The Beast by Hildie McQueen
Chapter Four
Despite not having to ride far in the rain, by the time they came to the dilapidated house, Beatrice was soaked through and shivering.
After pulling the horses to a covered area, Beatrice watched as Duncan pushed a door open. Thankfully with him along, she felt safe to enter what looked to be a rather intimidating place.
The air was musty, but thankfully the room was dry. There was a fireplace, and Duncan hurried out to find some kindling to build a fire to warm up and dry their clothes with.
It was only a few moments later that a cheery fire burned in the hearth and both Beatrice and Duncan hovered close to it, holding their hands out. He’d taken a branch and cut off the smaller twigs and leaves then fashioned it between a broken chair and a table so that Beatrice could hang her cloak on it to dry. Unfortunately, her dress was wet as well, so she stood by the fire hoping the heat would dry most of the wetness away.
“I am not sure how long the rain will continue,” Duncan said unfolding a plaid he’d brought and kept in a bag on his saddle. “Ye can undress and wrap in this so that we can attempt to dry yer clothes. I will go see about the horses.”
He handed her the plaid and walked out into the rain before Beatrice could stop him. He could have just gone to the opposite side of the room and turned his back, now the man would return soaked.
It was best to hurry, so she removed her wet dress and shift and wrapped the plaid around her waist, and expertly pulled the front and back up to tie at the shoulders making a dress that covered her well. The fabric fell from the knots to cover her arms and the bottom of it fell to her ankles.
Makeshift dress completed, she rushed to the door. “Duncan, please come inside.” Her voice got lost with the storm. But just a moment later, he appeared from the back of the house drenched.
“I pulled the horses into a back room. They will be dry there.” He took in her appearance with a look of approval that made her insides giddy. “This is not the first time ye have had to wear a plaid to cover up.”
Beatrice huffed at the implication. “My mother taught us how after trips to the seaside. Often our clothing ended up wet or dirty. It is a necessary trick for women of the isles.”
With a nod, he brushed past to near the fire. Beatrice did her best to ignore how the wet tunic clung to his muscular back and arms.
After draping her gown and other clothes to dry, Beatrice settled on the floor on a makeshift pallet that had already been in the room that Duncan draped his bag from the saddle atop. He sat on a stool and stared into the fire in silence.
Beatrice wasn’t sure what she could say about the situation. It was all her fault of course and now if someone found out they were alone, in a building with her undressed, the consequences could be high. She studied the quiet man for a moment, unsure how to begin the uncomfortable conversation.
Seeming to sense her regard he looked to her. “Ye want to say something, but struggle? Somehow I find it hard to believe.”
He joked. At a time like this. It could be he had not realized the predicament she’d put them in. Yes, that had to be it. If she brought it up, then how would he react?
“It is just that… well, I have put ye into yet another situation.” Beatrice let out a breath. “Please forgive me.”
He frowned. “The storm will pass, and we will be on our way. It is still early in the day. I am sure it will stop raining before dark.”
Did he think her scared of the storm? “Ye are aware that if it does not, and it is found out we spent time here alone, the consequences could be dire?”
“No one will ever dictate to me what I must do,” he replied with nonchalance. “Ye should stop worrying yerself and rest.”
Beatrice huffed. “I do not need to rest. I am perfectly rested, I assure ye. I will have to insist that ye take our situation with more seriousness.”
A soft soundstirred Beatrice and she woke with a start. She’d fallen asleep curled up on the pallet. With a gasp, she sat up. Outside the rain continued and it was quite worrisome. However, what was worse was that it was dark outside.
Night had come and they were still in the abandoned house.
Alone. Together.
“Duncan?” She blinked at the fire first and then around the room. He was not there. Beatrice gasped again. Had he waited for her to fall asleep and then left? She jumped to her feet and ran to the door. When she opened it, the cold rain made her step backward and she closed the door.
Where had the man gone? Surely he’d not left her alone to be found by bad men, who could bring her harm.
She crossed her arms as anger surged. “He will pay for this.” Hurrying to where her dress hung, she felt it and was relieved to find it fully dry. Her shift was dry as well. Beatrice untied the plaid and let it fall to the floor, then standing before the fire fully bare, she grabbed the shift from the branch, turned toward the fire, and gasped.
Duncan sat on the stool, back to the wall, his gaze moving over her body.
“Ahhh!” Beatrice held the flimsy shift in front of herself and screamed. “Why did ye not make noise to tell me ye were there?”
“I thought ye saw me,” he replied and once again gave her the once-over. “Why are ye angry?”
Beatrice sputtered, “I-I, ye… ye’re here and I am undressed.”
A frown was followed by a shrug. It occurred to Beatrice that he did not seem at all surprised nor discomfited by her nudity. If anything, she would have expected him to attempt something, to make advances. Instead, he remained sitting and looked at her as if were an everyday occurrence.
“Turn yer head,” she finally spat. “I cannot believe this.”
He turned and she quickly pulled her shift over her head allowing the folds to fall past her hips and down to her knees. When she looked over to him, Duncan had his head turned away, but his eyes where still on her.
“Ye are looking.” She stomped to where he was and hit him on the shoulder as hard as she could. “How dare ye.”
To her further annoyance, he grunted and gave her a bland look. “How could I not?”
Beatrice was at a loss for words. In truth, if the roles were reversed, she would definitely be watching him. She’d never seen a man fully bereft of clothing. However, she suspected the man in the room had seen more than his fair share.
Instead of arguing further, she went back to where her clothes were and continued to get dressed. “We should head back to the keep. Everyone must be worried sick.”
He pointed to the ceiling. “It’s still storming. I am hopeful it will lessen enough at sunrise that we can continue there.”
“Do ye realize the implications if it is found out that we spent the night together all alone?” Beatrice fumbled with the ties of her bodice and gave up. At this point what did propriety matter, the man had seen her fully naked. “My family would demand ye marry me immediately.”
“We will not tell them then,” Duncan said, and for some reason it stung that he did not wish to marry her. There was nothing about a marriage between them that would be so horrible. The families were already tied, she would be able to spend time with her sister and best of all, not have to marry a MacLeod and live in the frozen north.
She let out an annoyed sigh and lowered back to the pallet. “And how do ye plan to explain us appearing at the keep together?”
“Ye left my house, without telling me. I was on my way to the keep and happened upon ye.”
His explanation had merit. After all, she was resourceful enough to have found an abandoned place to spend the night. In reality, she would have continued riding through the rain, ended up lost, and probably have caught her death from the cold. It was best not to think on that alternate outcome.
“Fine. I agree to that explanation.” Outside the rain continued to fall. By the sound of it, the storm was lessening. Beatrice decided to rest until they left, so she pulled the plaid over her and snuggled into it.
She looked to Duncan. “Who do ye plan to marry one day?”
There was a hardening to his expression. “I do not plan to marry—ever.”
“Ye must wish to have bairns and a wife to care for ye.”
“Nay.”
Beatrice sat up. She’d never met someone who planned to end up alone. “What about when ye grow old? Ye will be alone.”
He gave her a droll look. “I have six siblings. They will marry and have children. Surely one of their offspring will look after an old uncle.” His response was flat as if he didn’t believe it. How sad that someone would give up on life and all that it might bring and expect to end their time here alone.
“Ye are still young. There is time to change yer mind,” Beatrice told him, more to make herself feel better than for his benefit.
“Why are ye avoiding returning to North Uist?”
Lifting to sit, Beatrice considered her answer. “I do not wish to be used as an object, to be traded to a man in exchange for some sort of agreement between clans. My father plans to marry me off to a MacLeod. I prefer to choose my own husband.”
“Ye have known all yer life it was not a possibility,” Duncan told her what she already knew. “Why rebel?”
“Because I have to. Ye of all people should see that. I wish to marry a man I admire and am attracted to. Someone who I can share how I feel and who listens to me. Truly listens. I imagine the MacLeod’s to be much the same as most men.”
Duncan shrugged. “I am sure they too have been groomed to marry someone that is chosen for them and perhaps have accepted it.”
For some reason, sadness enveloped her and Beatrice closed her eyes as tears threatened. “I wish that things were different, but I cannot change my future. I cannot be a disappointment to my parents. Yer right. I should just accept my lot.” She wiped at a tear and drew in a ragged breath.
“Are ye crying?” Duncan leaned forward and studied her face.
“No,” Beatrice lied. “Smoke from the fire got in my eyes.” Once again, she settled onto the pallet and in her mind pictured that the abandoned house was where she and Duncan lived. She imagined where she’d place furniture and that they often had long conversations before retiring for the evening.
He would envelop her in his strong arms at night and keep her safe from the outside world. Nothing or no one would dare interrupt their life.
“Ye will be well,” Duncan said lowering next to her and pulling her against his chest.
It was then Beatrice realized she’d been sobbing. His actions only made her cry harder in the knowledge that once her mother arrived, she would return home and be quickly married off. Her freedom and life would be forever changed.
Duncan was silent. He didn’t try to soothe or calm her, but his quiet strength gave Beatrice comfort, and she finally stopped the tears.
“Thank ye,” she whispered and let out a shaky sigh. “I know what I must do and will return home once my mother arrives.” Instead of moving away, she snuggled against his warm body and promptly fell asleep.
Duncan had neverheld a woman while she slept. The few times he’d been intimate had been a fast interlude. A quick pulling up of skirts and lowering of breeches, no romance, only physical release.
The picture of Beatrice’s body was singed in his mind. He’d never seen a woman fully bereft of clothing and now he was sure he had seen perfection. Her breathtaking beauty stealing his breath and leaving him unable to warn her of his presence.
Her creamy skin didn’t contain a single blemish or mark, and her breasts were pert, with dark pink tips. She had a slender waist that flared out slightly to hips, which led down to legs that were delicate like her. He’d caught sight of the patch of dark blond hair at the apex of her sex, a place that claimed his attention and caused an immediate reaction.
When she stirred,he inhaled her hair feeling out of place while holding the slight woman against his large, scarred body. Someone like her should not find comfort in the likes of him. He was unclean, not just physically, but internally as well.
Beatrice was to marry a MacLeod. He tried to picture the brothers. It had been years since he’d seen either of them at a competition. From what he recalled, the youngest was a rather large man. He’d competed against Duncan in the caber toss. But other than a few words, he’d not spent much time with him.
The eldest he recalled a bit better. He’d become drunk and gotten into a brawl during the festivities. It had taken several men to pull him off the man he was beating. He hoped Beatrice would not be marrying him and be subjected to his horrible temper.
It was hard to imagine the beauty in his arms married to either man. Neither deserved someone like her. Beatrice deserved a man who would allow her freedom to explore. With an impulsive nature, she would always be getting into situations, so the beauty did have to be kept protected, but not so much to hinder her adventurous spirit.
If he could, he would marry her just to set her free to be and do as she wished.
If only he could.
However, the beast within would never allow it. A relationship of any kind could only bring disastrous results. And he could never subject anyone, especially not someone as special as Beatrice Macdonald to it.
