Rogue of the Moors

By Cynthia Breeding

Bridget MacLeod needs some space from her well-intentioned but overbearing family who’ve been crowding around her since her husband’s death. How can she keep her late husband’s secret and explain to them that her arranged marriage was pleasant but passionless, that she lost a friend but not a lover. Seeking a change of scenery, she arrives in Arisaig only to find she has no place to stay, unless she accepts the offer from a family friend.

Alasdair MacDonald remembers Bridget well from when she stitched a wound in his leg last spring. Her touch was light and gentle, but she was a married woman. She may not be married now, but her husband’s passing is too recent for the honorable Alasdair to do more than invite her to stay with his boisterous family.

But someone notices the way Alasdair looks at Bridget, someone who will stop at nothing to make Alasdair her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jun 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640630314

Cynthia Breeding

Cynthia Breeding lives on the Gulf Coast of Texas with a very non-spoiled poodle-mix and enjoys walking and horseback-riding on the beach, as well as sailing.

Book preview

Chapter One

West Highlands, July, 1817

Your secret will be safe with me forever.

Bridget MacLeod whispered the words, placed a sprig of rare white heather on her husband’s grave, and stood. Her marriage to Brodie Cameron had been comfortable, not passionate. They had understood and respected each other. No one would ever know the truth they had kept shrouded.

She looked around the tidy stone-walled cemetery that held many of her ancestors. Generations of MacLeods had called the medieval castle perched up on the promontory cliff home. Although her brother, Ian, headed the clan, she had run the household. Until now.

Bridget tucked loosened strands of her long red hair behind her ear and smoothed her practical muslin gown. Then she walked through the wooden gate, secured the latch, and started up the hill. She sensed her life was about to change.

…

Ye ken ye doona have to go, Ian said the next morning as Bridget set a small valise down by the entryway door next to a packed trunk. We have plenty of room for ye to stay.

And I could use help with the babes, Jillian, his wife, added.

The twins are old enough to help ye now, Bridget replied. They can keep the bairns out of trouble.

Jillian stopped just short of rolling her eyes. Caitlin and Caylin are usually the cause of trouble, not the solution.

Your home has always been here, Ian said.

I have appreciated the hard work you do, Jillian said. I hope you know that.

Bridget nodded. When Ian had brought his English wife home two years ago, she had never tried to take over running the household. Instead, they’d easily divided and shared duties. I ken. Without Brodie, I feel like a ship’s sail flapping in the wind.

Brodie has only been gone five months. Give yourself time, Jillian answered. We do not want you to leave.

Bridget smiled at both of them. I truly need a change. Arisaig is only a hard day’s ride away. Besides, with our sister finding she is with child, she willnae be able to help Robert much longer in the marine office. I can manage things until she’s recovered from childbirth.

That is months away. Jillian looked thoughtful. Shauna may want to stay home with her new babe. Do you plan to live there permanently?

Bridget wasn’t sure. Shauna had invited her to come and stay as long as she needed to after Brodie’s death from his illness last spring. Bridget just knew she wanted to make a life for herself somewhere.

Robert willnae want his wife working once there is a family, Ian said.

As if that would make a difference. Shauna was only slightly less stubborn than Bridget. Neither of them took kindly to being told what they could not do.

She heard the carriage wheels crunch on the gravel outside and picked up her valise. She looked around the familiar foyer with its tiled floor. I want to do this.

Ian sighed and hoisted the trunk onto a shoulder while Jillian hugged her. I hope you will not be gone too long.

Bridget started to reply just as the fourteen-year-old twins came racing down the hall, nearly knocking over a vase of fresh flowers Jillian had put on a small table.

We want to come too! Caitlin shouted.

Caylin held up a satchel. We’re already packed.

And ye will go right upstairs and unpack, Ian said in a tone that brooked no response, although both twins looked like they were going to argue anyway. Ian glowered at them. Now, lasses.

Caitlin pouted and Caylin frowned. But Bridget is leaving.

She will come back to visit, Jillian said gently.

The twins turned to Bridget, their green eyes hopeful. Will ye?

Bridget hated making promises she might not keep. I will try.

The twins rushed at her so forcefully she might have been bowled over except for the fact they were both clutching her tightly. For a moment, her resolve wavered. She had lived in this redone medieval castle her whole life. Then she hugged the girls back and followed Ian out the door to the waiting carriage.

Ian didn’t speak as he strapped the trunk to the back of the coach and came around to open the door for her. Bridget was grateful for that. Sailing the stormy emotional sea of the past five months, she’d kept her feelings tightly sheeted in. Now was not the time to allow herself a weak moment. Instead, she returned Ian’s curt nod and waved briefly at Jillian and the twins standing on the steps. Ian closed the door and she heard him give last-minute instructions to the guards that would ride alongside. Then the carriage lurched forward.

Bridget resisted the urge to look out the window one last time. What good would it do? She never cried, and right now, she felt perilously close to doing just that. She cleared her throat, lifted her chin, and folded her hands in her lap. This was Ian and Jillian’s home now, a place where they could raise their bairns. Even though they had offered her a place to stay, she did not want to be the equivalent of a dowager aunt. At eight-and-twenty, she was no longer young, but Bridget did not want to grow old relying on Ian’s charity.

She needed to take hold of her ship’s tiller and steer her own course.

…

Early afternoon on the second day, the carriage finally reached Arisaig. Bridget would have preferred they just exchange horses at a coaching inn by Loch Morar and continue on, but evidently part of the instructions that Ian had given—which she hadn’t heard—were orders for the driver and guards to spend the night at the inn lest brigands or marauders attack them after dark. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to bless Ian for taking precautions or curse him for thinking she was some delicate hothouse flower that needed pampering. Widowhood had not turned her into a whimpering fool.

At least she was here now. A new start to an independent life. Bridget looked out the carriage window as the carriage proceeded down the main street of the village. An open area on one side had a few stalls, indicating where the local market would be. Broken seashells paved the road and crunched beneath the horses hooves as they passed a small stone church with an array of tombstones, some upright and others slanting sideways, on either side of it. Past that, a wood-framed house stood, probably for the parson. A short distance away was the public house that, given its second story, probably also let rooms. A public stable and smithy were farther down the road. Behind those buildings would be the villagers’ homes, nestled in the shadows of the rocky Creag Mhor.

As the carriage turned right at the end of the road, Bridget caught a glimpse of the sheltered shore of Loch nan Ceall. An actual Viking longboat bobbed on a mooring not far out. Pretty as it was, did anyone actually use a longboat anymore?

The water seemed so calm compared to the rough waves of Loch Shiel that crashed below her home. Former home, Bridget reminded herself. Still, the familiar scent of salty sea air was comforting. She could also see a small white-washed building set back from the water that probably served as the marine office.

The horses trotted down a narrow, hardened-dirt street with a few sparse trees on one side. They passed several small cottages and a large two-story wood flat home behind high hedges and tangled vines. Three houses later, the carriage rocked to a stop.

This was it then. Her new life awaited her. Bridget took a deep breath as the coachman opened the door. She stepped down and stood for a moment surveying her sister’s home. It might be Bridget’s new home too, at least for a while. Larger than the cottages, smaller than the house behind the rambling vegetation, Shauna’s house sparkled with fresh white paint, green shutters, and varnished front door with a polished brass bell hanging from a bracket beside it. The short walkway was graveled with neatly trimmed lawn on either side. Everything looked shipshape, which wasn’t surprising since Robert was a ship’s captain and Shauna had a penchant for tidiness.

The coachman brought Bridget out of her reverie as he unloaded the trunk from the rumble seat with a grunt and carried it up the walkway.

Ye will be spending the night here? Bridget asked as he returned to the carriage.

The man shook his head and climbed up on the bench. With the summer light, we can make it back to Lochailort before dark.

Bridget didn’t need to ask why. The inn there was the only one within twenty miles and was also a popular spot for sailors coming up the loch. The proprietor kept the place well stocked with whisky and barrels of ale, and Bridget had seen several buxom serving maids when they’d stopped. Since Ian’s guards were already waiting down the street for the carriage, arrangements had probably been made last evening for tonight’s lodging and subsequent entertainment.

Safe journey then, and thank ye, she said.

He nodded once and snapped the reins. Bridget watched as he drove away and then walked the short way to the door.

She pulled the rope attached to the clapper and listened to the clang of the bell. The sound seemed lonely on the silent street. She waited for footsteps from within but none came. She frowned slightly. Why did no one answer? Come to think on it, why hadn’t someone come out when the carriage stopped? Robert might be at the marine office, but where was Shauna? Bridget pulled the bell rope again, a little harder this time.

No one is home.

Bridget turned at the sound of the man’s voice and then stifled a gasp. Alasdair MacDonald stood at the end of the walk, looking more magnificent than when she’d seen him months ago. He wore tight breeches, knee-high boots, and a leather jerkin with no shirt. With his heavily muscled arms and broad chest tanned deeply from the sun and his long, black hair blowing in the breeze behind him, he looked like a pirate.

She hadn’t expected to see Alasdair here since Shauna had written he alternated his time on the Isle of Skye, establishing kelp farming, and Glasgow, helping Robert obtain contracts for the kelp’s soda ash used in glassmaking.

His sea-green eyes widened at the sight of her. What are ye doing here?

Had Shauna told no one she was coming? Bridget shook her head, confused. I could ask ye the same question.

Alasdair lifted a black eyebrow. I live here. He came closer. Do ye nae remember me?

She wasn’t very likely to forget the man, since she’d mended a gash to his thigh last spring. A wound that had not only warranted exposing the whole of his well-defined, brawny leg, but had also brought her face perilously close to his nether regions when she’d lowered her head to bite the thread she’d used to stitch him. Even now, her stomach fluttered a bit at the memory.

Aye. I recall ye and your brothers rode back to Glenfinnan with Robert.

Alasdair grinned. I recall ye tended to my wound.

Lord have mercy. The man had a wicked smile. Bridget hoped she wasn’t blushing. She never blushed. And why was she suddenly flustered? She didn’t get flustered either. She wasn’t some silly school girl. Ye were attacked by brigands.

His smile vanished. Or MacLeans.

They denied it, Bridget said, feeling more like she was on safe ground now talking about her neighbors.

Denying doesnae mean it be the truth, Alasdair replied. Owen MacLean dinnae like losing his bride to Robert.

Shauna was never Owen’s intended, despite what he thought, Bridget answered.

Alasdair shrugged. Facts doona mean anything to some men. He glanced down at her trunk. Have ye come for a visit?

I… Bridget hesitated, wondering if she should say she planned to stay. I felt that I wanted a change from—

Ah. Alasdair’s expression turned sympathetic. Robert told me of your husband’s passing. I am sorry.

Thank ye.

’Tis hard on a woman to be left alone.

Bridget frowned. She didn’t want his pity. I will be fine.

I am surprised Ian dinnae insist ye stay with him, but Robert will take care of ye while ye are here.

She felt herself begin to bristle. Why did men think every woman wanted to be taken care of? The reason she’d come here was to establish some independence. Her father—rest his soul—had married her off early for the benefit of two clans. She’d done her duty. Was it so wrong to want to taste freedom? I doona expect Robert to take care of me.

Alasdair grinned again, making Bridget bristle even more, probably because she didn’t want to admit his smile had a decidedly disarming effect, much like the child she’d caught a week ago with a fistful of freshly baked scones and crumbs on his mouth. He’d insisted he was bringing the treats to her. I can take care of myself.

I think Shauna has told Robert she dinnae need taking care of either, Alasdair said."

He doesnae listen well."

That was Shauna’s problem. Or Robert’s. Bridget looked around. Where are they?

On Skye.

"What? Why would they be on Skye?"

Robert wanted to check on one of the kelp farms. Shauna said it would be the last trip she’d be able to make with him before the bairn comes.

But…I wrote a letter letting them know when I would be arriving.

Alasdair frowned. I doona think they got it.

A sinking feeling in Bridget’s stomach threatened to fall all the way to her feet, anchoring them to the ground. Now what was she going to do? Her coachman was already gone, and who knew when Robert and Shauna would be back. Bridget worried her lip and then abruptly straightened her shoulders.

Well, then. I will just stay at their house until they return. I doona think they would mind.

Nae, Alasdair said and picked up her trunk, hoisted it to one shoulder, and turned to walk away.

Wait! What do ye mean nae? Do ye think my sister wouldnae let me stay in her home?

Alasdair stopped. Aye, she would. Nae, ye willnae.

What? Ye are nae making sense. And where are ye taking my trunk? she asked when he started walking again.

To my house.

Wait! Bridget hurried to catch up to him. There is nae need for that. I can make do quite well until Shauna gets back.

Ye will be safer at my house. I’ll hear nae more of it. Alasdair replied over his shoulder as he continued on down the street.

Bridget stared at his broad, retreating back, tempted to lash out at him, although she suspected it would do not more good than it did with Ian. Bossy, arrogant men. However, this particular overbearing male had all her clothing in that trunk, so she had no recourse but to follow him. She muttered a few choice words under her breath.

Alasdair MacDonald was a complication she didn’t need.

Chapter Two

He was a damn fool. As he walked toward his house, Alasdair knew he was tempting the Fates by bringing Bridget MacLeod home with him. She wasn’t a lost puppy or helpless kitten to be rescued. She wasn’t a naïve, young lass either. The woman he remembered from his visit at Glenfinnan had given orders like a general and no one had questioned her, not even her brother. She would have been just fine staying at Robert’s house by herself.

No one even locked their doors in Arisaig. There’d been only one possible crime in over a year, and even that had never been proven. He could have opened Robert’s door and put her trunk inside. Why hadn’t he? Alasdair grimaced. He was a damn fool, that’s why.

Is the trunk too heavy for ye? Bridget asked as she reached his side and they started up his walkway.

Alasdair frowned at her. Did the lass think him weak? He’d tossed more than one of his brothers over his shoulder following a night of drinking or brawling. None of them, save for the young lads, weighed less than thirteen stone. Alasdair entertained a notion to pick Bridget up with his other arm and carry her as well just to prove his point, but the door to his home opened and his mother appeared on the doorstep.

Do we have a guest? she asked.

Bridget shook her head. Nae—

Aye, Alasdair said.

His mother looked at him curiously. Which is it?

A guest, Alasdair answered firmly before Bridget could respond. He bit back a grin as her hazel eyes flashed at him. Her bright red hair glowed like fire, and he suspected it matched her temper at the moment. He liked spirited women. They were usually equally passionate in bed.

He sobered. Bridget had only been widowed a few months. She had come to visit her sister because she needed a change. No doubt she mourned her husband greatly. Brodie Cameron had been a good man. Alasdair didn’t need to be thinking of taking the man’s grieving widow to his bed.

Although right now, he doubted grieving was on her mind. She looked like she wanted to slap him. Or maybe punch him, since she clenched a fist at her side.

I would like ye to meet my mither, Joanna MacDonald, he said to Bridget and then turned to his mother. This is Bridget MacLeod, sister to Shauna.

Bridget gave him a last look that made him think she wasn’t going to meekly accept the situation. However, her voice sounded pleasant as she greeted his mother.

’Tis good to meet ye, Bridget said. I actually plan to stay at my sister’s—

Och, she’ll be gone a good fortnight, maybe more, Joanna replied. Nae reason to stay alone when we’ve plenty of room. Half my lads went to Skye with Robert.

Alasdair gave Bridget a triumphant smile, which she didn’t return, and carried her trunk inside. I will just take this upstairs.

Really, I doona wish to impose—

Ye are nae trouble, Joanna assured Bridget. I’ve raised ten lads and a daughter. Now come inside.

Alasdair deposited Bridget’s trunk in the room between his own and his sister Margaret’s. His twin brothers normally occupied it, but they were on Skye. His conscience niggled at him. There were empty rooms on the third floor. Apparently, the good sense God had given him was gone, and he wasn’t finished being a fool just yet because he wanted to have Bridget close to him. He could almost hear the Fates plotting his demise.

That is, if Bridget didn’t beat them to it. The way her eyes had sent sparks at him gave him the idea she might try. He chuckled and hurried back downstairs. His smile vanished as he went through the doorway to the parlor. Three of his unruly brothers—Braden, Gavin, and Niall—were already seated, anticipatory looks in their eyes as they focused on Bridget. All three of them were notorious for wooing lasses. Why couldn’t Robert have taken them to Skye? Alasdair answered his own question. Probably because Robert didn’t want to start a clan war. Lasses seemed attracted to these three like flies to molasses.

Bridget appeared unperturbed by their intense gazes. Alasdair noted she’d wisely chosen a chair instead of the sofa. Good choice, given how quickly his brothers, especially Niall, could move.

Where is Margaret? Alasdair asked, stepping inside the room. Unfortunately, the other chairs closest to Bridget were taken, so he sat on the empty sofa.

She is out fishing with the lads, Braden answered.

How long will ye be staying? Niall asked Bridget.

Nae—

Until Robert and Shauna return. Alasdair glowered at his brothers. Bridget is our guest and widowed just a few months.

Although they muttered sympathies, they looked only moderately chastised. Perhaps he should be more clear. I doona want to find any of ye sniffing at her door.

Speak for yourself brother, Gavin drawled. I heard her trunk drop in the room next to yours as I came down.

Bridget made a strange sound, close to a hiss. Alastair thought it better not to look at her. He had hoped to ease into that bit of information regarding her room’s location. Right now, he wanted to box Gavin’s ears. Alasdair hadn’t heard him in the upstairs hall, but then people didn’t usually hear Gavin approach since he had a talent for stealth. I put her next to Margaret’s room. His defense sounded weak, even to himself.

All three brothers grinned.

Damn them.

…

Bridget listened to the interchange between the brothers as she studied a watercolor on the wall depicting the nearby mountains. The artist had chosen to paint the scene during the gloaming, shading the base of the range in greys that created long shadows. Various hues of lavender, pink, and purple indicated the unique twilight. The mountain peaks were lost in swirling haar, giving the whole picture a mystical feeling. She would like to trek up a trail and find an isolated spot to enjoy the beauty.

Instead, she sat in a parlor full of MacDonald men. Bridget pretended to keep studying the picture although she watched them covertly. She’d forgotten how big and imposing they all were, like medieval warriors of old. They looked wild with their long dark hair and bold looks. A sense of power flowed from them, much like when her brothers and cousin were in the same room. That force increased when Alasdair entered the room, leaving no doubt who was in charge. Bridget could picture him as a chieftain dressed in a kilt, seated on a dais meting out law and order and brooking no rebuttal.

It didn’t require much imagination, given that Alasdair had taken over and decided where she would stay. She didn’t like being told what to do. Even worse, Bridget suspected Alasdair thought she was a helpless, dependent widow not able to make her way in the world. She’d try once more to make him understand.

I appreciate your mither’s invitation, but I cannae impose for more than a night. In the morning, I’ll go to Shauna’s.

Alasdair folded his arms across his wide chest. Nae.

Aye, Bridget said.

Ye will stay here until Robert returns.

Bridget frowned. As your prisoner?

Gavin, Niall, and Braden sat back and began grinning again.

Alasdair paid them no mind. Ye are under my protection until your brother-by-marriage returns.

I doona need your protection.

That is for me to decide.

The man was as stubborn as Ian. Ye cannae order me about.

Consider it an invitation then.

Invitations can be turned down.

In some cases. Nae this one.

Bridget tried not to sputter, but her temper was rising. With an effort, she managed to keep her voice calm. Are ye always so arrogant?

Aye, he is, Braden said.

Would ye like for us to beat some sense into him? Niall asked Bridget.

He might be more willing to listen to ye if we do, Gavin added.

Alasdair glared at them. If ye numbskulls do nae cease, ye will all be sporting black eyes and bloody noses.

And there will be nae supper for any of ye, Joanna said as she entered the parlor with a tray of tea and biscuits and set it down on a small table. She winked at Bridget. My lads doona like missing a meal.

Bridget didn’t think anyone except a mother would call four huge, brawny men lads. However, instead of looking indignant at Joanna’s remarks, they just looked resigned. Bridget’s anger melted like butter in the sun and she stifled a laugh. She would have to remember to use lads herself.

What are ye all blethering about? Joanna asked as she poured tea.

Alasdair nodded to Bridget. Do ye have something ye wish to say to my mither?

Bridget gave him a cool look. He had put her on the spot. She didn’t want to sound rude to his mother. We were discussing the length of my stay. I really doona wish to impose when Shauna’s house is just down the street.

A thoughtful expression crossed Joanna’s face. And Alasdair insists ye stay with us instead?

Aye. Bridget noticed the suddenly somber faces of the brothers. I mean…I appreciate the offer, but I am quite used to taking care of myself.

She does nae ken—

Enough, Braden, Alasdair said sharply.

Bridget glanced at Alasdair in surprise. His face could have been carved of stone. He abruptly turned and stalked out of the room. Bridget turned back to Joanna. I truly can take care of myself, but I doona mean to insult ye. Truly I doona.

Ye are nae insulting us, dear, Joanna said and looked at the brothers. Braden nodded slightly. ’Tis just that Alasdair tends to be a wee bit overprotective at times.

That was pretty much of an understatement. Maybe his sister was the coddled sort who liked having ten brothers to protect her and take care of every problem. Bridget was used to overly protective males. She’d grown up with them. But even they knew not to push too hard. I really doona need protecting. What harm could I come to in Airsaig?

Joanna was quiet for a moment. Last year there was a young woman—Sally—in the village whose father suggested she would be a good wife for Alasdair. He had paid her some court but decided they would not suit. They went for a walk in the hills one afternoon so he could tell her privately. She said she understood and that she’d like to be alone to think. He left her in a small glade near a burn. Joanna took a deep breath. Her body was found the next morning at the base of a cliff.

Bridget put a hand to her mouth. She jumped?

We doona ken, Gavin answered. There were bruises all over her.

The magistrate even questioned Alasdair, Niall said, but the parson’s daughter swore she saw the other girl walking toward the village long after Alasdair had returned.

He blames himself for what happened, Joanna said softly. If he had nae left her alone, she might be alive.

Embarrassment swept over Bridget. Maybe she had misjudged Alasdair, at least a little bit. Her brothers would have reacted the same way. She’d just have to figure some way to make Alasdair understand. She reached for Joanna’s hand. I am sorry. If ye still wish me to stay, I will.

Joanna smiled. Of course we do.

Does that mean we can nae have a tussle with Alasdair? Niall asked.

His mother looked at him. Ye decide. We are having roasted boar for supper.

…

Alasdair finished checking on the horses and began walking back to the house. He contemplated missing supper. He had no doubt his mother or brothers had given Bridget the whole sordid story of what happened to Sally after Bridget had asked what harm could come to her here. He didn’t want to see Bridget studying him pensively or worse, with a look of pity on her face.

If only he had the answer to what had happened. Alasdair ran a hand through his hair. He had replayed that afternoon last year hundreds of times in his mind. Sally had been the daughter of the smith, a biddable girl with common sense. While they had gotten on well enough, he’d always wondered if she acted pleasantly because her father had instructed her to or whether she truly liked Alasdair for himself. She’d taken his explanation that they would not suit calmly and, since she was the solitary sort who liked long walks, he hadn’t thought anything of leaving her in the glade.

He’d never thought she’d turn up dead. Even if she’d felt offended, Sally wasn’t the type to jump off a cliff. She just wasn’t a passionate, fiery sort of person.

Not like Bridget. Not that Bridget was likely to throw herself off a cliff, Alasdair thought as he let himself into the kitchen through the back door. She might be more wont to pitch him over the edge if she were angry enough, but he was pretty sure people always knew where they stood with Bridget. She certainly had not minced words with him. He admired that trait, blunt as it was.

Even though Bridget might be brave and bold, Alasdair wasn’t about to leave a woman—a stranger in his town and widowed—to fend for herself. If he had insisted on walking Sally back to her father’s, she might not have died. Bridget was also kin-by-marriage since her sister was married to his half brother. He had a responsibility to protect her until Robert returned. Alasdair intended to do just that, whether Bridget liked it or not. He had the feeling she