Beauty and the Beastly Highlander by Kenna Kendrick
Chapter Nine
Finley paced up and down his study, fist clenched tightly around a cup of wine that he had forgotten he was holding. He had been restless all night, his mind empty apart from the thoughts of Etna that had cemented their presence there.
Kissing her had been a mistake.
At least, he would be leaving the castle soon to visit the villages. That would put plenty of distance between the two of them, and he hoped that by the time he would return, both of them would be able to be around each other without any discomfort.
He was under no illusions that he would forget the kiss, though. No, that was etched in his mind, the memory searing like a branding iron.
He remembered the soft brush of Etna’s lips on his own, the soft, almost inaudible sounds that she had made, the eagerness that matched his own. He remembered how warm she felt against him, how perfectly they fit together.
And yet, none of that mattered.
It’s nothin’ but a silly infatuation. I have more important things to consider.
The knock on the door was a reminder of those things. When Lochlan stepped inside, dressed for their upcoming journey, Finley abandoned his cup on the desk and went to follow him, but before he could get too far, a hand on his chest stopped him.
“Ye look like shite.”
Finley shoved Lochlan’s hand off him, his already sour mood only worsening at his comment. “Thank ye, Lochlan. Yer comments are verra appreciated, as always.”
Lochlan rolled his eyes at Finley in that annoying way that he reserved only for him. “I’m only sayin’ . . . ye look like ye havena slept all night.”
“I didna.”
His confession sounded almost like an admission of guilt, and Finley couldn’t help but wince the moment the words were out of his mouth. Lochlan liked to worry, and he liked to worry about him most of all, but Finley didn’t want him or anyone else to fret over him. He knew how to take care of himself just fine.
“Anythin’ on yer mind?” Lochlan asked, in that indirect way of his, and though Finley knew that he suspected something was wrong, he also knew that there was no way he was aware of what had happened the previous night between him and Etna.
He must think that I worry about havin’ to speak to me people.
And a part of him did. He hadn’t given a speech in years, and the mere thought that he would soon be giving one was enough to set him on edge and make his palms sweat. He hadn’t had much time to consider that, though, since he was so preoccupied with the kiss.
And then it occurred to him that Lochlan perhaps knew precisely what was on his mind. What if Arlene had spoken to him? What if she had told him about it?
Na . . . na, she wouldna. And if Lochlan kent, he would have already asked me a million questions.
“Everythin’ is fine, Lochlan,” Finley assured him with a weary sigh. “Isna it time that we left?”
“Aye, I suppose it is,” Lochlan said, and after another quick look at Finley, he turned around to leave.
Finley followed him, the two of them walking in silence. Though the group that followed him to the villages was a small one, comprised of only half a dozen men, Lochlan had enlisted their mightiest warriors and Finley couldn’t help but frown at the sight of them all, waiting by the gates.
“Expectin’ trouble?” he asked Lochlan as they joined the rest of them.
Lochlan gave him a small shrug. “Ye never ken,” he said. “With all these attacks that have been takin’ place lately, it’s better to be cautious.”
“What about the castle?” Finley asked. The last thing that he wanted to do was leave the castle defenseless. He would never forgive himself if an attack decimated his clan because he had taken all their best soldiers with him to protect his own life.
“The castle will be fine,” Lochlan assured him. “They willna miss six men.”
“Are ye certain?”
“Finley, I’ve been trainin’ these men every day,” Lochlan said, and it was his turn to let out a heavy sigh, one that showed Finley that he was tired of being questioned. “I am certain they can handle it. Give me some credit.”
With a nod and a pat on Lochlan’s shoulder, Finley let go of their conversation. Lochlan was right; he had never let Finley down, nor any of the other men. Not trusting him with such matters would be foolish since he had been the one to effectively manage all the soldiers ever since Finley had withdrawn himself from all matters.
As they rode out of the castle gates, he hoped that he could get a quiet ride and, for a while at least, he did. The eight of them moved in silence, and Finley had the chance to relax for the first time ever since the previous night. It seemed that the more physical distance he put between him and Etna, the more he stopped thinking about her. Instead, he was immersed in his surroundings, appreciating the fresh air that filled his lungs and the gentle breeze that caressed his face.
He rarely got out of the castle. The hunt that he and Lochlan had gone to had been the last time that he had ventured out of the west wing and being back outside proved to be a nice change from the drabness and the darkness of the castle. Every time he shut himself inside his study, he forgot how much he enjoyed being outside, away from it all.
But of course, his peace didn’t last long. Lochlan seemed hellbent to find out what was wrong with him, and he fell in step next to him, a curious look on his face.
“Are ye certain that ye’re weel?” he asked. “If ye’re thinkin’ about yer speeches—”
“I’m fine, Lochlan,” Finley interrupted him. “Really.”
“Ye say that as if I dinna ken ye better than anyone,” Lochlan said. “I can see that there’s somethin’ on yer mind.”
“Many things are on me mind, as always,” Finley said. “It’s nothin’ new. Dinna fash yerself.”
“Is it Etna?”
At that, Finley almost fell off his horse. He held tightly onto the reins, knuckles white and eyes wide open in surprise. “What do ye mean?”
“Ever since grandmaither brought her to the castle, ye’ve been . . . weel, in a worse mood than usual,” Lochlan said. “If ye dislike her so much, then perhaps it’s best that we send her away. I’m sure that we can find a tutor who doesna make ye so angry.”
Finley sighed in relief, glad that Lochlan thought his problem was the opposite of what it actually was. It wasn’t that Finley didn’t like Etna. Rather, he liked her a little too much.
“As long as Etna does her job, then I dinna see why we should replace her,” he said, and he was proud of how steady his voice was when he spoke about her, though he didn’t like lying to his own brother. “And it’s na her.”
“So, there is somethin’ that’s botherin’ ye,” Lochlan said.
Finley only had himself to blame for walking right into that, he thought. “I suppose I’m just nervous, Lochlan,” he said in the end, thinking that a half-truth would at least get Lochlan to stop questioning him for the remainder of their journey. “I have barely spoken to anyone other than ye or grandmaither for a long time.”
“Aye, I ken,” Lochlan said. “That’s why I told Etna to help ye.”
Finley had half a mind to force Lochlan to take over. His brother had a way with words, he was cheerful, and he attracted people to him like a lamp attracts moths. He didn’t need to be told what to say; he didn’t need to write elaborate speeches. It all came naturally to him, and Finley often wondered if it would be better to simply give the Lairdship to him instead.
But he was older, and the burden was his to bear. Besides, as far as he knew, Lochlan had no desire for his position.
“Can we na talk about Etna anymore?” Finley asked then, huffing out in annoyance. He didn’t realize just how loud he had been until he noticed that everyone was looking at him, though trying to hide it at the same time.
Lochlan raised his palms up in surrender, letting his horse fall back. Finley found himself at the front of their formation, and though he wanted nothing more than to sprint to the village, he forced himself to keep a leisurely riding pace.
So much for na thinkin’ about her out here.
The novelty of his surroundings had faded by the time that Lochlan had fallen silent, and it had left room for his memories of Etna to return. It didn’t take long for him to fantasize about their kiss once more, losing himself in the ghost of the sensations. He even imagined returning from his tour of the villages and finding Etna in her chambers, visiting her late at night when the rest of the castle would be sleeping, taking what he wanted and giving her what she craved.
It was a dangerous train of thought to follow, and Finley shook his head, emptying his mind. He had no reason to expect that Etna would even want another kiss, let alone anything more, after all.
Finley spent the rest of the ride to the first village in agony, and by the end of it all, he didn’t know if he preferred the silence or if listening to Lochlan’s incessant talking was more soothing now that his mind was besieged by Etna. Unexpectedly, the hubbub of the village was a pleasant change from the quiet and at first, Finley thought that he had been worried for no reason.
Until everyone stopped in their tracks, ceasing their conversations to look at him.
No, not look.
Stare.
That was what Finley had been fearing, the stares, the villagers’ shock and fear at seeing him right there, in front of them. He was the Beast, the man that locked himself up in his castle and terrorized his servants. He was the man that found joy in torturing others. Cruel. Heartless. Coldblooded.
He had heard it all, but only in whispers. Seeing it written on the villagers' faces, though, made it all the more real for him. They were all watching him with the same curiosity, the same hostility, the same dread in their eyes, and Finley couldn’t stand meeting their gazes.
How will I talk to them if I canna even look at them?
His men seemed to sense his unease, most of all Lochlan. The look that his brother gave him was filled with concern, but just as he was about to speak, Finley shook his head, stopping him.
It willna do any good, discussin’ this in front of everyone.
Finley just had to deal with it. He took a deep, steadying breath and plastered a smile on his lips. It was painfully obvious that his smile was fake. He was certain of that, but he hoped that it would make him less threatening, more approachable, and, with any luck, make the villagers listen to him.
All he had to do to gain their trust back was to deliver the speech. Etna had done a good job with it, good enough that even Finley was convinced that it would work.
Talking to the villagers turned out to be no easy feat, though. They were resistant, asking question after question, more than Finley could answer, and complaining to him about everything he had neglected in the past few years.
“Our crops are dyin’.”
“The rent is too high! How are we to live like this?”
“What will ye do for the brigands?”
“Quiet!” Finley snapped, immediately regretting it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and when he looked up, he saw that everyone was looking at him with the same, horrified expression. He had been mistaken to think that the villagers wouldn’t listen to him. Both he and Lochlan had a way to make people listen. It was just that in his case, he did so by instilling fear.
“I ken that some things have been neglected in the past few years,” Finley continued. “I understand that. Ye can rotate the crops, and I suppose we can discuss the rent, but I'll tell ye this when it comes to the brigands. We have been tryin’ to fight them with all our strength. And aye, it may na be enough. It may seem like a losin’ battle. But we’ll never stop tryin’ to protect the villages. We’ll come up with a plan. We’ll do anythin’ it takes to stop them.”
There was a murmuring around Finley as the villagers whispered to each other, their words not quite reaching his ears. He could understand anger and hostility, but he could read them clearly, but he couldn’t read the expression on the villagers’ faces now. When he glanced at Lochlan, though, he saw his encouraging nod and the smile that spoke about a job well done.
One village down.
But there were still many to go. He still had to convince hundreds of people that he was not the kind of man they thought he was and that he was worthy of leading them. Perhaps it was a good start, but the road ahead of them was long, and there was no telling if his campaign would be successful in the end.
Finley was determined to try. It would be a shame to have such a good start, only to lead himself to failure.
