Betrothed to the Beast

by Elina Emerald

  “I heard you will be gone for a few days.”

  “Aye.” Beiste grunted and continued tightening the saddle on Lucifer.

  “Were you going to tell me?” She looked irate.

  “I don’t see why I need to be telling you anything Elora.”

  “But I need to ken your whereabouts if I am to help run this Keep.”

  And there it was. Brodie and Dalziel had warned him. Elora had misconstrued their relationship or lack of one.

  Beiste stopped and turned to face her. Elora flinched and took a step back. He hated it when a woman cowered before him. He had never, not once raised his hand to a woman.

  “Elora, whatever we had lasted only those two nights, months ago.”

  “But you’ve not taken anyone else to your bed, which means you must have developed powerful feelings for me.” She pouted.

  “Are you daft? That means nothing. We made no promises.”

  “But I’ve been keeping myself for you!”

  “Really?” Beiste raised an eyebrow “because I heard you took up with Lachlan three weeks ago.”

  Elora’s eyes grew wide. “How did you ken that?”

  “Lachlan asked me what my intentions were towards you and I told him I had none.”

  “But I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want Lachlan, I want you Beiste it’s always been you.” She flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his middle.

  Saints preserve him. Beiste had had enough. He removed her arms from around his waist and gently but firmly set her away from him, “No.” Then he went back to saddling Lucifer, already clearing his mind of the woman behind him.

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Belhaven Village, Dunbar, Scotland—Nine days later

  “Come on, Mary! Stop dawdling, we don’t have time today.” Amelia spoke in exasperated tones as she hurried across the crowded streets of Belhaven. One arm clutching a basket now overflowing with seasonal produce, the other arm holding her sister’s tunic so as not to lose her in the crowd. It was Market Day in the village, the busiest day of the month, and there were vendors a plenty. Amelia was there to purchase more seeds for her healer’s garden and pick up silks for their Seanmhair. Unfortunately, Mary her half-sister was dragging her feet.

  “I don’t ken why you wouldn’t let me buy that necklace.” Mary pouted. “The vendor said twas a fair price for the quality and it made my blonde curls striking.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes as they weaved their way through brightly coloured baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables, “He would’ve said the same thing to a muddy pig if he thought it had coin to spare.” Gentling her voice Amelia tried to placate her sister, “Once I get the silks Seanmhair ordered we can get some berry tarts.”

  Mary’s eyes brightened immediately, “Really? I’m starving.” The promise of sweet treats ahead caused her to pick up her pace.

  The women passed stalls selling a vast array of items from soaps and medicinal herbs and spices, to fresh flowers and candy apples. Pigs were roasting over open fires, while tradesmen peddled their wares of silks and materials from exotic places. Amelia was so glad she had dressed in an ankle length linen tunic. With the warmer weather and crushing crowds, it kept her cool. She had just purchased their freshly baked berry tarts when Mary started waving at someone in the crowd.

  “Amelia, I see some of my friends, can I go sit with them?”

  “Who are they, Mary?” Amelia asked.

  “Tis the Frasers, Isobel and her brother Patrick, they come every few weeks to trade.”

  “Very well but please mind my basket and you can take my tart to share, tis not polite to eat on your own in front of others.”

  Mary’s eyes lit up “Thank you sister” she hugged her and disappeared into the crowd.

  Amelia continued on alone to secure the silks for her grandmother when a vendor stepped out in front of her giving her a leery look and licking his lips, “Would you like to come into my tent lass I have some cool cider for a pretty one like you.” His plaid looked dirty, his hair greasy, and there was an unpleasant odour wafting off him that caused Amelia to almost gag.

  Honestly? Amelia thought to herself, how hard was it to bathe when the North Coast Sea was less than two hundred feet away?

  “No thank you, I have my cider.” Amelia politely replied. He stepped closer to her, beginning to crowd her in, and she stepped out from around him. He was about to make a lunge for her when the thundering sound of horses could be heard through the village. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Even the lecherous vendor turned to look behind him. Amelia took a deep breath, she could feel something coming, its raw energy warning her as the earth beneath her feet rumbled. She spun around. The villagers began muttering and grabbing their children, some huddled behind their stalls all eyes on the strangers approaching they were fierce looking they wore armour and plaid.

  Amelia heard a woman gasp, “Tis the MacGregors.” They looked as if they had come straight from battle. Then the same woman pointed. “Tis the Beast.” Amelia looked in that direction and saw him. He was magnificent. The sheer size of him made her shudder. His bronzed skin and black piercing eyes missed nothing. He wore a black scowl, made even more menacing by the vicious scar across his face. Men of equal size surrounded him, all wearing the MacGregor plaid. Flanking to his right was an equally fearsome warrior wearing animal fur and a battle axe strapped to his back. Amelia stood mesmerized at the sight.

  It would seem the lecherous vendor had taken the opportunity of Amelia’s distraction to make a lunge for her again, she tried to keep clear of his grip and instead propelled too far forward the momentum taking her directly onto the road and facing the line of riders. She froze and knew they would trample her to death, and oh the regret that she had not even left this miserable sodding town. She heard a shout ring out from the one they called the Beast; he was riding straight for her, this was it, this was the end she closed her eyes until she felt a firm arm reach down and sweep her up like she weighed nothing. She opened her eyes to find herself sitting atop a horse, her bottom wedged between strong thighs. The smell of leather and man rattled her senses as she drank in the heady sensation before he yelled. “Daft wench! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  What? Amelia whipped her head around to glare at him but stared at a bare chest instead he tightened his hold on her, slowed his horse then set her down in the clearing.

  She looked up to offer her thanks when he stared down and reprimanded her, “Watch where you walk silly chit you could’ve been killed or maimed. What were you thinking just standing in the middle of the road like a stunned cow?” Before she could answer he continued his tirade, “Next time do your wool gathering where it can’t get you bloody killed!”

  Outraged that she would receive such a set down by a stranger in a public place, Amelia had had enough. Not only did the big brute call her stupid, he called her a cow. A cow! After two and twenty years of having the villagers snicker at her and lecherous stinking men grope her, there was no way she was letting an ogre call her a cow.

  With both hands firmly on her hips, Amelia let fly. “How dare you? You, stupid big ox! You”–her finger pointed at him– “should not ride into a village”–her finger pointed at the village– “without a care in the world.”–both arms went up in the air gesturing the world– “You could have killed me.”–both hands went back to her hips– “And just because I have a big arse does not make me a cow!” Amelia was out of breath her face was red after that display and standing on the roadside she had to admit she felt somewhat better.

  In her mind she believed she had kept a civil yet stern tongue but when she looked around and found the entire village silent and everyone staring at her with mouths ajar, she realised she had in fact been screaming at high volume. Had she taken the time to think on it, she may have kept her mouth shut altogether.

  The Beast stared at her for what seemed like an eternity; he raised his hand to signal to his men to stop.
They were currently smirking, trying to wipe the amusement from their faces. Beiste dismounted his horse and scowled, his face a mask of controlled rage. He walked towards the woman he now considered a howling wench and given his height and the length of his legs it took him two seconds to reach her.

  Oh bollocks. Amelia’s throat suddenly felt parched, she could feel all the villagers behind her step away. She could already hear the bards singing about her death in a marketplace covered in candy apples, berry tarts and horse shit. For centuries she would be the cautionary tale for plump Gaelic women everywhere with acerbic tongues. Bloody hell! She muttered to herself she was on her own. As the Beast came closer, her knees trembled. She saw his broadsword strapped to his back. Was that blood still on his sword? Was that the blood of another mouthy lass who dared to question him in the previous village? The road spun. She felt lightheaded, but she would not yield. Amelia raised her chin slightly. Her mind sifting through escape plans, all of them failing because she could not run without sustaining a serious chafing injury. She was doomed. Amelia looked up. The Beast was directly in front of her, staring down. Lud, he was huge. She braced.

  “The next time a man saves your life, a word of thanks would do, not your damn screaming like a banshee for the world to hear!” He roared the last part of the line. “You,”–his finger pointed at her– “are damned lucky my men and I,”–his finger pointed at himself and his men–“don’t believe in harming women, if you,”–he pointed at her again–“had challenged anyone else,”–both his arms gestured around the village– “who knows what your insolence could have cost you?”–he pointed at her then brought his face closer–“Have a care for your safety lass, do not court danger with your reckless behaviour.” he seethed.

  Amelia thought to herself that for someone who accused others of screaming, he sure did a lot of yelling himself.

  The Beast looked at a point behind her and yelled. “Is this your woman? If she is, you need to keep a firm hold of her tongue.”

  A deep voice with a smooth brogue answered. “No, she is not, but I would still prefer no harm came to her.”

  Amelia whipped her head back to find Mary’s friend Patrick Fraser a scant distance behind her standing legs apart, one hand resting on the scabbard of his sword as if ready to protect her. Bless-ed man. She spotted Mary and Isobel a safe distance away, looking worried. Amelia suddenly felt contrite and embarrassed. Could this day get any worse? “I am sorry I thank you for saving me.” She responded, feeling genuine remorse and relief he had not taken her head off with his broadsword. The Beast continued to stare at her for a few moments, then just grunted, shook his head, and walked away.

  ***

  Could this day get any worse? Beiste could not believe the wee termagant he had just encountered. He was tired and hungry, and that besom screamed at him like a wild stuck boar when he had just saved her life. The daft woman needed to reign in that temper of hers before she met with violence. It worried him that the bonnie lass was courting danger. The woman had a death wish.

  Beiste heard a chuckle from his left and gritted his teeth. Brodie the smug bastard found the whole incident amusing and had not stopped chortling about it since they had left the village. Beiste instantly regretted his decision to bring Brodie along. The man was an idiot.

  As they rode towards Dunbar Castle Beiste kept thinking on the termagant once more. He noted she looked familiar, a memory from his past, those eyes of hers one brown and one green as he had seen them before. Beiste thought also of her kissable lips and luscious breasts and rounded hips he had become aroused watching her feisty display. For a screaming banshee she had a body built to take an enormous man without fear of breaking her. Beiste shook his head to stop the errant thoughts plaguing his mind, it had been too long since he’d had a woman he was now lusting after some screeching she-cat but he would say this; she smelled of lilacs and clean fresh woodlands. If only she was not such a screamer. An even darker thought crossed his mind. What would she be like under him, screaming his name in pleasure? Damn it! He needed to stop this train of thought before he got blue balls. Damn wench.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Dunbar Castle—East Lothian, Scotland

  Back at the Castle Amelia and Mary had just entered through the kitchens when they were accosted by their seanmhair, Lady Agnes.

  “Amelia, where have you two been?”

  “We were at the Markets Grandma I have all the provisions you requested.”

  “Aye, Grandma we would have been here earlier but Amelia had a bit of a disagreement with–”

  “Be quiet, no one has time for your stories Mary. There is someone here to see you, he is from the King.”

  “The King?” Both women repeated.

  Lady Agnes was already grabbing Mary’s hand and yelling for Amelia to come with her, she was pulling Mary up the stairs to her bedchamber and shouting orders at serving women for hot water and soap and curling irons and kirtles.

  “Grandma what is happening?” Amelia asked breathlessly trying to keep up.

  “The new King has betrothed Mary to the MacGregor Chieftain, and he’s downstairs.”

  “What!” both women shouted.

  “Please tell me it’s not true?” Mary wailed.

  “When was this arranged?” Amelia questioned.

  “Your uncle Duncan has got himself killed the silly man. Your Da is trying to make sense of the parchments.

  “But what has that to do with Mary?” Amelia asked now gasping for air as she climbed more stairs.

  “We are Duncan’s closest kin and King Macbeth is trying to bring us to heel.” Lady Agnes said. She kept running up the stairs, showing far more agility than both of her granddaughters. She did not pause once. Meanwhile, Amelia had given up breathing altogether.

  Once inside the room Lady Agnes began issuing orders. “Amelia get Mary into that bath. Mary stop crying you look hideous. Where are the hair-brushes Hilde?” The housekeeper and servants were scurrying around like frightened mice. “Amelia set out the yellow silk dress.”

  “Aye, Grandma.”

  “And Amelia I want you to go bathe, Hilde will help you. There’s a plain kirtle set out for you to wear.”

  “Why do I need to get ready, Grandma?” Amelia gave her a questioning look.

  “Stop bothering me with your ceaseless chatter child just do it.”

  Twenty minutes later the sisters were bathed and dressed Mary wore the Dunbar airisaidh over her lilac dress fastened by an heirloom silver brooch.

  “Mary you will go downstairs and meet your betrothed. You will smile and be charming and you will stop crying this instant.”

  Mary nodded, then burst into tears again.

  “By the saints, I cannot stomach hysterical women.” Grandma Agnes decreed.

  “Amelia you will stand beside your sister for support.”

  Amelia interrupted her “Maybe Grandma it would be better if I just went to my cottage and did not go to the Hall.”

  “No, you cannot leave me, Amelia.” Mary started panicking.

  “But Mary if it’s the same man from the Village, I could make it worse.”

  “Why would you make it worse?” Lady Agnes raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, I may have had a wee run in with their leader.”

  “What kind of run in?”

  “Amelia yelled at him at the village.” Mary sniffed.

  “I would not say I yelled Mary.”

  “Screamed then.”

  “No, I did not scream at him, Mary.”

  “Bellowed then.”

  “No, I did not bellow at him either Mary.”

  “Screeched then.”

  “Quiet Mary, I didn’t raise my voice at all.” Amelia shouted.

  “Oh, you mean how you’re not raising your voice now?” Mary smirked.

  “At least I’m not betrothed to him.” Amelia retorted.

  Mary began wailing even louder.

  “Saints preserve us, that is
enough. Am I the only person in this bloody Castle trying to keep a clear head?” Lady Agnes was nearing the end of her patience. She turned to Amelia. “It does not matter what you said to their leader, he will only have eyes for Mary.”

  Amelia pleaded with her grandmother in a desperate bid to avoid the MacGregors, “But grandma I should be at the cottage picking the final sundew for the bairns, they could die from whooping cough in winter.”

  “Enough Amelia! Pick the blasted sundew tomorrow. Bairns will not be perishing overnight for lack of sundew. You will go with Mary to the Hall and you will pass me that whiskey bottle, I’ve a need to fortify my spirits.”

  ***

  Chapter 5

  Dunbar Castle, Scotland

  The Betrothal

  Beiste stood in the centre of the Great Hall with his eyes fixed on the main doors. His hair partially wet from having bathed in the sea and he wore his proper MacGregor plaid with crest badge. The look on his face was one of annoyance and contempt. As the Earl prattled on to Brodie about Royal Burgh matters, Beiste remained still, silent, calm. He was impatient, another hour had passed, and he was not in the mood for polite conversation. What could take the chit so long? The sooner this betrothal done the sooner he could return to the Highlands.

  As his eyes roamed the Great Hall, it was easy to see the affluence of the occupants. The Dunbar’s remained a powerful clan with their Cumbrian connections despite the Castle being burnt down several times once by a MacAlpin. Beiste wondered how many other useless historical facts he could recall before he finally set eyes on this Mary woman. As if his thoughts had summoned her, a large commotion came from the primary entrance as three women walked into the Great Hall. About time!

  Beiste deduced from the look of them, it was Lady Agnes, the Earl’s mother, and one woman following behind her would be his betrothed. His face remained expressionless as he casually observed their approach. The blonde woman was a beauty. She wore the Dunbar airisaidh over a long golden kirtle which accentuated her slim, lithe figure. But his eyes were drawn to the brunette walking beside her she wore a long brown linen tunic with a simple white airisaidh her hair was a riot of dark brown curls. She kept her head down, but he knew full well who she was. It was that same infuriating lass he had encountered in the village. For some unknown reason it annoyed him he just got her out of his head and there she was again, tempting his resolve. He glared at Lady Agnes as if it was her fault.