Page 42 of Highland Spy

His head popped up and he looked into her eyes. “Are ye really sayin’ ye want me to stop?” Hope as well as fear shone in his dark orbs.

“Aye, I’m sorry. I – I just canna do this right now.”

“I see,” he said, getting off of her, and helping her get her clothes back into place. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I didna mean to force myself on ye.”

“Nay, ye didna.” She took his hands in hers and looked deeply into his eyes. “I care for ye, Caleb. And if I’m goin’ to make love with anyone, I want it to be ye. But I just canna do this right now.”

“Oh, ye’re a virgin and ye’re scared. I understand. Ye dinna need to be frightened, lass.”

All of a sudden, she felt like such a traitor, because there was something else she hadn’t told him, and mayhap she should. But somehow, she didn’t think now was the right time to tell him that she wasn’t a virgin and, at one time, had actually been married.

Chapter 14

The next morning came fast and, thankfully, Bridget’s father seemed back to his old self again when he awoke.

“I’m so glad ye’re feelin’ better, Faither,” said Bridget, opening the shutter to let in the sun and fresh air. The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted on the breeze. Outside, the servants and Highlanders all hurried back and forth, preparing for the first round of the finals that would start soon. This morning would be the caber toss amongst the six finalists. Each event would have a winner, but points were given and, in the end, the man with the most points would win the title and prize.

“We need to hurry, Da,” she told her father, spotting the king and his entourage already heading out to the field in front of the castle where the cabers would be tossed. Storm was with them, as well as the other five competitors. “The king will expect ye to write down all the events of the competition,” she reminded him. “Just pretend to write like ye usually do, and I’ll fill in the blank pages when we return to our room.”

“I canna find the fake bottle of ink,” said Brigham, digging through the bag on the table. “I willna be able to pretend to write if I dinna have it. When is the last time ye saw it?”

Bridget thought about it and knew exactly where she’d lost it. It had to have been in the graveyard when Caleb gave it back to her. She must have left it there by accident.

“Dinna worry about it, Faither. I think I ken where it is. Are ye able to go by yerself out to the field for the caber toss? If so, I’ll meet ye there.”

“Of course, Daughter,” he said, picking up the bag with the Highland Chronicles in it. “I will see ye at the competition.”

As soon as her father left, Bridget finished dressing, not able to stop thinking about her intimate time with Caleb. She’d been so close to making love with him, and had dreamed about it all night long. Part of her had wanted to do it, but another part of her didn’t feel as if it were right.

Opening her trunk, she pulled out a small box of trinkets she had, choosing the plain gold wedding ring and holding it up to peruse it. It was so long ago that she’d been married to Valan Douglas that she felt as if it weren’t even real. She was young and he was much older. It had been a horrible time in her life and she was glad when the marriage ended up being annulled.

Placing the ring back into the box, she thought she heard a noise in the corridor. Quickly crossing the floor, she pulled open the door, jerking back in surprise to find Caleb standing there with his fist raised in the air, as if he were about to knock. His pine marten ran past her feet, into her room.

“Och, Caleb, ye scared me,” she said with her hand to her chest. Her heart beat rapidly and she wasn’t sure if it was from being surprised or because Caleb was standing so near.

“Guid mornin’, Bridget” he said, with a smile that told her he was happy today.

“Guid mornin’, Caleb,” she replied shyly, thinking once again about their intimate time together by the river. He looked so handsome today. Then again, he always looked good to her.

“I came to escort ye to the competition.”

“Thank ye,” she said. “So . . . ye’re no longer angry with me for writin’ all those guid things in the book about ye?”

He reached out and caressed her cheek, looking deeply into her eyes. “Lass, I ken ye only meant well, so how could I stay mad at ye?”

“I need to stop by the graveyard on our way,” she told him.

“Really?” He looked confused. “What for?”

“I lost my faither’s fake bottle of ink and he’ll need it if he’s goin’ to convince the king he’s really writin’ the chronicles.”

“Blethers, I almost forgot.” He dipped his hand into his bag and held out the fake bottle of ink.

“Ye found it,” she said, taking it and putting it in a bag of her things on the table.

“I saw it in the graveyard when I let Slink wander this mornin’. I figured ye might need it.”

“All right, I’m ready. Let’s go,” she told him, not wanting to leave her father alone too long. Who knew what would happen.