Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Closing the door to the room where Emma was resting, finally in his home, all Grant wanted was a stiff drink. His thoughts were interrupted by the rapid beat of heavy boots and looked up to see Reuben hurrying toward him.

Frustration and happiness clashed in his chest, and he offered Reuben a half-smile. Much as he was glad to see his younger brother seeking him out, he also did not want to deal with Reuben’s incessant questions. Moreover, he knew his brother would have some new scheme up his sleeve.

“Hail, me Laird,” Reuben called merrily, shaking back his fair hair. His pale green eyes glittered as he laughed. Grant’s smile widened, despite himself. “Glad to see ye finally home. And with a bride? Lady Elena?”

Grant placed a hand on the back of Reuben’s neck and tugged him along, shaking his head. He rubbed his throat and swallowed before he spoke.

“Nay.” The hoarseness of his voice seemed worse than usual in the stone corridors. “An errant lass by the name of Emma Wells.”

Reuben let out a surprised squawk and stopped in the hall, forcing Grant to look at him.

Grant expected a torrent of questions and confusion. Only, his brother looked delighted.

“Ye caught the Beast of Briorn’s runaway bride?”

A jolt went through Grant, a snarl of possessiveness in his heart, and his hand twitched as though Laird MacLarsen were at his gates, ready to snatch Emma away. Then, his blood ran cold, and a harsh breath escaped his lips.

What did it matter? Of course, she was promised to another.

Reuben, oblivious to his brother’s inner turmoil, continued.

“A man came here this morning, lookin’ for such a lass.” He grinned. “Emma Wells, the promised bride of the Beast of Briorn, who fled from her family home in the night, a few weeks ago.” He paused, and something flashed in his eyes. “But the Beast did wed—her twin sister. Kept in a convent, though I dinnae ken why. Apparently, she was a novice.” He burst into laughter. “Imagine that, the Beast marrying a holy woman.”

Grant scoffed even as profound relief washed over him, almost causing his knees to buckle. “Dinnae repeat such stories, Braither.”

“Who else would marry that masked monster?” Reuben sneered, but his gaze fell when Grant shot him a glare. “Why did ye bring her here?”

“Leverage,” Grant lied, knowing his brother would leave it at that.

But Reuben followed him down the hall, asking questions, needling at his waning patience until he was about to shout. As though sensing this, their mother appeared, and both men fell silent, inclining their heads.

The Beauty of Banrose had only grown more lovely, in Grant’s eyes, but his gut twisted every time he saw the scar that cut across one side of her mouth. Her beautiful hair had turned stark white, and her eyes were not the same, the green now shadowed.

Sadness constricted Grant’s throat, for he mourned and missed the mother he’d known. Both of them had changed to survive.

Not long after he’d returned home, Grant had once overheard his aunt talk about how Brenda’s beauty and demeanor had become star-like, distant and untouchable, yet enough to burn any man where he stood.

“I need to speak with ye, me son,” Brenda said softly. “Reuben, if ye would excuse us?”

“Of course,” Reuben said cheerily and retreated, whistling.

Though he was aching with exhaustion and even more desperate for a drink, Grant ushered his mother into his study and hastened to arrange the cushions on a chair for her.

She sat, but he remained standing, his hands folded behind his back.

Brenda raised an eyebrow at him, and a rare glimmer of amusement crossed her face. “Ye ken, I could use a draught. And I’d love for ye to join me.”

A rough laugh escaped Grant, and his posture relaxed, then he set about pouring two glasses of whiskey and sat across from his mother. He took a sip, near groaning as the liquor trickled down his dry throat and warmed his belly.

Limbs looser, he sprawled more and dipped his chin to his chest. He could almost enjoy this moment, almost wanted to tell his mother of the works of the road, almost offer her a smile.

Almost, if not for the shadow of old Ronson hovering in the corner, his gaze malevolent and hungry.

His mother seemed to be feeling the same way, a smile almost touching her lips. Since he’d returned, Grant had rarely seen her smile or laugh. And for that, he wished his father had not died at sea so that he could tear him to shreds for taking away his mother’s radiance.

“Ye brought a woman home,” Brenda said, and Grant almost choked on his drink. “But not yer intended—rather, the Beast of Briorn’s intended.”

“How—?” Grant sighed. “Aileas.”

For a moment, his mother’s eyes danced. “Perhaps.”

“MacLarsen married someone else,” Grant said. “So…”

“Mhm,” Brenda murmured and took a long draught. “So, Queen Marianna will pick either Lochlane, Conran, or…” She paused. “Darrow.”

Something tightened in Grant’s chest, and he nodded, staring down at his road-worn boots unseeingly. “Aye. I’ve thought of this.”

“Have ye?” Brenda asked, and something in her voice made him look up. Something fiery flashed in her green eyes, but then it was gone quickly. “I think ye were impulsive, Grant.” Again, her eyes seemed to flicker, and Grant thought she was fighting a smile, but then it was gone again, and her expression became stern and remote. “I think ye have little time to reckon with bringin’ her here.”

“She willnae stay, Maither,” Grant said. “And it wasnae on impulse.”

The words felt stilted on his tongue, and he frowned. It wasn’t a lie, was it?

“I encountered her first on the road to London and had a mad idea to bring her to the Queen—safely return the lady fleeing her Edict, but I couldnae bring meself to do it.”

“And why nae?”

He walked to the fireplace and stared down into the dying flames. “I think she can help me. Ye ken well what I am.” His chest rose and fell. “To be honest, I thought Her Majesty was jibin’ when she said she’d marry me off to one of her noble ladies. The Devil of Banrose wed to an English flower. Madness.”

“Madmen, fools, and children oft tell the truth.”

Grant heaved a sigh as he set his glass down and rubbed a hand over his face. “I ken now—if she willnae allow an English lady to choose whether to follow the Edict, she will never give the same courtesy to a Scottish laird.” He closed his eyes. “I will be wed. But I dinnae intend to… be a monster. If I can be good to me bride, then I intend to be.”

“Och, me son.” He turned to see Brenda putting a hand over her heart. “I ken now.” She offered him a small smile. “I like it. It’s mad as a box of frogs, but she is here, so ye may as well learn everything ye can.” She furrowed her brow. “If she’ll agree.”

Now, Grant laughed outright. “Ah, she is as outspoken as ye. She will. She can tell me how to win over Elena.”

“Elena?” His mother tilted her head to the side and then shook it. “Och, lad. Perhaps ye should start with her name.”

“Hm?”

“Yer intended is Helena. Helena Lovell.”

Grant felt his cheeks flush and nodded. “Aye, of course. ‘Twas a long day.”

His mother stood up. “Ye dinnae have long, me son. Dinnae tarry.” She paused. “Did Reuben tell ye that the Queen’s Edict somehow pushed an English nobleman to marry off a Novice of the Craeghil Order to Laird MacLarsen?”

“Craeghil?” he asked, thinking back to that ancient stone pile by the sea.

They had passed by its bay yesterday. It was known for its healers, and they’d stopped there before for aid and supplies, but Mother Superior ran that order with an iron fist.

A dim memory flashed through Grant’s mind, of him stopping there and a tall healer helping him. He recalled hearing lovely, melodic laughter behind the walls and seeing her smile—only for it to falter when she was quickly hushed and scolded.

Poor lass, he remembered thinking, and for the first time in a long time, he appreciated his freedom—no matter how hard-won and bitter.

“What a cold place. I…” he trailed off as a different feeling overtook him, cold and suffocating.

He’d been so caught up in Reuben’s news that Emma would not marry MacLarsen that he had not considered the implications of the Beast of Briorn marrying her twin sister.

His mother voiced it, then, softly, as though reciting poetry. “Neither Beast nor Devil nor Firedrake may escape Her Majesty’s will.”

“Fine,” Grant growled and smiled as she gave him a searching, compassionate look, yet also seemed to fight a smile. “A week.” He smiled. “I dinnae think even the English Queen can argue with that.”

A gentle touch on Emma’s shoulder caused her to jerk awake. Her head spun, and she fell back against the pillows, putting a hand to her head. Her stomach churned. She suddenly felt like she couldn’t draw in a breath, and she clutched at her heart as tears pooled in her eyes.

Suddenly, a cool cloth was put on her forehead, and the sharp scent of mint invaded her nostrils.

“Remain still and breathe,” said a low and soothing voice.

“Who—?” Emma started to ask, but her head spun again. “What is wrong with me?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

Finally, Emma was able to open her eyes. Only to find an ice-kissed blond woman, from her soft blue eyes to her white-blonde hair, watching her.

Though the woman looked rather austere, with her gray clothes and serious expression, Emma felt a sense of calm wash over her and offered the woman a smile.

“Good evening,” she croaked. “Thank you.”

The woman did not answer but instead set about inspecting Emma’s face and lifting her wrist to take her pulse. Then, she stood up and caught Emma’s shoulder as Emma tried to also rise.

“Nay. Stay still.”

She walked away, and Emma tried to turn her head but could not without feeling a surge of dizziness. She closed her eyes and only opened them again when she heard a rustle of fabric next to her.

The woman now was perched on a stool by the sofa. “Ye seem more alert. Can ye tell me what is wrong?”

“Wait, who—who are you?” Emma blinked and tried to look around, but again, the woman stopped her. “Where is Laird Ronson?”

“The Laird has retired to his rooms, but he told me to check on ye.”

Emma bolted up at that, not caring how the room spun, and stared at this woman, who merely raised an eyebrow at her reaction.

“What—he told you? He spoke?” The woman simply gazed at her until she felt herself flush. But she could not stop herself from asking in a careful voice, “Can he speak?”

Again, the woman did not respond or react. But after a moment, she asked, “Can ye tell me why the Laird is worried?”

“I-I don’t know,” Emma said, then she blinked, recalling how she’d fainted yesterday. Her body seemed to grow hot as she recalled how Laird Ronson had carried her and had kept an eye on her. “Well, I fainted. And I’m dizzy now—but I did not eat much.”

“Ye fainted today?” the woman asked, and Emma shook her head. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. I… There was blood from an injury, and I did not care for that.” Her stomach lurched. “I’m sure that must sound foolish.”

“Nae at all,” the woman said, her voice warm. “Bloodshed isnae somethin’ most folks wish to see. Even a healer.”

“You’re a healer?” Emma asked, even though she had suspected as much.

“Aye. I’m Kyla, and I run the Healing Houses of Banrose. It doesnae seem like ye are in distress, but I’d recommend havin’ some food and drink, and rest.”

“Yes, I’d like to rest,” Emma admitted as she fought a yawn. “Thank you.”

“If the dizziness persists through tomorrow, come see me again, Emma,” Kyla said, and Emma started at the use of her name. “It was nice to meet ye.”

“Likewise,” Emma returned.

“I’ll send food and drink verra soon. Stay there.”

“Oh, I-I will, I promise,” Emma said with emphasis. She was about to continue when she thought she saw a twinkle in Kyla’s eyes. Her own narrowed, but Kyla gave her a solemn nod and then swept out of the room.

Gazing around, Emma felt her lips part as she took in the strange splendor of the stone room. It was not so different from some of the older manors and castles she’d stayed in, yet it had some Scottish flavor that she’d never experienced. Or perhaps it was just Banrose.

There were tapestries on the stone walls, a large fireplace in the corner, and beautiful, comfortable furniture. Turning around, Emma gasped as she spotted a mural of the gardens and the loch, painted with loving care.

Though she had been shocked by the size of the castle, she had been expecting dim rooms and practical furniture, no better than the one in cheap taverns. This was as sumptuous as her parents’ home, yet it had a richness and color that made her pulse quicken.

I-I had no idea it would be so beautiful.

A strange pang went through her, a wistfulness that had her forcing out a laugh.

Of course, this isn’t what I would want. Ever.

But she stood up and turned in a slow circle.

Right?