The Beast

by McQueen, Hildie

  Upon arriving at the house, her mother took it in. “It is a grand home, dear.”

  “It is,” Beatrice said. “Very quiet, which I’ve grown used to.”

  Evander and Duncan had ridden ahead. Thankfully, after the first day, the two had become somewhat friendly.

  Beatrice was excited to entertain and nervous once the others arrived, but thankfully Gara and Firtha handled everything perfectly.

  The new chambermaid and her son were kept busy ensuring everyone had all they needed, and by the end of the visit everyone was exhausted.

  Duncan let out a long breath as the carriages disappeared down the road. “I will need a sennight to recover from this.”

  “We have only three days before leaving for North Uist. Ye may as well make the most of it.”

  When he didn’t reply, Beatrice gave him a sharp look that he didn’t meet but instead kept his gaze on the road. With the servants near, she could not question him.

  “Are ye going back inside,” she asked, turning to the house.

  “Nay. I am going for a ride.” He walked to the stables, with the long strides of a man in a hurry.

  Beatrice narrowed her eyes. Where did he have to be? There was packing to be done and preparations for a long season away.

  Annoyed at her reclusive husband, she went back inside. She hurried to find Caelan, who was in his study. As usual, he was impeccably dressed. Upon seeing her, he stood and motioned to a chair. “Ye must be weary with all the meals and entertaining.” His gaze was warm. “Ye handled everything perfectly.”

  “I must admit to being proud,” Beatrice replied with a smile. “I came to ask ye something that perplexes me.”

  “Oh?” Caelan looked to the door. “Should I close the door?”

  “Please.”

  Once he closed the door and settled into a chair next to hers, Beatrice let out a breath. “It is about Duncan.”

  “I suspected so,” Caelan said.

  “I am afraid he will not travel to North Uist. My family will not take well to the slight. Each time I bring it up, he remains silent.”

  “If ye wish, I will speak to him.” Caelan met her gaze. “Where is he now?”

  For some reason her eyes became watery. “I mentioned that we will be leaving in three days and he did not reply. Then he hurried to the stables, saying he was going for a ride.”

  Caelan was pensive. “He may be doing it to clear his head and consider the upcoming trip. Duncan understands it is imperative he goes to see yer father. If he is hesitant, there is a good reason for it. Do not worry, I will ensure he clarifies things.”

  Feeling somewhat better, Beatrice stood. “Thank ye for everything.”

  Caelan kissed her cheek. “All will be well. Do not fret.”

  The day progressed quickly, Beatrice and Orla were excited when the seamstress arrived with their dresses. They spent an hour trying them on, while the woman made last-minute adjustments.

  When Duncan arrived, Caelan asked to speak to him, and they went back outside. From the great room windows, Beatrice caught glimpses of them. Both seemed calm until Duncan pulled his hair from the plait and raked his fingers through it.

  Caelan held up both hands, as if exasperated.

  “I wish I could read lips,” Beatrice said to Orla, who came to stand next to her. “It seems as if my husband is not happy.”

  “Neither is Mister Caelan,” Orla added.

  Duncan paced while talking, while Caelan crossed his arms and leaned on the stone wall.

  During last meal, it was as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Duncan was mostly quiet, but that was not unusual, whilst Caelan regaled her with a story about his time away at boarding school.

  Beatrice didn’t linger after the meal, as she was not in the mood to listen to a conversation about the last game’s competition.

  Once in her bedchamber, she became annoyed. She and Duncan had not made love in days, mostly because the last two days she’d been too exhausted to remain awake. She’d heard the adjoining door open but hadn’t been able to gather the strength to wake fully.

  This day, she wasn’t as exhausted. The family had left after first meal, leaving the rest of the day to pack some things and she’d even napped.

  As she undressed, the adjoining door opened.

  A shiver of excitement traveled up her spine and she turned to find Duncan stalking toward her.

  He lifted her off the floor, their mouths joined, his tongue immediately probing past her lips. Beatrice lost her breath when he lowered her to the floor and tugged the gown off her shoulders. It slipped down and pooled at her feet.

  Between kisses, she helped him remove his clothing until he too stood fully bare before her.

  He was magnificent. From his broad shoulders and muscular chest that tapered to slender hips. His thighs were thick and toned from horseback riding. What took her attention was the thick erect shaft between them.

  “Ye are perfect,” she said trailing her gaze up to meet his gaze. “I need to feel every inch of ye against me.” Too excited to wait, she tugged him toward the bed.

  Duncan picked her up and placed her on the bed and then climbed in and lay next to her. Facing each other, he ran a hand down her side from under her arm to just below her hip. “I have never seen a more beautiful sight than ye here with me.”

  It was as if every place his gaze landed came to life, the skin tingled and she shivered in anticipation of what was to come.

  She was not disappointed. They made love in a way that was new. Uninhibited, tumbling into different positions until they were breathless and drenched.

  Sprawled across Duncan, too spent to move, Beatrice lifted her face and peered up at him. “I believe to have fallen in love with ye,” she admitted. “Is it too soon?”

  His body quivered and he blew out a breath. “No. It is not. I fell in love with ye a long time ago.”

  The idea of it gave her strength to climb over him, she looked down at her husband. “And ye did not think I needed to know?”

  His lips curved. “Ye are enticing like that.”

  “Ye annoy me,” Beatrice informed him with a playful nip to his bottom lip. “Say it.”

  “What?”

  “Ye know.”

  “I love ye, Beatrice.”

  Her heart was filled with so much joy, she expected it to burst. Instead, she began to cry.

  “What did I do?” Duncan pulled her against his chest. “Are ye hurt?”

  “No,” Beatrice said looking up at him. “I am happy. I am crying because I am happy.”

  Three days later, as the bìrlinns set sail, Beatrice continued to scan the shore hoping to see a horseman arrive. But no one appeared.

  “I am sorry,” Darach said. “I do not know why my brother left and did not return.”

  Beatrice blew out a breath to keep the tears at bay. “In my heart, I suspected he would not come. And I cannot forgive him for it.”

  “Perhaps he will follow. Ye can reprimand him then,” Isobel said with a worried look, as she too looked toward the shore.

  “No. He will not come. And I will never return.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  For days he’d fought to keep the demons at bay. It had been a long time since he’d been so out of control. He’d gone to the forest and ran until his lungs threatened to explode, but still, he could not find it easy to settle.

  Since Farlan’s appearance, every moment memories haunted him. Each one becoming worse. The lashings in his dreams so real, he felt the pain. So many things he’d forgotten were now so vivid that he wanted to scream and throw himself off a cliff.

  Every night after everyone slept, he’d gone outside out of earshot when the visions attacked. He was reduced to howling like a wounded beast.

  Beatrice would never forgive him for not going with her.

  He’d been planning to go, but at the last moment it proved impossible. And now he was aboard a different bìrlinn, heading to Skye, away from everyone
and everything his life had been.

  He’d left a letter for both her and Caelan, and one for Darach, so he could explain things to the family. Not that he expected any of them to begin to understand. How long he would be gone? Duncan wasn’t sure. Perhaps forever.

  The horse neighed in protest at being tied down and he ran his hand down its long nose. “We are almost there,” he soothed, looking into the misty distance.

  When they arrived on shore, he paid the fees and mounted. It would be a pair of days travel to arrive where he was headed. Hopefully, the cottage was still there. It would be his home for the foreseeable future.

  As he traveled, he imagined Beatrice’s disappointment. How he hated hurting her, especially after her falling in love with him. The idea of her feeling pain over his actions made his own ache so much harder to bear.

  She must have been devastated.

  Duncan let out a frustrated breath. He was so very broken, so lost in his own nightmares that he should have fought harder to keep from marrying her. Instead, he’d been foolish enough to believe it was possible to have a normal life. To grow old with a beautiful wife, raise children, and get to know his grandchildren.

  “How stupid of me,” he mumbled as night fell and he looked for a place to find shelter and sleep.

  The next day, he found the old cottage. To his surprise, Fergus, the old man who lived nearby, hobbled over to greet him.

  “Ye promised yerself not to return,” he said by way of greeting as he leaned heavily on his cane and watched Duncan dismount.

  “There isna much in there. Been empty for a few years.” The old man walked to the front door.

  With only two cabins in a clearing in the woods, Fergus had appointed himself overseer. When Duncan had stumbled upon the empty cabin ten years earlier, Fergus had found him sick and dirty and with festering wounds. The old man had taken care of him until he’d healed and then promptly found him work and insisted he pay rent.

  Duncan had lived there for a year, working and waiting to heal both physically and mentally, before gaining the courage to go home.

  “I was foolish to think it would last. The ability to live among them, people who do not deserve to be exposed to someone like me. Broken and filled with hate.”

  Fergus let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Come along then. Was about to eat me mutton. Once yer belly is filled, ye can clean up the cabin. Tis not fit for living in at the moment.”

  Although bent over with age, the old man was spry, making quick time to his cabin, which looked in much better shape than the one Duncan planned to live in.

  “I will get work and pay rent.”

  “I know,” Fergus replied. “As much as I can use the coin. I hope it will not be for long.”

  They settled inside the man’s humble home and ate the surprisingly good meal. The rest of the day, Duncan worked on the empty cottage’s roof. Huge gaping holes in the thatched covering had to be repaired.

  That night, he slept on Fergus’s floor until a nightmare shook him awake.

  He hurried out, at first confused by his surroundings, before realizing where he was. In his mind, the cracks of a whip still sounded again and again, and he pressed the heels of both hands against his ears. It didn’t help since the sounds were inside his head.

  What sounded like a moan made him whirl toward the woods where a bed appeared, on it was Beatrice wearing a flowing white gown. Arm stretched, she held out her hand. “Come darling.”

  “No,” Duncan said and moved backward, knowing it wasn’t real.

  “Duncan.” Her voice sounded hollow, sad.

  “No,” he grunted, turned away, and hung his head. It was not going to be easy, the new memories mixing with the old. Some beautiful and the others terrifying.

  By the time he was settled enough to lay back down, it was almost dawn. Daylight helped, but only a little. The tormentors in his head cared little for time.

  The next several days passed quickly. He spent the days working and the nights fighting the monsters in his head.

  “The roof looks good. Ye are a fast worker,” Fergus said craning his neck to get a better look as Duncan slathered mud on the outer walls for better insulation during the winter.

  “I am going to the village. Ye said ye wanted some things,” Fergus explained motioning to a small wagon with a mule hitched to it.

  “A pair of blankets, some whiskey, and a pot,” Duncan replied and pulled out his coin sack. He’d already given Fergus more than he’d asked for rent. “Get a new blanket for yerself as well.”

  The old man grinned, showcasing the gap between his few teeth. “Aye, and a pint or two of ale as well.” Climbing to the bench, the man made a tsking sound, and the mule pulled away.

  Duncan continued working on the walls, refusing to consider that this would be his home. Instead, he concentrated on each handful of mud. The mixing, the smell of it, and the weight of it in his hands.

  Hopefully as time passed, the terrors would lessen. What he wished to never lose, were memories of his wife. Her face, voice, and the sensation of her body against his.

  “Beatrice,” he said into the wind. “I love ye. I hope ye believed it.”

  Weeks later, Duncan cooked a rabbit, his gaze concentrating on the fire in the hearth. The cottage was finally done, and he was comfortable enough.

  He’d kept busy building a table, two chairs, and a bed so he would not have to sleep on the ground. A merchant traveling by had gifted him a mat and some cups for allowing him to sleep there during a rainy night.

  It was all he needed. To pass each day, unable to distinguish between them. Other than occasionally speaking to Fergus, who seemed to understand he needed to be alone, he hadn’t spoken to another person in many days.

  He often wondered what Beatrice did and pictured her in the mornings, hair disheveled, as she chose what to wear that day. He’d loved her expressions, the bottom lip between her teeth, and the way her blue eyes flashed to him when happy or annoyed.

  More than anything, he missed making love to her, the sounds she made during and the huskiness of her voice when finding release. The woman enjoyed bedsport. That they’d learned to be lovers together was something he was thankful for.

  “Duncan,” Fergus called from outside. “I need help.”

  He rushed out to find Fergus bent over, breathing harshly. “My chest… it hurts…” Fergus stumbled forward, Duncan caught him, and carried the man inside.

  “Breathe slowly. Give yerself time to catch yer breath,” Duncan said unsure what else he could do to help.

  He poured whiskey into a cup and held it up to the man’s lips. “Drink.”

  Taking a sip, Fergus coughed and sputtered when the strong liquid slid down his throat. He grabbed Duncan’s tunic tightly. “I am glad not to die alone.”

  “Ye are not dying,” Duncan said attempting to convince himself of it as well. “Ye are just ill.”

  Fergus shook his head. “It is my heart. I know it.” His unfocused gaze pinned Duncan. “Ye must return to her. Make amends. Work on what ails ye, without abandoning yer wife.”

  “It is for her own good. I cannot subject her to being married to someone like me.”

  “Would ye wish for her… to leave if she were in yer shoes?”

  Duncan swallowed, not wanting to argue with a dying man. “Concentrate on breathing old man.”

  “Ye love her. Fight for yer marriage.”

  “Ye do not know how I feel.” Duncan couldn’t keep the resentment from his voice. “I am not a young lad that cannot control his feelings.”

  Fergus gasped and grimaced. “I hurt. Give me more whiskey.”

  Once again Duncan poured the amber liquid into his mouth. “Take yer time.”

  The man’s eyes closed, and Duncan waited to see what would happen. When Fergus opened them again, it was as if he could not focus. “Fear made me run away. Fear kept me here. Do not be like me.”

  He coughed and clutched his chest and then Fergus died.r />
  Hours passed and Duncan sat with his back against the wall. Fergus’s body remained on the ground where he died. His unseeing eyes staring up to the ceiling.

  A humming sound that had echoed in his ears finally ceased and Duncan closed his eyes allowing the silence of the moment to pour over him. It was the first time in many days that his mind was quiet. There was no fear, no sense of impending doom. Only pure silence.

  Outside his horse neighed, the sound bringing him to action. Fergus deserved a burial, so Duncan would wrap him and take him to the vicar at the village so he could be laid to rest in the small graveyard.

  The mule that pulled the wagon seeming to understand that someone other than his master drove. The animal looked over his shoulder to Duncan, its sullen eyes taking him in.

  “I am sure the vicar will be appreciative of ye and will give ye a good home,” Duncan soothed the beast although it didn’t understand a word.

  His horse made grunting noises, obviously considering it was beneath him to be tethered to a wagon pulled by a mule.

  When they arrived at the small vicarage, the man hurried out. “What happened?” He looked to the shrouded body. “Fergus?”

  Duncan nodded. “Aye, he died just this morning.” He gave no other information, there was no need for it. The man had lived a long life. Before that day, Duncan would have added that Fergus lived a good life. However, it seemed that Fergus hid from whatever he feared. Living alone in a small cottage deep in the woods.”

  “He was a good man,” the vicar said shaking his head. “Helped many a wayward traveler.” The man’s knowing gaze sized Duncan up. “I am sure ye are aware of that.”

  “Did he have family?” Duncan asked as he began digging a grave where the vicar pointed.

  The man gave Duncan a confused look. “Ye lived with him for a long time, did ye not learn his story?”

  Duncan shook his head. “I was unable to hear much in those days.”

  “One day in a storm, Fergus lost control of the horse that pulled a wagon. The animal, along with his wife and two bairns, plunged into a deep ravine. Fergus and a daughter were thrown from it and survived. He left the girl with family and fled, too grieved with self-blame to remain and raise the wee lass.”