Page 77 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Beitris stared at Helga’s hand as if she was staring at the devil’s book, about to sign her soul away forever. For that was exactly how it felt. She was signing away her life to a man she did not love, to a man who had no honor and would lie and scheme to get his way.

A whimper escaped her as she slowly placed her hand in Helga’s. A lone tear slipped down the side of her cheek, followed by another. She felt numb as she allowed Helga to guide her through the dark halls. Her heart pounded in her throat. Her insides twisted round and round as if they were snakes wiggling within her. With each step she took towards the courtyard, towards the kirk waiting for her, she felt as if she was going to vomit.

She stepped out of the keep, her body stilling as her gaze lifted to the dark clouds. Her gaze shifted to the gate, closed. The bars reminded her of a prison, locking her inside, forever. A line of people, smiling joyfully, stood on either side of her, leading towards the kirk. Voices quietened. Her father moved to stand in front of her, offering his arm.

“Take yer father’s hand,” Helga urged when Beitris did not move.

Beitris shakily placed her hand on her father’s arm, her breath coming out in gasps.

Laird Gordon's smile fell, and his hand stroked the bruise on her cheek. "What happened?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Beitris opened her mouth, wanting to tell him the truth, but her gaze filled with horror, and her words caught in her throat as she looked beyond her father to the tower behind him. A man stood in the darkened window with an arrow aimed at her father’s back. It was the same man she had seen in the village, with the scar on his chin. She stifled a scream and jerked away, facing forward.

“It’s naething," she forced out, swallowing her sobs and blinking away her tears. “I was silly this morn and tripped over a stone. I had quite a tumble.”

She stepped forward, but her father remained fastened to the ground. “A tumble indeed," said her father, touching her chin lightly and turning her to him. She ground her teeth, trying to keep back her whimpers and her cries of alarm as she gazed into her father's worried eyes. “Have ye had the healer look at it?”

Beitris shook her head. “There's no need.” She grimaced at the crack in her voice. If she wasn’t careful, her father would know something was dreadfully wrong. With each question he asked, he was putting himself in more danger. “Please, we must not let F-Fraser wait.” She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply to calm her pounding heart.

“Alright, daughter, if ye think yer well enough to continue. Ye look bonnie, despite yer injury,” he whispered in her ear. “Laird MacClery is a lucky man.”

Beitris opened her eyes and forced a smile at her father, hoping he wouldn’t read much into it. Her feet slowly took her to the kirk. She heard the guests stepping behind her, following her inside.

As she entered the small building, her eyes fell on Finnegan, standing in front of the kirk, smiling at her as if she was nothing more than a piece of meat for him to sink his teeth into. A man stood at his side, one she recognized with a mark on his temple. He had been leering at the women in the tents. Of course, she thought. It all made sense now. Finnegan had sent men to spy on the MacClerys. He had sent men to deliver Fraser into a trap. That was why it was so easy for Finnegan. He knew how to get in and out of the castle because some of the MacClery men had been working for him all this time.

Beitris sniffed and wiped her tears. They were doomed from the start. Finnegan had it all planned out from the beginning. She should have begged Fraser to stay. She should have done more to stop him from going.

But, then, what would have happened to her father?

“Oh, my sweet child,” said her father while patting her hand. “I’m happy, too. So happy to know yer future will be safe in his hands.”

Beitris closed her eyes. She imagined what Fraser would look like if he was here, if they were actually celebrating their wedding day. She imagined him with his clear blue eyes, filled with love. A smile on his lips conveying his joy. His hands held in front of him, possibly Scott standing at his side, whispering something humorous in his ear.

Her father stopped in front of Finnegan, and her heart lurched as she opened her eyes. She struggled to contain her cries as her father placed her hand in Finnegan’s—this imposter of the MacClery Clan. She turned to her father, wanting to tell him this was a lie, this wasn’t her Fraser, but Laird Gordon was already leaving her.

“Wait, Father,” she called but immediately stopped when the man at Finnegan’s side stepped forward, his hand on his hilt. If she said anything, her father would be killed.

“Aye, daughter?” Laird Gordon asked while turning to face her, his brows tented in worry and confusion.

Beitris forced a smile and shook her head. “Naething. It’s naething.”

Finnegan clasped her hand, turning her to face the priest before him. “Very good,” he whispered into her ear, making her shudder in response.

The priest cleared his throat while opening his book. “We are gathered here today to bring—”

Beitris’s body slumped, her head lulling to one side. She couldn’t listen to this. If they only knew who truly stood at her side, there would be no ceremony. Perhaps, but then again, there were many women forced to marry men they did not wish to marry. How was she any different?

Her eyes drifted closed, and she listened to the whispering of voices and the thundering of horses in the distance. Thundering? she wondered, her brows furrowing in confusion. Was it merely the rumble of a storm coming on, or were there really horses approaching? She heard shouts, and she frowned, opening her eyes and watching as several guests looked curiously around.

“Stop!” someone shouted from outside the kirk.

Through the windows, Beitris could see horses storming into the courtyard. Several men dropped to the ground, running towards the doors and throwing them open. Her eyes widened on Scott, standing in the front, Hendry following closely behind him.

“I beg ye to stop at once!” Scott shouted while dropping into a kneel at the entrance to the kirk.

“What is this?” Finnegan shouted, his grasp tightening on her hand. He flashed her a dark look as if she had something to do with Scott and Hendry standing before him.

Beitris smiled bitterly. “Was I not to invite the Dunbars, my laird?”

Finnegan scowled at her, his grasp becoming bruising and making her wince. He turned his dark gaze on the soldiers at the front. “I demand ye to leave us be at once. Do ye not see that we are in a house of God?”

“Aye, I see ye,” said Scott while rising and stepping away. “And in the house of God, I call for ye to speak the truth.”

“What is going on?” Laird Gordon shouted. “What do ye mean the truth? This is a wedding for heaven’s sakes.”

“This man is not who he says he is,” said Hendry.

Laird Gordon turned to Finnegan, his eyes widening in alarm. “He is Laird MacClery!”

“Nae, he is not,” called someone standing behind Hendry and Scott.

Laird Gordon scoffed. “Well, if he’s not Fraser then who is?”

Beitris’s heart swelled with hope as Hendry and Scott stepped away, and her gaze landed on a man she knew well and true, one with clear blue eyes and a gentle smile.

“I am,” said Fraser as he stalked down the aisle, gasps surrounding him. He jutted a finger at Finnegan. “And this man is an imposter.”