Page 3 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“If ye wished to speak with him, then aye.”
She dropped to the floor at his feet, her hands covering her face, shoulders shaking.
“Are ye crying?” Beiste asked, suddenly uncomfortable. He’d never had to comfort a woman before and found himself completely at a loss. An intense need to escape made his hands and feet tingle.
She glanced up at him, tears streaming over her creamy cheeks. Green eyes glistened in the torchlight. “Ye have the disposition of a beast.”
He shrugged. “I am aptly named.”
She wiped at the tears with her wet cloak, not succeeding in soaking them up, but rather spreading the wetness more over her skin. “I am lost. We are lost.”
“I am not lost,” he said.
“Not ye, ye fool!” Rage filled her tone, so much so he took a step back before realizing what he’d done.
No one had ever spoken to him that way before, well, save for his ma and da. “I’ll caution ye to guard your tongue.” His voice was brusque, but seemed to do little to deter her temper.
Fisted hands punched at the floor. “And who are ye to caution me?”
Beiste was about to tell her he was the laird’s son. Though he had been, it was time for him to claim who he truly was. “I am Laird MacDougall.”
The lass blanched. Slowly, she pushed back up to her feet, standing at her full height, and met his gaze. “I must apologize for my…temper.”
Beiste ignored her, instead more intent to find out just who this guest was. “Who are ye and what business did ye have with my father?”
“I am Elle Cam’béal.”
The name was familiar to him and he racked his fuzzy brain trying to dredge up the reason. “Am I to know ye?”
She frowned, glancing toward the still body on the bed. Beiste looked, too. The familiar ruggedness of his father’s face was showing, his body still as full and bulky as he’d been in life. He could have been sleeping. The ravages of death had yet to set in. The deep gash in his chest was bandaged, covered with a plaid blanket. His death had been swift. Less than twenty-four hours from his return from the road. They’d yet to find out who had attacked him as the men he’d ridden with had all died in the skirmish.
“I had hoped ye might. But I can see he never mentioned my family.”
“And they are?”
“The Cam’béals. We live…not far from here at Castle Gloom.”
Beiste grunted. “The Scottish warlord. I know of him. He’s a vassal of my fath—of mine.”
“Aye.” She chewed her lip and he watched her suppress a shudder. “He was.”
“Married to a Norsewoman.”
She nodded. “My mother and her family’s lands were given to my father.” Her voice was low and soft. More tears gathering in her eyes. “By your father. He was our protector.”
“He protected all in his realm.”
She shook her head. “There was more…my father…he saved your father’s life once, in a battle. So, Laird MacDougall swore an oath to protect us for all time.”
“What are ye doing here?”
“I came because… I…” She swallowed, the column of her throat constricting. “How did he die?”
“An attack on the road.”
She gasped and took a step back. “Recently?”
“Aye. Yesterday he left the castle with his men, only to return a short time later. His men dead. A mortal wound to his chest. He died this morning.”
