Resisting the Highlander: A Scottish Romance

  Resisting the Highlander

  by Marian McBride

  Copyright © 2014 Marian McBride

  Adapted from the previously published novella, Her Rebellious Heart

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  NOTE TO THE READERS

  ONE

  Bridget Campbell’s fingers danced on the pianoforte’s keys, nothing but the music filling her thoughts. When she finished the piece, she sighed, the melody lingering in her mind, her fingers still vibrating as the last notes drifted away.

  “Very good,” Miss Wallace said, giving her pupil a warm smile. Bridget returned the smile, feeling proud of what years of lessons had helped her accomplish. She was seventeen now and almost ready to journey from her home in the Scottish lowlands for the first time to take the London Royal Academy of Music examination, and then to find a position as a music instructor. She wished with all her heart that securing a place wouldn’t take her too far from home. She couldn’t bear to be away from her parents and sisters if the distance meant she couldn’t visit regularly.

  Bridget thanked her teacher and smoothed down her skirt. She got up, ready to leave now that the lesson was done, but a soft hand on her forearm stopped her.

  “Bridget, I wondered if you would consider doing me a small favor?”

  Bridget’s eyes widened. She would do anything to be of use to someone who had given her so much. Music was her life, and there would be no music without her teacher, or her parents’ sacrifice in paying for her lessons that they could ill afford. Her thoughts darkened for a moment, thinking of her wealthy grandfather and how easy it would be for him to help out his family, but after her grandmother’s passing, her grandfather had cut all ties.

  “Anything, Miss Wallace,” Bridget answered.

  The older woman smiled again. “I’ll be going on holiday next summer to visit my kin in the Highlands. I hoped you would give lessons to my beginners while I am away.”

  Bridget’s heart swelled with joy, but she refrained from jumping up and embracing Miss Wallace. She was almost a woman now and could no longer act like a child.

  She bowed her head slightly. “I would be honored,” she said.

  “Good,” Miss Wallace said, clapping her hands together. “You’ll be doing me a great favor. I worry about my students falling behind in their music studies while I am away, but I am sure under your tutelage they will be fine. It’ll be good practice for you what with your exam coming up soon. You’ll be wanting to leave and find your own students someday.”

  Bridget straightened her spine, pleased at Miss Wallace’s faith in her and even more so that she thought Bridget nearly ready for the exam.

  “Thank you, Miss Wallace,” was all she could say.

  Teacher and pupil stood. Bridget collected her things in her music case before heading to the door. She thanked her teacher once more before saying goodbye and exiting the small home. Bridget struggled to pull the door shut behind her. The wind seemed to wish the door be open instead.

  As she finally managed to close the door, she walked away, clutching the case to her slim body to block some of the wind from the harbor as she joyfully considered the happy turn of events. She thought how proud her parents would be, especially her mother, and also how nice it would be if there was a fire burning in the parlor at home. After the flood of excitement eased and the wind cooled her fire, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in front of the fire with a good book, assuming her father or sisters had not already claimed all of the treasured spots. It was almost impossible for Bridget not to think of music. Reading was one of the things that took her imagination away from the endless rehearsing in her mind, transporting her to faraway places she did not wish to see any other way.

  Bridget walked slowly and observed a light fog drifting in from the North Sea as she headed to the grocer’s to get a few things her mother had asked her to bring home. The notes from Chopin’s “Ballad No. 1” played expertly in her head with a skill her fingers soon hoped to match. As the moist air clung to her face she hurried along, pulling her cape and her case as tightly to her body as she could to stay warm.

  After fetching the requested items, she ran the rest of the way down the wynd to the street where she lived, just a stone’s throw from the harbor. Bridget paused for a moment to gaze out at the sea and thought of all the men in her village that had once looked from their fishing boats back at the spot where she now stood. She hoped they loved their work as much as she knew she would love teaching music. The cold ripped her from her thoughts and she hurried home.

  After she entered the modest house, the heavy door banged shut behind her. She called out, “I’m home, Mother. I have the things you asked me to get for you. Hope I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  Laying the package from the grocer’s on the kitchen table and her music case on a chair beside it, she began taking off her cape.

  Her mother, Alice, entered from the wash house adjoining the kitchen, and said quickly, “Oh Bridget, leave your cape on, you have to go over to the castle. Your grandfather wants to talk to you about something. It’s a favor he wants of you, I believe.”

  Bridget’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t been to the castle since her grandmother’s passing. She tried not to think about the gentle woman’s death or the gorgeous castle, but sometimes she’d see the grand home in her dreams, imagining her grandmother was there to welcome her and that her grandfather was again kind to her. Her face turned dark at the anger she felt at his nerve to summon her after all this time as if no rift existed. She wondered which of his servants he’d sent for that awkward task.

  Seeing Bridget’s displeased expression, her mother asked, “How was your lesson today?”

  “Fine,” answered Bridget, brightening despite the mention of her grandfather. “Miss Wallace is very pleased with my progress and has asked me to consider teaching some of her beginning students when she goes on holiday,” she said, announcing her good news matter-of-factly, trying to keep from bursting with pride.

  “That’s grand, lassie, but you are ready for that?” her mother asked with a pleased smile.

  “I think so, Mum,” Bridget answered honestly, knowing that her mother didn’t mean to sound unsupportive. “I’m quite advanced now. Miss Wallace thinks I’m almost ready me to study for the London Royal Academy of Music examination.”

  She saw her mother’s face pinch with anxiety and realized that she’d never considered the cost before, always thinking that the day when she would be good enough to sit for the exam would never come.

  She quickly added, “I don’t think I shall though, it’s not really necessary for becoming a teacher, and it would entail many more hours of practice. I have no desire to move far away and compete for a position with a wealthy family.” That much was true, though the thought of passing the exam, of proving herself, was something she wanted very much.

  It was unfortunate that her small village didn’t need two instructors. Miss Wallace would not think of retiring for many years. Bridget would have to move i
f she wanted to find students of her own.

  “Besides, I’d like to start earning some money so I can pay you and Father back for letting me take piano lessons all these years,” she added. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “That’s true, lass, but you had such a love for it and have done so well that I’m sure your father won’t let you pay anything back.”

  Bridget smiled, “We’ll see about that.” Her smile vanished.” Now what about, Grandfather? Do you know what he wants of me?”

  Her mother hesitated before answering. She said slowly, “Not exactly, dear. He stopped by earlier, but all he said was he wanted to ask you something about being the hostess for a club supper he will be giving. With your grandmother gone and you quite grown up now he wants someone in his own family for the occasion.”

  Bridget gaped. Her grandfather had stopped treating her, or any of them, as family. But then she had never known him to come to her parents’ home. The act alone spoke volumes.

  Bridget could see that her mother did not wish to hear her opinions on the matter, so instead she replied, “Oh, do I have to? It will be mostly older people there and not much fun for me.”

  Alice brushed a stray wisp of gray hair from her face before she spoke again, “Maybe not, but you know how your grandfather has always favored you over your sisters because of your resemblance to your grandmother, and if this will make him happy, I think you should do it. It’s the first time he has ever asked you to do something like this.”

  Bridget removed her cape and sat at the kitchen table. She considered her mother’s words. There had been some favoritism shown to her when she had been young, but she had thought that was because she was the eldest grandchild. She had been unaware of a family resemblance, but she had only recently grew into womanhood and had never known her grandmother as a lass.

  She rested her arms on the table and clasped her hands. She didn’t like the idea of doing a favor for a man who hadn’t done her any, but she had to admit she was curious how the castle would look to her now that she was nearly an adult. Besides, if her grandfather had been willing to come himself to see her, then maybe he had changed. He was family. It was her duty to if not obey than at least oblige.

  She spoke slowly, “I suppose you are right, maybe I’m just being selfish. I do miss going to the castle. It is such a lovely place.” Then as an afterthought, she added, “I wish it belonged to you and Father instead of Grandfather. I would like to live there.”

  Alice looked at her daughter with wide eyes, clearly startled. She said softly, “It could very easily be yours someday, Bridget, when my father passes on, if you will be kind to him now and do some of the things he wants of you.”

  Bridget recoiled from her mother’s words. She hated deception in all forms. If she were kind to someone it would be because she cared for their well-being, not to further her own ends.

  Alice stopped talking, seeing her daughter’s reaction. Bridget in turn observed her mother. A slight woman Alice was, her once dark brown hair now tinged with white. She wore her hair drawn straight back off her pale face and pinned in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her hazel eyes, normally gentle, appeared apprehensive.

  Bridget sat upright in her chair, hands on her knees, and gazed at her mother intently. She tossed her head, her red hair falling in ripples below her shoulders, green eyes flashing dangerously. She squinted and said, “Mother, you look guilty. Is there something else I should know?”

  “Well, dear,” Alice began nervously, playing with her hands as she spoke, “I don’t want you to be angry, but your grandfather has talked to me about letting you come and live with him at the castle. I didn’t want to tell you until I’d discussed it with your father. Robert is getting on in years and has his bad days. He would like someone of his own to be near him. You are the logical choice.”

  Bridget’s mouth flew open in surprise. She stammered, “You would never agree to that, would you? You never want any of us out of your sight for long. How could you think of letting me leave home?”

  When Alice answered, Bridget heard exasperation in her voice, “It might not be too bad an idea. It’s not that far to the castle that you couldn’t see us every day. And you’re not a lass anymore.”

  She turned away from her daughter and began putting away the groceries. “You would be the lady of the house and have your own bedroom, which is impossible for you here. You three girls are growing up so fast our place is getting too small for us all. We cannot afford a bigger house on what your father makes, and I think you moving into the castle would be a perfect solution.”

  Bridget looked at her mother as if she hadn’t heard her right. She exclaimed angrily, “You are really serious, aren’t you? I just can’t believe it.”

  “Now what’s so bad about it?” snapped Alice. “I honestly think it would be wonderful, and you should be grateful to him for wanting you to come and live in his grand house. Look at your cousin Margaret, she was raised by her grandparents and they can give her very little. Your grandfather can do much more for you than Margaret could ever hope for.”

  Bridget, shaken and pale, stared at her mother as she quietly said, “I just cannot believe what I am hearing. I must be dreaming.”

  “You are not dreaming and you better start thinking about it, my girl. In the meantime, go see him and at least tell him that you will be delighted to be his hostess at the supper party. My father is very rich you know, but I never got much of his money. He never quite forgave me for marrying your father. So, you may as well get some of his wealth when he passes on.”

  There was a hardness about her mother at that moment that Bridget had never seen before and she wondered at it. Her grandfather’s disapproval was no secret, but her mother had never fully explained the rift. Studying the tired face in front of her, Bridget’s anger left her. She all but whispered, “What did Grandfather have against my father?”

  Alice looked as if trying to hold back tears as she answered, “Oh, lassie, it goes a way back to the Highland clan wars. Your father is a Campbell, my father is a MacDonald, and you know from school about the massacre of Glencoe. The MacDonalds and Campbells were bitter enemies then, but that was so long ago it should be forgotten. Some people never forget and hold a grudge to their death. My father is a proud man and very hard at times, but Bridget, he has a very soft spot in his heart for you.”

  Bridget sat quietly for a few moments, mulling things over in his mind, thinking how very complicated life seemed to be. Then looking at her mother she said, “If I do decide to move in with him, what about Besse Stewart, his housekeeper? She might resent it terribly.”

  “It’s none of her business,” Alice answered promptly. “She is his servant and you are his family.”

  Bridget stubbornly persisted, “Well, what about that young highland lad, Aidan MacLeod, who Grandfather brought down here to live at the castle with him? I’ve never met him, but everyone knows he has become like a son to Grandfather. He depends on him for so much. I’m sure Aidan wouldn’t want an interloper interfering with his secure way of life.” She remembered that her grandfather had brought Aidan to live with him soon after the invitations to her family had stopped and she wondered now if the timing wasn’t coincidental as she’d assumed. She’d heard whispers about Aidan, nothing more, but what she’d overheard hadn’t been entirely pleasant. She’d written it off as the usual mistrust her village felt toward outlanders. Perhaps she’d been too hasty in giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  Alice retorted, “He’s not family either. Just the same as Besse, a hired hand. Besides, there is not one thing they can do about it if Robert wants you. You come first.”

  She looked at her daughter’s stricken face, and said, “This has all been quite a shock to you hasn’t it? The kettle is boiling. Come and have a nice hot cup of tea with me and a fresh scone, and you’ll feel better. I baked some extra for Robert too. You can take them to him when you go.”

  Getting cups and saucers from the pr
ess, Alice poured the steaming brew in short order. Still trembling and upset, Bridget buttered and jellied a hot scone and after a few bites, and a sip of the hot tea, she began to feel more relaxed, more like herself.

  When she finished eating, she got up from the table and adjusted her cape. Then, turning to her mother said, “Mum, you look so tired. You really shouldn’t work so hard.”

  “I have to, my girl, and this is why I want you to go to your grandfather. I never want to see you work as hard as I have had to. I love your father very much, he is a fine man, but a fisherman’s life is not an easy one for himself or his family. I want you to have it better than I have had.”

  Bridget’s head was in a whirl. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever expected anything like this. Her thoughts had always been to support herself with her music. She hadn’t planned on relying on anyone from her family to support her as an adult, especially not her grandfather.

  Her mother’s voice broke in on her thoughts, “Better get going now, and here, don’t forget the basket. I also put in some fresh country butter and eggs for Robert. Brought them from the farm yesterday.”

  Bridget impulsively reached out and embraced her mother saying, “I love you, Mum.” She then quickly picked up the basket and headed for the door.

  When Bridget had gone, Alice sat at the table and wept softly for a few moments before getting to her feet. She hastily wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. It would be hard to see her firstborn leave home, but she felt it would be good for all of them, especially Bridget.

  The only redeeming factor in the whole scheme was the knowledge of Robert’s great love for his granddaughter. Alice knew he would take the best of care of her.

  As far as Besse Stewart and Aidan MacLeod were concerned, Bridget was perfectly capable of dealing with them.

  As she walked to the castle, Bridget called forth memories of her grandmother Katherine. She had been small and neat, like Bridget, with sparkling green eyes and a ready smile. Her hair had lost its color over the years, but it had once shown as brightly as Bridget’s. When speaking of Katherine, people praised her inherent good nature that made her beloved by all. Bridget had been told that she’d inherited this from her grandmother as well. But in spite of her niceties and love of life, Bridget had a strong will and a temper that flared instantly at any hint of injustice or domination, traits she had in common with her grandfather.