Page 41 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

“It is sand,” Aileana whispered. “And the whole thing is damp. How?”

“I was out in a rain shower last night.”

“But the sand… Are those seashells?” The sound of soft clinking on the writing desk ensued as the cot ropes creaked. “How did ye get these?”

Another heartbeat passed. Then another.

“Aileana,” Brighde began, her whispers so soft, Tormund strained to hear. “Please, pray ye’ll keep this betwixt us.”

Christ, was Brighde about to confess about him? She really couldn’t lie.

“What’s wrong, Brighde?” Concern laced her sister-in-law’s words.

“Nothing. Nothing in the world is wrong. For the first time, everything feels right.”

“Then why so skittish?”

Brighde sucked in a deep breath, exhaling her next words. “I’ve met someone.”

Silence. Fok. Energy flooded Tormund’s blood for an ousting and then a fight.

“Who is he?” Aileana finally asked.

“Someone I, eh, like verra much.”

“Pray tell who he is!” her sister-in-law hissed.

“It doesna’ matter. James will never approve of me courting a suitor.”

In any other situation, Tormund would harrumph at being called a suitor or referring to what they were doing as something so sweet as a courtship. The notion that any man would betroth a daughter to a brigand like him was laughable. Such normal pleasures were for better men. But the sadness he sensed in Brighde’s voice stayed him. She honored him, presenting him in such a way. It was he who didn’t deserve it.

“Like I said, Jamie worries for ye. He’s so heartsick over Lady Marjorie’s plight. Even seven years later it eats at him. The idea of losing ye causes him great turmoil.”

“And so I ken it cannae last,” Brighde replied. “He’s nay in a position to take a woman, and I ken I’ll never be allowed to accept an offer. And so, I pray ye, please nay tell James. For just this sennight—”

“Oh!” Aileana said.

“What’s the matter?” Brighde fretted. “Shall I fetch Jamie?”

“No’ at all,” Aileana laughed. “Here. Give me yer hand.”

What were they doing—

“Sakes, it kicks!” Brighde exclaimed.

They laughed together, but the laughter died down. Then silence.

“Ye’re so lucky, Allie,” his angel whispered so softly, this time it seemed she was trying not to be heard, and he knew right away she meant by him. “I envy ye.”

“Sister—”

“Pray ye nay feel badly for me. I’m at peace with my lot.” Like hell she was. The worst liar ever. “I beg ye. But…I finally have what ye have with my brother, for just a handful of days, hardly a blink in time. I nay want it stripped away from me yet. And if ye tell my brother…”

Her voice became too muffled, but Tormund blocked out the rest anyway.

The longing in her whisper. He chewed his cheek. She was becoming attached, despite his every effort to sever such roots.

And he wasn’t helping by coming here so eagerly, wanting to give the world to his golden-haired angel, trapped in her Tioram tower. But he’d promised her a sennight, and if a MacLeod was anything, it was loyal, even if that meant to the sister of a man he lusted to kill, an enemy who was about to see his first seed born into the world to be raised an orphan, thanks to Tormund’s ambush—shite.