The sound reverberated throughout the room. Even the tapestries could not dull the noise of the body hitting the floor. Andrew’s mouth stayed open, but his eyes, which had a moment ago been awash with anger, dulled. They were unseeing, for the man was gone.
He’s dead, and I’ve killed him, Beathan thought as he looked at the lifeless body of the man he had spent most of his life considering his brother.
17
Seumas watched as his nephew fell to the ground. The man’s limbs went numb, and the fiery temper that had so defined him in life was suddenly gone, replaced by an eerie calmness.
The room was silent, no one quite knowing what to say. Seumas himself was shocked out of words, unable to voice his emotions. He was proud of Beathan, for protecting himself and the family’s legacy. It took a strong man indeed to kill anyone, and a stronger man to kill someone he loved.
Seumas was also consumed with sadness for his nephew. Even as a child Andrew had been difficult. Seumas hadn’t been surprised. Andrew’s father, his brother, had been the same way when they were growing up. But while he had grown out of it, Andrew had not. He had grown more bitter and self-effacing with each passing year.
Seumas cursed himself for not realizing earlier that Andrew might be the culprit of the attacks. After all, the lad had been acting a might strange as of late. He was always shut up in his room when Seumas asked him to join him for a night-time whisky, and one of the stable boys had commented that Andrew’s horse had seemed spooked the last few times the boys had gone in to clean the horse’s stall.
But Seumas had thought nothing of it, because despite Andrew’s shortcomings, he had never suspected the lad capable of murder. He now realized that Andrew had been in his room planning, and the horse had been spooked because its rider was acting erratically, asking the horse to stop and start more suddenly than the horse was capable of doing.
It is best that he is dead, Seumas realized. It broke his heart to think such a thing; he had never thought he would utter those words about a member of his own family. But killing him made the most sense.
If Beathan had let him go and turned him over to the council, there would always be the chance that Andrew could hire someone from within the jail to carry out his deed. Beathan’s life, and the lairdship’ legacy subsequently would have been in perpetual danger if they had allowed Andrew to live.
And yet despite the sound reasoning of all this, Seumas could see that the act was tearing his son up inside. Beathan was standing over Andrew, looking as though he was unable to move from his spot. He was staring at his sword, which was now sticking out of Andrew’s chest.
Seumas knew that he was going to have to be the one to call the room’s attention, to ask them to kindly return to their rooms so the situation could be dealt appropriately. And he would also have to be the one to drag his son away from the atrocity that his own hands had committed.
Seumas felt Malin’s hand sneak towards his under the table. Looking over, he saw her give him a small nod. She, too, knew what he had to do. Standing up, with his wife’s hand gripped tightly in his, Seumas shouted.
“If ye could all now vacate the hall and go back to yer chambers, we would much appreciate it. This is a tryin’ time for me family, and we need to deal with things on our own. Please, go to bed and do what ye can to rest. The festivities will commence again tomorrow for the final day of Beathan’s homecomin’ celebration.”
Heads nodded numbly and bodies began to move. Seumas saw the entertainment troupe leave first, the youngest lass among them sending Beathan a long, lingering look.
Seumas did not have time to wonder what exactly was going on between his son and the lass. He would deal with that later. Right now, his son needed him.
Four hours later, Beathan was finally in bed. He’d drank four glasses of whisky with his mother and father in the library after Andrew’s body had been taken away. They would have a small burial for him tomorrow morning, with just the three of them, but for the rest of the evening, they spoke not of Andrew as he was just before death, but rather as he was when they were children.
They shared fond memories, funny stories and jokes that young Andrew had told them. It was done, Beathan knew, in an effort to remember the better side of Andrew, before his bitter jealousy had wholly consumed him.
Beathan was feeling far better for the time spent with his parents. The conversation, and the whiskey, had done much to settle his mind. He was not sure if he would ever get the sight of his cousin, bleeding to death on the floor in front of him, out of his mind. But he would never lose confidence that killing him had been the right thing to do.
Now, however, Beathan’s thoughts were not focused on Andrew, but rather on Kirsteen.
Beathan had felt betrayed when Andrew admitted his guilt, but immediately after that had been a fierce anger that his cousin had put Kirsteen in danger not once, but twice. A protectiveness for the lass had been building inside him for days, augmented by the attacks. But Beathan knew that even if no arrows had ever been shot in the lass’s vicinity, he would still feel the desire to protect her from harm. Because he loved her.
Beathan didn’t care that it had only been for a short while. He didn’t care that Kirsteen was a performer in an entertainment troupe with a frightening father figure, an eccentric maternal influence, and not a penny to her name. All he cared about was the lass, and how she made him feel: loved, cherished, respected.
A lass like that was one well worth marrying, and that was exactly what Beathan was planning on doing. Asking Fred for her hand would no doubt be a complicated and highly emotional conversation, but now that it was clear that Beathan, not Kirsteen, had been the target of the attacks, perhaps Fred would soften a bit to Beathan. Especially when he informed the man of just how much he loved the lass who was like a daughter to him.
I’ll propose tomorrow, after the last performance, Beathan decided as he blew out the candle by his bed and closed his eyes. It would be a fitting end to a week that had contained every emotion a person was capable of feeling. After the tragedy of tonight, everyone, Beathan most of all, needed something to smile about. And a proposal of marriage would certainly fulfil that need.
He could hardly wait to see the look on Kirsteen’s face when he asked her to be his wife.
18
Kirsteen hadn’t spoken to Beathan properly since the night at the waterfall. She understood; after all, he’d had to deal with the hunt for their killer, and then, of course, there had been the duel with his cousin. He had looked so shaken standing there over Andrew’s body after the sword went through, as though he couldn’t believe himself capable of such a thing.
She couldn’t imagine how he was feeling at the moment. She knew he must have felt relief that the attacker had been caught; she certainly did. But Kirsteen also imagined that Beathan felt guilty, both for not seeing Andrew for what he was earlier, and for eventually killing him.
For her part, Kirsteen hadn’t slept a wink the night before, her mind filled with images of blood and swords and the look of hurt on Beathan’s face once he realized exactly what his cousin was capable of. She tossed and turned, worried about Beathan, anxious about leaving, wondering whether she would be able to find him before the next evening’s performance.
Today was, after all, her last day at Castle Dunn. Tomorrow they were to rise bright and early and make their way south to Yorkshire, where a duke had hired them for three days’ entertainment at his country house.
Kirsteen knew that Beathan was no doubt deep in grief over his cousin, but she had to see him. Had to speak to him, to know if he really had meant what he said the other night. She had to know if he wanted her to stay. Because she would, if he only asked it of her. She would stay with him for the rest of her life and his, if he liked.
But after hours of searching the castle, Beathan was nowhere to be found. None of the servants could tell her where he had gone, and while no doubt Beathan’s parents must have been privy to his whereabouts, Kir
steen knew it was not her place to ask them.
And so she had ended up sitting on the hill that faced the loch, watching the sunset. It had been a cloudy day, but the sunset was truly a thing to behold. The sky was swathed in the richest purple, shot through with rose pink and gold. A flock of birds were making their way across the clouds, and Kirsteen could hear the cawing of crows in the distance.
She inhaled a deep breath of the clean Scottish air, letting it fill her lungs completely. She wanted to hold onto these moments, this scenery, as hard as she could. She knew that without a doubt, this was the best week of her life. She might have been in danger and witnessed the murder of a man, but the time she spent with Beathan overshadowed any and all tragedy and fear. Even if he cast her off, she knew she would look back fondly on these days for all her years to come.
But I do rather hope he doesn’t cast me off, she thought as she turned back toward the castle, hoping to catch sight of Beathan’s dark hair, his broad shoulders and strong legs.
Beathan was not there. All Kirsteen saw were a few sheep and chickens running about their paddocks, and a horse being led out by a stable boy. And so it was with a sighing breath that she stood up and made her way to the camp. She needed to rehearse her song one more time before the night’s performance, and perhaps the activity would take her mind off things.
Beathan was not a little shocked at how amiable Fred was suddenly acting. It seemed that now that Beathan had apprehended the person who posed a threat to Kirsteen, Fred was perfectly happy to treat Beathan with the deference he deserved.
It was a quick about face, but it made the job of asking Fred’s permission to marry Kirsteen much easier. And today of all days, he needed things to be easy. He had enough to worry about with making a speech to the celebration guests and proposing to Kirsteen. He didn’t need to worry about fighting with her father figure as well.
“I think it a fine thing, you asking her to marry you. Kirsteen’s the best woman we know, isn’t that right, Blanche? A wonderful daughter to us and a friend to all,” Fred said, turning to his wife.
While Fred wore an amiable expression, Beathan noticed that Blanche was a little more reserved. No doubt she was already feeling the loss of the girl who had been like a daughter to her for so many years.
“Yes. Though I believe that before we allow Beathan to go running off, pledging his troth to our Kirsteen,” Blanche said carefully, “we must be sure that he is true.”
“So tell me Beathan,” Blanche said, turning to look directly at Beathan with a glare that had certain parts of him shrinking with apprehension. “Do you love my Kirsteen? Do you respect her as a woman? Will you allow her the freedoms to which she has become accustomed as part of our world? Because while I can well imagine she will make an excellent lady for you one day, that will not erase her past. Her passions. Her artistic sensibilities. Are you willing to preserve all of those, for her sake?”
Beathan looked over at Fred, who was nodding along. “A good question indeed, my dear. Beathan, what do you say?”
Thankfully, Beathan had spent half the night preparing for just such an interrogation. Sleep had evaded him for most of the hours between dusk and dawn, allowing him to consider exactly what he was going to say to Fred and Blanche to prove that he was prepared to love Kirsteen as she deserved.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter in his chair, “That’s a verra good question, and one I am glad ye asked.”
Beathan noticed Blanche smile slightly at this, and, encouraged, he continued. “I ken that Kirsteen and I have not known each other long, and for this reason, ye might well wonder if I understand her, her sensibilities and personality and interests, well enough to ken if she is truly the lass I want to tie meself to.”
“But I can assure ye,” he said, “that I ken Kirsteen down to her very soul. I daenae want to change a thing about her. I love her as she is, and always will. I ken that we are from two different worlds, but it matters naught to me.
“All I want is to love her, cherish her, respect her and protect her for all of me days. I daenae care if she continues performin’, if she decides to travel with ye for part of the year, though the separation will be felt keenly. I want her to be happy, most of all.”
Fred bowed his head in gratitude at this, and Blanche relaxed back in her chair, clearly feeling much more at ease now that Beathan had clarified those points.
Beathan waited to hear the verdict, knowing it would be in his favor. And indeed, when Fred, spoke, he was able to relax, knowing that he could continue with the proposal as planned.
“If you love her as well as you say, then who are we to deny her the chance at a life being thus cared for? All we ask is that we see her, as much as both our parties are able to manage. She is our daughter, after all,” Fred said, looking over at Blanche.
Blanche was looking a little teary, her voice rough as she nodded. “Yes. You are a good man, Beathan, and that is exactly what our girl has always deserved.”
I couldn’t agree more, he thought as he stood up to ring for tea. This called for a celebration, and since he was not of the mind to continue with the whiskey after last night’s indulgences, tea and biscuits would have to do. After all, he needed to keep his wits about him for the evening. He had a speech to make, and a lass to propose to. He would need his mind sharp for both.
Kirsteen could not sit still. They had just finished the performance, but rather than adjourning directly to the room set aside for them so they could change out of their costumes, Logan had requested that they remain in the hall.
“The laird’s son has a speech to make which concerns the lass,” he had told them, his gaze briefly meeting Kirsteen’s. If Kirsteen wasn’t mistaken, she saw a slight smile hinting at the corner of Logan’s mouth and eyes, but it was gone before she could dwell on it. Still, she took it as a good sign.
But that had not done much to quell the nerves now making their appearance known to her as she perched on one of the chairs that the servants had dragged over for the troupe.
Her eyes were focused on Beathan, who was standing up and asking the hall to quiet. A hand snaked into her lap and grasped her palm tightly, and Kirsteen looked over to find Blanche smiling at her and offering her a sly wink.
Kirsteen didn’t have time to interpret the meaning of this, because a moment later, Beathan’s voice was booming over the silent room.
“As I’m sure ye’re all well aware, my cousin Andrew Dune died at my hands last night. It was a tragic death for the family, and I thank ye for offering us the time and space we needed to come to terms with the loss.”
Kirsteen saw nods of acknowledgement spread throughout the room, and Beathan paused a moment before continuing.
“I now stand before ye to explain meself and me actions. Andrew put not only my life, but that of two of my greatest loves in danger. He endangered this castle and the lairdship that rules over it. Had he killed me, the lairdship would have gone to him, the only other remaining relative of our family. As a criminal cannot be laird, our land would have been taken out of our hands and passed to the government.”
Beathan paused here, for at this statement, a commotion erupted. There were startled gasps and murmurs as the room realized just how close they had all come to losing the lairdship whose leaders had been friend, protector and provider these last few centuries.
“Aye, it is an awful thing to consider,” Beathan said to the crowd, acknowledging their distress. “All the people that my father has spent his whole life watchin’ over would be subject to the whims of His Majesty. And I cannae have that, ye ken.”
“It is my duty,” he continued, “as the future laird of this castle and its surrounding lands and people to protect, and sometimes, that requires sacrifice. Throughout history, good and fair leaders have had to make sacrifices for the betterment of their people. My father taught me that to be a laird is to give oneself over to one’s people, to ensure their care and continued li
velihood.
“And though I am not yet laird, and daenae care to be for quite some time,” he said, turning back to his father and smiling at him a moment before turning back around, “I acted as a laird yesterday. I sacrificed my cousin Andrew’s life to ensure the safety of this lairdship and the people in its care. I daenae regret it. I would dae it again if I had to.”
His speech now over, Kirsteen expected Beathan to sit down, but he stayed upright, still scanning over the room. Thus far, his eyes had not met hers, but now, they did.
“Now, earlier I mentioned Andrew puttin’ two of me loves in danger. One is the lairdship, of that ye ken, but the other is a lass sittin’ in this verra room.”
Heads turned, trying to decide just who had become the object of the laird’s son’s affections. Of course, Kirsteen knew of whom he was speaking. Or at least, she rather hoped she did.
Her suspicions were thankfully proved correct a moment later.
“Kirsteen Roy has stolen me heart these past weeks, and it was a tragedy to see her put in harm’s way. Now that the trouble is over, however, I want to take this opportunity, in front of all of ye, to ask the lass if she would not mind marryin’ me. For I love her more than anythin’ else in the world. She is perfection, pure and simple. I love her exactly as she is, and will continue to do so for all eternity.”
“Kirsteen,” Beathan asked as he walked toward her. “What say ye, lass? Will ye make me the happiest of men?”
Rooted to her seat, Kirsteen could only watch with rapt fascination as Beathan came to stand before her. He crouched down, until he was on his knees, as though genuflecting. He reached out and took the hand that was not gripped by Blanche in his.
Highlander's Untamed Bride Page 12
