Page 5

Against another wall stood a tall carved wardrobe for her belongings. Next to it, a delicate vanity table bore a lace doily and a silver brush and comb set.

The room was elegant yet understated, lacking the brazen affluence she’d seen in London. As she began to unbutton her damp dress, Bridget allowed herself a small smile. Maybe, just maybe, this place would offer the respite she desperately needed.

She thought of the rolling hills of the Highlands, the scent of heather and peat fires, and the sound of Gaelic songs drifting through the air.

Her heart ached for the rugged beauty of her homeland and the fierce pride that came with it.

But that world felt impossibly far away just now, almost like a dream.

Before she could collect herself, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

The door creaked open, and a young woman carrying fresh linens stepped inside.

Bridget’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Catriona? Is it truly you?”

The maid looked up. Recognition lit her face, followed by a warm, familiar smile. “Lady Bridget! I scarcely expected to find you here.” Her Scottish accent wrapped around the words like a welcome shawl.

She had no idea Catriona had remained in England, let alone here. Bridget’s feet moved before her thoughts caught up. In two steps, she crossed the room and embraced her. “It’s so good to see you! I thought you had gone to Ontario with your family.”

Catriona returned the hug with quiet warmth, then stepped back, her smile still bright.

She set the linens on a nearby chair and crossed the hearth to prepare tea.

“Aye, my family did go to Ontario. But I married Killian Bain, and we chose to remain. Your father made arrangements for us. We were introduced to Lord Alastair, who offered us positions here.”

“Married Killian Bain, did you?” Bridget’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Now, that is a story I must hear!”

Catriona leaned against the dressing table, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she recalled the moment.

“Ah, Lady Bridget, you should’ve seen him.

All that strength, all that confidence he carries around like an iron shield, and yet, when it came to asking for my hand, the man was a bundle of nerves. ”

Bridget, seated near the hearth, raised a brow. “Killian? Nervous? I find that hard to believe.”

Catriona let out a laugh, shaking her head. “It’s true! I swear it. The man who could face down a raging bull without flinching fumbled his words like a lad reciting his lessons.”

She sat beside Bridget, eyes shining as she continued. “He’d planned it, you see. Had everything arranged just so. Took me for a walk along the river, the sun setting behind the hills like something out of a painting. He was unusually quiet. Far too quiet for a man who always has something to say.”

Bridget smiled at the image, picturing Killian, so steady and sure in most things, suddenly rendered uncertain by love. “And what did he say when he finally found his words?”

Catriona pressed a hand to her chest, feigning deep emotion.

“Och, my lady, it was the most poetic speech you’ve ever heard,” she teased, then softened, her voice taking on a more affectionate lilt.

“He told me he’d spent years shaping iron and steel, bending it to his will, but that I was the one thing in this world he couldn’t shape, couldn’t force.

That he didn’t want to, because he loved me exactly as I was. ”

Bridget’s breath caught, just for a moment. The words settled in places she hadn’t expected. The quiet corners where doubt and pride still lingered.

“That’s…” She paused, then smiled faintly. “That’s rather beautiful.” And she meant it. Even if she couldn’t imagine anyone ever saying it to her.

“Aye, well, then he dropped the ring.”

Bridget blinked. “He what?”

Catriona burst into laughter, shaking her head.

“Right into the river, mind you! The poor man nearly threw himself in after it. He was sputtering, cursing himself for a fool, soaking wet up to his knees.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“It was the most ridiculous, wonderful thing I’d ever seen. ”

Bridget laughed, unable to help herself. “Did he find it?”

“Oh, aye. And when he did, he got down on one knee, soaking wet and grinning like a madman, and asked me properly. What could I do but say yes?”

Bridget reached for her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t imagine a better proposal.”

Catriona sighed, a dreamy look settling on her face. “Neither can I. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. And that, my lady, is what makes all the difference.” Her smile deepened. “He went to your father first, of course. Said he couldn’t ask for my hand until the clan chief gave us his blessing.”

Catriona leaned back in her chair, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she recounted the memory.

“You should have seen Killian that day. He was steady as a mountain, but I knew him well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled just so, like he was bracing himself for the hardest forge he’d ever faced.

Standing before your father, the clan chief himself, is not a task for the faint of heart. ”

Bridget chuckled. “My father doesn’t make things easy.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Catriona agreed, shaking her head.

“He listened, silent as ever, while Killian made his case. Told him plain that he loved me, that he’d stand by me, provide for me, and give me a life of honor.

And your father just watched him, like a hawk sizing up a man before the strike. It was the longest moment of my life.”

Bridget arched a brow. “And what did my father say?”

A smile touched Catriona’s lips. “He told Killian that a man who bends steel with his hands ought to know the strength of a promise. And then, just like that, he gave us his blessing.” She let out a small laugh.

“I nearly wept from relief, but Killian? He only nodded, like he’d known all along that he’d earn your father’s respect. ”

Bridget smiled, warmth filling her chest at the thought of her father granting his approval. “And what of your own family? They had plans to go to Ontario.”

Catriona’s expression softened. “Aye, they wanted us to go with them. A new life, fresh land, all of it seemed full of promise. But Scotland is in our bones, Killian and I both knew it. We couldn’t go that far away, not when our roots were here.”

Bridget’s voice dropped to something softer. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Catriona squeezed her fingers in return. “So am I. And I suppose fate had its own plans. Your father, in his quiet way, was our guardian angel.”

Bridget smiled fondly. “Father does relish playing the hero.”

“He spoke on our behalf. He introduced us to Lord Alastair. Shortly afterward, Lord Alastair offered us both work,” Catriona continued. “Killian at the forge, me helping run the household. It wasn’t what we had imagined, but it’s become home.”

Bridget’s gaze grew distant for a moment before she smiled. “Funny, isn’t it, how life takes you where you’re meant to be, even if you never saw the path ahead.”

“We were both torn. We didn’t want to go so far away, but with little work to be had, we thought our only choice was to leave. We have hopes of returning some day.”

“Killian made his grand declaration just as you were about to depart?” Bridget laughed softly. “Did he whisk you off your feet?”

Catriona’s eyes danced with amusement. “Hardly. He nearly knocked me over in his haste. Subtlety has never been his strong suit.”

Bridget grinned. “Life with him must be anything but dull.”

“Aye, that it is,” Catriona agreed with a fond smile. “We have each other and that, my lady, makes all the difference.”

Bridget’s expression softened. “I’m sincerely glad you both are faring well.”

Catriona glanced at her thoughtfully. “And you, my lady? How are you faring?”

Bridget paused, choosing her words carefully. “Oh, managing as always.”

Catriona gave her a knowing look but chose not to press further. “If there is anything you need during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” Bridget replied genuinely. After a pause, she added, “I would enjoy hearing more about how you’ve settled here. Perhaps when you have a spare moment?”

“I should like that very much,” Catriona smiled. “But first, let’s see you out of those damp clothes. A hot bath is waiting for you.”

As Catriona helped her undress, Bridget couldn’t help but ask, “Do you ever miss home?”

For a moment, Catriona’s hands faltered. “Every day,” she admitted softly. “But I hold onto hope that things may yet change.”

Bridget felt a pang in her heart. “As do I,” she whispered. They shared a quiet moment. Scotswomen, hearts tied to a land that would not let them go.

“Thank you for your help. I can do the rest.” Bridget said softly. “It’s late, and I’m sure Killian is waiting for you.”

Catriona shook her head lightly. “It’s no trouble at all, my lady. I’m happy to assist you.”

Bridget offered a gentle smile. “I appreciate your kindness, but I insist. You should get some rest. We can catch up more in the morning.”

Catriona curtsied gracefully. “Good night.”

As she moved toward the door, Bridget added, “And give my regards to Killian.”

A soft blush touched Catriona’s cheeks. “I shall. He’ll be pleased to hear you’re here.”

With a final smile, Catriona slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Bridget listened to the fading footsteps in the corridor before letting out a soft sigh.

As she slipped beneath the water’s warmth, the ache in her limbs began to fade, but the tightness coiled in her chest did not. Lavender and rosemary curled in the steam, their soothing scent failing to quiet the unrest in her mind.

Catriona and Killian had built a life here, finding a way to survive even as the echoes of the Clearances followed them. She had done the same, hadn’t she? Yet, as she stared at the flickering candlelight reflecting off the bathwater, she wasn’t so sure.

Her fingers drifted absently across the surface, sending ripples cascading outward.

Then, unbidden, another image surfaced, storming-blue eyes, steady hands, and a knowing smirk beneath the brim of a rain-soaked hat.

The Englishman. An irritation. A curiosity.

And, most troubling of all, a distraction she could not afford.

Bridget exhaled sharply, sinking lower into the water.

She had come to England with a purpose. And she would do well to remember it.

She remained in the bath until the water cooled and her limbs grew heavy with fatigue.

Only then did she rise, wrapping herself in a towel and moving slowly, as if the air itself resisted her return to the world beyond the warmth.

She dressed in silence, donning a fresh linen nightdress and wrapping herself in a thick woolen shawl.

The air had cooled since she’d arrived, and the warmth from the bath only lingered so long.

She crossed to the window and pushed back the heavy drapes.

Moonlight filtered through the mist, casting a soft glow across the gardens.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its cry both eerie and comforting in the stillness.

The night held its breath, the hush stretching long and wide, as if the world itself waited for what might come next.

Bridget pressed her fingers to the cold glass. So much depended on her success here, her family’s hopes, her people’s survival, her own heart’s stubborn need to matter beyond titles and ties.

She would do her part. But she would not be molded.

She would not be traded. And she would not be silenced.

She let the curtain fall and turned back to the room. The fire had dwindled to embers, but it was enough. Tomorrow, the masks would rise. But tonight, for a little while longer, she could simply be herself.