Page 68 of Redemption for the Baron

“It doesn’t matter,” Bridget said, the words tasting like ash. “Nothing he could say would change the past.”

Catriona watched her, but she said nothing else.

For once, Bridget was grateful. She turned away, pressing her hands against the cool wood of the dressing table, forcing herself to breathe. The sunlight casting long shadows across the room. But none of it could chase away the darkness curling in her chest.

“Did you ever wonder how Killian and I made it here?”

Bridget blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“How we escaped? How we found safe passage?”

Catriona’s voice held a credence Bridget hadn’t heard before. Bridget frowned. “Alastair arranged it.”

Catriona’s lips twitched, but there was no amusement in it. “Aye. And who do you think arranged it for him?”

Bridget’s breath stalled. “What are you saying?”

Catriona folded her arms. “I’m saying it wasn’t just Alastair who got us out, Lady Bridget. It was Thomas.”

The words landed like a blow. Bridget stared at her. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, but it is.” Catriona’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “You think Alastair could have arranged that without help? That he, on his own, knew how to get Scots out under the very nose of the men driving them from their homes? That he could have smuggled us through without a single notice?” She shook her head. “It was Thomas. He gave Alastair the means. The contacts. The routes. The coin.”

Bridget’s breath stalled in her chest. “No.”

“Yes,” Catriona said firmly. “And he didn’t just help us. There were others. Whole families who made it out because he made sure they had a way.”

Bridget’s knees felt weak. She reached for the edge of the dressing table, gripping it tightly. “Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

“Because Thomas didn’t want to be known.” She met Bridget’s gaze. “Sometimes the truest acts are the quietest.”

Bridget swallowed hard. She wanted to deny it. Wanted to hold on to her anger, her sense of betrayal. But the words wouldn’t come because Catriona was telling her the truth.

He had risked everything. Not just his coin, but his name, his position, his safety. All to undo what his father had done.

The truth settled uncomfortably in her chest. A small, unwelcome part of her whispered that maybe, just maybe, she had known all along.

Her fingers curled into the folds of her skirt, frustration rising. She had been so certain, so absolute in her anger. And now? She exhaled sharply, pushing to her feet. Sitting here would accomplish nothing. She needed to find him.

Bridget strode toward the door, pausing only briefly to steady herself before stepping into the corridor. The hush of the housepressed in around her, and her own realization slowed her steps. Where would he have gone?

She checked the study first, then the library. He wasn’t there.

As she passed the stairwell, she spotted Barrington lingering near the hall, his gaze sharp as he took her in.

“Looking for Grenville?” he asked casually.

Bridget hesitated, then lifted her chin. “Yes.”

Barrington studied her for a long moment before nodding toward the open doors leading outside. “He left an hour ago. If I had to guess, he’s down by the cliffs.”

The cliffs. Where they had last stood, where she had wanted him, where she had let herself feel something beyond duty and loss.

Bridget’s pulse quickened, but she squared her shoulders. She had been wrong about him, and now she had to face that truth.

She nodded her thanks and turned toward the cliffs.

The wind tugged at her skirts as she made her way toward the rocky outcrop. The path was familiar, the same one she had walked with him before. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, equal parts nerves and anticipation.

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