Chapter 10

10

" I shouldnae have done that," Ewan said, gulping down air as he released her.

Guilt and shame pummeled him as he recoiled from her. Standing straighter, Ewan dared to turn his attention to Bridget. The flush on her cheeks tormented him. The color reminded him of the wildflowers that bloomed on the craggy cliffs. It was like staring at hope incarnate. How, despite the rough terrain, there was something beautiful that bloomed among the heather.

As he focused on Bridget's steely gaze, he couldn't help but wonder what was going through her mind. Was she terrified of him now?

Doubt twisted like a vine around his joy, choking off the pleasure of her lingering kiss. Bridget's expression gave him no respite from his sin, no wisp of encouragement that his instinct about her hadn't been wrong.

He had seen signs of her interest in him—surely they were there. Or was it more his wishful thinking that drove his passion?

Ewan tried not to think the worst as he watched her eyes widen with surprise. The silence had stretched as long as Ewan could stand it before he cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back. It was clear to him she wasn't impressed with him or his advances.

Hardening his heart, Ewan glared at her, and with as much conviction as he could muster, he swore, "Forgive me. I got carried away. That willnae happen again."

"Oh my," slipped from Bridget's parted lips.

Ewan knew better than to ask a question he didn't want to know the answer to. Without another word, he moved to his horse and walked it over to Bridget. He wouldn't allow himself to feel pleasure while holding her hips as he hoisted her up into the saddle. No, he'd forget how her lips moved against his so tenderly.

Ewan painstakingly gathered his thoughts and feelings for Bridget, placed them all in a neat little box, and buried them deep within the darkest recesses of his mind. The hopes he'd had to bed her were now firmly locked away, never to be brought out again. He didn't want to be tormented by her when it was clear she wasn't interested in him.

"How is yer ankle? Ye didnae hurt yerself again, did ye?" he asked as he grabbed the reins, throwing them over the horse's neck to lead it back home.

"I don't think so," she answered. "You're not seriously going to walk back."

"I'll nae be touchin' ye again," Ewan said through gritted teeth, despite the longing in his heart.

He would kiss her again in a heartbeat if he could. However, as much as he'd enjoyed pressing her body against his and feeling the heat seeping through their clothes, stealing that moment had felt like cheating.

Ewan wanted to pull her down from the horse, hike her skirts up over her knees, and sink himself into her. Their kiss had awakened a need inside of him that he couldn't describe or satisfy. His heart felt drawn toward Bridget.

Mustering every ounce of strength he possessed, Ewan kept his attention focused on the path before them.

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? As I recall, ye came here in a weddin' dress. So, who were ye goin' to marry? That Viscount ye mentioned earlier?" Ewan lashed out.

"Yes, a viscount," she snapped back. "What does it matter?"

"Ye belong to another, and I shouldnae have…" The blade of guilt twisted into his heart.

"I belong to no one," Bridget said. "Least of all that miserable Viscount. As for my family, I don't believe they would come here. This could all just be a coincidence."

"I dinnae believe in such nonsense. There's a purpose to everythin' under the sun, and to say otherwise is foolish," Ewan huffed. "Now tell me."

"I don't know anything about it, I swear," Bridget said.

"So why did ye nae go through wit' it? If it wasnae about the title or social status, why'd ye nae go through wit' marryin' the man?" Ewan asked as he mulled over why she'd given up such a prestigious title.

"I don't think that is any of your business," Bridget snapped.

The servants rushed out of the castle to greet them as thunder boomed overhead. Ewan looked over his shoulder at Bridget as the servants helped her down to the ground.

"Be careful," he scolded. "Can ye nae see the lass's foot is injured?"

"I'm fine," Bridget insisted as she waved off the servants trying to help her.

Ewan clenched his jaw and glared at her as she struggled to climb the steps. Frustrated, he walked over to her, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her to the door.

"I thought you said you weren't going to touch me again," Bridget said, much to his chagrin.

He didn't know how to respond. Feeling flustered and tormented, Ewan turned and stormed through the doors.

The sound of his boots echoed through the halls, drawing every eye to him. He wished he could walk through the halls of his home without every person bowing to him, but that was the lot his father had passed down to him.

It wouldn't be so bad if the people who turned to him didn't have pity in their eyes. Deep down, Ewan knew that even his most loyal men cringed at his grotesque figure. If only his brother was laird and he could sink into the dark and simply brood over Bridget.

Instead, he was the head of the clan and the face of his family. Despite the guilt and shame seeping through him and blackening his soul, he remained rigid.

"Laird MacCartney, thank you for the assistance." Bridget's voice drifted to Ewan's ears and caused him to stop at the steps. Her prim and proper tone grated on his nerves. The iciness in her voice only drove the blade deeper into his heart. "If it's all the same to you, My Laird, I'd like to have my meal brought to my room tonight. Our excursion has left me rather lightheaded and tired."

Ewan gave a sharp nod in response. How could he deny her anything after what he had stolen from her? If she were to ask him to send her back to England at once, he would. Even if it meant he would be losing something indefinably rare and precious.

"Do I even want to ken what happened?" Logan whispered in Ewan's ear.

Where Logan had come from, Ewan didn't know. He had been far too focused on watching Bridget favor her injured foot as she hobbled down the hallway.

"What are ye goin' on about?" Ewan asked Logan the moment Bridget was out of sight.

"Dinnae play coy wit' me, Braither," Logan said with a hard pat on Ewan's back. "Ye did somethin' to that lass."

"Barely touched her," Ewan snapped defensively.

"That makes it better then, aye?" Logan retorted as he threw his hands up and stepped back. "Ye ken, it's nae my business. In fact, I encourage ye to try wit' her. She seems sympathetic to yer plight. Perhaps she'll be yer kindred spirit."

Ewan had not considered Bridget to be his kindred spirit. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made to him. After all, she appeared to be just as distant from her family as he was.

The parallels between their circumstances suddenly became clear to Ewan. It was as if a dark veil had been lifted from his eyes and he could finally see Bridget, despite her splendid beauty, for who she truly was.

"Did ye manage to speak to the council about givin' the plot of land to the priests?" Ewan asked, deflecting Logan's questions.

The last thing he wanted was to talk to him about Bridget. It wasn't that he was jealous or worried that his brother would undermine him. Instead, Ewan wanted to nurture the spark burning within him for Bridget in secret and leave it untarnished and pure for as long as he could.

"Nay," Logan answered as Ewan started for the study. "I havenae gotten around to it yet. But there's a meetin' tomorrow, and I can brin' it up to them."

"Do that," Ewan answered as he glanced at the servants, who all seemed to be watching him more than usual.

With growing suspicion, Ewan pulled Logan into his study and closed the door behind them.

"Is it me, or do the servants seem to be a bit interested in me today?" Ewan asked as he made his way to his desk and sat down.

"Can ye blame them?" Logan asked. "Word has already gotten out that ye had a run-in with Alistair's sister and how ye and the Englishwoman left the seamstress's shop in haste after the encounter."

"Rumors are poison," Ewan grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear they'll be the death of me one of these days."

"Dinnae say that, Me Laird," Logan said as he titled his head to catch Ewan's eye.

"'Tis nae like everyone would rather have me as Laird than ye."

"How many times must I tell ye, I wouldnae take the position even if ye were on yer deathbed. Faither gave ye the role, and it is yers. So, it is yer duty as Laird to govern the lands and provide an heir."

Ewan jumped to his feet and banged his fists on the desk. "Nae ye too!"

"Forgive me, Braither, but ye must ken that people are startin' to wonder what's to become of the clan. Ye turned down a fine lass who would have united the island, and for what? To be tempted by an Englishwoman? It doesnae sound like ye, Braither."

Ewan's gaze grew dark and deadly as he tried to resist the urge to murder his brother. The need to protect Bridget's honor and his dignity was overpowering. It was as if the totality of his happiness and well-being was directly linked to Bridget's welfare.

"Ye lied to me," Ewan growled. "Ye said ye havenae been talkin' wit' the council, yet here ye are, spewin' their rhetoric at me as if ye picked it up fresh and new. Get out. I want ye gone from me sight."

"I havenae lied to ye. If anythin', I tell ye the truth when nay one else will," Logan called over his shoulder as Ewan pushed him toward the door. "And ye cannae tell me that it's just the councilmen who want to see ye settled. Our aunt as well as the entire clan wants to ken that our bloodlines are secure."

"Hang the bloodlines and traditions," Ewan snapped as he shoved his brother out the door. "I'll nae marry anyone, be it Scot or English. I'm the Laird, and I'll continue to provide whatever I can for this clan until the Good Lord takes me away. I'll do my duty to this family, but dinnae force me to wed. I'll nae tolerate the pity of a bride, nor her resentment."