Highlander’s Mysterious Lady (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Page 13

  Being Laird of Eilean had not always been easy. There were terrible harvests, roofs that caved in from unprecedented blizzards and once, a disease that had taken out nearly half the area’s sheep population. Now there was unrest and worry about the clearances, and Brodie found himself often traveling to the local tavern to quell any worries about his people being shipped off to Australia, or worse. But he loved his position as laird. Though it had forced heartache upon him after Gavin’s death, it had afforded him to affect real and lasting change in his people’s lives.

  Brodie’s thoughts were focused on Gavin as he entered the library. The lad had loved the large room filled with books. Brodie could still remember the little boy’s great gasp as he walked in that first time.

  “All these books are yours?” he had exclaimed.

  “Aye lad, they are. An’ yer welcome tae as many as ye like.”

  Gavin had given a great leap of joy, which had resulted in a coughing fit that had necessitated him lying down. From his prone position, he had listened as Brodie read him all the titles he could see at eye level, picking out every tome that Gavin requested. The lad had left the castle with a stack of books as tall as him, and Brodie had never seen him happier.

  Brodie looked over at the couch where Gavin had sat and found, to his utter surprise and extreme delight, Beatrice sitting there with a book in her hands.

  She was so engrossed in reading that she did not hear him enter. Not wanting to scare the lass, make her scream, and thus wake up the entire castle, Brodie chose instead to stay where he was and clear his throat.

  The rumble echoed in the quiet room, the only other noise the crackle of the fire’s embers as they shifted, and a moment later, a loud gasp when Beatrice looked up and noticed Brodie standing just a few feet away.

  “Evenin’, lass. What brings ye tae me library at this hour o’ the night?”

  “I…I…” she stuttered, slamming her book shut. Sadly, her finger was still marking her page, and Brodie saw her wince as she slipped her now wounded digit out of the pages.

  “Ye were readin’, I assume?” he walked past her to a small cabinet where he knew the butler had recently restocked his supply of whiskey.

  “Y-yes, I was. Shakespeare. King Lear.”

  “That was the verra one I was after,” Brodie said with a laugh as he filled two glasses with a few inches of whiskey. Capping the bottle, he placed it on the top of the cabinet and turned toward Beatrice, handing her a drink.

  “Is this…whiskey?” she peered at the amber liquid with trepidation.

  “Aye, so it is. Hae ye never had it?” he took a seat in the chair next to hers, positioning himself to see her bonny face.

  “No. But the last time I tried a drink on your recommendation, I quite liked it, so I suppose I ought to try this one as well.”

  Brodie relaxed further into his chair, glad the lass was no longer stuttering. He did not want to intimidate her. In fact, he wanted the very opposite. He wanted her to feel comfortable in his company, to trust him.

  Beatrice raised a glass to him before taking a sip. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she began to sputter as the fiery liquid slid down her throat. Slamming the glass down on the table between them, she put a hand to her throat and turned toward Brodie.

  “Good god! It’s like…”

  “Fire?” he supplied, taking a small sip of his own drink.

  “Yes! It’s…well, not dreadful, exactly. Actually, it’s quite nice once it’s down,” she said with a surprised expression on her face.

  “It helps if ye daenae gulp it all down at once. Whiskey is to be sipped, not gulped.”

  “Well, you could have told me that,” she grumbled, sitting back in her chair and taking up her glass again. She took another sip, this time a much smaller one, and Brodie saw her cheeks relax, her eyes closed as she swallowed, her lower lip wet as she smiled in pleasure.

  It was enough to make Brodie stiff all over again, and he found himself readjusting his seat so that he could squeeze his thighs together and avoid tenting his banyan.

  “It is much better when sipped. I quite like the warmth. It’s like swallowing a fire that slowly spreads to all your limbs.” She gestured the trail the whiskey would take, running her fingers down her throat, onto her chest, and down her belly. Brodie watched her hand with rapt attention, willing it to stop at the apex of her thighs, and when it did, he heard himself gasp.

  Beatrice turned toward him and grinned.

  “Lass,” Brodie rasped. “Ye must ken how ye’ve tortured me these last few days, with yer looks an’ smiles an’ those fetchin’ dresses that make ye look so edible.”

  “And you must know how you have tortured me, staring across the table like you could devour me,” she said. Though her words were confident, there was a slight flinch in her expression that told Brodie she was not wholly sure of herself, of this exchange between them.

  She’s nervous, Brodie realized. She had been nervous at the inn as well, but a few kisses had quite taken care of that.

  But of course, back then, they had only had a night. Whereas now, they had all the time in the world. Or at least, all of October. There was no need to rush the lass.

  Yet Brodie could not help the desire to kiss the lass. It was not a kiss that need lead to anything more, but after desiring her so much these last few days, his body needed to touch hers, to connect somehow.

  Leaning toward her, he placed his whiskey glass on the table and caught her chin with his fingers.

  “Can I kiss ye, Beatrice?” he whispered against her lips.

  She nodded, whispering, “Yes,” her breath a puff of warm air against his mouth. Brodie swallowed that air as he opened his lips and captured hers in a sweet embrace. She tasted even better than he remembered. As he leaned closer, dragging her off her chair and onto his lap, there came that wave of delicious scent, the intoxicating mixture of heady lavender, rich honey, and fresh blueberries that made him groan.

  In response, Beatrice ran her hands down his face before clasping them around his neck, her thumbs at the sensitive bit of skin just under Brodie’s ears. She rubbed the pads of her thumbs back and forth, and Brodie felt himself harden, his cock straining to full mast.

  He felt Beatrice gasp against his mouth, clearly alarmed at the rock growing under her thighs, but rather than back away, she did something astonishing: she reached down to touch it.

  Her fingers rubbed against the silk of his banyan, and it was nearly enough to send him over the edge. Brodie was forced to push her away until her thighs were straddling his legs, rather than his member.

  “Lass,” he bit out, barely able to catch his breath.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Nae!” he shouted, louder than he needed to. “Nae, ye did naught wrong. Ye did tae much right, in fact. I was nearly burstin’, an’ I couldn’ae handle th’ embarrassment if I reached climax from yer mere touch. I only want tae come when I’m inside ye, lass. Tis th’ best o’ feelins’, an’ one I’ll chase at every opportunity.”

  “Oh,” Beatrice smiled and looked both relieved and flushed as she sat back on his knees. “I suppose that is a compliment.”

  “Aye, an’ th’ highest o’ them,” he joked as he grinned at her.

  “Did you…did you come to find me this evening? Is that why you’re here?”

  “In a sense,” Brodie reached out to hold her hips as he sat up straighter in the chair. “I couldnae sleep. My mind was full o’ ye, an’ I hope that a bit o’ King Lear, which I find tae be th’ most borin’ o’ th’ bard’s plays, would send me tae sleep. Clearly, fate had other plans, however.”

  “I confess I was doing the same. Looking for boredom and distraction in King Lear. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for days. Since we saw each other in the nursery, really,” she told him, looking a bit shy as she confessed.

  “But ye wouldnae talk tae me, lass. Every time I tried tae get ye alone, ye avoided me presence. I’ve been dyin’
tae speak tae ye, tae ken ye better. Tae ken th’ beautiful vision I spent th’ best night o’ me life with. It’s fate that we’re here together, lass. I want tae make th’ best o’ me chance tae be with ye, fer however long yer here.”

  “So do I., But my life is…well, it is complicated,” she supplied, looking even more uncomfortable.

  “Tell me, lass. Tell me sae I can understand.”

  Beatrice seemed to believe him, because her look of suspicion gradually faded. “Fine. I will tell you, but I cannot do it on your lap. Being so close to…” she looked pointedly down at his member, “is far too distracting.”

  “I shall take that as th’ highest of compliments, lass,” Brodie said, grinning as she climbed off him and returned to her chair.

  “I enjoyed our night together,” she began as she settled into her seat. “I enjoyed it so much, but then, the next morning, the guilt…” she said, shaking her head.

  “Because o’ yer husband?” Brodie asked.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “Because it was better with you. Because I felt more alive with you. James was wonderful, you see, but he was so obsessed with being the best duke he could. I think he felt insecure because he had not grown up being primed to take over the title. He wanted to do everything right, to show everyone that one need not be born noble to become noble.”

  Brodie understood. Becoming the leader of so many people and of so much land was hard even for men like him who had expected the burden from birth. It was one thing to know the title was yours, and another entirely to assume it and carry out its many duties and responsibilities.

  “It affected us in many ways, his sense of duty. I followed him, wanting to support him any way I could. But it became a strain, particularly when it came time to produce an heir.”

  Here, she paused, and Brodie could see she was warring with herself, deliberating about just how honest she ought to be with him.

  “Ye daenae hae tae share naught ye daenae want tae, lass.” He would only take what she gave him; he would not press or pry. That was the very last thing she needed. He knew how hard it must be for her to be so open and honest with him. It made him proud to know she trusted him even this much.

  “We could not. Have a child, that is. And of course, it frustrated him. He tried to hide it, I know, did his best to take care of me after the two miscarriages, but I could see it in his eyes sometimes. A disappointment. I was failing him, shattering the illusion of our perfect life together. It caused a chasm to grow between us, one that did not heal before his death.”

  “So yer feelin’ multiple kinds o’ guilt, then,” Brodie observed.

  “Yes. Guilt that I failed him, guilt that we never reconciled. And guilt that I was not there when he died. I was in the next room, asleep when he passed. I…I did not get to say goodbye.”

  Brodie knew that Beatrice did not need another person telling her that none of this was her fault. No doubt, she had heard it time and time again, and if she did not believe it Helena and her other loved ones repeating those platitudes, Brodie very much doubted she would listen to him.

  But he wanted her to feel comforted, to feel better for having told him these things. And above all, he wanted her to know she was not alone.

  “I am dealin’ with a similar sense o’ guilt meself, I confess.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. I lost a little boy. He was from th’ village,” he began, and told her about Gavin. Beatrice leaned in closer as he spoke, her eyes alighting with interest and sympathy as he shared his own tale of guilt and woe.

  “Marcus tells me I must stop blamin’ meself, an’ a part o’ me kens that it wasnae me fault. But another part…”

  “Doesn’t want to believe it. Wants to keep punishing you because that part thinks you deserve it and worse,” she filled in.

  “Exactly. Ye understand exactly, lass,” Brodie said, felt relief at being in the company of someone who was struggling with the same things as he was.

  “It’s nice to be understood. I haven’t felt that way in…well, in a very long time,” she confessed with a shaky laugh.

  “Aye,” Brodie agreed.

  They lapsed into a silence that was surprisingly comfortable after that, watching the fire slowly die down completely, until the only heat of the room came from their two bodies, still stoked from their earlier kisses and embrace.

  “Brodie?” Beatrice broke the silence.

  “Aye, lass?”

  “I want… to spend more time with you. While I am here in the castle. I am not sure where it will lead, or where you would want it to lead…but do you think that is something you would be comfortable with?”

  Brodie’s spirits soared at the lass’ question. He had to restrain himself from shouting “Aye!” and jumping out of his chair. And he knew exactly where he wanted it to lead. He did not know Beatrice well, but what he did know of her made him think that she would make the perfect woman to spend the rest of his life loving, caring for, and protecting. He wanted Beatrice for his wife, for the Lady of Eilean.

  Daenae rush her, he reminded himself. He might be ready to start anew, but his situation was different from hers. He was dealing with the loss of a child, not a partner. He had lost someone he loved, of course, but unlike Beatrice, Gavin had not dictated anything about his life. Whereas it was clear that without James, Beatrice was struggling to find an identity other than “duchess” and “widow.” He needed to give her time to heal, to get to know herself. She was owed that.

  So, rather than jumping for joy and waking up the whole household in the process, he took a deep, steadying breath before turning toward her and giving her the full force of his smile as he nodded. “I’d be most comfortable indeed with that arrangement, lass.”

  Beatrice exhaled loudly and gave a relieved smile. “Oh, good. I was worried you would refuse, and my next few weeks here would be awkward indeed.”

  “I daenae ken ye well lass, but I ken this—it would be verra hard indeed tae refuse ye anythin’, especially th’ chance tae ken ye, ken th’ woman who has set me body an’ heart alight.”

  Brodie’s words revived the blush that had not yet entirely faded from the lass’ face.

  He worried that he had been too honest, but her blush was soon accompanied by a shy but nevertheless pleased smile, and he relaxed some.

  “An’ we can be slow, lass. I think it’ll be better fer th’ both o’ us, tae go slowly, an’ with no expectations,” he added, in case there was any lingering doubt or worry in her mind that he would rush her into something for which she was not ready.

  In response, her shoulders lowered, and she breathed out, showing Brodie that he had indeed been right in thinking she was still anxious.

  A ripple of pride rushed through him, knowing he was so good at anticipating her needs. It boded well for the future.

  “Shall we to bed? It’s late, and we both need to rest.”

  “Aye, lass, sae we dae,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand.

  She took it, placing her hand in his open and waiting palm. Her skin warmed his immediately, the soft silk of her hand on his bliss in and of itself. Brodie could not help but lift her hand to his mouth and kiss it, and he was gratified when he saw Beatrice’s eyes briefly float closed at the touch of his lips to her skin.

  While they had talked, the candles Beatrice had lit when she entered the library earlier had burned low, half the height they were in the morning. The light they shone cast a golden glow on her face, making her look like she was lit within, like an angel.

  And indeed, as they blew out the candles and left the room, Brodie felt like their meeting had been predestined. They had entered into each other’s lives at just the right time, and he hoped they would never part.

  An’ I hope Beatrice comes tae feel th’ same.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “It’s going very well between them, don’t you think?” Helena asked Marcus. A week and a half after Beatrice’s arrival at the castle, they were sitti
ng near the loch again. The autumnal sun was shining down, making Padraig’s thick head of hair shine a bright, burnished gold.

  They were sitting on the grass behind the castle, watching as Beatrice and Brodie played with their son. Padraig had started to walk at the end of the summer, and now his steps were growing more confident with each passing day. Currently, he was toddling out of Beatrice’s arms and toward Brodie, who was crouched low to the ground, muttering encouraging phrases at his nephew as Padraig toddled barefoot across the grass.

  Beatrice, Brodie, and Padraig were all laughing merrily, and Helena was heartened by the sight. The trip to Scotland had done wonders for Beatrice. Already there was more color in her cheeks and fullness to her figure, and she had laughed more in the past week than Helena suspected she had in the last two years. Time away from the Kingwood Estate was precisely what her dear friend needed.