by Alisa Adams
“You did,” he said, grinning. She was so close her curls were tickling his face.
“I am vera sure that I did not, twas the sea,” she said pertly as she looked up at him over her shoulder. His face was so close to hers that she could see that flash of gold that ran through the rich green of his eyes. She was mesmerized. She watched as his lids lowered and she saw just the glint of green through those black lashes of his. He lowered his face to hers. He’s going to kiss me! she thought in anticipation. She lifted her chin up, staring into his eyes.
His mouth came towards hers, slowly, hesitantly, until she could feel his breath, smell his salty skin. She licked her lips, tilting her head better. Then she stopped.
“I am almost betrothed,” she whispered.
His free hand came out of the water and his fingers stroked her cheek, then her lips. He nodded his head.
“Almost,” he said. “You should go.” He let go of her and gave her a gentle nudge towards the shore.
She treaded water a moment and turned to him. Her head cocked slightly as she studied him. She had wanted his kiss, more than anything. That was new.
“Ye must look away for I am only wearing me shift,” she called to him.
“I know what you are wearing...or rather not wearing,” he said as his lips tipped up, just slightly.
Ina blushed and slapped water at him. “Ye are vera rude!”
She watched as he quickly disappeared under the water. She peered down into the water, looking all about for him. Then she felt his hands on her hips as he rose up out of the water. Sea water sluiced down his hair and ran down his chest. He was smiling at her. He turned her about and gave her a gentle push towards the shore in time with the next wave.
Ina rode the wave into the shore and then scampered through the shallow water and up the beach to her clothes. She quickly pulled on her skirt and blouse then grabbed her boots and belt and ran all the way up the sand path to the top of the hill. She turned and looked back to see him emerging out of the water like a bronzed selkie. He wore only a pair of short trews. Ina’s breath trembled out of her.
He stopped and gathered his clothing, then spotted her up at the top of the sea cliff.
Ina quickly turned and ran back to the castle.
Ina changed her clothes and spent some time in her room. She was trying to avoid Cruim for she knew he was in the main hall. She had snuck past him on the way in from her swim. She had also heard the stranger return to his room. He had not come back out. He must be exhausted, she thought. It was a long uphill walk from the beach to the castle.
She reluctantly went back down to the main hall to join her sisters. Cruim was talking away to them. None of her sisters were saying much. He seemed to be carrying the conversation for both sides. Tristan was there as well with a rather disgusted look on his face and a furrowed brow as he watched Cruim through narrowed eyes. Tristan nodded his head at Ina as she quietly sat down as far from Cruim as possible. Her sisters smiled kindly at her.
“I shall go change for the evening meal,” Cruim said, ignoring Ina. “Where is that servant? I shall need assistance dressing.”
Tristan stared hard at him, but then finally nodded his head to one of the servants, who came over to escort Cruim back up to his room.
“It appears our stranger is awake,” Tristan said. His narrowed eyes went from Cruim to where Cruim had stopped several steps below the stranger, who was making his way slowly down the stairs.
Cruim was looking at the man that Ina had been caring for. The man, according to Ina, who had asked for help for his horse though he had arrived more injured than the horse. He was coming slowly and painfully down the stairs but stopped when Cruim had stopped.
Tristan watched the two staring at each other.
Ina whirled around. She looked up at the stairs to see the stranger standing there. His face had gone ashen.
Ina hurried up the stairs to him, pushing past Cruim to hold the stranger’s arm.
“I knew the swim was too much, ye need to be resting,” she said urgently in a gentle, chiding voice.
The stranger just continued to stare down at the other man.
Cruim was frozen on the stairs. His jaw was firm, his lips pressed tightly together. Only Ina could see the look on his face. Malice was the only way she could describe it. Does Cruim know him?
“Lord Cruim Hay, this is…this is…” She looked up at the stranger, who looked confused.
“I...I do not know who I am,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice. He looked at Ina and then back at Cruim.
Cruim’s face eased just the tiniest bit. If Ina had not been standing right there, she would have missed it, so slight was the change in his face.
Cruim clapped his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Well then, that is a sorry thing. You must have taken quite a blow to your head. Must have knocked the sense right out of you!”
Cruim motioned for the servant to continue up the stairs. The stranger watched him go then looked down at Ina. His brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed. He rubbed his hand through his thick, wavy hair. Then his eyes widened in shock as he looked down at Ina.
“Indeed, I do have a lump on the back of my head,” he said in a husky, low voice. Then he looked back up the stairs and finally back at Ina. “How curious.” He rubbed his head as he continued to ponder. Finally he looked down at Ina. “Beiste!” he exclaimed.
“What?” Ina asked him.
“My name,” he said. “It is Beiste.”
Ina looked at him. “Your name is Beast?” she said.
“Yes. Well no. Not the way you are saying it,” he said and grinned with embarrassment.
“It sounded like ye said Beast. How should I be saying it then?” Ina gazed into those amazing dark green eyes rimmed in the darkest black lashes. That flash of gold that she had thought she had imagined was still there, adding to the mystery and allure of his green eyes. Her eyes strayed to his lips and she could not look away. They were full and turned up just a bit in that wicked smile he seemed to always have on his face. She wanted to touch those lips, touch that silky-looking beard.
“Watch my mouth. You say it like this: Bee-este,” he said slowly, his voice deepening, looking down at her beautiful lips as she copied him.
“Bea-st,” Ina repeated slowly. “Or wait; Be-est. Best!”
“No, well yes. I suppose either with your accent.”
Ina quietly whispered his name again, trying it out once more.
“Very good,” he said as he slowly smiled at her.
Then he stilled.
He could not miss the widening of her unique, light blue eyes. She was attracted to him. He had thought he had seen it in the sea, for he had wanted desperately to kiss her, but he had not been sure what he read in her eyes. And then she had told him that she was almost betrothed. He had realized then that he should not kiss her, nor let himself be attracted to her. For he was attracted to her. Very much.
He had been entranced from the moment he first saw her. Even half dead, he had not been able to stop the thrumming of his heart at the sight of the petite, lovely women. But it was watching her with that man who had come to claim her in marriage that had changed him. She was fair and strong, she was passionate and brave and kind; all in such a tiny little body. That little body he had held in the sea. Her beauty stole his breath, and his mind. He could get lost in those pale, lavender-blue eyes. Her full pink lips haunted him when he closed his eyes. Her hair was the palest gold he had ever seen. Almost white. It had been gloriously messy when he first saw her and made him think of waking up to her, seeing her hair spread out on the pillow beside him in all that gold. All that in a woman who was sweet, but fierce. It undid him.
The past days her voice had melodically soothed him as she had gently inspected his wounds while he lay weak in bed. He was only half conscious, but when her hands had cleansed his wounds he did not stir for fear of startling her. So he had kept his eyes closed. She had talked nonstop while ministering t
o him. Her soft, lilting, melodic voice mesmerized him. She talked of her giant horse and her sisters and the story of Fionnaghal.
He was dangerously nearly in love with her already.
But how could he let himself?
She was almost betrothed.
And he didn’t even know who he was. He could have a wife, maybe even children waiting for him somewhere.
5
Tristan and Ceena looked up at Ina and the stranger on the stairs. The two of them were talking in hushed tones to each other. Ceena touched Tristan’s arm. She had a worried frown on her mouth.
Tristan cleared his throat.
Ina quickly tore her eyes away from Beiste’s eyes and looked down to see her sister and brother-in-law staring at her.
She smiled and proclaimed, “His name is Beiste!” Then she turned back and took his arm and urged him gently down the stairs.
Ceena leaned in to Tristan and whispered, “Did I hear her just call him Beast?”
Tristan said, “I think she said Best.”
Aunt Hexy suddenly stuck her head between the two of them, startling them both. “Be-ist,” she said succinctly. “Tis a vera, vera auld Scottish name. I have heard it somewhere before,” she said as she whispered between the two of them. They were looking up at the large man with long hair coming down the stairs with her niece. “And I was wrong. She found a man more handsome than Lord Crumb.”
“Tis Cruim, Aunt,” Ceena said dismissively as she watched her tiny sister lead the large man down the stairs.
When Beiste stopped at the bottom of the steps he was out of breath and holding his arm tightly to his ribs.
“I am guessing ye broke a few ribs?” Tristan said. “Amongst other injuries, that is.”
“Feels like a horse landed on me,” Beiste said with a crooked grin.
“Your name is Beiste? From where do ye hail?” Tristan asked. “Who is your clan?”
Beiste looked at him and ran his hand over his head. He blew out a breath, narrowing his eyes as he looked down at the floor. “It is right there, and then it is gone!” he said harshly. His voice was laced with frustration. “I cannae remember anything!” He put both hands up to his beard, running his hands along the length of his chin.
“Ye must remember something,” Ceena said with disbelief. “How did ye come to be at Fionnaghal?”
“Ceena, he has taken a blow to his head,” Ina said softly, placing her arm on Beiste’s arm.
“Och, tis the truth a blow to the head can cause this. I have seen it many a time,” Tristan said as he looked Beiste up and down. The man had tucked in his shirt, though it was loose and billowing over his leather breeches. His boots were of a quality that Tristan had seldom seen. The shirt was wide open at the top of his chest and it was clear that there were bad bruises there. His hair was unruly and long, falling past his shoulders. Beiste kept running his hand through it, and through his beard. He imagined that the man wasn’t used to being this hairy.
“Do ye remember anything at all before ye arrived here?” Tristan asked him patiently.
“I know that you are Lord Tristan and you are Laird Ceena. Lady Ina told me about all of you when she was seeing to my injuries. I could hear her voice in the darkness of my pain telling me at length of her Ross sisters, and the MacDonells,” Beiste said politely. “Thank you for taking this stranger in. Tis the truth that all I remember is waking up in the woods. In terrible pain. The only creature around was the horse that brought me here. He was injured as well. Still, he carried me.” He looked at Ina then. “My horse truly is faring well? He carried me for days, I fear. He seems a very strong and loyal horse, though I do not remember him either.”
“Oh aye, he is fine. I fixed him up a cozy stall with plenty of water and hay and some oats. His strength has almost returned. He’ll be right as rain in no time.” She touched his arm lightly again. “As for yer memory, I am sure it will come back to ye. It’s gaein be awricht once the pain has gone awa. As the pain recedes, the mind shall return.”
“Aye, it will be alright once the pain has gone away. I know what ye said lass. Out of the darkness and into the light,” he said slowly, holding her gaze. “Thank ye for seeing to my horse…”
“Ahem,” Tristan coughed, watching the two staring at each other so intensely. “Ye are my size. I can loan ye a clean shirt,” Tristan said kindly. “I note the English in ye, but the Scotts as well. Both of our guests seem to be English. That is vera interesting,” Tristan said as he stroked his chin and looked at his wife. Ceena had her hand on the hilt of one of her dirks that all the Ross sisters wore in their wide leather belts. He lightly put his hand on top of hers and gave a subtle shake of his head. When her hand finally relaxed and let go of the dirk, he dropped his hand from hers.
Beiste looked at Tristan. “Forgive me.” He stepped away from Ina. “I appreciate the offer of your shirt, and am glad to have a clean one.” He ran a hand over his beard. “Aye, English maybe, but I cannae be sure. The Scottish runs through me mind as well. Sards, but this is frustrating!” He groaned as his voice rose, suddenly clutching his painful ribs and partially bending over.
“Here now me Beiste,” Ina said putting her arm around him. “Ye must get back up to yer bed where ye can lie down and let those ribs heal.”
“I must regain my strength, find out who I am,” he said as he looked down at the tiny angel trying to help him.
“Ye must rest,” Ina said firmly.
“She has been tending to ye for days,” Tristan said.
Ceena agreed. “Days!”
“That is not possible,” Beiste said quietly. “Days? I must leave.”
Ina looked stricken.
“Lass, dinnae look at me like that.” He sighed deeply in frustration. “I cannae even remember my own name! Or where I come from or what happened to me! What if I am bringing violence to you? What if whoever did this to me will follow me here and harm you and your family? I cannae remain here. What if I was the one who attacked someone else?”
“Och I dinnae believe it!” Ina said. Her eyes were wide with fear and desperation.
Aunt Hexy finally spoke up. She had been watching him closely. “Well if ye did attack someone, ye lost so that is that. Mayhap ye are just a poor fighter. Seen that before.”
Aunt Burnie came up behind her, not saying a word.
“Your niece described you two to me as well,” Beiste said looking at the two aunts. “I was not very awake but I was listening. I know who you must be; Hello Hextilda,” Beiste said, nodding his head respectively to the woman whose hair knot had fallen to one ear. Then he did the same to the one who was almost bald. “Hello Burunhilde.”
“Beiste,” Burnie said.
“Aye, tis my name. That is all I can call my own at this moment.” His voice was laced with pain and frustration.
Burnie’s tartan started moving and his eyes were immediately drawn to where he saw an eye peering out of her wrap. “What have you there?”
“Och, dinnae ask her—” Ina started to say.
Burnie smiled brightly. “Tis my cat,” she said proudly as she reached under her wrap and pulled it out. It immediately started hissing and splaying its claws in an effort to hold onto her tartan.
“Here now,” Beiste said in a gentle, soft voice as he reached out for the cat. “The little one is injured I see.” He gently pried the cat off of Burnie’s wrap and cradled it in his arms. The cat stopped hissing, and lay quietly in his big arms.
Ina watched as Beiste’s large hands gently moved over the cat’s body. He held it up to his face to study its eye. The cat reached out and rested a paw on his beard. Beiste chuckled softly and ran a finger delicately over the cat’s eye. Then he shrugged his sleeve down into his fist and grabbed the material. He very gently wiped the material over the eye. Once, twice, three times.
“There now,” he crooned to the cat. “There’s your eye. Now you can see the world.”
Aunt Burnie made a soft sound as the breath she had be
en holding in whooshed out in amazement.
Then Beiste ran his hand down the cat’s body and down the tail. “Your tail is broken, little one.” His fingers worked over the tail as he talked softly to the animal. “What have ye been through I wonder?” Finally Beiste was satisfied. “Your tail is settled back into place.” He looked at Aunt Burnie. “I would tie some rags around it to help it stay as it should Burunhilde.” He spoke softly as he carefully handed the cat back to Burnie. “He has been through a fire I think, for patches of his fur are burned off. Put some salve on those parts of him and keep his eye cleaned so that it doesn’t get stuck closed again.” He stroked the cat’s purring head as Burnie held it in her arms. “He’s a fine cat you have Burunhilde.”
Burnie shook her head happily at him. “George,” she said.
“I am Beiste, not George,” he answered her kindly.
Burnie shook her head. “George.” Then she turned away and looked down at the content cat curled up in her arms.
Beiste stumbled and clutched his ribs. “I think I will go back up and rest. My ribs are hurting fiercely, but I must leave as soon as I am able.”
Aunt Hexy nudged Ina’s shoulder. “Go help him,” she whispered to Ina.
Ina quickly scampered up the stairs, throwing her arm around Beiste’s waist to help him up the stairs to his room. Her mind was reeling with this big gentle man who was so kind to his horse and her two old aunts, and who could with the gentlest of hands care for an injured cat.
* * *
Tristan and Ceena turned as one to Aunt Hexy. Tristan spoke first. “Ye sent a young maiden up to a man’s chambers?”
Ceena was tapping her foot on the stone floor, her hands on her hips as she looked at her aunt.
“What are ye up to Aunt Hexy?” Ceena demanded.
“Tis a good man there,” Aunt Hexy said as she fussed with her hair.
Burnie nodded her head in agreement as she continued to look down at the cat in her arms. She stroked the cat’s head over and over.
“You cannae know that,” Tristan exclaimed as he looked at the aunts. “I thought you liked Lord Crumb?”
