Page 7 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Beitris shook her head, breaking her gaze with the lady and offering a small smile to the stable master standing at her side. He stared at her chair as if it was the most perverse thing he had ever come upon. Her smile faltered slightly while watching the stable master wave towards her. His mouth opened and closed, trying to think of the words to describe the seat she sat upon before conceding.

“Do ye need assistance?”

“Nae, I shan’t,” Beitris said while jutting out her chin.

She angled her body fully to the side and slid slowly to the ground. Several servants’ gasps met her ears, followed by whispering. Beitris smiled brightly at the stable master, his mouth gaping open in both shock and intrigue.

“Why, I never,” he murmured while she handed him the reins and strode past him.

“Beitris,” her father said in a warning tone, which she promptly ignored.

Beitris walked around her mare and towards the keep. Her father hurried forward. Before she could get any farther, he grabbed her hand and rested it on his arm. Beitris held back her sigh, hating the way her father was escorting her towards the keep as if she was nothing more than a child. This was to be her new life. No longer was she free to do what she wanted or act as she pleased.

She was to become the new Lady MacClery, imprisoned inside this extravagantly dark fortress against her will for the rest of her days. How terribly dismal, she thought while approaching the elder lady.

Her brows pinched together in confusion as she turned to the young man standing at the lady’s side. He was handsome, with a clean-shaven face and his dark hair neatly washed. She frowned as she drew closer, recognizing the sharp angle of his nose and the fullness of his lips. Beitris recognized this man from somewhere, but she couldn’t remember how.

He was donned in an elegant red leine with the MacClery insignia sewn in gold thread on his chest. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms, tanned no doubt from his days in France where the sun shined more frequently. Her insides twisted when she met his blue gaze, recalling the way those same blue eyes watched her in the moonlight.

A gasp escaped her lips.

He was the one from the garden, she realized, halting her approach forward. She felt her father’s tug on her elbow, but her body remained fastened to the ground. He was the one who had stolen a kiss from her. Her gaze darkened as she stared up at the man who was to be her husband.

Nae, she told herself. She didn’t care if she would die an unmarried old hag. There was no way she would ever agree to marry this cad.

“May I introduce my daughter and myself,” said her father in a booming voice as he bowed his head. “I am Laird Stewart of the Gordon Clan, and this is the Lady Beitris.” He gestured towards her with one hand. “Thank ye for welcoming us this day.”

Beitris refused to curtsy. She glanced over her shoulder, finding her horse being led into the stables. Her frown deepened while she turned back to the laird and lady before her. It would take too long for her to reach the stables and mount her mare. She would have to suffer through this meeting.

“‘Tis a pleasure to see the both of ye at long last,” said Lady MacClery while curtsying. “I am Lady Helga MacClery.”

“And I am the Laird of the MacClery Clan,” said the cad while he bowed low. “Ye may call me Fraser, if ye wish. I pray the journey was in yer favor?”

“Aye, it was,” said her father with an awkward chuckle, his gaze glancing at Beitris with worry when she refused to move any closer. “Only a wee bit of rain from time to time. Nae brigand to be seen, thankfully.”

“Thanks be to the heavens,” said Fraser.

Fraser watched her, his lips parting and making her wonder if he was reminded of the time he slammed his mouth upon her and forcibly held her against her will. With a step forward, he brandished a beautiful bouquet of thistles, primroses, and lavender from behind his back, offering it with a shy smile.

“For ye, my lady,” he said quickly.

Beitris didn’t want to accept the flowers, as if they were some sort of payment for the kiss he took from her. Perhaps he had been spying on her, stalking the grounds of Dunbar, wondering what kind of woman his future wife would be.

“Beitris,” she heard her father say harshly, nodding his head towards Fraser.

She stumbled forward, taking the bouquet and clutching them close to her chest. Before she could take a step back, Fraser took her hand gently. “‘Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Beitris,” he said before pressing his lips against her skin.

Beitris didn’t think. Her hand took on a life of its own, and before she could stop herself, she snatched it from his grasp and slapped his cheek with the speed of an adder. She stared wide-eyed at him, shocked by her own actions. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment until she forced those feelings away, telling herself he had earned her ire for what he had done to her in the garden. Fraser’s eyes widened while she heard Helga gasp, and her father’s angry voice shouting, “Beitris!”

Beitris’s hand hovered between them. Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself, tried to think of something to say, yet all she wanted to do was shout at him for taking advantage of her. She ground her teeth. There were too many eyes watching her, appalled by what she had done. She knew deep in her heart if Fraser took one step closer she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from striking again. She wanted to scream, scold him for making her feel terrified in the garden, for making her feel weak and small.

She expected Fraser to scowl back at her, demand she and her father leave, but instead, he straightened, his lips moving upwards into a tight smile while speaking the two words she never expected him to say:

“Thank ye.”