Chapter Seven
Beitris stepped into the apothecary and drew in a steadying breath, though it did little to slow the wild fluttering in her chest. The familiar scents of thyme, dried lavender, and crushed comfrey usually calmed her nerves.
Today they only stirred memories she was desperately trying to contain.
Liam’s nearness, the warmth of his breath, the startling intensity of what had passed between them.
Wonderful… and utterly terrifying.
She had known a moment like that could undo a woman. She simply hadn’t expected it to be her. And not with a man like Liam. A man who felt like a once-in-a-lifetime chance she had stolen a single heartbeat of.
Keir had warned her. Liam McRay had never been one for settling. Not in the past. And, saints help her, she feared even less so now.
And yet, some fragile, foolish sliver of her heart dared to wonder if he could change. If a man like him, who rarely laughed, but when he did it was with such warmth. A man who carried pain in his leg and pride in his every breath, might one day love her enough to stay.
But he would return to the keep soon.
Then this strange, shimmering connection would vanish like mist under the sun. The festival lasted a sennight, and already several days had slipped through her fingers.
“How did Gowan fair?” Camden’s voice broke through her thoughts, making her jump.
“I told him he could return to his duties in the morning,” she said ensuring to paste a smile onto her lips. “He tried to hide it, but he’s already done so.”
Camden chuckled, “Still, that he waited so long, ye must have scared him into submission.”
“Aye, I did.” She studied her cousin then, watching the way he sorted herbs with easy movements, oblivious to the tempest inside her. After a moment she asked, “Do ye ever plan to marry?”
His brows shot up. For a heartbeat she thought he’d drop the jar in his hands. “I suppose so. Once I find the right lass, I do plan to.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Does it nay worry ye, remaining alone? There are plenty of bonny lasses in the village who find ye suitable. And yet, ye court none of them.”
Camden sighed and stared at the ceiling as if seeking divine rescue. “I have nae had time for it.” A shrug. “Why are ye so curious about my plans for a wife?” His eyes suddenly widened. “Did someone ask about me? Was it that contrary woman, Sorcha?”
Beitris burst into laughter at his horrified expression. “Nae. I only wonder if men think on such matters as often as women do. I am considering that I should marry soon but I have nae the faintest idea how to begin.”
“Find a suitable man and marry him. ’Tis nae difficult.”
She arched a brow. “Should I beat him over the head with a tree branch and drag him to the clergy?”
Before Camden could retort, the door burst open and a woman hurried in, a young boy on her hip. His shrill cries echoed painfully in the small space, and Beitris’s heart twisted as she saw the odd angle of his dangling arm.
Instinct took hold. Camden stepped forward, quickly and gently taking the child, while Beitris reached for the mother’s trembling hands, soothing her with soft words. The chaos of the moment swept through the apothecary, pushing aside her earlier thoughts.
The village square buzzed around Liam, but none of it settled in his mind.
Not the vendors calling out their wares, nor the children chasing one another with the boundless energy he once possessed.
Even the distant sound of the smith’s hammer, usually a familiar, grounding rhythm, felt muted beneath the weight pressing across his chest.
He’d left Beitris not long ago, but her scent still clung to him. Sweet herbs. Warm skin. Something soft and womanly he couldn’t name for fear of what it meant.
Fool, he told himself. He had no business thinking of her when he could barely walk from one end of the square to the other without stopping. She deserved better than a man held together by stubbornness and half-healed bone.
But the memory still came, unwelcome and irresistible, of her lips parted in surprise, her breath warm against his cheek, the way her eyes had widened when he pulled her down over him.
Aye, that moment.
It had set his blood aflame, and worse, it had carved a mark he could not scrape away no matter how he tried.
He rounded a corner, intending to fetch a new binding for his leg, and found himself stopping without thinking. Through the open door of the apothecary, he spotted her.
Beitris.
Standing beside Camden, her head bent, her red hair loose around her shoulders. They were in conversation, at ease in each other’s company.
Liam leaned his shoulder against the wall, unable to look away.
She was light. In a world that had gone dim for him, she brought brightness simply by existing. And that, more than anything, terrified him.
A woman like her could make him believe in things he’d long since discarded. Healing beyond the flesh. A future not marked by pain. Even love. Dangerous thoughts for a man who had no right to them.
Before he could gather himself, a woman rushed inside with a crying child. Beitris moved instantly, calm, steady, soothing the woman as Camden took the child. His chest tightened at the sight.
She deserved a healthy man. Not one who winced when turning too quickly. Not one who feared waking in the night screaming like a bairn. Not one who wanted her despite it all.
He exhaled sharply and pushed away from the wall, for some reason guilt sweeping through him. He should leave her be. Stop thinking of her. If he were a wiser man, he’d avoid her until the festival ended.
But he’d had fought wars, faced death, and stood against men twice his size. He’d never yet figured out how to walk away from the one thing that made him feel alive again.
*
The music reached Beitris long before she stepped outside.
The lilting notes of fiddles weaving through the air, tangled with the mouthwatering scent of roasting boar, honeyed pastries, and spiced root vegetables.
The late sunlight bathed the village in gold, slipping behind the distant hills as a cool breeze swept through the square, lifting the edge of her shawl.
She clutched it tighter about her shoulders, drawing comfort from the familiar wool as she crossed the road in search of Ailith.
Ailith’s stall would be set near the far end, her embroidered linens fluttering like bright flags in the wind. She and Beitris had bonded over poultices and wounded warriors not so long ago. A bond of friendship brought about through shared exhaustion and too much spilled blood.
As Beitris entered the main square, she had to slow her steps.
The crowd was thick, men and women spinning in lively circles.
Others dancing alone with carefree abandon, skirts and kilts swirling in streaks of color.
Children raced through the clusters of dancers, shrieking and laughing, their joy adding to the festive feel.
The merriment was contagious. Without meaning to, she bobbed her head to the beat, her feet tapping softly along the packed earth. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the lightness.
The great bonfire crackled ahead, sparks racing upward like tiny fireflies flying toward the darkening sky. Beitris stepped closer, drawn to its warmth.
Suddenly, a rough hand clamped around her arm.
Before she could protest, she was swung around and collided hard against a man’s chest.
“Dance with me, lassie!” Cormac, the town bully, slurred. His words thick with drink.
Beitris staggered, catching herself with both palms against his reeking tunic. “Release me at once.”
“Nae,” he growled, hauling her closer. “Ye want a dance, and there’s nae man brave enough to ask.”
The smell of his sour breath made Beitris turn her face away. Panic bloomed in her chest, cold and sharp. Where was Keir? He was meant to be here. Most of the guardsmen had been given liberty tonight; her brother should not have been far.
Cormac tightened his hold and attempted some clumsy, swaying imitation of a dance, one arm crushing her waist as he spun her in an uneven circle.
Beitris’s fear turned to anger. She jerked her leg back and kicked as hard as she could.
Cormac let out a strangled grunt. She kicked again, not caring where her foot landed, fury and fear making her relentless.
He loosened his grip with a hiss of pain.
She tore free.
But she barely took three steps before a vise-like grip seized her shoulders from behind, yanking her back so suddenly she lost her breath.
“Let me go!” she screamed, the music swallowing her voice, the drums and fiddles and laughter drowning her out completely.
“Cormac, I dinnae wish to dance. Release me!” She struggled, clawing, shoving, twisting, but his hands only tightened until pain shot down her arms.
His face loomed close, twisted with a cruel anger. Cormac’s temper was infamous in the village; most avoided him outright.
“I can do what I wish with ye,” he snarled. “And no one would stop me. Ye are nae but a…”
Whatever insult he meant to spit never left his mouth as her knee connected between his legs.
Cormac suddenly folded forward with a choked gasp, hands flying to his stomach. Beitris didn’t wait. She ran.
Heart in her throat, shawl trailing behind her like a banner, she bolted across the square, dodging dancers and carts and startled villagers.
She flew through the bakery door, slammed the bolt into place, then raced up the stairs two at a time.
Only once the latch clicked on her chamber door did she press her back to the wood and try to breathe.
Her heart thundered like a war drum. Her hands shook uncontrollably. She whispered a prayer that Cormac was too drunk to remember any of it come morning.
When dawn crept through her window the following morning, Beitris forced herself to look outside. The street was still quiet, washed in pale light.
And there he was.