The Beast of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “Her,” the man answered, and with a lift of his bearded chin indicated Elspeth. “The one who went into the river to save the child.” He paused … and when he spoke again, the tone of his voice had deepened. “The one whose cheek still bears the mark of your hand.”

  He sought to champion her. Elspeth melted just a little inside then. But relations were not good between her and Bridget, and his words would not improve them.

  Bridget stood as still as a stone. Then, like a porcupine she bristled, her back and shoulders going straight. Exhaling, she stepped away and with a cold glare all around, thrust the plaid dismissively against Elspeth’s shoulder as she moved past, toward the shore and the company of her men.

  Elspeth clasped it there for a moment before wrapping the woolen cloth tight around Catrin. She offered the stranger a look of thanks.

  Conall took Bridget’s place at the side of the MacClaren’s “guest,” but glanced with concern at Elspeth’s cheek.

  To the stranger he said, “Welcome and thank you for what you have done here today. I apologize for this poor welcome. On behalf of the clan chief of the MacClarens, please accept his invitation to the castle where there is a fire, dry clothing, and a warm meal.”

  Bridget and her men left them, disappearing into the trees. The stranger watched until they were gone, at which time his stance relaxed and the hard gleam in his eyes lessened.

  He replied to Conall, unsmiling. “I accept your offer of hospitality, but later, if you will. You remember Deargh. I want him present if we are to discuss arrangements.”

  The corners of his eyes bore few creases from age, and his torso and limbs were lean and taut. He was a young man. Younger than she’d first believed, and she wondered what his face looked like under his beard. Would he be handsome, or did the beard hide scars such as the ones she spied on his abdomen and shoulder?

  Conall nodded. “At nightfall, for the evening meal, then. I and my laird will expect you. Bring your companion and your horses as well. And no need to swim this time.” He gestured upriver, and chuckled. “Go by way of the bridge, just north of here. It will take you straight into the village, and you can follow the road to castle gate.”

  Catrin rushed to Conall’s side and pulled him a few steps toward the river, woefully recounting the loss of her puppy.

  The stranger looked at Elspeth again. A few steps, and he came to stand just inches from her, so close she felt the warmth radiate from his bare skin. She looked into his eyes and her pulse surged, beating faster.

  “You are well, then?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered, breathless, struggling not to lower her gaze to the droplets that glistened on the bare skin of his shoulders and chest. “Very well.”

  “And the little one?”

  “She is well also,” Elspeth answered, looking up into his eyes. “Just sad about her puppy. Thank you for saving us. I will tell my father what you did.”

  “Your … father?” the stranger repeated in a low voice, his gaze fixed on her lips.

  She nodded, blushing, for now he would learn that she was not, after all, a servant. Which unfortunately would likely end any flirtation between them, which was well and good because as Bridget had so kindly reminded her, her time for idly flirting was surely about to come to an end. Not that he was flirting with her, or she with him.

  She nodded. “The MacClaren is my father.”

  The stranger stared back at her.

  “Is he, then,” he murmured.

  There was something intimate in the tone of his voice that made her go weak at the knees. His gaze swept lower, over her body, over curves that she knew would be plainly revealed by her wet gown. Her cheeks flamed hot but she did not turn or shrink away. Rather his attention made her feel lovely and admired.

  Conall answered, “Indeed. She is his eldest and much beloved daughter.” His voice carried a gentle warning, no doubt intended to separate them. He neared, holding Catrin’s hand. “The child is his daughter as well. Our clan chief will be most grateful for what you have done.”

  “No thanks are necessary,” her father’s guest answered, stepping away. “I am simply pleased they are both unharmed.”

  “Tonight then,” said Conall.

  “Aye,” he said quietly. With a nod to Conall, he turned and strode toward the river and without hesitation, ventured thigh deep into the water before sinking in. Immediately, the current swept him downstream, but with a powerful turn of his arms he crossed toward the far shore.

  Conall chuckled admiringly. “Oh, to be young again. Hurry now, we’ve been here far too long.” Briskly, with a raised hand, he urged them away from the river, pausing a moment to remove the plaid from his shoulder and to tuck it around Elspeth’s. “Let’s get the both of you inside where it is warm before you fall ill. By now, your father must have heard what happened and he will be beside himself with worry.”

  As they walked his glance touched on Elspeth’s cheek, and his lips took on a displeased slant.

  “Bridget,” he muttered darkly. “Tell me, what disagreement occurred between the two of you.”

  “I don’t wish to talk about it,” she answered quietly. Her emotions still welled too high and she hoped to summon some measure of calm and wisdom before deciding what to say to her father.

  “Nonetheless,” he asserted. “I know the MacClaren would not stand for any abuse. I will speak to him.”

  “Please, do not,” she urged with a hand to his arm. “I will speak to him myself.”

  They passed into the trees, where the other MacClaren warriors lingered, talking among themselves, waiting to escort them to the castle. The men’s faces were all familiar, as much her family as her own and they now looked at her and Cat with the same concern and care loving uncles and brothers might, in the aftermath of a harrowing event.

  “God be thanked that the both of y’ were saved,” said one, his relief apparent in the hushed intensity of his voice and the paleness of his skin. He nodded jerkily at her and repeated, “God be thanked.”

  Another reached out to give Cat’s head a playful rub. “When I saw y’ in the river in the clutches of that giant, lass, I thought for sure one of those kelpies old Murdoch is always warning the bairns about had gotten hold of ye.”

  Old Murdoch being her father’s bard.

  “But the giant isn’t a kelpie,” exclaimed Cat, peering up through tearstained eyes. “Because he saved us rather than drowned us!”

  “Aye, that I see,” he answered. And more quietly, “A true miracle, that.”

  Elspeth glanced over her shoulder and saw the man emerge from the river, his dark hair streaming down his powerful back. He gripped the sagging, sodden kilt at his hips, and with a tug of his hand, yanked the garment free—

  She caught only a momentary flash of his muscular buttocks before he was gone, into the trees.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly feverish, and turned back toward the castle. Conall and the others proceeded, oblivious to what she’d just observed. It wasn’t the first bare bottom she’d seen. After all, the Highlands could be mightily windy … but my, somehow, seeing his had made her feel differently. Flustered in the nicest possible way.

  “Who is that man?” she asked him, slipping her hand into Cat’s, so as to keep her close. “What is his name?”

  “His name?” he repeated. “I’m not sure men like him have names, or perhaps it is best we simply don’t know them.” He paused … and shrugged. “But there were soldiers passing through the village where I encountered him. They knew him—or, knew of him, I might say. They had witnessed him in battle and were … remarkably impressed by his skill. They called him béist.”

  Elspeth’s pulse increased.

  “Beast!” she murmured.

  Chapter 4

  Conall nodded. “He is a mercenary, Elspeth. A gallowglass. A professional warrior with no clan, and no loyalties, other than to serve whoever has the ability to pay him best.”

  “I see,” she said, s
uffering a twinge of disappointment that he was only a soldier, and therefore would be deemed an unsuitable suitor, at least in the eyes of her father and their clan. Perhaps she suffered more than just a twinge.

  Mercenaries were nothing new. Her father, like many clan leaders, hired them from time to time to defend their borders and their people—not only from the barbaric hill reivers, but more recently from the Alwyn, a rival clan chief whose lands bordered the MacClarens. Once an ally, he now seemed intent on provoking a confrontation.

  But this man—the béist—was different than the others. Her intuition told her that. For one thing, he was undeniably moighre. Very handsome. At least the sort of handsome that made an impression on her. And according to Conall, other men considered him legendary for his fighting skills. Obviously he had power and strength—but Elspeth knew full well no warrior became legend on strength alone. There had to be intelligence as well, which she had heard distinctly in the words he spoke and observed in his blue eyes.

  Conall pushed aside a wayward branch so that she and Cat could move past. “While I’m glad he was here to save the two of you, it is best you don’t speak to him again.”

  Yes … Elspeth agreed, with regret. In truth, it was probably best that she not think of him again. What useful purpose would that serve?

  And yet … as twilight fell, a nervous anticipation grew in the pit of her stomach. She felt intensely curious to see the man they called béist again, though she knew she shouldn’t want to.

  “And which gown will you wear this evening?” asked her maid, Ina, who stood willowy tall at Elspeth’s trunk, her vibrant red hair hidden for the most part beneath a plain linen headscarf.

  That was simple. She would wear the green dress if she were dressing for him.

  “You choose,” Elspeth answered, with a melancholy sigh, plucking at the sleeve of her chemise. “It matters not to me.”

  “The green, I think,” Ina answered, reaching inside. “It will be warm and soft on this cold night, and it flatters your figure very nicely.”

  Elspeth suspected that to be true, from the admiring glances she received from the men of the castle when she wore it. The green gown was closely fitted, with delicate gold lacing in the front and back. Not that it mattered how she looked. She could be bald-headed and have a mouthful of rotten teeth, and it would make no difference at all. Soon she would be married to a man of her father’s choosing, a man with holdings and influence. Someone who would swear to be an ally for her father and the MacClaren clan during times of prosperity and conflict. Her very generous dowry would ensure the interest of such a man.

  Her husband wouldn’t be a mercenary soldier, no matter how skilled or well-spoken he might be. Her stomach clenched with regret. Not that the béist was the man she wanted to marry, but wouldn’t it be nice to decide for herself? Wouldn’t it be nice to … fall in love?

  Ina lay the gown on Elspeth’s bed, and loosened its laces.

  “I can dress myself tonight, Ina,” said Elspeth. Ina was some ten years older than Elspeth, and happily married to a MacClaren stableman. “Spend your evening with Clach.”

  “I’ll see him later,” Ina answered, and taking Elspeth by the hands, urged her to stand. “I’m happy to be able to spend this time with you. After all, how many more times will we have like this together, before you leave Inverhaven to start your life with a new husband?”

  “That is true,” Elspeth answered softly. She raised her arms and Ina slipped the gown over her head.

  Ina straightened the seams at her shoulders. “You seem very quiet tonight.”

  “It is nothing.” Elspeth looked into her eyes. “Just that life is changing, and will change even more very soon.”

  The maid touched Elspeth’s cheek, affectionately. “I have never heard you complain about your future.”

  “And I do not complain now.” Elspeth shrugged. “It is my duty by birth to marry for my clan. I have been raised to it, and I understand the reasons why.”

  Ina’s hands deftly tightened the laces at the front of the gown. “Are you … afraid?”

  “Perhaps just a little. Only because I do not know what to expect.”

  “Perhaps you will already be acquainted with the man you wed,” the maid said reassuringly.

  “Perhaps he will be a stranger.”

  “Maybe he will be young and handsome.” Ina grinned hopefully.

  “Or old and smelly,” Elspeth countered facetiously.

  The older woman’s features softened. “I hope he will be kind.

  “What if he is … indifferent?” Elspeth raised her hands. “What if he has a mistress?”

  Ina gasped. “What if he has three eyes?”

  They both laughed.

  “I think it is normal to feel the way you are feeling.” Ina moved to the back, and finished the laces there.

  “I do look forward to having a husband, and children. A family of my own.” Elspeth nodded. A family, yes. She did want that. “I will do everything in my power to be happy and content.”

  “Unlike Bridget,” Ina murmured.

  Ah … yes, Bridget. Elspeth’s stomach twisted in anxiety. Tonight, she had no other choice but to seek out her father and tell him privately about what she had seen take place between Lady MacClaren and Duncan. It gave her no pleasure, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t just remain silent.

  There’d been no opportunity to speak to the MacClaren alone this morning after they’d returned from the river. He’d been so relieved she and Cat were safe, and had listened carefully about how they had been saved by the mercenary, but all too quickly he had grown weary and had retired to his chambers. She hoped to find him alone for a few moments before the evening meal began, if he was well enough to attend.

  “There,” said Ina, stepping back to admire her. “You look lovely, which is only fitting given the occasion.”

  “What occasion is that?”

  “Everyone belowstairs is talking about the man who saved you. He will be here tonight, will he not? You must take extra care to make him feel welcome.”

  Just remembering the way he had looked this morning—intense, drenched, and powerful, with the river rushing behind him—made her pulse pound with excitement. Such anticipation, when in truth, they probably wouldn’t even be allowed to speak more than a few polite words. Conall had already warned her off speaking to him.

  She sighed crossly. “I do believe it will be Father and Conall who entertain him. And Bridget.”

  “But certainly you will at least greet him, in a hospitable way.”

  Yes. She would at least be allowed that, before being sent to sit at the far end of the table, like a little child with her younger sisters.

  She was glad Ina had chosen the green gown. No matter how fleeting her interaction with the mercenary, she wanted to look her best. Suddenly, it seemed very important that when she saw the man again tonight that she look very different than the wet and shivering, blue-lipped girl he had pulled from the river. She wanted to meet him as herself this time.

  She wanted to meet him as a woman.

  Ina retrieved a comb. “Now sit and I will fix your hair—”

  “Oh, please! Let me!” declared another voice. It was Mairi, Elspeth’s twelve-year-old half-sister.

  As the eldest, Elspeth had been given her own private chamber just off the bower, the larger room where her younger half-sisters passed much of their time and slept each night. Mairi often joined her before the evening meal to help her dress or to fix her hair.

  “Yes, come, Mairi,” answered Elspeth. Looking at her maid, she raised her eyebrows teasingly. “Clach. We don’t need you here. Now, go.”

  “If you insist.” Ina handed the comb to the girl, a happy flush rising to her cheeks.

  The thought of spending time with her husband clearly gave her pleasure, which made Elspeth glad for her, but wistful for the same experience.

  When Ina had gone, Mairi smiled and gasped. “That is my favorite gown o
f yours!” She urged Elspeth to sit on a stool. “It’s perfect against your skin and with your dark hair. It also makes your bosoms look divine. I hope I have bosoms like yours one day.”

  “Mairi.” Elspeth laughed, though she was not at all shocked.

  A thin rail of a child on the precipice of maturity, Mairi was fascinated by all things womanly and wasn’t shy about voicing her thoughts and curiosities.

  She skimmed her hands over Elspeth’s unbound hair. “I think a circlet of braids, perhaps intertwined with some of that gold cording, and the rest left falling down your back? Do you agree?”

  “Whatever you choose,” answered Elspeth, with an encouraging wave of her hand.

  Another girl entered just then, her hair as fair as Mairi’s, dressed in a linen undertunic and woolen stockings, seventeen-year-old Derryth. “Elspeth, I need to borrow your red shoes. I can only find one of mine. I do believe Cat’s puppy ate it.”

  Elspeth turned to her and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t talk about Puppy so loudly, where Cat can hear. She is still very sad and you complaining about him will only upset her more.”

  Derryth breezed past her, her pale hair rippling behind her. “She’s not here, so she can’t hear what I say, now can she?”

  “What do you mean, she’s not here?” asked Elspeth.

  “She’s gone—belowstairs, I’m sure. I don’t know.” She bent over Elspeth’s trunk, and rummaged until she straightened again, holding two red leather shoes in her hands. “I can’t watch her all the time.”

  Elspeth said, “You know she isn’t supposed to just go wandering about without someone to watch her. She gets into trouble.”

  “You mean she gets into trouble with Bridget.” Mairi made a face.

  It had been a very difficult afternoon. At some point when no one was watching, Cat had cut all of her hair off so she now looked even more like a boy, which had infuriated Bridget.

  “Yes, she gets in trouble with Bridget,” Elspeth conceded. “Mairi, hurry, I need to find her. Just forget the gold cording, if you will.”