Page 35 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Chapter Fifteen

Beitris

Beitris paced back and forth in her room, wondering what was taking so long. The sun was already beginning to set. She tried to sit down, tried to read a book to keep her mind from journeying into dark thoughts, but nothing could calm her. Her mind wandered into the darkness, imagining Fraser falling from his horse, his head injury getting the better of him, his men not knowing what to do. She imagined him helping his people, putting out the fires and breathing in too much smoke, his body giving out. Her hands shook as she imagined the brigands from the falls, wondering if they were lurking behind the barns, the cottages, waiting to attack.

A sound pierced through the air, sounding like a horse whining over the storm. It was accompanied by shouts, the wail of a baby, the pattering of rain, all drawing Beitris to the window. She pushed the drapes away, leaning her head out the window. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the figures moving along the path. The clouds were low, covering the minimal light the sun was providing. Rain blurred her vision. Her mouth gaped open when she was finally able to make sense of the vision before her. Her eyes widened on the large line of women, elderly men, and children following the MacClery soldiers towards the castle. She turned towards the west, the smoke dying out, but she could still smell ash lingering in the air mixed with rain drizzling down on her head.

“What happened?” Beitris whispered, withdrawing from the window and striding towards the door.

She needed to speak with someone, but she didn’t know who. Fraser was gone, and he took the only guards she knew. Helga would know; however, Beitris paced back and forth, wondering if she should go to the maids and ask them for information. She didn’t want to bother the elder lady, given she was most probably busy.

Beitris strode down the hall in search of a maid to ask. They would assuredly know what happened and if Fraser had returned in good health. Her feet took her further into the darkness, her eyes straining in the dim lighting as she searched for someone to speak with.

Her step slowed as she heard voices wafting into the hall. Light spilled through the open door while shadows played against the wall. Beitris pressed herself against the corridor, tiptoeing forward while she listened to the voices.

“When is the wedding date?” asked a man, his voice gruff, stern.

Beitris’s eyes widened. She knew that voice. It was the voice that calmed her hours before. Yet, it was different, with a bitter tinge, unlike the kindness she was used to hearing. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she straightened from the wall and continued forward.

“I-I do not know.”

Helga’s voice, Beitris realized. “We have not had the time to discuss. So much has happened.” Beitris frowned. Why were they discussing the wedding when a village and their crops were destroyed by fire?

Beitris inhaled deeply, gaining her resolve, her courage. A small voice in the back of her head told her to run, to return to her rooms, but curiosity got the better of her. She needed to know who Helga was speaking with.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Beitris shakily peaked around the corner, looking through the ajar door. She frowned, finding Helga standing in the middle of the room. Candles decorated the tables, the chairs, making the room glimmer with light. However, Helga’s form looked shriveled, worn out, and broken. Her shoulders were slumped, her head bowed while she clasped her hands. She was shivering, either with cold or fear.

Beitris’s gaze swiveled, and her eyes widened on the man towering over Helga. He was clean. His dark leine was unwrinkled and hugged his broad chest. It covered his arms, ending at his wrists. His blue eyes stared cruelly down at Helga, as if he hated her, as if he loathed her very existence. Beitris gasped, taking a step back.

Those blue eyes lifted, narrowing on her.

That was not any man, Beitris realized, her back straightening as he stalked towards her, throwing the door open. It was Fraser. But how? The soldiers were still leading the people into the fortress. How did Fraser return so quickly? And his head. Beitris blinked, wondering if she was seeing right. His injury was gone. There was no wound in sight, as if she simply imagined him being harmed before. His skin seemed paler, lacking the warmth the sun had brought him as if he had spent long and cold summers in the highlands rather than in France. Beitris shivered, watching his lips twist into a brutish smile, his eyes shifting from hate to something entirely different—something that made her skin crawl and her insides twist.

“Beitris,” he breathed, leaning against the threshold, his hair falling forward, covering his pristine forehead. “What brings ye here?”

“My-my laird.” Beitris grimaced. She hated the fear in her voice, how it shook. “I was worried about the villagers, about ye. I wanted to know if anything could be done to help.” Fraser’s bitter smile widened, his hand reaching, grabbing her wrist roughly, and dragging her forward.

His other hand grabbed her chin, forcefully lifting it up to meet his gaze. His nose was nearly touching hers. The smell of ale nauseated her senses. She struggled, but his hold tightened. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, his nose lightly nuzzling hers. He breathed her in, a soft moan escaping his lips.

Beitris gasped. This was not her Fraser. This was not the man who had touched her in the falls. She remembered the forceful nature—the stench of ale. The memory of that garden shrouded in darkness and those cold blue eyes staring down at her flashed in her mind.

“Thank ye for yer concern, my lady.”

Beitris frowned. His words were kind, yet his tone was bitter, almost angry. He spat ‘my lady’ as if he hated the words, but there was no hate in his gaze. His eyes roved over her, dipping to her breasts, her lips, before meeting her stare once more. She shuddered, feeling no warmth, only sheer lust and the need to dominate.

This was not her Fraser.

“It’s not a woman’s place to worry about such things,” he said with a bitter chuckle.

Tears came to her eyes. She felt as if he smacked her. His words were so cruel. He had never treated her like this before. Was she beginning to see the man behind the mask? Was this truly who Fraser was?

“Ye should scurry back to yer rooms, my lady, and leave me, yer laird, to worry about the goings-on of the castle.”

Beitris swallowed the pain building within her. She blinked back her tears, her sorrow changing to anger. “Aye, my laird,” she choked out, knowing that is all she could do.

“Good lass.”

Beitris waited for him to let her go, but his hand remained on her wrist, her chin. His lips parted, a breath escaping them. Before she could slip away, his mouth slammed down on hers. She whimpered, stepping away from him, desperate to break away from the kiss, but his hold on her wrist tightened, becoming painful. Her hand shook, trying to shake him away. The pain was too much. She gasped, and his tongue entered her, sliding down her throat. His hand slipped from her chin and wrapped around her waist. He growled low in his throat, his body rubbing against hers as if she was nothing but an item for him to use.