Page 46 of The Beast

They were met halfway back by an out of breath guardsman, who’d obviously raced to find them.

“Lady Beatrice. Ye must inform us…when…ye…”

Beatrice took pity on him and interrupted so he could catch his breath. “I do apologize. We did not plan to walk so far, but upon seeing the lavender we came to cut some for the house.” When she looked over her shoulder, Farlan Reid was gone.

The guard motioned for them to walk ahead as he followed.

Meeting Orla’s gaze, Beatrice shook her head. “Perhaps it will be best if I do not mention what just happened.”

“I think ye are right,” Orla said sneaking a look to the guard who followed them.

Upon returning home, Beatrice and Orla spent the day placing lavender into vases and tying some into bunches to be hung in the bedchambers and parlor.

When Gara announced last meal, Beatrice was annoyed that Duncan was still absent. She insisted Orla eat with her, so she didn’t have to eat alone.

“We will go to the village tomorrow,” Beatrice told Gara. “Please ask Creagh to prepare a coach and horses for first thing in the morning.”

“Aye, milady,” the woman replied. “I left word in the village that there was a need for help. Orla can see about it while ye are there.”

A plan in place, Beatrice was excited for the next day. The only thing that dampened her spirits was her husband’s absence.

With Duncan’s bedchamber empty, Beatrice could not relax. She’d already detained Orla until the poor woman yawned so wide her jaw cracked. Now she sat in the bed, her gaze fixed on the door between her and Duncan’s room that she had left slightly ajar.

Every so often she went to the window and peered toward the stables hoping to catch a glimpse of his return.

Finally, footsteps sounded. He went into his bedchamber and she hurried to peek in. Duncan stood in front of his door visibly swaying. He stumbled to a chair and dropped into it. When he attempted to remove his boot and fell out of the chair, he chuckled.

Then putting a finger to his mouth made loud shushing noises. Her husband was drunk.

Caelan entered the room and stood over Duncan. “Ye are making too much noise.”

“My boosh refushees to come off,” Duncan slurred.

It seemed to Beatrice that Caelan was also in his cups, but not quite as much as Duncan. The brother managed to help Duncan back onto the chair and removed his boots. Then he helped him to the bed.

“Look,” Caelan ordered and Duncan lifted his head.

“What?”

“I am pushing this bashin here. Ush it if ye get sick.”

Duncan managed a nod. “I will.”

Mere moments after Caelan walked out, Duncan’s snores filled the air.

Beatrice slipped through the doorway and tiptoed to the bed. Fast asleep, Duncan lay face down, his head on the edge of the bed. Each exhalation was a loud snore.

Bending closer, she sniffed at his face. “Whisky,” she whispered. There was another distinct smell, and it was not something he enbibed. It was a flowery scent, like that a woman wore.

“Where were ye?” Beatrice slapped his shoulder. “Who were ye with?”

The response was an incoherent mumble and another pair of snores. She would have to wait until morning to get an answer. If not from him, then his brother would answer for what they’d been doing until so late.

Annoyed, she paced and then decided it was best to try to get sleep. She had plans for the following day. Once she questioned Duncan, a trip to the village could not be delayed.

The prospect of another night alone in her bedchamber loomed and she let out a breath. Duncan was much too out of his wits to know if she slept there. No doubt he would not wake until late, which gave her the opportunity to get up and slip back to her own bedchamber.

Beatrice rounded the bed, slid between the blankets, and promptly fell into an exhausted slumber.