Highlander’s Evil Side by Shona Thompson
Chapter Thirteen
Beitris
Beitris shuddered as the wind blew past, and she leaned further into the shawl Scott offered her, further into Fraser’s touch. She sat in front of Fraser, too exhausted to ride on her own. Fearing for Fraser’s life and nearly being taken by the brigand had left her numb, and Fraser worried she would fall off her horse if she were to ride on her own.
She glanced over her shoulder, finding Kenneth pulling her horse behind him. Dark clouds marred the sky, threatening to rain as the wind picked up in speed and strength. Fraser pulled the shawl against her, rubbing her arm slightly. At his touch, she glanced up at him, her gaze lingering on the wound on his head.
“Ye need a healer,” she said without thinking, her frown deepening as she noticed his unusual pallor.
“I’ll be fine,” Fraser said gruffly.
Beitris shook her head. “Ye look terrible.”
Fraser smiled, but she knew it was forced, knew he was putting on a show so she wouldn’t worry for him. “I don’t think the other lasses would agree with ye.”
Beitris scoffed, turning around so she could roll her eyes. “Perhaps yer head was hit too hard, my laird,” she said, smiling despite the situation they found themselves in. “I could hit ye again to right it.”
Fraser chuckled. “How kind of ye to think of my wee head, but I assure ye, my lady, I’m fine.” His palm pressed against her head, and she leaned into the warmth, her eyes fluttering closed as she enjoyed his proximity. “‘Tis ye I worry more for. Can’t have ye catching the cough when I promised yer father I would ensure yer care.”
Beitris sighed. Her eyes opened as his hand slipped away from her forehead. “Ye did ensure my safety, Fraser,” she whispered. “And I wish to ensure yers. I insist ye see a healer when we return.”
His silence did nothing to assuage her worry. She watched the portcullis rise, waiting for his reply, yet all she received was the subtle clip-clop of the horse and shouts from the soldiers guarding the wall. Her brows settled into a dark scowl as they approached the keep. She wished Fraser would listen to her, that he would take note of her worry. She felt daft for wanting to send the guards away. Thankfully, they hadn’t been too far when the brigands attacked. It still had been enough time for the men to harm Fraser and nearly take her. She only wanted to learn more about Fraser, get to know her future husband. However, her father had only left the other day to tend to brigands. Of course, the MacClery lands were tormented by similar troubles as the Gordons.
Her moment of foolishness nearly killed Fraser. She ground her teeth as memories flashed of the leader striking Fraser, their blades clashing together, how she jumped into the water to save herself. She should have fought harder. She should have kept her shoes on in order to run faster. Why had she taken them off in the first place? She should have smacked the leader when he touched her. Why did she close her eyes? Why hadn’t she done more to help?
She could have done much more to help Fraser, Beitris told herself, tears burning her gaze as she scowled at her lap.
Her body shivered in the cold. She felt her hair dripping into her soaked clothes. It was difficult to breathe. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her head felt both hot and cold as if she was coming down with fever. Her vision blurred, and all she could see were the events repeating themselves over and over in her mind. She couldn't stop thinking of those hateful eyes gazing at her and Fraser or the way the man had touched her. Just remembering his embrace made her skin crawl and bile rise in her throat.
Fraser dismounted, and Beitris turned towards him, keeping her gaze fastened to her lap as she grabbed his outstretched arms. She slipped from the horse, her feet bracing to meet the ground. Briefly, she wondered if she would even be able to stand. Her legs wouldn’t stop quivering. Fraser cradled her close to his body, his arm holding her legs while he stepped away from his horse.
“My laird,” Beitris whispered, her face flushing in embarrassment as he carried her. “I’m able to walk. Ye don’t need—”
“I insist,” said Fraser, stroking her soaked hair away from her face. “Let me care for ye, Beitris.”
Beitris wanted to be strong, to fight him, but her body relaxed into his hold. She was too exhausted. He continued stroking her cheek and hair as they walked through the courtyard and towards the keep.
“My laird,” greeted several maids in unison as they rushed forward.
“Get a fire going,” Fraser commanded, his gaze focused on Beitris. His brows tented while his eyes searched her face for something. “The lady will need warm blankets and fresh garments.”
“Of course, my laird,” said the servants before rushing to retrieve the items.
Beitris grimaced as Fraser carried her towards the great hall. A fireplace sat in the main wall across from the long rows of tables and near the kitchen door. Two servants kneeled before it, striking stones while casting worried glances her way.
Beitris groaned. Her mind still flashed with memories. She could feel the brigand touching her, his breath on her face. A whimper escaped her lips, and she clamped her eyes closed, nuzzling her face into Fraser’s chest while she tried to push the images from her mind.
“‘Tis alright, Beitris,” said Fraser softly, his hand stroking the back of her head. “Yer safe now. Yer home. I’m here with ye.”
She shivered. Tears trickled down her face. She tried to will them away, but they wouldn’t stop. A sob escaped her as she recalled the leader striking Fraser’s head. She recalled the blood, the fear, the thought that he would die. Her hands clutched him while another sob took over her.
“Beitris,” Fraser whispered into her ear, lowering their bodies into a chair in front of the fireplace. “Yer alright, Beitris.”
“Ye could have died,” Beitris whispered.
“But I didn’t.”
“I should have done more.”
Fraser pulled away from her, grabbing her chin with his thumb and finger and gently lifting her up to meet his gaze. “Ye did more than enough.” He smiled softly at her, his nose nuzzling hers. “Ye were fierce and strong.”
Beitris’s bottom lip quivered, and she ground her teeth to keep another sob from surfacing. “Ye must see a healer.”
Fraser pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers moving to stroke her cheek. “I will speak with a healer as soon as I can,” he whispered.
Beitris reached up, stroking his wound lightly with the tips of her fingers. She sniffed, stifling her anguish as she watched his face contort into a painful grimace.
“Fraser, yer back so soon.”
Beitris turned, seeing Helga striding into the hall, worry tenting her brows while she clutched at her shawl. The elder Lady MacClery looked around as if searching for something or someone. Her eyes widened when she turned her weary gaze on her son, lingering on the injury to his head.
“Yer injured,” Helga breathed. “Were ye attacked?” she asked, louder this time.
Fraser winced. “I will be fine, Mother. ‘Tis only a scratch, I assure ye.”
Beitris held her sigh. It wasn’t only a scratch. She knew of men getting struck in the head and dying in the night and worried the same would happen to Fraser. It could be much more than a simple cut.
“My laird,” said a servant, running into the hall while carrying several thick brown blankets in her arms. Without a word, she bowed her head and offered them to him.
Beitris heard flickering and turned away from Helga, watching as the fire caught to the wood. Blankets were thrown over her form, and she nuzzled into Fraser’s arms, enjoying the warmth settling into her frigid skin.
“Prepare a hot bath for the lady when yer able,” said Fraser as the servant slowly backed away.
She nodded briskly before turning on her heel.
Helga stepped in front of them, wringing her hands while glancing between Beitris and Fraser. There was pain and worry written on her face. She reached towards Beitris, pressing a hand against her chilled cheek. Beitris bit back a hiss. The elder woman’s hand was just as icy as the water she jumped into.
Helga’s mouth opened, but she shook her head, quickly withdrawing from the couple. She cleared her throat and turned around, her back facing Beitris as she said, “I will ensure Beitris is properly changed. Why don’t ye go to the healer, Fraser?”
Beitris moved to slide from his lap, but Fraser seized her hand, pulling her closer towards him. A spark ignited deep within her, reminded of how he held her, how he kissed her. Her gaze slipped to his parted lips, and she shivered when she lifted her gaze, sensing his thoughts had also returned to that time moments before the brigands attacked.
“Would ye care to—” Fraser started.
“My laird!”
Fraser turned towards the sound, and Beitris followed his gaze, watching as a soldier rushed into the hall. His breathing came out in pants, his eyes wide with worry. “My laird,” he said, stopping a foot before them and bowing low. “There has been an attack. The villages in the west. They call for aid.”
Fraser straightened. “What happened?” he asked sternly, sliding out from underneath Beitris and gently helping her into the chair. “Where’s the rider? The village elder?”
The soldier shook his head. “Nae one came, my laird. We’ve seen the fires from the tower.”
“Fires,” Beitris breathed, fear making her shiver and burrow within her blankets.
“If we do not go now, we may lose the whole of their crops.”
Fraser turned away from her, following the soldier out of the hall. Beitris’s legs wobbled as she stood. They had only just returned. She couldn’t let him go when he needed to see a healer.
“Fraser,” she called, wincing as she stumbled forward, trying to catch up to him. “Can it not wait an hour?” Tears sprung to her eyes when Fraser didn’t turn around. “Fraser, yer injured. Ye need to see a healer.”
“Beitris, ye mustn’t,” she heard Helga call after her, but no one could stop her.
She needed to keep Fraser safe.
Beitris followed him out of the keep, stumbling to keep up with his brisk pace. “Fraser!” she shouted, watching him grab the reins and tug his horse towards the gate. “Fraser, stop! Ye must wait until the healer has a look at ye.”
Her heart stalled as she found a man watching from the corner of the courtyard, shrouded in a dark cloak casting his face in darkness. She could only make out blue eyes watching her, chilling her insides and making the hair on the back of her neck rise.
Beitris frowned. She recognized that gaze, but from where? She clenched her jaw, infuriated she couldn’t place them. Her hands shook as she desperately searched her memories, needing to know why and how she knew those eyes.
Fraser sighed, drawing her attention back to him. She watched him turn around, hope seizing her. Perhaps he saw reason; he was listening to her words. He released the reins and stepped towards her. Beitris blinked up at him as he pulled the blankets around her and stroked her cheek. “It will have to wait,” he said gently. “We cannot lose those crops. The whole of the clan depends on that village.”
“The clan depends on ye.” Beitris’s hands fisted, angry that Fraser wasn’t thinking about his health. His gaze shifted away from her, making her even more frustrated. Where was the man from before, the man who wished to listen to her? Had he suddenly disappeared? “I’m going with.”
Fraser's gaze lifted, his eyes widening as if she had just told him she was going into battle. “Nae, Beitris, ye must remain here.”
Beitris shook her head adamantly. “Nae, I want to go with ye. What if something happens?”
Fraser nodded. “Exactly, what if something happens to ye?” He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, Beitris, which is why I need ye to remain here, with my mother.”
Beitris clenched her jaw, scowling back at him. “I can take care of myself. I can help ye. These are soon to be my people, too.”
“I can’t permit ye to do that.” Fraser sighed. “I need ye here, Beitris, away from danger. I need to know that yer safe.”
Beitris tugged her hand from his, taking a step away from him. After everything they had been through together, he didn’t want her by his side, aiding him in leading his clan. Her heart twinged, taking another step away from him. He saw her as weak, nothing more than a decorative item.
Fraser wasn’t much different than the other men she met, she realized.
“Fine,” she said, turning on her heel and stalking past Helga and into the keep.
“Beitris, wait!” Fraser called, but she refused to stop. She felt her hand being grabbed, and she whirled around, unsurprised when she met Fraser’s gaze.
“How can ye not understand?” she asked angrily. “We were just attacked by brigands and now with the villages to the west.” She shook her head, hating the way her voice cracked. “Too much has happened.”
“I know,” said Fraser, resting both hands on her shoulders. “I do not want to leave ye, Beitris, but I must. I need to take care of my people. I am the laird. They rely on me.”
Beitris pushed his hand away, tears spilling from her eyes while she stepped away from him. “Then go, if ye must.”
“Beitris.” Fraser stepped towards her. “Staying here is the safest place for ye. Ye have already done so much for me. Too much.”
Beitris shook her head and spun around, bursting into a run. She didn’t stop until she was at her chambers, flinging the door open. Her anger paused as her gaze met the shelves nailed into the wall, her books resting on the thick slats of wood, staring back at her.
Beitris’s legs gave out. Her knees struck the floor, and she covered her face, allowing the turmoil from the day to take control of her. She sobbed into her hands, allowing the tears to come forth and the worry to shudder through her.
Fraser was injured, and she feared for his life. He needed someone by his side, taking care of him, ensuring his safety. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean she couldn’t help. She pushed herself off the floor and stumbled towards the window. Wiping away her tears, she watched Fraser lead his men out of the gates, taking with him Scott, Kenneth, Gavin, and a few others. He needed a healer. Hopefully, his men would realize that. Hopefully, they would look out for him, care for his wound.
“Do not fret, child.”
Beitris flinched. She turned, finding Helga standing at the threshold, watching Beitris with a distant look.
“He will be back sooner than ye think.”
Beitris frowned, watching Helga turn away. Her faint footsteps echoed through the hall, wafting towards Beitris. Confusion made her pain and worry worsen. How could Helga have so much faith in her son? She knew he was injured. Even she told him to see a healer. How does she know her son will come back alive? Beitris wondered, an eerie shiver running down her spine as she turned back to the window.
