Rogue of the Moors Read online

  “A guest,” Alasdair answered firmly before Bridget could respond. He bit back a grin as her hazel eyes flashed at him. Her bright red hair glowed like fire, and he suspected it matched her temper at the moment. He liked spirited women. They were usually equally passionate in bed.

  He sobered. Bridget had only been widowed a few months. She had come to visit her sister because she needed a change. No doubt she mourned her husband greatly. Brodie Cameron had been a good man. Alasdair didn’t need to be thinking of taking the man’s grieving widow to his bed.

  Although right now, he doubted grieving was on her mind. She looked like she wanted to slap him. Or maybe punch him, since she clenched a fist at her side.

  “I would like ye to meet my mither, Joanna MacDonald,” he said to Bridget and then turned to his mother. “This is Bridget MacLeod, sister to Shauna.”

  Bridget gave him a last look that made him think she wasn’t going to meekly accept the situation. However, her voice sounded pleasant as she greeted his mother.

  “’Tis good to meet ye,” Bridget said. “I actually plan to stay at my sister’s—”

  “Och, she’ll be gone a good fortnight, maybe more,” Joanna replied. “Nae reason to stay alone when we’ve plenty of room. Half my lads went to Skye with Robert.”

  Alasdair gave Bridget a triumphant smile, which she didn’t return, and carried her trunk inside. “I will just take this upstairs.”

  “Really, I doona wish to impose—”

  “Ye are nae trouble,” Joanna assured Bridget. “I’ve raised ten lads and a daughter. Now come inside.”

  Alasdair deposited Bridget’s trunk in the room between his own and his sister Margaret’s. His twin brothers normally occupied it, but they were on Skye. His conscience niggled at him. There were empty rooms on the third floor. Apparently, the good sense God had given him was gone, and he wasn’t finished being a fool just yet because he wanted to have Bridget close to him. He could almost hear the Fates plotting his demise.

  That is, if Bridget didn’t beat them to it. The way her eyes had sent sparks at him gave him the idea she might try. He chuckled and hurried back downstairs. His smile vanished as he went through the doorway to the parlor. Three of his unruly brothers—Braden, Gavin, and Niall—were already seated, anticipatory looks in their eyes as they focused on Bridget. All three of them were notorious for wooing lasses. Why couldn’t Robert have taken them to Skye? Alasdair answered his own question. Probably because Robert didn’t want to start a clan war. Lasses seemed attracted to these three like flies to molasses.

  Bridget appeared unperturbed by their intense gazes. Alasdair noted she’d wisely chosen a chair instead of the sofa. Good choice, given how quickly his brothers, especially Niall, could move.

  “Where is Margaret?” Alasdair asked, stepping inside the room. Unfortunately, the other chairs closest to Bridget were taken, so he sat on the empty sofa.

  “She is out fishing with the lads,” Braden answered.

  “How long will ye be staying?” Niall asked Bridget.

  “Nae—”

  “Until Robert and Shauna return.” Alasdair glowered at his brothers. “Bridget is our guest and widowed just a few months.”

  Although they muttered sympathies, they looked only moderately chastised. Perhaps he should be more clear. “I doona want to find any of ye sniffing at her door.”

  “Speak for yourself brother,” Gavin drawled. “I heard her trunk drop in the room next to yours as I came down.”

  Bridget made a strange sound, close to a hiss. Alastair thought it better not to look at her. He had hoped to ease into that bit of information regarding her room’s location. Right now, he wanted to box Gavin’s ears. Alasdair hadn’t heard him in the upstairs hall, but then people didn’t usually hear Gavin approach since he had a talent for stealth. “I put her next to Margaret’s room.” His defense sounded weak, even to himself.

  All three brothers grinned.

  Damn them.

  Bridget listened to the interchange between the brothers as she studied a watercolor on the wall depicting the nearby mountains. The artist had chosen to paint the scene during the gloaming, shading the base of the range in greys that created long shadows. Various hues of lavender, pink, and purple indicated the unique twilight. The mountain peaks were lost in swirling haar, giving the whole picture a mystical feeling. She would like to trek up a trail and find an isolated spot to enjoy the beauty.

  Instead, she sat in a parlor full of MacDonald men. Bridget pretended to keep studying the picture although she watched them covertly. She’d forgotten how big and imposing they all were, like medieval warriors of old. They looked wild with their long dark hair and bold looks. A sense of power flowed from them, much like when her brothers and cousin were in the same room. That force increased when Alasdair entered the room, leaving no doubt who was in charge. Bridget could picture him as a chieftain dressed in a kilt, seated on a dais meting out law and order and brooking no rebuttal.

  It didn’t require much imagination, given that Alasdair had taken over and decided where she would stay. She didn’t like being told what to do. Even worse, Bridget suspected Alasdair thought she was a helpless, dependent widow not able to make her way in the world. She’d try once more to make him understand.

  “I appreciate your mither’s invitation, but I cannae impose for more than a night. In the morning, I’ll go to Shauna’s.”

  Alasdair folded his arms across his wide chest. “Nae.”

  “Aye,” Bridget said.

  “Ye will stay here until Robert returns.”

  Bridget frowned. “As your prisoner?”

  Gavin, Niall, and Braden sat back and began grinning again.

  Alasdair paid them no mind. “Ye are under my protection until your brother-by-marriage returns.”

  “I doona need your protection.”

  “That is for me to decide.”

  The man was as stubborn as Ian. “Ye cannae order me about.”

  “Consider it an invitation then.”

  “Invitations can be turned down.”

  “In some cases. Nae this one.”

  Bridget tried not to sputter, but her temper was rising. With an effort, she managed to keep her voice calm. “Are ye always so arrogant?”

  “Aye, he is,” Braden said.

  “Would ye like for us to beat some sense into him?” Niall asked Bridget.

  “He might be more willing to listen to ye if we do,” Gavin added.

  Alasdair glared at them. “If ye numbskulls do nae cease, ye will all be sporting black eyes and bloody noses.”

  “And there will be nae supper for any of ye,” Joanna said as she entered the parlor with a tray of tea and biscuits and set it down on a small table. She winked at Bridget. “My lads doona like missing a meal.”

  Bridget didn’t think anyone except a mother would call four huge, brawny men lads. However, instead of looking indignant at Joanna’s remarks, they just looked resigned. Bridget’s anger melted like butter in the sun and she stifled a laugh. She would have to remember to use lads herself.

  “What are ye all blethering about?” Joanna asked as she poured tea.

  Alasdair nodded to Bridget. “Do ye have something ye wish to say to my mither?”

  Bridget gave him a cool look. He had put her on the spot. She didn’t want to sound rude to his mother. “We were discussing the length of my stay. I really doona wish to impose when Shauna’s house is just down the street.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Joanna’s face. “And Alasdair insists ye stay with us instead?”

  “Aye.” Bridget noticed the suddenly somber faces of the brothers. “I mean…I appreciate the offer, but I am quite used to taking care of myself.”

  “She does nae ken—”

  “Enough, Braden,” Alasdair said sharply.

 
Bridget glanced at Alasdair in surprise. His face could have been carved of stone. He abruptly turned and stalked out of the room. Bridget turned back to Joanna. “I truly can take care of myself, but I doona mean to insult ye. Truly I doona.”

  “Ye are nae insulting us, dear,” Joanna said and looked at the brothers. Braden nodded slightly. “’Tis just that Alasdair tends to be a wee bit overprotective at times.”

  That was pretty much of an understatement. Maybe his sister was the coddled sort who liked having ten brothers to protect her and take care of every problem. Bridget was used to overly protective males. She’d grown up with them. But even they knew not to push too hard. “I really doona need protecting. What harm could I come to in Airsaig?”

  Joanna was quiet for a moment. “Last year there was a young woman—Sally—in the village whose father suggested she would be a good wife for Alasdair. He had paid her some court but decided they would not suit. They went for a walk in the hills one afternoon so he could tell her privately. She said she understood and that she’d like to be alone to think. He left her in a small glade near a burn.” Joanna took a deep breath. “Her body was found the next morning at the base of a cliff.”

  Bridget put a hand to her mouth. “She jumped?”

  “We doona ken,” Gavin answered. “There were bruises all over her.”

  “The magistrate even questioned Alasdair,” Niall said, “but the parson’s daughter swore she saw the other girl walking toward the village long after Alasdair had returned.”

  “He blames himself for what happened,” Joanna said softly. “If he had nae left her alone, she might be alive.”

  Embarrassment swept over Bridget. Maybe she had misjudged Alasdair, at least a little bit. Her brothers would have reacted the same way. She’d just have to figure some way to make Alasdair understand. She reached for Joanna’s hand. “I am sorry. If ye still wish me to stay, I will.”

  Joanna smiled. “Of course we do.”

  “Does that mean we can nae have a tussle with Alasdair?” Niall asked.

  His mother looked at him. “Ye decide. We are having roasted boar for supper.”

  * * * * *

  Alasdair finished checking on the horses and began walking back to the house. He contemplated missing supper. He had no doubt his mother or brothers had given Bridget the whole sordid story of what happened to Sally after Bridget had asked what harm could come to her here. He didn’t want to see Bridget studying him pensively or worse, with a look of pity on her face.

  If only he had the answer to what had happened. Alasdair ran a hand through his hair. He had replayed that afternoon last year hundreds of times in his mind. Sally had been the daughter of the smith, a biddable girl with common sense. While they had gotten on well enough, he’d always wondered if she acted pleasantly because her father had instructed her to or whether she truly liked Alasdair for himself. She’d taken his explanation that they would not suit calmly and, since she was the solitary sort who liked long walks, he hadn’t thought anything of leaving her in the glade.

  He’d never thought she’d turn up dead. Even if she’d felt offended, Sally wasn’t the type to jump off a cliff. She just wasn’t a passionate, fiery sort of person.

  Not like Bridget. Not that Bridget was likely to throw herself off a cliff, Alasdair thought as he let himself into the kitchen through the back door. She might be more wont to pitch him over the edge if she were angry enough, but he was pretty sure people always knew where they stood with Bridget. She certainly had not minced words with him. He admired that trait, blunt as it was.

  Even though Bridget might be brave and bold, Alasdair wasn’t about to leave a woman—a stranger in his town and widowed—to fend for herself. If he had insisted on walking Sally back to her father’s, she might not have died. Bridget was also kin-by-marriage since her sister was married to his half brother. He had a responsibility to protect her until Robert returned. Alasdair intended to do just that, whether Bridget liked it or not. He had the feeling she wouldn’t.

  Alasdair felt his mouth quirk as he moved toward the dining room. He always enjoyed a challenge.

  Chapter Three

  Bridget noticed that all four of the MacDonald men were seated at the table for supper. None of them appeared bruised or battered, so they must have taken their mother’s warning not to exchange blows seriously. Bridget knew men thought fighting was the solution to most arguments, but she had never understood why they would enjoy brawling simply for the sake of it. Looking at the granite set to Alasdair’s jaw made her wonder if a skirmish might not still take place.

  “We serve ourselves here,” Joanna said as she brought in a dish of vegetables and smiled at Bridget as she sat down. “Doona skimp on your servings.” She glanced at her sons. “I am used to big appetites, so there is always plenty of food.”

  “Thank ye,” Bridget said. “The boar smells delicious.”

  “Allow me to carve ye some,” Niall said, flourishing a knife with enough skill that Bridget had no doubt he’d be deadly with a dagger.

  Alasdair gave him a sharp look but said nothing.

  Oddly enough, the other brothers were quiet and subdued this evening. Even though she’d only met them briefly when they’d come to Glenfinnan, she didn’t think the reserved behavior fit any of them. Rowdy, boisterous, rambunctious, yes. Quiet, no. Had the retelling this afternoon of the fate of that poor girl affected them so much?

  Bridget glanced at Alasdair. He hadn’t been in the room, but the memories were probably crystal clear. She wished she could say something to him, but she caught the glimpse he gave her. His eyes were like emerald shards. She’d seen that look on her brothers’ faces, warning anyone with any sense not to broach them. Now was not the time to comment.

  A clamoring near the back of the house broke the silence. Bridget heard shouting and several heavy thuds. It sounded like an altercation taking place, although none of the men seated seemed to be overly concerned.

  The kitchen door banged, followed by the trampling of boots coming down the hall. The yelling hadn’t stopped either. Three lads in shirts, breeches, and tartan caps burst into the room, one of them dripping wet.

  “’Tis nae my fault ye fell into the burn,” one said.

  “Ye pushed me, ye fool,” the wet one answered.

  “To get ye out of the way. I had to save Margaret.”

  “I dinnae need saving,” the third one shouted. “Ye are both oafs.”

  Bridget blinked. The last voice was definitely feminine and angry. She studied the three. The boys were tall and gangly, indicating they hadn’t quite reached manhood. The girl was merely slender, but they all had fierce scowls on their faces.

  “Ye slipped on a rock running away from your beau,” the dry one said.

  The girl pummeled his shoulders with her fists. “That eejit is nae my beau!”

  The lad fended off the blows easily. “Tell him that then.”

  “I will the—”

  “Caps off in the house,” Alasdair said.

  All three swept off their caps while the wet one smacked the dry one. “Why did ye nae protect our sister and chase after the mon?”

  Margaret pushed the wet one back. “I doona need ye to protect me!”

  Bridget bit back a smile. Obviously, she had been wrong about the sister being coddled. The girl sounded every bit as annoyed as Bridget had felt earlier. She looked at Margaret again. Despite her brows being drawn together in a thunderous frown, the girl was attractive. Long auburn hair, several shades darker than Bridget’s but still very reddish, tumbled down her back now that her cap was off. She had high cheekbones and a straight, pert nose. Her chin might have jutted a bit too much, perhaps because her mouth was set in a tight line. Blue flames sparked from her eyes.

  She definitely didn’t look like someone who wanted to be coddled.

  “Ye might remember my y
oungest brothers, Ewan and Rauri,” Alasdair said to Bridget, “and Margaret.”

  The three stopped bickering and looked at Bridget, noticing her for the first time.

  “Who are ye?” Margaret asked.

  “She’s one of the MacLeods,” Ewan answered, suddenly full of self-importance even though he was wet. “We met her at Glenfinnan.”

  Not to be upstaged by his brother, Rauri added, “When we rode with our brothers as guards.”

  Margaret looked miffed. “I wanted to go along to Glenfinnan too. I’m older than either of ye.”

  “Ye are a girl,” Ewan said.

  As if that settled the matter. Bridget watched as Margaret cuffed her brother’s ear.

  “I can ride as good as ye and my arrows fly straighter too.”

  Ewan rubbed his ear. “Well, I can—”

  “What ye can do,” Joanna said mildly, “is stop dripping on my clean floor.”

  The three of them looked down at the puddle that had accumulated. “’Tis Ewan’s fault,” Rauri said.

  “I would nae be wet if ye hadn’t pushed me into the burn,” Ewan argued.

  Alasdair laid down his fork. “Do ye lads need to be taught a lesson?”

  Naill, Gavin, and Braden laid down their utensils too.

  “Outside, lads?” Alasdair asked.

  The boys paled and shook their heads. “We will clean it up,” Ewan said and rushed off.

  “Aye,” Rauri agreed and followed his brother.

  Margaret looked around the room with a self-satisfied expression and started to take a chair.

  Alasdair smiled pleasantly. “Do sit, sister. I want to hear about this eejit who was chasing ye today. A beau, did Ewan say?”

  Margaret shoved the chair back. “I think I will go help my brothers.”

  Alasdair raised a brow as he watched he leave.

  Bridget doubted that Margaret would have a reprieve for long.

  * * * * *

  Bridget retired to her bedchamber after Joanna had shooed her out of the kitchen when she offered to help clean up after supper. Ewan and Rauri had been assigned that task since they’d left mud tracks throughout the house. Besides, Joanna had told her every one of her boys had learned if they wanted to have meals, they either needed to cook them or clean up afterwards.