The Laird gave him a knowing look. “There are plenty o’ ways tae hurt a man. Bodily pain is the very least creative of ‘em.”
Jeames could not help but give his father a scathing look.
“Faither, with all the respect that is due tae ye, I think that ye might just be talkin’ absolute rot. There’s nae a thing wrong wi’ that lass, except, perhaps, fer some misguided loyalty she has tae William Ballantine.”
The Laird looked up at this. “What d’ye mean?”
“She just cannae find the strength tae part ways wi’ the man.”
Jeames paused, as if was suddenly struck by some sort of ugly realization.
“Leastways, that’s what I think is the reason,” he said.
The Laird stroked thoughtfully at the gray and black stubble on his top lip at this. “Hm, nae just bonnie. Nae just a fine lass tae talk tae. She’s loyal tae. And showin’ more sense than ye in this matter.”
At these words, Jeames found that he had had enough.
“Ach, I came here fer yer guidance, Faither!” he said, his eyes narrowed with anger.
“And, I’ve given it tae ye, lad. But ye are yer own man, and ye’ll decide fer yerself what ye can live with and what ye cannae.”
Jeames squared his broad shoulders. “Aye,” he said, “that I will.”
Without another word, he turned about and strode for the stable door. His boots thudded loudly across the wooden boards of the floor. The horses, smelling his futile anger, shifted nervously in their stalls and nickered softly to each other.
“Jeames!”
Jeames’s head half-turned at his father’s call, but he did not stop walking.
“Be careful, lad,” the Laird said. “Tread with caution. Greater men than either ye or I have been undone by throwin’ their hearts down at the feet of others.”
Jeames walked out into the day, the door of the stabled slamming to behind him.
* * *
Beatrice looked up as a resounding knock reverberated through the heavy wooden door. She was all a flutter, and the sudden noise caused her to jump where she stood by the hearth, staring into the coals of the fire.
I need to stay calm. Perhaps there is a way for me to figure out how to keep all parties happy–though, by God, if there is then I do not see it…To me, it all looks quite hopeless.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice quavering more than a little.
Jeames stepped through the door and closed it behind him. There was a fire in his eyes, his usually amiable face contorted in a frown, his mouth a grim line.
Summoning every particle of her confident stage persona, Beatrice hitched a grin onto her face and said, “I see your father tried to talk some sense into you.”
Jeames scowled more darkly at her.
“I’m glad that the two of ye find this all so amusin’,” he snapped at her.
With a suddenness that made the weather in the Scottish Highlands such a byword, a wind swept up from the moors with a shrieking howl and rain lashed the sides of the castle.
Quite the sense of dramatic timing. What William would give to be able to have thunder roll at his command, to harness Nature’s drumroll.
“I’m not glad that any of this happening, thank you so very much, Mr. Abernathy,” she replied icily.
The sunlight, which had been streaming so contentedly through the open window, was cut off as clouds rolled across the valleys. Rain started to spot the inside of the floor where it was blown in by the gusting wind.
“Nae glad about it? Ye could have fooled me, the way that ye seem so unbothered by the way things seem tae be headin’.”
“Unbothered? How could I be unmoved by the fact that I’m soon going to have to leave this place–your home, that you so graciously opened to me? I will miss it more than you can say. I can’t remember when I was last happier!”
To her surprise, Beatrice found that her amused indignation had changed to vexed anger.
I am leaving. I must distance myself from Jeames over the next few days. It will make the final goodbye all the easier.
Giving her voice a slightly more frigid and impersonal edge, Beatrice said, “And, really, can you blame me for becoming so attached to this place?”
“What d’ye mean by that?” Jeames asked.
“Well, you’ve been so charming, so pleasant. It hasn’t really been fair. Not only have I been wooed by the beauty of this castle and land, but I find myself falling in–becoming rather…fond of you, if you must know.”
Jeames looked to all the world as if he had just been hit in the face with something hard. He blinked a couple of times.
Beatrice, finding herself in somewhat of a groove, stepped forward and said, “You could have left me for the physician to care for. For one as enchanting as you, it would have been the kind thing. Especially as you are betrothed! But no, instead you had to muddle my head. One of us has to be realistic about this, Jeames!”
With an alacrity that took Beatrice completely by surprise, Jeames bent down, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Lightning crackled up in the heavens, cracking the sky’s dome with its white light. Thunder rolled.
For a glorious second or two–as Beatrice relaxed into his embrace–the outside world faded away until all that was left to her was the perfect present. All she knew was Jeames large hand cupping her cheek, his other arm around her waist, the roughness of his stubbly jaw against her own.
Then Beatrice pulled away.
“I–how dare you!” she said. She slapped him across the face. Jeames blinked, the frustration and anger flaring in his eyes again.
“Ye’re an intolerable lass, ye ken that?” he said.
“You–you’re betrothed!” Beatrice repeated. She tried valiantly to get a handle on her swirling thoughts. It seemed to her that they had reached a tipping point of sorts.
For just a second, she had the impression that she was stranding at the edge of a cliff. A great dark gulf filled with the unknown lay below her. All she had to decide was whether to jump or step back and return to her old life.
They stared daggers at each other for a moment more, and then they fell into each other’s arms again.
Jeames put his arm around Beatrice again, his breath whistling through his nose as their lips met once more. He slipped his hand around to the small of her back and pulled her to him. At the same time, she put her small hand up and grasped him by the neck, pulling his face towards hers, her fingers running up into his raven hair.
They kissed clumsily, their anger and their passion making them careless.
Beatrice groaned as she felt Jeames’s tongue lick at her bottom lip and then dart into her mouth. His hand slipped down until it felt the toned firmness of her buttocks and she gasped. He squeezed, crushing her closer to him still, whilst Beatrice shifted her weight.
She gasped and pulled away suddenly, grimacing.
“Are ye alright?” Jeames asked breathlessly, worried that he had hurt her.
“Yes–just this weak ankle of mine. It’s still a bit sore.” She tried to keep her temper, but it was so hard considering what was happening in the chamber.
Jeames bent to kiss Beatrice again. This time both his hands moved down to her backside and he lifted her with ease. In response, Beatrice wrapped her legs around his hips. Jeames pushed her up against the cold stone of the wall, used his bodyweight to hold her in place, took a hand away from her buttocks and ran it up the outside of her thigh.
This is wrong. This is wrong. This should not be happening. Keep your distance.
She could feel her breasts pushing into his chest, taste his breath in her mouth. Skin hissed on skin as his hand explored up her skirt. Beatrice bit his bottom lip, made a little noise in her throat– something between a sigh and a growl. The blood surged in her ears.
This might be fine, if it were to be the last memory that he would have of you. But it will not be the last recollection. His last memory will be a bitter one to recall.
With not inconsiderable difficulty, she tore herself away. Breaking that kiss and freeing herself from that yearned for embrace was one of the hardest things that she had ever done.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, but we cannot do this!”
Jeames, who had the same dazed, hungry look that Beatrice imagined that she herself wore, rubbed at his temples.
“Why nae?” he asked. “Clearly it is what both of us hanker fer, is it nae?”
“That might be so…”
“Then why nae act on our desires?” Jeames asked.
“Just because you can do something does not mean that you should, Jeames.”
She could see the internal battle being fought inside the Scot, could see it playing out behind his honest and rugged face.
He is a fine man. Attractive and caring and noble. And his conscience will not let him ignore the truth in those words. No matter how angry he is at his father, the world, or me.
She could see that her reticence was confusing him. Hurting him. He could see that she wanted him; she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anyone in her life, but still she held back.
It’s to protect you.
They were in her chamber and Beatrice did not much feel like going through the rigmarole of asking Jeames to leave. She knew he would, but not before he had asked her a number of uncomfortable questions.
And I do not wish to lie to you. Not anymore than I already have.
Beatrice straightened her skirts. Her blood still ran hot and wild through her veins. How she craved to stay here with the Highlander, to stay here and…
She shook her head and took a step towards the door. And another.
Without quite knowing how, Beatrice found her hand on the door handle.
“Where are ye goin’?” Jeames asked. His face was a maelstrom of bewilderment, wretchedness and irritation.
“I just need some time,” she told him. “I need some time to straighten out these thoughts of mine.”
“I’ll come wi–”
“No, Jeames, I need to be alone.”
She turned the handle and stepped through the door. On the threshold, she turned. She pulled a strand of hair from her mouth and tucked it behind her ear.
“Jeames,” she said, haltingly. “You must be vigilant. You are going to be a Laird one day…”
An image of William Ballantine’s resolute face flashed across the back of her eyelids. The man who had taken her in, had always cared and provided for her.
“Beatrice,” the Scotsman said, his voice as filled with puzzlement as his face was. “What dae ye mean?”
“That… I mean,” Beatrice said, trying to summon a believable look of unconcern onto her countenance. “If we continue down this road, you and I, then something bad will come of this relationship.”
Before Jeames could even draw breath to ask the question that Beatrice knew would have her spilling the truth of what was going on to him, she spun around and hurried off down the corridor.
18
The last week of Beatrice’s stay at MacKenzie Castle passed, strangely, both very fast and, also, quite slowly. The days themselves seemed, at times to drag. This was, no doubt, because of the strain between Jeames and Beatrice. Neither of them acknowledged or referred to this burden that had settled upon both of them, but it was there.
Conversely, whilst the days seemed sometimes to be crawling by, Jeames was startled to realize one morning that he only had three days left with Beatrice. The realization acted as a sort of shock to his system, when he awoke and saw how far advanced the morning was.
What the hell have ye been doin’ the last few days, man? Mopin’ about, feelin’ sorry fer yerself and playin’ a few games o’ backgammon with the lass.
He climbed out of bed and stretched. Then he pulled on his clothes, making sure to wear as fresh a set of clothes as he was able, and headed down to the kitchens.
If these are truly the last days that ye’ll spend taegether then, fer the sake of God and of that girl, make ‘em eventful ones. Make them days that she will look back upon and smile, rather than grimace!
So intent was he, with his thoughts on how to make sure that Beatrice enjoyed the last of their time together, that he almost ran into the object of his contemplations on the stairs.
“I was just comin’ looking fer ye,” Jeames said, taking her by the arm and steadying her.
“Oh, yes?” Beatrice asked.
Jeames thought that she looked slightly more tired than was usual, but he imagined that he looked a little worn also.
It was a curious thing, but the thought of her leaving the castle had been making him feel gloomy and lethargic from the moment he arose every day–so much so that he longed for bed practically as soon as he woke. However, when it actually came to climbing between the sheets, it seemed to take Jeames hours before he managed to fall into slumber, so full of chattering thoughts was his mind.
“Aye,” he said, slightly awkwardly. “Aye, I was looking fer ye. Have ye broken yer fast?”
“Not yet,” Betarice replied.
“Grand,” said Jeames. “I was wonderin’ whether ye’d fancy comin’ fer a wee ride wi’ me. I’ll grab some victuals from the kitchens, and we can make a picnic somewhere. What say ye?”
He hadn’t realized that he had a plan until he spoke the words, but he must have subconsciously noted that the weather was quite clement that day.
Beatrice hesitated. She looked down at her foot.
“Come, lass,” Jeames said. “It sounds like ye and Mr. Ballantine have made up yer minds tae leave no matter what. I promise, even if I manage tae gallop us off a cliff, I’ll nae make ye stay here one day more than is necessary.”
Beatrice grinned. “Will you promise to carry me to the circus’s next stop if you hurt my other ankle, you brutish man?” she said, and there was no doubt that the old flame of her humor flared up again just then.
Jeames smiled in return and started off down the stairs. “Ye ken well that I would carry ye to the ends o’ the earth if that’s where ye needed tae be, Beatrice.”
Because he was leading the way down the stairs, Jeames did not see the fleeting look of anguish mingled with adoration that crossed Beatrice’s face.
“Fine,” he heard her say, in a voice that would have been normal had it not been for a slight tightness. “You’ve convinced me, Master Abernathy. Let’s eat our breakfast out of doors today.”
“I imagine ye can barely remember which way tae sit a horse, ye’ve been out o’ the saddle so long,” Jeames teased her.
Behind him on the stairs, Beatrice snorted softly.
“It’s going to present quite a challenge, I just realized,” she said.
“What is?”
“Well,” Beatrice said, and Jeames smiled to himself to hear the familiar surety in her voice. “I just can’t think how you’re going to show me which way to go to this picnic spot of yours, not when you’re going to be lagging so far behind me…”
It did indeed prove difficult for Jeames to make himself heard, so far in her wake did Beatrice leave him. They galloped hard over the gorgeous rolling hills of the emerald vales that surrounded MacKenzie Castle.
My God, watching this lass ride is like watchin’ poetry spill from a poet’s pen! If I could ride half so ably as her, I’d call meself an expert.
He followed along behind her, as close as he could. His amazed laughter was whipped out of his mouth by the rushing wind, as he watched her fly across the green turf, jump hedges and race along with her hands free of the reins and held out to countryside that whipped past her.
Eventually, when the horse began to tire, Beatrice slackened h
er pace and Jeames was able to draw abreast of her. When he came up alongside her, he saw that she had her eyes closed and a beatific smile on her face.
“Freedom…freedom…freedom…” she was repeating to herself.
Jeames cleared his throat, not wanting to intrude on anything he shouldn’t. “Well, Miss Turner,” he said. “Ye’ve led us on a merry jaunt, but I’d say that here would dae fine fer a spot o’ breakfast, if ye fancy it?”
Awakening His Highland Soul (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 17