Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“Ye’ll be presented to me council this very mornin', Beatrice,” Leo MacSween informed Beatrice as they left his chambers. “There’s nae question of them approvin' or disapprovin', mind. If I say I chose ye and ye will give me an heir, they willnae object.”
In the hours that followed, everything seemed to move like fire through a dry summer forest. Almost before Beatrice could blink, the commanding laird of Clan MacSween had summoned his council, dictated a letter to the clan elders and let it be known that he would address the whole clan publicly in the coming days.
It seemed that no one was likely to cross the will of the Laird MacSween. Beatrice had been right in her judgement on that score. When he gave an order, he expected to be obeyed – and he was. In many ways, the force of his personality was a relief, and a shield against the wider world.
At the same time, it was overwhelming to follow in the laird’s wake around the castle, fielding the curious glances of servants and clansmen alike and wondering whether he ever stopped moving. It came to Beatrice then that the sun was high in the sky and she had barely eaten since last night.
“May I sit a moment, Laird MacSween?” she was forced to ask him eventually, her stomach rumbling and her head light.
He puzzled for a moment but then gestured Beatrice to a window seat in the passage.
“Tyler?” he called out.
Beatrice again saw the amiable young man who had met her at the gate walk swiftly to the laird’s side, having been following them at a discreet distance after carrying out various earlier orders.
His role had not been explained to her but she could already detect his familiarity with the laird and the easy way they communicate.
“There ye are, Tyler,” MacSween said, gesturing to Beatrice. “Will ye fetch a maid to assist Beatrice and have her fed too? She must be ready for her first meetin' with the council.”
Tyler managed a brief smile to Beatrice and then nodded his head and disappeared again without another word to do his laird’s bidding. Was Beatrice meant to act like Tyler in the laird’s presence too, she wondered? Swift, discreet and obedient, like a favorite hunting dog…
She did not quite like that idea, wanting to be something more than a pet animal, just as she wanted to be more than livestock to her own family.
“Ye may call me Bea, if ye will,” she said. “Some people do.”
He thought for a moment and then shook his head, his dark eyes finding hers again.
“Beatrice,” he said, as though savoring the sound of it. “It is a fine name for the wife of a laird. Beat is the name of a girl who lives with her parents in a dilapidated manor and sits out by the loch alone, longin' to be free. I shall call ye Beatrice.”
She looked back at him with surprise. How could he possibly know such things about her? Those dark eyes seemed to be able to look right inside her mind, and she felt his gaze touch something deep inside her that had never been touched before.
Then, Beatrice remembered that Leo MacSween already knew of her father’s debt, her own predicament, and her daring solitary journey to his castle. It was no great leap for him to guess that her family’s house was in need of repairs and that Beatrice liked to walk out to think by the loch.
She broke away her gaze as Tyler returned, a bright-eyed and busy-looking woman in brown dress and white apron at his shoulder.
“I’ve brought a maid for the young lady, me Laird,” Tyler announced as he approached. “Shona, this is Miss Beatrice Whitmore.”
Shona bobbed a curtsy in the direction of the laird and Beatrice.
“Take Beatrice to the best guest chambers in the east wing,” Leo MacSween instructed Tyler and Shona.
“That is to be her home at MacSween Castle. I want her ready for presentation to the council at noon and make sure she is suitably attired. There are dresses in the stores, I imagine and jewels enough in the strong room. Tyler has the key.”
“Aye, me Laird,” the maid replied swiftly, bobbing another curtsy without raising her eyes. “It shall be done."
“Beatrice,” the laird now addressed her with equal command. “Write today to yer parents of our betrothal and me messengers will carry yer letter. I willnae have search parties out for ye, or anyone sayin' ye were stolen away against yer will. That is nae me way.”
“If ye wish it, I can travel back to Whitmore Manor and tell them face to face,” Beatrice offered but he dismissed this instantly.
“The wife of Laird MacSween doesnae go out waitin' on men like Patrick Whitmore,” he pronounced. “It would be beneath yer dignity. Yer parents may wait on ye here at the castle, if ye like.”
Beatrice nodded her understanding, a little startled by this. What else might be expected or forbidden? She must find out.
“Later, I’ll take ye to the healer to make sure ye arenae sickly and can bear me an heir when the time comes. The council and the elders will both ask that of me, I ken.”
“Oh!” she said, blushing, unsure what this would entail but knowing she could not object in any case. “I see. What will…”
Beatrice stopped, seeing that the laird was already walking away from her, already in deep conversation with Tyler.
“Thank ye!” she called after them, at least partly in earnest, but received no reply.
“Come, me Lady,” said Shona as the men disappeared around the corner of the corridor. “We’ll get ye so well-groomed and spruced that not one of those councilmen will find a fault. I’ll have yer food served while we work.”
Beatrice smiled back, content to be in someone else’s capable hands for an hour or two. She found she did not care so very much about being well-dressed for the council, but she did long for the approval of Leo MacSween.
“Ye’re moving very fast, me Laird, as is only yer right,” Tyler said as they navigated the cavernous hallways, heading towards the nursery where the laird would find his daughter. “But can I ask why ye put that bonnie lass so far away from ye in the east wing?”
“I willnae have her believin’ she’s me beloved, Tyler. She’ll nae be sleeping in me bed, or dreamin' of love, as lassies always do, given half a chance.”
“I daenae mean to speak out of turn, Leo, but why nae marry the lass properly and take her to yer bed now that she’s here? She’s a fine-lookin' woman and brave with it, comin' here to propose marriage to Laird MacSween himself.”
“Ye listened at me door while I talked to Beatrice Whitmore earlier did ye, Tyler?” Leo laughed. “Do ye ken the whole story then, and our plan too?”
“I listened enough to ken that the lassie’s got a brain in her head and a lion in her heart. Ye could find far worse brides and few better.”
Tyler was well-known for having what the elders around the castle called long ears. Very little happened that he did not hear about, from one source or another. Sure of his man-at-arms’ loyalty, Leo took no issue with his listening at doors and windows.
Now outside the nursery door, Leo paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“It’s nae so simple to me as just findin' a bride,” he finally said to Tyler.
“Beatrice Whitmore is the solution to me immediate problem, aye.
Maybe she will prove herself worthy to be lady of MacSween Castle and mother to me daughter, and maybe she willnae.
I cannae say, but I willnae be takin' her to me bed in any case.”
“What if she comes to yer bed without any invitation, as she came to yer castle, Leo?”
Leo stared at Tyler in consternation but then shrugged.
“Then I shall spank her and have ye take her back to her own rooms,” Leo retorted, unsure how far he spoke in jest and how far he meant it.
“Anyway, Beatrice doesnae even ken what men are yet, Tyler. If she did, she would never have dared to come here and make such a proposal as this. Nay, she willnae seek me bed, I think.”
With this final word, he dismissed Tyler and turned the knob on the nursery door. Inside, a nursery maid put a finger to her lips and gestured for him to follow her into the bedroom. Ah, Effie was still sleeping.
On the child size bed beneath its miniature brocade canopy, he could see a shape under heaped blankets and a wild mop of curly red hair, as bright as Leo remembered his own mother’s hair to be. Gazing at her soft, warm, sleeping features on the pillow gave him a feeling of supreme tenderness.
I have nay need for a male heir, as long as Effie’s heart beats.
Leo could have watched his daughter sleeping for hours, if he had not so many other responsibilities in his life. Today, there was also some important news and he was determined that Effie would hear it from him and not any second-hand servant gossip.
“Good mornin’, little one,” he whispered, bending over and kissing her forehead. “The sun has risen. It’s time to get up.”
Effie stirred and sighed in her sleep before blinking up at her father with a frown.
“But I’m still asleep, Da,” she yawned.
Leo smiled and gathered her into his arms.
“Aye, it looks like ye are, lassie. The sun is climbin', and ye are still in bed. How do ye plan to start yer day if ye’re sleepin’ right through it?”
“Maybe I’ll sleep all day today.”
Leo couldn’t help but smile at her spirit.
He tried not to think about what the future held for her.
Someday she would be grown and a man would come seeking her hand in marriage.
Leo could imagine himself sending all suitors packing, but what if Effie herself favored some young man herself? What would he do then?
I couldnae live if Effie ever met the same fate as her mother…
He held her so close for a moment that Effie struggled away crossly.
“Yer chin itches me, Da. Ye should shave it.”
“Well, I’ll do that, lassie, but first, there’s something important I must tell ye.”
“What is it, Da?” she asked, her face full of innocent curiosity.
“I am getting' married, Effie,” Leo said simply, and waited for her reaction.
The little girl didn’t weep or scowl, but looked thoughtfully back at him.
“Who are ye marryin'? Mrs. Prinn?”
At this suggestion, Leo threw back his head and laughed hard in spite of himself.
Stout, grey-haired and widowed, Mrs. Prinn was the castle’s head cook and sixty years of age, if she was a day.
Leo supposed that he had said many times in Effie’s hearing that Mr. Prinn had been a lucky man, and that he would personally chase away anyone who came courting the cook, but that was on account of Mrs. Prinn’s excellent pies rather than her personal charms.
“I am marryin' a young lady called Beatrice Whitmore. Ye will meet her later.”
“Will she be me new ma?” Effie asked in a very practical way. “What if I daenae like her?”
“She can be whatever ye want her to be,” Leo answered, not having anticipated this question but knowing he should have done. “When ye get to ken one another, ye can tell me if ye like her or not.”
“Do ye like her, Da?” pressed his daughter artlessly.
“I suppose I do,” conceded Leo with a laugh. “In me own way…”