Beauty and the Beastly Highlander by Kenna Kendrick

Chapter Five

There was a traitor among them. Finley was certain of that. He didn’t know who it could be, but he was certain that someone was giving information to the brigands, and he would be damned if he let another attack take place.

He was getting desperate. He would do anything to catch the traitor, even blame and question his own men.

Perhaps they had been loyal to him once, he thought, but he had been so withdrawn from everything and everyone that he didn’t know any of them anymore. They were no better than strangers to him, and he worried that perhaps one of them—or even some of them—resented him for not being a better leader and had decided that riches were more valuable than their loyalty.

Lochlan had told him that he was being paranoid, but Finley wouldn’t hear any of it. Still, Lochlan was the only one that he could trust in that castle, and so that night, he arranged to have a meeting with him in the west wing of the castle, which he hardly ever left.

On his way to his study, he noticed some movement from the corner of his eye. Whoever was there, they had chosen to remain in the shadows, and the first thing that Finley thought was that he had finally caught the spy. Extinguishing his torch, Finley began to follow that shadow, eager to see where the spy was going.

It soon occurred to him that there was no reason to the spy’s movements, but then again, it was easy to get lost in the west wing if one didn’t know where they were going. And so, Finley plastered himself against a wall and watched intently until the spy moved again, coming closer to him.

And then he jumped, his hand pulling out his sgian-dubh and pressing it tightly against the man’s throat.

Only it soon became clear to him that it wasn’t a man. Though his victim was tall, as tall as some of his men, she was also slender, with feminine curves.

And the feel of the corset under his hand was a good hint, much like the high-pitched scream that followed.

“Stop screamin’,” Finley barked in her ear, bringing his hand up to cover the woman’s mouth. He wondered who the woman was. The maids knew better than to roam in the west wing, and besides, if it was one of them, she would have known to bring a torch. “Who are ye? Reveal yerself!”

The woman’s muffled scream turned into muffled words, and Finley removed his hand slowly in case she tried to scream again.

“Me name’s Etna,” the woman said. “I am Malina’s new tutor. Please, I didna mean to—”

“Silence,” Finley hissed. Malina’s tutor? How stupid did the woman think that he was to believe such a lie? “Are ye a spy? And before ye deny it, let me remind ye of this,” he said, as he pressed the blade harshly against her throat.

“I’m na spy!” Etna cried. “I’m Dougal’s daughter, your tutor’s daughter, please . . . I’m tellin’ ye the truth. I came here two weeks ago, and I have been teachin’ Malina ever since. Arlene . . . Arlene kens who I am, and so does Lochlan. I’m tellin’ ye the truth. If ye would only ask them . . .”

Etna’s words trailed off, and Finley felt her shake against him. Her terror did nothing to soften him, though, especially since his rage at not being informed about this new addition to the castle overtook him.

“How dare they na consult me before they make a decision about me own bairn?” he asked, talking more to himself rather than to Etna. “Damn them! Damn them all! They think that they can make decisions without me? They think that they can get away with na tellin’ me what happens in me own castle?”

“Please, me Laird . . . please, let me go, I’m beggin’ ye,” Etna said, and this time, Finley truly noticed for the first time just how scared of him she was. She was trembling uncontrollably, and Finley could hear her sniffle in the dark.

With a sigh, he lowered his blade slowly and then noticed for the first time how close he was to her. Etna smelled of chamomile and lavender, and she was warm and supple against him. It was a feeling that he hadn’t experienced in a long time, and though his body was reacting to her, he wanted nothing to do with such desires. He had to stop his hand from moving on its own accord, eager to explore Etna’s body.

Finley pushed Etna away, and he heard her stumble a few steps away from him. “We willna be needin’ yer services anymore,” he told her. “A female tutor? What use will ye be?”

Even though Finley couldn’t see the woman, he could tell from the short breath that she drew that her entire attitude changed and, with it, the atmosphere in the corridor.

“I’ll have ye ken that I am just as capable as any other tutor,” Etna told him, and he could hear in her voice that all her previous fright was gone and was instead replaced by fury. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I am much better than many tutors out there who happen to be men. And forgive me, me Laird, but since ye are na involved in Malina’s education anyway, I dinna see how ye can make such a decision. I believe the decision should be made by Arlene, who was the one who invited me here in the first place.”

Finley’s anger bubbled over inside him at the woman’s words. Especially the way that she had said his title, with such disdain and no hint of respect, infuriated him.

“Malina is me daughter. Mine. I’m the only one who should be makin’ these decisions for her,” he insisted.

“And yet ye havena been doin’ any of that,” Etna shot back.

Much to his chagrin, Finley had nothing to say to that. Etna was right; he hadn’t been involved in Malina’s education for the past two years. In fact, he had barely spoken to her. All the weight had fallen on his grandmother, and he had neglected his duties to her for a long time.

But he wasn’t about to admit any of that. He had enough on his plate, as it were, and he had no desire to argue with someone he didn’t even know.

“I am the Laird of this clan, and my word is the law here,” he told Etna, his voice a low, dangerous hiss. “I dinna care what ye or anyone else thinks. Ye’re to pack yer bags and leave at first light.”

“If ye had any desire to listen to anyone, at all, ye would ken that I’m na only an excellent tutor, but that Arlene wants me here,” Etna said.

“Listen to me closely, if ye think—”

“Finley.”

His name was a curt warning, and Finley turned to see Lochlan standing there, at the end of the corridor. He had been so involved in the heated argument with Etna that he hadn’t even noticed the light from Lochlan’s torch, and he wished that he hadn’t interrupted them.

“Etna, please, come,” Lochlan said, and Finley felt, rather than saw, Etna walk away from him and toward Lochlan. “Here, take the torch. Go down this corridor, take a right, and go down the stairs. It’ll take ye to the kitchens, and ye can go to yer chambers from there.”

“Thank ye, Lochlan,” Etna said as she took the torch, but Lochlan stopped her with a hand on her shoulder before she could leave.

“And dinna come to the west wing again,” he said. “Please . . . it’s better for everyone if ye stay away.”

Finley saw Etna nod in agreement before she disappeared, leaving him and his brother in darkness, but they both knew the castle so well that they didn’t need to see where they were going. Finley heard Lochlan approach him, and then he began to walk toward his study once more, with Lochlan following close behind.

“Ye didna have to be so harsh with her,” Lochlan said.

“Why did na one tell me that she was here, hmm?” Finley demanded. “Why did I na ken any of this? Malina is me daughter. Ye should have told me about it.”

“When was the last time we spoke about Malina?” Lochlan asked. “When was the last time we spoke about anythin’ other than brigands and spies? It’s all ye care about noo.”

Finley sighed, but he didn’t say anything. There was nothing that he could say, after all, as everything that Lochlan had told him was true. He hadn’t given Malina—or anything else, for that matter—any attention for a long time.

“Let her stay,” Lochlan continued. “Malina needs someone to teach her. Our grandmaither is too old for this, Finley . . . and Etna is doin’ a great job with her.”

“Does Malina like her?” Finley asked. Every other tutor they had brought had been terrorized by her until they had quit.

“Na, but she’ll grow to like her,” Lochlan assured him. “Etna kens how to handle her.”

Finley had half a mind to kick Etna out just because of stubbornness, but he supposed that it wouldn’t be fair to anyone if he did such a thing. Besides, if she was the only one who could handle Malina, he could hardly afford to send her away.

“And she can help ye with the clan,” Lochlan added.

That was something that Finley couldn’t possibly believe. “How is a tutor goin’ to help me with the clan, Lochlan?”

“Everyone thinks ye’re a madman, Finley. There, I said it. And if Etna grows to like ye, maybe she can help ye build a better reputation, dinna ye think?”

It all sounded like too much work to Finley. He didn’t need people to like him. What he needed was to keep them all safe.

“Och, there’s nothin’ wrong with me reputation, Lochlan,” he told his brother, even though it was a blatant lie. “What does it matter if they like me or na? Our problem noo are the brigands.”

“How will ye fight the brigands without an army?” Lochlan asked. “Most of the men refuse to join the army. They dinna want to fight for ye because they think ye’ve gone mad.”

“Aye, they’re na wrong.”

Lochlan let out a long-suffering sigh just as Finley opened the door to his study and the two of them walked inside. It was brighter there, the room lit by a few candles, and Finley could see for the first time that night just how tired Lochlan looked.

Finley poured them both a drink, handing one of the cups to Lochlan, who promptly drained it. “Ye’re na a madman,” Lochlan said. “Ye’re just . . . weel, ye’re just grieving still. And that is fine, but ye can grieve without scarin’ everyone else away.”

“Ye’re still here,” Finley pointed out.

“Aye, but I dinna want to fight two dozen brigands on me own.”

Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, Finley knew that Lochlan was right. He didn’t show it, but knowing that his people didn’t trust him, that they didn’t want him to lead the army, was hurtful.

But how can I blame them? They all think I’m mad, and they’re na wrong, na matter what Lochlan says.

And then there was the matter of Malina. He doubted that anyone apart from Lochlan and their grandmother would believe him, but he loved Malina more than anything in the world. He would do anything for her—anything but talk to her. He didn’t want her to see him like that. Not only was his mood etched on his features, in the scraggly beard and the dark circles under his eyes, but he also had that scar, that disfigurement that was certain to scare her.

It was the last thing that he wanted.

“Ye said that she’s a good tutor for Malina, then?” he asked Lochlan.

“Aye . . . and if ye gave her a chance, maybe ye’d grow to like her,” Lochlan said.

Remembering how he had felt in that corridor when Etna had been pressed up against him, made Finley choke on his wine, even though he knew that wasn’t what Lochlan meant. Though he would have to avoid such situations—which wouldn’t be difficult, since he doubted that he would ever be that close to her again—he decided that the best course of action was to allow Etna to stay.

“Fine,” he said in the end, a sigh escaping his lips as he threw himself on his chair, splashing some of his wine onto him. “Fine, the lass can stay. Anythin’ new about the brigands?”

He and Lochlan spoke about nothing but the brigands and plans they thought they were making for the next few hours, talking well into the night. By the time that Lochlan left for his chambers and Finley retired to his own, he was exhausted, but sleep evaded him, as usual.

Only this time, his thoughts revolved around Etna. He had heard that Dougal, his beloved tutor, had a daughter, but he had always assumed that she was much younger than him. He had never imagined that she would one day become the tutor of his own daughter.

He had half a mind to invite Dougal to the castle, but the mere thought of socializing with anyone was enough to tire him out. Besides, he had more important issues to attend to, and guests were the least of his concerns.

When Finley finally fell asleep, he didn’t dream of brigands for the first time in a while. Instead, he dreamed of the scent of chamomile and lavender.