The Eternal Highlander by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell Page B

had distracted him. He frowned when he saw no one, even though all of his instincts told him that someone had been there. Since most of his people would never think to slip away out of respect for his or Bridget’s modesty, he had to wonder if he was being watched. Many of the Purebloods rejected his plan to breed out many of the traits they held dear so it was highly possible that a close watch was being kept on his wooing of Bridget. It was something he had better look into, he decided.
    “Are ye ready to say aye?” he asked Bridget, pleased to see that she was still struggling to regain her composure.
    “Ye are a verra obstinate mon,” she murmured as she fought to calm her breathing.
    “Aye, I am.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss. “We will have to return to our wooing later.”
    Bridget blinked and watched him walk away. She remained slumped against the wall for a few minutes as she tried to fully clear her head of the haze passion always filled it with. Idly touching the spot where Cathal had nipped her neck, she felt no wound. It was odd that, when he had scraped her skin with those sharp teeth, she had felt no fear.
    Shaking free of the last of her bemusement, Bridget headed out of the keep. There were no MacNachtons around in the sunlit bailey, but there were many of the MacMartins, Mora’s people. Bridget knew they would guard her as closely as the MacNachtons did. Their loyalty ran deep. She had learned that much since coming to Cambrun.
    Mora smiled at Bridget as she fell into step at her side. “Tis a fine day, aye?”
    “Ye say that about every day, Mora,” Bridget drawled, then smiled back at the woman. “What do ye consider a bad day?”
    “Och, winter brings many of them. I am nay fond of the cold.”
    Bridget looked around at the people working in the bailey. “There are no children, are there? That first night I dined in the great hall, I heard Cathal speak of the lack with Scymynd, but I dinnae think I really heeded the words. There arenae many MacMartin children, either? Or do ye keep them away from here?”
    “Nay, ye are right. There are verra few bairns born to those who work for the laird here. I had but the one, twenty years ago. My David who mostly works in the stable. There hasnae been a bairn born since then. It has been a lot longer since the MacNachtons have borne a child.”
    “Really? I would have thought Jankyn was only about twenty.”
    “Och, aye, I forgot about him.”
    There was an odd, strained note to Mora’s voice that made Bridget suspect Mora was lying, but she decided not to remark upon it. “How old is the laird?”
    “Wheesht, lass, I cannae recall. Such things are of little interest to me. Ye should ask the laird. Then, again, what does it matter? He be hale and handsome. Blood still runs hot, aye?” Mora chuckled when Bridget blushed. “Has all his teeth, too. Nay, age doesnae matter. Tis the heart of the mon what counts, nay how long it has been beating.”
    “There is some truth in that. Yet, I do wish to have children.”
    “I am sure our laird will give ye many fine bairns. Tis just that we, MacMartins and MacNachtons alike, have been too much alone. Nay matter how good ye think your bloodline is, ye need to add something fresh to it now and again. When there were more of us it wasnae so verra bad, but, now? Weel, unless my David leaves these hills to find himself a wife, he will ne’er wed. There isnae a woman of marrying age here about who isnae closely related to him, e’en if they were not all older than he is. Ye will give us the fresh blood we need.”
    Bridget really wished Mora would stop mentioning blood so much. “So, ye think the laird is capable?”
    “I would have thought ye could answer that for yourself. The way ye two are so often pressed together, the proof of his capability couldnae be ignored, I be thinking.”
    Another blush stung Bridget’s cheeks. She grimaced when she heard Mora laugh heartily as she walked away. It was