Chapter 2

2

L et her go. She'll be nothin' but trouble…

"Wait, ye cannae be goin' that way," Ewan called after the girl. "Ye're headed for a cliff."

He peered through the darkness. Another flash of lightning illuminated the area, giving Ewan a clear view of her. His heart skipped a beat the moment he saw her.

"Stay away from me!" she shouted as she hunted blindly for a makeshift weapon and found a small twig that she waved at him menacingly.

Ewan wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all but decided against provoking the girl. Being the man he was, he could have easily snagged the twig from her and snapped it to make toothpicks.

"I'm nae goin' to hurt ye. Now, be still," he said as he approached.

"That's what all criminals say before committing a crime," she said as she bolted to the deer trail cutting through the trees.

Ewan stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to go after her. He knew leaving her out in the woods wasn't such a good idea, especially with the weather being as unpredictable as it had been of late. It was bad enough that the ground was soaked and he sank to his ankles in the deep muck with each step. But to have to chase her before she ended up hurting herself seemed too much trouble.

Her sharp scream made Ewan roll his eyes.

The woman's mad dash through the trees ended as her foot caught in the tree roots and her ankle twisted in an unnatural way.

"Of course, this would happen to me. Why would it not? It's not as though I'm trying to run for my life or anything," she bemoaned, her voice high-pitched from the sharp pain.

"Be still," Ewan scolded as he approached.

"Do what you will. But know this, my father will come to avenge my death!" she exclaimed boldly.

"Nay one is goin' to kill ye, nae while I'm around. Now, will ye please keep still and let me see how badly ye've damaged the roots of the tree."

"My ankle is injured, and you're concerned about a tree?"

"I'm sorry, but ye did this to yerself. Ye ken that, did ye nae?" he said as he squelched his muddy way over to where the woman had fallen. He knelt beside her and tried to ignore the way she instinctively recoiled from him.

"Don't you touch me," she growled.

"Ye've sprained yer ankle. Ye're goin' to need help gettin' out of this mess."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling this alone, thank you."

"Alright then," Ewan said, moving away from her.

He eyed her for a moment, taking her in. Her stunning almond-shaped eyes transfixed him. It was like looking into the face of an angel. Only, instead of a peaceful glow emanating from her, he found boldness and courage.

There was a part of him that couldn't help but smile at her audacity and determination. The fact that she was out in the woods alone stunned him. Her bravery was beyond measure—that was irrefutable.

"Get up if ye think ye can."

"Oh, I can."

Using a fallen log for support, the woman slowly rose to her feet. She had a smugness about her that irked Ewan, but he couldn't help noticing just how lovely she was despite her ghastly appearance.

"See."

"Aye, all well and good. Seein' as how ye can stand then, how about ye walk yerself right out of these woods and go back to English soil."

"Now wait a minute," she gasped as Ewan stood up and started to the left. "You can't just leave me here."

"I thought ye said ye could manage on yer own? I'm nae one to get in the way of a lass, especially nae one as determined as ye."

Ewan folded his arms across his broad chest and arched an eyebrow. He leaned comfortably against a tree and patiently waited to hear what she had to say for herself.

It seemed his words had gotten under her skin. Her mouth kept opening and closing as if she had something to say but couldn't.

"Aye, well, best be on me way then. Good luck to ye," he said with a tip of his hat.

"Come now, you cannot mean to leave me stranded out here all alone. I'm clearly lost, hurt, and in need of help."

"Aye, I could have told ye that from the moment I laid eyes on ye. Would have asked ye too, but as I recall, ye bolted before I could even get yer name. And seein' as how we're nae formally introduced, I have nay qualms about leavin' ye here."

Ewan pushed off the tree and turned. He counted to three in his head, expecting the girl to stop him yet again. As he'd predicted, she again called for him to stop.

"My name is Bridget, Bridget Alton."

"Alton… now that's a name I've nae come across before. Is yer faither an important man?" Ewan rubbed the stubble on his chin as he watched her shift and wince from the pain in her foot and ankle.

"He's the Earl of Abbey. Whether that means anything to you or not, I don't care. What I do care about is getting out of this god-forsaken forest. Please, Sir. If you know the way, will you please point me in the right direction?"

Ewan's eyes narrowed. "Now that's a conundrum, to be sure. Ye see, I wouldnae ken which way is the right way unless I ken where ye were headed. Is it England ye wish to return to?"

"No, I've come looking for Nora Thomson. I was told she was staying with Laird MacArthur."

Ewan pulled in a long, deep breath. "Ye seem to be a ways off then, lass. There's nay one by the name of Nora Thomson here."

"And I suppose you just happen to know everyone here, is that it?" Bridget asked, her voice clipped and laced with sarcasm.

"When ye've spent yer whole life in one place, ye sort of get to ken everyone."

"Well, if I'm in the wrong place, then could you please redirect me to the right place?" Bridget asked and took a step forward.

Ewan darted to her side the moment it looked as if her ankle would cripple her.

"Easy, ye'll nae be goin' anywhere in yer condition," he said as he held her close to his body for support.

The way she fit against his side made his chest ache. It was as if she had been created to fit in the crook of his arms. The fresh scent of salt water emanating from her skin made his loins ache. She smelled far fairer than the sweetest western breeze coming off the sea.

"Just what exactly do you think you're doing? You put me down this instant. I'm far too heavy to be dragged through the woods."

"Nonsense," Ewan said as she leaned into his side. "Ye're as light as a feather to a man like me."

Bridget's heart fluttered wildly in her chest as the stranger's arms curled around her. She had never been so close to a man before—it was unnerving. She didn't have a clue as to where she was supposed to put her arms. It wasn't like they were acquainted at all, and to be so intimate felt illicit and forbidden.

"You really don't have to carry me. I can manage on my own."

"Aye, I'm sure ye can," the man said, glancing at her.

His icy blue eyes reminded Bridget of the lake near her house. How in the summer, the sun would hit it exactly right, making it look far bluer than the sky. The moment Bridget realized she had been staring at the man, she averted her gaze.

"You don't think I'm capable of handling myself, is that it?"

"Och, aye, that must be it," he answered.

Bridget pursed her lips at his teasing tone. It was bad enough that she felt foolish in his arms, but even more so at having to be carried out of the woods. She wanted to die from the embarrassment and humiliation.

"Seein' as how ye're an unaccompanied Englishwoman on Scottish soil, I'm surprised ye even ken which way to go to get to Scotland."

"You don't have to be so rude to me, you know?"

"This isnae me bein' rude, lass," he said with a half smirk. "Rude would be to leave ye to the hounds and pixies that torment the forest. They'll nae kill ye, but they're nae friendly beasties either."

"Now you're just having fun at my expense."

"Can ye blame me?" he asked and gave a little shrug. "'Tis nae every day a man goes into the woods and finds himself a bride."

Bridget's blood ran cold as she stared at him. The panic that shot through her overrode any other emotion that might have been skipping and jumping around her insides.

"A bride… Sir… I mean no disrespect, but you can't just claim me. That's not how things work anymore."

Bridget found herself both shocked and disturbed by the laughter coming from her rescuer. She was rocked with each bout.

"And who exactly do ye think is goin' to stop me? I dinnae see anyone here capable of challengin' me on the matter," he answered.

Was he playing with her? Trying to rattle her beyond question and force her to flee from the island?

She looked up into his eyes and found a spark of wonder that she wasn't expecting. Swallowing hard, she thought of her family and everything she had left behind. She briefly wished she'd remained at home—at least then she wouldn't be forced to marry a man she didn't know.

"Relax, ye're wound tighter than a top," the brute huffed as he crossed the rocky terrain with skill and ease.

Bridget couldn't help but be impressed with how effortlessly he managed to pull her along. It was as if she were as light as a sack of feathers.

"I have nay intentions of marryin' someone like ye."

Rejection flooded through her veins, causing her heart to sink. "Well, you're not the first to reject me. I'm certain you won't be the last. Now if you don't mind, you can put me down. I'll not have you carry me like an infant."

"What's the matter? Did I offend ye? ‘Tis the reason I'd never wed an Englishwoman."

"And what about you Scots? You're arrogant and rude."

"Well then, it would seem ye've nothin' to fear from me, lass," he said. "I'll nae touch ye, nae even if ye ask nicely."

"Good, then I suggest you put me down so that I can at least hold on to what is left of my dignity," Bridget said as she tried not to let her ire boil over.

Wiggling free from his arms, Bridget put as little pressure on her ankle as she could. Each step only caused pain to shoot up her leg.

"I dinnae have time for this," the brute grumbled.

"Then go," Bridget said, waving her hand as if he were a dog to be shooed away. "I'm not stopping you."

"Aye, ye are," he grumbled. His impatient tone grated on Bridget's nerves. Even though she wanted to hurry, there was no way she was going anywhere fast on her twisted ankle. "Can ye pick up the pace?"

"You can go. I didn't ask you to stay."

"Aye, but as much as I'd love to leave ye out here, I willnae leave ye to the beasts in the woods, especially nae in yer condition."

"If you are in such a hurry, don't let me stop you," Bridget said.

With a swift nod of his head, the brute hoisted her up into his arms once again.

"Put me down."

"Nay, it'll be dawn before we make it to the castle, goin' at yer snail's pace, and I'd rather nae be out here that long. So, nay, I'm nae puttin' ye down."

"This is ridiculous."

"Even more than getting' lost in the woods in a weddin' dress? Sure, that makes sense," he said as he hoisted her up to reposition her in his arms.

Bridget found herself stunned by his strength. The fact that she wasn't a dainty woman was one of the reasons her mother forced her to wed Paul. But since the brute could manage to carry her without breaking a sweat… well, she was certain she was no longer in England.

The Englishmen would never be able to do what this Scottish man was effortlessly accomplishing. No man in all the ton could champion her the way this Scot had.

"What's your name?" She stared at him, wondering if she'd be able to catch the lies he fed her.

"Ewan," he answered as his eyes shifted just a bit to meet hers before darting back to the trail ahead.

"That's a very Scottish name."

"Aye, ‘twas me uncle's. Proud to have it. And what of yers? Bridget's a very English name. But let me guess, ye were named after yer gran?"

Heat rushed to Bridget's cheeks as their eyes met once again. She could see the spark of curiosity dancing in his eyes. Every inch where her body touched his felt like a furnace, warming and shielding her from the bitter Scottish weather.

"See over there? We're almost there, and we'll get ye proper care for that foot of yers."

Craning her neck to spy around Ewan's massive arm, Bridget's eyes widened the moment the castle emerged from behind the trees.

Torches burned brightly, lighting a welcoming path through the trees to a side door.

"Welcome to our Castle," he said as he pushed through the door. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the corridor.

"What are you doing? We can't just barge into someone's castle. We've got to be introduced. What if the owner comes around and kills us for trespassing?"

Ewan shook his head as he made a left turn and entered the first door on his right.

"You live here, don't you?" Bridget declared.

"Aye, I do. Along wit' a few others. But dinnae ye worry about them now. They'll nae bother ye. Everyone is asleep at this hour."

"Everyone but you," she said as she suddenly felt the absence of his arms around her. "Why were you out in the woods so late?"

"Never mind that," he answered as he stepped to the doorway. "Stay put," he said while softly putting her down on a chair.

"You can't leave me in here. What if I'm discovered and thrown in the dungeons?"

"Best ye dinnae leave, and ye'll nae have that problem now, will ye?"

Bridget folded her arms across her chest and glared at Ewan as he stepped out of the room. She strained her ears to listen to his boots clicking on the cobbled floor. And just like that, he was gone.

Bridget couldn't figure out if he had gone back outside or into another room. What she was fully aware of was her surroundings. The fact that she was in a cellar filled with herbs and root vegetables didn't give her confidence that she was in good hands. If anything, she started to question if her rescuer was coming back at all.

"I cannae believe ye said that," a loud voice boomed down the hallway, jolting Bridget back into high alert once more.

She froze like a statue as the voices in the hallway drew closer. With nowhere to run or hide, all she could do was pray.

Oh, I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it. There's no way they won't see me here. I'm as good as dead. Ewan… where are you?