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Authors: Rachael Kennedy
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allowed back up here.’
‘I want back,
Laird.’ Bridie breathed and the Laird looked into her glittering eyes and he
told her his truth.
‘You will be.’
‘Did he take
his ale?’ Mrs Moffat asked.
‘Aye.’ Bridie
said, picking up Gracie and smothering her blushes in her daughter’s curls.
‘And did you add
another log to the fire?’
‘I did.’
‘What took you so
long?’ Mrs Moffat asked, but Bridie didn’t answer,
instead she told Gracie she would get her some lunch. ‘Bridie?’
‘What?’
‘ Dinnae cheek me lassie,’ Mrs Moffat
said. ‘I’ve a job for you. Take some oatcakes to Dougal .’
She wrapped the warm oatcakes up as she spoke. ‘You can tell him how you’re
looking forward to the banns being read at the weekend.
‘I don’t want to.’
Bridie shook her head, felt the happiness fizzing out of her, for she did not want to spend even a moment alone with Dougal Blaine until she had to, but Mrs Moffat would not be swayed .
‘It will be nice
to have some time, maybe have a wee talk, get to know each other a little
before your wedding.’
‘I’ve got Gracie’s
lunch to sort.’
‘I’ll feed
Gracie.’ Mrs Moffat said handing her the package.
Bridie had no
choice.
She walked along
the loch, holding the cloth that contained the warm cakes, thinking about the
Laird and hoping that Dougal wasn’t home. Maybe she
could just leave the oatcakes by the door and knock and run off.
Except Dougal was there at the front of his hut, letting blood
from a highland cow and he stood as she approached
‘Bridie!’
She had never
really spoken much to Dougal and certainly Bridie had
never been alone with him.
‘Come in.’
She walked into
the small stone cottage, could not imagine herself and Gracie here. It was
smoky from the peat fire and smelt dank, but that wasn’t the problem - Dougal was so large, so imposing and she was shaking as he
added the blood to the pot on the fire.
Bridie’s eyes
wandered the small cottage and came to rest on a half built box bed – a
bed that was used for three things. She would be taken there on her wedding
night and then again for birthing and then, once again, when she was dead.
Bridie hoped the
latter came first.
And Dougal saw her eyes dart there.
‘I brought you
some oatcakes.’ Bridie offered him the cloth package. ‘ Mrs Moffat says you should eat them while they’re still warm.
‘I’m no hungry.’ Dougal said. ‘Well, not for oatcakes.’ His face was near hers, she could smell his rancid breath, when the Laird
smelt so lovely
She shouldn’t be
so choosy.
She was damaged goods, Bridie reminded herself, and Dougal was patient and kind, if a bit slow.
But as his hand
moved to her cheek, she turned her head away; even with the best imagination
she could not pretend it was the Laird.
But it did not
deter Dougal , his hand moved then to her breast, but
it didn’t feel like the Lairds’ hand had.
‘Maybe you could
take this off, his fingers prised open her kirtle.
‘ Dougal Blaine!’ Bridie scolded, burning red, not with
anger, but with guilt, because she didn’t mind when the Laird touched her.
‘We’re not even married. Why would you think I’d want to take my clothes of for
you?
But his scent was
suddenly familiar, and she thought she might be sick as she remembered that
meaty hand on her body and the weight, the horrible weight of Dougal as others urged him. Surely she was imagining
things, for everyone had told her Dougal was kind,
except she was remembering otherwise now. As her horrified eyes lifted to his, Dougal merely smiled and she felt the rip of her kirtle and
the filthy sound of his voice.
‘You didn’t mind
last time.
Chapter Ten
The Laird woke and
all the pain left him as he remembered Bridie’s kiss and the pleasure of
watching her come in his arms.
He wanted her
happy. Did not want the burden she was carrying on her shoulders there for even
a minute more. He would speak now with Mrs
‘I want back,
Laird.’ Bridie breathed and the Laird looked into her glittering eyes and he
told her his truth.
‘You will be.’
‘Did he take
his ale?’ Mrs Moffat asked.
‘Aye.’ Bridie
said, picking up Gracie and smothering her blushes in her daughter’s curls.
‘And did you add
another log to the fire?’
‘I did.’
‘What took you so
long?’ Mrs Moffat asked, but Bridie didn’t answer,
instead she told Gracie she would get her some lunch. ‘Bridie?’
‘What?’
‘ Dinnae cheek me lassie,’ Mrs Moffat
said. ‘I’ve a job for you. Take some oatcakes to Dougal .’
She wrapped the warm oatcakes up as she spoke. ‘You can tell him how you’re
looking forward to the banns being read at the weekend.
‘I don’t want to.’
Bridie shook her head, felt the happiness fizzing out of her, for she did not want to spend even a moment alone with Dougal Blaine until she had to, but Mrs Moffat would not be swayed .
‘It will be nice
to have some time, maybe have a wee talk, get to know each other a little
before your wedding.’
‘I’ve got Gracie’s
lunch to sort.’
‘I’ll feed
Gracie.’ Mrs Moffat said handing her the package.
Bridie had no
choice.
She walked along
the loch, holding the cloth that contained the warm cakes, thinking about the
Laird and hoping that Dougal wasn’t home. Maybe she
could just leave the oatcakes by the door and knock and run off.
Except Dougal was there at the front of his hut, letting blood
from a highland cow and he stood as she approached
‘Bridie!’
She had never
really spoken much to Dougal and certainly Bridie had
never been alone with him.
‘Come in.’
She walked into
the small stone cottage, could not imagine herself and Gracie here. It was
smoky from the peat fire and smelt dank, but that wasn’t the problem - Dougal was so large, so imposing and she was shaking as he
added the blood to the pot on the fire.
Bridie’s eyes
wandered the small cottage and came to rest on a half built box bed – a
bed that was used for three things. She would be taken there on her wedding
night and then again for birthing and then, once again, when she was dead.
Bridie hoped the
latter came first.
And Dougal saw her eyes dart there.
‘I brought you
some oatcakes.’ Bridie offered him the cloth package. ‘ Mrs Moffat says you should eat them while they’re still warm.
‘I’m no hungry.’ Dougal said. ‘Well, not for oatcakes.’ His face was near hers, she could smell his rancid breath, when the Laird
smelt so lovely
She shouldn’t be
so choosy.
She was damaged goods, Bridie reminded herself, and Dougal was patient and kind, if a bit slow.
But as his hand
moved to her cheek, she turned her head away; even with the best imagination
she could not pretend it was the Laird.
But it did not
deter Dougal , his hand moved then to her breast, but
it didn’t feel like the Lairds’ hand had.
‘Maybe you could
take this off, his fingers prised open her kirtle.
‘ Dougal Blaine!’ Bridie scolded, burning red, not with
anger, but with guilt, because she didn’t mind when the Laird touched her.
‘We’re not even married. Why would you think I’d want to take my clothes of for
you?
But his scent was
suddenly familiar, and she thought she might be sick as she remembered that
meaty hand on her body and the weight, the horrible weight of Dougal as others urged him. Surely she was imagining
things, for everyone had told her Dougal was kind,
except she was remembering otherwise now. As her horrified eyes lifted to his, Dougal merely smiled and she felt the rip of her kirtle and
the filthy sound of his voice.
‘You didn’t mind
last time.
Chapter Ten
The Laird woke and
all the pain left him as he remembered Bridie’s kiss and the pleasure of
watching her come in his arms.
He wanted her
happy. Did not want the burden she was carrying on her shoulders there for even
a minute more. He would speak now with Mrs
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