“Would ye like tae take a walk with me this afternoon?” he asked instead. “Once work is completed?”
Her lips parted, and he had the strangest urge to kiss them, as he had last night. She was under his skin now, and he wanted to spend more time with her while she still liked him, for when she learned the truth, Irvine doubted he would see her again.
“Aye—I mean, of c-course,” she stammered, causing him to smile at her bashfulness. “Will ye come tae mah house and get me?”
Bridget didn’t know it, but she had just given Irvine a means to discuss the farm and the feud with the McPearson clan.
“Aye, I will.”
She gave him a pretty smile, and he clenched his hand into a fist, turning before he could say anything else.
I care for her,Irvine realized. He cared for what she thought about him, what happened to this farm. It was more than just him wanting to become laird. It was him wanting to protect these people.
Damn.
After his work was completed in the barn, Irvine went to the hut to change his clothing and wash up before he went to see Bridget, wishing he could wear his tartan to ward off the cold. Unfortunately, it would raise a red flag to all who saw the McPearson colors and undo everything that he and Malcolm had gained from the bandit attacks.
So, Irvine left it in his hut and went in search of Bridget’s hut. Leathen was waiting for him when he approached, bundled in a coat much like his daughter’s.
“Och, lad, ye are going tae freeze dressed like that!” he called out, motioning him inside. “I have another coat ye can borrow during yer time here.”
Irvine stepped inside the hut and found it to be homey—charming, even—with clear touches of Bridget on every surface. The fire was warm and cheery, and there was a pot of hearty-smelling soup hanging over it.
“Bridget had tae go tae one of the tenants unexpectedly,” Leathen stated as he pulled out another coat from underneath the straw tick bed in the corner. “Here. Give this a try.”
“Mah thanks,” Irvine murmured as he shrugged on the coat. It was a bit tight on his shoulders, but it would keep the cold off.
“She told me ye were coming by,” Leathen continued, gesturing for Irvine to join him at the table. “I’m glad. I wanted tae thank ye personally for saving the lives of mah tenants and mah daughter last night.”
Irvine felt his cheeks warm at the older man’s praise. “It was the least we could do.”
Leathen waved a hand at him. “Still. ’Tis clear ye have some warrior in ye from the way ye swung that sword. I dinnae need tae know yer story, lad, but I do need tae know wot intentions ye have in regards tae mah daughter.”
Irvine swallowed. What intentions did he have? Everything that he had built here was on a lie. Bridget wasn’t going to believe that he cared for her and not think that he was using her.
It was like being caught between a rock and a hard place, as his great-aunt used to say.
“I enjoy her company,” he said slowly. “But I will stop if ye wish for me tae.”
“’Tis noble of ye,” the older Scot replied with a nod. “But mah daughter is her own person. She can figure out if she wishes tae spend time with ye, Bruce. I have naught a say in wot she wishes tae do.” He chuckled. “She’s more like her mother these days than I care tae admit.”
“I wilnae hurt her,” Irvine promised.
Leathen just shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “As if ye can stop it, lad. I know ye arenae meant tae stay in one place for long. Bridget is a strong lass. She will get through wotever is left.”
Irvine shifted in his chair, not liking the lump in his stomach at the thought of hurting Bridget. Could he take her with him? They would have to get over the fact that he was a McPearson, and he could give her all the time she needed to grow accustomed to the idea. His mother and father would love Bridget. She was brave and a hard worker, the kind of wife Irvine knew he would like to have at his side as his lady once he took the lairdship.
Which meant that he needed to hurry in order to meet the elder’s deadline.
“The McPearsons...” he started slowly, watching at Leathen’s lip curled. “Why do ye hate them so?”
“Because they think they can just take this farm from me and mah ancestors,” he sneered, banging his fist on the table. “I’ve told them no for generations, though they refuse tae accept that we can fend for ourselves just fine.”
Irvine swallowed. “But ye just told me that without us being here last night, ye wouldnae.”
The old man looked away, his jaw clenching. “Perhaps not. But I wilnae subject these tenants—these people that trust in me—tae a leader who doesnae have their best intentions in mind. We are not workhorses for the next laird tae do as he sees fit. We are people and should be treated as such.”
“And wot if ye can be?” Irvine pressed on, finding that this was his opportunity to get into the mind of the hardened Scot and show him that a laird wasn’t just about ruling but that he could be a partner as well, someone that would care for the people and not the riches that could be brought.
