After his work was finished, Irvine went to Bridget’s hut.
“Bruce,” she breathed as she opened the door, “mah da isnae here.”
“I’m here tae speak tae ye, lass,” he said softly, watching as her eyes widened. “May I come in?”
Irvine expected her to deny him, but instead, she opened the door wider, and he walked in, waiting for her to shut it behind him. The hut was warm, and he let out a sigh, wishing that he were here for something more than what he was about to do.
“Are ye alright, Bruce?” she asked hesitantly, clasping her hands before her. “Ye look peaked.”
He cleared his throat, wishing desperately that he could kiss her one more time. Perhaps she would understand why he had done it.
“Mah name isnae Bruce.”
Bridget smirked, a knowing smile on her face. “I figured as much. Ye dinnae look like a Bruce.”
Her attempt at a jest didn’t make him feel any better, but even worse, his stomach roiling. “Mah name is Irvine. Irvine McMillian.”
The lass cocked her head to the side. “You have a lot of fantasy, Mr. McMillian. Is this one of yer little jokes?” Bridget asked him with an awkward smile on her face.
Irvine shook his head. “Nay, lass, I am not joking. I lied to you. I didnae tell ye who I was because mah mother, she was a McPearson.”
Bridget’s smile dimmed before her expression went pale, and she backed away from him.
“Nay.”
“I’m vera sorry.” He started forward, stopping when he saw the sheer panic on her face. “Bridget, please. I have mah reasons.”
“Ye have yer reasons?” she asked, her voice rising. “Yerreasons?Wot reason could ye have for lying tae me—tae mah da!”
Irvine ground his jaw. “I’m trying tae tell ye, lass.”
“Ye were who the messenger told us aboot, weren’t ye?” she interrupted. “Ye were who was coming.”
“I wrote the letter,” he responded dully, detesting the way that she was looking at him like she was disgusted by him.
Bridget’s mouth opened, then closed. “Why?” she finally asked. “Wot did ye stand tae gain by yer deception? Is Marcus your cousin? Is his name even Marcus?” Before Irvine could open his mouth, Bridget was waving a hand at him. “Never mind. I dinnae care wot ye have tae say. It doesnae matter.”
“Bridget, please... Let me explain” Irvine tried again. She needed to understand that he had come for one purpose, but now that he had learned about her, about her father and the tenants, he no longer had that purpose in mind.
Now he wanted to go back and capture his lairdship in another manner that didn’t involve this farm.
Then he wished to come back for her.
“I told ye,” she said after a moment, her eyes widening. “I told ye why we aren’t under a laird.”
“I didnae want tae know,” he said hoarsely. “I dinnae wish tae purchase the farmland, Bridget. I dinnae wish—”
“Stop!” she shouted, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Ye pretended tae be one of us, but ye will never be one of us! Ye will never be anything more than a liar and a...a fraud!”
Irvine couldn’t deny the fact. He was all those things and more, but it didn’t matter now. His time was up, which meant that he had a sneaking suspicion that his great-uncle knew something about this farm.
“Mah great-uncle Kenneth is coming,” he told her, helpless to stop the tears that were streaming down her face. “He’s going tae do far worse damage than I could ever do, lass. He’s going tae—”
“I’m not going to believe a word out of yer lying mouth!” she said tightly, her lips pressed together. “Get out of mah house and off this farm before mah da finds out wot ye have done!”
Irvine knew that it was fruitless for her to understand his intentions right now. All she saw was a McPearson that could do nothing more than lie to her.
Yes, he had done that and more, but because of his feelings for her, his plans had changed greatly, and all he wished to do was protect Bridget and the tenants from his great-uncle’s wrath.
