The Beast by Hildie McQueen
Chapter Nineteen
“Beatrice, open the door,” her mother’s voice rose with annoyance. “Now.”
On heavy feet, she went to the door and unlocked it. “I am not in a good frame of mind today. I am not sure I want to talk about what happened.”
“How ye feel about what just occurred is very important. Yer father wishes for us to gather to discuss what to do.”
“Should we not wait until the Ross returns?”
“He just did,” her mother replied motioning to the door. “Let us go.”
It had been a long time since Beatrice had cared about her appearance. She’d only worn the serviceable dresses that allowed for going outdoors and helping in the garden or feeding the goats. She’d not cared about her more elaborate gowns that suddenly felt silly and something someone without a care in the world would don.
Interesting how much things changed in a matter of weeks.
Upon entering the parlor, everyone was already seated. Evander turned to her, his left eye purpling from the fight. She looked to Padraig. He had a swollen bottom lip and a cut above his right eye.
Her father cleared his throat and directed his comment to Darach. Most of the conversation would be between the lairds, with words from the rest only when requested.
“Yer brother seems to hold little regard for the rules of our people. He offended me and my clan by ignoring my invitation. Even worse, he hurt my daughter. I have no tolerance for a man who abandons his wife.” At the stern words, Beatrice’s chest and stomach clenched. What could Darach say that could possibly change her father’s mind about Duncan.
The Ross looked first to Lady Mariel, who gave a soft nod. Whatever he was about to say, he’d sought her council first.
“My brother is a kind, brave, and proud man. However, he is also a broken and damaged man, who has yet to overcome his past.” Darach met Beatrice’s gaze. “I am not sure if he divulged to ye the cause of each of his scars.”
Turning back to her father, he continued. “There is very little of my brother’s body that is not scarred from whippings, broken bones, and other forms of torture that his captors imposed on him during the years of his captivity. Duncan spent days, sometimes weeks without food and water and then was forced to fight against able-bodied men for a piece of moldy bread. When they wished to kill captives, it was Duncan who was told how to do it. If he refused, then he and the other prisoner would be whipped until he did it. My brother often prayed for a death that did not come while left in the dark, rats feasting on his bloodied body. This repeated itself for ten long years. When Duncan became terribly ill, the others on the ship were afraid to catch whatever he had. They threw him overboard. Feverish and malnourished, it was a miracle he survived. That is how he was able to return to us.”
Lady Mariel wiped at a tear, doing her best not to cry harder. Beatrice blinked away tears at learning even more than she already knew about her husband’s horrible past.
“I tell ye this, not for ye to forgive my brother’s transgressions, but for ye to understand why he left recently.” Darach cleared his throat, overcome with emotion. “Just a few days before we came here, my brother was trapped by a man from one of the ships he’d been held at. The man hung Duncan upside down and stabbed him several times, planning to let him bleed to death. It would have happened if not for Stuart and Gideon arriving just in time.”
“My goodness,” Beatrice’s mother exclaimed and then took Lady Mariel’s hand. “I am so sorry.”
“After this current experience, Duncan was not well,” Darach let out a sigh. “I am not sure why he left, but I presume to rid the plague in his head.”
The room was silent for a long beat while her father digested the information.
Beatrice was not aware of the horrors Duncan had been through. Her heart broke for the young man, who’d been torn from his family and home and subjected to such heartbreaking treatment for so long.
“What did he ask ye to tell me?” her father asked.
“He asks for a second opportunity to meet with ye and wishes to make amends with the clan and to regain Beatrice’s trust.”
Everyone waited as the lairds continued speaking. Beatrice was not sure she was ready to talk to Duncan. Despite everything, she was hurt. He had abandoned and humiliated her by being forced to return home without him.
Now he returned from wherever he’d gone, prepared to make amends. What exactly did that mean? That she should immediately forgive and forget?
“I will meet with Duncan,” her father said and then studied her for a moment. “It will be up to Beatrice if she wishes to speak to him. He broke trust with my daughter and that is not something easy to recover from.”
When Darach turned to her, Beatrice did not meet his gaze. It was impossible to know what she’d feel in the next hours, but in that moment, she could not fathom speaking to him. All she did was shake her head.
“I will go see him, and inform him of yer decision,” Darach told her father.
Beatrice hurried from the room to seek the solace of her bedchamber. A part of her was relieved to know that Duncan was alive and well. The larger portion of her was too angry and hurt to consider a simple discussion with him.
“Did ye know what had happened to yer husband?” Isobel strolled in and immediately sat on the bed next to her. “My heart breaks for him.”
“I knew a bit. Although I am sure there are still many things Darach did not tell. From the scars on Duncan’s body, I can tell he went through some horrific times.”
“Ye are not ready to forgive him are ye?” Isobel asked, her dark eyes searching her face. “I understand. I am not sure I could either if I were in yer place.”
“I love him,” Beatrice blurted. “With all my heart. And he professed to feel the same. How could he leave, not try to be with me and allow us to work together against the demons in his head?” Beatrice slammed her fist into the soft bedding. “I am so very angry with him.”
Isobel let out a long sigh. “Ye know that in the end ye will return to him and over time forgive what he did. I strongly suggest ye take all the time needed. If it is a season or even a year before ye return, then so be it.”
Her sister was right. There were no limitations to how long she could take to decide.
She let out a long sigh and leaned her head on Isobel’s shoulder. “I am so very thankful for ye and my family.”
“I do think ye should return with us. To Keep Ross of course.”
The house wassilent as Duncan walked through the great room towards the stairwell. Upon reaching the second floor, the new chambermaid Beatrice had hired walked out of Beatrice’s bedchamber and jumped at noticing him.
“Dear me,” she exclaimed. “I apologize Mister Duncan, ye startled me.”
He gave a nod. “No need. I know I have been gone a long time.”
The woman studied him for a moment as if assessing if she could trust him. She then crouched down and picked up a cloth she’d dropped.
“When will Lady Beatrice return?” The question was innocent enough, but it speared Duncan through the heart.
“I am not sure as yet,” he replied and continued toward his bedchamber. Once he washed up and changed, he had to speak with Caelan and learn how things had continued with the livestock his brother was breeding.
He was pleasantly surprised to note all seemed to be in order, the grounds kept up and the house orderly. Of course, Caelan would have it no other way.
His brother would have questions that he was not up to answering, but he owed him that much.
While washing up, he thought of the conversation with Laird Macdonald. While Beatrice’s father had remained curt and distant, he was not unreasonable. He’d informed Duncan that he should return once things between him and Beatrice were resolved. He’d given her the choice of speaking to him and she’d refused.
Whether she came back to South Uist or remained on the northern isle, the Macdonald insisted that Duncan would visit once a season. He’d given his word to do so and then made the trek back home alone.
The bitter cold had cut through his body during the sail back, but he’d welcomed the distraction from the painful realization of possibly losing his incredible wife forever.
Through the window past his half-built wall, Duncan saw Caelan appear on horseback. Wearing a long coat and thick scarf instead of a plaid, he was a picture of a cultured gentleman. An Englishman.
One would think his brother did not fit in the highlands, not with his refined speech and impeccable attention to his appearance. Perhaps because of the way he presented himself, men underestimated his brother. Caelan was a merciless warrior, who fought not to defeat but to kill.
If there was something that his half-brother had inherited from their father, it was brutality. For the most part Caelan kept control, he was keen like a fox and able to get out of menacing situations. However, if a certain line was crossed, there would be hell to pay.
At that moment, he seemed pensive, his gaze locked on the stables. He must have noticed Duncan’s horse because he turned his head toward the house next. Although Duncan was sure Caelan could not see him from that distance, it seemed as if he could. Despite this, Calen did not alter his horse’s pace or allow the animal to meander.
The bedchamber wascold, but Duncan did not bother to light the fire. There was wood in the hearth, ready to be lit which meant the lad Beatrice had insisted on hiring ensured that nothing lacked. Water was in the pitcher for washing and fresh cloths hung from the stand.
As if conjured by his thoughts, there was a soft knock and after Duncan called for whoever it was to enter, the young man poked his head in.
“Sir, do ye require me to start the fire? I apologize for my tardiness. I was not aware of yer arrival until just now.” The lad was lanky, long-legged with a mop of curly hair and dark brown eyes.
“What is yer name?” Duncan asked, not recalling if he’d ever learned it.
“Ivan, sir.”
“Thank ye Ivan, I do not require a fire right now, but would like one after last meal.”
“Very well sir.” The lad gave him a curt nod and walked back out.
When Duncan returned to the first level, Caelan stood in front of the large hearth warming his hands. He’d removed his coat and thrown it over a chair. More accurately, he’d folded it and then draped it carefully over the back of a chair.
“I did not expect yer return so soon,” Caelan said without looking at him. “Are ye well?”
How to answer the question he wasn’t sure about? A part of him wished to be back in the forest in the lonely cottage. Rather than to be without Beatrice. At least there he had the excuse of her not knowing where he was.
“Ye take a long time to reply,” Caelan’s gaze roamed over his body. “Ye seem healthy enough.”
Duncan went to a sideboard and lifted a decanter of whiskey and looked to Caelan who nodded. Once he’d poured the liquor into two glasses, he held one out to Caelan. After spending so many days on horseback, he preferred not to sit, so Duncan leaned an elbow on the back of a winged chair. “I went to North Uist. As ye may suspect, I did not receive a warm reception. Laird Macdonald did speak to me after two days, which I spent in the village.”
“And yer wife?”
“She refused,” Duncan said and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “I do not blame her.”
The aroma of roasting meat wafted from the kitchen and Duncan inhaled it, filling his lungs with the enticing smell. Food was the great comforter, freely shared when people gathered for unpleasant things like burials and was brought to the sickly to make them feel better.
“I have no doubt Beatrice will return. She loves ye.”
Duncan stared into his empty glass. “I humiliated her. That she had to face her family alone so soon after marrying was cruel. I am not sure she should forgive me.”
“There are some people attempting to settle southeast of here, on the other side of the forest. I saw them today but did not approach. Seem to be men, who’d pulled ashore. About twenty, I decided it was best to alert Stuart.”
“We should go now.”
“I sent two guardsmen to Keep Ross late this morning, and two are keeping watch not too far from the camp to ensure we are not encroached upon. Once we eat, we can take their place and allow them to come here to eat and rest. I assume the guardsmen from the keep will arrive shortly.”
They spent thenight keeping watch. The men who camped looked to be warriors. They were well armed, but it wasn’t clear what clan they belonged to as they wore no colors and flew no banners. Currently, they spoke in low tones while roasting whatever they’d caught over a small fire. It was a frigid night. The small fire would do little to keep them warm.
Because of them camping on the eastern shore, Duncan assumed they’d have to have traveled from either Skye or Eriskay. That meant they could be Maclean. If clan Maclean, it would mean trouble. Clan Maclean from Skye were enemies of both them and the MacNeil.
The thundering of hooves alerted not only Caelan and Duncan of the approach of a huge army, but also the men who’d set up camp. They scrambled to arm themselves and waited with tense stances for whoever appeared.
Stuart had not held back. Flank after flank of horsemen rode in from the shore and through the forest. Stuart, with his huge bow strapped to his back, rode forward, flanked by Gideon and Ewan, all of whom wore the Ross clan tartan of green and black.
Eager to join their brothers, both he and Caelan had already mounted and rode to the front to see what happened.
The men on the ground stood in a large circle. They were outmanned but did what they could to defend themselves. Horsemen blocked their access to the bìrlinns they’d come in on. They were surrounded.
“We seek an audience with Laird Ross to ask for asylum,” a large muscled, heavily bearded man spoke out. “We fled for our lives.”
Stuart looked over to Duncan. As the eldest one present, he had the last word. However, the men before them did not have to know that. He gave his brother a slight nod, letting him know to make the decision.
“What clan do ye claim?”
The muscled man looked to his men. “Maclean, but no longer.” He then continued, “I am called Lennox.”
“Build a larger fire to keep warm. Ye and yer men will be escorted to another place in the morning. My men will remain,” Stuart said. He then ordered the guardsmen to remain and keep the newcomers from leaving.
Instead of returningto the keep, all four brothers rode to the house with a large contingency of guardsmen.
Half of the men would sleep inside the house on the floor of the great room and parlor. Another twenty or so would crowd into the stables. A few would sleep in the guardroom and storehouse.
Somehow a place was found for everyone.
The four brothers went upstairs to the sitting room as every other room downstairs was taken. Gara and Firtha, along with the new chambermaid rushed to and fro, immediately heating fermented cider to warm the cold men.
Knowing it was fruitless to try to stop the eager women, neither Duncan nor Caelan tried to talk them out of it.
Within moments of sitting, the young lad, Ivan, entered with cups of the hot cider for them as well.
“I am glad to see ye have returned,” Stuart said, and then kept silent. He was the type of man, who waited to be informed of things—unless it was urgent. His hazel gaze roamed over the faces of the others and he raked a hand through his dark shoulder length hair. “I am not sure what to think about them. They could be here as spies for the Maclean.”
“Aye, that was my first thought,” Caelan said.
Gideon nodded. “One of us should return to the keep. To ensure none of them snuck through.” He frowned at Duncan. “When did ye get back?”
Ewan, who was almost identical in looks to Stuart stood. “Perhaps Gideon is right. I will ride back to the keep and ensure all is well.” He put his cup down. “I will ensure the keep is well secured until ye arrive in the morning.” After a long look at Duncan, he lifted an eyebrow. “Ye look as if ye’ve been dragged behind yer horse.”
