The child screamed and ran off crying, the others on his heels.
Deep in thought, Beatrice entered her home through the kitchen door. After traipsing in the woods, neither she nor Oscar was allowed through the front door.
The aroma of the evening meal made her stomach grumble. A reminder she’d not eaten since early that morning.
Meaghan, the cook, gave her a once over and pointed to a side door. “Go on inside there and remove those horrible rags. I will fetch water.”
“Can I have a piece of bread?” She eyed the covered basket on the side table.
Without having to look, Beatrice knew the answer when Meaghan focused on her grimy hands. “No you may not.”
Childish as it was, Beatrice wanted to cry. “I am so hungry.”
“A proper young woman does not spend her day like a wildling in the woods, but at home. You would have had tea and an afternoon repast with your mother had you been home. Therefore, I have a hard time feeling sorry for you.” Meaghan neared and pushed her to the bathing room. “Go on now. I haven’t all day.”
Beatrice undressed and loosed her hair. She gathered up a bucket of water and poured the cold water over her head. Shivering while she scrubbed, she was glad when Meaghan brought hot water to mix in with the next bucket.
Perhaps Meaghan was right. If she desired to marry and settle, it would not do to continue in her ways. As she washed her hair, Beatrice wondered if Gavin Mereworth was married.
“You will attend the gathering.” Her father gave Beatrice a pointed look while holding his speared meat halfway to his mouth.
Other than wishing the meat would fall and splash juices over his tunic, Beatrice had little recourse but to nod. “I don’t see why everyone is suddenly so interested in my attendance at the feast. It used to be you urged me to stay home.”
The exchange of looks between her parents sent a tingle down her spine. This time her mother spoke, a soft smile on her lips. “Beatrice, I worry about your penchant for hunting and lack of interest in womanly duties. We have been much too lenient. We must ensure you learn to perform properly in society, so you can marry well.”
“Marry?” Beatrice’s mouth fell open. “I don’t wish to marry. Not yet anyway.”
Oscar huffed. “Now you see? There is a problem with a woman her age not wanting to marry. She must be settled.”
Settled? Beatrice straightened, her food forgotten. “I am not a sheep to be auctioned off.”
There was a beat of silence. Her mother slid a pointed look at her father. Beatrice had a soft spot for her strong, quiet father. However, in instances like this, he had the power to make her quake. Although a fair and often too-lenient parent, when his mind was made up on something, he made his point quite clear.
He pointed his fork in her direction. “You will go to the gathering. You will comport yourself like a lady and I will ensure it is known you are ready to marry.”
There was no need for him to ask if she understood. The message was clear. Her days of living at home were coming to an end. How she wished at that point to be ten years of age so crying and dashing to her bed would not be seen as weak. Instead, she let out a shaky breath before glaring at Oscar.
The oaf continued eating without a worry. “I think Oscar should settle as well. Bethany Blankenship confessed to me about having laid with him and fearing the possibility of consequences.” Her triumphant look was met with her brother’s food plopping from his open mouth to the table.
“I never bedded that wench.” Oscar’s eyes moved side to side as the scoundrel, no doubt, racked his brain to recall if the statement was true.
“If you did and her father finds out, you will be held responsible,” their mother stated. “And I agree with Beatrice. The both of you are old enough to settle with families of your own.”
A sharp kick made Beatrice flinch. When she returned it, she missed and her father grunted.
Oscar smirked only to sober when their father slammed his hands on the tabletop. “May we finish this meal in peace?”
“I apologize, Father,” Beatrice said, eyes downcast as she leaned forward and pinched Oscar’s leg as hard as she could, ensuring her nails sunk into his flesh.
Her brother grimaced and moved his leg away.
Chapter Three
Gavin strolled into his brother’s chamber without knocking only to stop at the sight of his brother’s naked arse.
Unable to stop, as Sinclair seemed to be at the point of culmination, his brother chose to ignore his presence.
Allowing him privacy, Gavin stalked past the bed to the window only to be stopped when a hand reached out and grabbed his. A second wench lay beside the couple. Her passion-drunk gaze met his and she licked her lips. “Join us.”
A grunt followed by a loud groan signaled Sinclair’s release just as the woman beneath him cried out.
Gavin pulled his hand away slowly. “I don’t join my brother in bedsport. The sight of him naked chases away any arousal on my part.”
From the window, lights in the near distance could be seen. The village folks had settled for the night. There were only a few people still up and about surrounding the large bonfire in the square. The boar hunt must have brought a good-sized prize.
“Why are you in here?” Sinclair growled more than asked. “As you can see, I’m preoccupied. I’m not in the mood for conversation.”
Not bothering to turn around lest he see more of his brother’s nude form, Gavin kept his gaze outward. “Uncle John. What am I missing?”
A woman moaned and Gavin chuckled. He should leave, as Sinclair was known to continue bedsport well into the night. However, the niggling in the back of his mind would not allow Gavin sleep. “Why do I feel as if I’m a pawn in a game between both uncles?”
Sounds of flesh against flesh became louder until the second woman’s cry rang out. Moments later there was shuffling of clothing and whispered promises before the wenches left, both sending glares in Gavin’s direction at his ruining their chance at sleeping in a plush bed with what he was sure they considered a very handsome man.
“Do you really not see it?” Sinclair sat in the bed, the bedding about his waist, sloppily. “Tis clear as day. They plot to marry you into a family with close ties to them, so that through your wife, they can manipulate you.”
Gavin gave his brother a droll look. “I know that. But to what means? Neither uncle can aspire to the title. Beside, you are next in line to receive it if your petition is accepted.”
“Perhaps they plan to poison me and, once you are alone, kill you.” With a shrug, Sinclair reached to the table beside the bed and poured whisky, not bothering to offer him any. Although Gavin enjoyed the taste of it from time to time, he focused on always maintaining a clear mind.
Sinclair took a drink and studied him. “Although you are correct, if anything, they should not want you to marry and produce an heir. Perhaps we are overthinking it. We are well aware of Uncle Alasdair’s penchant for drama and games. Mayhap that is all they seek out of this, some sort of game to enjoy.”
Although he wasn’t convinced, Gavin could not think of any plan that would benefit either uncle if he married.
“Have we become so hardened, that we look for bad in everything? Of all people, we should be able to trust our family.”
Sinclair shook his head. “I don’t know. Years of war and our father’s recent death have affected our judgment. With the death of a powerful man, such as our father, there are always challenges to the seat.”
“True. However, Uncle John’s lord ship here is large and he seems content enough.”
“For some people, the more power the better.”
A distant look on his face, Sinclair sighed. “I miss him. He’d know exactly what to do. Father wouldn’t have stood like you do now, but would have instantly dismissed the women so we could speak.”
Gavin smiled. “True. I can see it now. He’d keep an eye on them the entire time, enjoying the view, but pretending n
ot to.”
A bark of laughter escaped his brother and Sinclair shook his head. “Remember the time he caught the maid, Gertrude, in your chambers and watched her get dressed not knowing mother was standing in the doorway behind him?”
“Ah, yes,” Gavin laughed. “Mother made him sleep in the great room for several nights.”
Gavin ignored the pang in his chest. “We must remain at least another week. Perhaps if something is amiss, we can figure it out by then.”
The brothers looked at the fire in the hearth, both in thought. Finally, Gavin spoke again. “I met her. The lass Uncle John suggested I marry.”
“Lass? What lass?”
“Beatrice Preston. She was part of the boar hunt today when I searched for Lasitor.”
“And?” Sinclair leaned forward, his eyes locked to Gavin’s face. “What happened?”
Although Sinclair could be a gentleman, most of the time he’d rather offend a woman with a suggestion of a tup in the shade than speaking of inconsequential things. “Did you...”
“I was searching for Lasitor. I did nothing more than allow her to walk with me.”
“How enchanting.” Sinclair’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Gavin ignored his comment. “She’s a good archer. Seems to like animals.”
“Enough to kill them? What did she look like? Are her breasts full or small?”
Considering he’d spent a couple hours in her company, Gavin had the time to memorize everything about her. From the loose tendrils framing her face, large green eyes, pouty lips and well-formed figure.
“She is quite fiery.”
Gavin’s flat gaze met Sinclair’s. “So, homely then.” He shrugged. “Don’t marry her. If she is not attractive now, imagine what she’ll look like in a few years.” His brother shuddered.
It was impossible not to laugh at the shallowness. Gavin hit his brother on the shoulder. “Good night, Brother. Should I send the wenches back to you?”
Sinclair studied the empty, rumpled bed. “I don’t know. I think not. I must rest so I can be clear of head and able to delve further into what we spoke of.”
Satisfied that regardless of Sinclair’s seeming lack of care, his brother would, indeed, investigate further. As second born, Sinclair had more freedoms. He was seen as a shallow woman chaser and that always played well for him. Those that knew his younger brother well recognized that he possessed a keen mind and intelligence much greater than most.
“Thank you.”
“No need.” Sinclair pushed the bedding off. “Now let me be.”
“Ugh, gladly,” Gavin turned away.
Later, in his own bed, Gavin considered it strange he’d not divulged how lovely Beatrice was to his brother. No doubt, upon learning of the beautiful lass, Sinclair would have been anxious to meet her. As charming as his brother was, it was doubtful that even the fiery lass could be indifferent.
Turning to lay on his stomach, Gavin punched at the pillows and blew out a breath. The next eve would be most interesting, indeed.
Visitors began arriving early the next day. Those that could not be housed indoors pitched tents and settled into the huge courtyard. Already, people from surrounding villages had settled on the lands surrounding the castle as the festivities were always eventful and great feasts were prepared and shared with everyone in attendance.
Alasdair sat at the high board next to Gavin, his eyes scanning the room searching the faces. Nostrils flared and eyes narrowed he turned to Gavin. “Do you know the men at the table next to the hearth?”
Four men sat, two on each side of the table on the benches, tearing bread from loaves and eating with gusto. By their dirty, bearded faces and soiled tunics, it was hard to tell if they’d traveled far and just arrived or were roaming men looking for work.
“No, I do not. However, they seem to know people here.”
“Aye. I notice that now.” His uncle turned to look at his brother. “It is probably John’s doing. Inviting people from every corner of neighboring lands.”
“Are the Tarlington’s expected to cause problems?”
“No,” Alasdair exclaimed. “The scouts claim there is no movement from the north. However, if they did show their faces, it would make this a memorable event, indeed.” His eyes shined and his lips curved. “Someone should have slipped word to them.”
Gavin wondered how anyone could stand being around Alasdair for more than a few moments. It was like speaking to a child, at times. Unfortunately, his uncle’s penchant for scheming was usually quite elevated. “I believe they are aware.”
His uncle’s expression became hooded. “Of course they are.”
Once again, apprehension came and Gavin looked across the room for Sinclair, who’d refused to sit at the high board. His brother ate with the guard and looked to be in deep conversation with a tall, muscular man. Hopefully, he was gleaning information that would prove useful.
Chapter Four
Beatrice ensured to keep her shoulders back and back rigid as they proceeded into the castle’s interior. The line of people waiting to greet the lord and family was long. Thankfully, she and her parents had arrived early and were close to the high board. They would soon greet the lord and be able to sit at the table. She scanned the room for her brother and found him in conversation with a man she didn’t recognize.
Whatever they spoke of seemed to draw them to lean in close in order to hear over the din of the voices in the room.
From the well-made tunic, the man was of means, which meant he was probably a relative of the lord. Although his wavy hair reminded her of Gavin Mereworth, it was not he.
Her mother nudged her forward. Beatrice glanced up to the high board just in time to meet the gaze of none other than the man she’d just been thinking about.
The person in front of him bowed and began to speak. Gavin lowered his head to her in a subtle nod just as his attention was taken by the man before him.
Lord Mereworth seemed to be making some sort of elaborate introduction and, by the reactions of the people, Beatrice wondered what was being said.
“You would think a noble is here by the way the Dugan’s just shoved their daughter to stand before the high board,” Beatrice mumbled, only to be elbowed by her mother.
“Hush, they will hear you.”
Her mother’s elbow had hit its mark. Her rib protested and Beatrice covered the affected area with both hands. “That hurt.”
She was yanked forward by her father and made to stand between her parents as he stated their names to the lord and thanked him for the hospitality.
There was a strange exchange between Lord Mereworth and his brother, Alasdair, a man with a flair for the dramatic. Beatrice had always found his actions amusing.
“I introduce to you my nephew, Gavin Mereworth, Lord of Hardigg and newly appointed Duke of Selkirk.” The Lord seemed winded by the long title.
Beatrice’s wide eyes were met by the duke’s flat ones and her mother hissed in her ear. “Close your mouth.”
Her father caught Lord Mereworth’s attention. “I was led to believe you had two nephews visiting.”
Lord Mereworth motioned to the back of the room. “My other nephew, Sinclair, has not deemed it necessary to join us and is, instead, in the back of the room with the guards. He speaks to your son now.”
“He is a member of my guard, Uncle. Therefore, he feels more at ease in their company,” Gavin said to the lord.
Lord Mereworth didn’t reply. Instead, his keen eyes locked on Beatrice before speaking to her father. “Is the lass betrothed as yet?”
Not moving her head, Beatrice slid her gaze to her father.
“Not as yet, Lord. However, we are seeking a match for her.”
Her stomach sank and her cheeks burned with mortification as Gavin’s attention remained riveted on her. There were many people waiting to be introduced. Surely, there was a better time to discuss all of this.
“It occurs to me,” Alasdair began, “your fam
ily has yet to become a true member of our Lordship’s. Perhaps by marriage we can become more united.”
What exactly was happening, Beatrice wasn’t sure. She let out an impatient huff and turned to see her brother’s attention was toward the front of the room. So, it seemed, was all of the nearby people’s.
“Very true,” her father proclaimed. “I am not sworn to you as of yet Lord. However, my son has given not just his oath but his sword as well to ye.”
Lord Mereworth nodded. However, Alasdair was not to be silenced. “Marriage, perhaps of your son to the lord’s daughter, Mara, or even Anne. She is of age is she not?” he asked his brother, who seemed bored with the conversation, by his sigh.
“We shall discuss this further.” Lord Mereworth gave Gavin a pointed look. “My own nephews are both without wives, which is fine for the young Sinclair. However, His Grace must find a wife soon.”
His Grace looked to his uncle with lowered brows. “Uncle, we should allow them to find their place. The food comes now.”
Beatrice let out a sigh of relief and gladly allowed her mother to guide her away. She turned to the glares of every woman in the near vicinity. Obviously, she’d just made enemies of the hopefuls to be the duke’s wife.
After spending time with him earlier, it was obvious to her the man was no closer to marriage than she was. If anything, by the way he doted on his dog and had constantly scanned the room, she wondered if perhaps his assignation was more toward his own sex.
His uncle, Alasdair, after all, was well known to share his bed with several men. One of her own male acquaintances had admitted to being asked to join the lord’s brother for bedsport. She’d laughed at his mortification. He’d promptly responded by rushing to the pub and going up the stairs with two wenches, probably to prove more to himself than anyone else of his preference. Beatrice couldn’t help but find humor in the entire situation as her friend prided himself in being a rake.
World of de Wolfe Pack: The Duke's Fiery Bride (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 2
