Page 17 of Highlander’s False Identity

Pulling away from the girl had been the hardest thing. All the same, with his father’s spies milling around, it seemed the wisest course of action.

Married! He still could not believe the casual way his father had just announced that he and Edme’s father had drawn up plans for their betrothal.

The news had unleashed a maelstrom of emotion within him, confusing and astounding him in turn.

As he watched her go, her blonde hair swaying lightly in the chilly breeze that made its way through the keep, Beathan tried hard to get a grip on himself. So many conflicting feelings were flying around. On the one hand, he was crazily attracted to this outspoken maid, but on the other, he had never entertained thoughts of marriage and didn’t think he was ready to start now.

And then all the other thoughts that encircled his mind gnawed at him. What was her true intent? Was she straight with him- with them all? He could not forget the way they had met, after all, with her repeated attempts to rob him. Were these the actions of an innocent woman? He wasn’t sure.

“Beathan?” Edme called, from somewhere in the distance. Beathan looked up. He could see that McCredie was already there, keeping a tentative eye on the maid, but that his presence was needed.

Reluctantly, Beathan dragged his wildly beating heart back into his chest and tried to resume command of himself. “Coming,” he said, before finally following them down the corridor.

Old man McCredie had his arm firmly around the girl’s arm and was frog-marching her along. Something deep inside Beathan growled, and smoothing himself down, he darted over.

“That’s alright, McCredie, I can take it from here,” he said.

The old man shrugged, before slinking back into the shadows.

“Come on,” Beathan said, taking her by the arm. “The kitchens are this way.”

It was not long before they rounded the corner to the scullery, which led into the main kitchen of the keep. Beathan noted that Edme seemed to have fallen silent, which was not like her.

He led her by the hand, by the pots and pans, and enormous range, which formed the bedrock of the kitchen.

“Here,” he said, peering into the larder and pulling out a joint of lamb.

Edme almost ripped the cut of meat from his hands, as Beathan looked on. He watched as she ate hungrily. She attacked the food with a fervor, while managing to retain a modicum of elegance.

He poured her a generous mug of cold ale from the castle’s storeroom and joined her in a toast.

“To yer father,” he said softly, as Edme caught his eye. Smiling, she raised her tankard slowly.

“Aye, he was a good man,” she said dreamily.

As she ate, Beathan felt drawn in yet further. They hadn’t so much as embraced, but the memory of their last encounter lingered deep within him.

He could not get the feel of her skin out of his head. Beathan watched as the girl nibbled at a piece of game pie, which he had cut for her, a stray crumb falling from her mouth.

“Here,” he said, instinctively raising a thumb to brush it away. If Edme was startled, she did not show it, instead, staring up at him, her big blue eyes elongating in the half-light.

It was dark in the kitchens at night, with just a few dim candles lighting the way. In the flickering amber light, Edme looked even more beautiful than before, the jutting flame catching the golden highlights in her hair.

“Och!” remarked Edme, with a slight blush. His finger still rested against her face. It lingered there a while, perhaps a moment too long.

They both felt the intensity of that touch. Beathan could sense a shiver as it surged up across her limbs, a wave of desire tingling and burning through her, just like it did through him.

My God! Thought Beathan at the feel of the girl’s touch on his skin. It was crazy to think that when he awoke this morning, he had been barely aware of who she was, and now she was all he could think of.

Once more, he remembered his father’s words. Marriage! A shudder ran through him, maybe panic, maybe desire. It could have been a mixture of both. All he knew was that it was intense, and surged through him like a lightning bolt.

Beathan knew right then that accompanying the girl to Duncan castle was the last thing he wanted. The pressure from his father and the temptation he felt for the girl threatened to be a toxic combination. Perhaps he should speak to his father later and ask if someone else could accompany her?

“What is it, lad, ye look constipated?” jested the girl, breaking their bond. She removed her hand from his grasp. He hadn’t even been aware that he had been holding her hand, but now realized he could feel the absence of her touch. He no longer felt the warmth that had reverberated all around him.

She was right; he was getting too close. It would be best for them to be apart, albeit reluctantly, Beathan pushed himself away.

“Tis naught, I…, I…,” he said as if floundering around for the words. He watched carefully as her eyes rounded at his disquiet.