Until then she would hide behind the walls of a Scottish tower. Bridget took slow steps toward her kin, the muscles of her legs protesting. Alice smiled warmly at her, continuing to wave her forward. Clutched tightly in Alice’s other hand was the letter Captain Brume had placed in the bucket. The wax seal was broken, but Alice held it against her chest as though she cherished it. There was no missing the sparkle in her eyes.

“You must come inside with me, dear cousin. I am so glad you have come to me.”

Alice reached out and clamped a strong hold on to her wrist. She pulled hard, surprising Bridget.

“I thank you, cousin, for your hospitality.”

“You must be hungry. Come … come. We will eat. Inside now.”

Alice pulled her inside and toward a set of stairs that rose to the upper floors of the tower. There was the loud sound of the doors shutting behind her that drew a startled sound from her lips.

“It’s going to storm, Bridget. We need to shut out the rain, you know. Here in Scotland it rains like heaven’s fury.”

“Yes, of course.” But two burly Scots took up position on either side of the front door, and she doubted that they were needed to hold it shut against nature’s fury. Suspicion clouded her mind, but there was little to do about it.

She would have to trust in her kin.

The day became a long string of hours in which everyone she met smiled and welcomed her. The night-long ride made it harder and harder to think every action through. She was longing for a bed well before Alice showed her to a chamber, which was high in the tower up too many stairs to count. But there was a fireplace and coals already blanketed with ashes to help keep her warm. She collapsed into the bed while Alice watched.

“Rest easy, cousin. You are very secure on Barras land.”

“Thank you, cousin … Alice.”

Her words slurred and her eyelids fluttered shut. Every muscle felt limp and lacking strength. It was strange and odd. She had been tired before, but not felt so drained of strength. Suspicion began to grow in her thoughts, but she slipped into slumber unable to act upon her mind’s musing. In her dreams, Curan stood just beyond her reach. She strained toward him, desperately needing to touch him. Just a brush of her fingertip would satisfy her, but no matter how much she tried to make such a connection, she failed. Bitter defeat filled her, sweeping her away into a nightmare where she was tormented by the thought of him lying with another bride. Tears wet her cheeks as she fought against the bedding, trying to fight her way free of the chains holding her. She turned her face up to see him riding away with another bride clinging to him.

In her dreams, her heart broke.


Chapter Nine




Her mouth felt as if she had eaten wool when she awoke. Sunlight was streaming in through the thin window on one side of her chamber. It was little more than an arrow slot, and the shutter had been opened. The sun was bright, confirming that morning had come and gone without waking her. Her entire body ached, as though she had spent the night struggling instead of resting. Her hair was a tangled mess, lending more evidence to the fact that her slumber had not been natural.

“I’m glad to see you rising. My husband is home and eager to have you brought below.”

Alice wasn’t consumed with good cheer today. A calculated look on Alice’s face and something in her eyes instantly revived the suspicions had begun when Bridget fell into sleep last evening. She stumbled when she tried to stand, and her cousin frowned.

“You’ll have to shake it off now, Bridget. Laird Barras is below and we don’t want to be keeping him waiting.”

“Who?”

Alice snapped her fingers, and a maid gripped Bridget’s wrist and pulled her over to a chair. There were suddenly hands on her everywhere, brushing her hair and wiping her face with a wet cloth. The cool water against her cheeks helped sharpen her attention, her mind beginning to function once more. A dryness in her mouth confirmed that her suspicions were well founded. It coupled well with the look of anticipation on her cousin’s face.

“What goes on here, Alice?”

Her cousin frowned and looked down at her clasped hands for a long moment. Not a single maid allowed their eyes to meet hers, and her anger stirred as she felt more of her head clearing.

“You poisoned me yesterday.”

Alice’s head lifted immediately. “‘Twas not poison. Just a bit of sleeping draught is all. You’ll be right as can be in another hour.”

Bridget pushed the maids away when they tried to resume tending her. One had even brought forward a powder box and was holding a small face brush.

“You are my kin, Alice; we are blood.”

Alice drew in a stiff breath. “And I am married to a Scot. You have no concept what that means, cousin. Life is harder here. My husband has to maintain friendship with the laird or we’ll be overrun by another clan, and he will refuse to protect us.” She shook her head. “I have my children to think of. Their inheritance must be kept secure.”

A sickening dread began to twist in Bridget’s belly. She turned to look at the maids and found every one of them looking as resigned as Alice did. Firm resolve shone from their eyes, but what made her belly fill with nausea was the pity mixed in with that determination.

Alice shook off her remorse, taking a step forward. “Laird Barras is below and waiting on you. It’s best not to test the man’s patience.”

“And I’m to be painted up for his pleasure as well, cousin?” Bridget used the family term on purpose, but she maintained a tone of voice that was sweet as springtime honey. Alice flinched, but Bridget gave her no pity. “By all means. Let me not keep the great man waiting. Far be it for me to expect my own gender not to offer me up like a roasted lamb. Or a painted harlot.”

“Bridget, do not be so hard upon me. Life is different in Scotland. The king does not have as tight a control on his clans. Raids happen here, and they change lives forever.”

“Alice, do not be so traitorous as to slip potions into my cup if you do not want me to tell you plainly that it is shameful behavior. The circumstances do not remove that stain from your actions, and I am no coward to look at the floor and refuse to say such straight to you.”

Her cousin paled. Bridget grabbed a hairbrush from the frozen hand of one maid and pulled it through her hair herself. She didn’t clamp down her temper but allowed it to burn away the sickness pooling in her belly. She needed her courage and her wits now. It took only moments to restore neatness to her hair.

“Keep your paint away from my face. If your Laird Barras doesn’t care for my face as it is, that much the better. I am no wanton doxy.”

Alice snorted. “Your temper will make things worse for you, Bridget. Better to use every weapon you might to lull a man into dealing softly with you. A pretty face has led more than one man to doing what a woman desired of him.”

Just as Justina had done last evening. The memory burned through her anger, allowing her to recall how much Justina was like Marie. Both women play acting the role of temptress to steal the wits of the men holding power over them. It was unjust but at the same time very effective. What truly mattered? Her pride or her future? Men did not take well to being challenged by women, or to being shown that women had intelligence equal to their own. Queens of England had lost their heads on the tower green for forgetting that fact. Bridget sat back down.

“Keep it simple and light.”


Laird Barras was a large man. He wasn’t an old man, either. Alice’s husband was sitting at the high table with the man when her cousin escorted her into the great hall. His eyes moved to her the moment she appeared. Sharp and keen, his stare declared him to be a man who was more than a roughly raised peasant. Over his shoulder rested a length of plaid wool in rust and orange. He wore no doublet at all, and the wide sleeves of his shirt were actually tied up to the shoulders of the garment, baring his forearms. The cool air of early spring didn’t seem to chill his bare skin. A knitted bonnet was hanging at an angle over his dark blond hair and he kept his blue eyes on her in spite of Alice’s husband talking to him.

“He’s a powerful man, Bridget. Take heed of that. He can lock ye away and no one will challenge him on it.”

Alice mumbled beneath her breath while she made a curtsy and pulled on her to follow.

“Clearly you have never met Curan.”

He would challenge the very devil if the fallen angel had something he desired. But she had fled from him, and it was very possible that he would simply wash his hands of her for the insult. She would have to deal with this Scot and do it well, or suffer the fate he dictated.

Bridget lifted her chin and remained standing while all the women with her lowered themselves before the laird. Eyes widened at her behavior, but the only change in Laird Barras was a slight tightening of his fingers around the cup in his grasp.

“They do nae teach manners in England anymore, Mistress Newbury?”

She stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with the man. He was an arrogant one, but she didn’t think it was unearned. His forearms were cut with muscle, declaring him to be a man of action.

“I do not lower myself in front of those that drug me into compliance.”

One of his fair eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms over his wide chest.

“I take it ye prefer to be chained then?”

Amusement coated his words, and a few snickers escaped from the men surrounding her. Bridget allowed her lips to rise into a small smile that was mild and unworried.

“What I prefer is honesty. Slipping potions into drinks is the age-old skill of traitors, is it not?”

All traces of amusement left his face. His hands landed back on the tabletop with a firm sound that betrayed how little liking he had for her veiled accusations. The hall was silent, so much so, she heard the hounds’ tails thumping against the floor. One of the dogs whimpered, clearly feeling the discontent in the room.

“I did nae order such an action.” His voice was hard as steel and bounced off the wall behind her. “Will ye offer me courtesy now, mistress?”

Bridget made him wait for a response. His eyes clouded with displeasure before she turned in a wide circle, her skirts flaring out as she went. Turning back to face him she sunk into a low curtsy and remained there with her hand spread wide. Several gasps came from the women watching, but most of the men took to stroking their beards while they waited to see what their laird would make of her mockery.

Standing back up, she lifted her own eyebrow at him. “Be assured that my mother had me schooled in the art of soothing arrogant egos, even of those that intend me ill.”

Laird Barras stood up. He was a large man, and he flattened his hands on the tabletop. “Be very sure that I do nae hand out abuse where it is not warranted, lassie. I protect those wearing me colors when needed, and I would nae accept those words from any man.”

“You face those men with honor, not with poison slipped into their cups while you smile in false welcome as has been done here. My cutting remarks have been earned, and I am not given to speaking lies for the sake of being polite.”

“Bridget, mind yer words,” Alice whispered, but it was so silent in the hall that Bridget was sure half the people watching her face down their overlord heard.

“I believe I am finished with minding you, dear cousin Alice.”

Bridget cut a quick glance at her kin to see her cheeks turning scarlet. But a chuckle from the high table drew her attention back to the Scottish laird watching her.

Laird Barras suddenly grinned at her, and the expression transformed his face into a handsome one. “I do believe I understand why Ryppon would be wanting to get ye back. Ye’re a fine bit of spirited lass, to be certain.”

“I have not promised you that there is reason to think Lord Ryppon would wish me back. If it is gain you seek, take me to the ship my father has sent so you may receive a reward from my father’s gratitude.”

Laird Barras left the raised platform the head table stood upon to stride down toward her. The plaid was pinned in place by a large gold broach that kept the fabric flattened against his shoulder. A wide belt went around his waist, holding the back of that plaid in wide pleats against his waist, too. As he came closer, she noticed why he wore the belt over the fabric. Strapped to his back was a large sword. The pommel rested behind his right shoulder, and the tip of the scabbard was tied to the belt near his left hip.