His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

“My cousin’s wife’s sister is related to the sister-in-law of Mr. Dunston’s scullery maid.” She stopped to take a much-needed breath of air. “She sneaked a look at his papers, since she knew he was helping you find a place.”

Bridget’s head was spinning with all these connections that had led this distraught woman to her. “What can I do for you?”

She held out the bundle. “Take this, please.”

Bridget took the bundle as the woman stepped back. “I must go now. But if I don’t leave her, he will kill her. He promised he would.” With those hurried words, she dashed away and around the corner, leaving Bridget and Cam staring open-mouthed.

The bundle moved, and Bridget pushed aside the filthy blanket to see a baby, its deep blue eyes staring up at her.

Chapter Fifteen

Cam looked down at the ragged bundle in Bridget’s arms. “What the devil!”

“Yes. Precisely.” Bridget jiggled the baby when it started to wail. “We must get the mother back. I can’t take this baby. What will I do with it? I have no idea how to care for it.”

When he continued to stare at the child, Bridget said, “Cam! Go find that woman.”

“Yes.” Finally mobilized, he hurried down the steps and followed to where she’d gone around the corner. He came to a screeching halt, his eyes sweeping the area. No sign of her. He continued on down, checking alleyways and stores. She’d completely disappeared.

Bloody hell. What would they do now?

He returned to where Bridget bounced the now screaming child in her arms.

“No luck.” He shook his head.

Bridget wiped sweat from her forehead. “Cam, we must do something.” She looked from the baby to him. “Why is she crying?”

“How the devil would I know?” He scowled at her. “You’re a woman, you should know these things.”

“Oh, is that right? Please be assured, my lord, that knowing why a child is screaming its lungs out is not some magical understanding women are born with.” Her voice grew louder and louder to cover the child’s screams.

“Well, it is certainly not something that men are born with.” He continued to eye the child as if he expected it to lunge up and bite him on the nose.

“No. Only the necessary equipment to create them.”

Despite the racket, his jaw dropped. “Lady Bridget! You say the most outrageous things.”

A few people stopped to stare at the three of them. “We are beginning to draw attention to ourselves. Let’s go inside.”

Bridget’s jaw tightened as the baby continued to scream. Lord above, she had strong lungs. “That won’t solve anything. She’s probably crying because she’s hungry.”

“So feed her.”

“With what? I’m not producing any milk.” She jiggled the baby.

He massaged his temples with this index finger and thumb. “Oh, right.” He fumbled in his pocket for the key to the house and opene

d the door. The three of them entered, the echoes from the baby’s cries even louder than her wailing outside.

“We have to do something, like find a wet nurse.” He felt quite clever coming up with that solution.

“Yes, wonderful idea. Now who do we know who has recently given birth? We’ll just waltz right over to her house and plop the child in her lap and say, ‘feed her.’”

“There is no need to get nasty, Bridget.”

“I am not nasty.” She shifted the baby to her other arm, which did not ease the child’s suffering at all. “I suggest we lock up the house, return home, and seek assistance from your sister. She certainly knows more than we do about babies.”

Cam ran his fingers through his hair. “We can’t keep this child. We have no idea who the mother is or how to locate her. In fact, we are not even sure the woman who thrust the child at you is the mother. Bloody hell, we could be charged with kidnapping.”