Bridget stared at the closed door for far longer than she should have, half expecting Bruce to walk back in.
No, not Bruce, but a McPearson. Irvine was his name, and it fit him far better than Bruce ever did.
Bridget wiped the tears from her eyes and sank into the nearby chair, her knees weak. Her heart was hurting something fierce at Irvine’s betrayal, and now she would have to face a lifetime without the man she felt like she loved.
Or had she known him at all? Who was Irvine McMillian truly?
Oh, it didn’t matter. Bridget placed her head on the table. She was never going to see him again! If he did think he could come back on the farm after some time, she was going to be the first one to tell him that he wasn’t welcome here.
This wasn’t his home.
The door opened, and Bridget lifted her head, seeing the angered expression on her father’s face.
“Och, lass,” he breathed the moment he saw her tear-stained face. “I’m vera sorry.”
Bridget let out a sob as she rose from the chair and crossed the room to throw herself into his arms, feeling his warmth around him. He blew out a breath as she cried against his tunic, letting her tears flow freely.
“I thought he was someone we could trust,” she sobbed.
“I know, lass,” her father said softly, hugging her close.
They stood there for a moment until Bridget’s sobs subsided, and she was able to pull away from her father, wiping the remainder of the tears away.
“It doesnae matter.”
“Bridget, lass,” Leathen sighed, “I think he cared for ye.”
Surprised, she looked at him. “Wot?”
Leathen swallowed, looking away. “As much as I hate tae admit it, I think he truly cared for ye.”
Bridget steeled herself against the wave of pain that coursed through her body. “It matters not. He is leaving, and I never want tae see him again.”
“Aye,” her father replied as he shed his coat.
Bridget walked over to the table, turning to look at her father. “Why do ye hate them so?” she asked. “I dinnae think ye have ever told me the story.”
“Because,” he replied, falling into the chair, “yer great-great-uncle once tried tae negotiate with a McPearson. He wished tae still hold on to the parcel of land he had been gifted, but McPearson demanded he give it over. When he refused, he had him killed, and his body sent back tae his family in pieces.”
Horrified, Bridget gasped. “Now ye know, lass,” her father said heavily, “why I cannae trust a McPearson.”
But as he said it, she saw the sadness on his face. Had he too enjoyed Irvine’s company as she had?
“I will admit,” Leathen continued, staring into the fire. “I dinnae believe that he would have done something as horrid as his ancestors had.”
She couldn’t see it either.
After a while, Bridget left the hut for some fresh air, finding herself walking to the hut where Irvine had been staying. The door opened easily, and she stepped inside, her stomach twisting in knots as she did so. They were gone, and while it should have made her pleased, Bridget felt nothing but sadness that she would never see Irvine again.
Well, perhaps she would see him one day, but they would be enemies.
Sighing, she sat on one of the beds, staring off into the distance. She thought about what her father had told her. He might be related to a McPearson, but she couldn’t imagine Irvine doing something as horrid as his ancestor.
Nor did she think he was lying to her again when he had told her that he had wanted her to see the man first. Would she have even given him a second glance otherwise?
No, she wouldn’t have. Her father would have run them off, and she would have never had the moments she had with Irvine.
The wonderful moments that she would remember for a lifetime.
