by Aileen Adams
“Impossible,” she hissed. “He’s Scottish. He did seem to be the kindest of all of them.”
The man didn’t make a move to descend from his horse, who seemed interested in Cecil. The two of them touched noses and sniffed at each other as the man gazed their way. He was quite tall, dark-haired with kind, dark eyes set deep in his face. He wore a plain, gray tunic over plain trousers. Nothing like Lord Randall’s fine clothing, another sign that he had nothing to do with the nobleman.
She might even have considered him handsome, had she not been so afraid of him, and had he been a bit neater. His thick hair was not too long, and his firm jaw bore dark stubble. He’d been away from home for a while, she surmised.
“What do you want?” she called out. “I thought I asked you to go away.”
“Aye, you did. And I did. We are no longer on your farm.”
This was true. She took a step toward him, ignoring the hand Deacon Eddard placed on her arm. “Why are you here? Why did you follow me?”
He cleared his throat, shifting in the saddle as though he were uncomfortable with his mount or with what he was about to say. Perhaps both. “I was concerned for ye, lass. You seemed quite upset, and not with us. I felt as though I should return and ask why it is you thought we were coming to remove ye from your home.”
“I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”
“My friends and I have traveled a fortnight to bring you back to lands protected by the clan Duncan, where your sister waits for ye. I believe that makes your business my business, lass.”
The two of them stared at each other, and Beatrice regretted the deacon’s presence. He prevented her from saying the things she wished to say to this impertinent foreigner. She would’ve liked nothing better than to tell him exactly what she thought of him in that moment.
The deacon spoke up, standing beside her again. “What proof have you that the person who wrote this letter is Beatrice’s sister?”
The Scotsman frowned. “Her name is Margery. She is a rather stubborn lass. We met her in Kirkcaldy, Derek and I. Her mother passed away over the winter and she and her sister here came up with a plan for Margery to go to London and send for Beatrice when she settled down.”
Beatrice blinked hard. “This only tells me you’ve met my sister and she might have written this.” She raised the letter in her hand. “But not that she didn’t write it under duress.”
The Scotsman nearly growled, his eyebrows knitted together over eyes which flashed with anger. “I knew this wouldn’t be as simple a task as the others thought it would be. She was going to come along with us, was all set to do it, until she…”
Was it her imagination, or did his cheeks darken in a blush? “Until she what?”
Again he shifted in discomfort. “She… eh… as her husband told ye, she’s with child. And she’s very ill, every day. Too ill to travel or even leave her bed most days.”
Beatrice’s heart clenched in response to this. Poor Margery. Discovering she was to have a child must have been a thrill, her illness would only mar that joy.
If it was true.
Why would he lie?
She wanted desperately to believe him. To leave forever, to not need worry about marrying a man she didn’t love or even like. To be with Margery again, who she had feared dead for so long already…
“I want to believe you,” she replied after some thought. “But it isn’t as simple as packing up and leaving with you. I do not know you. There would be no chaperone. There are arrangements which would have to be made…”
“And the young lady is to be married.”
Beatrice’s head whipped around, her eyes burning into the side of the deacon’s covered head. It wasn’t his place to announce such a thing, and the way he did it, too. As though her marriage were agreed upon and a date had been set.
“Is this true, lass?” The man sounded surprised, to say the least. “I was under the impression there were no men worth speaking of in the area. Margery made it sound as though the two of you were alone, and it looked as though you were alone, certainly.”
She ignored this. “It’s not as simple as that. But it is one of the arrangements I would need to put in place before I left for Scotland. I suppose.”
“We would need to leave soon. Immediately, if possible.”
“That’s impossible.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, but if you wish to take me back with you, I must arrange the sale of the farm, at least.”
“Couldn’t you take care of it for her?” He looked at Deacon Eddard. “She could trust a man of God, surely.”
She glanced at the deacon and shook her head ever so slightly to signal her feelings about this. “I feel it would be best for me to be here while the matter is settled. I want to go with you and be with my sister again, but I can’t simply leave with you because you tell me to. You can share that with your friends.”
“Including your brother-in-law,” the man reminded her in a dangerously quiet voice. “Don’t you think you should share this with your brother-in-law in person?”
“I don’t know him. You tell him yourself. My mind is made up.”
In reality, nothing could have been further from the truth. Her knees nearly knocked together as she faced him. He was so very big, with hands that could easily bruise or break her if she angered him.
And yet, he’d been the kindest of the three men. And he had come back to speak with her. That meant something.
He sighed as though he were the most put-upon man in the world. “I suppose I should meet up with them, then, and let them know. Do you need an escort back to your home?”
The thought of this Scotsman with his strange accent and rough ways escorting her was nearly laughable, but not so when she considered the possibility of finding Lord Randall on the road, as she had before. He had made his intentions known and was less likely keep his distance.
“Yes. Please. I should go back and tend to the animals.” She looked at the deacon, who she’d never seen so surprised and disconcerted.
“I will call on you soon,” he promised as she mounted Cecil and brought him around to face the direction of the farm. She nodded in response and gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile.
Who was she trying to convince? Him or herself?
10
“I must apologize.” Beatrice rode beside Broc on her slow, tired gelding who looked as though he’d just as soon take a long nap in the hay than carry a rider.
They kept an easy pace as a result, but Broc didn’t mind. It would give him more time to understand her, and convince her, possibly.
“For what?” he asked.
She clicked her tongue to signal the horse, who kept trying to wander off the road and into the banks of clover which lined it. Broc found it difficult to keep from laughing at the animal.
“For forgetting your name. Did you ever introduce yourself? I was a bit… distraught when you arrived.”
“You don’t greet all visitors with sword in hand? And you seemed so experienced, too.”
Her cheeks flushed nearly dark enough to match her hair. “I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”
“Something you share with your sister,” he observed. “My name is Broc.”
“Broc,” she murmured, chewing her lip. “You do know my sister, then?”
“She gets very angry when she feels as though someone is laughing at her. Or when someone tells her something she doesn’t want to hear. Such as when her husband informed her she wasn’t well enough to make the journey with us.” He winced before chuckling quietly at the memory.
“Was she very upset?”
“She threw nearly everything she could reach.”
“That sounds like Margery.”
The depth of emotion in her words surprised him. When he looked over, he noticed her quivering chin and tear-filled eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Sarah, who’s a skilled healer, assured us it’s not unheard of for a woman to experience such illness while car
rying a child.”
“It’s not that,” she replied, her voice thick with tears. “It’s that I feared the worst. Why didn’t she try to reach me before now?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. Something the two of you will have to talk about when we arrive.”
“Did you really think it would be as easy as telling me to come with you and leaving the same day?” she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye.
He kept his gaze focused on the road ahead as he replied. When she put it to words like that, the journey sounded somewhat ill-planned. “Your sister made it sound as though you were merely waiting for word.”
“I was. Every day, I hoped to hear something. Every time I went into the village, I hoped there would be word waiting for me. Every rider on the road past the farm, I hoped carried something for me. Have you ever waited like that, Broc? Every day, waiting for something to happen? Something which meant more than anything to you? Your entire life, or so it seemed?”
He was quiet for a moment before answering. “Yes. I have.”
Rather than asking what he’d waited for, she continued, “Then, you understand. I wasn’t preparing so much as I was simply waiting. Holding on to hope, because it was all I had.”
“Now you know, do you not? There’s nothing holding you back. You’re a free lass, able to go as she pleases.”
“Even so, I can’t leave Bess and Cecil with no one to care for them.”
“I thought you lived alone.”
She chuckled, patting the horse’s neck. “This is old Cecil. He’s been a good friend to me during these lonely fortnights on my own. As has Bess. Our cow.”
He smiled. “Ah. I see. I’m certain you could find someone to care for them, couldn’t ye? If someone were to purchase the land, wouldn’t the animals come along with it?”
“I suppose.”
She didn’t sound convinced, however, and he felt for her. She had a good heart and had become attached to the only friends she’d felt she could depend upon. The fact that those friends happened to be farm animals only made his feelings for her soften further.
You’ve no business holding any soft feelings for the lass, he reminded himself. He also reminded himself of the deacon, who it was clear had wanted to protect her from the big, frightening, threatening Scot.
The deacon was dangerous.
“Did you hear me?” Beatrice’s voice held the same note of irritation her sister’s did from time to time. Had he not known better, he would’ve thought it was Margery riding beside him down that country road.
“I’m sorry. I did not.”
She sighed. “I asked what sort of home my sister lives in. Is it a farm? Or someplace grander?”
“She demanded the laird allow her to live in the village near the manor house.”
“Demanded?” Beatrice’s laugh rang out, the sort of laugh that brought a smile to Broc’s face. When she laughed in such a way, she sounded young. Not so troubled.
“She’s living in the manor house of late, with the women keeping watch over her. She… was not pleased at being told what to do.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Ah, so there are people there who care for her.”
Broc nodded, and she fairly glowed with pleasure.
“I’m so glad. I had prayed for just such a thing.”
“And she has prayed for you. I know she has.” He suddenly felt embarrassed at having shared such an intimate detail. It wasn’t for him to speak in such a way.
Silence fell between them, filled only with the twitterings of the birds who sang away in the trees all about them and the clip clop of hooves on the road.
So long as he’d already made a fool of himself, he thought it made little difference what he said next. “Who are you afraid of?”
She took a deep breath, and the top of Cecil’s head suddenly held great interest for her as she stared at it. “Who said I’m afraid?”
“The sword ye greeted us with, for one. It didn’t need to speak in order for me to understand. And the way you accused us of being there to take you elsewhere, when we hadn’t so much as spoken a word of going anywhere, led me to believe there’s somebody, somewhere, who wants to take you away.”
“I was foolish. I acted before I thought. There was nothing to be so afraid of.” She glared at him, indignant. “What would you think if three strange men rode up to your home, looking as you do?”
“As we do?”
“You’re… Scottish,” she replied, slowly. “And the twins—I suppose they are twins—appeared rather rough.”
“Derek and Hugh,” Broc explained. “And Derek’s a sight good enough for your sister. I don’t know that she would appreciate your jumping to conclusions about him.”
He half expected her to fly into a temper, as Margery would have. Instead, she appeared to take his words to heart.
“You are correct. Of course. I shouldn’t make judgments based upon such trifling things as appearance or the place from which a man hails. None of that matters when compared to one’s character.”
The sort of mature, rational thing he would’ve expected her to say, based upon what Margery had described.
“But you were already very frightened. Most people do not think clearly when they’re frightened.”
“That is so.”
“What is it you were frightened of? Or, who?”
Her jaw worked, as though she wanted to speak but was too frightened to do so. Or too angry. He sensed the deep vein of temper which ran through her, as it ran through Margery, even if she was better at managing it than her sister, Beatrice was just as full of fire and fury.
“Deacon Eddard spoke of my marriage,” she whispered, sounding almost as though she fought not to choke on the words.
“Aye.” The mention of it filled him with displeasure, though he didn’t know why.
“It is not a marriage of my wishing,” she explained, speaking slowly. Choosing her words carefully. As though she were only just deciding how she felt about the marriage in that moment.
“Why did you agree to it, then?”
Her head whipped to the side, her eyes flashing. “I didn’t agree. I’ve never agreed. I’ve never spoken to the man about a marriage to him or anyone else.”
“I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do. I don’t think anyone does. The lord of a noble family wishes to take my family’s land. I suppose that isn’t enough, I would sell it to him, and gladly, if that were the case. He could afford a good amount of silver.”
“He wants more than that,” Broc mused. “He wants a wife. A family.”
“Heirs,” she agreed.
Something about this made his blood fairly boil. Why did it matter what happened to this stranger? Why did it make him want to hit something or someone as hard as he could? “It isn’t fair. I’ve never believed such arrangements to be fair.”
“I agree with you.”
“You won’t go through with it, then?” He had to give her credit for bravery, for even thinking she was in a position to refuse a powerful man’s wishes. Was it possible? Would the man, whoever he was, allow her to turn him away and leave the country?
Doubtful.
“Absolutely not,” she snarled. “Now, I have another option. I can go with you, I can be with my sister. I will merely tell him I’ve made other plans and offer the farm and everything it entails up to him. Although…” She cleared her throat when her voice broke, then went on. “Although it pains me to consider leaving behind my home, that which my father worked hard to build, I must consider my own life now.”
A remarkable woman. A strong one, and intelligent.
And incredibly foolish.
What he was thinking as a result was incredibly foolish, too, but that didn’t stop him from speaking the words aloud. “You would need protection. If you were to face this man. You should not go alone.”
“You think not?” She tried to affect an air of calm, of mere interest rather than fear.
But he saw it in her, the gnawing worry. She had feared so many things already and had been all alone. He hated the way he didn’t want her to be alone anymore.
He cleared his throat, feeling awkward and tongue-tied. “A man who would decide to marry a woman simply because he wants her land and her womb—begging your pardon—should not be taken lightly. There is no telling for certain what such a man would do if disappointed.”
“You speak as though you know of such men.”
“I knew of one such man. A long time ago.” He gritted his teeth against the memory, which seemed to be bubbling up more and more, unbidden.
The farmhouse was coming into view, with its weathered walls and thatched roof which looked as though it needed repair in more than one place. There was no one there to help her with even that task.
He had to speak quickly, in order to make her turn her thoughts in the right direction.
“You know, there’s something else you could do. Another choice you could make.”
“And what is that?”
“You could simply come with us. Leave word for the deacon that you place the land in his hands, to do with as he sees fit. Donate it to the church, if you wish. Anything. Only shake yourself free of the burden and come with us. First thing in the morning. You might even come with me now and stay the night in the village. We’ll make the trip to Silloth and sail from there.”
She chewed her lip, looking out over the land which was now hers, the two of them having crossed the borderline. He understood how she felt. She wanted to agree with him, to accept his invitation and run away. She had been bearing the burden for far too long and yearned for freedom, or at least the chance to do something for herself, to protect her life and her interests.
But damn the lass’s stubbornness when she shook her head.
“I can’t do that. It isn’t so simple.”
They reached the rough-hewn log fence which separated the house from the road, and she slid from the back of the horse before tying him off to one of the logs.
“Why not, in the name of all that’s holy?” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, knowing how it would upset her, but she pushed him to it. He’d only once or twice in his life met anyone who made his temper flare outside the reaches of his control.
