Seventeen
Bridgette paced her bedchamber, anxious for word from Lachlan. It seemed the hour had grown very late, and as time went by and she heard nothing, fear knotted her belly. She absently picked up a brush as she passed her dresser and smacked it in her hand, her mind racing with worry. Had Lachlan and Graham gotten into another fight? Should she go down to the great hall? Or would that make matters worse?
Bridgette threw down the brush in frustration and stalked to the window to gulp in some fresh air. As she looked into the courtyard, Lachlan came striding across it as if he were charging away from battle. God’s teeth, had he fought with Graham?
She rushed down the stairs and out of the castle into the dark courtyard. When she rounded the first corner to the seagate stairs, she gasped as Barclay appeared and they nearly collided. He gripped her arm to steady her and gave her a look that struck her as guilty.
“Are ye fine?” he asked, concern and tension in his voice.
“Aye. Ye’re out awfully late,” she said, simply trying to make polite conversation.
“I could say the same for ye,” he growled, surprising her. He shifted the sac he was holding.
“I did nae mean to pry,” she offered quickly. “Good night to ye.” Then she brushed past him. Odd, that she had thought him very mild mannered before. The man was prickly.
She raced the rest of the way down the seagate stairs toward the water where she saw Lachlan standing in the moonlight. Not even the dark of night could disguise the power of his body. It poured from him with every sweep of his sword above his head, every thrust, every lunge. When she reached him, she was panting as much from her efforts to traverse the craggy terrain as from the lust he stirred in her.
He completed a fast turn and yanked his sword in front of him with a grunt, then stopped with it raised in midair when he saw her. She heard his sharp inhalation. Was that happiness to see her or vexation that she was there?
He stepped toward her, then halted, and fear crashed over her. Perchance he had decided there was too much at stake with the seer’s prediction for them to be together at all. He drove his sword into the ground with a growl, and his torture-filled eyes met hers.
“I failed Graham.” The pain in his voice made her tremble. “I failed Graham years before, and I failed him again today because I was too weak to turn away from ye. I chose to nae deny how I felt about ye any longer.”
God’s bones! The world around her swayed. What was he saying? She could not make her mouth work to form the question. He stepped directly in front of her, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his thick arms around her legs. Her heart thundered as she looked down at him.
“Are ye turning away from me, then?” she whispered.
“Nay, Bridgette, nay!” He buried his head against her legs for a long spell, then finally tilted his head back to look at her. “I kinnae turn away from ye.”
The anguish in his eyes did not give her the solace she sought. She was destroying Lachlan and Graham with her selfishness. Why could she not find the strength to make herself simply go away from them? She could easily return with Alex to the MacLean hold, but her heart wouldn’t let her.
Lachlan slowly stood and pulled her against his hard chest. His arms came around her and rested heavily on her shoulders as he dipped his forehead and pressed it to hers. “Graham told me I am nae his brother any longer.” Guilt drenched Lachlan’s words and ripped at her heart. “He absolved me of my vow to keep him safe and said that I’d nae ever been good at it anyway. I did nae argue because I ken his words have the ring of truth.”
“Lachlan, nay!”
He shook his head. “He spoke the truth,” he said again with more force. “My teasing him when we were young about nae being a good hunter led him to leave Lena, and that’s when she drowned. It was nae his fault nor Atholl’s, who tried to save her. I failed Graham then, and I fail him now.”
“Nay!” she cried, cupping his face.
“Aye!” he argued, his eyes burning with what he thought was the truth. His guilt and pain broke her heart, and she could think of no way to convince him he was wrong. His gaze pierced her as he spoke. “He said our mother told him after Lena died that if I’d been Lena’s defender, our sister would still be alive.”
“God’s bones!” Bridgette moaned. How horrible for Graham. “Why would yer mother say such a thing?”
Lachlan’s face set into hard lines. “Grief, I suspect. And anger. I dunnae think she meant it, but she was nae one to offer apologies. She was loving, for certain, but a hard woman.”
“Poor Graham.”
“Aye, and I made it worse.”
“How?” she demanded sharply, angry that he wanted to heap all the blame for Graham’s problems on his shoulders.
“By teasing him and making him feel worthless with my need to keep him safe, and now I am hurting him yet again. And—” Lachlan squeezed his eyes shut, and his voice dropped to an agonized whisper “—I hear a voice in my head telling me that I must save him from himself, but I dunnae ken how to do it without giving ye up, and I won’t do that. Nor am I certain it would matter anyway. I feel as if I’m being cleaved in two.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “If something happens to him, ye might begin to hate me…”
He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and stared into her eyes. “Nay. Never. I love ye. I just wish I kenned a way to ease his pain.”
“I do, too,” she whispered. “Perchance I should go back home for a spell.”
