Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Had Laird Leo MacSween heard and understood Beatrice's words? Had she only imagined speaking them aloud after rehearsing so many times inside her own head on the ride here? He didn’t react at all and only stood there across the other side of the room studying her like a strange bird who had flown in through his window.
“Laird MacSween?” she finally prompted him, clearing her throat and pushing down the nervousness that hummed in her blood.
As she spoke his name, he strode forward and stopped only a few paces from where Beatrice stood, still gazing at her intently.
She forced herself to stand her ground and neither step back nor look away.
This was Beatrice’s chance to make her case and if Leo MacSween turned her out now, she might never have another.
“Beatrice Whitmore,” he said her name in turn, speculative but uncommitted.
How large this laird looked at such close proximity, taller than any man Beatrice had yet met, and giving the impression of filling the room with his dark-haired, broad-shouldered confidence.
She thought of certain fine, strong stallions owned by her father’s friends.
Such animals required bold handling to be ridden safely, she had heard, and Leo MacSween put her in mind of these creatures.
A beautiful beast of a man, that woman said of him on the road. Aye, she was right.
From a distance, Leo MacSween’s eyes had looked black as the waters of a loch at midnight, but as he drew closer, she saw deep brown with flecks of gold and shimmering green.
“Ye’re in need of a husband, are ye?” the laird asked at last, showing that he had heard Beatrice after all. “Are ye asking me to find one for ye? Why cannae yer parents see to it?”
Beatrice summoned up all of her courage once more, and looked up at him with a tilt of her chin.
“Me laird, it’s ye that I seek as husband,” she told him flatly. "Nae other can save me and I daenae need a husband forever. It would nae be a long inconvenience but a marriage of the old kind, hand-fast for a year and a day, and then dissolved where there is nay child of the union.”
“’Tis usually the peasants who enter such unions, nae young ladies of good family,” the laird noted, although intrigued more than disapproving.
“A betrothal alone might do,” Beatrice offered. “I need only a temporary arrangement with a strong man, so that other lairds cannot take me in marriage.”
To her annoyance, Beatrice also saw a flash of amusement on his roughly handsome face. Did he think she jested about such matters or that she was weak of understanding?
“Ye must explain better why a lady like ye should be in need of such a temporary husband,” Laird MacSween put to her now. “It makes nay sense to me.”
Although she was under no physical threat from him and his words were politely spoken, Beatrice had sense enough of this man’s power and natural authority.
As the prosperous laird of a large clan, Leo MacSween would be used to getting what he wanted rather than being persuaded.
She must tread carefully in order to get him on her side.
Patrick Whitmore had spoken truly when he warned that he could not offer his protection against this man. No one could. And yet, Leo MacSween did not seem quite like the brute her parents described either. Perhaps Beatrice would need no protection.
“A decree has been issued,” Beatrice told him, her heart thumping in her ears. “I am to be married in less than three weeks and me husband will be an unnamed laird from among me father’s creditors, nae of me choosin'. I will be handed off like chattel, Laird MacSween.”
“Many marriages are based on such an exchange between families,” he replied brusquely and Beatrice feared losing his interest. “Ye wouldnae be the first or the last.”
“I will be married off to a stranger unless I find a laird willin' to take me now as his wife, for a short while,” Beatrice continued to make her case, sensing that it was better to intrigue Leo MacSween than to argue against what he said. “If ye married me, I wouldnae inconvenience ye much.”
Again she saw a flash of amusement on his face although it was tempered quickly with weary despair.
Up close, Beatrice noticed that Leo MacSween was much younger than she had imagined he would be.
She had expected a man her father’s age, hair shot with white, and wrinkles about his mouth. This man might not yet even be thirty.
His features were pleasing too, despite their rough edges. Perhaps those rough edges even enhanced his looks. Too much smoothness in a man could make him seem womanly, and Leo MacSween was very far from that. Beatrice understood now the way Margo had smiled in her bedroom last night.
“Have ye nae heard that I daenae want any wife, whether for a day, a year or forever? Ye’re nae the first to come here with an offer of marriage, Miss Whitmore, although ye're the first lady to make the offer in person.”
Despite these discouraging words, there was something thoughtful in Leo MacSween’s expression that still left Beatrice hope.
“Me father’s debt is also in the bargain,” she added. “I ken he owes more to ye than the others, but if they were off his back, he might be able to pay ye something.”
A faint half-smile tugged at Leo’s lips. It was not a strong point but Beatrice put her heart into it.
“Ye’re bold, lassie. I give ye that much.”
Seeming to be thinking, he turned away from her and went to the window. Beatrice’s eyes followed him, knowing that her fate was now in his hands.
“I ken what I’m askin' isnae the usual way of things…” she began to say but Leo MacSween’s voice interrupted her.
“Did ye nae hear the stories about me?” he asked.
“Aye, I’ve heard a few,” Beatrice admitted warily, hoping that she would not be asked to repeat certain stories. “Ye’re well-known, Laird MacSween.”
“Then likely ye ken I swore on the lands I hold dear that I’d never marry again. Why would I change me mind?”
Beatrice took a deep breath. He was not refusing to marry her outright, but asking her to tell him why he should.
What benefit was there for this great laird in marrying young Beatrice Whitmore?
Despite his vow against marriage, something was making him consider her offer.
Whatever she said next could be crucial.
“It must be worth yer while, I ken. I am ready to do whatever is needed to…”
Again, Leo MacSween interrupted before Beatrice could continue, spinning around to face her once more with decisive dark eyes.
“I daenae accept ye as yer father’s debt, lassie,” he told her, firmly but not unkindly.
“Maybe ye daenae even fully understand why yer father sent ye here. Tell Patrick Whitmore that he ought to pay his debts properly, nae send his daughter to sort them out for him, on any terms. If he’s lingering beyond the castle gates, I’ll send me man to tell him meself. ”
“Me father didnae send me,” Beatrice insisted fiercely. “He isnae here. He thinks me still at home in me bed.”
The resolution on his face evaporated and curiosity returned.
“I came on me own, of me own will, only to speak with ye in person, Laird MacSween. I swear it. Ye’re me only hope. ”
Despite her nervousness, Beatrice walked over to join him at the window and saw a new gentleness on his face that might have been pity. She did not want pity from this man, but it might do as well as anything else for now.
“Wouldnae ye give a lass the chance to carve out her own future?” she pressed gently, sensing that his mind was changing, his sympathies veering in her direction. “I will do the same for ye, if ye let me.”
The gentle expression hardened once more. Beatrice was gambling hard and began again to think she was losing.
“Ye will do what for me?” The laird demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I daenae believe ye a woman of loose morals. So, what have ye in mind?”
“Just as I ken that I am to be married to produce an heir for some nameless laird, I ken that a laird such as yerself is expected to do the same.”
These words seemed to touch something in him and he gave a barely perceptible nod.
“I’m not wrong, am I, me Laird? Ye’re being pressed to marry too, far longer and harder than me, I’ll warrant.”
“Ye daenae ken the half of it, lassie,” he sighed.
“Then let me help ye,” Beatrice put to him. “If ye’re set to take me to wife, ye could take no other. There is more than one kind of marriage in our land, but still no man can have two wives.”
A large hand reached out and cupped Beatrice’s chin, making her gasp and tremble. The laird’s hand was warm and strong and his touch gentle, nonetheless sending shivers of strange excitement through her body. Was he a brute after all? Would he ravish her now?
But Leo MacSween only tilted up Beatrice’s face and studied it. What was he looking for? She hoped he could not see the racing of her heart and wildness of her mind.
“If the two of us were bound…” he started.
“The decree on me marriage would have nae power,” Beatrice said. “Nor could anyone make ye marry another. We would both be safe.”
“Safe?”
Releasing Beatrice’s chin, Leo MacSween spoke this word with a humorless laugh. Beatrice thought better of smiling in response.
“Safe,” she only repeated quietly, hearing the longing in her own voice.
“I must tell ye, lassie, ye have arrived at the right time for this arrangement,” the laird admitted, looking at her appraisingly.
“But I must also warn ye that life beside me would be hard and ye may wish yerself back safely home with yer parents again. Nor should ye expect love, for I have none to give ye.”
“Why would I expect love?” Beatrice responded, her brow furrowing at the entrance of this unanticipated subject. “Love exists, I believe, but I see no chance to seek it for meself. As for life being hard, it always is.”
This answer seemed to satisfy the laird and he nodded more definitely now.
“Ye talk sense, lassie. Ken too that there are other consequences of being bound to me, beyond clearing yer father’s debts, and voiding that decree?
As me wife, ye’d be bound to respect me honor and me name as MacSween.
Ye cannae do as ye want and go running about the country alone at night, for example, else ye tarnish more than yer own reputation. ”
“I understand completely, me Laird,” Beatrice said quickly, seeing that he was very close now to agreeing to her suggestion. “Ye would have me obedience and respect for the name MacSween, I swear.”
Her vow wasn’t quite enough, she could tell. Beatrice supposed that her father’s position as a defaulting debtor likely made it harder for Leo MacSween to accept her word.
“Aye, that is well and good, lassie. Because if ye bring dishonor on me name or trouble to me clan, ye'd have bigger concerns than the decree ye’re fleein'.”
Taking a deep breath and swallowing, Beatrice nodded once again.
He was almost frightening her now and she felt a last minute hint of hesitation despite working so hard to reach this point and strike this bargain.
Hand-fast, married in a church, or publicly betrothed, she would be placing herself entirely in Leo MacSween’s power, and none could help her then.
The risks and opportunities were hers to accept, or not, and this was the moment of truth.
“Of course, me Laird,” Beatrice answered, dry-mouthed. “Ye have me word.”
“Well then, lassie. I think we had best inform everyone of our betrothal,” Leo MacSween pronounced with a rather grim smile.
She nodded faintly and perhaps detecting her nervousness, the laird placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled again, more reassuringly.
“Have nae fear now, lassie. Ye’ve done the hardest part.”
Had she? Beatrice was not so sure. As she followed the laird from the chamber where they had spoken, her blood ran alternately hot and cold in her veins. Still, the decision was made. She had bound herself to Laird MacSween, and there was no going back.