Her Rebellious Heart: A Scottish Historical Romance Read Online Free Page B

into her food without another look or word. 
                  Aidan and Robert smiled at each other and resumed their talk.
                  When the meal was over, the two men retired to their respective chairs by the fire. Bridget helped Besse clear the table and carry the dishes to the kitchen.
                  “Besse, your supper was so very good, especially the warm rice pudding. And what a lovely clean kitchen you have.  You work very hard, don’t you?”
                  “No, not too hard, Miss Bridget, but I do like a clean house, especially the kitchen where food is prepared, so I do my best.” She had a happy look on her face at the praise from the younger woman
                  “Let me help you now with the washing up of the dishes.”
                  “No, no lassie, your grandfather might not like it. You go in the parlor and visit with him.”
                  “All right, Besse, if you insist, but I’d like to do my share, you know. I don’t want you waiting on me any time I come here.”
                  “That’s all right, Bridget, but not this time. Off you go now. There’s a good girl.”
                  It was evident that Besse thought of the kitchen as her own private domain, so being politely expelled from it, Bridget went back into the parlor where the two men were now seated in front of a blazing fire, feet stretched out upon the fender. 
                  It was a cozy scene. The aromatic smoke rising from the piper they were both smoking was very pleasing. Going to the piano, Bridget sat down and ran her fingers over the keyboard to get the feel of the instrument, then as the strains of Chopin’s “Polinaise” filled the air, Robert and Aidan exchanged looks of pleasure, Aidan nodding his head in satisfaction. Bridget noticed that Besse was seated in the chair near the kitchen door listening with a sweet smile on her usually glum face.
                  From the old classic, Bridget swung into a medley of old Scottish songs, winding up with the plaintiff strains of “The Dark Isle.” She lost herself in the music.
                  As the music died away, she sat for a few moments with closed eyes, her thoughts far away in another time and place. Then getting up, she moved back to where the men were seated, taking a fat pillow from the settee, she threw it on the floor beside Robert’s chair and sat down on it. Looking up at him, she noticed his eyes were wet.  
                  Aidan said,“That was beautiful, Bridget, and I hope we shall hear lots more of your playing. You do it very well.”
                  “Thank you, Aidan, I’m glad you enjoyed it. As for myself, I couldn’t live without my music.”
                  She leaned her head against her grandfather’s chair as Sarge came and lay on the floor beside her, resting his head on her lap.
                  “Ah, lassie,” said Robert, “it’s such a pleasure to have you here. It makes everything complete again.”
                  He reached out his gnarled hand and stroked her hair. They lapsed into silence then. Words seemed unnecessary at the moment, but although Bridget dreamily watched the dancing flames in the fireplace, and purposely didn’t look at Aidan again, she was fully aware that his gaze seldom left her face and she wondered what was in his mind. Was he resenting the fact that Robert wanted her to move in with them? Was he worried she might spoil his chances maybe being the old man’s heir?
                  Finally, she felt compelled to glance his way, and his dark brooding eyes held hers, bringing a hot flush to her cheeks. The slightly arrogant look was back on his face and she got to wondering how her grandfather could possibly stand the man.
                  Then at last,