As if the wind captured her words and carried them to the very person she was thinking of, Lachlan’s eyes finally met hers and his burning gaze held her captive. For the space of one shuddering breath, she thought she saw longing in his eyes, but then his gaze became hard as stone. A tremor ran through her body that she prayed Graham did not feel, or if he did that he’d attribute it to her being overwhelmed with happiness for everyone’s return. Lachlan moved his gaze from her, and she finally exhaled, released from the spell he cast on her without even trying.
Graham squeezed her hand. “I need ye. Dunnae leave me.”
He could have been speaking of this moment or the future, but it didn’t matter. Both times were one and the same, woven together and inseparable like the thick, twisted roots of the trees that stood near the MacLean hold. She nodded, acknowledging his words. His need. Her debt to him.
Cameron shifted beside her. “It appears as if someone brought home more than new scars from the battle in England,” he said with a snicker.
Bridgette frowned as she looked at him. “What do ye mean?”
He pointed toward the birlinn. “There, by Lachlan.”
Bridgette’s gaze flew back to Lachlan. Beside him now stood a woman with long brown hair and a silk gown that shimmered in the sun. Bridgette’s chest tightened as the woman placed a hand on Lachlan’s arm. Jealousy surged, unwelcome and unstoppable.
Who was she?
