Chapter Two
Black Ben, formally known as the Laird of Ross, woke up in a tangle of blankets and straw. The pounding in his head caused vomit to rise in his throat, and he grappled for the cup beside the bed for relief. Once the burning liquid of whisky slid down his throat, his body heaved and he cast up his innards onto the floor, ignoring the loathing he had for himself being in such a state.
Ben flopped back onto the pillow, some of the straw filling prickling the back of his head. One thing he hated about being away from home was the comforts of his bed, the soft linen and feathered mattress. Nothing like the hard boards that came up to greet his back, or the bugs that fed on his person at night—enough to make a man scratch his skin off.
He rolled over and groaned as the movement churned his stomach once again. Perhaps he would partake less of the fine ale and Scottish whisky tonight and concentrate on the pleasurable flesh about the place instead. Waking up in this condition would not do.
The sun moved out from beneath some clouds, and the room lightened considerably. Ben flung his arm over his eyes, not wanting another part of his body to hurt. Everything below his neckline was hurting enough.
The sound of the inn’s door slamming ricocheted through his brain, and he made a note to speak to the publican about his rowdy guests. As the Laird of Ross, his comfort while staying here should be the owner’s priority.
How long he lay there, the smell of vomit permeating the air, Ben couldn’t say, but as night fell, and his stomach finally stopped protesting its abuse, he gathered his things, threw some chilling water onto his face, and made his way downstairs for a liquid dinner. Damn the food, he needed a drink.
Shouts of welcome abounded as he made the dining room. The smoky peat fire burning bright in the corner of the room gave the ambiance of comfort and warmth, when in reality, the lodge, situated at the foot of the Waternish peninsula, was anything but homey. A whorehouse in the middle of nowhere would be a better term.
“The usual, Laird?” the barmaid said, her teasing grin ruined only when she smiled, and the full extent of her rotten teeth appeared. But then, he didn’t have to kiss her.
“Aye, lass. Ye know me well.”
She winked and poured him a good cup of the golden liquid. “I’m more than willin’ to know ye better. Just say the word, Laird, and I’m all yours.”
Ben smiled, liking the lass even more. “I’ll hold ye to ye words, lass, so ye better mean them.”
“I do,” she said, moving away to serve another patron.
Ben looked about the room and caught sight of himself in a mirror just beside the dining room door. His shoulder-length hair was matted, dirty, and in need of a good wash. Well, perhaps tomorrow he’d go down to the shore and bathe. He could, of course, send for warm water here, but the cooling ocean was more appealing. The inn’s water was dirtier than himself.
Ben downed a few more whiskys and ate a bowl of stew for good measure. He nearly choked on his mouthful when a hand came down hard on his back, sending him forward in his chair. “Aye, I thought it was ye, Laird of Ross. What brings ye into Macleod land?”
Ben stood. “Braxton, lad. ‘Tis been a long time.”
The man laughed and then frowned. “Aye, too long. ‘Tis good to see ye. And Gwen will be happy to see ye as well. She’s outside, probably demanding all sorts of things from the publican’s wife. We don’t normally stay here, but Gwen couldn’t stand a minute more in the carriage and asked to stop for the night.”
Damn. Ben clenched his jaw, not wanting to see a happily married couple, and certainly not his best friends’ sister whom he’d liked more than he ought as a young lad. “Aye, I can see Gwen, lass doing such a thing.”
Braxton sat beside him, smiling politely to the barmaid when she asked what he’d like.
Ben frowned at the lass when she used the same beguiling tone on Braxton that she’d used on him. When Braxton ordered a lager and didn’t react to the wench’s flirtation, she slammed the drink down and walked off in a decided huff. Ben grinned.
“How are ye, Laird? You seem well, other than the bloodshot eyes or the fact that ye stink of vomit.” Braxton flicked at Ben’s tunic. “Ye have a great dollop of it still on ye clothes.” Braxton took a sip of his beer, his eyes contemplative.
“Och, I may have drunk more than I ought the previous evening, but that’s not up for discussion and neither are my clothes. What is, though,” he said, sitting back down, “is what are ye all doing traveling about? I would’ve thought Gwen would be at Castle Druiminn looking after Abby and the new bairn.”
“Aedan has gifted me and Gwen land and a larger estate not far from their own. We inspected the property a few months past and will occupy the place from tomorrow. It’ll do us nicely, I believe. Be a safe and happy place for our bairns.”
Ben finished off his drink as the thought of Aline flittered through his mind. Of how excited she’d been upon first seeing his estate. It was nice that she’d been pleased with what she’d settled for. If anything, at least he’d given her a good home with an abundance of servants.
“I’m happy for ye, Braxton, as I’m sure Gwen is, too, being so close to Aedan and Abby once again. Are the bairns with ye, then?”
“Aye, she is and yes, they are, although they’ve probably gone running down to the beach with Nurse,” he said, turning as the door opened. “And here’s Gwen now.”
Ben met Gwen’s gaze and smiled, standing to pull the lass into his arms. Holding her was like he’d stepped back through the doors of his keep. Home. “How are ye, Gwen, lass? You’re looking as pretty as Bell Heather in full bloom.”
She laughed, patting his cheek as she took in his attire, not liking what she saw if the frown between her perfectly arched brows were any indication. “Very well, looking forward to settling at our new estate and making it a home. I’m getting too old to be going here and there about the country. My poor, old bones cannot stand the jarring.”
Ben laughed, an odd sound since he’d not heard it for an age. “Old bones? I think ye’re a little too young to be talking of such things, but I have to agree, the roads about here are rough enough to break one’s back on a horse.”
Gwen gestured to the publican. “Please have someone tend the horses, and I’ve ordered some clean hot water, so if ye could have it carried up to our rooms, I’ll be thankful.” Gwen turned to him. “Are ye on your way to see Aedan and Abby? I know they’d only be too happy to see ye again. It’s been more than two years since ye visited us last.”
“A lot has happened since then, and I’m content to stay where I am at present. Mayhap I’ll travel over and see ye all, but I can’t promise ye anything.”
“Well, when you’re able, the door is always open.” Gwen’s gaze turned serious, and Ben armed himself for what was coming next. It was the same forlorn look everyone got when they wished to bring up old wounds. “I was sorry to hear about Aline. I know I didn’t get along with her very well, but I never wished her ill. How is your son? Aedan told me he survived the birth.”
Warmth threaded through Ben’s veins at the thought of his child, even if guilt soon followed due to his abandonment. He told himself it had been necessary—to get away from his holdings, the people who looked at him with pity and concern. He couldn’t stand a second more of it. Life was for the living, and there had been a time when he’d travel about for months, enjoying his homeland and the merry lasses who occupied it.
He was a selfish bastard, mayhap, unforgivable even, but he wasn’t ready to return to Castle Ross, to be a father or a laird. He needed to mourn. To eradicate the guilt that had plagued him every day since he’d handfasted with Aline.
Aye, he’d married the lass to ensure his friend Laird Macleod could marry his soulmate, but in the two years that they were married, Aline had grown more and more unhappy by the day. As much as he’d cared for her, given her his body, and lathered her in affection, he’d not loved her. Ben had hoped, in time, that the elusive emotion would blast upon him and he’d feel some such toward the lass, but it had never happened. Now, he doubted he was capable of such feelings. And it was only right, for Aline had never loved him either.
“The babe is doing well and in the safe hands of his wet nurse. He’s not wanting for anything while I’m away.”
“And how long might that be?”
Ben chose to ignore the slight censure he could hear in Gwen’s voice. Only certain battles would he choose to fight with her, and it was not often he won against Gwendolyn Macleod. “Dinna fret lass. As the Laird of Ross, I will return.” His tone brooked no argument, and Gwen seemed to understand his meaning.
She scoffed and dusted down her gown, wrapping her arm about her husband’s. “Come, we need to get the children inside so they rest before dinner.” Gwen turned before they left the bar. “Will ye join us for a meal? It looks like you could use a good feeding.”
“Another time mayhap, lass,” he said, waving his cup at the barmaid for a refill.
Gwen shook her head. “Please yourself, but the invitation is there should ye change your mind.”
“Aye.” Ben watched them go, glad the lass he had once favored was happy and settled. He took a sip of whisky, finishing off his drink and admitted that as much as he’d fancied Gwen, a woman he liked and respected above any other, he’d not felt the elusive emotion of love for her either. He’d desired her yes, but love? No.