The Beast

by McQueen, Hildie

  After having to survive on his instincts for so many years, Duncan had learned to trust his gut reaction.

  He went to the stables and saddled a horse. Upon mounting, he guided the animal to where Creagh was. “If my brother happens to come home, inform him I must speak with him and to remain. I am riding to his mother’s home.”

  The day was sunny, the aroma of fresh lavender from the nearby field mixed perfectly with the scent of salty sea air. He inhaled deeply filling his lungs and looked up to the sky. Never would he take the feeling of freedom for granted. Some days the open surroundings overwhelmed Duncan. There was nothing like the choice to go as far as one wished. Not being bound to a pole, to see the sky, and to breathe fresh air was a privilege.

  Caelan’s mother’s home was near a large village and when he arrived, a worker informed him that his half-brother had gone to the tavern.

  Turning in the direction of the village, Duncan searched the area for the man who he’d seen that morning, but he was not among the few people he encountered along the road.

  The men in the tavern turned to the doorway and watched Duncan with curiosity, only a few acknowledging him. He rarely went to the village and it was even rarer that he’d make an appearance at the only tavern.

  “Oy, brother,” Caelan called from a corner table where he sat with another man. Duncan recognized him as one of the landholders that lived in the land next to theirs.

  The man went to stand, but Duncan held up his right hand. “Please stay, I wish to inform ye about something.”

  Both men looked up at him with curiosity. As Duncan explained about the horseman who’d appeared out of the woods, both Caelan and the other man exchanged looks of concern.

  “One of my men told me about a man appearing after the night of the storm. Matches yer description. I assumed he was a traveler who may have taken shelter in my woods during the storm.”

  Caelan frowned. “Perhaps, he is searching for work.”

  “I thought the same,” Duncan replied and looked to their companion. “He did not come to ask for work, did he to ye?”

  “Nay,” the man replied.

  Duncan proceeded to tell them about sending guardsmen out to search. The others agreed it was best to find out who the man was.

  “I will ask my workers if anyone has spotted him again and send word if I learn something useful,” the man said before taking his leave.

  “A drink?” A busty woman came to the table leaning so far over that her breasts were on the brink of spilling from her bodice. Both he and Caelan stared at the offered view.

  “Ale,” Duncan said dragging his gaze from the woman’s bosoms that suddenly brought the thought of having Beatrice’s in his mouth.

  “Same,” Caelan said not bothering to look away.

  When the wench returned with the drinks, she went to Caelan’s side of the table and he took full advantage pressing his lips to the top of her right breast.

  The woman giggled with delight, and soon Caelan’s face was buried between them.

  The woman gave Duncan a wanton look inviting him to join. For the first time in his life, he considered it, feeling experienced since he’d made love several times now. The woman was attractive, with green eyes and auburn curls. She was voluptuous and would make for good bedsport. However, he would not betray his vows. Just considering her invitation, he felt as if he’d been unfaithful, and it wasn’t a good feeling.

  “I promise more later, Sariah,” Caelan said pushing her away gently. “Right now, I must speak with my brother.” The woman allowed Caelan to kiss her and then after a wink to Duncan walked away.

  “Ye have laid with her before?” Duncan asked.

  Caelan nodded. “Aye and so have others. For a price.” His brother turned his attention to Duncan. “What is this about guardsmen? Why did ye not inform me?”

  “I am informing ye now. It is necessary, especially after realizing that sometimes wanderers are about.” Duncan took a swig of his ale. “Ye should also know that Beatrice wishes to hire a chambermaid and a lad to help with menial chores.”

  “Do ye think it is absolutely necessary?” Caelan’s brows fell. “Ye are used to very few people being about.”

  A part of him wondered the same. However, now that he was married, it was to be Beatrice’s home as well and he didn’t wish for her to want for anything.

  “I married a laird’s daughter. I expect that she prefers to have help with things. I didn’t tell her that ye and I are who clean out the hearths and chop wood for cooking and for the fireplaces.”

  Caelan chuckled. “I am going to miss my only form of exercise.”

  “If she only hires a lad, then we can still chop wood. I do not plan to stop. The lad can take the wood inside and to the different rooms.”

  “Different rooms?” Caelan asked. “Where do ye mean?”

  “The great room, yer study, our bedchambers.”

  “It is the same number of rooms as before, Gara and Firtha have always carried their own from what we brought into the kitchen.”

  Duncan decided to gauge Caelan’s reaction to Beatrice sleeping in a separate bedchamber.

  “There is also Beatrice’s room.”

  His brother did not seem affected at all by the announcement. “That is one additional room. I do not see why ye and I cannot carry our own and ye to an additional room.”

  “I will give her what she asks. It is not too much; however, I did advise against more servants or help.”

  “Good,” Caelan said. “Inform her of yer mother’s invasion once a season with her army of servants.” They both drank deeply from their cups at the thought of the days they both hid away from his mother.

  Duncan was enjoying time with Caelan. Since he’d moved into the house, they’d become close and there was little he did not share with his brother.

  “I must ask,” Caelan said looking around to ensure not to be overheard. “How have ye dealt with intimacy? Do ye have any questions?”

  He’d expected Caelan’s curiosity. Duncan told him of what Darach had instructed and of how it had gone so far. He left out the interlude in Caelan’s study while wondering if Beatrice had ordered that the room be put back in order.

  “Sounds like ye have things well in hand,” Caelan affirmed. “I think ye should consider allowing her to see all of ye, little by little. Making love in other than darkness is very enjoyable.”

  “I cannot,” Duncan said firmly.

  “How about her family? What are yer plans?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “We should have alerted the guards,” Orla said as they walked to the nearby lavender field. “If one of us gets hurt and has to hobble back, Mister Duncan will be very angry that no one was about to help us.”

  Beatrice chuckled. “Ye wish for a strong man to carry ye back? Why did ye not tell me, I would have ensured the one of yer choice came with us and then pushed ye down so he would have to.”

  “Lady Beatrice!” Orla exclaimed, her cheeks growing bright pink. “I did not mean for that…”

  “I jest with ye,” Beatrice replied. “It is a romantic idea. Ye are not being courted are ye?”

  Orla shook her head, her pert nose wrinkling. “Nay. I have never been pursued. I am not a beauty, so I suppose men do not take notice.”

  Taking her in, Beatrice first noticed Orla’s mop of curls that tumbled past her shoulders. Her hair was lovely and thick, but unruly. She normally wore it in a bun at the nape of her neck, but by midday, half of the hair had escaped its confines. The clothes Orla wore were what was expected of a servant. However, the dresses were always faded and heavily mended. The edges of her skirts were frayed, as was the cap that currently sat lopsided atop her head.

  “Why do ye have so few clothes and those ye have seem very old?”

  Orla looked down at her stained apron. “I only came to work at Keep Ross recently. My last mistress died, and her son and his wife moved into the house.

  The woman took an insta
nt dislike to me and reduced my wages. I barely had enough for necessities. Once I saved up, with only half an afternoon off every fortnight, there was little time to purchase fabrics and even less to sew a dress.”

  “Yer a beauty Orla. Ye must get new clothing as soon as possible. We must make changes immediately.”

  As they walked and filled their baskets with lavender, they planned a trip to the village to purchase fabric. Beatrice planned to sew table coverings and drapes for Duncan’s bedroom, to lighten up the space. “We must visit a seamstress and order serviceable dresses for us both. I only brought frivolous gowns for my visit to South Uist—not expecting to remain—therefore, I do not have anything that will serve me well day-to-day.”

  A man on horseback appeared. He dismounted and allowed the horse to graze. Beatrice and Orla exchanged looks.

  “Is that the same man ye saw earlier?” Orla asked, her eyes wide.

  Beatrice studied the man and horse. “It could be. He was too far. We should be cautious. Let us walk back.”

  “Lady Beatrice,” the man called out. “Are ye not Duncan Ross’s new bride?”

  Beatrice narrowed her eyes at the man. “How do ye know my name?”

  The man neared. He was not unattractive and seemed to be a bit older than Duncan. He had shoulder-length light brown hair and dark eyes. A scar from the outer corner of his left eye to the side of his mouth gave him a dangerous air. Yet his demeanor was not threatening.

  “Yer husband and I spent many years together on a ship. There is little I do not know about him.”

  Beatrice looked over her shoulder. They had not gone so far. If she or Orla screamed, the guards would hear. “I will have to insist ye come and visit us then. Perhaps tomorrow? I am sure Duncan will be glad to see ye. What is yer name?”

  “Farlan Reid,” he replied and looked past her to the house. “I am not sure he will be as welcoming as ye. However, I will ask that ye convey my congratulations on the marriage. I wish ye well.” The man bowed and turned away, returning to his horse.

  Orla frowned. “Very interesting. Do ye think he will come to visit?”

  “I do not know. I am sure Duncan will have an opinion.”

  They were met halfway back by an out of breath guardsman, who’d obviously raced to find them.

  “Lady Beatrice. Ye must inform us…when…ye…”

  Beatrice took pity on him and interrupted so he could catch his breath. “I do apologize. We did not plan to walk so far, but upon seeing the lavender we came to cut some for the house.” When she looked over her shoulder, Farlan Reid was gone.

  The guard motioned for them to walk ahead as he followed.

  Meeting Orla’s gaze, Beatrice shook her head. “Perhaps it will be best if I do not mention what just happened.”

  “I think ye are right,” Orla said sneaking a look to the guard who followed them.

  Upon returning home, Beatrice and Orla spent the day placing lavender into vases and tying some into bunches to be hung in the bedchambers and parlor.

  When Gara announced last meal, Beatrice was annoyed that Duncan was still absent. She insisted Orla eat with her, so she didn’t have to eat alone.

  “We will go to the village tomorrow,” Beatrice told Gara. “Please ask Creagh to prepare a coach and horses for first thing in the morning.”

  “Aye, milady,” the woman replied. “I left word in the village that there was a need for help. Orla can see about it while ye are there.”

  A plan in place, Beatrice was excited for the next day. The only thing that dampened her spirits was her husband’s absence.

  With Duncan’s bedchamber empty, Beatrice could not relax. She’d already detained Orla until the poor woman yawned so wide her jaw cracked. Now she sat in the bed, her gaze fixed on the door between her and Duncan’s room that she had left slightly ajar.

  Every so often she went to the window and peered toward the stables hoping to catch a glimpse of his return.

  Finally, footsteps sounded. He went into his bedchamber and she hurried to peek in. Duncan stood in front of his door visibly swaying. He stumbled to a chair and dropped into it. When he attempted to remove his boot and fell out of the chair, he chuckled.

  Then putting a finger to his mouth made loud shushing noises. Her husband was drunk.

  Caelan entered the room and stood over Duncan. “Ye are making too much noise.”

  “My boosh refushees to come off,” Duncan slurred.

  It seemed to Beatrice that Caelan was also in his cups, but not quite as much as Duncan. The brother managed to help Duncan back onto the chair and removed his boots. Then he helped him to the bed.

  “Look,” Caelan ordered and Duncan lifted his head.

  “What?”

  “I am pushing this bashin here. Ush it if ye get sick.”

  Duncan managed a nod. “I will.”

  Mere moments after Caelan walked out, Duncan’s snores filled the air.

  Beatrice slipped through the doorway and tiptoed to the bed. Fast asleep, Duncan lay face down, his head on the edge of the bed. Each exhalation was a loud snore.

  Bending closer, she sniffed at his face. “Whisky,” she whispered. There was another distinct smell, and it was not something he enbibed. It was a flowery scent, like that a woman wore.

  “Where were ye?” Beatrice slapped his shoulder. “Who were ye with?”

  The response was an incoherent mumble and another pair of snores. She would have to wait until morning to get an answer. If not from him, then his brother would answer for what they’d been doing until so late.

  Annoyed, she paced and then decided it was best to try to get sleep. She had plans for the following day. Once she questioned Duncan, a trip to the village could not be delayed.

  The prospect of another night alone in her bedchamber loomed and she let out a breath. Duncan was much too out of his wits to know if she slept there. No doubt he would not wake until late, which gave her the opportunity to get up and slip back to her own bedchamber.

  Beatrice rounded the bed, slid between the blankets, and promptly fell into an exhausted slumber.

  “Do not hit me. I will do whatever ye want.”

  Sobbing sounded.

  “No, please, I will do whatever ye want. It hurts so much.”

  Beatrice woke with a start to find that she was still in Duncan’s bed. It was still dark, and he was still asleep. At least she thought him to be.

  He was curled into a ball, his arms around his head. “Not again. I cannot take more.” He sounded weak, desperate, and helpless. His entire body shook as the dream seemed to take a horrible turn.

  When he arched and screamed as if being struck, Beatrice slid from the bed and lowered down to her knees on the opposite side of where he slept.

  “Please stop. I beg ye. I am begging. I will do what ye ask.” This time his cries were quiet as he seemed to accept whatever fate his tormentor had asked of him.

  Beatrice did not wish to imagine what he’d been forced to do all those years as a captive. What had been done to him, against his will. She covered her mouth with both hands to keep from crying out when he began to sob again.

  When morning came, Beatrice was back in her own room. After dressing for the day, she went down the stairs. No one was about, so she went to the kitchen to pour herself something to drink. The aroma of cinnamon reminded her of home and early mornings in the kitchen with her mother.

  By the time she drank her tea, Orla informed her that Caelan and Duncan were in the dining room. “They do not look well at all.”

  “Too much drink. I remember mornings after my brothers overindulged,” Beatrice said with a grimace. “They would have the worst tempers.”

  She refilled her cup and made her way to where the men were. Duncan’s gaze immediately met hers, he seemed to be gauging her mood. She made sure to keep her expression blank.

  “How are ye husband? Caelan?” she asked sitting down. “Ye both do not look well.”

  Caelan replied, �
��I must take the blame for insisting Duncan celebrate yer marriage. We ended up drinking more than we should have.”

  “Is that true?” Beatrice asked turning to Duncan.

  Her husband’s eyes widened just a bit. “Aye, we did celebrate.”

  “Am I to assume more than one woman was involved in this …celebration?” She focused on a love bite on Caelan’s neck. He rubbed the spot and immediately inspected Duncan’s.

  “Only one and she was with me,” Caelan said.

  Duncan’s reddish eyes met hers. “I will never violate my vows to ye.”

  “Orla and I are going to the village,” Beatrice informed her husband. “Creagh is taking us.”

  The men exchanged glances. “Should a guard accompany ye?” Caelan asked.

  “How far is it?” Beatrice asked.

  “An hour at most,” Duncan replied. “I believe having Creagh along may be enough.”

  The rest of the meal was eaten mostly in silence. Caelan made an effort to ask her what plans she had for the house and staff. For the most part, he seemed in agreement and Beatrice was glad for it. Despite not knowing Duncan’s half-brother well, she felt they could get along.

  “I am going to do a bit of work,” Caelan informed them and then looked to Beatrice. “I do the bookkeeping. If ye have any questions or would like to know anything about the finances, please come to my study and I will explain.”

  After he walked out of the room, Beatrice gave Duncan a pointed look. “Ye smelled of flowers last night.”

  “When did ye smell me?” he asked seeming genuinely perplexed.

  “Must I remind ye that we have adjoining rooms? I overheard ye arriving and checked to ensure ye were unharmed. That is when I smelled both the whiskey and the fragrance.”

  For a long moment he considered what to say. It was obvious by the changing expressions that he discarded one idea after another.

  “I do not remember clearly. However, I am prepared to get on one knee and promise that nothing occurred between a woman and myself.”

  She met his gaze. “I believe ye. I trust ye. Who I do not trust husband, are other women.” Beatrice finished eating and pushed away from the table. “It is best I go, do not wish to miss the best offerings at the village square.”