Page 29 of Highlander’s Evil Side

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.”