…but who is she?
…never seen her before…
…out of nowhere…
Dressed in a gown of fine brown wool with golden brocade and a necklace of gold and emeralds at her throat, Beatrice had felt equal to this encounter until that moment. Now she wished that she could run away from the scrutiny of these strange men.
Beatrice looked uncertainly at the blond man who had addressed her. While his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, he was at least talking to her rather than about her. Seeing that he had Beatrice’s attention, he bowed his head towards her.
“Allistair MacSween. I suppose I should welcome ye to our family.”
“Ye’re a MacSween?” she questioned, seeing only the differences between this man and the dark-haired laird of the clan.
“He’s me cousin,” Leo said rather dismissively, taking his own seat at the table.
Leo smiled at Beatrice although not at Allistair and she realized that his shortness had been for his cousin and not for her. That was a relief. She had worried that he might be unhappy with her appearance. When Shona had delivered her back to the laird, he had only looked her up and down and told her that she would do.
Maybe he had only been busy and keen to rush onward and fit in their brief consultation with the healer before the council gathering. Or maybe he was not a man given to compliments. Beatrice couldn’t know yet.
“This seems very fast, me Laird,” a man with a bushy red beard spoke up. “How can it be that ye present this lady today when yesterday ye swore never to marry?”
“Ye’re right, Jonah,” agreed another councilman. “Laird MacSween, how did this lassie come to meet ye and accept yer proposal since yesterday?”
“How can it be?” laughed Leo harshly. “Because the elders decreed it, Jonah. That’s how. Anyway, I’ve known Beatrice’s family for some time. Her father and I have done business together. There is nay great mystery.”
Further whispering followed, Beatrice guessing that some would have recognized her surname and have pieced together the picture on her family.
Allistair MacSween did not join in the whispering. Instead, he sat with folded arms, his face unreadable.
“Yer bride must be examined by the healer, me Laird,” pointed out a narrow-faced man with beady eyes. “It must be certain that she can give ye an heir.”
“I am healthy and fertile,” Beatrice spoke up unprompted. “We have come from the healer this very hour. I can most certainly provide the heir that Laird MacSween and the council desire.”
Maybe she ought not to have spoken out, but it seemed to Beatrice that since she’d had to answer such intrusive questionsfrom that old healer in front of the laird, she might as well make use of the woman’s pronouncement.
Yes, her monthlies were regular; yes, she felt that strange physical restlessness halfway between them; yes, she knew where babies came from… The woman had even made the same excruciating comments on Beatrice’s hips and breasts as her mother did, although thankfully Leo MacSween gave every impression of not listening at that point.
“Nay doubt about that, lassie,” a portly grey-haired man at the end of the table jested in a bawdy voice, and then looked to the beady-eyed man who had spoken of the healer. “Pipe down, Ewan. We can all see for ourselves that the laird should have nae problem gettin' heirs on her.”
Several others now dissolved in ribald laughter and Beatrice shrank back, her cheeks flaming. She was the only woman in the room and felt her disadvantage distinctly. While it made others jump, it was only a relief to her when Leo slammed a fist on the table, and the laughter subsided.
“Enough,” said the laird, not needing to raise his voice after such a gesture. “Beatrice is the daughter of Patrick Whitmore and comes of good family on both sides, regardless of his past financial worries. I have made me choice and there is an end to it.”
“We must have a ceilidh for the clan to celebrate the betrothal,” put in the man called Jonah, seeming to have accepted the laird’s choice and moved on to the actual wedding arrangements.
“Aye, we shall,” Leo agreed before looking to Beatrice. “Invite yer mother and father to the ceilidh when ye write yer letter. For the rest, it will be Clan MacSween.”
“May I send word to me cousin Eloise at Calibroch Castle?” Beatrice asked.
“Yer cousin?” he queried and Beatrice wondered whether she ought to have spoken again, or maybe asked this question of Tyler later.
“Aye. If I cannae invite her to the ceilidh, then at least I can inform her of our weddin' maybe.”
“As ye will,” the laird answered with a shrug and wave of his hand, evidently not caring much one way or another. “Yer family are welcome at Castle MacSween. Now, councilmen, back to our business…”
The first few minutes in the council chamber had only amused Leo. Of course the council men were struck by Beatrice’s beauty and astonished by their laird’s announcement. He was unsurprised and unbothered by either of these things.
What did bother him as the meeting progressed was the way so many of his advisers, both young and old, looked on Beatrice with undisguised lust. Too many eyes lingered on her breastsalthough those men might claim only to be interested in the emerald necklace.
