Beloved Beast Read online

  “You heard him, Highlander,” she said. “I was picking pockets in his territory. And doing a rather handsome job of it.”

  “If you’re good at the task, wouldn’t he be wiser to use your skills than kill you?”

  “Wiser?” she said and laughed a little. “Aye, I’ll mention that to him. He’s sure to see sense.”

  Mackay exhaled wearily. “Me apologies,” he said.

  “Apologies?” Her voice was soft.

  “For this…” He motioned toward the darkness. “I did not mean to cause you trouble.”

  She was silent for a long moment. “What did you mean, Highlander?”

  He remained silent.

  “Why did you come? Truly.”

  A fine question. He glanced to his right, perhaps looking for a way out, but there was little to see. “To make amends, mayhap.”

  “I believe I struck you.”

  So she had, clever little nymph. Truth to tell, he didn’t oft allow that to happen. He must be getting old. “Amends to God,” he corrected. “Or mayhap…” He shook his head. It hurt. “Mayhap to the world at large if there be no god.”

  She didn’t seem to wish to argue religion. “So you truly do take in lads.”

  “I’ve no wish to see them end up to be the likes of me.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Foolish enough to let themselves be bested twice in one week?”

  He snorted softly. That hurt too. “Without skills,” he said. “Good for naught but killing.”

  “Is that what you are then?”

  “’Tis what they wished me to be. ’Tis why they sent me to battle. To war. And war is killing,” he said. “Little matter how you dress it in pageantry and honor. ‘Tis naught but murder made legal. But the murderers are allowed to walk free. Nay, are honored as if they were heroes and not beasts sent to slaughter the--” His voice failed him. He pressed his eyes closed.

  “You are no beast,” she whispered.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw that she sat a little closer.

  “You know not what I’ve done, lass. I have-” he began, but she reached up and cupped his cheek with her palm. Her touch was warm and tender.

  “I know you came to save a boy you’ve not met,” she whispered.

  “’Tis only-” he began again, but she trilled a finger across his lips.

  “I know you would have saved me.”

  For a moment he was lost in her eyes, but he would not allow himself to be soothed. He shook his head.

  “Do not make me out to be somemat I am not.”

  “Very well. But I insist you do the same. You are not a beast,” she whispered and he wished to believe.

  “What am I then, lass?”

  She smiled a little. “You are a man,” she said. “The good and the bad of it. But in you…” She splayed her fingers gently across his cheek. “I think there is more good.”

  “Then ye are mistaken.”

  She was silent for a moment. “And here I was thinking the scriptures mentioned something of forgiveness.”

  “As it turns out, I am not well suited for that sort of thing. For myself or others,” he said and she laughed.

  “Something amuses ye, lass?’

  “Tell your stories to someone who didn’t see you spare Cryton. Or me, come to that.”

  He ignored the latter part of her statement. “Mayhap you forgot his minions were armed.”

  “They were not armed like you,” she said and slipping her hand from his cheek, ran it down his biceps. “No,” she said. “You are good. Better than this world deserves.”

  Their gazes met. A thousand hopeless wishes soared momentarily between them. Each was more foolish than the last, and yet he could not resist kissing her.

  Their lips met with careful warmth, pressed, held, healed.

  She drew back, breathless. “You’re rather good at that for a priest, Highlander.”

  “Postulant hopeful,” he corrected.

  She smiled, then sobered and slipped her hand across his chest and onto his throat. Her fingers seemed to burn there. “I’ve a favor to ask.”

  He nodded once. It was all he could manage. How long had it been since he’d felt a kind woman’s touch?

  “Will you take Tav to the kirk where you reside?”

  He drew a careful breath through his nostrils. “The boy on Wendy Close.”

  “Aye.”

  He lifted an arm. A chain drooped from it. “I fear I’ve no means to do so, lass.”

  She nodded stiffly, lavender eyes painfully solemn in the darkness. “If I can free you, will you care for him?”

  “If we are free why not care for him your-”

  A scrape of noise from above stopped his words.

  “Shh!” She jerked toward the sound then scooted closer, lips all but touching his ear. “Cryton will return in a minute.” He could feel her shiver. “To gloat and to…” She paused. “He likes untried girls. He’ll not kill me before he takes me.”

  Mackay sat very still, absorbing her words and trying to remain calm. But the beast in him was already rearing its vengeful head.

  “He’ll have the keys to our chains on his person. I can filch them and toss them to you.”

  “I cannot kill him, lass,” he said, but even in the darkness he could discern the welt on her temple and felt rage flare through him like flame set to pitch. “Though I ache to avenge the marks he put on…” He drew a deep breath. “I’ve made a vow.”

  “That I know,” she whispered, pressing closer still. “You’re a good man. A kind man. I do not ask you to bloody your hands. In fact, you must not. You must muffle the sound of the keys and wait. Promise me. He’s got underlings. More than you know. He’ll take me above. He likes an audience and it’s too close down here. We’ll leave this hole. But you must stay. They’ll think you still confined. Wait till the house goes quiet.”

  He pulled her hand from his lips, feeling the deep tremble in his own body. “So I should wait till you’re dead?” he asked, his voice all but lost in the darkness. “Wait till he’s taken your innocence and your life before-”

  She breathed a laugh. “I’m no innocent, Highlander. You know that as well as any. I’m a thief. A good one. In truth, I’m the best. And for that he’ll let me live.”

  “You lie. He’ll--”

  “…our guests.” Cryton’s laughing voice rang from upstairs. His footfalls thudded across the floor.

  “Lie down,” she hissed and shoved him.

  He wanted to argue, to resist, to save her. But with the sudden movement, his head spun. He slumped toward the floor.

  The trap door creaked open.

  “Do you need help down there, Cryton?”

  “Not from the likes of you, Knobby,” he said, and hanging a lantern on a peg on the nearby wall, descended to hell. “Well then…” His voice was jovial with success and stale beer. “I see you’ve waited for me, luv.”

  Swift rose to her feet, shielding her eyes against the glare of the lantern. Fear made her limbs stiff, hope made her eager. “Let me go.”

  “Of course.” He chuckled. “Of course I will, luv.”

  “Now. Before he regains his strength,” she said and jerked a nod toward the Highlander.

  Cryton’s brows rose. His perfect teeth gleamed in the lantern light. “So Snake didn’t kill him?” he asked and kicked Mackay’s heavy leg.

  She prayed he would remain still. He didn’t disappoint her. “No, he’s not dead,” she said. “But it’s not too late.”

  “Ho, I didn’t realize you were such a bloodthirsty wench.”

  “I’m not bloodthirsty. Not like him,” she said.

  “Him?” He laughed. “I think you’re lying to me, sweet Swift. He’s a man of peace. Said so hisself.”

  “And I suppose you’re daft enough to believe he won’t kill me because-”

  He struck her across the mouth. For a moment, the world went gray. She stumbled backward, pressing shaky knuckles to her bleeding lips
.

  “Does he look like a saint to you, Cryton?” she asked, forcing herself to speak past the panic. “He’s a warlord. A mercenary. He’s killed more men than you’ve robbed. Children too. And women. He told me so himself. Bragged about it.”

  “Truly?” His tone was intrigued. Thrilled even.

  “I swear it’s true. He plans to have me, to use me up and murder me.”

  “You don’t say. Why you?”

  “I stole from him.”

  “From a man of God?” He crowed with laughter. “Jesus Christ, you’re even more of a bitch than I imagined.”

  “I stole from him in his church. Shamed him. He’s obsessed. Said no other man will ever touch me.”

  “Did he now?” he asked, and kicked the Highlander again. This time he moaned. “Is that true, old man?”

  Mackay rose groggily to one elbow. “Leave her be.” His voice was little more than a growl.

  “I fear I can’t do that.” Cryton laughed. The sound was hollow and empty in the narrow space. “She’s mine,” he said, and reaching out, grabbed her by the hair.

  Pain thundered through her scalp, skittered down her neck, chasing fear before it. “Get me out of here,” she hissed, “I’ll do whatever you wish.”

  “Believe this, lass,” he snarled. “You’ll take my orders little matter what I do.”

  Swift braced herself, playing every card she held as she looked up through her lashes at him. “But how much better would it be if I were willing?” she asked and skimmed one chained hand down his chest to his crotch.

  “You want it now?”

  “Soon,” she said and squeezed. The keys were inches away, bulging in his pants’ pocket. “When we’re alone.” There was no better way to convince him to stay than to ask him to leave. That she knew.

  He pressed up against her. “I rather like the idea of him watching,” he said and reaching up, ripped her ratty gown down the front.

  She couldn’t stop the gasp of disgust that rattled from her throat as he pushed her against the wall, but covered it with a moan as she pressed her head against the stone behind her and grappled with his trousers.

  “Leave her!” the Highlander snarled, but in that instant she nipped the keys from Cryton’s pocket. It was a simple thing. A beautiful thing. For a fraction of a moment she dipped inside then cupped him intimately with her left hand as she flicked the keys toward Mackay with her right. They sailed silently through the dimness, but her chains impeded the throw. The keys soared for an instant too long, sailing past Mackay’s outstretched fingertips to clatter like wind-swept hail against the rocky floor.

  For a moment the world went absolutely silent. Cryton turned with careful precision to stare at the keys, then, “You bitch!” he snarled and hit her.

  She stumbled back, struck the wall and crumpled, but he was already reaching for her, pulling her to her feet, hitting her again.

  She saw Mackay lurch away, grappling for the keys, but his chains snatched him up short.

  “You conniving cow!” Cryton rasped and kicked her in the ribs. Pain screamed through her.

  Mackay strained toward the keys, but Swift could no longer concern herself with his escape. She scrambled along the wall. Cryton came after her. Slavering with rage, he kicked her again. She sprawled forward, found her hands and knees and lurched on.

  Cryton strode after her, cocky, enraged, and in that moment, the Highlander rose to his feet and lunged toward them.

  Cryton was still moving forward as Mackay swung his arm wide. His chains whipped up and out, encircling Cryton’s neck like a loop.

  His eyes popped wide. “Sil!” His voice was warbled but loud.

  Footsteps clattered above.

  “They’ll kill you,” Cryton rasped, grimacing a smile as he grappled to free himself. “They’ll kill you, then fook her till-”

  Mackay snapped the links tight against the other’s throat. Bones cracked. Cryton jerked spasmodically, eyes bulging, then hung still, suspended by the chains.

  Mackay let him fall just as a half dozen others dropped to the floor nearby.

  One of them fired a shot. Sparks sputtered in every direction as they struck the wall and ricocheted madly.

  Swift screamed. Mackay roared in rage, wrapped his arms in his chains and heaved.

  The restraining metal rings popped from the walls just as two men leapt toward him, knives drawn. Another bullet hissed past his ear. But in less than thirty seconds, the dungeon went silent.

  Seven bodies lay motionless on the floor.

  The Highlander staggered, starring dazedly at the carnage. “I’m a man of peace,” he whispered. Swift unlocked the last of her chains and stumbled toward him.

  “Highlander.”

  He turned toward her, eyes haunted. “Peace,” he said again. His voice was broken, his expression shattered, and she cupped his beloved face in her palm.

  “They would have tortured me, Highlander. Tortured and killed me as they’ve done to others.”

  “There are better ways…”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, sometimes. But not this time. This time your strength was necessary.”

  He shook his head, but she stilled the motion with a trembling hand. “The boys upstairs will live because of you. Tavis will live,” she said.

  He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time since Cryton’s arrival. “How many lads are there?”

  “Five at last count.”

  He winced. “I can’t care for-”

  “Six counting Tav.”

  He shook his head, seeming more himself. “I have funds to help them,” he said. “But they’ll need more than coin. They’re damaged. Broken-”

  “We’ll mend them,” she whispered.

  He lowered his eyes to hers.

  "We'll mend us," she whispered and kissed him.

  Lois Greiman's Facebook Page at: http://www.facebook.com/lois.greiman

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  Lois Greiman’s blog: http://ridingwiththetopdown.wordpress.com/

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  Discover other Lois Greiman titles:

  Short Stories:

  Unfortunate

  Beloved Beast

  Historical Romance Novels:

  An Accidental Seduction

  Seduced By Your Spell

  Under Your Spell

  Bewitching the Highlander

  Tempting the Wolf

  Taming the Barbarian

  Seducing A Princess

  Princess Masquerade

  The Princess and Her Pirate

  The Warrior Bride

  The MacGowan Betrothal

  Fraser Bride

  Highland Hawk

  Highland Enchantment

  Highland Scoundrel

  The Lady and the Knight

  Highland Wolf

  Highland Flame

  Highland Jewel

  Surrender My Heart

  My Desperado

  The Gambler

  Contemporary Romantic Comedy:

  Counterfeit Cowgirl-no reversions 3-17-11

  Her Bodyguard--no reversions 3-17-11

  From Caviar to Chaos--no reversions 3-17-11

  Mysteries:

  Unzipped

  Unplugged

  Unscrewed

  Unmanned

  One Hot Mess

  Not One Clue

  Uncorked-to be released in December 2012

  Lois Greiman was born on a cattle ranch in central North Dakota where she learned to ride and spit with the best of them. After graduating from high school, she moved to Minnesota to train and show Arabian horses. But eventually she fell in love, became an aerobics instructor and gave birth to three of her best friends.

  She sold her first novel in 1992 and has published more than thirty titles since then, including romantic comedy, historical romance, children’s stories, and her fun-loving Christina McMullen mysteries.

  A two-time Rita f
inalist, she has won such prestigious honors as Romantic Times Storyteller Of The Year, MFW’s Rising Star, RT’s Love and Laughter, the Toby Bromberg for most humorous mystery, and the LaVyrle Spencer Award. Her heroes have received K.I.S.S. recognition numerous times and her books have been seen regularly among the industries Top Picks!

  With more than two million books printed worldwide, Ms Greiman currently lives on the Minnesota tundra with her family, some of whom are human. In her spare time she likes to ride some of her more hirsute companions in high speed events such as barrel racing and long distance endurance rides.