Page 75 of The Beast

While washing up, he thought of the conversation with Laird Macdonald. While Beatrice’s father had remained curt and distant, he was not unreasonable. He’d informed Duncan that he should return once things between him and Beatrice were resolved. He’d given her the choice of speaking to him and she’d refused.

Whether she came back to South Uist or remained on the northern isle, the Macdonald insisted that Duncan would visit once a season. He’d given his word to do so and then made the trek back home alone.

The bitter cold had cut through his body during the sail back, but he’d welcomed the distraction from the painful realization of possibly losing his incredible wife forever.

Through the window past his half-built wall, Duncan saw Caelan appear on horseback. Wearing a long coat and thick scarf instead of a plaid, he was a picture of a cultured gentleman. An Englishman.

One would think his brother did not fit in the highlands, not with his refined speech and impeccable attention to his appearance. Perhaps because of the way he presented himself, men underestimated his brother. Caelan was a merciless warrior, who fought not to defeat but to kill.

If there was something that his half-brother had inherited from their father, it was brutality. For the most part Caelan kept control, he was keen like a fox and able to get out of menacing situations. However, if a certain line was crossed, there would be hell to pay.

At that moment, he seemed pensive, his gaze locked on the stables. He must have noticed Duncan’s horse because he turned his head toward the house next. Although Duncan was sure Caelan could not see him from that distance, it seemed as if he could. Despite this, Calen did not alter his horse’s pace or allow the animal to meander.

The bedchamber was cold, but Duncan did not bother to light the fire. There was wood in the hearth, ready to be lit which meant the lad Beatrice had insisted on hiring ensured that nothing lacked. Water was in the pitcher for washing and fresh cloths hung from the stand.

As if conjured by his thoughts, there was a soft knock and after Duncan called for whoever it was to enter, the young man poked his head in.

“Sir, do ye require me to start the fire? I apologize for my tardiness. I was not aware of yer arrival until just now.” The lad was lanky, long-legged with a mop of curly hair and dark brown eyes.

“What is yer name?” Duncan asked, not recalling if he’d ever learned it.

“Ivan, sir.”

“Thank ye Ivan, I do not require a fire right now, but would like one after last meal.”

“Very well sir.” The lad gave him a curt nod and walked back out.

When Duncan returned to the first level, Caelan stood in front of the large hearth warming his hands. He’d removed his coat and thrown it over a chair. More accurately, he’d folded it and then draped it carefully over the back of a chair.

“I did not expect yer return so soon,” Caelan said without looking at him. “Are ye well?”

How to answer the question he wasn’t sure about? A part of him wished to be back in the forest in the lonely cottage. Rather than to be without Beatrice. At least there he had the excuse of her not knowing where he was.

“Ye take a long time to reply,” Caelan’s gaze roamed over his body. “Ye seem healthy enough.”

Duncan went to a sideboard and lifted a decanter of whiskey and looked to Caelan who nodded. Once he’d poured the liquor into two glasses, he held one out to Caelan. After spending so many days on horseback, he preferred not to sit, so Duncan leaned an elbow on the back of a winged chair. “I went to North Uist. As ye may suspect, I did not receive a warm reception. Laird Macdonald did speak to me after two days, which I spent in the village.”

“And yer wife?”

“She refused,” Duncan said and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “I do not blame her.”

The aroma of roasting meat wafted from the kitchen and Duncan inhaled it, filling his lungs with the enticing smell. Food was the great comforter, freely shared when people gathered for unpleasant things like burials and was brought to the sickly to make them feel better.

“I have no doubt Beatrice will return. She loves ye.”

Duncan stared into his empty glass. “I humiliated her. That she had to face her family alone so soon after marrying was cruel. I am not sure she should forgive me.”

“There are some people attempting to settle southeast of here, on the other side of the forest. I saw them today but did not approach. Seem to be men, who’d pulled ashore. About twenty, I decided it was best to alert Stuart.”

“We should go now.”

“I sent two guardsmen to Keep Ross late this morning, and two are keeping watch not too far from the camp to ensure we are not encroached upon. Once we eat, we can take their place and allow them to come here to eat and rest. I assume the guardsmen from the keep will arrive shortly.”

They spent the night keeping watch. The men who camped looked to be warriors. They were well armed, but it wasn’t clear what clan they belonged to as they wore no colors and flew no banners. Currently, they spoke in low tones while roasting whatever they’d caught over a small fire. It was a frigid night. The small fire would do little to keep them warm.

Because of them camping on the eastern shore, Duncan assumed they’d have to have traveled from either Skye or Eriskay. That meant they could be Maclean. If clan Maclean, it would mean trouble. Clan Maclean from Skye were enemies of both them and the MacNeil.

The thundering of hooves alerted not only Caelan and Duncan of the approach of a huge army, but also the men who’d set up camp. They scrambled to arm themselves and waited with tense stances for whoever appeared.