Chapter 20

20

" A gain."

"Faither, please, I dinnae want to."

"Ye'll do as ye're told, lad. Ye want to be the strongest laird in all of Scotland, do ye nae? Aye, ye do. And I'm goin' to show ye how to be the best."

Ewan's chest tightened as his father's hand came down hard. It was a blow that caused bursts of colorful lights to explode around him. His ears rang as he stumbled back, trying to regain his wits.

"Get up. Ye're a Gibson, and we Gibsons can handle our own. Now, get up."

"Nay," Ewan pleaded as he scooted back, recoiling from the belt that dangled from his father's hand. Anticipating the pain to come, he winced.

"How many times must I tell ye? Ye dinnae show any fear or emotions. Nae to me, and certainly nae to yer enemies. Ye'll be a man, damn ye, if it's the last thin' I do. Ye'll learn to be a man."

Ewan squirmed, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. It was as if he were nothing more than a rat cornered by an enemy he couldn't see. As his father's face faded into the pitch-black, nightmare-infused abyss, Ewan prayed. Clinging to whatever he could for support, he took the beating. Lash by lash until the sound of the belt snapping against his back whipped the last of his cries from his throat.

"Hey."

A tender voice that shouldn't have been there thundered over the cracking of the belt. In the farthest part of his mind, Ewan noticed a pinhole of white light slicing through the silence and the darkness. Hope sprang inside him as he strained his ears to hear the sweet sound once more.

"Ewan? Are you all right?"

The voice was gentler than a sparrow's song and as alluring as a siren's voice. Ewan hunted through the darkness, making a beeline for the light. Despite racing faster toward the source of the light and the sound, he couldn't seem to get there. Glancing down at his legs, he noticed the fingers that were wrapped around his ankles like an anchor, chaining him to the spot.

"Let me go," Ewan thundered as his father's laughter erupted.

I made ye who ye are, and I'm nae goin' anywhere. Ye ken why I haunt ye.

"Nay!"

Ewan shot up in bed in a panic. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow to his chin. From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. He recoiled as he realized he was staring into Bridget's face. Where she had come from, he did not know, nor did he care. The terror on her face matched his own.

"It's all right now," Bridget said, her voice shaking as she reached her quivering hands toward him. Her hands were like hot coals, but as much as he wanted to recoil from her touch, he stayed still.

"What are ye doin' in here, lass?" he asked as she slowly removed her hands from his arm.

"You brought me in here," she answered as confusion riddled her face. Images of the library popped into his mind and scattered aside all other troubles and phantoms.

He pulled in a deep breath and nodded. "Aye, I remember now."

"Is everything all right? I heard you talking in your sleep."

Embarrassment crushed him. He stared at the tips of his toes poking out from under the bottom of the blankets. What was he to say? That she didn't know what she was talking about? It would have been easier had he not been covered in sweat and flustered from the nightmare that still tormented his thoughts.

"That so? And pray tell, what did ye hear?" Ewan asked, uncertain if he really wanted to know the answer.

Holding his breath, he waited for the truth to spill past Bridget's lips.

"The scar on your face," Bridget said with a tilt of her head. "Did your father give you that?"

Instinctively, Ewan reached for the all-too-familiar leather mask. Terror rippled through him as he glared at her. He knew he had no right to be angry—she was, after all, only stating the obvious. The scar was jagged and deep, but it ran to his bitter core.

"Ye're nae screamin'," he mumbled as he studied her, wondering when she'd come to terms with the monster next to her.

"Did you want me to?" Bridget asked as her eyebrows crowded the bridge of her nose in confusion.

"Nae if ye can help it," he answered, perplexed with how well she was handling his disfigurement.

Ewan gasped as he watched her lift a steady hand to his face. Bridget paused just shy of touching him. She was so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her and stirring his desires.

"I don't see what the problem is," Bridget said. "If you earned that scar, then you should wear it like a badge of honor, not disgrace."

"Ye wouldnae be sayin' that if ye kenned how I got it," Ewan said as he settled back into the bed.

He rolled over, turning his back to Bridget in order to hide the scar. Shame filled him, and he didn't want her to see it in his eyes.

"How did you get it?" Bridget asked.

"Let's just say me faither entertained himself in a variety of ways," Ewan said. "Mostly at the expense of others."

"Logan?" Bridget asked as she snuggled against his back and threw her arm around him.

"Aye," Ewan answered. "I couldnae let the man do to Logan what he had already done to me. Me faither wanted a warrior, and that is what he got. I took it upon meself to end the madness wit' me."

Swallowing hard, Ewan dared to steal a glance at Bridget. Shock raced through him like a wild wind coming through the channel. She didn't stare at him like he was someone to be fixed or mended.

"Things got better for you after he was gone though, didn't it?" Bridget asked. "I mean, I can see the relationship you have with Logan now. It may be rough, but that's just how family is."

"I'll nae have yer pity," Ewan said as he removed her arm and climbed out of bed.

The stone floor was like ice beneath his bare feet. There was no wincing or whining—his father wouldn't allow it. Swallowing hard, Ewan made his way to a chair and plopped down on it. With his eyes locked on the dancing flames, he tried to push back the images from his nightmare.

"It's not pity," Bridget said. Ewan shivered as her arms slipped over his broad shoulders. He watched the tips of her fingers trace the curve of his collarbone. "It's called compassion."

"I dinnae care what ye call it," Ewan answered, his tone lighter as her fingers soothed his wretched spirit. "'Tis the same either way."

"Who told you that?" Bridget asked, her teeth grazing his earlobe as she spoke.

For a moment, he wondered if she knew what she was doing. If she had faked being a virgin just to convince him to take her. The intrigue caused his heart to flutter wildly as he grabbed her wrist. Watching the tender flesh, Ewan smiled as he felt her pulse.

"It doesnae matter," he said, pressing his lips to her wrist, relishing the warmth of her hand.

"Was it your father?" Bridget whispered.

Instantly, Ewan dropped Bridget's hand and bolted from the chair as if she'd stabbed him in the heart.

"I wouldnae speak of things ye dinnae ken," Ewan warned.

Bridget undeterred by his outburst, inched closer to him. She pressed her hands against his chest as her eyes remained calm and tender.

"It's what I heard while you were sleeping," she explained as her light touch disarmed him. He wouldn't harm something as tender and gentle as Bridget. She was far too precious to him, and as she inched ever closer, Ewan wondered how he'd keep her. "Did your father…"

Ewan grabbed her by the hand, and as much as he wanted to force her out of his room, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Her presence, despite the sourness of her question, soothed him.

"Please," Ewan whimpered as he pressed the palm of her hand to his face to cover his scar. The pain in his voice was palpable. "Dinnae?—"

"I won't," Bridget said as she rose on her tiptoes and crushed her lips to his.

Her sweet taste exploded on his tongue, driving him wild. Ewan stepped closer, pulling her to his chest. He sank his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. A small whimper escaped her lips as she leaned closer, pressing her breasts against his chest. Ewan's head swam in the bliss of her embrace.

"Come to bed?" Bridget whispered as she leaned back, slipping her hand into his.

With all the fight taken out of him, Ewan bobbed his head. Following Bridget to the bed, he waited for her to slip beneath the covers before settling next to her. Tucking his arm under his head, Ewan stared at the ceiling. Bridget squirmed and shifted until she fit into the crook of his arm.

Ewan couldn't help but note how well she fit beside him. It was as if she belonged there and had been there his whole life. The warmth of her body soothed his turbulent thoughts and racing heart.

"Ye must ken I'm nay good for ye," Ewan whispered as he ran his fingers through her thick, soft hair.

"You keep saying that, but I'm starting to wonder if you even believe those lies anymore," Bridget said, her voice trembling as she spoke.

Ewan fought the instinct to push her away. He'd pinned himself between his anger toward his father and what the man had made him do, and who his father had turned him into.

"Dinnae think for a moment that this changes anythin'," Ewan whispered as the fantasy began playing in his head. "Ye cannae stay wit' me."

"But you'd allow me to stay here, wouldn't you?"

"Nay, ye cannae. Ye dinnae have a clue as to what or who that might provoke. I cannae go to war wit' the English because of ye, lass."

"War wouldn't happen. No one in my family cares enough about me to fight over me."

Ewan leaned up and stared down at her. "Then why is the Viscount here?"

"It's never been just about me," Bridget explained as she nuzzled into the crook of his arm. "He could be here for other reasons we don't know about."

"The English dinnae show up on me island unless they have a reason. And logically speakin', the only reason they'd come here is to find ye."

Ewan waited for Bridget's response, only to feel her breathing evening out. He peered over her hair and found her sound asleep, as if the world and all its troubles didn't phase her. How he wished he could be as carefree as she was.

"Sleep," Ewan whispered as he brushed aside her hair to get a better look at her.

The way the silver light of the moon illuminated her face made his heart swell. There was no way he would give her up. Not now, not when she felt so good resting beside him. Never did he expect a woman to be so kind to him, so loving. And the more he watched Bridget, the stronger his resolve to keep her grew.

"I'll nae let anyone hurt ye, do ye understand that? Never."

Ewan didn't know when he fell back to sleep. All he knew when he awoke was that he had never slept so soundly. The world had never felt so light and airy before. Each morning had been a chore to face, yet this day was different in every way. Rolling over, he kissed the pillow with his smile as he watched Bridget sleeping beside him.

The way she rested so peacefully next to him… He wanted to keep her like that forever. But the day wouldn't wait for him. As much as he wanted to blow off his responsibilities and stay in bed until she woke, Ewan carefully and quietly slipped off the bed.

Bridget moaned lightly as she rolled over, pulling the pillow to her. Ewan watched and wished that he was the one she was clinging to. Pushing the thought aside, he got ready and made it out of his room without waking her.

Feeling a bit more carefree, Ewan made his way down the steps. He could feel a spring in his steps and wondered how long his good mood would last. There was a small voice shouting out warnings at him from the depths of his being. Pushing aside his self-doubt, Ewan refused to listen to the voice telling him not to get attached to Bridget.

"Me Laird?" a meek voice whispered from behind him.

Turning with one eyebrow raised, Ewan stared at the servant. "Aye, what is it?"

"Ye've got a visitor," the servant answered. "Seems Laird Alistair is in yer study, waitin' for ye."

"Alistair? What does he want?" Ewan grumbled as he vowed not to let Duncan's presence irritate him. He'd woken in such a good mood that he didn't want to let it go.

For once in a very long time, he felt as if the day was lighter and brighter, and it was all thanks to Bridget.

"Dinnae ken, but he's been here for a while."

"How long?"

"An hour, maybe two," the servant answered. "He came at first light. We didnae want to wake ye. He's in yer study."

"Thank ye, Angela," Ewan said as he turned and started for the study.

The closer he got to the study, the more his uneasiness grew. It felt as if he was walking to his doom.

Pulling in a deep breath, Ewan pushed through the study doors to find Logan with Duncan. Ewan felt a surge of pride seeing his younger brother keeping a watchful eye on Duncan.

"Finally," Duncan grumbled as he turned to the door. "Do ye keep all yer guests waitin' like this?"

"It's a pleasure to see ye too, Duncan," Ewan said, trying to ignore him as he made a beeline for his desk. "Mind tellin' me what it is ye're doin' here?"

"Satisfaction," Duncan answered matter-of-factly.

"That so? And what satisfaction are ye lookin' to get from me?"

"I've come to offer me sister's hand to ye, again."

"And what makes ye think I've thrown my hat into that lot?" Ewan asked as he leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest.

"Dinnae play coy." Duncan's pleasant facade dropped like rocks to the bottom of a lake. "In order for us to prosper, we should merge our clans and rule this island under one banner."

Ewan glanced from Duncan to Logan and back again. Logan shared the same disinterested expression Ewan wore.

"Do tell, what makes ye think my clan isnae prosperin'? From where I'm standin', we're doin' quite well. So, if there's nothin' else ye have to say, I'll consider yer proposal and get back to ye."

"Ye'll nae get rid of me so easily," Duncan snapped. "I'll nae allow ye to marry an Englishwoman when me sister is far fairer, and nae to mention Scottish. Ye'll be turnin' yer back on yer own kin if ye marry that wench."

Ewan bolted from the desk, his gaze murderous. "Ye'll nae speak ill of me guest. And as for being prosperous, me clan is wealthy. What do ye have to brin' to the negotiation? Yer clan is failin', and yer attempt to pawn your sister off on me reeks of desperation. Now leave before ye make me do somethin' I'll regret later."

"Tell me," Duncan asked as Logan grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him out of the room, "does the lass ken her betrothed is here?"

"Wait," Ewan ordered, causing Logan to stop.

Duncan flashed Logan an I-told-you so smile before turning back to Ewan.

"What do ye ken about that?"

"I thought it me duty as a faither to inform the English where their daughter was. Although, I must say, I wasnae expectin' her betrothed to come huntin' for her."

"Ye told the English where to find Bridget?" Ewan asked as rage brewed and festered under his skin.

"It was the right thin' to do. And wit' the English strumpet out of the way, ye can see clearly that yer only option is to wed me sister," Duncan said, rather pleased with himself.

The words spilling from Duncan's lips were fodder for Ewan's ire. Without warning, Ewan pulled his dirk from its sheath and ran the blade through Duncan.

"Ewan!" Logan gasped as Duncan struggled with his last breath before collapsing on the ground at Ewan's feet. "What have ye done?"

"His people deserve a better laird anyway," Ewan answered without remorse as he turned his attention to Logan. "See that this mess is cleaned up by the time I return."

"Where are ye goin'?" Logan asked as he glared at the body, wondering what he was going to do with it.

"For a ride. I need to clear me head."

"And what of Bridget?" Logan asked.

"Dinnae say anythin' until I return. Do ye understand?"