The Beast of Aros Castle (Highland Isles)

by McCollum, Heather

  “She’s still exhausted,” Grace said and set a bannock in front of Ava, and a tankard of watered-down wine.

  “We will help ye with whatever ye need,” Bridget said graciously. “I can go back to helping Joan heal the villagers.” She shrugged. “And if ye decide to move out of the keep, we’d be happy to help ye set up a lovely little home. There’s a vacant cottage on the edge of town.”

  “Bridget,” Mairi said beneath her breath and looked at Ava. “Ye don’t have to move out of the keep.”

  “Well, she’d better marry Tor, or it will ruin her reputation,” Bridget said. Her gaze narrowing. “Since your last wedding was a lie.”

  Ava’s mouth opened but nothing emerged. Grace swore beneath her breath and frowned at Bridget. “They are wed in the eyes of God.”

  “I believe God might find it a sin to lie while partaking in a holy sacrament,” Bridget said and nibbled on a piece of the bannock. Her gaze was filled with innocence. She stood, turning with a little wave. “It is a sweet little cottage. Just right for ye and your sister. I’m sure ye’re both welcome to stay in Aros. The Macleans have always given charity to the destitute.”

  “Destitute, my arse,” Grace murmured and turned away as the haughty woman walked out of the keep, the doors in the entry slamming shut. “I was the daughter of an earl. Once Vincent is declared lost and dead, I will inherit Somerset.”

  Ava looked at Mairi. “Was Tor going to marry her? Before I came?”

  Mairi tipped her head back and forth. “Maybe. They did spend time together.” Her raised eyebrows and twisted mouth made it obvious that she meant they spent time together in bed.

  Ava rubbed her chest where her heart literally hurt. “We need to move out of the castle.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Grace said. “She’s jealous. If Tor wanted to marry her, he would have done so before you came to Aros.”

  “It’s true, my brother doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. Ye didn’t really trick him, Ava, not without him wanting ye anyway.”

  Ava raised her desperate eyes to Mairi. “I am so sorry I—”

  Mairi shook her head, stopping her. “We women have to use what we can to save ourselves.” She squeezed Ava’s hand. “I would have done the same thing to escape Normond.”

  The truth in Mairi’s words gave Ava strength, and she nodded. “I still think I should move out. When he returns, Tor can decide if he…if he really wants to be wed to me.”

  Mairi and Grace looked at one another. Mairi smiled as she turned back to Ava, her eyes lighting. “Very well. Let’s make the cottage beautiful.”

  …

  Tor slammed his fist into Normond MacInnes’s jaw, the pain in Tor’s knuckles blocked by the memory of bruises on Ava’s wrists, the same on his sister’s. The cursing drunk tumbled backward onto his arse. “Get up, ye bastard,” Tor said and spat. “Or are ye too soft to fight a man after beating a woman?”

  Normond seemed to struggle for a moment to sit up, blood streaming already from his nose, but he fell backward, losing himself to oblivion. “Damnation.” Tor’s curse mixed with a frustrated growl.

  “Kill him,” Geoff MacInnes, the new MacInnes chief, called and stepped forward with his own sword. “’Tis your right.”

  Leading their combined men, Tor and Cullen had journeyed to Kilchoan weeks ago to ensure Normond would not become the new chief of the clan, and the clan had sworn their loyalty to Geoff.

  Tor stood, his legs braced. His gaze sought out Cullen, who watched from the small mob with his arms crossed and a scowl to match his own. “I won’t kill an unconscious man,” Tor called. As it was, Tor had broken Normond’s nose and possibly his jaw, not to mention the beating his torso had taken. “Do with him what ye will,” Tor said and turned away. “But let him know if he sets foot on Mull, he’s dead.”

  He stalked off toward the cottage he’d shared with Cullen these past weeks, and his friend fell into step with him. “How’s your hand?” Cullen asked.

  “Better than my stomach,” he said, glancing at his bloodied knuckles, and Cullen laughed. They’d both been suffering through the MacInneses’ hospitality, which seemed to include quite a bit of rancid meat. With Fergus MacInnes gone so much of the summer, and his bloody son too drunk to care, there’d been little attention given to cattle and crops.

  “Time to go home then?” Cullen asked. Tor glanced sideways at his friend and caught his meaningful look. They could have left as soon as Geoff was placed in charge days ago, but Tor had delayed. Cullen’s arched brow said that he thought he knew why. Maybe he was right.

  “Soon,” Tor answered. Tor had told Cullen all about Ava’s treachery. His friend had listened silently until Tor’s words talked around and around for at least four retellings while he purged his ire.

  Cullen had propped his feet before the low fire for long minutes of silence and steepled his fingers. “Who are ye angry at, Tor? Ava for doing what she had to do to save herself and her sister? Or yourself for allowing yourself to be tricked again without questioning it?”

  That had been the end of their discussion on the matter.

  Cullen sighed heavily as they entered their sparse quarters. “I need to return to Islay before a MacDonald proclaims that I’m dead and he’s the new chief.”

  Tor stretched his shoulders and headed to the basin to wash Normond’s blood off his swelling fingers. If he were at Aros, his mother would wrap them in some foul poultice. And if he refused, Ava would trick him into letting her tend him like Thomas and his putrid arse.

  Tor slathered on lye soap. “I think Geoff’s seat is stable enough, especially with Normond being such an idiot. We can cross tomorrow to Mull.”

  Cullen clapped him on the shoulder and peered over at the brown-tinged water. “Just keep in mind, if ye decide to give her up, send her my way. I still need to find an Englishwoman to wed.”

  Tor shrugged off his hand, and Cullen walked away, chuckling under his breath. The man was infuriating. He’d smash Cullen’s bloody, smiling face if he wasn’t his best friend.

  …

  “You are definitely thickening in the middle,” Grace said and untied the ribbons of Ava’s bodice. She leaned into Ava’s ear. “I think it’s time to admit you’re with child.”

  Ava turned, her smile already in place even before seeing Grace’s. She pinched her lips tight, holding in her hope with her breath. She exhaled. “I’ve missed several of my cycles now, and my breasts feel heavy and my waist is wider.” She nodded. “I think…I think maybe I am,” she whispered.

  Grace chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Everyone has known this for weeks. How can you be surprised?”

  Grace and Ava had moved into the two-room cottage on the edge of Aros village. Apparently, it had been Matilda’s when Tor threw her out of the castle, so Ava told Joan it made sense for her to occupy it, despite Joan’s worry over evil spirits. But what had brought Ava to tears that cool autumn day was the group of villagers that had turned out to help freshen the cottage.

  Thomas and Gladys, Hamish, Gavin, Joan, and Alyce, and several others she had tended through injury and illness brought food and linens. They daubed the cottage white, filling open chinks between the rough boards. Inside, the ladies helped organize and clean the kitchen nook and set up two beds for her and Grace in the tiny bedroom. By the time the sun set, the cursed cottage was a quaint haven. Their help, more than any words, showed that they forgave her. If only Tor could.

  “You will have to tell him,” Grace said as she poured some hot brew into two cups.

  “If he ever returns,” Ava said, walking to the window to open the shutters to the lowering sun. “He’s been gone almost a month.”

  “Hamish said he had to stay in Kilchoan until a new chief was chosen and Normond was found.” She shrugged and handed one mug to Ava. “Meanwhile, we should start making baby clothes and blankets.” Excitement lit her features. “I can’t wait to be an auntie.”

  Ava laughed. “No taking your
niece or nephew on blizzard picnics.”

  “How about running with wolves? I suppose that’s out, too?”

  “I never actually made you run with wolves,” Ava corrected and turned back to the window where marjoram grew in a hanging trough just outside the sill. She took a sip and inhaled as her eyes settled on Aros Castle at the top of the winding road. Even with Mairi and Joan up there, the big edifice of rock seemed empty without Tor.

  The thud of a horse galloping along the main path through the village pulled Ava’s attention. Her breath caught as a bay horse flew by their cottage up the road. She set the hot drink on the sill and stared at the rider’s broad shoulders. Propped on the window, Ava’s fingers curled into little fists as she remembered the softness of his hair, the taste of his lips on hers. Her exhale trembled, and she leaned into the window frame.

  Tor Maclean had returned.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “What do ye mean she’s not here?” Tor’s voice shot across the bailey even though Hamish stood directly in front of him.

  “She wished to move out of the castle. She’s living in the village with Grace.”

  Tor’s stomach remained taut with the boulder he seemed to be carrying there since Samhain. “Where in the village?” Tor stared hard into his second-in-command’s eyes.

  Hamish shifted, his only indication that he was worried over the fury in Tor’s tone. “The only one that was vacant,” Hamish said low.

  “I wanted it torn down, not inhabited by a second wife.” Tor’s gaze shifted between the castle and the gate.

  “We fixed it up. Grace said it was lovely,” Hamish said.

  Tor cursed and charged up the steps into the keep. Joyce and Mairi stood from their embroidery by the lit hearth. “Tor,” his mother called and strode across the cleanly swept floor. “You’re finally home.”

  “Why is Ava living in Matilda’s tomb?” he asked.

  Mairi shot him the same look she used as a young lass right before she kicked him in the shins or bollocks. “Because she doesn’t think she’s married to ye anymore, ye bloody fool.”

  “I didn’t divorce her. I rode out and saved her.”

  Mairi crossed her arms. “It sounds more like Ava saved herself, but aye, ye did ride out and bring her back to Aros, and then promptly left without saying a word to her.”

  “She’s Aveline Maclean,” Tor said gruffly.

  “Ye married Aveline Grace Sutton Ellington,” Mairi said. “A woman who doesn’t exist.”

  “Damnation.” Tor grabbed both sides of his head and looked up to the rafter. “An absurdity,” Tor said.

  “That’s what I told her,” Joan said, bringing him a tankard of ale. She patted his arm. “’Tis good to have ye home safe and whole,” she whispered.

  Mairi came closer, her one eyebrow raised. “And Bridget stopped in to point out the problem with her name. Ava and Grace moved out the next day.” She shook her head in disdain. “Really, brother, will ye move on to a third wife before ye even turn a score and ten?”

  “Such disdain heaped upon an innocent man,” Tor said and took a drink from the tankard. His throat was parched from riding hard. After his decision to leave Kilchoan, he couldn’t get to Aros fast enough. “She lied to me, to all of us,” he reminded them, even though the words felt…foolish.

  Mairi’s face agreed with his assessment, pinched and tipped upward. She exhaled loudly through her nose. “Is that what ye’ve ridden back in such a rush for? To remind Ava of her sins?”

  Tor’s gaze moved between the two women. He didn’t need to answer to them. “I’m going to bathe in the river and go to bed,” he grumbled and turned to stalk out the back of the castle through the kitchen gardens and hidden gate. Why had he ridden back so hard, his anger exploding when Ava wasn’t waiting for him? He walked up to the deep pool where Ava and he had bathed. With the autumn leaves completely stripped from the trees, the pool looked cold, indifferent somehow, judging him wrong.

  Who are ye angry at, Tor? Ava for doing what she had to do to save herself and her sister? Or yourself for allowing yourself to be tricked again without questioning it? Cullen’s questions taunted Tor. He shucked his clothes and jumped into the freezing water, scrubbing quickly with the small bar of soap left by the side. Bloody hell, he was tired. Tired of being angry. And tired of missing Ava.

  Tor ate alone in his room. He checked the press, but none of Ava’s gowns hung there. The only thing he could find made his stomach knot. The ring he’d grabbed from her finger to give to Grace sat on the small table next to the bed.

  He opened the nursery door to stare at the untouched items where he’d left them. Did Ava know if she was pregnant yet? He should have asked his mother, but Mairi had been such an infuriating magpie.

  He yanked the nursery door shut and padded barefoot to the bed. He stared down at it as memories bludgeoned him. Ava spread across the surface, her pale skin in lovely moonlit contrast to the black sheepskin. Ava undulating, moaning, watching him as he strained over her, a gentle smile to her open, pink mouth.

  Tor groaned and fell into the bed. He needed to sleep. Another thing to blame Ava for, since she’d been tormenting his dreams these past weeks. He forced himself to breathe evenly, his eyes squeezed shut, and eventually fell asleep.

  “Tor,” the feminine voice whispered, penetrating the darkness behind Tor’s eyelids. “I’m here for ye.”

  Tor’s eyes snapped open to Bridget’s smiling face. “There ye are, my big, handsome warrior,” she purred. The light was dim in the room with the fire so low.

  “Bridget?” he murmured.

  She stepped back from the bed, and with a flick of her wrist and roll of her shoulders, her red robe slid from her bare shoulders to pool on the floor. She stood completely naked before him. Familiar and full of curves. Her large breasts hung, swaying gently as she crawled across the bed to him like a predator on the hunt. “Ye didn’t have a chance to welcome me home before ye left for Kilchoan,” she said and ran one finger down his naked chest to the edge of the blanket that covered his hips.

  Tor stopped her hand from reaching down to palm him, although his erection was evident. Would Bridget look so enthusiastic if she knew of whom he’d been dreaming? “Bridget lass, we should talk,” he said gently.

  Her bottom lip pushed forward into a pout. Strange. That full lip jutting out used to make him want to grab her to him, but now it just looked like a childish ruse. “We can talk later,” she said. “Right now, my blood is rushing so hard and fast I can barely think.” Her gaze moved to the bulge through the blanket. “And I think your blood is, too.”

  Tor let out an exhale. “Bridget, I should have sent word to your sister’s house. I am wed now. It wasn’t fair to give ye no warning.”

  She frowned. “I see no wife here.”

  “I hear ye scared her off,” he said, even though Ava wasn’t likely to be scared off by anyone. He thought of her stabbing Vincent straight through his neck as he threatened to break her there in the woods. Nay, Bridget may have planted the idea, but she couldn’t frighten Ava from Aros Castle.

  “She’s moved out, Tor. She must not want to be your wife.” She smiled provocatively. “But I’m here.” She leaned in and kissed him. He didn’t push her away, instead, letting her warm mouth cover his, slanting. But nothing stirred in him except a feeling of regret. He pushed her back gently. “Bridget.”

  She sat back on her heels to stare hard at him. In a quick movement, she slid off to grab her robe from the floor, shooting her arms through the sleeves. Her hands found her hips, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Bloody hell, ye love her, don’t ye?”

  …

  Ava balanced a crock of water on her hip as she neared the cottage. She moved slowly, her ears alert for any movement behind her. She set the jug down at the door and turned again to look at the towers of the castle like she’d been doing all day.

  Tor was home, had raced through yesterday evening. Surely he knew where she was by now
. Ava’s heart seemed to sink faster than the descending sun behind the skeletal trees. She thought that she and Grace could live here in their little home, happy with her baby. But could she? Knowing that Tor was yards away in body, yet a world away in heart.

  With a sigh, as heavy as a sob, Ava pushed into the house where Grace stirred another of her wonderfully aromatic creations over the cook fire. “I think this stew may be good enough to share with the neighbors,” she said and looked up. “Ava?”

  Ava wiped her fingers under her eye. “I hurt,” she whispered.

  Grace dropped her wooden spoon and ran to her, touching her stomach. “Where?”

  Ava shook her head. “In here.” She dragged Grace’s hand to lie over her heart.

  “Oh.” Grace pinched her lips tightly. She’d already told Ava what she thought of Tor Maclean, the Beast of Aros Castle. “Once a beast, always a beast,” she’d said throughout the day.

  But Ava had seen another side of Tor. One that was sweet and caring, never pressuring her for answers, offering her warmth if not words, riding all night to save her from servitude and rape. A man who could love her with his body if not his dead heart.

  Grace returned to the pot over the fire, and Ava poured some of the water into the basin to wash her hands.

  “Once Vincent is declared dead, you and I can return to Somerset, if you want,” Grace said. “With the baby.”

  Would Tor let his son or daughter leave Aros? Ava continued to wash the grime from her fingers.

  Knock. Knock.

  Ava dipped her sudsy hands in the water.

  “I’ll get it,” Grace said, leaving the stew to open the door. “How odd,” she said and bent down. “Someone’s left a plate.”

  “What is it?” Ava asked, drying her hands on her apron.

  Grace lifted the cloth covering the plate. “Tarts.” She inhaled. “Your favorite, apple spice.”

  Grace set them on the table and went to the window, cracking the shutters to peek out. The edges of the pastry were crimped exactly how Alyce made them up at the castle.