Eleven
Bridgette did her best to keep her distance from Lachlan over the next couple of weeks. It wasn’t that she was afraid either of them would let their desire overcome their good sense, but the more time she spent around him the more she grew to care for him and the greater hold he had over her heart. She feared the devastation she’d be forced to endure if she and Lachlan could never have a chance to be together, and part of her thought it was best if she did not allow further attachments to grow.
One morning, as she watched him across the courtyard patiently teaching a little servant boy how to shoot a bow and arrow, Bridgette could not help but wonder if Lachlan had come to the same conclusion about not letting their attachment deepen until they knew it would not be fruitless. He seemed to be avoiding being alone with her, too.
Then again, Helena was almost always with him now. Bridgette did not know whether Helena was shadowing him or he her, but either way, she was fully aware she was jealous and fearful. She had not asked Lachlan of the lengths of deception he had been asked to go to for the king—she had not thought to ask when they had spoken about it—but now that she had thought upon it, she wondered incessantly if Lachlan had been asked to seduce Helena. If he had but had not yet used that tactic, was he going to? Joining with Helena would bind him to her for life by making their pledge a marriage. Bridgette was sure he would avoid that, but thinking upon him even touching Helena made Bridgette feel ill.
She suspected Marion may well know something, given her previous comments, but since she did not know exactly what Marion might be aware of, Bridgette could not talk to her for fear of betraying Lachlan’s confidence. As a result, Bridgette felt very alone, and worry was constantly hindering her ability to keep her mind on task—like now. She should be concentrated on her target, yet she was gaping at Lachlan and the boy.
When the boy’s father came up and went to smack the boy on the head for missing yet another shot, Lachlan caught the man by the wrist. “Quinn, hitting yer son will nae teach him how to handle the bow and arrow any faster.”
“Ye’re nae his father,” the Scot growled. “A thump on the head, or even a smack across the face, will help him learn, so I’m going to give it to him.”
Bridgette held her breath waiting to hear how Lachlan would respond. She saw his eyes narrow and his free hand curl into a fist at his side. “I’m nae his father, that’s true, but I’ve trained enough men to ken what teaches them and what does nae. And cruelty does nae.”
“I’ll do as I see fit,” the Scot snarled.
Bridgette didn’t know Quinn, but she’d heard whispers that he was a harsh man who’d become so after his wife had died. She wanted to rush over and defend the boy from his father, but to do so could make things even worse for the child. She watched Lachlan, wondering how he would proceed.
Lachlan drew in a long breath, then spoke. “Let us test our skills, Quinn. If ye win, then ye can take over yer son’s training and do it however ye deem best. But if I win, I’ll continue to train yer son the way I believe to be best. What say ye?”
The man grinned. “I agree, but I get to decide how our skill with a bow and arrow is tested.”
Lachlan nodded. “Agreed. How do ye wish us to test our skill? Speed? Accuracy? Perchance distance?”
“Accuracy. Let the boy stand with an apple on his head. Whoever splits the apple in a perfect half will win.”
The boy’s face paled. “But Da—”
The man waved an annoyed hand at his son, and when he did, Bridgette noted the way Quinn’s hand trembled. She was unsure if Lachlan had seen it, but the boy tracked his father’s trembling hand from the air to his side, and a puddle of urine suddenly appeared between the child’s legs.
The father made a noise of disgust. “Ye coward,” he huffed. “Ye dunnae wet yerself over having an apple on yer head.”
Lachlan grabbed the Scot by his plaid and hauled him close. The men around Lachlan stilled. Angus caught Bridgette’s eye and shook his head when she stepped forward to come to the child’s aid. She forced herself to remain where she was, though she wanted to run to the boy and cradle him in her arms. Lachlan spat toward the ground, which Bridgette knew the MacLeod men did when confronting a man they believed without honor.
Quinn’s face mottled red, and his blond eyebrows dipped into a glare. “Unhand me, Lachlan,” he growled. “I’m going to tell Iain about this.”
“Ye be sure to do that,” Lachlan snarled and shoved the man away. Quinn staggered backward but maintained his balance. Lachlan glared at the Scot. “Yer boy was shaking because he sees that ye have drank too much. We all see it. Drowning yerself in wine will nae bring yer wife back.”
“That’s nae yer concern,” Quinn snapped and snatched an apple from the basket Helena happened by with at that moment. He shoved the apple at his boy. “Put this on yer head and stand down there.”
The boy stared at the apple but didn’t move. Bridgette couldn’t take any more. She raced across the courtyard, pointedly ignoring Angus who was now shaking his head at her. She stopped in front of Quinn. “Ye shame yerself,” she growled. “Nae yer son.” She snatched the apple out of the boy’s hand and faced Quinn, who glared at her with twitching eyes. Lachlan looked at her with so much pride that she had to fight a grin. “Leave yer son to go clean himself. I’ll put the apple on my head for the two of ye to shoot at.”
“That suits me,” Quinn replied in a grudging voice. “I’m shamed to look at the boy any longer as it is.”
Bridgette gave the child a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and then shooed him away with her hand. Her knees shook as she realized what she had done. She had saved the boy, and in doing so, put her own life at risk.
Lachlan seemed to be coming to the same conclusion as his gaze darted rapidly between her and Quinn. Lachlan moved toward the man. “If yer arrow so much as skims Bridgette’s head, I will kill ye,” he said in a low voice that only the three of them likely heard.
Bridgette caught Helena looking speculatively from her to Lachlan, and then a dark scowl settled on the woman’s face. Bridgette had an uneasy feeling about Helena’s expression, but there was naught to be done about the woman now, so Bridgette walked toward the trees and placed the apple on her head.
“I’m ready,” she called.
The dozen other people in the courtyard were eerily quiet. Lachlan motioned Quinn forward to shoot first, but then suddenly, Lachlan said something and came striding toward her. His gaze captured hers as he made a show of straightening the apple on her head. Having him so close made her feel dizzy. She curled her toes into her slippers to steady herself.
His eyes impaled her with an intensity that made her want to groan. “Dunnae ever volunteer to let someone shoot at ye again, Bridgette. Ye made my heart stop with yer foolish and wonderful courage.”
Her cheeks tingled where his breath had washed over her as he spoke. “Ye were going to let the child stand here,” she accused.
