Page 37

T he night was cool and still, Bridget smoothed her gown, then tested the grip of her sgian-dubh.

The weight was familiar and comforting. She had carried it since she was a girl, a reminder of where she came from and of what she was willing to fight for.

Bridget moved swiftly, stuffed the small dagger into her boot, and picked up a book of poems by William Blake that was next to her bed.

The chamber was dark, but she didn’t dare light a candle.

Every sound seemed amplified in the silence.

The rustling of fabric, even the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her hurried steps, signaled she was leaving.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat a reminder that she was running out of time. Thomas was out there, alone. Facing men who had no reason to bargain with him, not when they had the power to destroy him instead.

Bridget reached for the door latch, but the soft sound of footsteps in the corridor froze her in place. She barely had time to step away before the door swung open, and Catriona stood there, brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

Bridget swallowed back a curse.

Catriona’s sharp gaze swept over her, the traveling cloak, the sturdy boots, the barely concealed tension in her stance. Her expression darkened. “Where are you going?”

Bridget didn’t answer. She reached for her gloves instead, but Catriona stepped further inside, closing the door behind her.

“No,” she said softly. “No, you’re not fooling me. You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Bridget’s fingers curled around the leather of her gloves, her jaw tightening. “I have to.”

Catriona exhaled sharply. “You’re going after him.”

Bridget didn’t deny it.

Catriona took another step closer, lowering her voice. “You don’t know what you’re walking into. This isn’t a reckless chase through the Highlands. These men are killers. They killed his lordship. You’re not talking any sense.”

Bridget lifted her chin. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing. Thomas—” She stopped herself, but Catriona’s knowing gaze didn’t waver.

“If you go,” Catriona continued, her voice tight, “then I’m going with you.”

Bridget’s heart twisted, but she forced herself to stay firm. “No, you’re not.”

Catriona let out a frustrated breath, shaking her head. “You cannot do this alone.”

Bridget’s fingers clenched into fists. “I have to.”

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.

Then, as if sensing the shift, Catriona took a slow step back, eyes narrowing in realization. “You planned this,” she murmured. “You weren’t going to tell anyone.”

Bridget’s throat tightened.

Catriona reacted quickly, but Bridget was faster. Before she could reach the door, Bridget lunged, shoved her inside, slammed the door, and turned the key in the lock. The soft click was like a hammer in her chest.

“Bridget!” Catriona’s hands slammed against the wood.

Bridget’s fingers trembled as she pressed her forehead to the door. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I can’t let you stop me.”

“Bridget, don’t do this.” Catriona’s voice turned urgent. The muffled sound of her pushing against the door broke through the quiet. “You’ll get yourself killed!”

Bridget closed her eyes for a brief moment, willing herself to shut out the doubt creeping into her chest. “I won’t,” she said, forcing the conviction into her voice. “I won’t let that happen.”

Catriona’s voice was muffled but fierce. “Bridget! Open this door. I swear if you—”

“I’m sorry,” Bridget whispered, pressing her palm against the wood for just a second before she forced herself to step back. She hesitated, then left the key in the keyhole, right where Catriona would find it.

“Lady or no lady. I will throttle you when I get out of here!” Catriona shouted.

A smile flickered across Bridget’s lips as she stepped away. “Then I’d best make it worth the trouble.”

She hurried down the corridor, her pulse racing.

The night air hit her like a slap as she stepped outside. The estate was quiet. Most of the guests had retired, and the few who still lingered were gathered in the drawing room, speaking in hushed tones about Thomas’s absence.

Bridget moved carefully through the shadows, her destination already set in her mind. Townsend’s horse.

She found him still saddled near the stables with his reins looped loosely over the hitching post. She untied the reins, soothing the beast with a gentle murmur as she checked the girth. It was a fine animal, bred for speed and endurance, precisely what she needed.

Swinging up into the saddle, she adjusted her cloak, casting one last glance toward the manor. There was no turning back now.

With a sharp nudge of her heels, she sent the horse into motion, guiding him onto the path leading away from the manor. The cool night air bit at her cheeks, the world around her narrowing to the rhythmic pound of hooves against damp earth.

Shadows stretched long beneath the moonlight, the towering trees forming a dark tunnel ahead. She leaned forward, urging the horse onward, her breath steady despite the storm raging inside her. Somewhere beyond the bend, beyond the river’s winding path, was the clearing. And Thomas.

She didn’t know how long she’d been riding before she noticed a faint glow flickering in the distance, just beyond the tree line. Smoke curled upward, thin but visible against the inky sky, a beacon leading her to the heart of what had been set in motion.

She eased the horse to a stop as the trees thinned around her. Sliding down the saddle, her boots sank into the softened ground. The clearing ahead was shrouded in an eerie stillness, the silence broken only by the soft hiss of lanterns swaying from low branches.

Bridget pressed a steadying hand against the book beneath her cloak.

Her pulse pounded, fear and determination battled for dominance.

But her back remained straight, her stance unwavering.

She was Lady Bridget McConnell, daughter of Laird Duncan McConnell of Glencross, Chief of Clan McConnell.

She was Highland born, Highland bred. She lifted her chin and walked into the clearing.

Across from her, a tall man with sharp, calculating eyes stepped forward, his long, dark cloak shifting as he moved. His smirk was one of cruel amusement.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyeing her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “You’re not who we expected. Where is Townsend?”

Bridget forced a measured breath, meeting his gaze. “Plans changed.”

The leader’s eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk twitching. “Did they? And who might you be?”

She ignored the question. Instead, she shifted her grip on the book beneath her cloak. “I have what you want,” she said evenly.

That caught his attention. His gaze dropped and tracked what she was holding. Around him, the others tensed, their hands inching toward their weapons, alert and suddenly still.

“You’ve brought the journal,” he murmured, his tone suddenly more interested. “I must admit, I didn’t think Townsend would be fool enough to send someone else in his place. And certainly not—” He eyed her with amusement. “You.”

Bridget slowly withdrew the decoy from beneath her cloak, lifting it just enough for the lantern light to catch the leather cover. A ripple of tension passed through the group.

“You seem surprised,” she said, voice edged with irony. “You didn’t expect someone to be so obliging, did you?”

The leader’s lips curled into a thin smile, though his eyes flickered with suspicion. “Perhaps not. But if you’re here, you know its value.”

She took a step forward, closer to the fire. “I know enough to realize you’ll stop at nothing to get it.”

A murmur ran through the men behind him, but the leader merely tilted his head. “A clever girl. But I wonder, why risk coming here alone? Surely someone like you has more… expendable options.”

Bridget lifted her chin. “Sometimes, if you want something done right, you do it yourself.” Then, after a deliberate pause, she added coolly, “Or did you think I would grant you what you want without making you earn it first?”

A flicker of irritation passed over the leader’s face, his smirk fading. The men around him shifted, growing restless.

“Enough games,” he snapped. “Give me the journal.”

Bridget hesitated just long enough for tension to increase. She had only seconds now, seconds before everything turned to chaos.

She extended the journal just beyond his reach, her fingers tightening around the leather cover. “If you want it, you’ll have to give me something in return.”

His expression darkened. “You’re in no position to negotiate, my dear.”

Bridget’s grip didn’t waver. Her voice dropped, deliberate and steady. “Maybe not. But the question is, are you willing to take that risk?”

A shadow moved at the edge of the clearing.

“Enough!” A voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and commanding.

Bridget’s breath caught.

Thomas stepped into the clearing, his expression carved from stone.

The leader turned, amusement flickering across his face. “And here I thought tonight couldn’t get any more interesting.” His eyes gleamed. “Lord Grenville, I presume?”

Thomas ignored the taunt, his gaze snapped to Bridget, ensuring she was unhurt before shifting back to the leader. “Step away,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

Bridget hesitated, every instinct telling her to stand her ground.

The leader sighed, shaking his head. “You two are more trouble than you’re worth.”

Movement stirred in the shadows.

Grenville didn’t hesitate. His boot scraped against the gravel as he lunged.

The attack came fast. A fist struck hard, snapping Grenville’s head back. He staggered but barely lost a step before driving forward with practiced precision.

Bridget’s heart lurched as the Order’s enforcer, a hulking brute with a scar down his cheek, threw another brutal swing.