Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors) by Rachael Kennedy Page A

May said. ‘You’re to keep your voice down and
I dinnae want to hear you laughing.’ She stopped
delivering instructions for there was a maid at the door, finally telling them
it was time to go down. ‘Laird Peter is waiting to present both of you.’
    She and Donalda
took Laird Peter’s arms and walked into the Grand Room that Bridie herself had
helped to prepare for this night. It was lit now by the huge
white candles she had so willingly lifted and there were flowers -
thistles and heather just as Mrs Moffat had
described. There were also small posies of forget-me-knots dotted all around
the room and Bridie swallowed down threatening tears, for never would she forget.
    And nor would the
Laird.
    Alasdair stood in
his chambers and stared out to the night. Dressed in McClelland tartan, for
once clean-shaven his hair was brushed back and gleaming.
    He could hear the
music and the pipes preparing and it was time to choose his bride.
    He walked down the
castle steps, past the lanterns and portraits and stepped into the Grand Room
and the people bowed and curtsied as he entered.
    His eyes did not
seek out Bridie, for he had much he must concentrate and get through tonight.
    ‘Lady Catherine of Donoch .’ The Laird bowed as she curtsied and he took
her hand and from the corer of his eye he could see a blaze of red hair that
belonged entwined in his fingers. He kept his gaze ahead, focused instead on
the lady beside him and the dance ahead, for the reels were long and
complicated and it was not Lady Catherine’s fault that he did not want to
dance.
    And so he was kind
to her.
    They crossed hands
and swooped down the line and under the swords to the claps and cheers as lady
after lady danced into his arms and he danced too with Lady Helena and her
company was pleasant and she was light on her feet, yet his heart ached for
Bridie, or Bridgette as she was now to be called.
    For Bridie it was
agony, the longest night of her life.
    Not once did he
look in her direction. She watched him dance and the usually stern Laird was
tonight at his charming best, for he smiled as he danced in turn with each
lady. Bridie tried to keep her head held high, but it was hard to, especially
as whispers reached her ears.
     ‘She’s so
common, did you see the way she lifted her skirt…’ Lady Helena was Bridie’s
harshest critic. ‘Clearly he’s putting dancing with her off.’
    ‘Don’t listen to
them.’ Donalda said.
    ‘I thought ladies
were ladies.’  Bridie said.
    ‘ Och no.’ Donalda said. ‘You wait and hear what they say
when it’s my turn to dance.’
    It was agony. She
could hear the harp and the pipes and was struggling not to cry. Worse, the
Laird was walking towards her and still not even gracing Bridie with a glance.
He bowed to Lady Donalda and she was the next to dance.
    Yes, Lady Helena
was savage.
    Bridie was tempted
to take her creamy throat beneath her fingers and silence her as unkind words
were said, but May told her to sit up straight and keep looking ahead.
    ‘A lady never shows
emotion.’ May warned as Bridie’s lips snarled, but then softened as she watched
for the Laird made Donalda blush and smile, just as he did with each lady he
danced with.
    He just did not
dance with Bridie.
    In truth the Laird
was worried for her. The dances were intricate, and learned through childhood
and so he was waiting for a more simple tune, a reel
where he could hold her and finally there was one.
     ‘Lady
Bridgette of Glenbarach …’
    For the first time
he allowed himself the luxury of properly looking at her and Bridie looked
stunning, there were jewels in her ears and at her throat, there was rouge on
her lips and cheeks and her huge green eyes could not meet his.
    ‘Good evening,
Laird.’ Bridie said and curtsied, wishing that she was greeting him in the
morn, wishing she was walking into his room carrying a tray and not about to
dance with Laird and everyone watching.
    Everyone, for even
Mary and Mrs Moffat