The Beast of Aros Castle (Highland Isles)

by McCollum, Heather

  “Thank the good Lord you didn’t have to,” Grace said while sucking in her breath.

  Ava felt her face heat, which was a tiny ember compared to the raging fire that had nearly consumed her in Tor’s arms. Just the memory made her breath stutter.

  “So, he said an arrangement?” Grace asked again but didn’t seem to need an answer. “That must mean marriage. He said he wouldn’t be tricked into marriage, not that he wouldn’t ever wed,” she said, reminding Ava what she’d told her of their conversation. “It was risky telling him we weren’t welcome back in York, but I guess it worked.”

  “I had to tell him something, and it wasn’t a lie. We can’t go back to Somerset. The man’s been tricked by a woman. I need to be as honest with him as I can be.”

  Grace cradled her cheeks in her palms, her eyes wide. “But you’re lying to him about who you are.”

  “I know,” Ava said, picking up her fan to attach to her looped chain girdle. “I just mean, we should stick as close to the truth as we can.”

  Grace nodded. She pinched her lips and tapped her chin. “Whose move is it next?”

  “Move?” Ava asked and tucked a stray curl up into the blue hood she wore over her hair.

  “It’s a game, really,” Grace explained. “The beast said you weren’t welcome. You came anyway. He kissed you, and you asked him if he had a heart. You seduced him, and he said that he’d discuss an arrangement with you.” Grace ticked off the back and forth actions on her fingers. “Seems like it is your turn again.”

  “Already?” Ava lowered onto the edge of the bed they shared. “I haven’t recovered from my last move.”

  “Didn’t he ask you to let him know if you were fine with two out of three functioning hearts?”

  Ava nodded.

  “So, you tell him yes, you are fine.”

  “Am I?” Ava murmured.

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Of course you are. Were you expecting to make the Beast of Aros Castle fall in love with you?”

  “I…no, of course not. And I wish you wouldn’t call him a beast,” Ava said, standing.

  Grace gasped. “God’s teeth, Ava. Are you falling in love with him?”

  “No,” Ava nearly yelled, frowning fiercely. She waved her hand and stood. “It’s just so confusing. Three hearts. People don’t have three hearts. What does that even mean?” Her face red, Ava marched toward the door. “Are you coming to breakfast or not?”

  Grace placed her hand on Ava’s arm. “Ava. I know you’re willing to…sacrifice your body to keep us safe, but sacrificing your heart—”

  “My heart is coated in stone,” Ava assured her and busied herself with the folds of her skirt. She only hoped the crucial organ could withstand Tor’s fury if he found out the truth.

  Grace continued undaunted. “We could ask Tor Maclean to help us hire a conveyance to take us to Edinburgh. Now that he knows us better…” She paused, gesturing obscurely. “Well, you better anyway, he might agree to see us safely to somewhere other than York. And once his men leave us, we could just call you Lady Maclean. The name alone might keep us safe. We will find employment in the city, especially if we can learn to speak with a Scot’s accent.”

  She threw her arm out to the dowry trunk. “We can live for a little while if we sell the cloth.” Grace stood breathless after her long speech, her eyes large as if the two of them stood on a cliff, and she waited for Ava to either pull them back or throw them over. “We will figure out how to protect ourselves, even if we can’t obtain sanctuary at a convent.”

  Ava looked down at the tips of her slippers where they peeked from the edge of her petticoat. She could ask Tor for an escort. And if he agreed to let them go… Ava thought of Tor’s mother, Joan, and her friend, Gladys, and the other kind people she’d already met on her rounds about the village.

  “The betrothal agreement that the solicitor wrote out demands proof of the marriage. If Tor lets us go without that and we disappear, Vincent could rally English troops against the Macleans.”

  Ava had grown up protecting Grace from abuse and hardships, and she would continue to do so until her last breath. But if she could do so without sacrificing others, she had to try.

  Touching her forehead lightly, Grace shook her head. “You’re right. I’m not thinking things through, and I’ve been so selfish trying to get away from Vincent and letting you take my place here.”

  Ava’s face softened. “You’re not selfish. I’m the selfish one. I convinced you to fly even though I wasn’t sure where we would land. I’ve gotten us into another mess, and I’m not going to drag you away from a roof over your head just because I let a little kiss muddle my wits for a moment. I will be fine, and you will be warm, safe, and fed.”

  Grace released her breath and nodded. Ava pulled her shawl close about her and turned to the door. “So, for now, we will stay.”

  Chapter Six

  “Cullen says he’ll be coming in less than a week to discuss the buildup of English across from Mull’s shoreline,” Tor read out loud to Hamish and Gavin as the MacDonald messenger led his horse out the gates to water the beast at the river. They stood on the steps leading up to the keep.

  “He doesn’t like the bloody English dipping their ugly toes in our waters,” Hamish grumbled. “If they take Mull, they’ll move on to take Jura and Islay next.”

  True, but Cullen was also a friend. Just as Tor would come to his aid, Cullen was coming to his. Tor stared over the green hills sloping to a lush valley dotted with wooly cows. The modest village of thatched cottages prospered, and the farms beyond grew herds of sheep for wool and livestock for milk, meat, and trade. Maclean homesteads dotted the coast, their men bringing in fish from the bountiful sea. Mull was a self-sufficient world unto itself. And now that Tor was the Maclean, it was his responsibility to keep it thus. Would a marriage to a passionate, bonny Englishwoman of noble standing help? His father had sworn it would. Tor had been adamantly against an arranged marriage after seeing his sister practically dragged off in the name of an alliance, but with Ava’s response last night, the idea didn’t seem half as bad as it had.

  Tor shifted where he stood on the steps and pushed the lass’s soft moans from his mind. There were much more important issues at hand that didn’t involve the gray-blue of Ava’s eyes or the floral smell of her skin.

  “Just like his da,” Hamish said and nudged Gavin while looking at Tor. “Always thinking of how to keep Mull free of the English.”

  Bloody hell. Tor turned his focus to the water beyond the valley, where the sun shone off an occasional wave. He remembered his father and his grandfather riding the pebbly beaches, watching for enemies that wished to steal a part, or all, of their peaceful isle. He’d hung on each of their words, their strategies for protection. Tor had trained with axes and swords from the time he could walk and gone to battle with neighboring clans to procure alliances with the strength of his sword arm. Whether it was from illness or old age, his father had become paranoid that the English were planning to row across, swarming through the village and painting the lush green grasses of Mull with blood.

  “Do ye think the English will attack, then?” Gavin asked, his youthful face tightened with determination.

  Tor squinted against the sun. “I wouldn’t be much of a chief if I said nay.” He turned to the young warrior. Gavin Maclean, with his thin first-beard and his laughing eyes turned hard, led the newest group of Maclean warriors.

  “So, we train and expect greedy King Henry and his regiments to arrive tomorrow,” Tor said. “And we plan with Cullen when he visits.”

  “The smithy is making more swords and thousands of arrowheads,” Hamish added.

  Tor thumped Gavin’s back. “Have that rowdy pack of lads that follow ye around find sticks for arrow shafts. They can tie on the arrowheads in the smithy.”

  As Gavin jogged off, Tor’s gaze settled on a dappled horse trotting up the winding road through the village. A woman road on its back, her head covered by a
red shawl. The horse was unique, and Tor rubbed his short beard.

  “Hamish,” he said.

  “Aye?”

  “Any word about the MacInnes chief? Where he’s off to? Raiding or picking fights with the English?”

  “Haven’t heard a word.” Hamish shrugged. “Ye think he’s left Kilchoan?”

  “I’ve only met the man once,” Tor said, watching the woman near the gates. “But I wouldn’t think that he’d send my sister to travel by herself to Aros if he were at home.”

  …

  Ava sampled the tangy, pale-yellow cheese across from Grace at the long table. “We should check Thomas’s wound today.” Actually, Ava wasn’t quite ready to see Tor in the daylight, not after throwing herself at him last night. Sooner or later, he’d return to the great hall, and Ava intended to be out of it.

  Grace set her cup down. “You really think that ornery goat will let you check his wound?”

  “No, but we can ask Gladys how it’s looking.”

  Ava took one of the biscuits and stood away from the table. “I’d also like to explore the riverbanks a bit, see if there are wild herbs that Joan could use for her medicines.”

  “Hmm…walking with you next to running water?” Grace took two biscuits and followed Ava. She screwed up her face into a painful grimace. “Why do I think I’m going to end up soaked to the bone?”

  “I never told you to cross that fallen log,” Ava said with a smile.

  “No, but you did tell me that you heard something large moving through the brambles.” Grace walked with Ava through the sunken entry room. “I seem to remember you waving your hands and screeching like it was a wolf.”

  Ava laughed. “It could have been.”

  Grace paused, her arms crossed. “A cat. It was a cat.”

  Ava’s smile was wide as she pushed out through the doors to the top of the keep’s steps. “I said I was sorry…” Her words trailed off.

  “Who is that?” Grace asked beside her.

  “I have no earthly clue.” Ava’s smile dissolved as she studied the golden-haired woman in the bailey, wrapped in Tor Maclean’s arms. The woman pulled back, shaking her head, and her gaze latched onto the two of them. Her brows lowered, and Ava had the sudden feeling of being stripped bare in the center square.

  “God’s teeth,” Grace murmured. “Is there another she-beast of Aros Castle?”

  “Joan didn’t mention another woman,” Ava murmured. Someone Tor would hug in public.

  “Well, she doesn’t look too happy to see us,” Grace said, drawing herself up like the English gentlewoman she really was.

  She stepped down evenly, her expression serene but closed. Should it matter if Tor had a mistress as long as she could leave under the protection of the Maclean name? No, she told herself but knew it for the lie it was.

  As they drew even with them on their way to the gates, Tor called out, “Lady Ava.”

  “No escape,” Grace said under her breath.

  Ava and Grace nodded their heads and walked toward Tor and the woman. “Hello,” Ava said, a gentle smile on her tight face.

  “At least Da picked ye a bonny wife,” the woman said, running her gaze up and down Ava. “Someone younger than ye who doesn’t wear bits of food from her last meal on her chin.”

  Ava clamped her mouth shut with irritation. Her breath stopped as she registered the word Da.

  “I am Lady Aveline Sutton Ellington of Somerset,” Ava replied smoothly. “And you must be Lady Mairi Maclean MacInnes?” When Tor’s sister didn’t respond, Ava looked to Grace. “And this is my companion, Grace.”

  A pause ensued while Mairi’s gaze moved from Grace back to Ava, meeting her fully in the eye. When Ava refused to look away, a wry grin settled on Mairi’s face. “Well, if he decides to keep ye, so be it. I hope ye can keep the English off our isle.” She turned back to Tor, who frowned. “Where’s Ma?”

  “I will keep the English off Mull,” Tor said. “Ma is most likely in the kitchens, and ye still haven’t explained your visit.”

  With a flick of her skirts, Mairi turned, presumably toward the kitchens. She raised her hand in a backward sort of farewell wave. The sleeve of her gown inched up to expose a deep purple mark on her wrist. Ava would have missed it if she hadn’t looked at that exact moment. It was a familiar mark, one she’d worn whenever Vincent came to visit. Someone had latched onto Mairi, violently.

  Had Tor seen the mark?

  “My sister is rather straightforward,” he said.

  Ava looked back and forth between brother and sister. No, Tor must not have seen. “She’s…lovely.”

  “A lovely pain in the arse.” Tor rubbed his neatly trimmed chin. His half grin showed his fondness for her anyway. His grin faded. “Something must be wrong at Kilchoan for her to travel home without escort.”

  “She didn’t say what?” Grace asked. Had she seen the mark? Ava had hidden them from her when Vincent threatened to visit Grace’s bed if Ava exposed him. She wouldn’t have known to look.

  Tor exhaled long. “She has a stubborn streak.”

  “In a man, it’s considered strength,” Ava said. “In a woman, it’s considered a stubborn streak.”

  “Nay,” Tor said. “Only in sisters.” He nodded his head at her. “Excuse me.” He strode away, presumably toward the kitchens.

  “Should we follow?” Grace asked. “Hide outside a window and listen in?”

  “I fear my risk-taking is rubbing off on you,” Ava said, pulling Grace along toward the open gates. Now wasn’t the time to ask Mairi about her bruise.

  “I’d rather eavesdrop than fall in the river,” Grace grumbled but wrapped her arm through Ava’s.

  …

  Tor glanced again toward the shadows of the alcove, but no one descended the stairs. The fire crackled in the hearth while Mairi and his mother sat close, poking needles in and out of their embroidery.

  “Where is MacInnes right now, then?” Tor asked.

  Mairi shrugged. “He doesn’t tell me where he’s off to or how long he intends to be gone.”

  “Ye shouldn’t have left without him knowing,” Joan said softly.

  Mairi jabbed harder at the stretched circle of linen, her lips tight. She looked at Tor. “So, are ye going to marry her?”

  Tor crossed his arms and leaned back against the stone wall by the mantle. From his angle, he’d see if Ava came downstairs. He hadn’t seen her again after this morning. Seemed like everyone else had: Thomas, Hamish, Gavin, his mother, but Ava had always remained a step ahead of him.

  “Hello?” Mairi said, her eyes wide. “Is it the thought of tying yourself to an Englishwoman that’s making ye look like ye want to slit a throat?”

  “She’s bonny and sweet,” Joan said without looking up. “And from a prosperous English family. She brought a dowry, and we’ll have a tie to England so King Henry should leave us alone. Why wouldn’t he wed her?”

  Mairi dropped her embroidery hoop on her lap and ticked off items on her fingers. “She’s English. Da used his deathbed to make Tor promise.”

  “I didn’t promise,” Tor said, his gaze on the steps. Was Ava abed for the night? She and Grace had taken their meal upstairs after Grace had fallen into the river.

  “And I don’t like her friend,” Mairi continued.

  Tor looked at his sister. “She didn’t say a word to ye.”

  Mairi tipped her head to the side and raised her pert little nose. “She has an uppity look about her.”

  “Well, he isn’t marrying the companion,” Joan said.

  “I’m not betrothed to either of them.”

  Joan ignored him. “And both ladies are quite helpful with the ill and injured. Caring ladies.” She nodded without taking her eyes from her hoop. The needle flashed in and out of the material. “And the fact that Tor can’t stop watching for her to come downstairs says that he’s leaning toward wedding her.” His mother glanced up, a pleasant smile lighting her face.

  The woman had eyes in t
he top of her head. “Ye read too much into my glances,” he said. “Hamish should be done with his watch above.” He tipped his head toward the stairs. “I need to talk with him about scouting the north shore since MacInnes is apparently not watching.”

  Mairi looked up from her stitching. “He seems taken with her.”

  Tor’s gaze snapped to his sister. “Hamish?” She nodded. “Ye’ve been home for less than a day, and ye think my second-in-command is taken with someone?”

  “Aye,” Mairi said, watching him closely. “He was speaking to Gavin about the Englishwoman, how clever she was to trick Thomas into letting them tend his arse.”

  “She was quite clever,” Joan said with a chuckle. “Had about convinced the ornery old goat that all of Aros would be laughing at him for years if he didn’t give in.”

  “And later I was walking in the garden and checked out that hard-to-find door that opens onto the river where Lady Ava’s companion was causing quite a ruckus, having fallen from a slippery rock. Lady Ava was helping her out of the river, and Hamish all but jumped in after them. He seemed quite attentive to her and fetched a bathing sheet for her maid when she asked.”

  Tor stared at his sister. Was she making more out of Hamish’s help than there was? His gaze slanted toward the shadowed stairs, and he caught a glimpse of white lace scoot around the corner, down the back corridor toward the kitchens.

  “I will leave ye two to your overly romantic, foolish speculations,” he said and pushed off the wall.

  He frowned as he strode into the dark hallway. Where was the lass headed? Ava spent more time walking around the castle at night than in her bed. He stopped, and the whisper of material ahead gave her away. Keeping his footsteps light, he followed. His instincts told him it was Ava, even if she resembled a restless spirit instead of the warm woman he knew her to be.

  The night was clear overhead as he stepped out of the keep, through the herb garden, and into the dark kitchen. She held a lit taper over the covered plates on the counter as she peeked beneath each linen.