Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
This may nae have been the best idea I’ve ever had.
Beatrice sighed to herself as the underbrush of the woodlands snatched at her skirt, the skeletal branches poking their fingers at her legs.
She had stopped following the road when it appeared to be curving out of the way of the village she had spotted from a high point, and she had assumed, incorrectly as it seemed, that cutting through the forest would get her to where she wanted to go.
Well, perhaps the real problem was that I didnae have anywhere I really wanted to go.
Had MacSween Castle been an option, she would have changed course and started in that direction immediately, but the door there was closed to her. Leo had made sure of that.
As she stumbled her way through the dense growth, she was somewhere in between hurt and furious. She didn’t know how to be fully heartbroken, especially over someone like Leo.
It wasn’t that long ago that she had considered him a brute and a beast, the type of man who served a purpose on the battlefield and nowhere else.
The shock of him leaving her out in the cold when she had been trying to convince herself that what they had was an arrangement, plain and simple, was a struggle to absorb.
And then he just left me. Rode off back to his castle while I slept in a bed we had shared.
Beatrice tilted her face up towards the canopy of leaves above her. She closed her eyes, unable to ignore the hot tears rolling down her temples. Crying over Leo felt silly to her, but she was beyond lying to herself.
The thickness of the woods around her blocked the sun and turned the path she was clawing through into a narrow strip with barely the room a person needed to walk.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been walking, but she was tired, drained. Her feet were sore, and her lungs pumped out thick, hot air as she tried to get a breath into her body. She wished she had stayed at the inn and demanded the innkeeper send a message or lend her a horse.
That’s all over, is it nae, lass? Always got to be doing things yer own way. And just look where yer way has led ye.
Beatrice cast her gaze around the forest, the heavy growth threatening to swallow her like a child in a fairytale.
Nothing to do but continue on.
She almost turned right around to get back to the road.
Crude as it was, it was better marked than this, but she didn’t have an idea in which direction it was.
She had taken too many turns, followed too many broken paths, and now she was at the mercy of her own decisions, flailing through the woods.
In the near distance, not so far away that she could ignore it, branches snapped and leaves rustled as if someone was charging through the woods.
She froze in anticipation, relieved that there was a chance someone would find her and take her to wherever she needed to go on horseback rather than on her tired and uncertain feet.
But wherever I need to go… Where do I need to go? Where can I go?
As hard as those questions plagued her mind, they could be dealt with later. For now, she just basked in the solace of the noises coming towards her, the possible rescue she didn’t want to admit she was desperate for.
The noises suddenly stopped.
Nay, nay, nay! I’m right here, daenae leave without me!
Beatrice started in the direction she assumed the noises had come from. The woods were full of tricks, noises and voices bouncing in preternatural ways, so she couldn’t be entirely sure that she was heading towards them or away.
She knocked through branches, stumbled over exposed roots that breached the dirt like rising corpses. If her salvation was nearby, she was determined not to miss it.
The sound of timid hoofsteps drew her attention. Through a veil of heavily boughed limbs, she burst out onto a path, searching for anyone who might be around.
“Is there anyone there?” she called out, and the forest returned her voice to her in watery snippets. “Can anyone hear me?”
“Aye,” came a low voice, gentle as a whisper.
Beatrice spun in a circle, looking for the person speaking to her. “Aye? Is there someone there?”
In front of her, behind the split trunk of a massive tree, Allistair stepped out onto the path, smiling at her the way he always did.
Smiling like he’s keepin’ a secret. Smiling like he kens something I should and he’ll nae be the one to tell me.
“Allistair?” Beatrice didn’t move towards him. She let out a convivial laugh. “Are ye real, or is me mind playin’ tricks on me as I die of exhaustion?”
“Wouldnae that make me life so much easier?” Allistair sighed, still smiling.
Beatrice took a step back as he closed the gap between them. “Oh, aye, would it?”
“Can I pay ye a compliment, Beatrice?” Allistair asked, pulling something from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Or do ye prefer I call ye Bea?”
The blade of a knife caught the dappled sunlight that forced its way through the overhang of tree branches and leaves, glinting silver and gold in rapid succession.
Beatrice took another step back, glancing in the direction she had just come from and wondering how far she’d be able to run if she needed to.
Faster than him, though? Nae likely.
Her back hit the trunk of a tree.
And he probably ken these woods better than I do. He must.
“Ye can call me either,” she answered weakly.
Each word stuck in her throat on the way out, tangling in her arid mouth before tumbling past her lips. She knew better than to be sharp with a man wielding a knife, but being polite as he smiled coldly at her and crept closer was nearly impossible.
“Ye’re very agreeable,” Allistair remarked, gesturing with his knife. “It must be what me cousin saw in ye.”
“Allistair, whatever it is ye’re plottin’—”
“Uh, uh, nay.” Allistair raised the blade as if it were a finger, admonishing her with it. “There’s nothin' ye can say to change me mind.”
“Nay?”
He shook his head, his expression cycling through pity, condescension, and false sympathy.
“Nay. Ye see, Beatrice, if I had me way, ye’d have already been dead.
If ye didnae have the fortitude ye do”—he pointed the blade at her—“which is the compliment I wanted to give ye, ye’d have been dead right after ye put on that shawl. ”
Beatrice's breathing went shallow. The dizziness that had come and left without rhyme or reason the past few days returned strong, spinning her head in a whirlwind and turning everything solid to smoke and vapor.
Daenae faint, lass. Stay sharp. Keep yer mind about ye. Daenae give this devil what he wants so easily.
Her vision clouded and cleared, but she stayed upright, staring at him as the blade approached her face.
“Arsenic is usually a death sentence,” he explained. “Nae too many men can survive it. To think a lass like ye could—the daughter of a man deep in debt—was a shock.”
“What do ye think ye can do out here, Allistair?” Beatrice whispered. “Ye think ye can kill me and get rid of me body before anyone finds ye?”
Allistair guffawed. “Get rid of yer body? I wouldnae do a thing like that.”
“Nay? Ye want proof of yer crime?”
“Nay one will believe I did it, lass.” The point of the blade grazed the hollow at the base of her throat as she swallowed.
“Even the people who daenae like me willnae accuse me of being a murderer. I’ll find ye in whatever state I leave ye in and swear on me father’s grave to hunt down the monster who did it to ye. ”
“But there will be nay one to hunt down.”
Allistair’s smile turned nasty, a smirk that she had never seen from him before.
“There will only be the specter of a man brutish enough to kill ye, and I can play the loyal avenger, the grievin' and faithful kinsman.
I can spend the time huntin' the man who did this to ye gatherin' the others.
Drawin' them to me side.” His eyes landed on the point of the blade, making a divot in her skin.
“I can still win the lairdship, if nae by force than by patience.”
Ye cannae stand here any longer.
Beatrice mustered all her courage for her next move, though she had no notion of what it was.
Ye need to do somethin', even if it’s just screamin’ like a banshee. Ye cannae just let this man do what he pleases.
With her heart pounding and all the moisture missing from her lungs, Beatrice knew that running was not going to get her very far.
The sting of the blade sharpened her focus and called out to those instincts that had kept humans alive since the dawn of time.
Surviving became her only goal, a mission she refused to fail.
Tilting her head back and gulping in as much air as she could, she screamed. She screamed until her chest hurt and the trees around them shook. Startled, Allistair jumped away from her, the blade lowering to his side.
Do it again, lass. Do it until there’s nay ounce of energy left in yer body to do anythin' else.
Another breath, another moment. Beatrice screamed again, but this time, Allistair wasn’t that shocked by it, and they were still alone in the woods. His blade rose slowly towards her for the second time.
She did the only other thing she could think of; she took off running as fast as her legs could carry her.
She heard Allistair curse behind her, then she heard the unmistakable sound of him giving chase and his labored breathing getting closer and closer.