Beiste left the women inside and walked out to address the Laird.
“Laird Kennedy!” He yelled.
“Aye.”
“I am Beiste MacGregor and my clan is allies with the Dunbars. That means my protection extends to anyone on this land.”
Laird Kennedy and his men looked around at the huge Warriors surrounding them.
“Your wife and son are well thanks to the healer. You have one hour to take your family and leave this land, my men will escort you to the boundary line.”
The Laird nodded. Beiste noticed he was not so vocal now that he was up against men his own size and not facing down a lone woman with a broom.
“And before you leave, you will apologize to the healer for calling her a witch.”
“I most certainly will not say sorry.” Laird Kennedy looked appalled.
Beiste drew his broad sword pointed it at the Laird and roared “You will, or I will cut you down where you stand!”
All the MacGregor retainers put their hands to their weapons, ready to back their Chieftain.
Laird Kennedy paled and backed down, all the bluster gone. “All right. No need to get dramatic.” he grumbled.
Beiste stormed back to Lucifer and mounted, turning his horse back towards the Castle.
“I swear that reckless woman will be the death of me.” He muttered under his breath.
Brodie started laughing.
***
Chapter 6
The Obsession
The following morning Beiste was back at the Great Hall spending time with Mary before they formalised the betrothal. Brodie, the diplomat, had arranged it with Lady Agnes. Brodie had also emphasised to Beiste he should focus on his betrothed and not her companion. But try as he might and as bonnie as Mary was, Beiste was disinterested. He still could not get that infuriating healer out of his head. When he had ridden over the hill and seen the men surrounding her cottage, his heart had lodged in his throat. Then to find out she had put herself in danger over a babe, he wanted to flay the skin off that Laird. Instead, his only instinct was to remove her from harm's way. He pitied the poor fool she ended up marrying. They would not get a moment’s peace. He then scowled at the thought of any man touching her.
“So, what do you think?” Mary asked quizzically.
“About what?”
“Do you believe in true love?”
“No.” He retorted.
Mary was quiet again and just looked down at her slippers.
Beiste felt like a brute. She was trying to make conversation. He cleared his throat.
“I don’t believe in love I only believe in duty.”
“What if duty is not enough?”
Beiste was silent. He did not quite have an answer for that. He had never really thought about it. His marriage to Caitrin was because of duty, it was awkward at first but over time they formed an affection for one another, he would not call it love but he still regretted it when she died. With nothing much else to say Beiste excused himself to check on his men. When he arrived at the camp, it surprised him to find most of his men missing.
***
That afternoon Amelia was putting together herbal tea pouches for the women in the village. She was engaged in the repetitive action of scoop and pour and scoop and pour whilst gazing out the window. One thing she was not doing was thinking about the Beast. No, she was not thinking about how good he smelled yesterday with his clean virulent scent of leather and musk or how muscular his shoulder felt against her hips. She was definitely not contemplating how firm his butt cheeks were as they rippled with every movement or how her quim spasmed when he stormed towards her and threw her over his shoulder. And there was no way she was acknowledging how often he had featured in her erotic dreams last night. No, not at all. Amelia Dunbar did not think about that overbearing brute not one iota because Amelia Dunbar was a rational woman, an independent woman. She would never let a man distract her from her…. “Bloody hell.” Amelia cursed when she looked down and saw the dried crushed herbs floating in the pitcher of milk instead of going into the pouches.
Amelia was muttering under her breath cleaning up the mess when a knock came at the door. She opened it to find one of the MacGregor warriors standing outside looking somewhat perturbed. He was a stocky man with a full head of red hair and a red bushy beard. “S’cuse me, miss but I couldn’t help but hear yesterday that you are the healer?”
“I am. Do you have something that ails you?”
“Aye,” he blushed. “The name’s Rory,”–he reached out to shake her hand–“I need your advice on… ah…a sensitive matter.”
“Well, come on in then Rory.”
After some coaxing from Amelia and a lot of blushing from Rory, he finally admitted to having chafed inner thighs. “Is that all Rory? The way you go on I thought your man-part was about to fall off.” She rolled her eyes and Rory immediately relaxed and chuckled. Amelia then prepared a balm to sooth the skin. He also drank some of her herbal tea to ease some joint pain he complained about. When Rory left, he was feeling refreshed and his thighs were far less chafed.
Fifteen minutes later there was another knock at the door and this time when Amelia opened it there was a line of MacGregor retainers needing treatment for several ailments. Amelia rolled up her sleeves, prepared some cool cider for those waiting outside, then she treated them one by one. The last of her patients was sitting at her table, Lachlan. She was applying a poultice containing comfrey to a burn on his arm. “Do you have a healer at MacGregor Keep?” Amelia asked.
Lachlan shuddered, “She is very skilled, but it scares most of us to see her.”
“Why?” Amelia continued wrapping the poultice and tied it off.
“They call her Morag the hag, she has white eyes and speaks in riddles. Some say she is a witch.”
“Come now Lachlan, you know they call me a witch too because of my funny eyes and healing ways.” Amelia rebuked as she cleaned her hands of the comfrey paste.
“But you have proven you are not a witch.”
“How so?”
“Well, the way you were pointing your broom at the Kennedy Laird yesterday, if you were a witch, he should have turned into a frog right there on the spot.”
Amelia stared at Lachlan, who was grinning at her, and she burst out laughing. It had been such a long time since Amelia had enjoyed a merry laugh, she accidentally snorted, then blushed, then snorted again and froze placing a hand across her nose. The look on her face was priceless that Lachlan cracked up and before long they were both clutching their bellies in mirth.
It was then the door to the cottage flung almost splintering from the hinges and Beiste stood in the doorway. Glaring daggers at Lachlan like a looming black shadow. “What is going on in here?”
Lachlan immediately sobered “Miss Amelia has been seeing to my burn.” Amelia wiped the tears from her eyes, still chuckling.
“Then what were you laughing about?”
“Lachlan said if I was a witch, the Kennedy Laird should have turned into a frog yesterday.” Amelia repeated, giggling again.
Gads, she looked so bonnie when she laughed was all Beiste could think about as he drank in the sight of her, every inch. She was lovely. It rankled him that Lachlan and most of his men had spent time with her. When they returned to camp, it was all they talked about, how gentle her touch was, how funny she was, how clever she was, how bonnie she was, he wanted to punch each one of them in the face and now Lachlan had made Amelia laugh. Something he wished he could do.
“If your treatment is done, leave now.” He bit out.
Lachlan immediately stood, but not before Amelia told him to wait. She moved to the mantle and handed him a jar “Keep the bandage dry for two days then clean and dry the wound and use this balm.”
“Thank you, miss Amelia.” Lachlan smiled at her, then left the cottage.
Amelia sat down again and suddenly felt aware of Beiste. She could feel his gaze on her as if they were physically touch
ing. He remained standing and just stared.
“Would you like to sit down?” She gestured to the seat across from her.
“Aye.” He sat and said nothing.
“How are things with Mary?”
“Who?”
“Mary your betrothed.”
“Good.”
More silence.
“Would you like some cider or something to eat?”
“Aye cider.”
Beiste had no idea why he was sitting in this cottage, but for the life of him he did not want to be anywhere else. Amelia poured cool cider into a cup. Her hand brushed his when she handed it to him, and it felt like and angel touched his fingers.
“I thank you for seeing to my men, I will make sure you get coin for your time.”
“Tis all right they have offered to help fix a few things around the cottage for me which would be sufficient.”
“No. They will not have time to be hanging about your cottage.” Beiste did not want any man hanging around enjoying her smiles and cider without him.
More silence.
Beiste looked around, taking in everything about it. He was struck by how clean it was and the scent of fresh flowers and herbs was calming. Her windows were open letting the fresh air in and there were touches of colour about the room from patterns in the wool blankets and colourful plants. It was tidy, practical but also homely. There was nothing but warmth inside a testament to the occupant within.
“How long have you lived here?” He asked.
“Since I was born. It was my ma’s cottage.”
“Where is she now?”
“She died when I was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
Silence again.
“What of your family?” Amelia asked him to fill the tense void.
Beiste drank some cider, then responded.
“My da is passed, mercenaries killed him.”
Amelia gasped, “I am very sorry to hear it.”
She said no more, not knowing what else to ask when Beiste continued. “My ma did not cope well after my father’s death, twas like her mind snapped with grief, she becomes confused easily you ken?”
“I do. It must be difficult for her and for you.”
“It is, she used to be so strong and overnight it is like she became a ghost. I have a sister also her name is Sorcha.”
“How old is she?”
Beiste smiled when he spoke of her. They must be close. “She is eleven going on twenty.” He laughed, then caught himself.
Amelia was smiling also he saw her and sobered.
“But she has an affliction.” This had Amelia sitting up with curiosity. “She can’t talk. The morning they killed my father she lost her voice and never spoke again.”
“That is strange.”
“A physician came to look at her and said something in her mind was off, but I do not ken these things.” Amelia just nodded. Then Beiste looked at her, “Have you heard of something like that before?”
“No, I have not but I know the mind is a powerful thing and mayhap in time we will ken more about such afflictions.”
Beiste studied her and understood. He realized how easy it was to talk to her when she wasn’t pitching a fit about something. She was wise, and she was kind. He did not understand why he told her about his family, but he had to admit he felt better for it.
He looked about the cottage again and saw jars of purple paste, “What is that for?”
“Tis an ointment to help with pain in the joints.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Actually,” Amelia paused for a moment, “I hope you don’t mind me being too forward, but I prepared something for you. I just was not sure whether you’d welcome it.”
“Depends, what is it?”
Amelia walked to her work bench and pulled out a small jar, handing it to Beiste.
“It’s a salve to help sooth your scar. I have used it on scars before and it helps to ease the tightness of the skin and sometimes make it smoother.”
Beiste just stared at her. Surprised that she would think of helping him.
“Thank you I will try it.”
More silence.
“Do you have any other ailment you wish me to remedy?” Amelia asked wondering if maybe that was the real reason he was here. Beiste knew the ailment he suffered could only be remedied if he was deep inside her, but he was not about to tell her that. He shook his head, blast. He needed to stop these lustful thoughts.
Amelia’s body felt hot and flustered the more Beiste stared at her. Her breathing became shallow. A red blush ran from her cleavage to her neck. Beiste leisurely followed her blush with his gaze and looked back up at her lips as he focused on the softness of them, then cleared his throat. “I uh do have a slight pain in my… hand.”
Eager to have something to focus on, Amelia instantly stood up and crossed to the other side of the table and sat next to Beiste. “Well, let me see what I can do for you.”
She lifted his left hand and studied it profusely before Beiste said, “Uh, not that hand, this one,” and extended his right hand out to her.
“Sorry. I should have asked which one it was first.” She blushed with embarrassment. Then she took his hand into both of hers and started examining it with extreme concentration. Truth be told, she couldn’t see anything wrong with it, but she didn’t want to look silly a second time.
Beiste knew there was nothing wrong with his hand. He just wanted her close and touching him. He thought it was a superb idea, but now he was in hell. Pure hell, no stopping at purgatory, just go straight to hell. He was there because having her this close and being able to smell her lilac scent and gaze down at the top of her ample breast and those luscious lips and having her gentle touches caress his hand had him now suffering a severe case of blue balls. He had visions of her naked and straddling his lap, riding his length until he came. The thought alone made him even harder. He couldn’t adjust his trews, or she would see the obvious evidence of his reaction to her and he couldn’t stand and leave without causing himself pain, so he was trapped in a pit of burning hell. Beiste gritted his teeth. Either he pushed her away or rolled himself out the door.
“I can’t see anything wrong with your hand.” Amelia looked up puzzled and locked eyes with his. Immediately he knew she was not unaffected by him either, he heard her sudden intake of breath and a blush cover her cheeks. It was as if time suspended again and it was only the two of them alone in the world. Beiste needed to know what she tasted like, what it would be like to sup at her lips, just one taste then maybe this maddening obsession would end. He moved his head closer towards hers, Amelia still held his hand, she stared at his lips and moved her head towards his closing the distance between them, her lips parted, her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip and Beiste was done for, he was so close now, his lips almost brushing hers.
Bang bang bang came the knock at the door. Blast, not now! Amelia instantly pulled away as if coming to her senses. No, come back! Beiste wanted to kill whoever was on the other side of that door.
Amelia looked flushed and shocked at her own wanton behaviour she stood up straightened her tunic “Come in.” She yelled. Beiste felt the separation immediately. He wanted to grab her hand again but knew he needed to gain control. As the haze cleared, he wondered what the hell he was thinking.
The door opened, admitting Brodie. He stood in the doorway, slightly surprised to see Beiste in the cottage. Brodie looked at Amelia then back at Beiste then back at Amelia neither of them speaking then he smiled and stretched his arms out wide. “Well, if it isn’t my two most favourite people in the whole world!”
“Hello Brodie” Amelia said before Brodie wrapped her in a bear hug.
Beiste was on his feet, fists clenched on both sides and snarled, “What the hell are you doing here Brodie?”
Brodie released Amelia, “Brother, why so tense?” Brodie then plonked himself on a chair and addressed Amelia, “I have a message from the Cast
le for you. Lady Agnes and Lady Mary,”–Brodie looked at Beiste– “your betrothed in case you may have forgotten,”–he turned back to Amelia–“would like to see you, they say tis of great import.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said, “I’ll head up to the castle now.”
Brodie nodded then glowered at Beiste, “Brother I think it best we make our way back to camp, don’t you?” The tone he used brooked no opposition.
***
On the way to the campsite Beiste was quiet he was waiting for Brodie to launch into one of his rare lectures.
“Word of advice brother, you need to focus on your betrothed, for all our sakes.” Beiste just gritted his teeth but said nothing. Brodie took that as his cue to continue, “We have been here two days and you have spent more time chasing after the bonnie healer instead of Lady Mary. We all like Amelia she’s a good lass but for the sake of our clan, you need to focus on your duty.”
There was that word again, duty. Brodie was right. Beiste would be a fool if he let his obsession impede an oath to a King. He looked at Brodie and nodded, “I hear you, brother.” He then resolved to let her go.
***
Amelia made her way to her father’s study where Mary and Grandma Agnes were waiting for her. Mary came running over to her straight away she was in tears “Da says there is nothing he can do to break the Betrothal.” She sobbed. “He gathered the Councilmen to look over the parchments and they all agree it is iron clad.” Amelia instantly hugged her sister and looked to her grandma for confirmation. Lady Agnes nodded, and the Earl looked resigned. “I will only marry for love. I will only marry for love.” Mary kept repeating.
The mood was sombre, and Amelia felt only sadness, not just for Mary but for herself and she knew not why.
***
That night in the Great Hall, Beiste and the MacGregor War Band gathered for the pre-Betrothal dinner with the Dunbars. The noble families and dignitaries sat on the dais while Amelia sat with the rest of the villagers below at the trestle tables. It was the first time Amelia had seen Beiste since their moment in the cottage. She was happy to see him, he was to become her brother-in-law after all. She was about to greet him but caught herself just before he gave her a look of utter contempt as if she was beneath him. Then his eyes cut right through her as if she did not exist. She understood then he was reminding her of her place. It still stung to be reminded so often. Amelia felt the rejection acutely and spent the rest of the night refusing to look at the dais again. Throughout the meal some MacGregor retainers she had treated came over to talk and spin yarns. Before long she laughed at their tales. But soon other village folk ventured forth to join in the ribaldry, and they nudged her out of the circle. As she observed the surrounding festivities, she realised for the first time how utterly alone she was. In a Hall full of people, she sat on the periphery an outsider looking in, no genuine sense of belonging and that thought provoked her more than any other thought in the past seven years.
Betrothed to the Beast Page 4