Page 6 of Redemption for the Baron

“Bridget, lass, you are the fiercest person I know. But there are times when strength isn’t enough. We need alliances. You can make a difference, not just for yourself but for all of us.”

She crossed her arms. “And what would some English nobleman want with the likes of me?” Bridget challenged, her eyes flashing with defiance. “They’ve already taken their tribute in coin, land, and people. They have left us little else.”

Her father held her gaze. “Because, Bridget, you are a woman of extraordinary worth.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The certainty in it held her still.

“If I wanted empty flattery, Father, I’d speak to my reflection.”

“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.” He exhaled. “You are fierce, unyielding, a trait that commands respect. You bring with you the resilience of the Highlands and the knowledge of how to manage land and people. That is no small thing. Our name still has influence, even across the border.”

“And yet, I would still be the one expected to bend.”

“Bridget, I don’t wish to see you unhappy. But this doesn’t have to be a sacrifice. Use your wit, your courage. Seek out someone who sees beyond titles and wealth, someone who values the woman you are.”

Between them, the fire snapped and crackled, the only sound in the tense quiet. For the first time, she let herself consider his words.

“It’s a heavy burden you place upon me,” she said, still gazing at the flames.

He gave a small, rueful smile. “Aye, lass, I know. But you’re strong enough to bear it. After all, you’re the daughter of the Laird of Glencross.”

Bridget tore her gaze from the flames, inhaling deeply as if steadying herself for battle. The air felt too thick and the room too small.

“I will consider it,” she conceded quietly. “But I make no promises.”

Her father gave her a small, knowing smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

Even now, his words echoed in her mind, lingering like an unfinished conversation. She had seen the men her father spoke of. They were filled with empty promises and empty smiles. No one had proven to be worthy. No one had met her fire without trying to extinguish it.

She had made the journey south not just as a daughter, but as an emissary, one who must tread carefully between expectation and her own resolve. Alastair Court was not merely a waypoint. It was a threshold, and whatever came next, she would face it on her terms.

And yet… the needs of her clan clung to her, heavier and more inescapable than she wished to admit.

Duty had always come at a cost. Lord Alastair had long standing business dealings with her father. Lady Alastair had become a good friend. Though their circumstances were vastly different, there was a quiet understanding between them that had always made Bridget feel comfortable.

And that comfort was rare. Precious. Invaluable in a place that expected her to shape herself to fit its mold.

Marjory’s husband, Mark Alastair, was another matter. Though polite and amicable, he had always struck Bridget as a man whose mind was often elsewhere. He was the sort to immerse himself in his own pursuits, leaving the daily concerns of the household to his wife. Bridget had never thought much of it. There were plenty of men of his station who did the same. If anything, she had admired the quiet competence with which Marjory managed everything.

It gave Bridget hope. Hope that women might still carve out influence in a world ruled by men.

This visit, this carefully arranged stay, was not merely for her own benefit. Lord and Lady Alastair, actually Marjory, were to introduce her to suitors with no obligations. She would have the final word on who she accepted as well as the terms for the marriage agreement. She was determined to prove her worth beyond mere beauty and heritage, to find a way to honor her family without losing herself in the process.Doing what’s necessary to protect those we care about, even if it means making sacrifices.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, pulling her from her thoughts. She squared her shoulders and prepared for whatever came next. Bridget smiled warmly the moment she saw Marjory coming down the hall.

“Bridget! Good heavens, you’re soaked through. What a wretched night for travel!”

She was grateful for the warmth of Marjory’s welcome. To her father’s point, perhaps not all English people were uncaring or adversaries.

“Aye.” She glanced down at her mud-stained skirt. “The weather wasn’t kind. I apologize for my state.”

Marjory gracefully waved off her apology.

“Besides,” Marjory teased, “if you hadn’t arrived like a shipwrecked sailor, I’d hardly believe you’d come from Scotland at all. How many times have Mark and I come to you in no better condition? I’ll have a hot bath prepared for you.” Marjory turned toward the hallway she had exited. “Mrs. Simmons.”

The housekeeper hurried to Marjory.

Where had the housekeeper been lurking that she appeared so quickly? In London, it took an entire five minutes for someone to reply.

“Bring Lady Bridget some warm towels and have a bath drawn for her.” Marjory turned back to Bridget.

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