Chapter Seven #2
Cormac stood across the road, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against a cart. His expression was unreadable, but the stare he fixed on her building chilled her to the bone.
A shiver rolled through her. She dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, needing the comfort of her parents’ presence and the solid walls of the bakery.
Her mother was already serving bread to early customers, while her father pulled loaves from the warm ovens. They greeted her, but her mother paused, concern furrowing her brow.
“Ye look tired, lass. Did the festival noise keep ye awake?”
“Aye, a bit,” Beitris murmured.
But the noise had only been half of it. The other half was Cormac’s grip still ghosting her shoulders. And the memory of Liam’s hands earlier that day gentle, warm, wanting.
Her mother brushed it off, urging, “Stay inside and rest today.”
She shrugged. “I got enough sleep. I will rest tonight.”
Hours later, after the morning rush thinned, she sat nibbling on warm bread slathered in butter and beef. Even the comfort of food couldn’t steady her nerves. She wandered to the doorway, heart tight.
Cormac was gone.
“Da?” she asked carefully as her father slid a fresh tray into the oven. “Did ye see Cormac skulking about this morning?”
“I did. Stood across the way a long while.” Her father’s frown deepened. “Effects of too much drink leaves a man addlebrained.”
Beitris managed a laugh. “He grew cross with me last night when I refused to dance with him. Even more so when I kicked him between the legs. I believe he’s trying to intimidate me.”
Her father slowly set the loaf down, gaze sharpening with worry. “Dinnae toy with that man. He is nae right in the head. Be with care, lass. Best ye nae wander alone for a bit.”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. Though her heart gave a betraying flutter of unease.
“Where is Keir?” she asked abruptly. “He was supposed to be nearby.”
“He went out early on patrol. Said he’d return this evening.”
“I have yet to see him. Why did he nae seek me out?”
Her father snorted. “Ye ken yer brother, never still for long.”
Beitris cast one more look out the window, jaw set despite the lingering fear twisting inside her.
She refused to hide because of a drunken brute.
Fetching her shawl, she stepped outside to join the village women sweeping the square, determined not to shrink from her own home.
The morning’s work should have been an easy chore, sweeping aside the remnants of the previous night’s revelry, brushing away stray ribbons, crushed flowers, spilled ale, and bits of charred wood left from torches.
The women made light of it, calling across the square with gossip and laughter.
Effie, Liam’s spirited sister, had everyone roaring as she reenacted the clumsy, lovesick attempts of a man who’d stepped on her toes half the night.
Beitris bent to scoop a handful of rubbish into her apron, smiling despite her restless sleep, when a shadow fell over her.
Two large feet. Dirt-caked. Too close.
She jerked upright, heart stuttering painfully.
Cormac stood before her, looming like a storm cloud ready to break. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw clenched, and the challenging curl of his lip made her stomach drop.
“Ye owe me an apology,” he growled softly. “Talk to me nice and sweet.”
The thinly veiled threat wrapped around her throat like a tightening rope. She instinctively stepped back. Her breath hitched.
All chatter died. Every woman turned rigid, glancing between Beitris and the brute with growing alarm.
“Leave her be, Cormac,” an older woman called sharply. “We’ve much to do. Ye can court the lass later.”
He didn’t even flicker an acknowledgment. His gaze remained locked on Beitris, head tilting like a predator studying prey.
“I said… apologize.”
Beitris swallowed hard. Her heart hammered so loudly she feared the others could hear it. “Wh..what do ye think I did?” Her voice came out surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her limbs. “I’ve barely exchanged a word with ye.”
His expression twisted, rage, wrath, something ugly brewing behind his eyes.
Then the blow came.
A crack split the air, and Beitris saw nothing but white-hot pain exploding across the left side of her face. She stumbled back, hitting the ground hard, breath knocked completely from her lungs. A gasp tore from her throat, strangled and thin.
Cormac crouched over her, his breath thick with stale ale and bile washing over her, making her stomach churn.
“I said apologize,” he whispered, voice cold enough to freeze her blood.
“I-I am s-sorry,” she wheezed, struggling to pull air into her bruised lungs. Her lip throbbed. The metallic taste of blood pooled on her tongue.
The brute leaned closer, his shadow swallowing her. “Ye will be nice to me next time I see ye. Verra nice.” His tone was a promise of something darker, something that made her skin crawl.
Before he could say more, a shrill cry rose.
“Leave her be!” It was Effie.
A chorus followed as the women surged forward, brooms raised like makeshift spears. Their voices shook with fear and fury alike.
Cormac spat on the ground beside Beitris, the glob landing mere inches from her. Then he straightened, rolled his shoulders, and stalked away, unhurried, unbothered.
She trembled violently as hands rushed to her, lifting her to sit, steadying her, brushing dirt from her arms.
“Water! Fetch water from the well!”
“Anne’s gone to find yer Da and Ma!”
“I’ll run for the healer!” Effie cried out.
Voices overlapped in a frantic rush. Someone pressed a cloth to her face. Someone stroked her arm. Someone cursed Cormac’s name.
Beitris closed her eyes as tears spilled freely. Pain pulsed in terrible waves, from her cheekbone, down her jaw, into her neck.
Moments later, Camden burst through the crowd. He dropped to his knees beside her and with trembling hands helped her stand. His face was a mask of seething rage. His jaw tightly clenched, eyes blazing like fire about to consume everything in its path.
“I will kill him,” he hissed.
“Ye will do nae such thing,” Beitris said, though her voice was thin and shaky. Deep down, she felt the same dark fury. “Keir will see to it.”
As they helped her toward the apothecary, familiar figures came running. Her parents. Her father’s face was red as embers, jaw taut with barely contained fury, while her mother wept openly, reaching for her, touching her face with trembling hands.
The rest of the morning slipped past in a blur, a mug of bitter tonic pressed to her lips, cool cloths laid across her swelling cheek, a poultice rubbed gently into her bruised knees. Every touch brought both pain and comfort.
“Yer face is already swelling badly,” Camden muttered, examining the bruise with grim concern. “Cold compresses will help.”
“What happened?” her mother whispered, voice shaking.
Beitris drew a breath that trembled like a fragile leaf. “He said I owed him an apology for last night. For kicking him when he tried to force me to dance. Then he hit me.” A shudder wracked her body.
“Coward,” her father snarled. The sound so feral, Beitris barely recognized it. “Once Keir gets here, we will see about this.”
Relief washed through her that her father didn’t storm out that very moment. She clutched his sleeve gently. “Aye. Keir will ensure it does nae happen again.”
Then she turned to Camden, whose quiet fury simmered just beneath the surface.
“And ye will nae seek him out either. Promise me.”
Camden’s stare was flat, hard, unyielding. “I will make nae such a promise.”
Beitris closed her eyes again, a knot forming in her throat. Even wrapped in the safety of family and friends, the world suddenly felt far too fragile.