Page 4 of Redemption for the Baron

“Aye, weathering storms and fighting battles, just like in the military. Sometimes, it’s not about the strength you have, but the alliances you form and the people beside you.”

She turned her face toward him. For a breath, her eyes weren’t sharp. They were searching.

“It sounds like you’ve had your share of tough decisions.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, his voice quieter now as if speaking more to himself than to her. “It’s often the responsibilities that shape our choices. Doing what’s necessary to protect those we care about, even if it means making sacrifices.”

There it was again, that flicker of tension in her jaw, like a question she hadn’t decided to ask.

Then, he added, “I could accompany you to your destination.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, waving away his offer with a flick of her wrist.

He gave her a smile. “Ah, you don’t want anyone to know you needed help. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

As she adjusted her skirts, her hand brushed against something solid near his feet. A glint of gold. She picked it up and turned it over between her fingers. “You dropped this.” Her tone had changed. It was softer now. “BB? Does that stand for ‘Baron of Bother’?”

Their fingers brushed as she handed the coin back to him, a fleeting spark. Warm. Disarming.

“You might want to be more careful with your treasures,” she remarked with a playful glint in her eyes.

He chuckled, a deep baritone sound, and pocketed the coin. “Thank you,” he replied. “It was my pleasure, Bonnie Battler.”

She arched a brow, a mix of irritation and curiosity flashing in her green eyes. “Bonnie Battler? If you intend to flatter me, Captain, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got the fight in you, that’s for sure. And ‘Bonnie’ fits you well, very well.” He bowed to her as if she were a princess.

She couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, genuine sound that surprised even her. “Fair enough, Captain. I’ll take it as a compliment.” There was a pause, reluctant but sincere. “I suppose I owe you thanks.”

He tipped his hat. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

She gave him a gracious nod, one warrior to another.

The carriage rolled on at last, the wheels moving smoothly now. Overhead, the clouds began to part, and a few stars pricked through the dark.

Grenville remained where he stood, watching until the carriage vanished into the distance.

Helping her had stirred something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not duty. Not war. Something quieter. Harder to name.

Her fire. Her pride. The way she’d stood her ground without flinching. He exhaled, just once. He didn’t know her name. But he wanted to.

Chapter Two

Bridget McConnell satalone in the dimly lit carriage, the lantern’s flickering glow barely warming the velvet-lined interior. The road was damp and uneven, the steady rhythm of the carriage doing little to soothe the restlessness coiled inside her.

The rain had stopped, the clouds parted to reveal a star-scattered sky, but she was already soaked to the skin. Mud clung to her hem, her hands… and her thoughts.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, but it offered no relief. The air inside the carriage felt thick, a mixture of stale upholstery and the faint lavender sachet tucked into the folds of her belongings. Her fingers toyed with the ribbon of her reticule, twisting it tighter with every passing thought.

As the carriage trundled forward, the surrounding landscape shifted from open countryside to dense woodland. Towering oaks lined the narrow road, their twisted branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The mist had settled low, clinging to the earth, creeping between trunks and stones, blurring the path ahead.

She peered out the rain-streaked window, catching glimpses of movement beyond the trees. Likely nothing more than the wind disturbing the underbrush, but the unease that had plagued her since leaving home twisted tighter in her chest. She was a stranger here, venturing into a world that was not hers.The thought made her sit straighter, as if posture alone could shield her.

Her thoughts strayed, uninvited, to the man on the road. The one with steady hands and piercing blue eyes. He had touched her only briefly, steadying her when she slipped, but the memory of it lingered like warmth in her skin. Foolish. He was English. One ofthem. And yet, he had neither postured nor presumed. He had worked beside her in silence, not dismissive, not commanding, just… present.

She sighed and leaned back against the worn seat. Her father’s parting words echoed in her mind, his voice steady, filled with the quiet authority he wielded so well.

It wasn’t just memory. It was longing, for the Highland dawn, the bracing bite of the wind off the loch, the scent of peat smoke curling through the heather.

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