hear of those affairs, ye can rest assured ye will never receive a single invitation to any Society event. Ever.”
“Those men will turn their backs on you.”
“Rumor is an insidious creature, seeping in below stairs as easily as a cockroach. Servants are wont to talk.” Alasdair shrugged. “No one will ken the source of how the gossip spread.”
Isobel narrowed her eyes. “That would hardly be honorable of you.”
“Where ye are concerned, honour left the room long ago. I will do what I must.” Alasdair turned toward the door. “This is finished.”
“Do not turn your back on me!” Isobel shrieked. “This is really about that bitch Bridget MacLeod, isn’t it? You want to—”
“Ye leave Bridget out of this.” Alasdair turned around and ducked as a china figurine hit the wall behind him. “I am nae marrying ye.”
“You dreadful, horrible man!” Isobel narrowed her eyes to mere slits. “You will be sorry you did this.”
“I doona think so,” Alasdair said, taking care to keep an eye on her lest she throw something else as he backed into the hallway. “I will show myself out.”
Something else crashed against the wall as he left, but he didn’t look back.
He was going to find Bridget and tell her that he was free at last.
* * * * *
“You know neither Alasdair nor Niall want you leaving the marine office without an escort.” Gustav Fredrickson frowned at Bridget as she got ready to leave with Annie for an afternoon meeting of the LP club. “There will be the devil’s dues to pay.”
“Maybe Niall can face the devil for us,” Annie retorted. “’Twould be an even match.”
“That is not the point. Men are riled up. There has been talk in the taverns ever since your group attacked the weavers’ union last week.”
“We dinnae attack them,” Annie said. “We simply stood outside the Trades House with signs that we women were ready to work.”
“And take away the jobs from men who need the money to support families? That is how they see it.”
“Then they should come to agreement and return to work,” Annie replied. “Besides, what would be wrong with us working alongside them?”
Gustav looked heavenward. “You might as well ask why you cannot live at Holyrood Palace.”
“Pish. Why would I want to put up with the prince regent and his gaggling courtiers and fancy women?” Annie asked. “Now, if I could land a seat in Parliament like Alasdair is going to do—”
“That is nae final,” Bridget intervened. “Alasdair said he was meeting with the colonel and some other men this afternoon.” She smiled at Gustav. “We will be back before Niall arrives to escort me home. Doona fash.”
Gustav didn’t look convinced, but at least he didn’t argue as they left. Since Gordon hadn’t returned from the rather long lunch he’d taken, at least Bridget didn’t have to put up with his smirk. She secretly suspected he applauded whenever she left, but they had reached a truce of sorts. They didn’t speak unless they had to, and the invoices she had to check were always stacked in a neat pile on the edge of his desk. She would have liked to have gone over the actual ledgers as well, but she was biding her time. As was obvious from what Gustav had just said, men didn’t think women should be seeking any kind of equality and Gordon was a prime example of such thinking.
But she didn’t want to waste her thoughts on Gordon when her heart was full of joy that Isobel was not carrying Alasdair’s child. Bridget had been hard pressed to remain seated when Alasdair had given them Annie’s news last night. Happiness had welled up inside her like a rushing burn about to flood its banks. Even now, she had a hard time keeping from grinning like a fool.
She smiled and said hello to two men standing on the sidewalk as she and Annie went into the tearoom near Glasgow Cross. That they didn’t respond didn’t affect her mood at all. Let the rest of world be surly. She was in too good a mood to care.
Bridget even waved away the customary dram of whisky that the group started their meetings with. She wanted a clear head to completely recall Alasdair’s words of last night, even though she’d replayed the scenario numerous times.
Aileen opened the meeting with a summary of how successful she thought their stance at the Trade House had been last week, and Fenella proposed doing another one, which met with hearty applause, but Bridget scarcely listened.
She was aware Alasdair was not a free man yet, but the burden of impending fatherhood had been lifted. There had to be some honorable way for him to break off the betrothal, even if there wasn’t evidence of a scandal. According to her brother’s and cousin’s wives, both of whom were English, it was not unheard of for a man to withdraw his offer, albeit with a sizable amount of funds to add to the girl’s dowry. Did Alasdair have that kind of money? Bridget had never thought about his financial situation. In the Highlands, honor, integrity, and loyalty were more important than coin.
“Are ye listening at all?” Annie whispered.
Bridget felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. She’d hardly heard a word said. “I—”
“I dinnae think so,” Annie said and winked. “I ken where your thoughts are.”
Bridget’s cheeks grew hot, not from embarrassment this time, but from desire for Alasdair. Desire she had kept under wraps for so long it threatened to explode like steam from a kettle whose lid had been left on too long. She could hardly wait to see Alasdair and find out how his day had gone.
“So we are in agreement that we will keep our presence at the Trade House?” Aileen asked the group.
Bridget forced herself to focus. While she would love to remain in her warm cocoon of what the future might hold, the world around her was real. These women were real. Their ambition to better women’s lots in life was real. She hadn’t joined the group last week since three ships were awaiting loading, but now she nodded along with the rest of the group.
“I am glad to see ye will be joining us, Bridget,” Aileen said. “Right now, ye are the one woman in our group who is working a job that normally a man holds.”
“I have nae thought of it that way,” Bridget answered. “My father made sure my sisters and I had educations and that we put them to use.”
“Ye are one of the lucky ones,” Aileen replied.
“I will make more signs,” Fenella said, “so it doesnae look like we are just repeating ourselves.”
“Although persistence is a virtue,” Cora remarked and everyone laughed.
“The men might call it stubborn,” Diedre said, causing more laughter.
The meeting ended on a merry note. Annie, as treasurer of the group, was settling the amount of the bill so Bridget waited for her. According to the clock on the mantle, she had a good thirty minutes before Niall was due at the office. More than enough time to walk back.
Annie tucked the change into her reticule as she and Bridget walked out the door onto the sidewalk. The sky had turned overcast while they had been inside, and a cool, damp breeze threatened rain.
“We’re going to have to hurry if we doona want to get wet,” Bridget said as they started to walk. They’d nearly reached the corner when the two men she’d noticed earlier stepped out from the indented entryway of a building.
“That’s the one,” the first man said, pointing at Annie. “She’s the ringleader of that damn group.”
The second man grabbed Annie. She pushed at him, attempting to get away.
“Let her go,” Bridget said.
“By whose orders?” The first man asked. “Who do ye think ye are? Boudicca?”
“Let her go,” Bridget said again, pulling the second man’s arm as Annie continued to struggle.
The first one grinned, revealing missing teeth. “Well, now. I like a lass with fire. Maybe ye should come too.”
He reached for Bridget, but she sidestepped him and reached down to pull her knife out of her boot. Before she could grasp its handle, she felt a heavy fist alongside her head and pitched forward, the world fading into darkness.