Page 45 of The Beast

“Good,” Caelan said. “Inform her of yer mother’s invasion once a season with her army of servants.” They both drank deeply from their cups at the thought of the days they both hid away from his mother.

Duncan was enjoying time with Caelan. Since he’d moved into the house, they’d become close and there was little he did not share with his brother.

“I must ask,” Caelan said looking around to ensure not to be overheard. “How have ye dealt with intimacy? Do ye have any questions?”

He’d expected Caelan’s curiosity. Duncan told him of what Darach had instructed and of how it had gone so far. He left out the interlude in Caelan’s study while wondering if Beatrice had ordered that the room be put back in order.

“Sounds like ye have things well in hand,” Caelan affirmed. “I think ye should consider allowing her to see all of ye, little by little. Making love in other than darkness is very enjoyable.”

“I cannot,” Duncan said firmly.

“How about her family? What are yer plans?”

Chapter Twelve

“We should have alerted the guards,” Orla said as they walked to the nearby lavender field. “If one of us gets hurt and has to hobble back, Mister Duncan will be very angry that no one was about to help us.”

Beatrice chuckled. “Ye wish for a strong man to carry ye back? Why did ye not tell me, I would have ensured the one of yer choice came with us and then pushed ye down so he would have to.”

“Lady Beatrice!” Orla exclaimed, her cheeks growing bright pink. “I did not mean for that…”

“I jest with ye,” Beatrice replied. “It is a romantic idea. Ye are not being courted are ye?”

Orla shook her head, her pert nose wrinkling. “Nay. I have never been pursued. I am not a beauty, so I suppose men do not take notice.”

Taking her in, Beatrice first noticed Orla’s mop of curls that tumbled past her shoulders. Her hair was lovely and thick, but unruly. She normally wore it in a bun at the nape of her neck, but by midday, half of the hair had escaped its confines. The clothes Orla wore were what was expected of a servant. However, the dresses were always faded and heavily mended. The edges of her skirts were frayed, as was the cap that currently sat lopsided atop her head.

“Why do ye have so few clothes and those ye have seem very old?”

Orla looked down at her stained apron. “I only came to work at Keep Ross recently. My last mistress died, and her son and his wife moved into the house.

The woman took an instant dislike to me and reduced my wages. I barely had enough for necessities. Once I saved up, with only half an afternoon off every fortnight, there was little time to purchase fabrics and even less to sew a dress.”

“Yer a beauty Orla. Ye must get new clothing as soon as possible. We must make changes immediately.”

As they walked and filled their baskets with lavender, they planned a trip to the village to purchase fabric. Beatrice planned to sew table coverings and drapes for Duncan’s bedroom, to lighten up the space. “We must visit a seamstress and order serviceable dresses for us both. I only brought frivolous gowns for my visit to South Uist—not expecting to remain—therefore, I do not have anything that will serve me well day-to-day.”

A man on horseback appeared. He dismounted and allowed the horse to graze. Beatrice and Orla exchanged looks.

“Is that the same man ye saw earlier?” Orla asked, her eyes wide.

Beatrice studied the man and horse. “It could be. He was too far. We should be cautious. Let us walk back.”

“Lady Beatrice,” the man called out. “Are ye not Duncan Ross’s new bride?”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at the man. “How do ye know my name?”

The man neared. He was not unattractive and seemed to be a bit older than Duncan. He had shoulder-length light brown hair and dark eyes. A scar from the outer corner of his left eye to the side of his mouth gave him a dangerous air. Yet his demeanor was not threatening.

“Yer husband and I spent many years together on a ship. There is little I do not know about him.”

Beatrice looked over her shoulder. They had not gone so far. If she or Orla screamed, the guards would hear. “I will have to insist ye come and visit us then. Perhaps tomorrow? I am sure Duncan will be glad to see ye. What is yer name?”

“Farlan Reid,” he replied and looked past her to the house. “I am not sure he will be as welcoming as ye. However, I will ask that ye convey my congratulations on the marriage. I wish ye well.” The man bowed and turned away, returning to his horse.

Orla frowned. “Very interesting. Do ye think he will come to visit?”

“I do not know. I am sure Duncan will have an opinion.”