Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Are ye ready, lass?” Iola asked as the clansfolk began to gather for the cèilidh. She straightened a seam along Beatrice's waist. “Ye never looked this bonnie.”
“Then I suppose I’m ready.” Beatrice laughed.
How can I ever be ready for this?
The ruckus in the Great Hall did nothing to calm the fluttering in her stomach, and her mother’s thoughtful words were turning her legs to jelly.
She wished Eloise were with her at that moment, but she didn’t dare say that out loud.
Leo’s gaze was locked on her as she stood in front of the crowd, doing her very best not to fall to pieces.
Her father, who had vanished earlier in the day, suddenly barged into the Great Hall and approached them. His gait was unsteady, and he glowered at Iola when she took a step towards him.
God in heaven, he’s drunk.
“The decree wasnae a suggestion, lass,” he slurred, raising a finger to Beatrice's face.
“The elders want their orders to be followed.” He swung his arm to point at Leo.
“Do ye think Laird MacSween will take care of yer parents? Do ye think he will make sure we are given what we need to survive?” His arm dropped, his features contorting.
“Bea, he will hold me debts above me head for as long as I live.”
Leo was striding towards them as soon as her father started talking, but Beatrice raised a hand to hold him off.
He’ll make it worse. Or he’ll kill me father in a fit of rage.
Everyone had turned to them, their eyes boring into the trio. Beatrice could hardly get air into her lungs, and beads of sweat glistened along her hairline. For a brief moment, her vision grayed at the edges, and she had to compose herself to keep from fainting.
“Patrick, please.” Her mother pulled at her father’s arm. “Let’s go sit down.”
“Whitmore,” Leo said, stepping between her and her father. “I think ye should take yer leave.”
Her father’s feet seemed to quiver under him, but he stayed upright, barely able to look Leo in the eye. Beatrice pressed her hands together as if in prayer, and Leo rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Leo, daenae hurt him,” she whispered so softly that she wondered if he heard her.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Another wave of dizziness hit her. But this time, she didn’t feel like she was going to faint.
I feel like I’m goin' to float away. Like I’m going to swoon and lift right up to the ceiling instead of sinking to the floor.
“Everythin' is fine now,” she answered.
Her father released a broken sigh as her mother ushered him away.
The loud conversations that had filled the hall moments ago had faded to dead silence, but then Leo snapped his fingers, and music erupted over the crowd.
He extended a hand toward her, a practiced smile on his face. “We should dance now, Beatrice. It will help people forget yer father’s behavior.”
Beatrice took his hand, and they stepped together in a unified swirl, feet and limbs moving as if they belonged to one creature. His hands found her waist the way they always seemed to, and she let him hold her as close as possible.
Leo spun her, letting her drift away from him, then drew her back. Each time, she pressed harder against his body, touching the muscles under his clothes, feeling the rigid evidence of his desire against her belly.
I daenae think we’re pretendin' anymore. I think this might be real.
Leo spun her out and pulled her back one last time. Their bodies collided, sparking heat and sending shivers through her. The crowd pounded the tables and cheered as the music came to a quivering end.
“Me Lady.”
“Me Laird.”
He released her hand and stepped back. His jaw was set as he sketched a formal bow.
Beatrice's feet didn’t want to stop. They wanted to keep dancing, and the rest of her wanted to cling to him until they were the only two left at the end of the night.
I need some air.
Leo bowed stiffly to Beatrice and then beat a hasty retreat to the terrace off the Great Hall.
I need a moment.
He tried to ignore her scent on his hands, the way her body had felt in his arms. The din of the celebration, although muffled, shook the windows. Outside was mercifully quiet, the air a flatus of cool tranquility.
He didn’t dare look back into the hall, knowing that Beatrice was still where he had left her. The raucous crowd around her might overlook her in their revelry, but the sight of her peering out at him was too much for him to bear.
What have ye done to me, lass? Why have ye brought this to me doorstep?
“There ye are, Leo,” came Allistair’s slippery voice. He crept out of the shadows, walking carefully as if treading on needles and glass. “Sneakin’ out of yer own cèilidh, are ye?”
“Leave me be, Allistair. I am nae in the mood.”
“Yer mood is the least of me worries, Cousin. All ready for after the ceilidh celebration are ye? Ready to get yer heir? If ye daenae get one, the elders will be stepping in.”
“I’ll be ready enough to get an heir when we take our vows, Allistair. Until then, mind yer own business.”
“Ye daenae really want to wed the Whitmore lass though, do ye?” stated his cousin in what seemed deliberate provocation. "It’s only that the elders forced yer hand. Why nae just let them name an heir for ye and forget all this?”
“Shut yer face, Allistair MacSween before I shut it for ye,” Leo retorted, running out of patience and very close to carrying out his threat.
For some reason, his cousin persisted in spite of Leo’s threats. Was the man drunker than he seemed?
“Admit it, Leo,” he goaded. “Ye daenae really want to marry the poor wench and ye daenae have to. Ye could bed her easily enough without, if ye wanted.”
“Everyone kens I never wanted to marry. Nae Beatrice and nae anyone!” Leo stormed, taking a step towards his cousin with clenched fists.
Only the sound of rapidly moving feet crunching on gravel saved Allistair, Leo’s attention drawn towards the terrace doors where Beatrice stood watching them with a hurt expression. She had been close enough to hear every word but too far for him to easily catch if he ran to her. Damn Allistair!
I didnae want to hurt ye, Beatrice. I didnae expect it to go like this.
With a smirk and a bow Allistair disappeared from sight stepping silently over the stray rocks and gravel, his tread light. Leo wished he could pummel the man but instead went to Beatrice’s side. .
“I suppose I am a fool for believin’ too much,” she said, shivering, despite the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Its color highlighted the green in her eyes.
A present from whom, I wonder? I saw it on the table with the others, still half wrapped in paper and marked only for the bride.
“Aye, I suppose ye are more of a dreamer than ye care to admit,” he said gruffly. “Beatrice, what ye just heard, it wasnae…”
Beatrice took a tentative step forward and then stopped and shook her head.
“The way ye looked at me,” she said, pulling her shawl tighter around her bare arms. “The way ye touched me—”
“Beatrice, the world devours fools who build their lives on dreams. I promised ye nothin' but an arrangement. I promised ye survival. Is that nae enough for ye?”
“Survival,” she spat. “As if ye wouldnae toss me to the wolves for yer own sake.”
She spun away from him, but he caught her wrist and drew her back with little resistance.
“Ye think that? Is that why ye’re trembling, Beatrice?” he asked, his hand finding the side of her face, holding her gaze as he drew her even closer.
Beatrice did not answer. Her lips parted on a silent breath. Leo saw the flicker of surrender in her eyes, and the heat of her, of him, of the two of them together sent blood to his groin.
If ye were able to walk away, Beatrice, ye would have done so already.
In an instant, he was lost in her lips, lost in the feel of her curves under his hands.
The yellow light spilling out of the windows illuminated them too conspicuously, so he pushed her backward until her back hit the wall and they were cloaked in the shadows.
Her teeth grazed his neck as she clung helplessly to him, like a sailor clinging to the last pieces of his boat as the sea took it down.
Anythin' ye want from me is yers.
Leo ripped her shawl off her shoulders and threw it to the ground. Then he yanked up her skirts, running his palm over her stomach and raking his fingers through the downy hair between her legs.
She whimpered as he touched her, the sound egging him on. Every tremor, every moan, every reaction he coaxed from her made his desire flare hotter. He was surprised when she returned the gesture, her soft hand cupping his swollen length and stroking it.
She tilted her head back, and he kissed the exposed skin of her neck.
Her breasts strained against her bodice, and his teeth grazed over the swell.
She gasped as he yanked down her bodice and closed his mouth around her nipple, her breath quickening.
Then he slipped a hand between her legs, stroking her wet folds.
Beatrice let out a moan, drowned out by the noise of the celebration. Leo pressed his length against her, overwhelmed by the need to be inside her. He wanted to tear the rest of her clothes off her body and feel her surrender to him.
Ye’d never get out of bed if I had me way. I’d watch ye shudder and moan until we both starved.
“Please, Leo,” she moaned into his ear. “I’m beggin’ ye.”
“Beggin’,” he repeated, loving the sound of the word on her lips.
Her hand slipped beneath his waistband, closing tightly around his length. He let out a deep growl that rattled both of them. He pressed his face into the swell of her breasts to muffle the sound, which only made her quake harder.
Nay, ye cannae do this.
Leo pushed away from her, his chest heaving, his entire body primed and ready to claim her.
Beatrice remained pressed against the wall, gasping, her pupils blown with desire.
“Leo,” she whispered, gulping in air.
Leo raised a hand to keep her at a distance and then walked away back to the Great Hall.
I cannae afford to want ye.