The Beast by Hildie McQueen
Chapter Twenty-One
Beatrice’s hands shook and her breathing hitched upon seeing Duncan. With windblown hair and a thicker beard, he looked like a savage. A breathtakingly handsome wild man, who’d not been tamed.
It hurt that he’d not insisted on talking to her, that instead, he’d turned away and gone with the laird. Then again, she supposed he was supposed to do what his brother asked.
“Where are my things?” she asked Orla, who hurried through the great room.
The maid motioned to the stairs. “The same room that ye and Mister Duncan shared before. I am fetching water so ye can bathe.”
“Thank ye, Orla.” Beatrice hurried up the stairs. The corridor was dimly lit as she made her way to the bedchamber. Her feet felt heavier with each step at recalling the last time they’d stayed there and how loudly they’d made love.
Just as she passed through the doorway, strong arms wrapped around her body. Her breath caught upon realizing it was Duncan. Leaning against his chest, she didn’t try to fight instead waited limply for what he’d do or say next.
Duncan turned her around so that she faced him and once again pulled her into a hard embrace.
“Forgive me. Forgive me,” he murmured over and over, a catch in his voice. “Please, Beatrice.”
The way their bodies fit together soothed the exhaustion. If it was possible, her love for Duncan had grown with each passing day. At the same time, Beatrice could not shake the ache of his leaving.
Pushing away from him, she looked up at him, fighting the urge to sweep the dark hair from his brow. “I have forgiven ye.”
“But ye remain hurt.”
“When ye did not show up on the day we departed, my heart broke Duncan. It was days before the letter came.” Beatrice closed her eyes. “Ye could have talked to me. We could have waited to go had I known how ye felt.”
He nodded, the bi-colored gaze not leaving her face. “The realization of what I did finally sunk in and when it did, I almost did not return. I broke yer trust in me, and for that, I cannot forgive myself.”
He waited and when she remained silent, he spoke again. “No blame would fall upon ye for not accepting me back as yer husband. It is me that broke our vows and any relationship that was building between us.”
“I need to bathe and rest. Can we talk later? My mind is awhirl, I cannot seem to get a straight thought.” Beatrice turned to the tub, steam rose from the hot water and she could not wait to sink into it.
The door closed behind her and she let out a long breath. What was she to do? A part of her wanted to be back in North Uist with her family, and not having to worry about the pressure of marriage and forgiveness. As much as she loved and wanted her husband, the fear that he’d leave her over and over made Beatrice hesitate to return to him.
Beatrice sunk into the hot perfumed water that was the perfect antidote for not just her weary body, but also her mind.
The picture of Duncan’s face floated in her mind. How could she not remain with the man? He deserved love and patience, but was she strong enough?
There was a light knock and Isobel’s face appeared from behind the door. “I came to check on ye. I saw Duncan go down the stairs and outside.”
“Outside?”
“Aye, he is over by the vegetable garden, looking forlorn.” Isobel lifted a large cloth so that Beatrice could dry herself. The water had cooled quickly, and she disliked cool baths.
“My husband will have to learn that he cannot simply appear and expect to be welcomed back with open arms.”
Isobel went to the window and peered out. “Aye, I agree. How I would react if in yer shoes is not an easy answer.”
“Ye forgave Darach when he went to see that woman instead of coming straight home upon his release from imprisonment.”
For a split second, Beatrice wondered if she’d been unthoughtful in her comment, but Isobel shrugged it away. “I was very angry at him. It seems ye are in a similar situation. Having to decide whether to trust yer husband or not. If the answer is no, then ye should return to our parent’s home.”
Our parent’s home.No longer their home. After marriage wherever their husband was home.
She dressed in a light dress and then donned a thick shawl over her shoulders. “I am not sure how to proceed. I do love him dearly. I will obey my vows and remain with him. However, I must decide what the terms will be. Overall, I must protect my heart.”
“Sit down and talk to him. Come to an agreement that if he finds himself in a similar place in the future, he comes to ye first.”
It was much later that she finally sent Orla to find Duncan. She sat in a chair in the bedchamber, in front of the fireplace. The cheery fire did little to calm her nerves. What would Duncan say when she told him her decision? It was very possible, he would walk out of her life forever. It could come to pass that as soon as the weather permitted, she would be back in North Uist without a husband to call her own.
When he entered the room, she let out a steadying breath.
Duncan’s gaze studied her and then he lowered into the chair opposite hers.
“Where did ye go?” Beatrice asked, mainly because she was curious.
After a pause, he replied, “To a cabin where I had lived when I first was freed. An old man cared for me and allowed me to live there for many months. As payment, I did work for him. He died while I was there this time.”
“Why did ye not think to tell me ye were so troubled?”
“I was fearful of yer reaction to seeing me in a crazed state. The idea that ye would possibly be in danger was worse than knowing I was hurting ye by leaving. Now, I realize that perhaps if I would have shared with ye, it would have helped.”
Her heart broke for him and once again grief for his stolen years enveloped her. Of course, he didn’t know how to share his emotions or how to properly deal with them. He’d had to face hardships and emotional times alone for so long.
“Duncan, if we are to remain together, I have demands. If ye cannot agree to them, then I will return to North Uist, alone.”
There was cautious hope in his expression. “Tell me.”
“If I return to the estate, ye and I will share the same bedchamber. We will have a chapel built for our own personal time of prayer and solace. Lastly, ye will promise to speak to me about how ye feel regularly and are not to become cross when I ask ye about it.”
His brows drew together. “I agree to yer demands. They are reasonable and ye are kinder than I deserve.”
“Stop saying things like that. Ye are not less deserving than anyone else. I cannot imagine what ye have been through. I am sure others who have gone through the same have ended up mad or unable to survive with the shadows of the past in their mind.”
“Can I stay here with ye tonight?”
Beatrice’s lips curved. He looked so forlorn. Her huge beastly husband was so vulnerable in that moment.
“Aye, of course.”
“Duncan?”
His gaze met hers waiting for what she’d say.
“Would ye kiss me please? I have missed ye so much.”
In an instant, he closed the distance and pulled her up and into his arms. Their mouths collided. There was no feeling like being in Duncan’s embrace. The familiar taste and smell of him overtaking her senses with so much force, it was as if being wrapped in warm comforting blankets.
Beatrice raked her fingers down his wide back, as she kissed him back with all her might. Then she slipped her hands under his tunic, running her palms up the uneven skin. Despite the scarring, he was warm and soft.
A gasp escaped at the caresses of the one area no one had ever touched in such a way and he responded by tugging her dress from her shoulders and pushing it down until it flowed to the floor.
Not to be outdone, Beatrice yanked his belt free and pulled the rough fabric of his tunic up. Duncan helped her by pulling it up over his head and dropping it down next to the dress. The breeches and boots followed, and both stood before one another completely undressed.
“Ye are beautiful,” Duncan said and moved closer.
When he lowered her onto the bed, she took him in. Duncan was a sight to behold, fully aroused and although a bit thinner still quite magnificent.
“Come to me,” she said, arms outstretched. “Show me how ye feel.”
The weight of his body over hers was perfect. Once again, they kissed, Beatrice threading her fingers through his hair. The calloused palms brought shivers of awareness as he slid them over every curve before cupping one breast and then the other.
Duncan’s uneven breathing made her own hitch. “I want ye so much,” he whispered in her ear. “I cannot wait.”
When he pushed her legs apart, cool air hit her moist sex and Beatrice gasped at how much desire burned in her. “Take me.”
Once settled between her legs, Duncan took himself in hand and guided himself to her entrance. The first nudge sent trails of heat up and down each leg. He pushed in, slowly, taking his time and allowing for adjustment to his girth.
Finally, fully seated, he pulled back out just enough for her to grab his bottom and pull. He drove in and once again filled her completely. Over and over, he slid in and out with measured slowness, driving her to madness.
When she could not stand it any longer and lifted her hips from the bed, Duncan increased his pace.
His hand slid under her hips and he lifted Beatrice off the bed to allow deeper access.
With each thrust and withdrawal, it sent them higher and further into a passionate release. Despite doing her best to remain in the moment Beatrice was spiraling and soon began to cry out as he drove fast and deeper until she lost all control.
Duncan’s deep grunts continued, past the point of awareness other than seeking release. His thrusts became swift. Too lost in her own passion, Beatrice couldn’t garner any energy to do more than lay under him.
When his mouth covered her breast and he took the tip in, sucking it hard, she cried out a second release threatening.
“Finish with me,” Duncan gasped, taking the other tip in, and pulling it with his teeth. It wasn’t gentle, but not painful either. There was an effect from his actions. Beatrice began to flail beneath him until she lost grasp of reality, floating above them, free as a bird.
Ten days later…
Beatrice hurried throughthe great room to the kitchen in search of Gara. The woman looked up from the pot she stirred when Beatrice entered. “What can I do for ye, Lady Beatrice?”
“I am most hungry this morning,” she explained. “Could I have toast and tea? Once Misters Duncan and Caelan rise then we will have first meal together.”
The woman gave her a warm look. “Ye have been very hungry since arriving. Are ye with child?”
The thought of it terrified her. Not the having children, those she badly wanted. It was the entire idea of birthing, not something she planned to go through anytime soon. “I certainly hope not,” she replied and then amended by stating. “Not so soon anyway.”
Gara nodded. “It is a beautiful experience, except for one day.” She laughed at her own joke and grinned. “Tea and toast will be brought shortly.”
Once seated in the great room, Beatrice considered the possibility of being with child. Unable to remember when her last monthly courses had been, she stood and paced the room. Surely, she must have had them since marrying. In her mind, she calculated the time since her courses had come and left and then began counting days until marrying Duncan.
“Oh no,” she whispered harshly.
“Is something wrong?” Duncan had entered and stood near the end of the table.
“I forgot yer mother and Isobel were coming tomorrow. I am not sure to have proper items for a good meal. I will have to travel to the village this morning.” It was true, however, that was not the reason she’d uttered the two words.
By the endof the day, Beatrice could barely stand keeping it to herself. There was no question, she was with child. Her mind swirled with astonishment and she giggled wondering what Duncan’s response would be. She wanted to inform Isobel and Lady Mariel the following day, so it was time to divulge the information to her husband.
When she slipped into the bed, he joined her and turning to his side, kissed her soundly. “I love ye in my bed every night.”
“Truth be told,” Beatrice replied. “This is my bed.”
“We could have remained in my bedroom. There is nothing wrong with it.” He nuzzled her neck. “Ye smell so good,” the husky murmurs sent shivers of awareness through her.
Beatrice brushed hair from his face and looked at him. “There is something ye have to know.”
“What is it?” Immediately he was tense, expecting bad news.
Lips curving, Beatrice teased him, “I think it is good, but ye will have to tell me what ye think. Ye and I will be parents by late spring.”
The room went absolutely silent, only the sound of the wood cracking in the fire. It was as if the air left.
Duncan lowered his head and buried his face into her shoulder.
“What is it darling? Are ye crying?” Beatrice lifted his face and looked at his wet cheeks. “I love ye so much.”
“I love ye,” Duncan replied and once again hid his face. “Thank ye for making me a full man. Bringing happiness to my life.”
Overwhelmed with love for him, Beatrice wrapped her arms around him and let out a shaky breath.
“Ye make me happy as well.”
When he exhaled fully, Beatrice realized it was the first time he was so relaxed in her presence. Duncan let go of whatever held him back, his body going limp in surrender.
The healing power of love had begun its work.
Early Spring 1602
Stuart’s steed prancedas he rode toward where the Maclean men were housed.
“Stop it,” Stuart said to the horse who paid him no heed. He gritted his teeth, the animal seemed to be in some sort of mood. “War horses do not prance,” Stuart muttered.
A chuckle came from somewhere between the trees. Whoever it was must have overheard him.
“Who is there?” Stuart said with a firm a voice as he could muster without scaring whoever it was away.
“It is I Mister Stuart,” A willowy young woman appeared. She wore the distinct clothing of someone of little means. A drab, but very clean dress, over it a tidy apron. Her hair was covered with a kerchief, pulling her hair back from her pretty face.
“I apologize. I overheard ye scolding yer horse,” she said, her wide eyes meeting his. Her eyes were a light brown, framed with long lashes.
“Cait.”
She was familiar to him; he’d seen her about the keep lately. “What are ye doing so far from the keep?”
Cait blinked and swallowed nervously. “I am snaring rabbits for my mother and younger brother. I have the Laird’s permission,” she quickly added, holding up a dead hare.
Untying his bow from the saddle, he then pulled an arrow from the quiver. Cait paled, her eyes not leaving his face.
Pulling back, he released the arrow into nearby bushes. “Now ye have two.”
“Thank ye,” she stuttered turning to where he’d shot.
Stuart nodded. “Be with care, Cait.”
He urged his horse forward but couldn’t help looking over his shoulder to see what the woman did.
Cait remained standing and lifted a hand in farewell.
Interesting that he’d never noticed before how beautiful she was.
The saga continues with Stuart and Cait’s story, The Eagle.
