Highlander’s Evil Side by Shona Thompson

Chapter Fifteen

Beitris

Beitris paced back and forth in her room, wondering what was taking so long. The sun was already beginning to set. She tried to sit down, tried to read a book to keep her mind from journeying into dark thoughts, but nothing could calm her. Her mind wandered into the darkness, imagining Fraser falling from his horse, his head injury getting the better of him, his men not knowing what to do. She imagined him helping his people, putting out the fires and breathing in too much smoke, his body giving out. Her hands shook as she imagined the brigands from the falls, wondering if they were lurking behind the barns, the cottages, waiting to attack.

A sound pierced through the air, sounding like a horse whining over the storm. It was accompanied by shouts, the wail of a baby, the pattering of rain, all drawing Beitris to the window. She pushed the drapes away, leaning her head out the window. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the figures moving along the path. The clouds were low, covering the minimal light the sun was providing. Rain blurred her vision. Her mouth gaped open when she was finally able to make sense of the vision before her. Her eyes widened on the large line of women, elderly men, and children following the MacClery soldiers towards the castle. She turned towards the west, the smoke dying out, but she could still smell ash lingering in the air mixed with rain drizzling down on her head.

“What happened?” Beitris whispered, withdrawing from the window and striding towards the door.

She needed to speak with someone, but she didn’t know who. Fraser was gone, and he took the only guards she knew. Helga would know; however, Beitris paced back and forth, wondering if she should go to the maids and ask them for information. She didn’t want to bother the elder lady, given she was most probably busy.

Beitris strode down the hall in search of a maid to ask. They would assuredly know what happened and if Fraser had returned in good health. Her feet took her further into the darkness, her eyes straining in the dim lighting as she searched for someone to speak with.

Her step slowed as she heard voices wafting into the hall. Light spilled through the open door while shadows played against the wall. Beitris pressed herself against the corridor, tiptoeing forward while she listened to the voices.

“When is the wedding date?” asked a man, his voice gruff, stern.

Beitris’s eyes widened. She knew that voice. It was the voice that calmed her hours before. Yet, it was different, with a bitter tinge, unlike the kindness she was used to hearing. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she straightened from the wall and continued forward.

“I-I do not know.”

Helga’s voice, Beitris realized. “We have not had the time to discuss. So much has happened.” Beitris frowned. Why were they discussing the wedding when a village and their crops were destroyed by fire?

Beitris inhaled deeply, gaining her resolve, her courage. A small voice in the back of her head told her to run, to return to her rooms, but curiosity got the better of her. She needed to know who Helga was speaking with.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Beitris shakily peaked around the corner, looking through the ajar door. She frowned, finding Helga standing in the middle of the room. Candles decorated the tables, the chairs, making the room glimmer with light. However, Helga’s form looked shriveled, worn out, and broken. Her shoulders were slumped, her head bowed while she clasped her hands. She was shivering, either with cold or fear.

Beitris’s gaze swiveled, and her eyes widened on the man towering over Helga. He was clean. His dark leine was unwrinkled and hugged his broad chest. It covered his arms, ending at his wrists. His blue eyes stared cruelly down at Helga, as if he hated her, as if he loathed her very existence. Beitris gasped, taking a step back.

Those blue eyes lifted, narrowing on her.

That was not any man, Beitris realized, her back straightening as he stalked towards her, throwing the door open. It was Fraser. But how? The soldiers were still leading the people into the fortress. How did Fraser return so quickly? And his head. Beitris blinked, wondering if she was seeing right. His injury was gone. There was no wound in sight, as if she simply imagined him being harmed before. His skin seemed paler, lacking the warmth the sun had brought him as if he had spent long and cold summers in the highlands rather than in France. Beitris shivered, watching his lips twist into a brutish smile, his eyes shifting from hate to something entirely different—something that made her skin crawl and her insides twist.

“Beitris,” he breathed, leaning against the threshold, his hair falling forward, covering his pristine forehead. “What brings ye here?”

“My-my laird.” Beitris grimaced. She hated the fear in her voice, how it shook. “I was worried about the villagers, about ye. I wanted to know if anything could be done to help.” Fraser’s bitter smile widened, his hand reaching, grabbing her wrist roughly, and dragging her forward.

His other hand grabbed her chin, forcefully lifting it up to meet his gaze. His nose was nearly touching hers. The smell of ale nauseated her senses. She struggled, but his hold tightened. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, his nose lightly nuzzling hers. He breathed her in, a soft moan escaping his lips.

Beitris gasped. This was not her Fraser. This was not the man who had touched her in the falls. She remembered the forceful nature—the stench of ale. The memory of that garden shrouded in darkness and those cold blue eyes staring down at her flashed in her mind.

“Thank ye for yer concern, my lady.”

Beitris frowned. His words were kind, yet his tone was bitter, almost angry. He spat ‘my lady’ as if he hated the words, but there was no hate in his gaze. His eyes roved over her, dipping to her breasts, her lips, before meeting her stare once more. She shuddered, feeling no warmth, only sheer lust and the need to dominate.

This was not her Fraser.

“It’s not a woman’s place to worry about such things,” he said with a bitter chuckle.

Tears came to her eyes. She felt as if he smacked her. His words were so cruel. He had never treated her like this before. Was she beginning to see the man behind the mask? Was this truly who Fraser was?

“Ye should scurry back to yer rooms, my lady, and leave me, yer laird, to worry about the goings-on of the castle.”

Beitris swallowed the pain building within her. She blinked back her tears, her sorrow changing to anger. “Aye, my laird,” she choked out, knowing that is all she could do.

“Good lass.”

Beitris waited for him to let her go, but his hand remained on her wrist, her chin. His lips parted, a breath escaping them. Before she could slip away, his mouth slammed down on hers. She whimpered, stepping away from him, desperate to break away from the kiss, but his hold on her wrist tightened, becoming painful. Her hand shook, trying to shake him away. The pain was too much. She gasped, and his tongue entered her, sliding down her throat. His hand slipped from her chin and wrapped around her waist. He growled low in his throat, his body rubbing against hers as if she was nothing but an item for him to use.

“Stop,” she gasped when his mouth moved from her lips to her neck. She tapped at his broad shoulders. His hands were crushing her to him.

Beitris’s eyes widened on Helga, standing in the middle of the room, her gaze on the floor. Did she not see what her son was doing? Or was she simply too terrified to help?

“Stop,” Beitris said, louder this time, shoving his shoulders away from her.

Fraser released her, and she stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall hard. He chuckled, leaning against the door frame, watching her lustfully. His tongue licked his lips. “Until the wedding night, then,” he said darkly before turning away and kicking the door closed.

Beitris clutched her chest. Her heart slammed within her. She could hear the pounding of it in her ears. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she inhaled deeply, trying to reclaim her breath. She didn’t understand. That was not the man who took her to the falls. That was not the man who built her bookshelves and guarded her door.

“Ye deserve to be kissed softly,” she recalled Fraser’s soft words from the falls. “To feel wanted and needed and loved, to feel joy knowing someone cares for ye. It should never be forced.”

Beitris pressed her face into her hands, swallowing her cries. Where was her Fraser? She wanted to scream; she didn’t want to believe this was real.

Beitris bit back a sob. Her brows tented into a grimace as she held back her cries. She smoothed her hands over her dress. Her wrist ached. She clutched it, wondering if it would bruise. In the morn, she would have the healer look at it. All she wanted to do was fall into her bed and pretend this all was a very dark nightmare. Her strides quickened, and she picked up her skirts, running back to her rooms. She would lock her door this night.

Beitris gasped as a sob racked her shoulders. Images flashed before her, recalling the way her first kiss was stolen from her. The man standing in front of her kissed her the same way. His touch had been harsh and ungentle. He ignored her cries. His very aura made her feel as if spiders were crawling across her skin.

But this was not the same Fraser from the falls.

The Fraser from the morn was gentle. His blue eyes had watched her with adoration and interest. Their kiss was soft, passionate, loving. He had stirred something within her, making her desire for more of him.

Where had he gone?she wondered. Where was her Fraser?

Beitris couldn’t marry the man she met moments before, with his cruel gaze and bitter smirk. She did not know this man. One moment he was kind, and the next moment he was dominating and terrifying. How would she ever be able to live happily when she did not know which Fraser she would get? Was he mad? Had something happened to him when he was a young lad for him to become this way?

Beitris was too exhausted to think anymore on the matter. She would write to her father after tending to her wrist in the morn. If her father wouldn’t see reason, she would run to Hendry. He would help her. She knew he would. Hendry would never let anything terrible happen to her.

She opened her door, pausing at the threshold. A man sat on the edge of her bed—a man with bloodshot blue eyes and dark hair. The injury on his head stared back at her. The blood now scabbed over. Dirt smudged his face, his hands, and his clothes. Water dripped from his hair as he slowly rose, stumbling towards her.

“Beitris,” Fraser whispered, his arms reaching for her.

Beitris gasped. “H-how?” she croaked. “H-how are ye here, Fraser?” Beitris shuddered as she looked over her shoulder, staring down the corridor she just came from. She could no longer control her body. She felt it slipping to the floor, her knees knocking against the stone. “When ye were there?” She clutched her head, feeling it ache behind her eyes, the pain ebbing into her temples. Hands touched her shoulders gently, and she jerked away from Fraser, watching as he kneeled before her.

“It’s alright, Beitris,” he whispered while wrapping his arms around her. “I’m here now.”

“Nae!” Beitris shouted, shoving him away. She scrambled away from him, her eyes wide and filled with terror. “Nae! Ye were with yer mother. Ye were cleaned and bandaged.”

Fraser tilted his head, confusion furrowing his brow. “I was here?”

Beitris nodded vigorously, her hands grabbing for the door, using the handle to pull herself up. “Are ye trying to make me mad?” she sobbed, tears spilling from her eyes.

“Beitris,” Fraser whispered, reaching for her once more.

“Nae, stay away from me!” she shouted.

“I am me, Beitris,” this Fraser insisted.

Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes grimacing as she tried to hold back her tears. This is the Fraser she wanted, the one who listened to her, the one who cared for her. He wasn’t trying to grab her; he wasn’t trying to force her to do something she didn’t wish for herself. This Fraser didn’t close the distance between them, didn’t grab her and drag her towards him.

Beitris released a sob, placing her face in her hands. “I don’t understand,” she gasped, her shoulders shaking with each sob escaping her. “I don’t understand.”