Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beatrice woke with a jolt the next morning as Shona drew back the curtains in her room. She still felt the sensation of Leo’s tall frame pressed against hers, his face hovering above her, that almost imperceptible touch of his lips on hers.
“Another beautiful morning, me Lady, look at that sun,” announced the cheerful maid. “Ye must get outside again today while the weather is fine.”
“Good morning, Shona.”
Yawning, Beatrice pushed herself up in bed and stretched, wondering if Laird MacSween had really kissed her last night. Or had she only been imagining it after the tea leaf fortune telling and her reminiscences about Eloise finding love?
Get a hold of yerself, Bea. Ye thought the man a beast until recently. Ye daenae want to lose yer head over one little kiss now.
“Ye do look well today, Beatrice. Ye must have had good dreams.”
Beatrice smiled to herself and said nothing. It had been a very strange night, with or without dreams. Padding over to the window, she looked outside to the courtyard.
It was unusually busy and crowded down there today.
Children playing near the laundry doors, women carrying baskets and bundles of linen, and grooms brushing down horses.
On the other side, warriors were training, with Leo MacSween at the center of them.
Beatrice’s stomach tightened as her eyes landed on him.
For a few moments she watched him issuing commands in the drills and exercises and his men eagerly rushing to obey him. Shona came to peer over her shoulder.
“A fine commander, our laird, isnae he?” the maid remarked proudly. “Nae one of his trained men needs be told anythin' twice. Ye couldnae look at him for a minute and nae ken that he was master of this clan, could ye?”
“Nay,” Beatrice agreed, feeling a strange warmth in her stomach as she saw Leo now demonstrating some parrying move with a large sword, handling the mighty weapon as though it were a children’s toy. “Anyone would ken him for Laird MacSween.”
There was Effie too, among the other children near the laundry. Though the little girl was playing, she glanced often to her father and Beatrice was sure she saw the glow of respect in the child’s face, just as she saw it on the faces of the soldiers.
As if her very presence at the window summoned him, Leo looked up now, his eyes landing on Beatrice for just a second, prompting a strange drawing and pulling sensation in her stomach as though he had actually touched her. Then he dropped his gaze and returned his attention to his men.
“Are ye well, me Lady?” asked Shona, hearing Beatrice’s small gasp at the unfamiliar sensations that Leo MacSween’s glance had sparked.
“Quite well,” insisted Beatrice, hiding her breathlessness in another yawn. “I think I will take yer advice and go outside, Shona.”
After making herself presentable and taking her breakfast, Beatrice went downstairs to the courtyard. The din of steel clashing with steel mingled with bright shouts from the playing children who ran in circles around the other side of the courtyard.
Wanting to observe Leo without distracting him, Beatrice did her very best not to draw too much attention to herself.
At least nae yet.
She lingered at the edge of the shadows, hidden from view. Leo was in the middle of the men, directing them to surround him and then gesturing for the largest soldier there to join him in the center.
“Ye must all ken the basics of hand-to-hand combat,” he said as the soldier stepped forward. “We hope to keep our swords in our possession, but there’s nay promise of that in a battle.”
The soldier was nearly as tall as Leo, and Leo was the biggest man Beatrice had ever seen. They both looked like giants right now.
“What is important in this type of combat,” Leo continued as he and the soldier circled each other, “is keeping yer head. Daenae panic. Daenae let fear control ye. Men who let fear take over lose their balance.”
He motioned for the soldier to attack him. As the soldier lunged forward, Leo moved out of the way so fluidly that it looked like he was dancing. He was light on his feet, graceful in a way that surprised her.
What kind of beast moves so beautifully?
A blow landed on the soldier’s neck, then another on his face. He spun to swing at Leo, but Leo dodged it easily and knocked him down with a punch to the gut. The soldier fell to his knees, a hand raised above his head, a white flag made of flesh.
“Give him a break, MacSween,” another soldier called. His tone was jovial, but Beatrice watched the soldiers around him tense as he spoke. “Ye’re goin' to make him abandon his position if ye keep floggin’ him like that.”
Another surprise for Beatrice, as Leo laughed at the remark. He reached down a hand to the soldier, helping him back to his feet. For a moment, he lifted his gaze and caught Beatrice staring, but then he looked away and continued the lesson.
A kind of frustration rose in Beatrice's stomach, and burned her cheeks.
Is he pretendin’ I’m nae here? Is he nae lookin’ me way on purpose?
Leo circled another soldier who had stepped forward. The rest of the soldiers watched with rapt attention, studying his motions and strikes, committing them to memory to use them as effortlessly as he did.
Even when he was facing Beatrice's direction, he turned his head away, keeping his focus somewhere else. Standing in the shadows, Beatrice could believe that maybe he didn’t actually see her, that he wasn’t doing his damnedest not to see her standing there.
Well then, let’s make sure he can see me.
As Leo was demonstrating an elaborate punch to the poor soldier in front of him, she stepped out into the golden morning light. She smiled as she did, hoping she glowed in the warmth of the sun, hoping the sight of her there was impossible for him to avoid.
His eyes landed squarely on her. His feet shook beneath him, and he stumbled, catching himself before he hit the ground. The soldiers around him made strangled noises of surprise. One even rushed forward as if to help Leo back to his feet.
“Daenae!” Leo snapped.
All the others fell back, their faces drawn and embarrassed by their spontaneous reactions. Beatrice too was very still.
Leo rose to his full height, and her breath caught in her throat. He looked even taller now than the soldier who had dwarfed him moments ago, his dark features so rigid and his eyes locked so firmly onto her that she didn’t dare flinch as he drew closer.
This is what I wanted, she reminded herself. Though at that very second, she was unsure if she knew at all what she actually wanted. I didnae want to be ignored. I didnae want him to act like I wasnae standin’ right here.
Her lungs worked in shallow convulsions. The phantom touch that had lingered on her skin in the early morning returned more strongly.
Leo snatched up the sword he had discarded as he stepped closer to her. She very nearly told him that he was frightening enough without it, that just his bare hands and his scowl sent a tremor through her.
But am I truly scared of him?
“Ye have a habit of steppin’ into places ye shouldnae be,” Leo rumbled. The sword tapped against his side, rhythmic as a metronome. “Ye have a way of interruptin’ me when I am busy as well.”
Beatrice managed a smile, though it was weak. “Me apologies, me Laird. I was tryin’ to reach the garden.”
“Were ye? Then how come ye’ve stopped right where I’m training with me men?”
“The garden’s through there, aye?” She pointed to a doorway at the far end of the courtyard. “I’m just makin’ me way to it. I suppose I’m to blame for the fact that ye’re occupyin’ the whole place?”
Leo moved without breaking eye contact. He threw his blade to the soldier standing closest to him, and to Beatrice's amazement, the soldier caught it. The clang of steel against steel boxed her ears, but she was determined not to flinch.
“On yer way, then,” Leo ordered, his tone so flat that she couldn’t tell whether he was angry with her or not.
She bobbed a quick curtsy and continued towards the entrance to the garden. Right before she crossed the threshold, she turned back to see Leo watching her intently while his men pretended they were looking anywhere but at her.
The truth of it came together in her mind like a vision born out of the ether.
He wasnae avoidin' me. He doesnae care enough to avoid me.