“She was my final mission. The only one I didn’t complete. I couldn’t destroy such perfection.” Her father’s attention focused once more, his features grim. “So I came home and, as was my duty, married your twit of a mother. That, I did for the Crown.”
Silence fell between them. Her father’s expression turned defiant. His fingers stilled. He narrowed his eyes at her. Bridget could tell he was reaching a decision about her fate. She couldn’t let that decision be to lock her away again.
“I see,” Bridget said softly, for she did see. Her father had given up the only woman he’d ever loved, a spy from the sound of things. A choice he’d made, and he’d let the regret fester for years. Bridget felt a deep, forlorn sympathy for him, for the possibilities he’d lost. “You gave up everything for Britain. Every chance for happiness. How do they repay you? By treating our family as no better than common foot soldiers. Tools for a purpose, to go where we’re told until we break and are replaced.”
That didn’t make his betrayal right. His sacrifice didn’t mean he got to decide for her, and for Ollie, that they would betray their homeland and flee to places unknown. Most of all, her father’s regrets did not give him the right to attempt to have Alasdair killed. She forced her features to remain soft. She would not permit herself to think her father’s plan for Alasdair anything more than an attempt…though the many windows showed the sun lowering, and he had yet to appear.
Her father studied her for long minutes. She kept her shoulders back and her gaze forward, locked on the windows behind him. She made her face a mask, but her mind raged against the slowly lowering sun, herald to the evening tide.
“Do I need to have you locked in your cabin?” her father finally asked.
Bridget permitted a long sigh. “Do as you like, Father,” she said, edging her voice with defeat. “It isn’t as if I can stop you.”
He nodded, a gleam of pleasure brightening his gaze. “I knew you were smarter than your mother.”
Bridget didn’t react to that, knowing the jab for the test it was.
Her father gestured. “There’s a pitcher and basin by the bed. Clean your hands. You’re getting blood on your dress.”
She nodded. Adopting a subservient mien, she did as she was bade.
