The Beast of Aros Castle (Highland Isles) Read online

  Ava’s blush intensified until even her eyes watered, and she blinked rapidly. “I…I didn’t see anything. Certainly not his…member,” she stuttered, stepping out from the turret. Hamish moved to the side. He held a tart and a drink bladder.

  He smiled. “Well, no worries then.”

  “I was just admiring the view,” she said. Her eyes opened wider. “Of the countryside,” she added quickly. “So…lush and broad.” She threw her hand out toward the stone wall to indicate all of Mull.

  Hamish smiled and took a bite of his tart. “Aye, broad. We breed them broad here.”

  Ava huffed, giving him a frown. He was teasing her. “Good day, Hamish.”

  He nodded. “Lady Ava.”

  Ava kept her pace slow as she crossed to the descending steps, even though she felt like running. She breathed in as she entered the relative warmth of the corridor. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” she whispered. “Just viewing the village and countryside.” She pursed her lips tight as she realized she hadn’t seen anything of the village or countryside.

  Ava hurried to the great hall where Grace sat with Mairi and Joan at the long table. “Goodness, Ava, you look like you were attacked by a whirlwind.”

  Ava’s hand went to her woven bun and felt the little pieces of hair curling out of it. The golden cap held on by only one hair pin.

  Like actors, waiting for their entry cue, Tor and his boisterous friend strode inside the hall, kilts wrapped low on their hips, shirts untied at the neck, hair damp. Tor wore an easy expression with a slight grin. The unmasked, relaxed look tugged at Ava’s heart, a mixture of pleasure and remorse for her sins he knew nothing about. Spying on him while he bathed was nothing compared to the lie surrounding her identity. A nobody, with debt, who planned to abandon him to get Grace to safety.

  Tor stepped closer, his face growing serious. “What is amiss?” He caught at one of the wild curls hanging near her chin. Ava could see the smooth tan V of his skin where the shirt fell away, a sprinkling of hair across what she could still remember was his powerful chest.

  “Cullen Duffie,” Joan called to the other man. “When did ye get to Aros?”

  “While ye slumbered, fine lady,” he answered and kissed her hand like he was a gallant knight. His hair was darker brown than Tor’s, and he also wore a close-cropped beard. He stood every bit as tall as Tor and looked about the same age.

  “What is wrong?” Tor asked again.

  “I but went for a walk,” Ava answered. “It was windy.” Ava snatched the woven cap that dangled from the back of her head.

  “I meant the sadness in your eyes, lass, not the curls,” he whispered. He fingered one. “Which I like free and mussed.”

  Mairi stood, too, and extended her arm to Cullen Duffie, the arm that didn’t display the purple bruise. Tor’s sister smiled as he kissed her knuckles. “The lovely lady of Kilchoan. Ye have certainly grown up.”

  “And ye have certainly maintained your charm,” she countered, though her smile seemed to fade as he spoke her new title. Or was Ava reading too much into each of Mairi’s gestures and expressions?

  Cullen’s gaze moved to Grace and on to Ava. “And ye have two visitors.” He looked to Tor, his gaze open with appreciation.

  “This is Lady Aveline Ellington of Somerset Estate in York and Grace, her companion,” Joan introduced. “Gus arranged for Lady Ava to wed with Tor before he passed on to God.”

  Cullen took both of Joan’s hands and bowed his head. “I was quite aggrieved to hear of your loss. The loss to all the Macleans on Mull.”

  Joan nodded. “Thank ye,” she said, her voice small. “Tor’s done much to ensure the safety of Mull and Aros.” Her lips pinched as her gaze lifted to her son. “Much except honoring his da’s dying wish to wed.”

  Tor made a low noise, similar to a growl. Cullen ignored it and approached with a smile. The man might play the charmer, but it was obvious from his intense gaze that he was weighing her, not in a critical way but as a person truly interested in understanding a person. “And I deduce that ye are the beautiful quarrel between mother and son?”

  It was difficult not to match Cullen’s smile. Ava bowed her head slightly and met his eyes. “I’ve never been called a quarrel before,” she said.

  “Ah, but ye’ve been called beautiful, I’m certain,” Cullen finished and clasped her hand. He seemed to focus on her mouth for a moment before his grin broadened. His eyes slanted toward Tor. “And such a radiant smile.”

  Tor didn’t seem affected by Cullen’s suave good humor. In fact, Tor’s frown deepened until Ava wasn’t certain if they were friends at all. Cullen bent toward her hand, but before his lips could touch her knuckles, Tor pushed between them. His brusque stride clipped Cullen, making the man wobble. Tor took Ava’s hand, leading her down the table to a seat next to his at the head. He slid out the wooden chair, the feet scraping along the floor boards with glaring noise in the silence.

  Ava sat even though her food was way down by the other ladies, and Tor clipped back to Cullen. Cullen watched the whole proceeding with a straight face, but his eyes held uproarious mirth.

  Grace picked up Ava’s plate and turned in her seat. When no one moved, she stood and walked the length of the table, setting the plate of oatcakes and cheese before Ava. When her eyes met Ava’s, they went wide, a slight comical squeeze to her lips.

  “And the mighty warrior claims his lass,” Cullen boomed. Mairi burst out laughing, quickly covering her mouth. “Shall we send for the priest then?” Cullen asked, running his fingers through his hair. “Although we may want to dress before the nuptials.”

  “Duffie,” Tor warned.

  “What?” Cullen asked. “She does smell lovely. If ye don’t move quick enough to claim her, I’m going to start wooing her with a song.”

  “Oh, and Cullen writes the loveliest songs,” Joan said, her face flushed with a full smile.

  Smells lovely? Had Tor told his friend that she smelled nice? Ava’s heart thumped hard with giddiness, overriding the underlying taint of guilt that she refused to acknowledge. She was too close to her goal, a goal that would save her and eventually Grace from Vincent’s filthy, cruel hands. She lifted her biscuit to her lips but didn’t take a nibble. She looked over it to Grace. “Was I just proposed to?”

  Grace shrugged. “I’m not certain.”

  Cullen laughed loudly. “I would be enormously happy to take Lady Ava on a little walk about the village and clear up the confusion.”

  Tor rattled off a series of Gaelic at Cullen that reduced his friend’s smile to a smug grin, his arms crossed. Cullen answered Tor in Gaelic and pivoted, striding out into the late morning. The whole scene was stilted and tense, but Joan’s smile made it easier for Ava to keep her mask of ease in place.

  “Ava,” Tor said. “I would speak with ye.”

  Ava’s stomach did a little flip, but she stood and followed Tor. His boots clunked hard against the wood while her slippers remained silent. She focused on the strength in his stride, the muscles in his bare calves bunching with each purposeful step, and the tug of the linen across his shoulder blades.

  He stopped in the back corridor and turned before a large tapestry depicting the Garden of Eden with a snake hanging from the tree. The snake seemed to grin at her, and Ava turned away from it. Irritation still clouded Tor’s face. “Cullen leaves hearts torn to shreds all over Scotland,” he said. “Ye can’t take what he says to any lass seriously.”

  This wasn’t exactly what Ava had thought Tor wanted to talk about. “So, I shouldn’t take his proposal seriously?”

  Tor made an angry noise in the back of his throat. “He didn’t make ye a proposal. He wouldn’t dare.”

  Ava clasped her hands together and thumped them down on her skirts. “Did you call me back here to talk about Cullen?” It had become obvious she wasn’t going to hear anything close to a romantic outpouring from Tor.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I swore never to wed again
,” he said low. “Back when Matilda died.”

  “Why?” Ava whispered, dreading his reply about the woman’s lies.

  “Everyone has their own plans in life. Some of those plans involve using others,” he said.

  Ava held her breath, her chest squeezing, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I would not bind ye to me when I cannot offer ye a life with a loving husband, if that is your plan.”

  Ava wet her lips, glancing at her folded hands before meeting his gaze again. “What is your plan then?”

  “An heir. I need an heir strong enough to lead this clan when my time is done, keep the English at bay like my father and his father.”

  No words of love and comfort. He didn’t even talk of trust, just children. King Henry talked openly about needing a fertile wife, but no one had ever questioned Ava before on the matter. Ava swallowed and exhaled in a softened huff. “No woman knows for certain the health of her womb until it is put to the test, but I have always seemed normal and full of vigor in that respect,” Ava answered in a very non-romantic voice. If he could stay cold, so could she. “I am yet young and resistant to illness,” she continued.

  He searched her gaze, but she could guarantee her face gave nothing away of the tumble inside. “So ye are amendable to the agreement, even if all I want is to get ye with child?”

  “What if I am barren?” she asked. “Or all my children die like Queen Catherine? Will you throw me aside for another wife?”

  His face tightened into anger. “Nay. There are enough parentless children in the world who need a home. We will raise a child together then, and convince the clan to accept him.”

  His answer, given with no hesitation, caught at Ava. Hadn’t she been just such a child? No father, a mother who died giving her life. The kindness of Marjorie Ellington had saved her from the gutters.

  Ava nodded before she could speak, for once glancing down to gather herself and don her frosty mask that he’d ripped off with his quick words, words that showed his honor if not his love. Ava cleared her throat and focused on her original plan. She wanted his name for protection; he wanted a son to rule his clan. Could she give him her promise when she had already sworn to see Grace to safety? A baby would tie her to Tor and Aros forever. She would never leave a baby here without its mother, and she couldn’t swear to give Tor an heir if she intended to spirit the child away.

  He waited, watching her closely as her mind spun. There was a way to make this work, to honor her oaths to Grace and Tor both. She couldn’t see it yet, but she would. She had to.

  She took a steadying breath, concentrating on keeping it slow and smooth as she exhaled. “Yes.” She nodded. “I am amendable.” She fixed upon the center of his eyes as if his gaze was a buoy in a whirlpool. “Are we betrothed then?” she whispered.

  “Aye.”

  Silence extended for several long heartbeats. “When shall we wed?” she asked.

  “I sent Cullen to find the priest.”

  “Now!” Ava’s hands moved to her wind-teased hair.

  “I will not have Cullen looking at your teeth and ferrying ye around the village without my oath and name.”

  “Looking at my teeth?”

  Tor grabbed her hand to follow behind him back into the hall where the ladies all stood. They turned toward them in unison, a hopeful expression on Joan’s face, raised brows on Mairi’s, and a knowing smile on Grace’s.

  “We will wed as soon as I am properly dressed,” Tor said to the small audience.

  “Now?” Grace squeaked and flew to Ava who found herself tugged back toward the stairs. Mairi raced with her, taking up the other side as they hurried her.

  “You can wear my blue dress, the one I wore to mother’s ball,” Grace said.

  Ava cut her a sharp glance, her eyes wide, but Mairi didn’t seem to pick up on her words or what they meant coming from a false companion who was supposed to be a motherless servant. For now, more than ever, they must keep their lies a secret.

  Chapter Nine

  The wedding was swift. The only stumbling moment came with Ava’s bloody convoluted English surnames. With her middle names and Christian name, officially Tor married Lady Aveline Grace Sutton Ellington of Somerset. Grace signed her name as witness in the registry as Grace Ellington, a distant cousin called upon to serve as Ava’s companion.

  The entire swearing of oaths and blessing by the priest took a quarter hour at most, nothing like the lengthy wedding Tor had endured for Matilda. His mother had given her own ring for him to use, a thin circle of silver with dainty scrollwork that his father had found on a trip to Edinburgh forty years ago. But the part that chiseled away at Tor’s discipline was Ava’s sweet kiss. Tasting of mint, her soft lips had parted slightly, innocent and full of promise for the night to come.

  Joan spread the word around Aros, and the entire village seemed to want to celebrate. Hamish, Gavin, and Cullen hoisted tables out into the bailey. Even old Duky momentarily forgot that Ava was English. He rolled out a barrel of whisky he’d been using as a table in his cottage.

  Tor stood at the top of the keep’s steps, looking down into the bailey as a flow of villagers paraded through the open gate. People laughed and waved to one another, all of them wanting to get close to Ava to congratulate her. It was complete chaos below, but Tor only noticed one figure in blue, rooted like a shining pebble in a dull stream. Ava Maclean.

  “Good thing ye made it official,” Cullen said at his side. “Else I’d definitely have plied her with my full charm. Look at her. She’s like a bluebell amongst weeds.”

  Cullen didn’t need to tell Tor to look at Ava. He’d barely been able to pull his gaze from her as she’d walked down the stairs in a full, blue velvet court costume, her hair hanging in loose curls under a French hood. But it wasn’t the finery of her clothes that drew people to her. It was her smile: honest and joyful. Ava was like a warm flow of sweet air blowing away the fog at Aros.

  Gladys and Thomas shuffled in under the raised portcullis, the old smithy still favoring one hip from the pitchfork incident. But even he nodded to Ava, and she pressed a quick kiss to his leathery cheek. So, the lass could forgive. A helpful quality being married to him.

  Tor inhaled and rubbed his smooth, recently shaved jaw. “What if I foul this marriage up, too?” he said low.

  Cullen continued to stare outward at the crowd. “Matilda had an equal share in that disaster.”

  “Yet people still remember her as Matilda, and I am called the Beast.”

  Cullen shrugged. “People don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”

  “I basically told Ava that I wanted her to beget an heir, and she still said aye to wedding me.” Tor’s brows lowered as he watched Hamish give his bride a chaste kiss on the forehead. What beauty from a prosperous family wedded without words of love? She deserved more—more that he didn’t possess.

  Cullen clapped his hand over Tor’s shoulder. “Take her to bed. She just might soften that boulder of a heart ye have. Perhaps that’s what she’s betting on. A lass likes a problem to solve, and a man to fix.”

  Tor stretched his back, his stomach tightening in anticipation. He watched Ava’s hand slide along her neck. Did she have an ache? A small itch? He would kiss that very spot tonight, and every other spot on the lass, her skin soft and fragrant.

  Sensing his gaze, she turned. The wind swept the veil of her hood aside, letting her curls dance around her shoulders and back. She nodded once to him, a soft smile touching her lips. Lips that he would kiss, lips that would open on a moan. Bloody hell, it was a good thing he wore a kilt to hide his lust.

  “I’m not fixable,” Tor replied to Cullen’s suggestion. Tor looked away from Ava and tried to bring up the vision of his old aunt’s diseased toes to cool his blood. How did English grooms not embarrass themselves in trousers? Most likely English cods were all puny.

  “Even so,” Cullen said, “it can be damn enjoyable letting her try.” Cullen slapped Tor’s shoulder one more t
ime and trotted down the steps to wade across the bailey.

  Tor watched as Grace said something, pulling Ava’s gaze away from him. He loosened his fists. Night couldn’t get there fast enough. Whisky and another cold dip in the river would help him get through this very long day.

  …

  Ava watched the pristine, white linen smock float down over her face until her head poked through the lace-edged neckline. The full-length gown fell along her body into place. She inhaled and exhaled a long breath as she twisted the lovely silver band around her finger.

  “Are you going to hide back there all night?” Grace asked. “I don’t think your husband will like that very much.”

  Ava stepped out from behind the screen to face Mairi, Joan, and Grace. All three ladies stood by the large, four-poster bed against the far wall of Tor’s sparsely furnished room. Joan smiled. “It looks lovely on ye,” she said, coming forward.

  “Thank you for it,” Ava said to Mairi. The beautifully embroidered sleeping smock had been Mairi’s on her wedding night here at Aros, but she’d left it behind when she had to move to Kilchoan.

  “It suits ye,” she said with a tight smile. “Tor might rip it right off ye.”

  Ava’s face warmed, her gaze slanting to Joan. But Joan just laughed. “Och, but I remember my wedding night with Gus. He did just that.”

  “Ma!” Mairi cried out, covering her ears. Grace’s eyes widened, her face blanching pale.

  Joan ignored them both. “My Gus was a very attentive lover. Imaginative, too.” Her gaze moved to the bed that she’d shared with her husband. “These posts are quite sturdy.” She wrapped her hand around one and gave a good yank, but the bed didn’t sway.

  Mairi hummed while holding her palms flat against the sides of her head until Joan closed her mouth, rolling her eyes. “Och, Mairi, how do ye think ye were made?”

  “Not holding tight to bedposts,” Mairi said under her breath.

  Grace picked up the brush she’d been using on Ava’s hair. She stroked downward and leaned in to Ava’s ear. “If you want to flee tonight, I’ll go with you.”