The Beast by Hildie McQueen

Chapter Twelve

“We should have alerted the guards,” Orla said as they walked to the nearby lavender field. “If one of us gets hurt and has to hobble back, Mister Duncan will be very angry that no one was about to help us.”

Beatrice chuckled. “Ye wish for a strong man to carry ye back? Why did ye not tell me, I would have ensured the one of yer choice came with us and then pushed ye down so he would have to.”

“Lady Beatrice!” Orla exclaimed, her cheeks growing bright pink. “I did not mean for that…”

“I jest with ye,” Beatrice replied. “It is a romantic idea. Ye are not being courted are ye?”

Orla shook her head, her pert nose wrinkling. “Nay. I have never been pursued. I am not a beauty, so I suppose men do not take notice.”

Taking her in, Beatrice first noticed Orla’s mop of curls that tumbled past her shoulders. Her hair was lovely and thick, but unruly. She normally wore it in a bun at the nape of her neck, but by midday, half of the hair had escaped its confines. The clothes Orla wore were what was expected of a servant. However, the dresses were always faded and heavily mended. The edges of her skirts were frayed, as was the cap that currently sat lopsided atop her head.

“Why do ye have so few clothes and those ye have seem very old?”

Orla looked down at her stained apron. “I only came to work at Keep Ross recently. My last mistress died, and her son and his wife moved into the house.

The woman took an instant dislike to me and reduced my wages. I barely had enough for necessities. Once I saved up, with only half an afternoon off every fortnight, there was little time to purchase fabrics and even less to sew a dress.”

“Yer a beauty Orla. Ye must get new clothing as soon as possible. We must make changes immediately.”

As they walked and filled their baskets with lavender, they planned a trip to the village to purchase fabric. Beatrice planned to sew table coverings and drapes for Duncan’s bedroom, to lighten up the space. “We must visit a seamstress and order serviceable dresses for us both. I only brought frivolous gowns for my visit to South Uist—not expecting to remain—therefore, I do not have anything that will serve me well day-to-day.”

A man on horseback appeared. He dismounted and allowed the horse to graze. Beatrice and Orla exchanged looks.

“Is that the same man ye saw earlier?” Orla asked, her eyes wide.

Beatrice studied the man and horse. “It could be. He was too far. We should be cautious. Let us walk back.”

“Lady Beatrice,” the man called out. “Are ye not Duncan Ross’s new bride?”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at the man. “How do ye know my name?”

The man neared. He was not unattractive and seemed to be a bit older than Duncan. He had shoulder-length light brown hair and dark eyes. A scar from the outer corner of his left eye to the side of his mouth gave him a dangerous air. Yet his demeanor was not threatening.

“Yer husband and I spent many years together on a ship. There is little I do not know about him.”

Beatrice looked over her shoulder. They had not gone so far. If she or Orla screamed, the guards would hear. “I will have to insist ye come and visit us then. Perhaps tomorrow? I am sure Duncan will be glad to see ye. What is yer name?”

“Farlan Reid,” he replied and looked past her to the house. “I am not sure he will be as welcoming as ye. However, I will ask that ye convey my congratulations on the marriage. I wish ye well.” The man bowed and turned away, returning to his horse.

Orla frowned. “Very interesting. Do ye think he will come to visit?”

“I do not know. I am sure Duncan will have an opinion.”

They were met halfway back by an out of breath guardsman, who’d obviously raced to find them.

“Lady Beatrice. Ye must inform us…when…ye…”

Beatrice took pity on him and interrupted so he could catch his breath. “I do apologize. We did not plan to walk so far, but upon seeing the lavender we came to cut some for the house.” When she looked over her shoulder, Farlan Reid was gone.

The guard motioned for them to walk ahead as he followed.

Meeting Orla’s gaze, Beatrice shook her head. “Perhaps it will be best if I do not mention what just happened.”

“I think ye are right,” Orla said sneaking a look to the guard who followed them.

Upon returning home, Beatrice and Orla spent the day placing lavender into vases and tying some into bunches to be hung in the bedchambers and parlor.

When Gara announced last meal, Beatrice was annoyed that Duncan was still absent. She insisted Orla eat with her, so she didn’t have to eat alone.

“We will go to the village tomorrow,” Beatrice told Gara. “Please ask Creagh to prepare a coach and horses for first thing in the morning.”

“Aye, milady,” the woman replied. “I left word in the village that there was a need for help. Orla can see about it while ye are there.”

A plan in place, Beatrice was excited for the next day. The only thing that dampened her spirits was her husband’s absence.

With Duncan’s bedchamberempty, Beatrice could not relax. She’d already detained Orla until the poor woman yawned so wide her jaw cracked. Now she sat in the bed, her gaze fixed on the door between her and Duncan’s room that she had left slightly ajar.

Every so often she went to the window and peered toward the stables hoping to catch a glimpse of his return.

Finally, footsteps sounded. He went into his bedchamber and she hurried to peek in. Duncan stood in front of his door visibly swaying. He stumbled to a chair and dropped into it. When he attempted to remove his boot and fell out of the chair, he chuckled.

Then putting a finger to his mouth made loud shushing noises. Her husband was drunk.

Caelan entered the room and stood over Duncan. “Ye are making too much noise.”

“My boosh refushees to come off,” Duncan slurred.

It seemed to Beatrice that Caelan was also in his cups, but not quite as much as Duncan. The brother managed to help Duncan back onto the chair and removed his boots. Then he helped him to the bed.

“Look,” Caelan ordered and Duncan lifted his head.

“What?”

“I am pushing this bashin here. Ush it if ye get sick.”

Duncan managed a nod. “I will.”

Mere moments after Caelan walked out, Duncan’s snores filled the air.

Beatrice slipped through the doorway and tiptoed to the bed. Fast asleep, Duncan lay face down, his head on the edge of the bed. Each exhalation was a loud snore.

Bending closer, she sniffed at his face. “Whisky,” she whispered. There was another distinct smell, and it was not something he enbibed. It was a flowery scent, like that a woman wore.

“Where were ye?” Beatrice slapped his shoulder. “Who were ye with?”

The response was an incoherent mumble and another pair of snores. She would have to wait until morning to get an answer. If not from him, then his brother would answer for what they’d been doing until so late.

Annoyed, she paced and then decided it was best to try to get sleep. She had plans for the following day. Once she questioned Duncan, a trip to the village could not be delayed.

The prospect of another night alone in her bedchamber loomed and she let out a breath. Duncan was much too out of his wits to know if she slept there. No doubt he would not wake until late, which gave her the opportunity to get up and slip back to her own bedchamber.

Beatrice rounded the bed, slid between the blankets, and promptly fell into an exhausted slumber.

“Do not hit me. I will do whatever ye want.”

Sobbing sounded.

“No, please, I will do whatever ye want. It hurts so much.”

Beatrice woke with a start to find that she was still in Duncan’s bed. It was still dark, and he was still asleep. At least she thought him to be.

He was curled into a ball, his arms around his head. “Not again. I cannot take more.” He sounded weak, desperate, and helpless. His entire body shook as the dream seemed to take a horrible turn.

When he arched and screamed as if being struck, Beatrice slid from the bed and lowered down to her knees on the opposite side of where he slept.

“Please stop. I beg ye. I am begging. I will do what ye ask.” This time his cries were quiet as he seemed to accept whatever fate his tormentor had asked of him.

Beatrice did not wish to imagine what he’d been forced to do all those years as a captive. What had been done to him, against his will. She covered her mouth with both hands to keep from crying out when he began to sob again.

When morning came, Beatrice was back in her own room. After dressing for the day, she went down the stairs. No one was about, so she went to the kitchen to pour herself something to drink. The aroma of cinnamon reminded her of home and early mornings in the kitchen with her mother.

By the time she drank her tea, Orla informed her that Caelan and Duncan were in the dining room. “They do not look well at all.”

“Too much drink. I remember mornings after my brothers overindulged,” Beatrice said with a grimace. “They would have the worst tempers.”

She refilled her cup and made her way to where the men were. Duncan’s gaze immediately met hers, he seemed to be gauging her mood. She made sure to keep her expression blank.

“How are ye husband? Caelan?” she asked sitting down. “Ye both do not look well.”

Caelan replied, “I must take the blame for insisting Duncan celebrate yer marriage. We ended up drinking more than we should have.”

“Is that true?” Beatrice asked turning to Duncan.

Her husband’s eyes widened just a bit. “Aye, we did celebrate.”

“Am I to assume more than one woman was involved in this …celebration?” She focused on a love bite on Caelan’s neck. He rubbed the spot and immediately inspected Duncan’s.

“Only one and she was with me,” Caelan said.

Duncan’s reddish eyes met hers. “I will never violate my vows to ye.”

“Orla and I are going to the village,” Beatrice informed her husband. “Creagh is taking us.”

The men exchanged glances. “Should a guard accompany ye?” Caelan asked.

“How far is it?” Beatrice asked.

“An hour at most,” Duncan replied. “I believe having Creagh along may be enough.”

The rest of the meal was eaten mostly in silence. Caelan made an effort to ask her what plans she had for the house and staff. For the most part, he seemed in agreement and Beatrice was glad for it. Despite not knowing Duncan’s half-brother well, she felt they could get along.

“I am going to do a bit of work,” Caelan informed them and then looked to Beatrice. “I do the bookkeeping. If ye have any questions or would like to know anything about the finances, please come to my study and I will explain.”

After he walked out of the room, Beatrice gave Duncan a pointed look. “Ye smelled of flowers last night.”

“When did ye smell me?” he asked seeming genuinely perplexed.

“Must I remind ye that we have adjoining rooms? I overheard ye arriving and checked to ensure ye were unharmed. That is when I smelled both the whiskey and the fragrance.”

For a long moment he considered what to say. It was obvious by the changing expressions that he discarded one idea after another.

“I do not remember clearly. However, I am prepared to get on one knee and promise that nothing occurred between a woman and myself.”

She met his gaze. “I believe ye. I trust ye. Who I do not trust husband, are other women.” Beatrice finished eating and pushed away from the table. “It is best I go, do not wish to miss the best offerings at the village square.”

“Do ye require coin?”

Beatrice thought about it. She had money of her own but decided to save it just in case it was needed. “Aye, I do.”

She followed Duncan up the stairs to his bedchamber. When they entered, he avoided looking at the rumpled bed and instead went to the trunk. He lifted the top just enough to slide his hand into it and brought out a small leather sack.

“Let me know if ye require more.” He handed her the heavy sack.

“This is too much,” Beatrice said barely able to hold the coin bag in her hand.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ye must have enough to get whatever ye need for the house.”

The village wasmuch like villages near her home. It was smaller than the one closer to Keep Ross, but it was lively. The tavern anchored the square and several other familiar buildings completed it. There was a mill, a butcher, a blacksmith, and several others; all with their shingles ensuring visitors were aware of what was offered.

She and Orla asked where they might find a seamstress and then had to chase after an excited young lass, who raced up one street after the other until she came to a small house.

They entered a doorway to a large room filled with fabric and trimmings. A woman greeted them, her keen gazing moving over her dress.

After Beatrice informed her of what she wished to purchase for herself and Orla, the woman called for a younger version of herself to help with measurements. Beatrice enjoyed choosing from the assortment of fabrics, picking mostly browns, tans, and a few black items. For Orla, she chose a light-colored fabric for special days and then three service dresses in natural tones.

They stopped at the shoemaker’s, and each found a pair of boots that fit. Afterwards, they purchased, yarn, thread, several blankets, a pair of baskets, and wooden bowls to be used on the table for both food and flowers.

While the carriage was loaded, Beatrice returned to the square and to the delight of the merchants purchased something from each stand.

Beatrice followed Ella’s advice and introduced herself to the people as the new mistress of the Ross estate house. The villagers seemed to hold Duncan in high esteem and congratulated her while sending their regards to her husband.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the same man who’d been to her house and Beatrice hurried to him.

“Ye left without responding to my invitation,” Beatrice said noting the man seemed discomfited by her sudden appearance.

Ensuring no one could see, he reached for her left wrist and pulled her closer. “Ye should forget to have ever seen me.” His face hardened. “Tis best if yer husband has no knowledge that we spoke at yer home or here at the village. I will not be coming to yer house.”

“Why would ye not wish him to see ye?”

The dark gaze locked with hers and his lips curled into a toothy smile. “When I said I knew everything and shared much with yer husband, I meant it. He and I grew very close while at sea for so many years.”

Beatrice attempted to snatch her hand away, but he did not release it. His face pressed against the side of hers and he whispered in her ear. “I fucked yer husband. Ask him about that.”

Her mouth fell open at the unbelievable words the man uttered. “Ye are a horrible person,” she exclaimed. “I will certainly not ask him that. Release me, sir!”

At her voice rising, he released her, but his lips remained in the evil grin. “Aye, ye are not the only one who knows Duncan Ross intimately.”

Beatrice’s heart thundered as Farlan Reid strolled away seeming happy to have shared what he did. The only reason she was aware of men laying together was because one of her cousins, Albert, preferred men to women and had once admitted it her.

It was whispered about during family gatherings when her cousin often attended with another man, who remained at his side. Despite the fact he preferred men, Albert was Beatrice’s favorite cousin to spend time with. He was entertaining and very charismatic.

“What did he say?” Orla whispered frantically. “Ye are very pale.”

Beatrice shook her head, unable to speak.

Could it be the real reason Duncan did not wish to marry? Did her husband prefer men? Beatrice returned to the carriage with Orla, both of their arms laden with purchases.

She sat back in the soft seat her mind awhirl. How would she bring it up to Duncan? Lead in with the fact she was aware some men preferred those of their same sex?

Farlan was the horseman who’d been watching the house. It could be he was heartbroken over losing Duncan.

What a mess she found herself in, if that man was truly who Duncan wished to be with.

When she took a shaky breath, Orla gave her a worried look. “Ye seem about to cry. What is wrong?”

“I am so very tired. Some days I wish I were back home in North Uist and not be so impetuous to do things.”

The entire ride to her home, Beatrice’s mind was awhirl. Could she possibly speak to Duncan about Farlan’s allegations? She feared his reaction more than anything. Even if what the man had said was true, Duncan could retaliate violently. But not with her, of that, she was sure.

She closed her eyes thinking perhaps it would be best to avoid him altogether. By the time they returned it would be close to last meal and she could claim a headache and go straight to bed.

With a plan in mind, she felt better.

Too soon they arrived at the house. Duncan emerged from the house to meet the carriage; his demeanor warm as he helped her climb out. Insisting on carrying her purchases, he waited for her to go inside and followed.

“Did ye enjoy the village?” he asked as they placed the bundles on a table in the great room.

She met his gaze hoping to sense something from him that she’d not seen before. Instead, she saw warmth and genuine interest.

“Orla and I ordered dresses from the seamstress. She is a lovely woman and was so grateful. We also bought fabric and baskets.” As she spoke, Beatrice pulled out several bundles and showed the items to Duncan. “Before leaving, I introduced myself to every merchant in the square and purchased something from each one as well. I did enjoy that very much.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Beatrice said lifting her foot. “I got new boots.”

He inspected her foot. “The shoemaker does good work.” He lifted a small bag and sniffed it. “What is this?”

“Herbs for teas and some for poultices and such. I purchased a few different ones and some jars to keep them in.”

Duncan snatched her right arm and lifted it. “What happened to yer wrist?”

“Oh… I stumbled and got it caught in…” She couldn’t think fast enough.

“The truth Beatrice.” His gaze locked with hers. “Ye are not a good liar.”

She let out a breath. “Promise me ye will not get angry and do something rash.”

Duncan stared at her wrist. “I cannot promise.”

“Then I will not tell ye.”

For a few moments they locked gazes, until Caelan walked into the room. “Am I interrupting?”

Beatrice turned to Caelan. “Duncan wishes me to tell him what happened to my wrist, but he will not promise to not become angry.”

The men exchanged looks. “Ye should tell him. Duncan is not a violent person, he will go for a walk and put stones upon his wall if angered.”

She wasn’t sure either of them was prepared for what she had to say. “I am not sure if I should divulge what happened to both of ye, or just ye,” Beatrice met Duncan’s gaze. “Perhaps, I can tell Caelan, and he can find the best way to convey the information to ye.”

“Just tell me,” Duncan said. “There are no secrets between me and my brother.”

“Hmmm,” Beatrice thought about what Farlan had said.

“Very well,” Beatrice said. “Let us go to the parlor.”

They walked into the parlor, which seemed so much smaller with both men inside.

“Yesterday, while ye both were at the tavern, Orla and I went for a short walk. We picked the lavender.” She motioned to the flowers in a vase. “A man appeared and congratulated me on our marriage. He claimed to know ye, Duncan. He asked me to convey his good wishes and I invited him to come to the house and see ye.”

When neither spoke, she continued. “I saw him again at the village today. This time he tried to avoid me. I followed him and asked why he’d not responded to my invitation. He took me by the wrist and said I should forget ever seeing him and not to mention it to ye.”

“What else?” Duncan said his voice seeming hollow, his gaze boring into her.

“He said ye and he were once very close.” Beatrice leaned forward and looked at Caelan. “Very close.”

Caelan coughed and pressed his lips together as if trying not to laugh. “Why did he hold yer wrist so hard?”

Beatrice shrugged. “It was as if he was desperate that I did not tell Duncan I had seen him.” She returned her attention to her husband. “He said it was best ye did not know he was here.”

“Did he give ye a name,” Duncan said dryly. “I am sure it is someone angry over me beating him in the games. I will find whoever it is and ensure they do not spread lies about me again.”

“How close did he say they were?” Caelan asked sliding a look to Duncan.

“I do not find the accusations one bit humorous,” Duncan snapped.

Beatrice frowned. “He said ye and he had…been intimate.” Both she and Caelan watched Duncan for a reaction, and she at least was surprised when he didn’t react. Instead, he gave her a droll look. “What is the man’s name, wife?”

“Farlan Reid,” Beatrice replied dryly. “I have to admit to being shocked that a man would say such a thing publicly. Someone could be hanged just for speaking about participating in such a thing.”

“Very true,” Caelan said as he stood and came to Beatrice, blocking her view of Duncan. “Come with me, I wish to speak to ye about some changes ye may wish to make in the house.”

Beatrice glanced around Caelan to Duncan, who looked at her and nodded. “Go on, I must speak to the guards about a man being able to approach ye without them knowing.”

“A guard did come when he saw what happened. The man, Farlan, left before the guard arrived. I informed the guard he was an acquaintance. So do not punish them for it.”

Once she and Caelan went to the dining room, Beatrice spoke in a low tone. “Are ye sure he will not do anything rash?”

“If my brother wishes to beat the man to a pulp for bruising yer wrist, I will not blame him,” Caelan replied in a curt tone. “I would do the same. Do not hold him back from it.”