If he didn’t stop grinning like a complete eejit, Shane’s bookkeeper, Mr. Vann, was going to think Alasdair had gone completely barmy.
And I may very well have, Alasdair thought as he walked toward the MacLeod office, barely missing stepping on acorns that lay scattered across the sidewalk from one of the oak trees that lined the street. Odd that they were falling so early this year.
Alasdair felt as though he had never been with a real woman before and, at the same time, that every woman he’d ever taken pleasure with had simply been preliminary preparation for what he’d felt with Bridget.
He couldn’t even begin to describe the shared passion from last night. Not that he had any plans to put such things into words, and especially not for the benefit of his brothers. Niall had already given him several smirky looks this morning, probably more to goad him than to actually want to know what had taken place. Hell, it was probably obvious to anyone who occupied a room on the second floor what had happened. But what no one did know—nor was anyone going to find out—that Bridget had been a virgin in his bed. Alasdair was still stunned by that discovery. His own introduction to the pleasures of coupling had been at the hands of a girl several years older than himself who had not been shy. He had never deflowered a maiden. He thanked God he’d developed enough skill over the years that he’d been able to bring Bridget to ecstasy several times. He planned to repeat last night’s performance just as soon as they got home this afternoon. Let Niall smirk.
“Good morning, Mr. MacDonald,” the bookkeeper said as Alasdair entered the office. “What brings ye here?”
“Good morning.” Alasdair had been so caught up in his thoughts of Bridget he’d almost forgotten why he had come. “I saw the Sea Lassie docked yesterday. I was wondering if Robert Henderson had sent a message along with its captain.”
Mr. Vann shook his head. “No message from him, but a lad did come in a little while ago with a note for Bridget.”
“For Bridget? Why would he bring it here?”
“The name probably. Her full name was on the front and the sign outside says MacLeod. The lad dinnae look overly bright.”
“Did ye keep it?”
“Nae. I told the lad where to take it.”
“Do ye ken who it was from?”
Mr. Vann’s face turned pink. “Aye. I took a look. I probably should nae have, but the message was nae in an envelope, just folded—”
“Never mind that,” Alasdair said. “Who was it from?”
“A man named Owen MacLean. Do ye ken him?”
“Aye.” Why was MacLean sending notes to Bridget? If the man thought to have designs on Bridget, he had another thought coming. One that might include Alasdair’s fist to his head. “What did the note say?”
“That he had some private questions and wanted Bridget to meet him by the Sea Lassie.”
Private questions? The man’s arse would be bouncing off the quay when Alasdair caught up with him.
“Thank ye,” he said and stomped out, almost slipping on an acorn at the bottom step. It was a good five minute walk to where the Sea Lassie was berthed, but he doubted it would give his temper time to cool. Another acorn dropped from the tree, this time hitting Alasdair on the head. He gave a muffled curse. Was a squirrel attacking him? He wasn’t in the mood for such antics.
To heck with walking. The sooner he faced off with Owen, the better.
Alasdair began to run.
* * * * *
Bridget ducked just as the heavy sack flew over her head and landed with a loud plunk in the water. Before she could straighten, she felt someone crash into her side. She fell dangerously close to the edge of the dock and managed to roll a few feet before her leg was caught and she was dragged backwards. Bridget flailed her arms, trying to find something to grab hold of, but her hands only scraped wood and she felt a splinter pierce a palm.
She managed to flip onto her back and use her other leg to kick at her opponent. The boy’s cap was pulled so low she couldn’t see his face, but why was a dockhand attacking her? Bridget kicked again, this time her foot landing in the boy’s midriff, causing him to stumble back and release her leg. Bridget sprang to her feet at the same time the boy’s cap fell off and Isobel’s long, blonde hair came down.
“Cat fight!” someone called. Within seconds, dockworkers appeared from warehouses, forming a circle around the two women. Bridget heard wagers being called out, but she could only focus on Isobel.
“Why are ye doing this?” Bridget asked, keeping her gaze centered on Isobel.
Isobel lurched forward and Bridget sidestepped. “Tell me why ye are doing this,” she said again.
“You know why,” Isobel said between clenched teeth. “You tried to steal my husband from me!”
More wagers exchanged hands as Isobel began to circle. Bridget turned with her, keeping her weight balanced evenly. “Alasdair is nae your husband.”
“Because you stole him, you damn bitch! You were determined to make my life miserable. You came to Arisaig to take him from me. You cannot have him. He is mine.”
Bridget didn’t reply as she turned slowly in a circle to keep Isobel in front of her. Anything she said would probably only provoke Isobel, and Bridget didn’t want Isobel losing what little grip she might still have on sanity.
Isobel narrowed her eyes to mere slits. “Why could you not just have gone into the water and drowned? You would have made my life so much easier.”
Bridget didn’t respond, wondering if she should shout out to the men making wagers that this was more than just one woman angry at another. She saw the madness in Isobel’s eyes, but they didn’t. They would probably just increase their wagers instead. She had her sgian dubh, but reaching for it would only escalate the situation.
Isobel stopped circling and smiled. Bridget eyed her warily.
“Sally tried to steal him too, but I got rid of her.” Isobel said and suddenly pulled a wicked-looking stiletto from its sheath hidden beneath her loose shirt. “Now I will get rid of you too.”
The split second that it took Bridget to comprehend what she’d just heard was too long. Isobel rushed her, knife held high, its tip pointed down. Bridget lunged sideways, crouching low to avoid the knife. She managed to grab hold of Isobel’s wrist and tried twisting it back when suddenly Isobel’s hand went limp and the knife clattered to the ground. Her eyes widened and she moaned as she slumped to the ground.
Bridget kicked the knife away, stepped back, and looked up. Alasdair was striding toward her, looking like a stone god come to life. He bent and pulled his dagger from Isobel’s shoulder, and the next thing Bridget knew, she was in his arms.
A place that felt like heaven after having just been through hell.
* * * * *
“Tell us everything,” Annie said, two hours later when Bridget and Alasdair finally returned to the boarding house, bringing Owen along with them. “One of the boarders came back with the news that a fight had broken out on the wharf, but we had nae idea ye were involved.”
“Bridget was near killed,” Alasdair said, taking a long swallow of his whisky before setting the glass down. They’d spent the last hour and a half with the magistrate, giving statements. Even though they had been assured Isobel would be under police guard while a physician attended to her, Alasdair and Bridget had gone to the gaol to make sure she was locked in a cell. Isobel had spit and hissed like a cat at the sight of Bridget and then had abruptly started crying and begged Alasdair to take her home. The confrontation had lasted less than five minutes, but Alasdair knew it had shaken Bridget and she was near collapse. Mrs. Ferguson had taken one look at Bridget’s pale face and hustled all of them to her private parlor at the back of the house. Now that Bridget was curled up on the sofa beside him, fortified with a glass of warm, mulled wine, Alasdair finally felt he could take a deep breath and relax. Bridget was safe, but he still kept one arm protectively around her shoulders.
“What in the hell happened?” Niall asked, taking a healthy portion of his own whisky and narrowing his eyes as he turned to Owen. “And what part did ye play in this, MacLean?”
Bridget shook her head. “Owen dinnae have anything to do with it.”
“Aye,” Alasdair reluctantly agreed. “The mon was used as a foil.”
“If I had known I was being used, I would have gone straight to Bridget and warned her,” Owen said. “I had no idea she would be on the quay by herself.”
Niall still looked wary. “I knew one of us should have stayed to protect—”
“Doona start lecturing now,” Annie retorted. “Let Bridget talk.”
Bridget gave them a wan smile. “The danger was nae from the men on the dock. Who knew that Isobel held such hate?”
“Lachlan sensed it. We should have heeded his instinct,” Alasdair said, “but I had nae idea the bit—the woman was capable of murder.” He tucked Bridget closer to him. “Forgive me.”
“Ye doona need to apologize,” Bridget replied. “I had nae idea either.”
“At least she was nae successful,” Niall said.
Alasdair looked at Bridget and then at his brother. “Actually, Isobel was.”
Niall frowned. “What do ye mean? Bridget is bruised but alive.”
“Isobel killed Sally,” Alasdair said.
“What?”
“She said as much to me when she pulled her knife,” Bridget added. “Two of the dockhands placing wagers were close enough to hear it.”
“Too bad ye dinnae kill her then,” Niall replied. “’Twould have been fitting.”
“At the time, all I wanted to do was get Isobel to drop the knife,” Alasdair said. ‘The easiest way was to strike her shoulder.”
“I am glad ye dinnae kill her,” Bridget said. “She will now spend years in prison instead.”
“Where she belongs,” Niall said.
Annie nodded. “’Tis fitting. When she gets out, she will be an auld woman.”
“And one not likely to attract men with her flirtations and manipulations,” Owen said. “No one in the society she wanted to be a part of would even think of receiving her.”
“Her ambitions will have come to naught.” Alasdair let his hand slide from Bridget’s shoulder down her arm, fingers stroking lightly. “Bridget will be the woman by my side when I accept the seat in Parliament.”
“I assume you are planning to marry her first?” Owen asked wryly.
Alasdair felt too good to even be offended. “As soon as I can get a special license. That had been my plan for today, but—”
“We are already handfasted,” Bridget said. “’Tis enough for now.”
“Aye,” Alasdair said and brushed a strand of her hair aside before he leaned over to kiss her unbruised cheek. “For now, lassie, for now.” He tilted her chin to brush her lips with his. “Tomorrow you will become Mrs. Alasdair MacDonald. Forever.”
Bridget closed her eyes and smiled. “Forever.”