“Do ye require coin?”
Beatrice thought about it. She had money of her own but decided to save it just in case it was needed. “Aye, I do.”
She followed Duncan up the stairs to his bedchamber. When they entered, he avoided looking at the rumpled bed and instead went to the trunk. He lifted the top just enough to slide his hand into it and brought out a small leather sack.
“Let me know if ye require more.” He handed her the heavy sack.
“This is too much,” Beatrice said barely able to hold the coin bag in her hand.
Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ye must have enough to get whatever ye need for the house.”
The village was much like villages near her home. It was smaller than the one closer to Keep Ross, but it was lively. The tavern anchored the square and several other familiar buildings completed it. There was a mill, a butcher, a blacksmith, and several others; all with their shingles ensuring visitors were aware of what was offered.
She and Orla asked where they might find a seamstress and then had to chase after an excited young lass, who raced up one street after the other until she came to a small house.
They entered a doorway to a large room filled with fabric and trimmings. A woman greeted them, her keen gazing moving over her dress.
After Beatrice informed her of what she wished to purchase for herself and Orla, the woman called for a younger version of herself to help with measurements. Beatrice enjoyed choosing from the assortment of fabrics, picking mostly browns, tans, and a few black items. For Orla, she chose a light-colored fabric for special days and then three service dresses in natural tones.
They stopped at the shoemaker’s, and each found a pair of boots that fit. Afterwards, they purchased, yarn, thread, several blankets, a pair of baskets, and wooden bowls to be used on the table for both food and flowers.
While the carriage was loaded, Beatrice returned to the square and to the delight of the merchants purchased something from each stand.
Beatrice followed Ella’s advice and introduced herself to the people as the new mistress of the Ross estate house. The villagers seemed to hold Duncan in high esteem and congratulated her while sending their regards to her husband.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the same man who’d been to her house and Beatrice hurried to him.
“Ye left without responding to my invitation,” Beatrice said noting the man seemed discomfited by her sudden appearance.
Ensuring no one could see, he reached for her left wrist and pulled her closer. “Ye should forget to have ever seen me.” His face hardened. “Tis best if yer husband has no knowledge that we spoke at yer home or here at the village. I will not be coming to yer house.”
“Why would ye not wish him to see ye?”
The dark gaze locked with hers and his lips curled into a toothy smile. “When I said I knew everything and shared much with yer husband, I meant it. He and I grew very close while at sea for so many years.”
Beatrice attempted to snatch her hand away, but he did not release it. His face pressed against the side of hers and he whispered in her ear. “I fucked yer husband. Ask him about that.”
Her mouth fell open at the unbelievable words the man uttered. “Ye are a horrible person,” she exclaimed. “I will certainly not ask him that. Release me, sir!”
At her voice rising, he released her, but his lips remained in the evil grin. “Aye, ye are not the only one who knows Duncan Ross intimately.”
Beatrice’s heart thundered as Farlan Reid strolled away seeming happy to have shared what he did. The only reason she was aware of men laying together was because one of her cousins, Albert, preferred men to women and had once admitted it her.
It was whispered about during family gatherings when her cousin often attended with another man, who remained at his side. Despite the fact he preferred men, Albert was Beatrice’s favorite cousin to spend time with. He was entertaining and very charismatic.
“What did he say?” Orla whispered frantically. “Ye are very pale.”
Beatrice shook her head, unable to speak.
Could it be the real reason Duncan did not wish to marry? Did her husband prefer men? Beatrice returned to the carriage with Orla, both of their arms laden with purchases.
She sat back in the soft seat her mind awhirl. How would she bring it up to Duncan? Lead in with the fact she was aware some men preferred those of their same sex?
Farlan was the horseman who’d been watching the house. It could be he was heartbroken over losing Duncan.
What a mess she found herself in, if that man was truly who Duncan wished to be with.
When she took a shaky breath, Orla gave her a worried look. “Ye seem about to cry. What is wrong?”
“I am so very tired. Some days I wish I were back home in North Uist and not be so impetuous to do things.”
The entire ride to her home, Beatrice’s mind was awhirl. Could she possibly speak to Duncan about Farlan’s allegations? She feared his reaction more than anything. Even if what the man had said was true, Duncan could retaliate violently. But not with her, of that, she was sure.
She closed her eyes thinking perhaps it would be best to avoid him altogether. By the time they returned it would be close to last meal and she could claim a headache and go straight to bed.
With a plan in mind, she felt better.
Too soon they arrived at the house. Duncan emerged from the house to meet the carriage; his demeanor warm as he helped her climb out. Insisting on carrying her purchases, he waited for her to go inside and followed.
“Did ye enjoy the village?” he asked as they placed the bundles on a table in the great room.
She met his gaze hoping to sense something from him that she’d not seen before. Instead, she saw warmth and genuine interest.
“Orla and I ordered dresses from the seamstress. She is a lovely woman and was so grateful. We also bought fabric and baskets.” As she spoke, Beatrice pulled out several bundles and showed the items to Duncan. “Before leaving, I introduced myself to every merchant in the square and purchased something from each one as well. I did enjoy that very much.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Beatrice said lifting her foot. “I got new boots.”
He inspected her foot. “The shoemaker does good work.” He lifted a small bag and sniffed it. “What is this?”
“Herbs for teas and some for poultices and such. I purchased a few different ones and some jars to keep them in.”
Duncan snatched her right arm and lifted it. “What happened to yer wrist?”
“Oh… I stumbled and got it caught in…” She couldn’t think fast enough.
“The truth Beatrice.” His gaze locked with hers. “Ye are not a good liar.”
She let out a breath. “Promise me ye will not get angry and do something rash.”
Duncan stared at her wrist. “I cannot promise.”
“Then I will not tell ye.”
For a few moments they locked gazes, until Caelan walked into the room. “Am I interrupting?”
Beatrice turned to Caelan. “Duncan wishes me to tell him what happened to my wrist, but he will not promise to not become angry.”
The men exchanged looks. “Ye should tell him. Duncan is not a violent person, he will go for a walk and put stones upon his wall if angered.”
She wasn’t sure either of them was prepared for what she had to say. “I am not sure if I should divulge what happened to both of ye, or just ye,” Beatrice met Duncan’s gaze. “Perhaps, I can tell Caelan, and he can find the best way to convey the information to ye.”
“Just tell me,” Duncan said. “There are no secrets between me and my brother.”
“Hmmm,” Beatrice thought about what Farlan had said.
“Very well,” Beatrice said. “Let us go to the parlor.”
They walked into the parlor, which seemed so much smaller with both men inside.
“Yesterday, while ye both were at the tavern
, Orla and I went for a short walk. We picked the lavender.” She motioned to the flowers in a vase. “A man appeared and congratulated me on our marriage. He claimed to know ye, Duncan. He asked me to convey his good wishes and I invited him to come to the house and see ye.”
When neither spoke, she continued. “I saw him again at the village today. This time he tried to avoid me. I followed him and asked why he’d not responded to my invitation. He took me by the wrist and said I should forget ever seeing him and not to mention it to ye.”
“What else?” Duncan said his voice seeming hollow, his gaze boring into her.
“He said ye and he were once very close.” Beatrice leaned forward and looked at Caelan. “Very close.”
Caelan coughed and pressed his lips together as if trying not to laugh. “Why did he hold yer wrist so hard?”
Beatrice shrugged. “It was as if he was desperate that I did not tell Duncan I had seen him.” She returned her attention to her husband. “He said it was best ye did not know he was here.”
“Did he give ye a name,” Duncan said dryly. “I am sure it is someone angry over me beating him in the games. I will find whoever it is and ensure they do not spread lies about me again.”
“How close did he say they were?” Caelan asked sliding a look to Duncan.
“I do not find the accusations one bit humorous,” Duncan snapped.
Beatrice frowned. “He said ye and he had…been intimate.” Both she and Caelan watched Duncan for a reaction, and she at least was surprised when he didn’t react. Instead, he gave her a droll look. “What is the man’s name, wife?”
“Farlan Reid,” Beatrice replied dryly. “I have to admit to being shocked that a man would say such a thing publicly. Someone could be hanged just for speaking about participating in such a thing.”
“Very true,” Caelan said as he stood and came to Beatrice, blocking her view of Duncan. “Come with me, I wish to speak to ye about some changes ye may wish to make in the house.”
Beatrice glanced around Caelan to Duncan, who looked at her and nodded. “Go on, I must speak to the guards about a man being able to approach ye without them knowing.”
“A guard did come when he saw what happened. The man, Farlan, left before the guard arrived. I informed the guard he was an acquaintance. So do not punish them for it.”
Once she and Caelan went to the dining room, Beatrice spoke in a low tone. “Are ye sure he will not do anything rash?”
“If my brother wishes to beat the man to a pulp for bruising yer wrist, I will not blame him,” Caelan replied in a curt tone. “I would do the same. Do not hold him back from it.”
Chapter Thirteen
The gathering of clouds and grey skies promised rain and colder weather to come. Duncan guided his horse through the woods keeping his gaze forward, not bothering to worry about a possible attack.
He knew exactly where to find Farlan. Not because there were only a few places to hide, but because he knew and understood him. The man had spoken the truth in that they’d grown to know each other well. However, they’d never been intimate. He was sure Farlan had said that to Beatrice to draw him out.
“I want to die,” Farlan said, gasping out each word. The man shook with the aftereffects of the harsh blows he’d just received. His left arm was misshapen and swelling.
Stretching as far as his chain allowed, Duncan was able to grab a rag from a pile they used to dress with or cleaning tasks. He tore one to strips, tied it together to make it longer, and then crawled to where Farlan lay. The feverish man, used to pain, barely made a sound as he set the arm and wrapped the makeshift bandages around it. Unfortunately, their tormentors would probably use the broken arm as a weapon against Farlan, to make him do whatever they asked.
Some days either he or Farlan would resist doing whatever horrible tasks they were forced to do. It mattered little because the beatings were a source of entertainment for their captors and often whether they acquiesced or not, there would be punishment.
“What did they want ye to do this time?” Duncan asked looking up at the ceiling. If Farlan had not done what they wanted, then it was possible they would want him to.
“Fight against the big one… or be thrown overboard.” Farlan’s voice was low and faraway. “I ran toward the side, hoping to jump, but they stopped me and hung me by my arm until I lost consciousness.”
From the bruising on Farlan’s face, Duncan realized he’d had to fight with one broken arm.
He went back to his side of the dirty room and lay on his side. It was best not to be found caring for Farlan. For some reason it angered their captors.
They were on a Spanish ship. Had been traded to them just months earlier after a battle. A peace offering of sorts.
Their captors hated the British and although both Duncan and Farlan were Scots, the Spanish didn’t seem to realize it, or care.
“Help me die,” Farlan said lifting his head to look at Duncan. “I beg ye. Kill me.”
There was a path made by the wildlife and Duncan guided his horse down it until he reached a clearing. There he dismounted and walked around the clearing looking through the trees for movement.
It wasn’t long before Farlan appeared. Immediately Duncan was transported back to the years that he fought daily to forget. “Why did ye approach my wife?”
Despite being only about five years older than him, Farlan had aged a great deal. His hair graying. His face drawn and scarred.
He had a slight limp and his left arm remained bent at an odd angle. The dark eyes that met his were filled with hate. “Is that what ye really want to ask me?”
“There is nothing else for us to speak about.”
Farlan’s lips twisted into a misshapen smile. “Ye left me to die.”
“Do ye really think I was in any shape to do more than survive? I was thrown overboard, half-crazed with whatever illness I had contracted. It was by pure happenstance that I was found and rescued.”
“We swore to return for the other,” Farlan yelled. “Ye did not keep yer word to me.”
“What do ye want from me?” Duncan asked holding his arms out. “That we are both free is a miracle.”
Farlan huffed and held out his right arm in the direction of Duncan’s home. “Ye have a grand home, a beautiful wife, servants…” He hesitated as if searching for words. “I lost everything. The year before I was finally released, the last of my family perished. I was not there to stop it.”
“That is not my fault,” Duncan said. “The blame for all our misfortunes lies on the heads of our captors.”
“They are dead,” Farlan said with an unfocused look past him. “I hunted every single one of them down and ensured they suffered. They all died begging me to kill them.”
It was then Duncan understood he was on the man’s list of people he planned to kill. He took the man in. Although smaller than him and not fit, Farlan was used to fighting past pain and would also be strengthened by hatred and the need for revenge.
“Ye should give yerself the opportunity to enjoy life. After what we went through, we deserve to have good things happen.” Duncan’s sword was strapped to his back, Farlan had no visible weapon.
“I am living and doing exactly what I wish,” Farlan replied walking closer. “Do ye not see that this is what gives me a reason to rise in the mornings?”
At one point Duncan had also plotted revenge. However, over the years the urge had become weaker. “How long has it been since ye escaped?”
A bark of laughter erupted from deep in Farlan’s chest. “Escape.” He laughed bitterly. “I was starved until barely conscious and then like ye, thrown overboard to die. Eight years ago.”
Farlan shook his head. “Despite being held with ye all those years, ye never told me where ye came from. I had to search for a long time.”
He’d purposely never spoken of home; it was too painful. Obviously, it had bought him years of reprieve from Farlan’s quest to kill him.
When Farlan m
oved closer, Duncan considered unsheathing his sword. “I do not wish to fight ye. Return to yer home and start over.”
“Do not dare tell me how to live my life. Do ye not see? I have nothing to live for.” Farlan motioned to his midsection. “I can never lie with a woman; my manhood was damaged. Ye remember that do ye not? Or is it something ye also chose to forget?”
“I remember it all, ye included. We were captives, chained in the same place for years. How can I not remember?”
“Ye left me to die,” Farlan insisted.
“I am not responsible for ye. I wanted to help. I tried to find the ship, but it was gone by the time I recovered.”
The disbelief in Farlan’s face made Duncan stop attempting to explain. The man was mad with hatred and would not hear or allow anything to distract him from what he planned.
“Kneel before me,” Farlan said, his gaze locking with Duncan’s. “Beg for yer life.”
The words were familiar. It was what their torturers often said to give them false hope. Hope they would not be hurt or killed.
“What are ye saying?” Duncan could not believe the words from his former friend’s mouth.
Farlan came close, nose to nose with him. “I said, beg.”
“Ye are mad,” Duncan replied and stumbled sideways when Farlan struck him hard on the side of the head.
Before he could recover, Farlan raised the large stone he’d hidden in his hand and hit him again.
Movement compounded the throbbing in his temples. Duncan struggled against the binds at his wrists and ankles. He was gagged so it was impossible to call for help. With each pull, his legs rose from the ground higher and higher, and he realized Farlan was pulling him to hang upside down.
His sword remained strapped to his back, but it was impossible to reach it bound as he was.
After several tries to say something, he gave up as his voice was barely audible. If Caelan was out looking for him along with the guards, there was a possibility they’d find him. He’d been careless to think that Farlan only wanted to talk, or to perhaps ask for work.
The Beast Page 13