Beauty and the Highland Beast by Lecia Cornwall

Author:Lecia Cornwall
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2016-06-21T18:56:51.752000+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“He scratched me!”

Dair glanced across the bailey at Niall Sinclair, who stood staring in horror at the crosshatch of bloody scratches on his arm.

“I thought we were friends, cat!” Niall said. “I brought ye half my oatcake.” Beelzebub stood unrepentant, growling low in his throat, his back arched, his fur standing on end. The oatcake lay in the dust, rejected.

Jock put down his hammer and strode over from the forge. “Ye canna make a deal with the devil. He’s bound to up the stakes.”

“But Ina’s oatcakes—” Niall shook his finger at the cat. “You’ll not find better anywhere, cat!”

Beelzebub grumbled something rude and dangerous, and glared at the oatcake disdainfully, his ears flat.

“Perhaps we should fetch Fia. Are ye feeling poorly, puss?” Ruari cooed. Beelzebub fixed him with an evil-tempered glare. “Haud yer wheesht, I’m only askin’.” He looked at Niall’s scratches and winced. “You’ll have to see Fia, get some salve for that.”

“Lucky lad,” Jock said.

Niall grinned. “Aye.”

Jock sighed. “She’ll smile and tell ye to sit by her, and she’ll pick up your hand in hers—”

“Such lovely wee hands she’s got,” Ruari said.

“She’ll get out that ointment o’ hers, and lay out a cloth,” Jock went on. “And she’ll lean in so close ye can smell the sweet scent of her hair.”

“Roses,” Ruari murmured.

Niall frowned. “Nay, it’s honey. She smells like honey.”

“’Tis heather,” Jock said. “She makes soap from it. She says the finest heather in all the land grows at Glen Iolair.”

Ruari squinted at him. “You asked her?”

Jock shrugged. “I hit my finger with an axe. It bled so much I was sure I was going to die. I may have said some things while she was stitching me up, certain they were my last words on this earth.”

Niall frowned. “What did ye say?”

“I canna remember exactly. The pain was terrible.”

The cat let out a low, anguished yowl, and all three warriors jumped to attention and looked at the creature. Beelzebub prowled in a circle, then flopped over onto his side.

“He’s dying,” Jock whispered.

The cat gave an exasperated sigh and shut his eyes.

Dair regarded Fia’s pet. “He wants a lass, a female cat,” he said. The three men turned to him. “I’ve seen men on long sea voyages look just like that.”

Everyone looked at the cat. Beelzebub raised his head and looked back at them.

“Well, a man does require more than oatcakes,” Ruari added, his thumbs in his belt. “There’s plenty of cats in the village—one of them would do.”

“Now, wait a minute. Perhaps he likes a particular type of lass. Not too fat, not too thin . . . ,” Jock said. He turned to look at Dair, as if he might have some expertise to offer on the matter. Dair considered how long it had been since he’d had a woman in his bed. Months. No wonder his body reacted to the sight of Fia MacLeod every time she so much as walked past him. He held his tongue. There were plenty of other lasses at Carraig Brigh—Beitris Murray was free with her favors, and Tearlag Sinclair was a sweet lass.

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