Awakening His Highland Soul (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Maddie MacKenna

  “Yes,” William said, turning his back on her so that she could not see his own face, and continuing his perambulation of the gardens. “Yes, I must say, when I saw you riding across the country with the chivalrous Mr. Abernathy, I thought you looked very well, indeed. A gayer-looking woman I don’t think I ever saw. You looked like someone who has made peace with what they are obligated to do.”

  And there it is. The indirectly asked question: will I do what he asked me to do last time that I saw him? Will I help him carry out that which he–we– have done so many other times before?

  Beatrice did not answer, but neither did Ballantine press her. The two of them walked along hedges of deliciously fragrant wild thyme, surrounded at their bases by primroses and moss campion.

  “Yes, you look well, Beatrice,” William said. “But I can’t help but think that you have been avoiding me these past two weeks…Up until I managed to finally talk to you, that is.”

  He turned to look at Beatrice. His face was just as rough and amiable and honest and caring as it had ever been, but Beatrice knew it too well not to recognize the avarice in it too.

  Beatrice hung her head. She did feel ashamed, for she had been avoiding him. Had been avoiding even thinking about him and the proposal that he had made to her last time he had visited MacKenzie Castle.

  A proposed scheme that has sat like a splinter in my mind ever since I heard it.

  “Come now, my dear,” William said. “You know me. You know you can talk to me about anything that you have in mind. What the dickens is the matter?”

  “Nothing is…nothing is the matter. It’s just…”

  Beatrice trailed off.

  “What?” Ballantine prompted.

  “Well, it’s just that I know why you’ve been so desperate to see me.”

  “Of course, you do. I made no secret of it last time that we talked. I’m confused as to why you were so shocked on the previous occasion. It is the same thing that we have done many times before. The same thing that the circus has been doing for many years.”

  Ballantine gazed at a statue standing half-concealed in a bush. He placed his hands behind his back and regarded it thoughtfully. Then he said, “I was worried about you, my dear. I wanted to make sure that you were on the mend after your fall. It was not all concern for our…business.”

  “I know. I know you did. I know you were worried about me,” Beatrice said. She put her hand on the sleeve of the tall man’s faded coat. “But you cannot pretend that you are here for any really very good reason, William. We both know it that what we do is as far from good as it is possible to be, really.”

  William glanced sideways at her. Even in the dim light of the tunnel of honeysuckle into which they had wandered into and now stood, she saw his intense green eyes flash in her direction.

  “Yes, well,” he said, and there was no hint that he was particularly pleased at the situation they found themselves in. “Yes, you are right, my dear, of course. Master Abernathy seems like a good man, all things considered.”

  “He is a good man. A very good man. One of the best that I have ever met.”

  William nodded.

  “Unfortunately, my dear, it is too good an opportunity to pass up, and Lord knows that I must find some way to provide for all those under my care–all those who call Ballantine’s Circus home or consider it to be their family.”

  “But, William,” Beatrice tried tentatively. “Perhaps, this time, we could simply pass through the town without–”

  William shook his head. “Beatrice, I am not a stupid man. Unlucky sometimes, maybe, but not stupid. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you fell off that horse. Never had I seen it happen! But I should have had a little more faith in Providence and known that God might have had a hand in it.”

  William continued strolling down the path that they were on. He was staring at his feet, clearly lost in thought. Beatrice followed behind, her own mind racing.

  How can I turn him from the course that he is doubtless set on? How can I deviate him from the plan that he is probably on the cusp of springing on me?

  “Who should help you and want to nurse you back to health, but the wealthiest man in all these parts,” William mused to himself. “It was Fate at work. I could not have planned it any better. I could not have chosen any more well-placed ally.”

  “Ally? You make it sound as if the man had a choice in the subterfuge you want to perpetrate on him.”

  William gave a small snort of impatience.

  “But William,” Beatrice tried again, her face contorting slightly in her desperation, “Jeames–the Abernathys–are good men.”

  “Outwardly, of course,” rumbled the ringmaster. “We are all of us good men–until we come under close scrutiny. Then it all becomes a matter of circumstance–of why we do what we do.”

  Beatrice wrung her hands. “But, I believe, that they really are good men. Generous and kind. Can we not just–”

  “Leave them be?” William said, incredulity coloring his words. “Can you recall us ever having the good fortune to find ourselves in such proximity to folks the likes of these, Beatrice? Folks of such means?”

  Beatrice opened her mouth but no words were forthcoming.

  William shook his head again.

  “I am sorry, my dear,” he said. “I understand that spending the last two weeks or so here has meant you’ve gotten close to this Mr. Abernathy. And I shall not lie to you and deny that I find him a most agreeable gentleman. He has treated you very well. That is abundantly clear. I am sorry for it. But, having walked about this residence...”

  Beatrice could not think of what to say. Her mind seemed to have gone into a state of paralysis. Her hands slowly clenched into fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms. She could feel a sort of futile anger rising inside of her at the wrongness of all this.

  Surely, after so many years of doing this, you would be used to the idea of doing what William has planned?

  A frisson of disgust at herself ran through her then, a coldness that swept up from the soles of her feet to the tips of her hair.

  She knew that, when William set his mind to a thing, it was highly unlikely that he could be swayed from his course. He was stubborn and driven as a bull in a ring.

  As if he could read the very thoughts inside Beatrice’s head, even as they formed, William said, “I’m sorry, my dear thing, but we must do this. The circus comes first. I will not stand by idly when it is within my means to provide for my family and employees.”

  “Why? Why not this time pass this town by? For me.”

  “Ah, but there you have put your finger upon the nub, my dear. I am doing this for you. Everything I do is for you, you and the rest of our family that sleeps under the great canvas roof of the circus. As you well know, times have been tough and, I’m afraid to say, they are getting tougher. When times get tough, Beatrice, a man must decide whether to get tough with them or let them ride right over him.”

  Beatrice grasped William by his sleeve again. This time she forced the big, strong man to turn and look down at her.

  “Please, William,” she said, a note of pleading creeping into her usually stolid voice. “Please, let’s not do this.”

  William looked regretfully into her face, but Beatrice could see the resolve hardening in the depths of those glittering jade eyes.

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “But my mind is made up on this. Bear with me, and I’ll tell you what I have in mind…”

  As William began to talk, Beatrice closed her eyes and turned away to hide her tears.

  20

  Jeames watched from the window of his study, his eyes glued on the path that led out of MacKenzie Castle’s huge, double front door and wound back down into town. He had meant to get a report on the state of the sheep flocks on the southern border of their lands done. He had told his father he would have finished the day before. The report, however, lay untouched upon his desk.

  I wonder what Ballantine w
ants this time. Surely, he would nae ask tae meet Beatrice alone and then simply spirit her away now, would he? He seems like a willful man, but nae the sort tae leave without thankin’ someone who had cared fer his star performer.

  It was getting down to the skinny end now though, the last few days that Ballantine had allotted before the whole circus moved on.

  Before Beatrice is gone again. Lost down some dusty road or other.

  Jeames shook his head irritably and turned so that he could fill his cup with the honeyed mead that the castle cook made in such quantities at this time of year. He took a deep drink and then turned to gaze vigilantly out of the window again. His jaw clenched, the muscle in the side of his head working as waves of helplessness and annoyance washed over him in turns.

  And what the hell would I dae if I saw Ballantine and Beatrice walk out o’ the door and head off into the distance, eh? I’m still promised tae Margery Brùn, whether she be sick or nae.

  He grimaced involuntarily at this and gave the windowsill a little rap with his knuckles.

  It did slip his mind sometimes, that he was betrothed to Margery. His thoughts were so saturated and concerned with sifting through the myriad possible ways that he might get Beatrice to stay, that often he would totally forget that, even were she to decide to stay, nothing could come of their friendship.

  The thought was as bitter to him as any thought had ever been. He could not help but feel that he was being defeated on two fronts.

  What would ye have her dae? Be yer mistress?

  Jeames actually laughed aloud at the very notion of it and laughed again at the idea of the strong-willed equestrienne agreeing to that sort of thing.

  Daenae be stupid, it would be a low man that even considered such a thing. I couldnae dae such a thing to Beatrice, nor tae Margery.

  He took another drink of mead, pondering one futile scheme after another, and looked out over the country that was visible from the lofty perch that his study occupied in the castle.

  How a woman so adept at ridin’ horses would love it here. How helpful she could be in me faither’s pursuit of breedin’ and trainin’ the best horses in the whole of the Scottish Highlands. The whole clan would benefit indirectly from her choosin’ tae stay.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a red-clad figure stepping out onto the oath and striding away on long legs. Jeames’s heart clenched.

  Mr. Ballantine.

  Jeames braced himself to see the lithesome form of Beatrice hurrying out of the shadow of the keep, following the impressive and stately figure of the owner of the circus as he marched away.

  As his heartbeats thudded by, his stomach relaxed and he realized that, for now, it seemed as if she had stayed put.

  But what state will she be in when I see her next? If it is anythin’ like how she was last time she and Ballantine had a little chat, then our final few days taegether might well be steeped in gloom.

  Fighting the urge to fling back his remaining mead and rush downstairs to make sure that Beatrice was, indeed, still on the premises, Jeames forced himself to take a seat at his desk. In a sort of dream, he pulled the report that he had said he would have ready for his father the day before towards him. He picked up his quill and he began to compile his thoughts.

  Surprisingly, he managed to bury himself in his work for a good, long while. He had done this by reasoning with himself that anything he could do to make his father happy might somehow make the Laird change his mind and cancel the betrothal between Jeames and Lady Margery.

  That, I think, is wishful thinkin’.

  He put down his quill and cracked his fingers. He blew on the final paragraph of his report, gently so that he dried the ink but did not make it run, then started to scan over it again to make sure that it was perfect and that he had left out no pertinent details.

  Suddenly, his concentration was broken by a knock on his door.

  “Aye, come in,” he said, his eyes still running down the document in his hand.

  The Laird stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Faither,” Jeames greeted the man with a smile. “Take a seat. I’ve that report on the state o’ the flocks on the southern border fer ye tae take a look at.”

  The Laird took the proffered report with a nod of thanks but did not go to read it. “Better late than never, lad,” he said with a quick grin.

  “Ye’re a hard taskmaster, Faither,” Jeames replied. “Dae ye fancy a drop o’ mead?”

  “Nay, nay, I will nae stay long, lad.”

  Jeames nodded and leaned back in his chair. Clearly his father was here for a reason. He waited for the Laird to speak.

  “I saw the circus man leavin’ just before,” the Laird said.

  Jeames felt the muscle in his temple twitch once, but when he replied his tone was level.

  “Aye, he stopped by tae speak a word or two wi’ Beatrice out in the gardens.”

  The Laird nodded. “Aye, I saw the lass after he had left. She looked like she’d just been givin’ some unwelcome news.”

  Jeames did not reply. He knew that his father must be driving at something, so he waited for the man to get to his point.

  “It’s an odd thing, dae ye nae think so, that a lass should be so full o’ the milk of human contentment after an invigoratin’ ride with ye. Then, after seein’ a man she’s kenned practically her whole life, she turns pale and drawn?”

  Jeames bit his lip. He did not want to make an incautious remark or spark another argument with his father. He loved the man but, more than that, it was important to him that he be on his side, as he had always been through Jeames’s whole life.

  “Aye,” he said. “I noticed somethin’ similar meself, last time that Mr. Ballantine came through, but I think that it is fair tae say that those that love us best can sometimes be the ones that do our bloody heads in the most.”

  The Laird broke into a clear and ringing peal of laughter at this. He clapped his hands, his gray eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ah, eloquently put there, lad,” he said. “And I could nae agree with ye more. Ye think ye understand that idea now, but just ye wait until ye have children…”

  Jeames smiled at his father and laughed himself. For a moment, his memories revisited his own days of youth; running about and causing mayhem wherever he went. Always his father had been strict but fair when it came to rule breaking. The smile of reminiscence faded from Jeames’s face. The familiar, dull ache of worry filling his insides again.

  Good God, but I dae wish that he would change his mind about this betrothal. The worst part of it is that, deep down, I can see well enough where his logic lies.

  “Aye, ye are right, but still it strikes me as odd. I will nae go tae much into it, fer I ken that it irks ye tae hear me say such things; but I feel as if there is somethin’ in her heart that she is nae tellin’ ye about, lad. It may well be that it’s somethin’ that she cannae tell ye, a family or circus matter perhaps, but just tread carefully. Keep yer eyes open.”

  Before Jeames could retort, the Laird got to his feet and held up the report. “Me thanks fer this, lad,” he said. “Just consider what I’ve told ye.”

  The door closed with a snap behind him.

  Jeames sat for a while at his desk mulling his father’s words over. It was true what the older man said.

  It is a strange thing that Beatrice should be in such a quiet and downcast mood after spendin’ time with someone that she obviously holds in such high esteem. Is it just family troubles, or is it, as Faither seems tae think, somethin’ else entirely?

  There was another knock on the door.

  “Back again wi’ some more of yer wise insights into the fairer sex, Faither?” he called. “Ye best come in then!”

  The door opened and Jeames sardonic smile morphed into one of genuine pleasure.

  “Beatrice!” he said.

  She did not look as upset as he had been expecting, though he felt that that might have been because she was putting
a brave face on whatever it was that troubled her so.

  “Ye have caught me at a perfect time,” Jeames said. “I have just finished chattin’ wi’ me faither and handed him over an exceedingly dull report, which should make him very happy.”

  He indicated the seat in front of his desk. “Sit down, please. How fairs things wi’ Mr. Ballantine?”

  A cloud passed over Beatrice’s face; a look of sorrow that was fleeting, but it was there, nonetheless.

  “Or we can talk o’ somethin’ else if ye prefer?” Jeames said, redirecting the flow of talk with all the subtlety of a stone being thrown through a window.