Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
“Ye need to be wed, Me Laird.”
Keith O’Neil reclined in his chair, letting his gaze fall lazily over the dimly lit room. His one good eye settled on the weathered face of Abraham. It was not that he didn’t expect such comments—in fact, he had grown accustomed to them—but that did not mean that he welcomed them.
Abraham raised an eyebrow. “Am I mistaken?”
Sitting beside him, Banner Thompson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The years had etched lines near his eyes, seemingly more evident in the low light.
Banner met Keith’s hard gaze, offering his usual half-smile. “He speaks the truth. It is time ye considered finding a wife,” he advised, measuring his words carefully. “It can only benefit ye now.”
Keith, however, did not see the value in such, and his expression, he knew, made that all too clear. Never had he expressed an interest in being wed.
The room fell quiet. The usual chatter seemed to have been extinguished and left behind the hush of smoke. Keith, seated at the head of the long table, leaned forward with his elbow resting on the worn surface, his cheek against his knuckles. He could feel the warm leather of his mask against his hand.
“It is just… perhaps ye should let go of yer insecurities…” Banner seemed to regret his choice of words as soon as they left his lips. Keith was watching him, the way a cat watches a mouse before pouncing.
Banner hesitated, reconsidering his words. “I only meant to say, marryin’ a lassie from a reputable clan would strengthen yer position. Having a son would only make it more so… and as ye ken, ye cannae have an heir without a wife. If ye have no intention of marrying—” He paused, making sure that he held the room’s attention. “Perhaps it is time to pass the title to someone else.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, stoking Keith’s anger. Each glance and word directed at him felt like kindling to a flame. Every man at the table sensed it, their anticipation was palpable. All eyes turned towards Keith, waiting, breaths held.
Sitting straight and cocking his head to the side, he narrowed his gaze on Banner specifically. “Repeat all that ye have just said.”
“He will be wed before our next meeting,” a voice declared, cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. Keith did not look back at her where she stood. He only listened to the rustle of her skirts and the soft tap of her shoes on the stone floor.
Katherine O’Neil, his grandmother, moved to his side. She held herself with an elegance and pride that was marked by her lineage. “I will ensure that Keith has a bride by the next council meeting.” Her voice floated through the room, addressing it as a whole, though her piercingly blue eyes seemed fixed on Banner and Abraham.
Banner nodded, offering a polite smile. “Aye. If anyone can convince him, it is ye.”
Abraham, who did not believe that women were meant to be within earshot of these conversations or meetings, did not try to hide his disdain. He cleared his throat, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. “No disrespect, Me Lady, but if he doesnae? What would ye suggest, then?”
Keith gave her a sideways glance.
Katherine, unbothered by her grandson’s temper, met his gaze head-on, her eyes filled to the brim with a silent challenge and promise. Keith seethed inwardly, his jaw clenched so tightly, it felt as if his teeth might shatter.
She turned her attention back to the rest of the men at the table, a pleasant smile painted on her face. “He will be wed, Abraham Turner. Ye have me word.”
Keith had heard enough. He rose, his imposing frame towering over everyone in the room. Tall and strongly built, his broad shoulders showed his strength as clear as day. “This meetin’ is over. Safe travels,” he said, casting one last glare at Banner and Abraham before turning away.
Each step towards the door only fueled his anger. The room was an ocean of whispers, and the quiet voices flooded him like waves. At the door, his hand on the handle, he could not ignore the words that then washed over him like a tidal wave.
Keith glanced over his shoulder. “Say that again, but louder, old man.”
Abraham did not bother to act surprised, making it obvious that he had intended to be heard.
Since his earliest memories, Keith had known Abraham Turner. He had been a close friend of his parents but had never shown the same affection for Keith. Abraham was shorter and stockier, but he still commanded attention as he stood from his seat.
“Come now, there is no need…” Banner started, his voice trailing off.
Abraham moved towards Keith. “We need a laird who can provide for his people, not paint them.”
“Are the people on me land starving?” Keith challenged.
“No,” Abraham admitted, followed by a sigh. “But they need stability. Ye are a clever lad, Keith, but sometimes, ye are too much of a fool for yer own good. A wife and sons are a promise of stability.”
If I dinnae leave now, I will have blood on me hands.
Still gripping the door handle, Keith turned away, his disgust and annoyance poorly concealed. He did not want them to see how furious he truly was. He did not know of many lairds who were openly disrespected by their own men, but he did not imagine it happened often or for long.
“Ye had best mind yer tongues. I am yer Laird.” His voice chilled the room, and he felt all eyes on him. “I pray all of ye havenae forgotten.”
Keith stepped into the hallway and took a deep, grounding breath. Inside, voices continued to murmur, filled with doubts and voicing their uncertainties. Banner and Abraham continued to express their reservations loudly.
As the door closed behind him, Katherine’s voice rang out like a bell. “One month. Not a single day more.”
The study was perhaps Maisie Lennox’s favorite place in the castle. As she stood before the seemingly endless shelves that lined the walls, her eyes scanned the spines of the books. Her fingers brushed against each title, and a long sigh escaped her lips.
All of the written works she had come to love were before her, but there was something more that she craved. She moved and faced the room, letting her gaze drift almost in a bored way. The flames in the fireplace flickered hungrily as the sound of turning pages broke the silence. Leona and Isobel sat reading. Their faces, partially hidden behind their books, showed how engrossed they both were.
Maisie cleared her throat, her brows raised.
Leona was the first to look up, her bright smile spreading across her face. “What is the matter, Maisie?”
Isobel, who seemed more annoyed by the intrusion than truly interested, cocked her head to the side and shot Maisie an incredulous look. “Ye have an entire library at yer disposal, and ye are bored?”
Maisie’s frown deepened. “It isnae boredom, ye ken. I just… yearn for somethin’ more interesting and new, something I havenae read before. Something like that—”
“Aye, aye, like that book,” Leona interjected, chuckling.
The book was said to have been written by a woman, an accomplishment in itself that had grasped and held Maisie’s curiosity. She had heard of it in hushed tones, almost as if it were some rare treasure—and in truth, to her, it was.
Isobel, uninterested in the conversation, resumed her reading. Her nose was pressed to the pages of some historical tale about a king. “Ye willnae find it.” She sighed, not bothering to look back up. “There are only a handful of copies, and ye couldnae afford it with yer allowance.”
“Perhaps I could write to Caelan and ask him?” Leona suggested.
Maisie sunk into a plush chair, sighing. “That would take too long.”
Leona offered a sympathetic smile. “Yer braither will return within the month.”
“A month is an eternity,” Maisie grumbled, her voice overflowing with frustration.
The real issue was not when her brother would return. It was something worse that had been weighing heavier and heavier on her mind. Soon, Maisie would be presented to various Highland Lairds, and she would have to be required to play the role of a demure lady.
Resting her chin in her palm, she looked at her friends. “Do ye ken who Maither suggested?” she asked, changing the subject to what really bothered her.
Leona sighed, closing her book and setting it down. “Aye, I ken.”
One of the first men who had asked about her was Oliver Fraser, an ancient widower with daughters who were older than Maisie herself. This Laird did not have an heir to his lands and was anxious to have a son. Maisie shuddered at the thought, remembering seeing the very same laird at Leona and Caelan’s wedding.
“I willnae do it,” Maisie promised.
Leona and Isobel nodded.
“I think I ken another way to get the book,” Maisie said, her gaze moving to the window. She couldn’t dwell on the old Laird too much, or she would be sick.
Outside, the sky was a dark navy hue, the sun had fallen into the mountains, and the moon was creeping across overhead.
Leona’s mouth tightened as if she could see the mischievous twinkle behind Maisie’s eyes. “Maisie,” she sighed. “Ye ken we only borrow from family.”
Maisie shrugged. “There are other ways to find a book.”
“Who would have such a book?” Isobel frowned, doubt in her tone.
“The Beastly Laird.”
Both women looked at her in pure shock.
Leona shook her head, her brows furrowed with concern. “Oh, God, no. I dinnae think it would be wise to even consider it,” she said. “He is a tyrant. Not even Caelan would make a deal with him.”
“And no one has seen him in years, aside from those in Castle MacDean,” Isobel noted. “No one is welcome there. I have heard rumors of the torture within the dungeons of the castle. They say he does ungodly experiments on anyone who displeases him.”
Maisie sat and watched, noting how their faces had turned a pale shade. She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Wooden beams stretched across the room from end to end, and cobwebs that had been missed by the maids seemed more obvious than before.
I dinnae fear some ugly laird too afraid to step outside.
“Maisie.” Leona’s voice was stern, which came as a surprise.
Maisie looked at her, frowning. “Aye, Leo, I am listening.”
“I ken ye well enough to know that ye may hear, but ye dinnae always listen.” Leona could not contain her half-hearted smile. “I will speak to yer maither about this Laird Fraser business, but ye must promise ye willnae do anything reckless.”
Maisie nodded, though she did not mean it. She needed something to excite her before she settled on whatever doomed fate was waiting for her.
If the Beastly Laird of Castle MacDean has it, I will get it one way or another.