“What in the clootie’s name was that screech?” asked Ian. His tall, muscular form filled the entire doorway, and his dark hair looked wet as if he’d just come from bathing in the loch.
Aidan jumped up, realizing he was fully clothed, and that it was well into the morning hours. Then he remembered taking a nap, too full to move after eating his fill of skirlie, an oatmeal and onion dish topped off with a goose egg. The food for the clan had been prepared by his younger sister, Kyla, and the chieftain’s wife, Wren.
The door pushed open from behind Ian, and there stood their good friend, Onyx, who had recently married an Englishwoman, Lady Lovelle of Worcestershire, after finding out that his true family was English, not Scottish at all.
“Aidan, ye dunderheid,” said Onyx, spying the squirrel running around the room in a heated frenzy. Onyx’s two different-colored eyes stared back at him in question. “What did ye do to yer squirrel?”
“I think I bit its tail,” he said, running a hand through his hair and leaning back against the stone. The Stone of Scone, or Stone of Destiny as most called it, was a large, black basalt rock with ancient hieroglyphs etched into it. It had iron-looped handles embedded into the sides to use for carrying with a pole through them. The stone was very heavy, and took at least two full-grown men to move it - if they were strong. He’d embedded the thick stone into the dirt of the cottage floor to lower it, and pulled his pallet over it, to use as his personal pillow.
“Were ye hungry so soon after eatin’ so much skirlie?” asked Ian, walking into the room and sitting down. Onyx followed, leaving the door wide open. The summer sun spilled into the cottage, lighting it up and bringing with it a fresh breeze from the Highland hills.
“Nay, I had a dream.” Aidan settled himself atop the stone and donned his leather shoes that laced around his legs. Highlanders often went barefooted in the summer, unless they were traveling, like they would be today. “She was a bonnie angel with red hair, I tell ye.”
Excerpt from Beast Lord – Book 3
(Beauty and the Beast) Tangled Tales Series
Stefan stood in front of the large looking glass in the east tower chamber, surveying his reflection. He’d had Trumble remove his stitches. While the boy was clumsy and all thumbs, sticking him more than once with the tip of his knife, the sutures Bonnibel had used were dainty and small and his wounds were healing better than he’d hoped.
He’d called for her to apply ointments to his wounds, but really, he wanted to test her and see if she acted less repulsed by him now that his stitches had been removed. He ran his hands over his chest, having found a few tunics in the bottom of a trunk pushed away in the corner. He’d donned the larger of the two, and though it was tight, it wasn’t ripped and shredded like his other clothes.
He didn’t like what was happening to him, and if he wanted to beat the witch’s curse, he was going to have to beat her at her own game. Hadn’t she said in order to break the curse, all he needed to do was love a woman and she had to love him in return? He’d never been in love before, but he’d seen most of his brothers fawn over a girl or two in the past, and was sure it wasn’t that hard to woo a lady.
He’d also been reading Bonnibel’s book, The Romance of the Rose. He figured he’d try some poetry on her, or perhaps do something they talked about in the book. Of course, the book wasn’t easy to understand, as it was full of symbolism and more or less open to interpretation. Honestly, he had no idea what the author had been trying to say, and quickly dismissed the idea of quoting anything at all. He felt like the character in the book, trying to get to the rosebud that was locked away behind walls in a secret garden. Bonnibel was his rosebud and he could use advice from the characters in the book named Reason and Fair Welcome right now in order to know what to do.
He gave up trying to decipher the coded messages in the book and figured he’d just make Bonnibel fall in love with him. Simple as that. And when she did, the curse would be lifted, and he wouldn’t be consumed and turn into a beast forever – or die.
The door to the room opened and in walked Bonnibel followed by his squire. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him, and the air deadened between them. He usually hated when Trumble’s mouth ran like a river, but right now he would settle for just a trickle of a creek.
“My lord, here is the girl as you requested,” said Trumble with a slight bow.
“Thank you, Squire. You may leave now.”
“Leave?” he asked. “What for?”
“Yes, what for?” asked the girl, seeming suddenly nervous. “I’d like Trumble to stay.”
“I said leave!” His voice must have come out louder and more forceful than he’d intended, because the girl jumped, and Trumble scooted out the door. Then the sickening silence between them was back and he instantly regretted dismissing his squire.
“Why did you call for me?” she finally asked. “Did you want to perhaps tell me that from now on I’d be locked away in the dungeon instead?”
“Nay,” he said, feeling very tongue-tied. He looked back to his reflection in the standing mirror. “I – I thought – I mean . . . do you see anything different about me?”
She raised her chin in the air, crossed her arms over her chest, and walked a full circle around him as she perused him. He’d never felt like a prized cow being inspected for slaughter until now.
“Aye, I do see something different, and I don’t like it.”
“You don’t?” His hand went to his scar and he glanced back to the looking glass. Mayhap it was a mistake to bring her here.
“You are wearing my father’s tunic,” she stated. “It’ doesn’t even fit you properly and you’re going to rip it like the rest of your clothes.”
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