Page 35 of Wicked Highland Wishes
Marion turned quickly and scampered away, leaving Lachlan standing alone with Bridgette. What was Marion about? Surely the woman was not meddling with the intent of bringing him and Bridgette together? Marion had to know such a thing could never be so.
“Why?” Bridgette asked, her voice an awed whisper.
“Why what?” he asked slowly, wondering if she meant why had he feigned a beesting or if she was possibly referring to what she had likely witnessed last night in the courtyard between him and Helena and then him and Lillias. Bridgette, unlike Marion, thought he really did desire Helena.
“Why did ye let me win the contest?”
“Because,” he said, swallowing, “I could nae bear to see ye hurt.” He gently removed the hand that still lay upon his neck, each passing moment his desire growing from her touch.
A crease puckered between her russet brows. “I dunnae understand ye, Lachlan MacLeod. One minute I believe ye to be good and honorable, and then I believe ye to be pure wicked. Then ye do something to make me believe ye are honorable again.”
She’d seen him for certain last night. She cocked her head. “So which is it?” she hissed. “Are ye honorable or nae?”
His throat ached to tell her he was honorable, but it would be folly to do so. He wanted her, and he felt more certain than ever that she felt the pull to him, too. If her fight to deny her feelings was even a small portion of his own fight to deny what he felt for her, the wisest thing to do would be to let her hate him.
He stepped back, putting a distance between them. “I’m honorable when I choose to be,” he offered lamely.
Her eyebrows arched, and her lips pressed together. “Yer answer tells me ye’re nae honorable at all. Shall we hunt?”
He nodded.
“Do ye need to bid Helena farewell first?”
Helena was trapped, much to her irate protest, helping Alanna in the kitchens again today, and Marion intended to force Helena to embroider later, so he did not have to concern himself with her whereabouts for the day. He shook his head, knowing it seemed odd not to speak, but he could not have even if he had known what to say. Anger had risen in his throat and was close to choking him. What Bridgette thought about him should not matter to him so. He could not comprehend why he could not rid himself of the desire he felt for this woman, knowing how very wrong it was.
