“Hang on,” Irvine replied, fumbling for the keys on the wall opposite the cell. “I will get him out.”
Bridget bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as Irvine inserted the key into the lock and pulled open the iron bar door, allowing her to pass. Leathen was laying on his side, and as she touched his shoulder, he stirred awake.
“Bridget, lass?” he asked, blinking his eyes. “’Tis ye?”
“Aye,” she croaked, tears flooding her eyes. “’Tis me, Da.”
He sat up and grasped her around the waist, hugging her close. “Ye’re alive.”
She closed her eyes and returned his hug, grateful that he wasn’t dead. “Da, the farm...”
Leathen pulled away, and there were tears in his eyes. “Tell me.”
Bridget swallowed. “Twenty-five souls were lost.”
She watched as he hung his head, and Bridget stepped back. “That is not all, Da. I-I made an alliance with the McPearson clan.”
He didn’t look at her, and Bridget felt the first stirring of concern in her gut. “Wot did ye give them?”
“A bit of coin,” Irvine added as he joined them. “For mah protection as laird.”
Her father did look up then, his eyes wide. “Laird?”
Bridget watched as Irvine straightened his shoulders, standing taller. The title fit him, she realized. Bridget wasn’t certain of why she hadn’t seen it before. Irvine was meant to be something more, and a laird, well, he was going to be a great and noble laird from what she had seen from him. The McPearson clan was going to be rewarded from his reign.
“Aye,” he said. “I will be a fair laird, there whenever ye need me. I will never try tae take yer farm from ye, nor am I after yer treasure. I only wish for peace between our two clans. It was what mah ancestors wished for, they just didnae know how tae make it happen.” He then cleared his throat. “Surely ye can see that, Leathen. Surely ye can feel like ye can trust me and mah intentions.”
“Wot aboot mah daughter?” he asked, causing Bridget’s cheeks to warm. “Are ye after her? Wot are yer intentions, Scot?”
Irvine looked over at Bridget, and she saw the tenderness in his gaze, the very one she had felt last night.
“Aye, I might be interested in keeping her on as mah wife.”
Her breath caught as her father chuckled. “Well then,” he stated as he pushed himself off the cot, “perhaps we can talk aboot this somewhere with a fire and whiskey tae warm mah bones.”
They ended up back in the great hall, and she saw that Irvine’s family hadn’t left, waiting for them to arrive.
“We cannae find Kenneth,” Malcolm told them in a low voice.
“Go tae the farm now,” Irvine growled. “He’s going after the treasure.”
“Aye,” Malcolm nodded before turning and walking away.
“Wot else do ye need, Son?” William was asking urgently. “Malcolm will take the best warriors we can spare.”
Bridget moved away from Irvine and took her father over to the roaring fire, clutching his arm tightly.
“Are ye certain ye are alright?” she asked softly, noting the limp he had.
“I’m fine, lass,” he answered, holding his hands out to the fire. “Nothing that a bit of warmth cannae solve. We need tae stop him.”
“Warm yerself,” she said softly, glad that he wasn’t injured or dead. “Ye are in nary a position tae ride.”
“I have tae,” he told her, clenching his jaw as he stared into the fire. “’Tis mah clan, Bridget. They need me.”
Irvine joined them. “Malcolm is leading the warriors after mah great-uncle.”
“I want tae go,” Leathen said. “Dinnae deny me the right.”
