Page 76 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Chapter Thirty-Two

Beitris

Beitris stood still in the middle of the room as a servant tied the back of her dress. The servant girl kept looking at Beitris, worry etched on her face and her gaze drifting to the mark on Beitris’s cheek. Beitris ignored the servant and clenched her jaw, sniffing and swallowing her sobs. Her eyes were encircled with shadows. The guards refused to allow her to leave, and the servants had brought her food in her chambers, which remained untouched on her table. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before, haunted by nightmares of Fraser’s body slashed and torn. She couldn’t stop imagining Fraser’s double, this man she was about to marry, killing her love. Her lips quivered, and a whimper escaped her. She didn’t think she could go through with this. She didn’t think she could walk. Her legs wobbled underneath her, and she felt the darkness ebbing her vision.

Beitris stared at her reflection in the mirror before her, unable to look away, unable to feel anything as the servant dressed her like a common doll. She knew the moment she looked away, she would burst into a fit of tears. Her gaze settled on the cheek Fraser’s double had smacked. More tears welled in her eyes, taking in the blue and black bruise. She didn't know what hurt more: the bruise or the fact she was never going to see Fraser again. She felt beaten down. There was no more fight in her.

Fraser's double had won.

Music wafted up from the courtyard—music accompanied by the soft chatter of guests celebrating her wedding day. It was supposed to be a happy occasion. It was supposed to mark the beginning of her life with Fraser.

Beitris swallowed another sob as the door opened. She watched Helga’s form enter from the looking glass. Helga glanced uneasily around the room, her hands clasped in front of her. “I hope ye don’t mind,” she said shakily, “but I’d like to be alone with my daughter-in-law for a moment.”

“Of course, my lady,” said the servant as she dipped into a deep bow.

Beitris stilled as Helga approached. She concentrated on her hair, tied back into a low plait, knowing if she looked any longer at the elder Lady MacClery she would wail. Her hair had been done immaculately. The servants had seen to it that she was bathed properly. Her skin felt smooth. Her body smelled like blooming flowers. She was primped and prodded, donned in her mother’s necklace. Everything had been done to see she looked absolutely lovely for her husband-to-be. Even her dress was chosen to bring out the hue of her blue eyes. Yet, nothing could be done about the black and purple bruise marring her cheek.

“Ye look beautiful, my dear,” said Helga while stepping between Beitris and the mirror. Her eyes widened in horror as they fell on the bruise. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she raised a hand, gently touching Beitris’s injury. “What? I don’t understand."

Beitris flinched and turned away from Helga. She clasped her hands, trying to control the trembling in her hands. “He did it,” she whispered shakily.

“Finnegan?” Helga shouted, her voice shrill as she wrenched away from Beitris as if she had been hit. “Nae! It cannot be. He told me he would care for ye. Finnegan told me! He-he—” Helga gasped, her hand flying to her throat as if she could not breathe. “Nae, it mustn’t be so,” she whispers, tears spilling from her eyes. “It mustn’t be.”

“Finnegan,” Beitris spat. “So he has a name after all.”

Helga sobbed, her shoulders shaking as she turned away. She strode towards the window and stared out into the courtyard, where servants, soldiers, and guests waited for Beitris to make her grand entrance. Her cries were silenced, and Beitris wondered what had happened to this woman to make her like this, to scheme and plot for a man who wasn’t her son.

Beitris turned away as laughter surfaced through the window. She didn’t want to look outside, knowing it would only make her cry. She was marrying an imposter, a man who was not her Fraser. A man who was named Finnegan who had no problems with using physical violence to get what he wanted.

“How can ye be so cruel?” Beitris breathed, her hands fisting as she jerked away from her reflection. “How can ye let that man take everything from Fraser? Kill him—”

“Fraser isn’t dead.”

Beitris swallowed a sob. “What?” she asked harshly, stepping towards Helga and grabbing her shoulder.

Helga turned to her, her bottom lip quivering as she stared at Beitris, filled with remorse. “He’s not dead. I made Finnegan promise me he wouldn’t be killed. He will be sent to the New World, where he can begin a new life. A different life.” Helga nodded. “But he will be alive all the same.”

Beitris gaped at the woman. Did she not hear her own words? Did she not see what she was doing to her own son? “Why would ye do this?” Beitris shouted while throwing her hands up. “Why would ye destroy yer own son’s life?”

Helga shook her head. “I have my reasons, Beitris. Reasons ye would never understand. Yer not a mother. At least, not yet.”

“So ye will do naething to help me? Naething to help Fraser?”

Helga smiled, yet she struggled to keep it. She looked on the verge of bursting into tears. “Ye do not need my aid, sweet child. Yer marrying the laird of the MacClerys. Yer right where yer supposed to be.” She chuckled, yet the tone sounded dark and lacked any joy. Nodding towards her hand, she held it out for Beitris to see.

Beitris shivered as she looked down at the golden ring on Helga’s finger. The ring held a dark red jewel, one that glimmered in the light. “This was given to me by the late Laird MacClery,” said Helga while she pulled it from her finger. She seized Beitris’s hand before she could wrench away from the elder lady. “And now it belongs to ye.” Beitris clenched her jaw as Helga shoved it on her ring finger. “Now, ye will be Lady MacClery.”

The ring was beautiful. It was everything she would have wanted if it was given to her by Fraser, if she was marrying the right man. Beitris shook her head. “I cannot—”

A knock sounded on the door, and Helga turned away from her, straightening her back while she opened the door. Beitris’s stomach clenched. If she had eaten anything, she would have retched all over the floor. A whimper escaped her, and she leaned against the wall to keep herself from falling onto the ground.

“They are ready, my lady,” said a servant girl while curiously looking between Helga and Beitris.

Helga smiled brightly and offered her hand to Beitris. “Then we shall go.”

“Nae,” Beitris whispered, her whole body trembling.

Helga nodded, her gaze solemn. “Aye, we must, my child.”