Highlander's Untamed Bride

by Maddie MacKenna

  A servant came to take his sword from him, and Beathan handed it off gratefully. He was exhausted and sick of being a spectacle. He wanted to sit back, eat, and relax for the rest of the evening. This was his celebration. He was not meant to be the entertainment. He was meant to be entertained.

  Where was that acting troupe Mother mentioned?

  5

  Beathan’s question was answered a moment later when, just after he had refilled his glass, his father called for the hall to quiet.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” his father said, his voice overly loud in the sudden quiet. “Now that our guest of honor, me son Beathan, is seated, we will begin with the evening’s entertainment. I have invited the travelling troupe known as the Guild of Gentleman and Ladies to amuse us with their plays and songs this evenin’. I’m told they will be startin’ with “The Beggar’s Opera,” so please enjoy.”

  A space had been made in front of the side of the hall across from the fires. A small stage made of wood had been erected, and Beathan could see a variety of props placed strategically across the structure.

  The acting troupe entered from a side door, each player walking out with determined, sure steps. Beathan’s eyes glazed over them, hardly noticing any one face. Until she appeared. The woman in question was tall, nearly as tall as him. Rather than walking, she seemed to practically float on the air, her back straight, her head held high as she took her place on the stage.

  Her costume was dark green velvet, which accentuated the bright copper color of her hair, which was shot through with gold and deep auburn. Her green eyes twinkled with mischief, like she was enjoying a private joke with just herself.

  Beathan wanted her instantly. And I will have her, he promised himself. One way or another, that lass would be in his bed before the night was out.

  Kirsteen was glad she had the lines for The Beggar’s Opera memorized, because her attention was distracted throughout the whole of the performance. When the servants had spoken of the laird’s son, they had described his personality, but none had commented on his looks.

  This, Kirsteen thought, was truly a tragedy, for Beathan Dunn was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen. Wavy locks of dark brown hair framed his face, ending at the curve of his neck. His blue eyes were the color of the Mediterranean Sea in summer, an azure blue that one only ever saw in nature.

  His skin was tanned, no doubt from his travels abroad, and though he was well groomed, there was the hint of a beard on his face, softening the hard jaw line and cheekbones she could see hints of beneath.

  Kirsteen could hardly tear her eyes away from him throughout the whole of the performance, and it was only through her natural grace that she did not fall flat on her buttocks as she danced the final set of the evening.

  When she stood up from her bow with the rest of the troupe, she could have sworn she saw the man looking at her, and it sent shivers of delight down her legs. It was not the first time she had liked the look of a patron, but as always, she would not act on it.

  Kirsteen was saving herself for love. She knew that in her world of acting and theatre, it was not uncommon for women to take lovers. The rules were different in her line of work; there was no expectation of her saving herself for marriage, of a husband who would be concerned about his wife’s virtue. Kirsteen was not sure she would ever marry. All she wanted was a love like Madame Blanche and Fred’s. She was saving herself for that, and she would not give herself up for anything less.

  Still, the man continued to be in her thoughts as she made her way to the tent, her arms full of her costume and props. Part of it, she knew, was that Beathan seemed too good to be true. Kirsteen had met enough patrons to think most of them greedy, vile humans polluted by their wealth and station.

  And yet, though Beathan had all the wealth he could ever want and more land than she had ever seen possessed by one person, he was also kind and good-natured, according to those who worked for him. There must be something wrong with him, Kirsteen reasoned as she settled into her cot, wrapping her quilt around her. No man could be so perfect. Her thoughts were in much the same vein the following night.

  Beathan had come to the hall dressed in a kilt of deep blue and emerald plaid, along with a shirt and waistcoat that gave Kirsteen the idea that beneath his clothes lay a muscular man possessed of nearly inhuman strength. She tried to distract herself from him by focusing on the performance.

  They had planned a comedy of manners for the evening that ended up generating a good deal of laughter from their audience. Kirsteen caught Beathan openly guffawing, and was disgruntled to find the man looked even more beautiful when he was in the throes of mirth. Her admiration of him came to an abrupt halt soon after the performance, however.

  Logan had arranged for them to use one of the castle’s storage rooms to prepare, and Kirsteen had collapsed gratefully into the settee that had been shoved into a far corner. She was massaging the muscles of her legs and feet, which were sore from the walk she had done that morning around the loch, as well as the rehearsal for the next night’s dance.

  The rest of the troupe was milling about, changing out of their costumes, wiping off rouge and coal black from their faces, when a knock sounded on the door outside.

  “Come in, we’re decent!” one of the troupe players yelled, and the door was opened to reveal the sour face of Logan.

  “Pardon the interruption,” he said, his eyes trained on the ceiling far above them, “but Beathan requests the company of Miss Roy. He would like her to knock on his door in precisely fifteen minutes.”

  Some of the players snickered, for though they were “decent” in a sense, many of them were clothed in sheer shifts and drawers that no doubt scandalized the stiff Scotsman.

  “And what is it that Mr. Dunn wants?” Fred asked, walking to stand protectively in front of where Kirsteen was sitting.

  “He desires her company for the evenin’,” Logan said, his true meaning clear.

  Beathan wants to bed me.

  This was not the first time such a thing had happened after a performance. Kirsteen was often called to accompany a wealthy man for the night, though she always refused. Her virtue was her own to give, and she would not hand it over unless love was in the bargain. It did not matter how much these men offered her.

  She was saddened to realize that Beathan was in fact just like all the others. He might be kind to his household servants, but to visiting staff like her, he was just as pig-headed as the rest of the men of his ilk.

  Fred frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but Blanche spoke before he was able. “Fine. She will be along at the appropriate time,” she said, her voice harsh and flat.

  Fred looked at his wife quizzically, and Kirsteen knew they would be having words the moment the door closed. Logan bid them adieu, muttering “Very well,” and shutting the door loudly behind him.

  “Blanche, what is the meaning of this? Why did you accept his invitation?” he asked, his face growing red with agitation.

  Kirsteen saw the other players gather their things and slip quietly out of the room, leaving the three of them to argue in peace.

  “Because!” Blanche said, throwing her hands up in the air exasperatedly. “I am tired of these men thinking Kirsteen is something to be bought. Every country, every fine house we go to, the men do this.”

  Turning to Kirsteen, she continued, “My dear, you are beautiful beyond compare, and one of the most talented dancers I have ever seen. But that does not give these men the right to think that just because of those things, you are beddable. You are not a prostitute, you are a dancer! I am so tired of these noble men confusing the two professions. I am going to give that Scot a piece of my mind.”

  Fred shook his head. “No, you cannot. I know it annoys you, and it frustrates me as well, my darling. But his father is our patron. We need this money to buy more scripts, more costumes. We cannot anger them and risk being thrown out on only the second day.”

  Blanche harrumphed, crossi
ng her arms and collapsing onto the settee beside Kirsteen.

  “Maman,” she said, addressing Blanche the way she did only when the woman was particularly upset. It always calmed her down, and this time was no different. The hard expression on the woman’s face softened immediately, and her shoulders slumped down from where they had been held tight near her ears.

  “We cannot refuse him outright. I will not lie with him, of that I can assure you, but we must at least go and see him. He has summoned us, and as the son of the laird, we cannot ignore his bidding.”

  “She’s right, my love,” Fred said, kneeling in front of his wife and laying a hand on her knee.

  “I know, I know,” Blanche muttered. “But mon dieu! These men!”

  “Forget about them and help me dress,” Kirsteen said, grabbing Blanche’s hand. “I have no idea what to wear.”

  Ten minutes later, Kirsteen and Blanche were outside Beathan’s door. Kirsteen had changed into a dress of dark purple that made her eyes appear the green of an Irish hill after a spring rain, or so Blanche told her.

  Kirsteen knocked hesitantly on the door, and emitted a little yip of surprise when it was thrown open a moment later.

  Revealed to both women was the sight of Beathan Dunn in a thick silken robe, a glass of whisky in one hand and his hair askew. Kirsteen was not sure she had ever seen a more dashing sight in all her life.

  “Good evenin’, Kirsteen,” he said, holding the door open. His eyes widened when he took in Madame Blanche standing next to Kirsteen, a disgruntled look on her face.

  Beathan took on the same expression as he looked at both of them.

  “Er,” he began. “I was expectin’ only Kirsteen, I’m afeared,” he said to Madame Blanche.

  “Where Kirsteen goes, I go,” Blanche said succinctly. Her tone brokered no arguments, and Kirsteen nearly laughed when she saw how cowed Beathan looked.

  “Verra well then,” he choked out, holding his hand out and ushering the two of them inside.

  The chambers themselves were even grander than Kirsteen had expected. She and Kirsteen walked into a room where the bed was the centrepiece, with a roaring fire off to one side of the room surrounded by a comfortable array of chairs and rugs. On the other side of the room was a dresser with a pitcher and small bowl sitting on it, and Kirsteen could see two doorways off to the left. No doubt they led to the man’s washing and changing rooms.

  “Please, do be seated, ladies,” Beathan said, his brogue slow and sensual as he escorted Kirsteen and Blanche to two chairs by the fire. He poured glasses of whisky for them both, handing them off before taking a seat across from them.

  They were all silent a moment, Kirsteen taking a small sip of whisky and immediately regretting it. It tasted like moldy grass and made her throat burn. She only hoped she hid the grimace on her face.

  “It’s not for everyone, that,” Beathan said, nodding at her glance.

  Excellent. I didn’t hide my grimace after all, Kirsteen realized.

  “It is…interesting. I do believe I prefer wine, though,” Kirsteen said, setting the glass down on a table between her chair and Blanche’s.

  “Aye, as well ye might. Goes down a fair sight smoother than this does, but ye get used to the burn, ye ken,” he said, laughing as he emptied his glass down his throat.

  Kirsteen glanced over at Blanche, who was looking supremely uncomfortable. She was gripping the glass so tightly that Kirsteen would not be surprised if the whole thing shattered to pieces, and she was glaring at Beathan rather more openly than was polite.

  “I assume ye both ken why ye’ve been brought here this evenin’, Miss Roy and…” Beathan said, waiting for Blanche to introduce herself.

  “Madame Blanche,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Beathan took it and kissed it with reverence, and Kirsteen could see Blanche relaxing slightly, a small smile playing at her mouth. She might think Beathan a disrespectful brute, but she was powerless against a man who followed decorum.

  “A pleasure to meet ye both,” Beathan said, placing Madame Blanche’s hand back in her lap. He stood up then, to refill his glass from a decanter on the hearth’s mantle.

  “As I was sayin’,” he said as he poured liquid into his glass. “Ye ken why ye’re here?”

  “Indeed, yes. It is not the first time such a thing has happened after a performance,” Kirsteen told him.

  “I can well imagine. A lass lookin’ like ye dae,” he said, chuckling to himself as he replaced the top on the decanter and sat back down.

  It was then that Blanche spoke, all previous amiability resulting from the kiss gone from her tone. “Just because she is beautiful does not mean she can be bought, Mr. Dunn. My Kirsteen does not offer such services. She is a performer of the stage, not the bedroom. We might not be nearly as rich as yourself, Mr. Dunn, but I would never stoop so low as to sell my daughter, not even to a man like you.”

  Beathan had been sipping his whisky as Blanche spoke, but at this, he set down his glass, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Ye sound offended, ma’am,” he told her, leaning forward. This caused his robe to gape, and Kirsteen was treated to a truly delicious view of his chest, sculpted with muscle and covered in dark curly hair. She longed to reach her fingers out and feel the small curls beneath her fingers.

  “I am offended! Very much so, sir,” Blanche huffed.

  “Well for that, I am truly sorry,” Beathan said, the humor leaving his face. “I did not mean to cause offence, ye ken. I’ve spent the last two years in Europe, and I suppose things are a might different there than here. The dancers I met with were more…amendable to such activities. I suppose I assumed the same would be true of performers here. I thought ye were a more open-minded people.”

  “I apologize for my confusion, Mr. Dunn, but am I to understand that you asked me here not to offer you my services as a prostitute, but rather as a short-term lover?” Kirsteen asked, curious.

  The man’s answer would dramatically alter her perception of him. If he wanted to pay to bed her, that was one thing. If, however, he wanted to make love to her out of pure desire, then perhaps he was not so wholly terrible after all.

  “The second one, lass. I dinnae pay for me women. Ever,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

  Kirsteen looked from Blanche to the man and back, then sighed in relief. “Well, that is…that is good to hear.”

  “Does that mean you’re interested?” he asked, perking up.

  “No!” Kirsteen responded instantly. Beathan deflated, and she was quick to add, “No. I am saving myself for love. I will not give my virtue away to someone I must leave in six days. You seem kind and good and I am sure you are well aware of your own good looks, but I am looking for the love of a lifetime, not of a moment.”

  “Aye, well, that makes sense, I suppose,” Beathan conceded.

  There was silence again, and then Blanche nodded and stood up. “Well, now that this has been solved, I believe we should retire to the tent. We have to rehearse early tomorrow. Come along, ma fille,” she said, holding her hand out for Kirsteen to take.

  “Wait!” Beathan said, stopping her with his palm raised in the air. “Please, join me for just one drink. I’ll give ye wine if ye want, but please daenae leave just yet.”

  Blanche paused, waiting for him to continue. Kirsteen knew her adopted mother would only stay if there were good reason. Blanche liked going to bed early after a performance. She said a rested voice was of paramount importance to people in their line of work, and Kirsteen was inclined to agree. However, she did not want to go. Not yet. Not when they had this intriguing man all to themselves.

  “I find myself rather fascinated by ye two lasses. Please, would ye sit with me a while and talk? If ye find me a bore, ye’re more than welcome to leave at any point.”

  Kirsteen agreed immediately, before Blanche could so much as think of refusing. She wanted to get to know this man more, and she could not possibly pass up such an open opportun
ity to do so. She could feel Blanche relent, and then the woman collapsed back into her chair.

  “Fine,” she said. Her tone was disgruntled, but Kirsteen saw a trace of a smile on her protector’s face as she settled back into her seat. It was clear that Blanche liked the challenging man that was Beathan Dunn.

  “Excellent. Excellent,” Beathan repeated, smiling at them both as he leapt up and grabbed a decanter of wine. Kirsteen couldn’t help swooning a bit at his smile. He was almost too handsome for words.

  6

  Beathan listened to Kirsteen and Blanche talk and found himself amazed by their back stories. When he first saw her, Beathan had assumed that Kirsteen would be enough to entertain him for a few nights of bedsport and nothing more. She had the beauty and body he was looking for, but what he didn’t realize was that there was something even more alluring within her. A fortitude that, once bared, made him all the more eager to get to know the woman who possessed it.

  Kirsteen Roy was indeed far more than a captivating body. She had dealt with more adversity in twelve years than most people experienced in a lifetime, and yet, when he looked into her eyes, he did not see bitterness or regret. He saw intelligence, excitement, and a joie de vivre like he had never seen.

  He spent more than an hour and a half listening to her and Blanche talk about the various countries they had visited, the plays they had performed, the people they met.

  Blanche had been similarly afflicted with tragedy, and yet Beathan knew that she was the strongest woman he had ever met, excepting his own mother. She carried herself with a strength he had not seen in even the best warriors, and her biting, humorous remarks were welcome. She treated Beathan like any other man, like they were equals. After a lifetime of being bowed to and revered, it was rather refreshing.

  Beathan was sorely disappointed when the women eventually bid him goodnight, using the excuse that they really did have to get up early to rehearse.