Awakening His Highland Soul (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Maddie MacKenna

  Abruptly, Beatrice stood. She moved with a purpose, as if she was intent on shaking off whatever it was that had her under its shadow.

  “Let us go for a walk,” she said. “If you are all done with your work, that is?”

  Jeames got to his feet. Even had his office been ankle-deep in matters requiring his attention, still he would have acquiesced to Beatrice’s wish.

  “Nay, nay,” he said, “I’ve nay more work fer the present. Anyway, we only have a few days left together so,” and Jeames sketched Beatrice a courtly bow. “Yer wish is, tae me, a command, Me Lady.”

  Beatrice smiled at him. Jeames, sensing the strain in that smile, was nonetheless gratified to see it on her face.

  “Excellent,” she said, summoning an imperious tone that, Jeames thought, would have made even Lady Margery raise an eyebrow in admiration. “In that case, let us go down to the stables and take a look at these horses that your father was talking so passionately about the other evening.”

  Jeames smiled and bowed again. “Absolutely, Me Lady,” he said, and offered her his arm.

  Beatrice took his arm in her strong, warm grip, then she got onto her tiptoes and planted a kiss quickly on Jeames’s cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said, her hazel eyes looking deep into his. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  Jeames did not know what to say, so taken aback was he by this sudden display of affection. He stammered something self-deprecating, something that no human being could have understood, and went a little red.

  “Now,” Beatrice said. “Let’s go and take a look at these horses.”

  * * *

  The whisky fire had long since faded from Beatrice’s belly, but it had seemingly been replaced by a fire comprised of equal parts defiance and resentment.

  I will find a way to get out of this predicament. I will find a way to stop William from doing what he is so hell-bent on doing.

  As they walked out of MacKenzie Castle and into the sunshine that flooded the courtyard, Jeames turned to her and said, “I must say that I’m glad tae see ye in a better mood than when last Mr. Ballantine and yerself had words. Have ye managed tae sort whatever differences ye were havin’?”

  I wonder if he thinks that I am despondent because I am arguing with William about how I wish to stay. Ah, if only that was the case!

  “I would not say that the issue between us was sorted, but I have decided that, seeing as we only have the rest of today and all of tomorrow in which to enjoy one another’s company, I would not languish in self-pity.”

  Beatrice squeezed his arm and smiled a wistful smile at the good-natured and handsome Highlander who walked beside her. “I would rather spend the last of our time together enjoying ourselves in the moment, rather than wallowing in what is to come.”

  She looked at the tall man beside her, trying to surreptitiously take in every angle of him.

  My God, how my heart burns at the thought of what is, indeed, to come.

  “I will only make one mention of the future, before I seal my lips about it completely,” Beatrice said.

  “Aye, speak away then, lass,” Jeames said, as they started to make their way down the hill, away from the castle.

  “Mr. Ballantine will be coming by tomorrow after luncheon.”

  “Again?” Jeames blurted out. He cleared his throat and said, “I mean, tae what does he owe his visit? Surely, there is very little to still talk about?”

  Jeames looked out across the rooftops of the houses in the village that spread across the land ahead of them.

  “Ye are leavin’, and there is an end tae it,” he said.

  Somehow, he managed to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum.

  Beatrice swallowed and nodded. “Yes, almost everything is arranged. He wants to come and tell me of the time that I will have to leave here. Obviously, it makes sense for me to go and join the circus as they leave, rather than have him come here and scoop me up on their way past.”

  “Have ye any notion as tae where ye will all be off tae next?” Jeames asked in an overly casual manner that did not fool Beatrice in the least.

  And that is why I am so fond of the man. He has not a shred of dishonesty in him, and any subterfuge he tries to employ is quickly seen through and never engaged with malice aforethought. Different indeed from the life that I am going back to.

  Beatrice shrugged as they made it to the bottom of the hill and set off, not in the direction of the stables at which they had left their own horses earlier, but in the opposite direction.

  “No, I don’t know where we will be going,” she said. “Sometimes I do not think that even William knows. Sometimes I think he just lets the road take him where it will, like the captain of a ship allowing the river to take the boat where it will.”

  Jeames led her on in a thoughtful, brooding silence.

  “Do not dwell on that anyway,” Beatrice said, trying to lighten the mood. “Did not I say that I wish to forget the future? Then that means you must too. Or do I need to put on my commanding and authoritative voice, as I did back there in your study?”

  Jeames sighed and smiled. “Aye, very well then,” he said. “I will try me best, though, as ye ken, I shall miss ye when ye’re gone.”

  “As I shall miss you,” Beatrice said, the words springing organically to her lips and echoing with the undeniable ring of truth. She puffed out her cheeks. “Anyway, enough with this morbid talk of missing each other. Where in the dickens are you taking me, Mr. Abernathy?”

  They were walking down a deserted lane bordered by tall hedgerows. “This is the way to me faither’s prized nags,” Jeames explained. “He wanted them on the opposite side o’ the village to the regular stable.”

  “Why?” Beatrice asked.

  Jeames colored very slightly. “Well, he did nae want the stallions of the regular stock tae smell the mares of his select steeds when they came into season, ye see. Did nae want tae run the risk of a stallion gettin’ out and fatherin’ foals with a mare that was above his station.”

  Beatrice laughed at Jeames’s awkwardness and could not resist adding to it. “Hm, is there a lesson in there somewhere, do you think?” she asked. She laughed again as Jeames squirmed.

  They came to the stables and Jeames led the way past the armed and kilted guardsmen that stood at the gates to the collection of outbuildings.

  “Your father has armed men stationed here?” she asked. Her eyes taking in the hard faces and watchful eyes of the guards, noticing that the weapons that they wore openly had the disconcerting, worn look of weapons that were far from just ceremonial.

  “O’ course. Some o’ these horses come from far afield. He has one mare, I shall show ye her, who comes all the way from Spain! She is an Andalusian and worth more than two of the houses that we just passed in the village. There are people that ken this and would nae balk at tryin’ their hand at stealin’ her.”

  Beatrice considered this. She had not thought that Andrew Abernathy was a foolish Laird, far from it, but she saw now that he had another side to him, not just the amiable, twinkly-eyed facet that she had conversed with at dinner. He was cautious and, what was more, not afraid of protecting what he owned with lethal force.

  Jeames escorted her through the paths that led between the little outbuildings, nodding to more armed men that were patrolling around the place.

  There must be some real money in horses, to go to all this trouble looking after and protecting them.

  They eventually fetched up outside the doors to a large barn, its roof newly thatched, the wood of its exterior barely weathered.

  “So, your father has a horse from Spain?” Beatrice said, as Jeames motioned the two men standing sentry outside this building to open the doors.

  “Aye, he does,” Jeames said.

  “Does he have any other horses from anywhere else?”

  The doors to the big barn creaked open enough to let the two of them inside, but not enough for any lo
ose horse inside to get out.

  “I will show ye, lass,” Jeames said. “Daenae be impatient,” he scolded her, smiling cheekily.

  Beatrice opened her mouth to retort, but Jeames held his fingers to her lips.

  “Best be calm in here, lass. Ye ken better than most that a calm stable is a safe stable. I would nae like tae have tae tell me faither that the mad English equestrienne spooked one o’ his prize nags and broke its leg or some such.”

  Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him and grinned menacingly. Jeames made a scared face and led her off down the rows, walking softly and steadily between the stalls.

  About halfway down the stable, Jeames came to a halt. He turned, beaming and signaled for Beatrice to come and stand by him.

  His face was aglow with the light of someone who is about to show someone else a thing that they will find wonderful. “Come have a look at this, Beatrice,” he said, holding out his hand.

  21

  “Take a look at this fine lass and tell me she is nae the most beautiful nag that ye ever laid eyes on,” Jeames said.

  Beatrice peeked around the corner of the stall and felt her breath catch in her throat.

  I did not think that you could look at a creature and be able to tell at a glance that it was worth more than another animal of the same breed, but this horse…

  To the layman, the Andalusian looked as horse-like as any other horse. It was a gleaming, coal-black with four legs, a head and a tail, and it stamped its feet and whinnied gently when it saw Beatrice, just as any other horse she had ever seen did. However, in every line, in every visible muscle that rippled beneath its sable pelt, Beatrice could see how valuable a horse it was.

  “You were not wrong about this animal,” she said. “It looks as if it were a king of horses, or else a champion racing mount.”

  Jeames beamed at her, clearly delighted with her praise. “I wish me faither was here tae hear ye say such things. I ken that he would think much of yer admiration, ye spendin’ more of yer time in the saddle than out of it.”

  Beatrice did not answer. She was so entranced by the mare that stood placid but proud in the box in front of her that she could not look away. The animal was all black, except for one white foreleg.

  “She looks as if she had forgotten to take one of her stockings off before going to bed,” Beatrice said, her eyes still tracing the curves of the Andalusian’s rump, neck and flanks. “What is her name?”

  “I’m not sure what she was originally called, but me faither named her Falcas,” Jeames said.

  At the sound of the name, Falcas ears pricked up and she took a step towards Jeames.

  “Ah, she’s a sharp one,” Beatrice said. “You shall have to watch her. You can feel the spirit coming off of her, can’t you?”

  She leaned forward, resting her arms on the stable door and said softly to the horse, “Yes, you are a beauty, Falcas. There is fire in you. Mischief. Power. A will that hasn’t so much been broken as tempered. I feel it.”

  The horse stamped a foot and inclined its nose in Beatrice’s direction.

  “Ah,” Jeames said. “Are you talking from experience? Almost sounds, to me, like you are describing yourself.”

  Beatrice smiled slightly at his words, though her eyes remained fixed on the Falcas.

  “What does Falcas mean?” she asked Jeames.

  “Basically, it means ‘shadow’ in Gaelic,” Jeames said. “Shadow, shade…phantom. Me faither said that there was somethin’ otherworldly about this horse.”

  “Yes,” agreed Beatrice enthusiastically. “Yes, I can definitely see that. I feel that she could almost slip through the walls if she wished it, despite her size. She must be–what?–seventeen hands high?”

  Jeames chuckled. “Exactly. Me Lord, but ye have an eye for the nags.” He shook his head in impressed astonishment. It was fair to say that Lady Margery did not have quite the same affinity when it came to horses.

  Beatrice shrugged casually. “She reminds me, somehow, of a horse that my old riding mistress, Rose, used to tell me tales about.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “Yes. She knew all sorts of tales concerning horses. She would go into the taverns and inns of the towns and villages that we passed through and keep her ears pricked for any stories concerning horses. She always said the best places were on the coast. The places where fishermen and sailors landed from across the world, bringing spices and herbs and stories with them.”

  Beatrice held out her hand to Falcas and the horse took a tentative step towards her.

  “Anyway, she told me of this man who came from across the frozen seas to the east of England, a Dane. And he told her how one of their heathen Norse gods had a horse with eight legs. Sleipnir was its name, or something like that. It was said to be the greatest of horses.”

  At these words, Falcas came and nuzzled her velvet nose against Beatrice’s palm.

  “This Dane told Rose that this horse was so great and powerful that it had been used by this heathen god of theirs to ride all the way into Hell and back.”

  Beatrice cast another admiring look over the huge and majestic horse. “Your father has an excellent eye for horses. If he births foals from this mare there’s little doubt that he’ll have the best horses in Scotland I imagine.”

  Jeames grinned and motioned for her to continue down the rows with him, leaving Falcas to eat the hay in her manger.

  “You will need a good trainer though,” Beatrice added. “If those foals have anything like the amount of fire in them that that mare does.”

  “Well,” Jeames said, over his shoulder. “I did have someone in mind…”

  “Ah, Beatrice said, holding up a hand. “Remember, there is no talk of our futures today. Show me what other treasures your father has in this place.”

  * * *

  Jeames spent the rest of the afternoon walking from stall to stall with the enthralled Beatrice at his side, looking, feeding and grooming the horses that his father had slowly been collecting from all over.

  He enjoyed the horses, but he had seen them many times before. What gave him a sense of pleasure was seeing how interested and delighted Beatrice was when she peered over each stable door. She had been captivated, and rightly so, by the great sable Andalusian mare that his father had paid an unheard of sum for, but she also absolutely loved the little Shetland ponies that Jeames showed her.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed. “They are so small!”

  Jeames grinned to himself as Beatrice pushed past him so that she could kneel in the middle of the stall that contained the three little animals, each barely taller than her hip. The ponies were intelligent and amiable little beasts and they plodded over to sniff at the new human in their midst.

  “These are quite adorable, Mr. Abernathy,” Beatrice said to him. “But what are they actually good for?”

  “Ye’re jestin’, aren’t ye?” Jeames asked, in mock surprise. “Why would ye think that these little fellows are good fer nothin’?”

  “Hm, perhaps because they can practically trot through my legs without me noticing?” Beatrice replied, giggling as one of the ponies chewed happily at her sleeve.

  “Ah, ye see, there ye go again,” Jeames said. “Jumpin’ tae conclusions again. Just like ye thought that the Scotch thistle was nothin’ more than a spiky weed.”

  Beatrice rolled her eyes and tickled one of the ponies behind its ear.

  “I will nae say this tae loud because I daenae want tae hurt the wee little fellows’ feelin’s, but I bet all ye see is three wee weak little things that could nae pull a laundry basket, is that right?”

  “Well…maybe,” Beatrice said.

  “But ye see, this breed has been developed and formed by the harsh Shetland climate. They survive on very little food–due to their size, aye, but also because of where they come from. They’re used all over the Highlands to cart peat and pull carts.”

  “Well,” Beatrice said, looking up at him from where she knelt in the stra
w. “If I take anything away from our time spent together it shall definitely be this: do not pass judgment before you have all the information in front you.”

  Jeames laughed. “I think that is pretty sound advice,” he said.

  There was nothing quite so exotic as the Spanish Andalusian, but Jeames showed Beatrice his faither’s Welsh ponies, a couple of monstrous Clydesdale horses whose heads almost seemed to scrape the roof of the stable and selection of fine-looking English horses that he had accumulated over the years.

  “The Laird needs to get a quartet of Cleveland Bays,” Beatrice said, as the two of them eventually left the stables and stepped back out into the brisk air. To both of their surprise they found that they had been in the stable for quite some time.