Page 5 of Redemption for the Baron

Those were her mornings, not this world of curtained coaches and careful expectations. Her world had been fierce and cold and bright. It had never made her feel… small.

And yet, this morning, she did.

The decision to leave had not only been a journey of miles, but of allegiance. Leaving Glencross hadn’t just been saying goodbye to hills and kin. It had meant agreeing to a plan crafted in strategy and hope.

Her father had said it plainly. A Highland daughter, yes, but one bound by duty. If she did this well, the English might soften. The violence might ease. Her people might yet endure.

But it hadn’t felt like power. It had felt like being bartered.

The memory of the captain rose again, uninvited. Not because of what he’d done, but because of what he hadn’t. He hadn’t insisted. He hadn’t dismissed her. He had worked beside her, said little, and looked at her as if he saw her, not her name, not her title, just… her.

It had rattled her more than any challenge might have. She didn’t know what to make of a man who met her strength with steadiness. That was not English. That was dangerous.

The carriage jolted, rousing her from her thoughts. She shifted in her seat and glanced out again. The mist was lifting. The landscape had changed to sculpted shapes. To the kind of land ruled by ledgers and topiary shears.

This was his world. And soon, it would be hers.

“Bridget, lass, you carry more than just your own fate on your shoulders. Remember that.”

She did remember. Every mile of this journey weighed heavier than the last, not because of the roads, but because of what they meant. She wasn’t here for comfort or companionship. She was here to serve a purpose. An alliance. A promise forged in ink and blood.

How could she forget? The burden of duty had never been a light one. She had left Scotland with the knowledge that her presence at Alastair Court was more than a mere visit. Her friend Lady Marjory Alastair needed her, of that much she was certain. And yet, there was something else, something unspoken, that had drawn her here.

Not him. Certainly not him.

But the image returned. The height of him. The line of his shoulders. The blue of his eyes, too clear, too sharp, too steady.

She pressed her fingers to her temple and forced the thought away. A uniform and a strong jaw didn’t make a man less dangerous.

Bridget saw the estate as the carriage came up the Alastair Court drive. It was a far cry from the rugged Highlands she called home. In the dark, she could just make out the estate’s manicured lawns and architecture. Stone walls stood in clean lines, shaped by order and wealth. Nothing like the wild cragsof her childhood, but no less commanding. It was unfamiliar, imposing, yet impressive.

The carriage came to a halt with a jarring lurch at the grand entrance. Bridget, drenched and weary, cast a brief glance at the imposing façade as she stepped down. She squared her shoulders and pushed aside her discomfort. There was no place for hesitation now. Not here. Not in England. Whatever lay ahead, she would meet it standing tall.

The butler opened the door with practiced ease. “Welcome to Alastair Court, Lady Bridget.” The butler bowed slightly. “Lady Alastair is expecting you. This way to the drawing room.”

Her gaze drifted to the drawing room to her right before she decided she dared not move from the foyer’s marble floor, where a muddy puddle was forming. “I’ll wait here, thank you.”

“Very well, my lady.” The butler hurried down the hall.

As she waited for Lady Alastair, the gravity of her mission clung to her like an ill-fitting cloak, tugging her thoughts back to her father and the argument before she left Glencross.

The image of her father pacing the room, his jaw tight with frustration, played vividly in her mind. Every line of his face had been worn deeper that night. The memory of their heated exchange played in her mind, each word still fresh and vivid.

“Bridget, do you understand what’s at stake here? The Clearances have ravaged our lands. We need an alliance to protect our people, our heritage!”

Anger surged through her, hot and unrelenting. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as she stepped forward.

“And you think marrying me off to some English lord will solve all our problems? I suppose I should be grateful Viscount Huntington’s wife still suffers him, or you would send me packing off to be his bride!”

A shadow passed over her father’s face, his mouth setting into a hard line. “This isn’t a game, Bridget. And you’re not some piece of land to be traded.”

“Then stop treating me like one!” Bridget turned sharply, staring out the window as if that would make the situation better. “I’ve seen English suitors in London, Father. They smile and charm, but they only want to smooth the edges, erase the fire, and make me something docile and English. I won’t stand for it. I won’t lose myself to their civility.”

Her father’s voice softened, but the gravity of his words remained. “You want our family torn apart?” He stepped in front of her, blocking her restless path. “You have no idea what that would do to you.”

Her resolve wavered, if only for a heartbeat.

Her father’s expression softened for a moment, his voice dropping to a more somber tone.

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