Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Well, that was quite the announcement,” said a smoothly handsome blond man to Beatrice as Tyler showed her to a seat at the head of the table, beside that of the laird himself.
Leo MacSween had just brought Beatrice into the council chamber, before all these senior clansmen, and casually introduced her as his wife-to-be and the future Lady MacSween.
This announcement naturally caused something close to uproar as everyone exclaimed their surprise, whispered to their neighbors, or stared at Beatrice – often all three.
She could not close her ears to snippets of their conversation.
…but who is she?
…never seen her before…
…out of nowhere…
Dressed in a gown of fine brown wool with golden brocade and a necklace of gold and emeralds at her throat, Beatrice had felt equal to this encounter until that moment. Now she wished that she could run away from the scrutiny of these strange men.
Beatrice looked uncertainly at the blond man who had addressed her. While his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, he was at least talking to her rather than about her. Seeing that he had Beatrice’s attention, he bowed his head towards her.
“Allistair MacSween. I suppose I should welcome ye to our family.”
“Ye’re a MacSween?” she questioned, seeing only the differences between this man and the dark-haired laird of the clan.
“He’s me cousin,” Leo said rather dismissively, taking his own seat at the table.
Leo smiled at Beatrice although not at Allistair and she realized that his shortness had been for his cousin and not for her.
That was a relief. She had worried that he might be unhappy with her appearance.
When Shona had delivered her back to the laird, he had only looked her up and down and told her that she would do.
Maybe he had only been busy and keen to rush onward and fit in their brief consultation with the healer before the council gathering. Or maybe he was not a man given to compliments. Beatrice couldn’t know yet.
“This seems very fast, me Laird,” a man with a bushy red beard spoke up. “How can it be that ye present this lady today when yesterday ye swore never to marry?”
“Ye’re right, Jonah,” agreed another councilman. “Laird MacSween, how did this lassie come to meet ye and accept yer proposal since yesterday?”
“How can it be?” laughed Leo harshly. “Because the elders decreed it, Jonah. That’s how. Anyway, I’ve known Beatrice’s family for some time. Her father and I have done business together. There is nay great mystery.”
Further whispering followed, Beatrice guessing that some would have recognized her surname and have pieced together the picture on her family.
Allistair MacSween did not join in the whispering. Instead, he sat with folded arms, his face unreadable.
“Yer bride must be examined by the healer, me Laird,” pointed out a narrow-faced man with beady eyes. “It must be certain that she can give ye an heir.”
“I am healthy and fertile,” Beatrice spoke up unprompted. “We have come from the healer this very hour. I can most certainly provide the heir that Laird MacSween and the council desire.”
Maybe she ought not to have spoken out, but it seemed to Beatrice that since she’d had to answer such intrusive questions from that old healer in front of the laird, she might as well make use of the woman’s pronouncement.
Yes, her monthlies were regular; yes, she felt that strange physical restlessness halfway between them; yes, she knew where babies came from…
The woman had even made the same excruciating comments on Beatrice’s hips and breasts as her mother did, although thankfully Leo MacSween gave every impression of not listening at that point.
“Nay doubt about that, lassie,” a portly grey-haired man at the end of the table jested in a bawdy voice, and then looked to the beady-eyed man who had spoken of the healer. “Pipe down, Ewan. We can all see for ourselves that the laird should have nae problem gettin' heirs on her.”
Several others now dissolved in ribald laughter and Beatrice shrank back, her cheeks flaming. She was the only woman in the room and felt her disadvantage distinctly. While it made others jump, it was only a relief to her when Leo slammed a fist on the table, and the laughter subsided.
“Enough,” said the laird, not needing to raise his voice after such a gesture. “Beatrice is the daughter of Patrick Whitmore and comes of good family on both sides, regardless of his past financial worries. I have made me choice and there is an end to it.”
“We must have a ceilidh for the clan to celebrate the betrothal,” put in the man called Jonah, seeming to have accepted the laird’s choice and moved on to the actual wedding arrangements.
“Aye, we shall,” Leo agreed before looking to Beatrice. “Invite yer mother and father to the ceilidh when ye write yer letter. For the rest, it will be Clan MacSween.”
“May I send word to me cousin Eloise at Calibroch Castle?” Beatrice asked.
“Yer cousin?” he queried and Beatrice wondered whether she ought to have spoken again, or maybe asked this question of Tyler later.
“Aye. If I cannae invite her to the ceilidh, then at least I can inform her of our weddin' maybe.”
“As ye will,” the laird answered with a shrug and wave of his hand, evidently not caring much one way or another. “Yer family are welcome at Castle MacSween. Now, councilmen, back to our business…”
The first few minutes in the council chamber had only amused Leo. Of course the council men were struck by Beatrice’s beauty and astonished by their laird’s announcement. He was unsurprised and unbothered by either of these things.
What did bother him as the meeting progressed was the way so many of his advisers, both young and old, looked on Beatrice with undisguised lust. Too many eyes lingered on her breasts although those men might claim only to be interested in the emerald necklace.
When that old fool had made his smutty joke about Leo having no trouble getting heirs on his wife-to-be, the laird had been tempted to horsewhip every man who laughed so appreciatively. That would have meant every man in the room but him, Tyler and Allistair.
It was not only the disrespect to him as laird that irked him, but the fear he saw in Beatrice. How could it be otherwise? She was like a sheep among wolves in here and he wished that he had planned this encounter differently for her sake.
It was good that the council fell silent when Leo slammed his fist on the table.
Its next target would have been the jaw of the next man to make any indecent remark in front of Beatrice.
Was it not obvious to these fools that she was young and gently reared?
Or did they not care? Well, he would make them care, if they went much further.
Leo narrowly restrained an impulse to lay his hand over Beatrice’s in reassurance.
As he had pointed out to Tyler, it was important that she did not get the wrong idea about this marriage.
Yes, he would defend her from these dogs but he would do the same for any woman under his roof, he hoped.
There was nothing special about Beatrice, was there?
“Now, councilmen, back to our business. That decree from the elders can now be set aside,” Leo declared. “I’ve found me own bride and we shall be married within the month prescribed.”
Nobody spoke in favor or opposition for several moments and Leo was about to move on when Allistair coughed gently to get his attention.
“Ye’re forgetting that the decree also demands ye produce an heir,” his cousin said, regarding Beatrice with a cool non-sexual interest that somehow disturbed Leo almost as much as the leering of other council members.
“All in good time, Cousin,” Leo said, now allowing himself to take Beatrice’s hand as a show of supposed affection and unity for the council. “We arenae even married yet, and already ye want an heir. Would ye have me go against the edicts of both clan tradition and the church?”
“Haha, methinks yer cousin wishes ye to get right to it on the council table, me Laird” one of the councilmen chortled.
The councilmen burst into guffaws again while Leo felt Beatrice’s fingers tense in his hand, although she kept her face admirably blank. Damn it, he should not have started this up again with that joke, no matter how it foolish he wished to make Allistair appear. She should not be in here at all…
The appearance of a messenger at the door provided Leo with the opportunity he needed to remove his now-betrothed from the fray.
“Tyler, take Beatrice and that messenger and get her letters sent,” he ordered the one man in the room he trusted with both this young woman and his own interests.
“Do ye think this is a wise choice, me Laird?” asked Allistair once the doors closed on the council chamber again. “It’s the speed of it that worried me, not yer choice, per se.”
“’Tis true,” said Ewan. “The lass is comely enough, but what does she bring to the clan? Now, if ye allowed the council to select a bride for ye, we could find a woman with just as much… promise as the lassie ye’ve got and perhaps more land and connections to boot.”
“Do ye have such a woman, Ewan?” Leo put to him impatiently.
“Nay,” the man replied. “But that’s nae to say we cannae find one if we look…”
Leo waved a dismissive hand at the man. It was time to finish this now.
“Ye will all respect me decision,” Leo warned. “The elders’ decree is set aside, and I will marry Beatrice Whitmore. That is the end of it.”
“The beddin’ is the end of it,” his cousin sniped back. “The beddin’ and the birthin’ together.”
“They are both me business, Allistair, nae yours,” Leo growled and then looked around the rest of the table with dark, angry eyes.
“One more thing, councilmen. Ye should ken that the next man who makes an indecent remark about me wife, or in front of me wife, will be personally taken into the courtyard and horsewhipped by me own hand.”
His wife? Well, Beatrice was as good as his wife. They all knew what he meant anyway. Leaving his council in stunned silence, Leo pivoted on his heel and strode towards the door, the whispers starting up again behind him before it closed again.
This marriage better be worth the trouble…