Page 57 of Craved By a Highland Beast

A dry cough sounded around them as Bonnie jumped off her horse with Evan’s help. It drew everyone’s gazes on the source, and Bonnie turned to see a man standing a few paces away from them. He was tall and lean, his skin weathered by time but his body appearing robust still. His pale blue eyes found Bonnie firstand then slid over to Evan, who stood a little straighter at the man’s presence, a small, confused frown on his face.

He couldn’t place him, Bonnie knew, and so was being careful with how he addressed him.

“Laird MacGregor,” said the man before Evan could speak. He bowed to Evan, but despite the inherent submission of the gesture, he still held a haughty, unaffected air about him. “I am Dougal McIlroy, advisor tae the Lady Medea Buchanan. I am here tae discuss yer weddin’ tae yer betrothed.”

The pain that tore through Bonnie’s chest was akin to that which she felt as the arrow pierced her flesh, leaving a gaping wound in its path. The wordbetrothedbounced around in her mind again and again, a torment which seemed to have no end. Evan was already betrothed to someone else. That man was not here to discuss a betrothal but rather a wedding, and now Bonnie knew Evan for the liar he was.

He had promised her he would speak to the council. He had promised her he would at least try to convince them, but what was there to convince them of when he already had a woman? This was an arrangement he couldn’t change without a valid reason without risking the wrath of Clan Buchanan, and no man was foolish enough to put his clan in peril because of a woman.

He kent . . . he had always kent an’ he lied tae me.

And he had even pretended to care about her virtue. How could he care when he so thoughtlessly ruined her when he knew there was no chance, they could ever wed? How could he be so cruel?

Bonnie looked at Evan and suddenly he, too, was as pale as his brother, the color drained from his face when their gazes met. Good, Bonnie thought. Perhaps it meant he could still feel guilt over what he had done. She hoped it would torment him for the rest of his days.

“I dinnae understand,” Evan said, turning back to Mr. McIlroy.

“I think I was quite clear,” the man said, turning on his heel and taking a few steps towards the castle. Then, he stopped and looked at Evan over his shoulder, seemingly puzzled to find him so far away. “Well? Follow me, Laird MacGregor.”

It was a blatant disregard of etiquette, but Mr. McIlroy seemed to have no patience or desire to wait for Evan. He walked around the castle as if he owned the place, and Bonnie could only wonder what kind of clan the Buchanans were for one of their advisors to have such power over a laird.

As if dazed, Evan gave Bonnie another brief glance before he followed Mr. McIlroy into the castle. From where she stood, frozen in her spot, Bonnie couldn’t hear them, but she could see Evan gesturing wildly as he spoke to Mr. McIlroy, who remained impassive as he listened. Then, they both disappeared inside, Alaric trailing quickly after them.

And then Bonnie was all alone, with nothing to hold onto but her grief.

“Lady MacLaren?”

It was a soft, melodic voice, one which befitted a girl just at the cusp of maturity, but when Bonnie turned around, she saw a young woman close to her age who towered over her. Her hair was ink-dark, spilling down her back in straight strands, and her green eyes held a softness Bonnie had seen in few people before.

“Isabeau MacGregor,” the girl said when Bonnie didn’t respond, curtsying elegantly. Bonnie rushed to copy her, remembering her manners, but compared to her, she felt like a clumsy drunkard who had never even seen a curtsy before. “It’s a pleasure tae meet ye. Alaric has told me much about ye.”

Isabeau . . . this is their sister.

Evan had spoken of her a few times and now that Bonnie was looking at her, she certainly saw the resemblance. Even though she was far more delicate in her features than her two brothers, who upon first glance seemed like brutes, she had the same colors, the same way of carrying herself with imperial dignity.

“Miss MacGregor!” Bonnie said, the words rushing out of her mouth. “Forgive me . . . I must be tired from the journey an?—”

“Please, dinnae apologies. An’ call me Isabeau,” she said. “A friend o’ me brothers is a friend o’ mine as well.”

Bonnie smiled. “Then please, call me Bonnie.”

“Come, Bonnie,” Isabeau said, as she threaded her arm around Bonnie’s. “Let us head inside.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Me laird, such a union cannae be allowed.”

Evan sat behind his desk, fingers tapping repeatedly against its surface as he regarded his advisors, all of them standing around him in a semi-circle. Alaric was by his side, but he had taken no part in this conversation—or rather argument, Evan though would be a better term—so far, choosing instead to stay silent and observing.

The man who had spoken was one of those advisors; a Chief of his clan who had served his father before him; Padraig Malloch, a man of approximately fifty years of age, his dark hair peppered with grey. Out of all the advisors, he had always been the one to share his thoughts most openly with Evan, and Evan couldn’t help but think it was because he still viewed him as a young boy rather than a man, a laird with an entire clan in his hands. He had been an advisor to the clan as long as Evan remembered and though Evan valued his opinion more than anyone else’s in the council, the thing he admired most in him was also the thingwhich now enraged him: Padraig only considered the good of the clan, letting no other factors affect him.

Evan had expected such backlash from him, more so than from anyone else. He had no doubt Padraig had been the one to select Medea Buchanan as the woman he was to wed after careful consideration, finding Evan the best match he could politically and financially.

But Evan would not be swayed.

“Ye didnae even consult me in this!” he said, hand slamming down onto the desk in a rare show of rage against his council. Slowly, he took a deep breath and tried to control himself. Showing such anger could only complicate things. “Ye betrothed me tae a lass without me ken an’ ye expect me tae agree tae this weddin’? Ye never once asked me. Ye never once even informed me o’ yer decision afore I came here an’ found that man in me castle!”

To say the presence of the Lady Buchanan’s advisor had been a surprise would be an understatement. Evan had lost his wits in that moment, freezing, his words failing him like they never had before.

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