Highland Promise (2 page)

It took him only a few hours to reach the gates of the Beatons’ keep. Although he was not surprised when they refused him entry, refused to even speak to him, he was disappointed. His father’s cousin had slipped onto the lands within days after his father’s death and clearly intended to stay. Sir Graham Beaton was as cruel and as clever as his father had been and, if only for the sake of the long-suffering people who lived in and around the keep, Eric would like to see the man unseated from his stolen lands, but it was clear now that that would take a fight.

As he rode away, struggling to ignore the insults flung from the walls, he decided to continue on to the MacMillans’. If he could win his battle for recognition there, he would have more men, more power, and more money with which to fight the Beaton usurper. Eric suspected that Sir Graham knew the truth and thought that, by refusing to look closely or heed any of the calls to surrender the stolen lands, he could hold on to his riches. An alliance through blood with the more favored MacMillans might be just enough to force the man to admit the truth, to concur with all he fought to deny and decry as lies. Eric became even more determined to win the favor of his mother’s kinsmen. It now meant more than the legal winning of his birthright. It could easily mean the final ousting of a long line of despicable Beaton lairds.

“Maman?”

Bethia swallowed a sudden welling of tears as she held the ornate silver quaich up to James’s mouth and let him sip at the water it held. The small, shallow drinking cup, its two handles beautifully carved with an old Celtic design, had been her sister’s wedding cup. Their father had spent a great deal of money on it and had searched long and hard for the best craftsman to make it. To hear Sorcha’s child ask for his mother as he drank from that treasured memento made Bethia’s heart clench with a sorrow she had not yet had time to deal with.

“I fear I must be your maman now, laddie,” she whispered as she ruffled his silken curls and gave him a small piece of bread to chew on. “I ken that I am nay as good as the one those bastards stole away from you, but I shall do the best I can.”

A small voice in her mind murmured that she would at least keep James alive, something his mother had almost failed to do; then she cursed herself for having such a disloyal thought. In the two days she had been creeping through the wood, inching her way toward home and safety, she had found herself suffering more and more unkind thoughts about her sister and her husband. She cursed their weakness, silently derided them for their blindness, and wondered how such a sweet child could have two such fools for his parents. Each time she thought such things, she felt overwhelmed with guilt.

“I need time to sit and look into my heart,” she said to the boy, then idly chewed on a piece of bread. “I am so angry, and ’tis odd, but most times I am angry at your poor
parents. They did naught but get murdered, which isnae their fault, not truly. Aye, they could have been more alert, more cautious, mayhap looked at those around them instead of at each other all of the time, but those arenae really faults.”

“Maman?”

“Nay, laddie, no maman.” Bethia kissed her nephew’s forehead. “She is gone. ’Tis just me and ye now. Mayhap that is why I feel so angry. Sorcha should still be here. She was young and hale, nay ready for a cold grave. I fear I can think of too many things she and her bonny husband could have done to save themselves and then I become angry that neither of them did any of those things. There is only one mon I should curse—William. Aye, and his two brutish sons. That is where I must direct all of my anger, eh?”

“Baba.”

“Baba? What is a baba?” She smiled, then sighed. “We dinnae ken much about each other, do we, James? I dinnae think that fleeing men who wish to kill you will give us much time to do so either. Mayhap when we get to my home, to Dunnbea, we may take the time to learn of each other and your grandmere will be most eager to help. Aye, and your grandpere. Ye willnae be alone, sweet James, though none of us can replace those ye have had stolen away from you. There will be loving and caring aplenty and mayhap that will ease the loss ye have suffered. ’Tis a blessing that ye are still such a young bairn for the loss and pain may nay be so deep or painful.”

Bethia knew that she was fortunate in one thing. James was a very even-tempered child who did little fussing or crying. He had his mother’s sweet nature—Sorcha’s ever flowing happiness with life and the world around her. It served Bethia well as they ran for their lives, but she was determined that Sorcha’s son would learn the value of a little wariness and caution.

She was just preparing to pack up their things and continue her long walk home when she heard a soft noise. Cursing herself for not watching more closely, she drew her dagger and stood in front of the child. Two men slipped out of the shadows of the surrounding trees. She frowned slightly, for they did not look like William’s men.

“Ye willnae take the bairn,” she said firmly.

“We dinnae want the bairn,” the taller of the two men said, briefly glancing at her dagger and then at the silver cup James still held in his tiny hands.

“Ye are naught but base thieves.”

“Weel, ’tis certain we arenae what ye were expecting, but we arenae base thieves. We are verra good ones and it looks as if luck has smiled upon us.”

Bethia knew that she ought to just let them take what they wanted, that fighting with the men would only endanger her and James, could even get them killed. What the thieves wished to steal from her, however, was all she had left of Sorcha. Her mind told her to pick up the baby and run, but her heart, still raw and aching with grief, was determined that these rough men would never touch Sorcha’s things.

“Ye willnae take what is mine without a fight, sirs,” she said coldly, praying that they were abject cowards.

“Now, lassie, are those few things really worth your life or the bairn’s?”

“Nay, but the question should be, are they really worth yours?”

The sound of voices pulled Eric from his thoughts. He tensed in his saddle and listened more carefully, finally determining the direction they came from. He had decided it was best to take the less traveled routes to his mother’s family to avoid any trouble, yet it appeared that he was about to ride into some.

Cautiously, he edged his mount toward the voices. He briefly considered dismounting and approaching on foot, but decided to remain mounted. If there was trouble ahead and it was more than he could deal with, he wanted to be able to get out of its reach as fast as possible.

When he first saw the people through the trees, he had to resist the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief. A tiny, slender, chestnut-haired woman with only a small ornate dagger stood facing two sword-wielding men. Eric stared at the bairn behind her for a full moment before he believed it was really there.

“Now, lassie, are those few things really worth your life or the bairn’s?” Eric heard the taller of the two men say.

And the little woman replied, “Nay, but the question should be, are they really worth yours?”

Brave
, Eric thought.
Foolish, but brave
. The woman’s question was enough to make the two thieves hesitate and Eric decided their indecision gave him the perfect opportunity to help the woman. As the two men assumed a fighting stance, Eric boldly rode into the small clearing. He had to smile at the way all three people gaped at him as if he was some apparition formed by the mists of the forest.

“I think the lady wishes to keep her things, sirs,” he drawled as he drew his sword. “If ye wish to keep your brutish heads upon your cowardly shoulders, I suggest ye run—now—verra fast and verra far.”

The men hesitated barely a heartbeat before stumbling back into the wood. Eric watched their flight until he could no longer see them and then turned to look at the woman. She still stared at him as if he was a ghost and he took full advantage of her openmouthed confusion to look her over carefully.

His brothers’ wives were small, delicately built women, but he suspected this one would look small even next to them. Her hair was thick and long, hanging in soft waves to her small yet shapely hips. It was a rich, deep chestnut color; the sunlight that broke through the cover of the trees decorated it with glimpses of red. Her face was small, vaguely heart shaped, with the hint of a stubborn chin, a small straight nose, and an invitingly full mouth. What grabbed and held Eric’s attention, however, was her eyes. Wide, thickly lashed, and set beneath delicately arched brows, they did not match. The left one was a rich, clear green and the right was a brilliant blue.

After swiftly examining her form from her small but tempting breasts to her tiny waist, he glanced at the baby behind her. The little boy had strikingly red curls and green eyes. Eric suddenly found himself keenly interested in whether or not the child was hers and where the father was. He looked back at the woman and smiled as she began to shake free of her shock.

Bethia had been stunned when the tall, lean knight rode in and sent the robbers fleeing for their meager lives. It took her a long time to shake aside her astonishment. She knew he was studying her and found herself carefully studying him back.

He was a beautiful man, she mused, knowing there was no other word to describe him. His long, reddish gold hair fell below his broad shoulders; it was so thick that even tying it back could not fully contain or hide it. His face was one of the most perfect she had ever seen, with its smooth, high forehead, high, wide cheekbones, long, handsomely unbroken nose, strong chin, and mouth that even she, in all of her innocence, recognized as dangerously sensuous. Deep, rich blue eyes were framed by surprisingly long brown lashes and set perfectly beneath faintly arced light brown brows.

His face was not all that was beautiful either. His body, attired handsomely in a crisp white linen shirt and a plaid she did not recognize, was tall and leanly muscular. Broad shoulders, a trim waist and hips, and long, well-shaped, muscular legs were enough to make any maid’s heart beat faster. It was not surprising that she had thought him a vision. Men like him did not simply ride out of the trees and save one’s life.

That started Bethia wondering what he was doing there, at this spot and at this opportune time. She held her dagger at the ready as her suspicions began to grow. Just because he was a pleasure for her eyes did not mean he was a good man. He could be working for William. She might not have been rescued at all—she might simply have changed one danger for another.

“Who are ye, sir?” she demanded. “I dinnae recognize your plaid or your clan badge.”

“Such a sweet thank-ye for my aid,” he murmured.

Bethia refused to let his soft reprimand over her apparent ingratitude embarrass her. There was too much at stake to be overconcerned with courtesies. “I am nay sure I have been rescued yet.”

Eric bowed slightly in the saddle “I am Sir Eric Murray of Donncoill.”

“I dinnae recognize the name or the place, so ye must be verra far afield, sir.”

“I seek out my mother’s family. And what are ye doing in the depths of the forest with naught but a bairn and a dagger?”

“A fair question, I suppose.”

“Verra fair.”

She eased her wary stance only a little, trying not to let the man’s deep, attractive voice lull her suspicions. “I am taking my nephew to his family.”

The word
nephew
made Eric a little happier than he thought it should. “With no one to aid or guard you?”

Bethia tensed again as he sheathed his sword and slowly dismounted. There was nothing threatening in his movements, but she dared not trust anyone. James’s life was at risk and that was something far too valuable to gamble with.

“There was no one I felt I could trust with his life.” She backed up, planting herself firmly between James and Eric as he took a small step toward her. “I think ye may understand that, at this moment, that also includes you, sir.”

“Ye dinnae recognize my name or my clan, lass. I cannae believe ye dinnae ken exactly who your enemies are and ’tis clear that I dinnae number amongst them.”

“Not yet.”

Eric smiled faintly. “I have told ye who I am, but ye havenae returned the kindness.”

Bethia wished the man would cease smiling at her. That beautiful smile threatened to steal away her wits, soften her wariness, and make her ready to believe he was truly
her savior. His deep voice was almost like a caress, making her feel unforgivably rude for not trusting in him immediately. He might not be one of William’s men, but she began to think he could be dangerous in many other ways.

“I am Bethia Drummond and this is my nephew, James Drummond, laird of Dunncraig.”

“Dunncraig?”

“Ye ken the place?”

“Only that it is but one of the many I must pass to get where I am going.”

“Weel, depending upon which way ye ride, ye may have already passed it.”

“I ride to the MacMillans of Bealachan.”

Bethia knew the family well, but that only eased her wariness a little. The man might not be going to them as a friend. “Why?”

“They are my mother’s kinsmen.”

“Yet ye speak as if this is the first time ye travel there.”

“It is, but the reasons for that make for a long, sometimes dark tale and I cannae say I feel inclined to relate it whilst a dagger is held to my throat.”

Even as she did so, Bethia knew it was a mistake, but she glanced down at her dagger to see where it was pointed. It angered her, even frightened her, but it did not surprise her when his long fingers wrapped around her wrist and he easily snatched the dagger from her hand. She waited tensely for his next move and frowned a little when he simply released her and turned to smile at a happily gurgling James.

“’Tis wondrous to see such unconcern. ’Tis the blessing of being a bairn.” Eric glanced at her as she edged around him until she stood next to the boy. “Children can trust so easily.”

“’Tis because they are still innocent of the evil in the world.” Bethia quickly pulled James up into her arms and glared at Eric over the child’s curls.

He straightened up and stepped closer to her, pleased when she did not step away. It showed him that, despite her angry wariness, she might yet come to trust him. The way she spoke of trusting no one with the child’s life told him that she was in danger or certainly thought she was. Eric was determined to help her and he strongly suspected that urge had a lot to do with beautifully mismatched eyes and a full mouth he already ached to taste.

“Which is why they require others to watch o’er them,” he murmured.

“That is what I am doing,” she snapped.

“And ye think ye need no help in that?”

The man stood so close it made her head swim. She was much too aware of how only James’s tiny body seperated the man from her. Her gaze was filled with his beauty. Worse, he had lowered his voice, the rich seductiveness of it making her heart beat so fast and loud she could barely think over the pounding of it. The man seemed to affect her much like a too large tankard of hearty wine.

“Mayhap I could use a wee bit,” she grudgingly agreed, “but that doesnae mean it must be from you.”

“Oh, but I think it must.” Eric reached out to ruffle the child’s curls, inwardly smiling when his fingers brushed against Bethia’s stubborn little chin and she jerked her head back as if his touch had burned her. “Where are ye headed?”

“To Dunnbea,” she replied without hesitation, then cursed herself for her lack of
guile.

“Which is but another of the places I must pass by as I ride to meet with my kinsmen.”

“Aye.”

“The MacMillans of Bealachan arenae feuding with the Drummonds of Dunnbea, are they?”

“Nay. They have long been allies.”

“Then we ride the same path.”

“I go by a verra twisted route. It may slow your pace.”

“Nay, for I too go by a verra twisted, hidden route. As ye can see, I ride alone. I seek to avoid trouble during my travel.”

She almost smiled. “Then I should leave me far behind, kind sir, for there is a great deal of trouble following me about.”

Bethia was not sure why she was being so elusive, so reluctant to accept Eric’s aid. It was true that she did not know the Murrays of Donncoill, but she suspected that was because there was not much to hear, at least not much that was bad. Tales of evil done by men traveled far and wide, but, if people behaved themselves, only their most heroic deeds were spoken of. The MacMillans were his kinsmen and they were close, long-standing allies of her own family. He certainly had the look of a MacMillan. He was going in the same direction she was. He had just saved her from what could have been a deadly confrontation, and although he had taken away her dagger, he had still made no threatening move toward her or James. Good sense demanded that she ask his protection.

“Come, lass, put aside your pride and accept an honest offer of help,” Eric said.

“’Tis nay just pride which makes me hesitate, sir,” she replied.

“Have I not just shown ye that I mean ye no harm?”

“Aye, but ’tis nay just myself that I must consider in any and all decisions I make.”

“I would ne’er hurt a bairn.”

There was a taut note in his lovely voice and Bethia almost smiled. She had just insulted him. Oddly, that eased a great many of her suspicions and doubts. Although she still felt uneasy, she began to think it was not because she did not trust him to help her, but because he was such a dangerously attractive man. She had never been as unsettled by a man as she was by him. That danger would be her own to fight or succumb to, however, and she had to think only of James now.

“Then, sir knight, I ask ye, upon your honor, to get me and the bairn safely to Dunnbea,” she finally said and inwardly shivered with a delight that almost frightened her when he smiled at her.

“A promise easily made, m’lady.”

“Easily made, mayhap, but ye may find it nay so easy to fulfill.”

“I am nay without skill with the sword I carry.”

“I am sure, but there may be many a mon trying to stop me and this lad from reaching my family. Sir, ye have just stepped into the midst of a deadly fight. On one side, at this moment, stands just me and this wee bairn—and now you. On the other is a black-hearted mon named William and his two grasping sons, Iain and Angus, and all the men they can force and pay to chase us.”

“Why?”

“Because William seeks to steal what is rightfully this child’s. He has already set
his wife in her grave, then murdered my sister and her husband. But the day before I left in the dead of night, he tried to murder me and the bairn with poison. I believe that is his preferred weapon. The mon seeks to hold Dunncraig, to claim through marriage and death what was ne’er his.”

Eric kept his expression calm, but inside he was heartily cursing. He bore little similarity to the men Bethia was fleeing, but instinct told him that she would not like his reasons for traveling to the MacMillans. He decided to wait to tell her the truth. She barely trusted him now and he wanted to prove himself to her a little more before he told her something that might well smother that newborn trust.

“Ye have found yourself a mon with some knowledge of such flights. My brother and his wife fled across France, running from men who wished to hang her for a murder she had not commited. Mayhap I can finally put to use some of the tales he told me.”

“Why is your brother nay traveling with you to meet your mother’s kinsmen?”

“Because his mother isnae mine.” He almost laughed at the confused frown that darkened her pretty face, swiftly followed by a look of intense curiousity. “Another long tale. Best we save such things for later. ’Tis a long journey ahead of us.”

“I ken it. And I suppose we had best get started.”

Bethia hesitated when Eric held out his arms for the boy; then, her heart pounding with unease, she placed James in his arms. It was the first time James had been out of her grasp since his mother had died and she fought the urge to immediately snatch him back. If she was going to trust the man with their lives, she certainly ought to be able to trust him to hold the child for a few moments.