Rogue Scot (Brethren of Stone 4)

They’d passed an easy day and night and were making excellent time to Heron’s Cove. He hadn’t seen Bridget since they’d set off, she was hiding in her cabin.

Which he should be grateful for. No kissing, no temptation.

Somehow, that was a very small consolation. He closed his eyes, remembering the press of her body against his, the silkiness of her lips. He should have tasted the skin of her neck. Was it as sweet as her breath?

Just the thought of laying a kiss behind the shell of her ear had his body hard and throbbing. He gritted his teeth as a gust of wind smacked him in the face, cooling his burning skin.

Then he tilted his head. The wind persisted as moist, warmer air

pulled at his clothing. When warm air hit the cold sea like this, it meant only one thing. A storm.

Blast, they were a day from Heron’s Cove. He’d have to cut toward the shore and find a harbor in which to shelter, hopefully one that wasn’t overly rocky. They’d just passed North Berwick, not that Bridget’s father would allow them haven there anyway. After the way he’d treated Bridget’s father, the man was as likely to light their ship on fire as he was to provide shelter.

Dunbar wasn’t too far, they could make it in a few hours but as another gust of wind pulled at his hair, rippling his shirt like grass on the Highlands, he saw the black wall of storm clouds coming toward them.

Damn it it all to hell. They’d have to make a break for the shore.

He yelled several commands and then swung himself down below deck. He knew Bridget enough to know the storm would frighten her and he wanted to warn her.

Secretly, he just wanted to see her but no one need know that but him.

Knocking on her door, he called. “Bridget. I need to speak with you.”

“Go away,” her muffled voice called.

He knocked again, louder. “A storm in coming, I want you to—” He stopped as the lock rattled and the door flew open.

“A storm? How bad?” The color had drained from her face as she clutched at the door.

His mouth pulled. “Bad.”

She reached a shaky hand toward him. He didn’t hesitate as he stepped into the room and gathered her into his arms. “Can we make it to shore?”

“Aye, we can make it. The question is will there be suitable shelter. Some of the shore is more dangerous than the open ocean.”

She shook as she looked up at him. “Matt?” She wrapped her arms about his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve hidden away. I’m sorry that I’m always so cross. You’ve been trying to help me and I—”

He kissed her lips quiet. They tasted as sweet as the last time as they clung to his. “Don’t apologize. I shouldnae have kissed ye, ye’ve a right to be mad. And I ken I just did it again but…”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I’m glad you did. At least I know what it feels like if we don’t…” She swallowed and looked away. “If the storm is too strong.” She tucked her head under his chin. “Thank you for helping me. It’s been so long since anyone has. And I just want you to know that you’ve restored my faith in this world.”

Her words hit him like a blow to the chest. “Don’t say that. How can that be true when I’ve so little faith myself?”

She leaned her head back to look at him, her chin tilting to one side. “If we make it through all of this, I’ll make it my job to restore yours.” Then she lifted on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his again. They were tentative, soft, and achingly sweet. Dropping back down, she stepped away. “Now go save us, would you?” Giving him one last look, she closed the door.

He headed back up toward the deck but he hadn’t even made it to the ladder when the ship pitched violently.

What was wrong with him? Storms didn’t usually take him by surprise like this.

As his head crested the hatch, the sky opened up as torrential rain drove down on the deck. The ship started up a wave and then crashed down again as Matt held on, waiting for the boat to settle.

The waves were driving perpendicular to the coast. He winced, knowing it would take them longer to reach the shore. They’d have to cut an angle. To head straight in was to risk capsizing.

Striding to the helm, Matt took the wheel. Men scurried about, the sound of ropes the only thing louder than the wind and rain.

Matt gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white. He needed to focus but Bridget’s words kept echoing through his thoughts. “I’ll restore your faith the way you’ve brought back mine.” Could she bring Reginald back? Likely not. His brothers were living full lives despite the loss. Maybe they were right. And Bridget too. Maybe it was time to have some faith.

Chapter Eleven