by Fiona Faris
“Helena…” Marcus raised his voice in warning.
“Oh, do not chide me! It is good for both of them. Tell me, when was the last time you saw Brodie so happy?” she nodded her head at her brother-in-law.
“I’ll admit not fer some time. Not since Gavin’s death, at th’ verra least,” Marcus said. “But I daenae ken that it is only Bea that’s makin’ him feel this way. I think it was th’ trip down South. Gave him time tae think, tae heal. He came back a changed man.”
“And do you not think that the night he and Beatrice spent in that inn might have had something to do with those changes, husband dear?”
Marcus narrowed his eyes. He also tried to raise his eyebrow, but unlike her, he was not so skilled, and succeeded only in making himself look so silly that she had no choice but to burst into laughter.
Her giggles soon had him chuckling, and for a moment they were lost in carefree mirth.
When they sobered, however, Helena continued with the earlier topic, loathe to let it go until her husband had agreed with her that Brodie and Beatrice made a beautiful couple and that clearly they were meant for each other.
“I declare I have not seen Beatrice smiling so much since James was alive, especially during those last few years with him.” Helena was thinking of Beatrice’s miscarriages, those two babies halfway through their growth when her friend’s body had suddenly betrayed her. Marcus did not know the details of those events—it would have been untoward to tell him, and would have broken Beatrice’s trust, besides—but he did know that James’ death was not the only tragedy her friend had suffered. He knew that the last few years of Beatrice’s marriage had been trying in many ways, all of which had contributed to the extent of the grief and sadness that seemed to have nearly drowned her since James died.
“Aye. That is true, I admit, and ye promise ye hae nae pushed them together, that ye are not th’ orchestrator o’ th’ connection I see afore me eyes?” He looked toward a smiling Beatrice and laughing Brodie, whose arms were now wrapped around a giggling Padraig, and then back to Helena, his face full of suspicion.
“I promise,” Helena put her hand on her heart for emphasis. “However,” she began, but was interrupted by an “A-ha! I knew it!” look from Marcus.
“Hush!” Helena chided, in case they heard, but they were now tickling Padraig and were blissfully unaware they were the topic of conversation.
“I was only going to say that I encouraged Bea to be true to herself and her heart, but that is all. I promise I will not be like that heroine, Emma Woodhouse, in that novel I read last month. She was horribly arrogant, and completely blind to the questionable compatibility of the couples she tried to foist together.”
“Whereas ye are astute in yer matchmakin’ attempts,” Marcus supplied. “More a Mrs. Bennett, I think. From that Pride an’ Prejudice ye lent tae me. Quite a funny book, that was, an’ Mrs. Bennett was th’ true star in it.”
“How dare you! I am nothing like her!” Helena cried, turning toward her husband and shoving his shoulder. He exaggerated a fall onto the grass, laying down only to have Helena bend down until her lips were brushing against the outer shell of his ear.
“You are very wicked,” she whispered in his ear.
“Aye, I ken that, lass. Ye make me sae,” he groaned back in her ear.
Helena giggled, feeling the heat radiating off her husband’s body as she leaned over him.
Her body began to sing, its vibrations calling for Marcus’ skin against hers. After nearly six years of marriage, he intoxicated her still. She loved him more than she had the day of their wedding, more than the day Padraig gave his first piercing cry. And looking over at Brodie and Beatrice, she saw what she very much suspected was the beginning of that same kind of love between them.
There was an easiness that the two of them shared that differed from Beatrice and James’ relationship. James had been a wonderful man, to be sure, but he had not the ease and quiet wit that Brodie possessed.
James had loved Beatrice quietly, properly. There had been passion between him and Beatrice, Helena knew, but James was quiet with his emotions, and Beatrice had suggested that the passion had ebbed in the years before his death.
But Helena knew enough of her brother-in-law and his temperament to know that once in love, he would never fall out. And once passionate, that passion would not fade. Brodie was a devoted sort of man, and Helena could already see devotion for Beatrice blooming in him, and it cheered her so. He was the exact sort of man Beatrice deserved.
Beatrice had been through so much already. She needed someone to help her rediscover those parts of herself she had hidden away for good. Helena hoped that these moments between her and Brodie would be enough to convince her to open her heart for good. It had only been a little over a week, and she already seemed much lighter than when she had arrived. It was nearing the end of October, and Helena knew that Samhain would be the perfect opportunity to get the two lovers to reconnect fully, to open themselves up to a possibility beyond the October at this castle into a long-term reality. Marcus might think her to be tampering, but it was not the case at all; she was merely encouraging with her comments. After all, who better than she to know what her best friend needed.
* * *
Their time out by the loch was wondrous as always. Beatrice had grown quite accustomed to the teal waters and the soft smell of rain they carried with them. Her afternoon with Brodie and Padraig had lifted her spirits in ways she had long forgotten she needed. Before her trip to the castle, it seemed Beatrice had resigned herself to living a life with the weight of guilt spread upon her shoulders like a mourner’s cloak. She had accepted the weight of the grief as her punishment for having left James’ side, a punishment for loving him deeply and truly but never bearing the heir he so desperately wanted. But that afternoon, seeing little Padraig spread out on the blanket, giggling at the shapes in the sky and the fluttering birds, she knew all of it was what she most needed, a medicine she had failed to allow herself.
Since her talk with Brodie, she had found herself slowly opening her heart to him. She wanted to know more about him, his grief, and he had wanted to know more about her. Since their kiss in the library, they had seldom had much more physical affection, besides the soft caress across her hand, or the teasing way she sometimes laid her palm on his chest when no one glanced their way. It was not that they had no desire; in fact, it was their desire that forced them to keep one another tamed. They had promised to go slow, to take their time and know each other and enjoy each other’s company. But Beatrice could not ignore the many nights she found herself tossing in her bed, caressing her own tight nipples as she thought of the way Brodie’s tongue had so carefully tasted them. She wanted his touch more than she wanted to admit to anyone.
* * *
After a hearty picnic by the loch, Marcus took little Padraig in his arms and carried him towards the castle. Helena waited a few moments while Beatrice walked towards her. She waved Brodie on, saying she needed a moment with her friend. Brodie smiled and let his hand trail across hers as he walked off. Beatrice bit her lip and tried to stifle a small giggle that threatened to escape. Helena watched her with an eyebrow raised.
“Well, for someone who seemed so adamant about not bonding with Brodie, the two of you seem to be rather inseparable these days. I’m starting to think I might have to fight him away to get a stolen moment or two with my best friend,” she sighed and leaned her head against Beatrice, who waved her hand and laughed.
“I am finding myself drawn more and more to him; seems you were right to suggest that I only needed to open myself to possibility and enjoying the present moment. I don’t think I’ve felt nearly this carefree since—” Beatrice interrupted herself, “well, in a long time is all I’ll say.” A soft breeze blew around them, carrying the smell of the seasons changing. Beatrice had been enjoying her time at the castle. She forced herself to ignore how much time was passing, which only hinted at how little time she h
ad left before she needed to return to her duties as duchess.
“Well, I think it is good for you. I, for one, am happy to see the old Bea coming out more and more. This is why I am so thrilled that you will be here for the Samhain celebration. These Scotts sure know how to celebrate the season.”
Beatrice had almost forgotten about the celebration. It was only days away. She had heard so much about the festivities, the dances, the lanterns, the masks, the lavish food and drink.
“Yes! I cannot wait, Helena. You have said so many wonderful things about it. I am glad to be here for the next one. Do you need help with anything? Are you doing anything in preparation?”
“I am so glad you are offering. There is much to be done. When we return to the castle, I must get the staff to organize some of the decorations. We will be holding a feast, and there will be a dance performed here by the loch. I have to go meet with a few people in the market square, will you go with me?”
“Of course!” Beatrice tried to sound excited, but a part of her longed to remain in the castle, to spend some of her time in the library, laying with Brodie, each reading quietly but merely enjoying the closeness of each other’s presence. But she knew she had been neglecting her friendship this last week, even if only slightly. So she convinced herself it would be an enjoyable short trip, a time when she could see more of the local area.
Helena was thrilled and squeezed her friend’s arm, excited that the two of them would have a short time alone.
* * *
Once they were back at the castle, Helena and Beatrice asked the staff to ready a carriage, and the two of them rode off towards the market square. Beatrice looked out the carriage and found her heart calmed by the waters of the loch. As the rode, she closed her eyes and let the setting sun cast a warm peach glow across her eyelids. She inhaled and swore she could smell the seasons changing as she breathed. It was a wonderful time of year to be visiting. Even with the weather cooling, she found her heart much more serene here.
The market square bustled with energy as people prepared themselves for the upcoming festivities. Helena pulled Beatrice along to a bakery.
“We must get some of their pork scones. You have no idea how absolutely delicious they are. I have tried to have the kitchen workers at the castle remake them, but they have never been able to replicate them exactly!” Helena rubbed her pregnant belly, and Beatrice could see the cravings were taking over, and there was nothing that was going to stand in the way of them buying up as many pork scones as they could possibly get their hands on.
They walked towards the tiny stone building. The closer they walked, the more Beatrice could smell the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries. The air outside was filled with the deliciously heavy scent of the bakery. There was a line out the door, but as people began to recognize Helena, they kindly let her through. Everyone waved hello to her, and many people stopped her briefly, mentioning how thrilled they were to be attending the Samhain festivities.
As they were nearing the counter of the bakery, a harsh-sounding high-pitched voice caught Beatrice’s attention.
“Helena, how lovely tae see ye.” Beatrice turned and found herself standing face-to-face with a woman in a gown that was tied so tight, her breasts threatened to reach out and slap Beatrice. Helena scowled before turning then.
“Nellie, how lovely to see you.” She placed her hands on her belly as if instinctively protecting her unborn.
“I am varra much lookin’ forward tae yer Samhain celebration. Tis been a while since I’ve seen Brodie.” She raised an eyebrow, and Beatrice found her heart racing at the mere mention of his name. She did not like the way this woman said it. The way her mouth seemed to want ownership of every syllable.
“Yes, well, he’s been rather occupied,” Helena added with only the slightest hint of disdain. “Oh, I must introduce you to my friend. This is Beatrice, Duchess of Marlow.” The woman’s eyes widened at the mention of Beatrice’s title.
“Beatrice, this is Nellie. Her father is the local priest.” Beatrice reached out and shook her hand with barely any grip. She did not like this woman, and had only just met her. Thankfully it was at that moment that the baker called the two of them forward.
“Well, it seems we must be going. But I will see you at the celebration.” Helena hurried her friend inside to buy the pork scones she had been lusting after.
The baker took their order, and did not blink twice when Helena ordered two dozen scones to be wrapped to go. He smiled and handed them a sample while they waited. Helena tipped him generously and took the package from his hands.
Once outside, Beatrice could not hold it any longer, and needed to know who the woman was. “I did not like that Nellie one bit,” she confessed.
“Well, you are not alone in that! I can barely tolerate the woman! But we will be seeing her at the celebration. You should know, she’s had her eye on Brodie for some time now.”
Beatrice felt her face grow hot with jealousy. She had the urge to shake her head as she reminded herself Brodie was not hers. The way her heart and mind seemed to move between guilt and lust, and care and longing, confused her much these days. “Well, it is not as though he’s my property, but she does not seem right for him one bit.” Beatrice started walking quickly away from the bakery, not entirely sure where she was walking towards.
“Wait a moment,” Helena pointed towards her small stomach, “do not make me chase after you. You haven’t even the slightest idea of where we are heading next!” Helena redirected her towards another small shop where she planned to pick up a costume for Padraig.
“Do not fret; Brodie is not interested in her. Even the slightest. She’s been making advances toward him for some time now.” Beatrice felt a little relief at the mention of this information. “You shouldn’t be so surprised; however, he is at an age where he should be thinking about longevity, especially in his role. But the look on your face as I say all of this tells me everything I need to know.” Helena turned towards her friend.
“And what is that exactly?” Beatrice crossed her arms.
“Well, it seems very obvious that your feelings are only growing stronger for him. Which, I, for one, think is absolutely marvelous.” Helena clapped her hands together as she said this. Beatrice couldn’t help but smile at her as she moved towards the tailor’s shop. Helena was right; as much as Beatrice wanted to deny it, a part of her felt jealous with the mention of Nelly trying to go for Brodie’s heart. She did not like the idea that he might one day be with someone who was not her. For now, the two found themselves together, but could there be much else beyond this month? She knew she should focus only on the month, as they were going slow, but her heart wanted answers now. And yet, her mind tried to reason with her, tried to tell her that she did not need the answers because she already knew what her duty was, where she needed to be. It was all so confusing for her. She took a bite of her pork scone, which was as delicious as Helena had made it out to be. She let the saltiness of the pastry revive her and pull her from her fickle mind. She told herself she needed to focus on the task at hand. Her body and mind had been far too occupied with Brodie as of late. She forced herself to think only about the flavor, and about their list of tasks left to accomplish.
Chapter Eighteen
Samhain approached far sooner than anyone at the Eilean castle could have anticipated. The weather chilled, and the breeze sped up as if sensing the end of the Celtic year. Beatrice could not deny, she was greatly looking forward to the holiday. There was an energy in the air, something tantalizing and otherworldly about it. Brodie had been talking nonstop for the last two days about how wondrous the castle looked with so many lanterns and candles, about the children and how they enjoyed the festivities, and about the dancing that took place during the rituals. Though he did not believe in magic, many still practiced the druid traditions of the olden days, believing it would bring their businesses a year of luck, their families a year of health, and their pockets a year of wealth.
Helena had pulled out an old gown just for Beatrice. It was a garnet color, one that Beatrice usually believed contrasted her skin too considerably, but the shade of this gown was rich and warm. It brought out the rich pink tones of her skin, color that had only returned now that she had found her appetite for life again. Beatrice stood in her room, looking out at the expansive loch from her window and the green grass that bent with the soft wind. The sun was low on the horizon, and it was nearing time to prepare for the feast and the celebrations. She moved her hand over the soft velvet of the dress. Even though it had been barely two weeks, her breasts already looked fuller in the fabric. She caught a reflection of herself in the window, and she had to admit she felt and looked beautiful. She was excited to see Brodie, to watch his face for a reaction. The way he looked at her made her feel like an exquisite piece of art, or a stretch of wildflowers dancing beneath the sun.
