Page 25 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
The nearly inaudible gasp she let out made his chest swell and that only irritated him more. He stormed down the corridor to the stairs, taking them two at a time until he was back in the great hall, slamming himself into his chair.
He waved to the servants to begin bringing the trenchers out. Every bite, he swigged with a sip of ale, tasteless, though he knew from experience his cook was very talented. His mind was on the woman upstairs. The enemy. The mystery of the sword. He’d not felt he could ask her about it without first returning her brother to her. And every time he was with her his thoughts took a decidedly different route.
Where the bloody hell had Erik Cam’béal gone? Was he with Bjork? Buried along with any other casualties? Running the hills and hiding much like young John had been?
When he’d finished eating, Beiste waved Mrs. Lach to him. “I need another trencher.”
She nodded and returned swiftly with one. He filled it with food, poured another cup of wine, and stood up, heading for the stairs. If the lass wouldn’t come down, then he was going to bring her food. Couldn’t have her starve even if she insisted she wasn’t hungry.
Juggling the trencher and cup on one arm, he knocked with the other.
She opened the door a moment later, peeking out at him through the two-inch crack.
“I brought ye supper.”
The door opening widened and she stared at the fare with hunger in her eyes. He’d known she was famished, no matter if she wanted to make a martyr of herself. The lass had an appetite like no other female he’d seen and he found he liked watching her eat.
“Ye like to see me fed,” she mumbled, as if reading his thoughts.
“’Tis my duty to see that all in my charge are well-cared for.”
“Is that what I am? In your charge?”
Beiste sighed, so much for keeping temptation at bay. He just couldn’t stay away. Nudging past her to place the food and drink on the table, he said, “Ye’re my guest, as I’ve stated. Ye have free reign of the castle and grounds. And aye, as long as ye’re under my roof, ye’re in my charge, my responsibility. I will be certain ye are well. Beyond that, my father made an oath to your family. I will see that the oath is kept.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, twirling a long tendril of her hair around her finger. “I’m verra grateful for all ye’ve done. I dinna know why I am so angry. Ye’re not my enemy.”
Beiste came closer to her, unable to help touching her cheek. She was soft, warm. He jerked his fingers back, only wanting to touch her more.
“I’m not.” His throat was tight. He wanted to kiss her again and if she—
She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. Lord help him. He ground his teeth to keep from wrapping his arms around her.
“I confess, I’m lost, my laird,” she said.
Lost. Lost just like him. Mind floating in a chaos of emotion, confusion, need. “Call me Beiste.”
“Beiste…” She swallowed, the little nob in her throat rising and falling. “Thank ye.”
“Ye dinna need to thank me.”
“I do. I only hope that one day I can repay the kindness. Restore something ye’ve lost.”
His chest clenched, fingers tightened into fists as the pain of his past came to the forefront, reminding him of why he couldn’t have her. “I have lost everyone.”
“Not everyone.” Her lips hitched slightly in the corners. “There are many within these walls who love ye, who respect ye.”
Saints, but he was finding it hard to speak. No one had been able to elicit such emotion from him and he’d barely uttered more than a few words. But the words, the darkness and deepness of them. They were the very essence of his soul, the very thing he feared. Why had he felt compelled to confess to her? Och, but it hadn’t been a choice. The words had slipped out before he’d even had a chance to rein them in. This washer. All her. She had the ability to open him up wide without his realizing it. No one else before her had this effect. Why was she so different? How was she able to get inside of his head?
Beiste swallowed around the thickness of his throat and when he spoke, his words sounded gruff, muted almost. “Aye. Ye’re right.”
“But that’s not what ye meant was it?” she asked, her eyes imploring, searching his for some meaning he couldn’t grasp.
“Nay.”
“Your father and mother, they are looking down on ye now. Just as I hope mine are looking down on me.”
“Aye.” Saints, but he needed to leave. He was getting hot. His chest tight. He felt backed into a corner and, yet, it seemed the only way out, the only way to escape his pain, his demons, was throughher.
