Highland Promise (19 page)

After stripping down to her shift, Bethia poured herself some wine and crawled into bed. As she drank the wine, she struggled to calm her temper, for she did not wish to inflict it upon Eric. When he entered the room, she sipped her wine and watched him get ready for bed. She could not really blame Catriona for wanting him, she thought and sighed.

“Dazzled, were ye?” Eric said as he stood by the side of the bed, took her goblet, finished the wine, and set it down.

“I admit I was beginning to lose my temper,” Bethia said as he slipped into bed beside her.

“I dinnae blame you. She is verra hard to bear.” He kissed the hollow by her ear, smiled against her skin when she shivered, and quickly removed her shift. “I was thinking earlier that I must have been particularly blind when I kenned her, for she is a thoroughly unlikable woman and, despite her slyness and seductiveness, not particularly smart. I dinnae ken what I saw in her.”

“Oh, I can think of two rather large things that might have caught your lecherous eye.”

“Ah, those.” Eric curved his hands around Bethia’s small, firm breasts and teased the nipples to hardness with his thumbs. “Fools that we men are, we often think that bigger is better.” He lathed the taut nipples with his tongue. “But bigger is definitely not sweeter.”

Bethia sighed with pleasure and threaded her fingers in his thick hair as he lathed and suckled at her breasts until she squirmed with eagerness beneath him. He kissed his way down her body, then down one leg and up the other. When he touched his lips to the curls between her thighs, she briefly tensed, still uneasy about such intimacy. With but
one stroke of his tongue he quelled her shyness. She tightened her fingers in his hair and opened to his kiss. He toyed with her, keeping her balanced precariously on the very edge of release until she thought she would scream.

When he moved to sit next to her and picked her up, Bethia quickly eluded his attempt to set her astride him. She sprawled on her stomach between his legs and took him in her mouth. For as long as she could, she tormented him as he had tormented her, struggling to prolong the pleasure. He finally growled her name, grabbed her under her arms, and set her upon him. It did not really surprise her when they both shuddered with the strength of their releases but a moment later, for they had each pushed the other too close to the edge to linger there very long.

After washing them both clean and chuckling mercilessly at Bethia’s blushes, Eric sprawled on his back and pulled her into his arms. “Ye do ken how to exhaust your mon, my heart.”

She sleepily kissed his shoulder. “Odd, that was one of Gisele’s suggestions for keeping ye out of Catriona’s reach. She said I should give ye a wee bit more loving.” She smiled when he laughed softly.

“Lord, Bethia, if ye gave me any more, I wouldnae be able to walk.”

“I told her that,” she said and exchanged a grin with him. One thing she was sure of was the passion they shared.

“And what did Gisele say?”

“She said, ‘That would work.’” Bethia laughed with him.

“Ah, I am sorry about that fool wench, Bethia.”

“’Tisnae your fault she is here.”

“Not completely, but I obviously misjudged her character. When I was playing the rogue at court, I was arrogant enough to think I kenned which lasses to avoid, to ken which could be trouble later. Ye see, I always kenned that I would marry and end my roaming and I didnae want the past to intrude into my life with my bride. Weel, it has done that with a vengeance, hasnae it?”

The way he spoke of his dalliances—as if they were part of some game played by a young, lusty, free man—eased her lingering concerns about his past. It was unpleasant to think of him lying like this with any other woman, but Bethia knew those women had never meant anything. He had used them as they had undoubtedly used him.

“I am sure she will go away when she realizes the game she plays willnae gain her anything.”

“Weel, I fear I am nay that patient,” Eric said. “After all, I made it clear that I didnae play those games any longer while we were still at court. She is either too vain or too stupid to believe it. The laws of hospitality willnae let me toss her out into the mud simply because she annoys everyone.” He smiled when Bethia giggled. “Howbeit, they dinnae say that I must politely tolerate any and all of her nonsense. I have tried to be both polite and kind. Now I see that she will only use both to try to gain her own ends. So now I will be neither.”

“If ye think that is best,” Bethia murmured, but inside she grimaced. Catriona would not tolerate that behavior very long before she made a scene.

“What have ye told him about me?”

Two days
, Bethia mused as she turned to face an angry Catriona. She was rather
surprised that the woman had taken so long to react to Eric’s change of attitude. Glancing at Catriona’s mud-splattered gown, Bethia decided that the woman must be truly furious to have hunted her down outside, for Catriona was usually ridiculously precise in her appearance. As Bethia folded her hands in front of her, she hoped Catriona would not enact too long a scene. She had finally found the time to come out and carefully study Maldie’s herb garden so that she could make one like it at Dubhlinn. She certainly did not want what time she had grasped stolen away because Catriona was having a tantrum.

“I am nay sure I understand what ye are talking about,” Bethia said.

“Eric has changed toward me, grown cold, almost rude, and I ken that it is your fault,” Catriona snapped.

“Mayhap he but grew weary of being embarrassed by your unwanted attentions.”

“Unwanted? I will have ye ken that—”

“I ken it all,” Bethia cut her off. She was surprised at how calm yet nasty she sounded. She decided she had just had her fill of the woman and could no longer even feign politeness. “Ye and Eric were great lovers, he adored you, the passion ye shared was sublime, and ye were almost betrothed. Weel, I dinnae believe ye were anywhere near becoming betrothed. When Eric wed me, he told me that no woman had held his heart or his name. I prefer to believe him.”

“Oh, aye, ye would. Ye are far too naive to understand that men will say anything to get what they want.”

“Obviously, so will women. Where is your pride, Catriona? He doesnae want you.”

As the two women argued, they were unaware of Eric’s approach. Still out of sight, he paused and stared at his former lover and his new wife. He had been a fool not to realize that Catriona would blame Bethia for the cold rebuffs he had been giving her. A part of him wanted to step in before Catriona said something that would hurt Bethia, but he hesitated. Instinct told him that there was more behind Bethia’s dislike of Catriona than jealousy and he wondered if, somewhere in the midst of this confrontation, he might discover what that was.

“He did. And why shouldnae he?”

“Because he is now married?” Bethia said in a tone of voice that implied she was trying to explain something to an idiot.

“To you. Look at yourself. Ye are skinny, your hair is an odd sort of not brown but not red, and your eyes dinnae match.”

“I have good teeth,” Bethia murmured.

Catriona ignored her. “What mon would turn from me to hold on to to you?”

“Mayhap I am verra good in bed. Light, easy to move about into the right position. Men like that, I think.”

“Now ye are just being silly. Nay, ye have turned Eric against me by telling him what happened that day in the market.”

“Ah, the day ye led me straight to a mon who wished to kill me.”

“Now, the mon didnae say he wanted to kill you. He just wanted to find ye alone.”

“Please at least try to be honest,” Bethia said, her voice heavy with disdain. “Ye didnae care what he had planned for me.”

“Nay, I didnae,” Catriona snarled. “He should have cut your cursed throat. Ye insulted me.” Catriona’s last word ended on a high, strangled note as Eric suddenly walked up to stand between her and Bethia.

Eric stared at the two women, then fixed his gaze upon a pale, terrifed Catriona. Now he knew why Bethia had such strong feelings about Catriona. As soon as the woman was gone, he intended to find out just why his wife had not told him the truth about that day in the market.

“Ye were willing to see my wife dead because your vanity was pinched?” he asked, fury and disbelief roughening his voice.

“Nay, Eric m’love”—she reached out to grasp him by the arm—“ye misunderstood.”

He yanked free of her grasp. “Nay, I think not. I want ye gone from Donncoill—now!”

“But, Eric, ’tis late in the day,” Catriona began.

“Now.” He spared a sharp glance for Bethia. “I want to talk to ye later. The women’s solar. One hour.”

Bethia did not believe he could get Catriona out of Donncoill that fast, but after an inadequately short study of Maldie’s garden, she made her way to the ladies’ solar. She was surprised when she had to wend her way around maids rushing to throw Catriona out. When Eric said
now
, he obviously meant it, she thought. Knowing that he had learned the whole ugly truth about Catriona, and that she probably would never have to see the woman again, made Bethia feel that she could easily endure the scold Eric so plainly intended to give her.

It was less than an hour later when Eric strode into the solar and slammed the door shut behind him. Bethia sat very straight in her chair and watched him pace in front of her. She hoped he was trying to walk off some of his anger before he talked to her. When he suddenly stopped and faced her, she jumped slightly, startled by his abrupt movement.

“Why didnae ye tell me that she tried to hand ye over to William?” he demanded.

“I had no proof,” she replied. “All I had was the fact that she and Elizabeth acted strangely friendly even though I had insulted them. They took me to the market fair, and then they deserted me. When William grabbed me, he mentioned something about two women helping him find me. Aye, it certainly seemed to have been Catriona and Elizabeth, but it could have been someone else.”

“Ye still should have told me.”

“Mayhap, but we were leaving. I assumed that would be the last we e’er saw of her and, I saw no benefit in stirring up a lot of trouble.” She eyed him warily when he leaned toward her, placing his hands on the arms of her chair and caging her there. “I just wanted to leave that cursed place and felt that, if accusations were made, we might not be able to leave.”

“Fair enough, but ye must ne’er keep such a secret from me again.”

Bethia nodded, but inwardly cursed herself for a liar. She was keeping two secrets from him at that very moment: secrets about the child she carried and how much she loved him. She hoped that, when she told him those secrets, he would understand why she had kept them. Realizing he was just standing there staring at her, she met his gaze and frowned.

He reached out and tugged her bottom lip down with his fingers. “Ye are right,” he murmured. “Ye do have good teeth.”

“Oh, no,” Bethia groaned, suddenly realizing how long he had stood there listening to her and Catriona and what he must have heard.

“There was something else ye said that has me wondering.” He started to grin when she softly cursed. “Light, ye said, and easy to move about.”

Easily recognizing the gleam in his eyes, Bethia ducked under his arms and slipped out of the chair. She laughed as she ran to the door and escaped the solar, for she could hear him right behind her. She decided she would not make him chase her for too long before she let him catch her. The herb garden could wait for another day.

It was hard, but Bethia tried not to yell at Eric. She did not think she was asking for much. All she wanted to do was go to the village with Maldie. They had agreed to taking half-a-dozen armed men with them. As she watched Eric pace their bedchamber, she wondered if he was being too protective or if she was foolishly ignoring just how big a threat William was.

“Ye dinnae need anything,” Eric said as he stopped pacing to frown at her. “And if ye do, we could send a maid to get it.”

“There will be six armed men with us. Do ye really believe one mad fool could get to me through them, or past Maldie, or e’en all the villagers?”

Eric cursed and dragged his hands through his hair. He did not know what was the matter with him. William seemed to have taken on mythic proportions in his mind. It was foolish, but the thought of Bethia being outside of his sight made him gnash his teeth. She was right. There would be a lot of people watching her. If William could get to her through her guards, her companions, and a crowd of curious villagers, then the man could reach her anywhere, even within the walls of Donncoill.

“I dinnae like it,” he grumbled, “but ye may as weel go.”

Bethia moved to hug him, then stood on her tiptoes to brush a kiss over his mouth. “Thank ye.”

“Oh, aye, ye can be so verra sweet now since ye have gotten what ye wanted,” he drawled.

“Aye,” she admitted and laughed when he gave her a very fierce and very false scowl. “Eric, dinnae think I disregard the threat William poses. I have seen him, have listened to his ravings, and have twice nearly been killed by him.”

“And yet ye wish to go outside these walls?”

“I do, but nay alone or unprotected. ’Tis spring,” she said and grimaced at the meagerness of that explanation. “At Dunnbea, before William cursed our lives, I would be more outside the walls than in at this time of the year. I ken I cannae go prancing through the fields or go hunting, but I want to.”

“Ye want to prance through the fields?” he asked, grinning widely.

“Eric, pay attention,” she said firmly, but she had to fight the strong urge to grin back. “’Tis just that I feel as if he has made me his captive. Donncoill is a wonderful place and the people who live here are all that is kind, but no matter how beautiful a place is or how gracious the captors, ’tis still a prison if ye arenae allowed to leave it. Weel, I am nay so foolish as to flee to the outside and dare the mon to catch me, but must I allow him to keep me chained with fear?”

“Nay, my heart.” He cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her. “Go, but watch your back.”

Bethia hurried away before he could change his mind. It was just a short ride over to the village that claimed the protection of Donncoill and the village was small, if prosperous. While she might well buy something, the true purpose of the trip was so that she could try to see why the village was prosperous. She also wanted to see what the village had that caused Maldie and Gisele to say that it served almost all of their needs. Eric would do his best to bring the village back to life at Dubhlinn, but he might not understand what would make it an attractive, useful place for a woman.

There was also the simple matter that she needed to get out from behind the walls of Donncoill. She suspected her need to ride out, no matter how short the journey, was increased because she was not allowed to do so freely. When she saw Bowen holding her horse, she beamed at him. She had seen little of him lately.

“So he is letting ye go,” Bowen said as he tossed her into the saddle.

“Aye. Are ye going to be one of my
six
armed guards?” she asked, as she straightened out her skirts.

“I am. I am nay sure I like this since we have seen a few signs that the bastard is lurking about, but I think ye need it. A wee trot to the village and a look around may ease the dangerous restlessness ye are suffering.”

Bethia nodded. “I do feel, weel, confined. I am nay used to it.”

“I ken it. Dinnae worry. The bastard cannae hide from us forever,” he said as he mounted and led them out through the gates of Donncoill.

“I understand just how ye feel, Bethia,” Maldie said as she rode up beside her. “I was let to run free as I grew. When I first settled here, became the laird’s wife, and thus required a guard of some sort every time I went anywhere, I found it all verra hard to bear. The big change was that I went from a place where no one cared where I went or what I did to a place where people care enough about me to worry about me and want to keep me safe.”

It was almost too difficult for Bethia to simply nod. She felt weak, stunned by the revelation that had just swept over her. Maldie probably did not even know the importance of what she had just said, but Bethia saw it all too clearly. From the time she had learned how to walk, she had been allowed to run free, to go and do whatever she wanted to. Only Bowen and Peter, and then Wallace, had tried to maintain some control over her. She had seen it as freedom, but now realized that it was pure neglect. Her parents had simply not cared what happened to her. Bowen and Peter had raised her and Wallace, kept them safe, cared for them. Sorcha had barely been able to step out into the bailey without someone watching over her. Bethia had sometimes thought that was sad, but now she saw that her parents were cherishing Sorcha with their protection.

And that really hurts
, Bethia thought as she fought a sudden urge to weep. She had always thought that her parents’ criticism was simply how they showed their displeasure with her. In truth, they had shown their disdain from the first day they had allowed her to toddle out into the bailey without even the spit boy to watch her. She had spent her whole life struggling to please them, but she had never had a chance—not from the day shortly after her birth when they had looked at her, deemed her imperfect, and set her aside. Sorcha had been the cherished one and poor, thin Bethia with her mismatched eyes had been cast aside. Bethia began to think that her parents’ constant criticism, their continued efforts to denigrate her, had been done because she had kept reasserting herself into their lives, had refused in her own childish way to be forgotten.

Despite her strenuous efforts not to, Bethia found herself wondering what it all said about Sorcha. The answer came with a heartbreaking swiftness. Sorcha had cared for her as little as her parents had. Sorcha—her twin, the sister of the womb, the one person in the whole world who should have loved her without question—had not given Bethia much more thought than she had her maid. The kind words and smiles Bethia had seen as sisterly affection, she now recognized as the well-learned courtesies of a well-trained lady. While she had sat elegantly gowned in her soft bedchamber waiting for the maid to
style her hair, Sorcha had looked down on her dirty, ragged sister and felt nothing at all. The only time in her whole pampered life that Sorcha had reached out to Bethia was when she had needed someone to help her son.

“Are ye all right, Bethia?” Maldie asked.

How did you tell someone that, no, you were not all right, that you had just discovered how cleverly you had lied to yourself for your whole life? How did you say that you wanted to rage and scream because you had been such a fool? How did you say that you had just realized that your parents and your beautiful sister had not been ignoring or insulting you your whole life because they were selfish and unkind, but because they just did not want you around? Bethia suspected that, if she said all that, poor Maldie would think she had gone mad.

“I am fine,” Bethia said, not surprised to hear how rough her voice was.

“Are ye sure ye arenae going to be ill?”

“Nay. I just had an unpleasant thought.”

“Is that all? To make yourself look so gray, it must have been verra unpleasant indeed.” Maldie reached across their horses to pat Bethia’s hands, which were clenched, white knuckled, upon her reins. “We could go back and do this another day.”

Bethia took a deep, steadying breath and shook her head. “Nay, I will be fine. I was just thinking of a spring day much like this one and suddenly recalled something that stole all the warmth from my blood. One of those dark memories ye try so hard to bury, but it has the ill manners to creep up on you now and again. ’Tis gone again and I will recover from it.”

“One of those I dinnae really want to ask about?”

“Especially not now when I have banished the wee demon.”

“I pray it wasnae some kind of omen.”

“Nay, I dinnae believe so.”

Maldie was still watching Bethia closely by the time they reached the village. But soon Bethia was able to lose herself in the study of the houses and shops. It was not hard to see that it was a very prosperous little town, even if she had not had the dismal village at Dubhlinn to compare it to. Bethia followed Maldie as she went from shop to shop, stopped to speak to several of the villagers, and even admired a new baby. All the while, six armed men stomped along behind them. Bethia thought they must make a very odd sight.

As Maldie talked to the woman selling ale, Bethia looked for Bowen. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw him scowling down at a selection of ribbons a woman held out for him. She moved to his side.

“If ye are thinking of getting one for your wife, Bowen,” she said quietly, “I think she would like the red ones.”

“Are ye sure? My Moira wears verra plain colors,” he muttered, cautiously reaching out to touch the red ribbon with one callused finger.

“I dinnae think she has much choice. A bright cloth is a great deal more dear than, oh, a brown one, and she spins a lot of your cloth herself. Now, with her black hair and dark eyes, I think the red ribbon would look verra fine. Aye, or some red thread, for then she could put some colorful stitching on her clothes.”

“The lass has the right of it, sir,” said the woman. “I have the thread if ye wish to see it.”

“Ye will have to bring it to me here.” He briefly frowned at Bethia. “I must keep an eye on this lass.”

“Weel, this lass is going to go back to Maldie,” Bethia said as the woman hurried away to get the thread. “Is she still talking to the alewife? I cannae see her o’er the ones standing around the place.”

“Aye, lass, although I would say that she is more arguing with the woman than talking.”

“Maldie likes a good argument.”

Bethia could almost feel Bowen watching her as she nudged her way through the people gathering to listen to Maldie and the alewife argue over the price of a barrel of ale. Bethia gasped as she felt a sudden stinging pain on her arm. She cursed and put her hand over the pain, felt a dampness there, and pulled her hand away to stare in horror at the blood staining her fingers. When she lifted her gaze to search the crowd, she stared straight into the glittering eyes of William Drummond.

Then there was an ear-ringing bellow. A moment later, Bowen was there, his sword drawn. He wrapped his free arm around Bethia’s waist and held her tightly against his side as the men from Donncoill and several people from the crowd chased William. Bethia tried to follow William’s flight through the village, but quickly lost sight of him.

“I dinnae think they will catch him,” she said as Bowen carried her to a bench in front of the alewife’s cottage and set her down. She winced when Maldie tore her sleeve so that she could look at the wound. “’Tis but a scratch.”

“Aye, ’tis,” Maldie said as she bathed it with water the alewife fetched for her. Then she bandaged it with a strip torn from her own shift. “Does the fool mean to kill ye with little pinpricks like this?”

“Nay. I think he wanted me to turn around so that he could stick his dagger in a more deadly place.” When one of the other Donncoill men returned to stand by her and Maldie, Bethia looked at Bowen. “Go and get your gift for Moira.”

“Oh? Look what happened the last time I took my eyes off you,” he grumbled, glaring at her bandaged arm.

“He willnae be back. He makes his attempt, then flees when the cry goes out and he kens that he has been seen.”

“Dinnae move,” Bowen ordered and hurried back to the woman selling the ribbons.

“Does he think I mean to rush off and dance in the streets?” Bethia muttered, casting a quick frown at the guard standing by Maldie, for she was sure she had heard the man laugh. “Weel, I shall surely be locked in the tower now.”

“What do ye mean?” Maldie asked as she sat down next to Bethia and gave her a tankard of ale.

“The last time that madmon nearly killed me, Eric said he had an urge to lock me in a tower and surround it with armed men.”

“That is rather sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“He wants to protect you, that is all. And I truly doubt he would do it.”

“Mayhap not, but I dinnae think I will be let out of Donncoill again until William is dead.” She sighed with resignation when Maldie offered her no reassurances.

“I should lock ye in a high tower and surround it with armed men,” Eric yelled as
he lifted Bethia off her horse and set her down in front of him.

Bethia glanced at Maldie and cocked one eyebrow. Maldie clapped a hand over her mouth and hurried across the crowded bailey to the keep. Eric put his arm around Bethia and held her close to his side as Bowen told him what had happened.

“Do ye think it is worth going out to try to hunt him down?” Eric asked Bowen.

“Probably not,” Bowen replied. “But we may as weel. I should hate to nay do so and discover later that he was seen near at hand or that some trail was left that we could have followed.”

Eric nodded and, seeing that Grizel had arrived, gently nudged Bethia toward the maid. “Go and rest, Bethia.” He sighed and shook his head. “I dinnae think I will be gone verra long. I hold little hope of finding anything, but feel I must at least look.”

There was nothing Bethia could say to give him hope. She did not have any within her to share with him. Giving him a brief smile of encouragement and a quick kiss on the cheek, she followed Grizel into the keep, entering just as Nigel and Balfour hurried out to join Eric. With so many men looking for William, it was very hard to understand how he kept escaping. Maybe
he
was the witch, she thought.