Chapter 9

9

B ridget's heart fluttered wildly as she clung to Ewan. She reveled in the heat radiating from his body. There was no denying the guilty pleasure bubbling within her as her fingertips grazed the muscles hidden beneath his shirt. She wanted to lean closer to him but didn't dare allow herself the pleasure.

What is going on with me? There can't be any admiration between us. I'll be leaving soon. Who am I kidding? It's not like I'm that interesting to him. He's probably counting down the days until I'm gone.

"Pray tell," Bridget said as her mind skipped and danced around Ewan's words. The fact that he wasn't interested in marriage bothered her. He was a striking man, and from what she had learned about him, he seemed kind. "Why don't you want to marry?"

"Why do ye care?" he asked.

Bridget recoiled from the sharp edges of his words.

"Because I believe everyone has a right to be happy," she said.

"And are ye happy?"

Bridget thought about it for a moment. There was no tangible way for her to know. Did she enjoy being alone with Laird MacCartney? Of course, she did. Not even the mask he wore deterred her from wanting to be next to him. There was a distinct energy that pulled her to him, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'd never find another man like him.

"I have no complaints. And what of you?" she asked, pulling in long, deep breaths, savoring the scent of pine and saltwater. It was as if Ewan had bathed in the sea and rolled his body across the tips of the mountains.

With each breath, Bridget found herself sinking deeper and deeper into the wonders of the island. There weren't nearly as many scents to tickle the senses in the city. But here, on the island, where the winds were as wild as the sea, Bridget found herself longing to stay.

"None that I can think of," he answered.

"Then why don't you want to marry? Don't you want heirs to continue your line?" Bridget asked, her voice laced with comfort and concern.

"Me braither is more than capable of continuin' the line," Ewan said.

Bridget could detect a hint of regret in his words. It was a tone she'd used all too often.

"You could leave it to him, sure," Bridget said. "But I don't think you'll be truly happy until you experience that joy for yourself."

"Joy?" Ewan hissed. "What joy is there when ye ken…" He paused. Bridget watched his jaw flex as he mulled over the words he was about to spew. "Never mind. Makes nay difference either way."

"You don't have to do that with me, you know."

"Aye? And what is that?"

"Hide," Bridget answered, as bold as brass. "I can see that's what you're doing."

"Ye dinnae have a clue as to who I am," Ewan said, his voice clipped and grave.

"You're the man who tracked my luggage to bring it back to me. You're the man who brought me to one of the most magical places I've ever been. I don't think you did that because you just wanted to talk in private."

Ewan pulled on the reins of his horse and slid off the saddle. Bridget watched as he ran his fingers through his hair. There were things he wanted to say—she could see them dangling from his tongue like icicles on the wrought iron gate outside her father's house. She knew whatever he was going to say would be sharp and direct.

Carefully, she slid off the horse, favoring her sprained ankle as she hobbled to a boulder and sat down. As much as her ankle throbbed, she didn't dare interrupt Ewan as he paced before her.

"Ye dinnae ken me," he snapped as he wagged his finger at her. "Ye dinnae have a clue what it is ye're talkin' about. I hate to break it to ye, but I dinnae care for ye any more than I would any other human bein' in distress that I stumble upon. I dinnae need ye thinkin' otherwise."

Bridget rose and reached out her hand to him. Ewan's recoiling didn't deter her. She stepped forward slowly, as though she was cornering a wild beast. Inch by inch, she moved so as not to frighten him until she was close enough to rest her hand on his shoulder.

"You're right," she mumbled as she tilted her head, trying to catch his eye. "I don't know you. But your character is far different from what you portray yourself to be."

The tension left Ewan's muscles as he let out a heavy sigh. "I'll nae have yer pity."

"What makes you think I feel pity for you?" she countered. "This is just me being a caring individual. I don't show pity for anyone. Pity is for those who refuse to do something to change their current situation. From what I've gathered, that's not what you're trying to do. In fact, I think you revel in scaring people. So why would you change? And thus, why would I ever feel pity for a brute like you?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. There was a spark in his eyes she couldn't ignore. It was like looking into the face of a kindred spirit. No words needed to be exchanged between them. Everything was laid out between them, hanging in the air.

"A brute, am I?" Ewan asked with a crooked grin.

"Seriously? How can you not see that you are? You bark out orders like you're some sort of king around here," Bridget said, matching the smile on his face. "What are you, some sort of laird?"

"The best on the island," he said as he moved to the horse and ran his hands down its neck. Another clap of thunder rumbled overhead.

"Is that so? Well, since you're the only laird I've met here, I don't have anyone to compare you with."

"Aye, and count yerself lucky that I'm the only laird ye met. The others arenae as charmin'," Ewan said with a stern glare at Bridget.

She couldn't help but giggle at his expression, despite how scary he appeared.

"You know, I think this island is a lot like you," Bridget said. "Its bark is worse than its bite. The sky has been grumbling for a solid half an hour, and yet not a drop has fallen—the same goes for you. You want people to be fearful of you, but there is so much more to you than what you let people see."

"And ye think ye've got me all figured out, do ye?" he said, arching an eyebrow. "Then it willnae surprise ye to hear that an Englishman was spotted at the port nay less than three hours ago."

"What? Is that why you brought me to the loch? To interrogate me about an Englishman coming here?"

Panic shot through her. She had hoped she'd have more time. How her family had managed to locate her so quickly rattled her to the core.

"The English dinnae come here for the holidays, so ye tell me why they've come if they're nae lookin' for ye," Ewan said, holding her gaze. "Me men mentioned how the Englishman was lookin' for MacArthur lands. I dinnae recall MacArthurs kennin' any Englishmen before."

Stepping back, Bridget winced as pain lanced up her ankle. Ewan pursed his lips and shook his head as he grabbed her.

"Ye need to get off yer foot," he noted through gritted teeth. "Best we head back now."

"Before the rain starts?" Bridget asked in a lighthearted tone.

She loathed the tension rising between them, and that now there was an Englishman on the island to darken their budding friendship.

"Aye," he answered. "Before the rain starts."

The very thought of someone coming for her filled her with dread. There was no way she was going to return to the Viscount, not after everything she'd learned. No self-respecting woman would do such a thing.

She glanced up at the sky, praying to find a way to avoid going back home. There was no doubt in her mind that the moment she stepped foot on English soil again, her father would marry her off to the Viscount or someone far worse. The very thought made her stomach twist into knots.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Bridget asked, her voice cracking with emotion as she watched Ewan tend to the horse.

"Aye, ye can, but be certain ye want the answer. I'll nae be sugarcoating anything. So, if ye're lookin' for comfort, ye'll nae be gettin' it from me."

"With your permission, I'd like to stay on the island a bit longer," Bridget said.

The words came out in a flurry, as if she were requesting the world from him. Deep down, she knew he didn't owe her a thing, especially after all he'd done to help her thus far.

"And just how much longer are ye lookin' to stay?" Ewan asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Was that apprehension flickering in his eyes? Bridget wasn't sure. All she knew was that she needed more time to figure out what it was she was going to do.

"A month," Bridget said, ready to counter if he denied her.

"Ye must be jokin', right? Ye cannae expect me to keep the fact that an Englishwoman is on the island secret for an entire month. There's nay way. Chances are rumors are already circulatin'. In two weeks, the whole island will ken ye're here."

"Then two weeks," Bridget said, pouncing on the offer.

As much as she wanted more time, there was no way she would ask for more. Not when Ewan had already been so kind to her. If two weeks was all she was going to get, then she was going to use every minute she had to figure out her next move.

"That should be more than enough time for my ankle to heal."

Although she didn't want to admit it, Bridget wished he showed a bit more concern about her having to leave. A part of her had thought that, through their playful banter, he was softening toward her. But his hard rejection stung her more than she had expected.

"Aye, more than enough time," he answered.

Bridget couldn't tell what exactly she was hearing beneath his stern tone. Was it sadness or indifference?

The thunder rumbled like a giant's belly. Bridget meandered to the horse, taking slow, deliberate steps. Just as she reached its shoulder, the heavens opened up. The shock of torrential rain startled her.

"Ye ken," Ewan said as he turned his attention to her. "Ye havenae paid me for the kindness I've already shown ye."

"Is that so?" Bridget asked, batting her eyelashes as heat rushed through every fiber of her being.

She chewed on her lower lip as her mind and heart raced. Bridget dared to steal a glance at Ewan. The raindrops that rolled down his face made her jealous.

"My Laird, it's raining," Bridget said, throwing her arms up to protect her head. "Perhaps we can continue this discussion elsewhere?"

"What's a bit of water fallin' from the sky when ye're surrounded by it on all sides," Ewan said, arching an eyebrow.

Bridget couldn't breathe. Every lungful she took in was a struggle as she tried to keep her thoughts clear. Her mind was drifting into the fantasy as she watched his lips curl into a smile. Just as soon as Bridget saw it, it was gone. His eyes shifted from her face to her bosom and back again. The silence between them grew into a deafening roar.

"My Laird," Bridget managed to squeak as she tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

"We should—" she started, before Ewan's lips silenced her.

Bridget's mind reeled from the excitement. His lips parted, and she didn't hesitate to follow his lead. Before she knew it, Ewan's tongue had grazed and teased hers. His hand cupped her head as he deepened their kiss. Her heart raced and fluttered as she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest.

Bridget savored the feel of the rapid beating of his heart against her palms. It delighted her to know he was just as excited as she was. She didn't dare pull away first, not when everything seemed like a dream. Never in all her books or studies had she heard of the rush a woman felt when she was kissed so passionately.

Just as she was starting to wrap her head around the fact that she was indeed kissing Ewan, he pulled away, gasping for air.

Oh, My Laird.