Married or unmarried, this was no shameless strumpet come seeking the laird’s bed and favors. Whatever purpose had driven this young lady here to MacSween Castle, it had been important enough to overcome her natural feminine reserve.
“Laird MacSween,” she greeted him, breaking the silence between them at last. “Me name is Beatrice Whitmore. I have come to ye with an offer.”
“An offer?” Leo queried. “I had just decided that ye werenae that kind of woman. Was I wrong in me judgement?”
“Pray, on yer honor, daenae tease or insult me, Laird MacSween, though I am here without protection,” she replied with dignity, immediately chastening him. “I am in direst distress and had nae choice but to seek ye out.”
“Forgive me,” Leo said quickly. “I speak too rarely to young ladies in distress. Whitmore…I do ken that name. Who is yer father or brother? Do I ken yer family?”
“Me father is Patrick Whitmore and he owes ye more than he could ever repay, and other lairds besides. I need urgent assistance, and I believe none could help me as ye could, if ye accept me offer.”
Leo’s excitement over his mysterious visitor subsided a little with the name of her father. There were all kinds of reasons, either mundane or sordid, that a debtor might send his beautiful daughter to speak to a laird.
“What offer could ye possibly have for me?” Leo asked. “Or is this offer from yer father? I warn ye that I think little of men who hide behind women’s skirts.”
“The offer is me own and a simple one, me Laird,” she told him, her countenance solemn. “It is like this, I am in need of a husband…”
CHAPTER FOUR
Had Laird Leo MacSween heard and understood Beatrice's words? Had she only imagined speaking them aloud after rehearsing so many times inside her own head on the ride here? He didn’t react at all and only stood there across the other side of the room studying her like a strange bird who had flown in through his window.
“Laird MacSween?” she finally prompted him, clearing her throat and pushing down the nervousness that hummed in her blood.
As she spoke his name, he strode forward and stopped only a few paces from where Beatrice stood, still gazing at her intently. She forced herself to stand her ground and neither step back nor look away. This was Beatrice’s chance to make her case and if Leo MacSween turned her out now, she might never have another.
“Beatrice Whitmore,” he said her name in turn, speculative but uncommitted.
How large this laird looked at such close proximity, taller than any man Beatrice had yet met, and giving the impression of filling the room with his dark-haired, broad-shouldered confidence. She thought of certain fine, strong stallions owned by her father’s friends. Such animals required bold handling to be ridden safely, she had heard, and Leo MacSween put her in mind of these creatures.
A beautiful beast of a man, that woman said of him on the road. Aye, she was right.
From a distance, Leo MacSween’s eyes had looked black as the waters of a loch at midnight, but as he drew closer, she saw deep brown with flecks of gold and shimmering green.
“Ye’re in need of a husband, are ye?” the laird asked at last, showing that he had heard Beatrice after all. “Are ye asking me to find one for ye? Why cannae yer parents see to it?”
Beatrice summoned up all of her courage once more, and looked up at him with a tilt of her chin.
“Me laird, it’s ye that I seek as husband,” she told him flatly. "Nae other can save me and I daenae need a husband forever. It would nae be a long inconvenience but a marriage of the old kind, hand-fast for a year and a day, and then dissolved where there is nay child of the union.”
“’Tis usually the peasants who enter such unions, nae young ladies of good family,” the laird noted, although intrigued more than disapproving.
“A betrothal alone might do,” Beatrice offered. “I need only a temporary arrangement with a strong man, so that other lairds cannot take me in marriage.”
To her annoyance, Beatrice also saw a flash of amusement on his roughly handsome face. Did he think she jested about such matters or that she was weak of understanding?
“Ye must explain better why a lady like ye should be in need of such a temporary husband,” Laird MacSween put to her now. “It makes nay sense to me.”
Although she was under no physical threat from him and his words were politely spoken, Beatrice had sense enough of this man’s power and natural authority. As the prosperous laird of a large clan, Leo MacSween would be used to getting what he wanted rather than being persuaded. She must tread carefully in order to get him on her side.
Patrick Whitmore had spoken truly when he warned that he could not offer his protection against this man. No one could. And yet, Leo MacSween did not seem quite like the brute her parents described either. Perhaps Beatrice would need no protection.
“A decree has been issued,” Beatrice told him, her heart thumping in her ears. “I am to be married in less than three weeks and me husband will be an unnamed laird from among me father’s creditors, nae of me choosin'. I will be handed off like chattel, Laird MacSween.”
“Many marriages are based on such an exchange between families,” he replied brusquely and Beatrice feared losing his interest. “Ye wouldnae be the first or the last.”
“I will be married off to a stranger unless I find a laird willin' to take me now as his wife, for a short while,” Beatrice continued to make her case, sensing that it was better to intrigue Leo MacSween than to argue against what he said. “If ye married me, I wouldnae inconvenience ye much.”
Again she saw a flash of amusement on his face although it was tempered quickly with weary despair. Up close, Beatrice noticed that Leo MacSween was much younger than she had imagined he would be. She had expected a man her father’s age, hair shot with white, and wrinkles about his mouth. This man might not yet even be thirty.
