Page 10 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Chapter Five

Beitris

Beitris wrung her hands while she paced back and forth. Gordon soldiers walked in and out, carrying trunks filled with books and garments, everything she had acquired over the years living at her father’s estate. They glanced her way curiously while she continued ignoring them, wondering what she had done to receive such a terrible man to wed.

MacClery servants gathered around a tub resting in the middle of the room. They poured steaming water inside, not uttering a single word while Beitris continued fretting over her new future at Dunnegan Castle. She knew she would have to bathe and attend the feast, but she didn’t think she could see Laird MacClery without making a scene again. She didn’t think she could go through with this arrangement.

Sighing, she stopped her pacing and looked around the room, noting that Laird MacClery had clearly given her the most extravagant of quarters. The room was spacious with a high ceiling and two large windows sitting opposite each other. She strode towards one, pushing back the crimson curtains and peeking out into the courtyard. Her frown deepened while watching more Gordon soldiers unloading the wagons into the castle keep. They were nearly empty, and a few men stood in the corner, already drinking ale in celebration of their safe arrival.

Beitris slowly closed the curtains and moved to the other window. A table and two chairs rested near it with a dark vase displaying the bouquet Laird MacClery had given her. She peeked around the drapes, a gasp escaping her lips as her gaze met a beautiful view of the garden lying below. When she had first noticed the path, she was unable to see the intricate details of vines growing up the dark walls. Heather, thistle, lavender, and primroses bloomed along the footway, nearly hiding it from her view. As her gaze followed the dirt, she noticed a wooden bench resting under a willow tree. The perfect place to read a book, she thought, feeling hope surge through her.

Blue eyes surfaced in her mind, and she snapped the drapes closed. She shouldn’t have such thoughts. She shouldn’t allow herself to feel any sort of hope for this horrible prison her father sold her to. Her future husband was a crude, terrible man who had taken advantage of her innocence. There was no possible way she would allow an extravagant room and an even more glorious garden to purchase her heart. She could still feel his tongue stroking against her lips, still feel his hands tightening around her waist. Her body shivered in response, and she bit back a gag. She inhaled deeply to keep herself in control. Her hands fisted and relaxed at her sides. He had taken away any peace she once felt, making her worry for her safety anytime she was alone. She would never forgive him for that.

A frustrated groan escaped her, and she quickly turned away, her gaze meeting the canopy bed donned in emerald blankets. Candelabras lit the room, providing a romantic hue, while a trunk rested in the corner of the room, filled with new fine dresses, she surmised. If things were different, she suspected she would be happy. Any other woman finding themselves in her stead would be.

However, all Beitris felt was impending doom. As she looked around the walls, she noticed the lack of shelves for her books, the shelves her father had painstakingly made for her. Her quarters at Gordon Castle were small, but at least they were home. She didn’t think she could get used to the extravagance of this space.

Or the fact that her husband would visit her in these rooms.

The thought made her stomach twist, and she didn’t know if she was going to faint or be sick all over the stone floor. How could her father marry her off to that lowlife scoundrel? So what if he received a high education in Edinburgh and traveled to France. No amount of intelligence and courtly etiquette could remove the foul taste he had left in her mouth. Even after leaving the Dunbars, she had found herself constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering if the man in the garden was following her carriage.

Although, the man in the garden was different than this Laird MacClery. She didn’t want to think about it, knowing she should be angry with the man, despite how handsome he appeared. More handsome than she remembered him being. His eyes were kind and lacked the lust and control the scoundrel had possessed in the garden. His hold on her hand had been gentle. Her brow furrowed, wondering about the scars. Assuredly, there had been scars on his forearms. Or perhaps the wine had tricked her memory into thinking it so.

Well, it did not matter whether he was handsome and lacked scars on his arms, she thought angrily. He had brought her here to be his bride. The thought made her stomach churn, making her feet resume their pacing. If a rug rested below her, she was sure she would have worn a hole in it by now. Her hands released themselves, and she brought her thumb to her lips, biting on the nail while thinking of a plan. Assuredly, there was something she could do to stop this arrangement. She had already slapped him. Even though he was polite and remained calm, she doubted the action had left him feeling kindly towards her.

Perhaps a simple slap was enough. He was probably already speaking with her father, breaking off their engagement. She looked around at her trunks lying near the wall, a smile taking hold of her. Maybe they would leave in the morning.

A knock rapped at the door, pausing her footsteps. Her hands quivered as she stared at the door, wondering if Laird MacClery stood on the other side. What if he came to be alone with her once more? Although, there were servants still in her rooms preparing her bath.

But what if he wanted to take her to a place where no one could see them? Beitris clamped her eyes closed and shivered. This time I won’t be taken by surprise, she told herself.

If he touched her again this evening, she would scream.

“My lady?” asked a servant, glancing between Beitris and the door.

Beitris swallowed her fear. Picking up her skirts, she moved towards the entrance, her hand on the knob while she asked, “Who is it?”

“Let me in, Daughter,” came her father’s angry voice.

Beitris pursed her lips while she pulled the door open. Her gaze fell upon her father’s deep scowl. She took a step back as he stalked into the room. He paused briefly, his attentions meeting the servants as they lowered their buckets.

“A moment please,” he said in a softer voice. “I must speak with my daughter.”

“Of course, my laird,” the servants said meekly with a curtsy before filing out of the room.

Beitris watched them go, wishing she could join them. Whatever her father had to say, she doubted she would like it. His hands kept clenching and unclenching to contain his rage. She had seen this before. When she was a little girl of eight years, she had sparred with several boys her age using sticks they had found in the wood. One of the boys had accidentally tripped her, making her fall into a deep ravine and hit her head. Her father had been clenching and unclenching his fists when she had recalled the story to him, receiving a harsh scolding in response. The same could be said of the time she over-peppered Laird Kerr’s boy and when she had put a rat in the healer’s quarters when the man had called her foulmouthed and unpleasant to look upon.

As soon as the door clicked closed, her shoulders slumped, and she waited for the inevitable.

“What has gotten into ye, lass?” her father whispered harshly, looking around as if the walls had ears. “Slapping Laird Fraser? The moment we arrive?” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his head tilting back as if saying a prayer. “Why lass? Please tell me why ye hit the poor lad.”

Beitris’s brows pinched together while she began wringing her hands once more. Her mouth opened and closed. She didn’t know where to start. Perhaps when she left for some fresh air at the Dunbars? Although, her father would probably want to know why she decided to venture out into the gardens on her own in the middle of the night. Indulging in too much wine was hardly an excuse.

“Well, lass?” her father said in a darker tone.

Beitris sighed. “Well, I suppose ye ought to know.” She moved to the bed, sitting on the edge while keeping her gaze fastened to her lap. “This is not our first meeting.” She waited for a response from her father, yet he said nothing. Her gaze shifted to him, finding his hard eyes watching her. He crossed his arms in front of him while he waited for her to continue. “I met him at the Dunbars.”

Her father scoffed. “That’s impossible.”