Highland Promise (22 page)

Bethia sighed and nodded, smoothing her hand up and down his warm back. “But they accept that ye have the right to hold Dubhlinn and claim yourself as their laird?”

“They all ken the tale about me and that the king granted me the lands, naming me the rightful heir.” He propped himself up on his elbows, smiled at her, and kissed the tip of her nose. “And a woman named Leona, who was my mother’s maid, is telling all who will listen that I am no bastard. It seems that she saw the Beaton mark upon my shoulder when I was born and had seen the same upon my father”

“And she ne’er said anything? If she had come forward at the start, ye would have been spared all of this.”

“Aye, and I might have been raised by my father.” Eric nodded when Bethia gasped softly in dismay. “She went to try to find me when she realized they had cast me out to die; then she held silent when she kenned that the Murrays had found me. She felt I would be safer there, and though she didnae say so directly, I believe she felt it better if I wasnae tainted by the darkness which enshrouded Dubhlinn. She even thought to go to the king on my behalf.” He told her how Sir Graham dealt with those he considered traitors; then he kissed her in a vain attempt to soothe the horror caused by his tale.

“She was right. ’Tis best that ye were raised here. Mayhap she hoped ye would become just the mon ye are, the laird Dubhlinn needs so badly.”

He had to kiss her for that; then he sighed as he readied himself to tell her the bad news. “William was there.”

Fear coursed through Bethia’s veins and she briefly clung to Eric. It took longer than she liked, but Bethia soon softened the sharp edge of her fear. Bethia hated that fear and loathed William for filling her heart with it.

“He got away though, didnae he?” she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

“I fear so. I saw him fleeing into the keep, knew he was headed to the bolt-hole we had used to sneak into the keep, but Sir Graham was between me and William. While I was caught facing one enemy, the other fled to safety.”

“So that is where he has been hiding whilst he was in this area. But what would Sir Graham have wanted with him?”

“William had him somewhat convinced that he might be able to dull the swords of
the Drummonds. Sir Graham also said that the way the mon tormented us was reason enough to ally himself with him, to give him a safe place to hide as he did so.”

“We have us some verra strange enemies. At least ’tis only mine who is left.”

“William is my enemy too, Bethia. He tries to hurt what is mine. For that he will die. Aye, I badly wish to kill the mon myself, but I will accept his death however it comes, e’en if ’tis just that he falls off his horse and breaks his filthy neck.”

Although they were dark words of vengence and death, Bethia was moved by the feeling behind them. There was a chance that Eric was beginning to truly care for her. It would help if they did not spend a lot of their time looking over their shoulders for a killer, but she was pleased with this hint of caring. She would find the time to make it more.

“Do we go to Dubhlinn then?” she asked.

“Ye dinnae change a subject with much subtlety, my own.”

She grinned briefly, then grew serious. “There is nay much to say about William Drummond. He wants me dead, mayhap still wants James dead as weel, and I suspect he wouldnae mind seeing ye dead too. We hunt for him and he hunts for us. One day we kill him. There really isnae any more to say, and in truth, e’en thinking about him gives me a chill.”

“Then, aye, we will be going to Dubhlinn,” Eric replied and returned her grin. “There is a lot of work to be done, my heart.”

“I could see that when ye rode around the lands ere we came here.”

“The same neglect and barrenness is inside the keep as weel.”

“’Tis sad. If Sir Graham hadnae been quite so greedy, he could have had a good keep, fine lands, and plenty of coin. Instead, he filled his hands with coin faster than the poor land and people could produce it.”

“I will take a few days to gather what I can to send there. ’Twill make our life a wee bit easier.”

She kissed him. “Dinnae fret. I dinnae need much.”

“Weel, your mon does.”

“Oh, aye? What?”

Eric leapt out of bed and lightly slapped her on the backside. “I need some food.”

“Actually, I am feeling rather hungry myself.” Bethia got up and started to dress. “Do we take James with us right away?”

“Aye,” he said as he donned his plaid. “He will be as safe at Dubhlinn as he is here—especially since Bowen and Peter will have closed up that bolt-hole by the time we get there. Once we are sure the mon is dead, we can open it again. But for now, ’tis just a way for him to get to you or James.”

“Bowen and Peter were a lot of help during the battle, were they?” she asked as she tidied her hair, then glanced over her shoulder and caught Eric grinning at her.

“They will soon have those knighthoods your father never gave them,” he said and laughed when Bethia hurried over to him and kissed him. “Mayhap I should have teased ye with it, waited to see what ye would have tried to do to get me to do as ye wanted.”

“Ah, too late.” She started out of the room. “Now ye will ne’er ken just how good I am at groveling.” As Eric caught up with her and linked his arm through hers, she said, “I suppose I had best begin to pack.”

“Aye, and ye might think of what ye would want to be comfortable at Dubhlinn.”

“Shouldnae that wait until we get there and I can see what is lacking?”

“Bethia, believe me when I tell ye that everything is lacking.”

“Oh, dear. Then the little hunt for herbs Maldie and I plan to take on the morrow will be even more important.”

She started to count to ten and never even reached five before he protested—loudly.

“Ye would think we were going on a raid,” Maldie said, frowning at the half-dozen armed men riding with her, Bethia, and Grizel.

Bethia smiled and shook her head. “Eric is verra protective.”

“And so he should be. I but like to complain. S’truth, I doubt these men wish to be riding along to watch us collect medicinal plants. Howbeit, William still lurks out there thirsting for your blood.”

“Ah, aye, but do ye think ye could be a wee bit less, er, colorful when ye speak of the mon.” Bethia grinned briefly at a giggling Grizel.

“Oh. Pardon. Balfour is e’er telling me to watch what I say. I fear I became caught firm in the drama of it all.” Maldie sighed with pleasure as she looked around. “’Tis the coming of spring as weel, I think. It makes me giddy, a wee bit foolish.”

“I can understand that,” Bethia said and Grizel nodded her agreement. “And it would explain why Gisele was actually thinking of coming with us e’en though I think the horses would have all shied from the thought of carrying her.”

Maldie laughed with them and then nodded. “Poor Gisele is so round with this child.” She gave Bethia a quick looking over. “Ye will definitely have to tell Eric soon,” she said quietly so that the men riding with them could not overhear. “I am so surprised that he hasnae noticed any changes in you yet—or e’en suddenly realized that ye havenae had to deny him because of your courses.”

“I have decided to tell him when we get to Dubhlinn, to our new home.”

“Aye, ’twould be a fitting place.”

“He must be ready to take us there soon. It took me a week to convince him to let me do this and I truly thought we would have left by now. There are days when I think he is in danger of emptying Donncoill because he has sent so much to Dubhlinn.”

“Weel, that sad place needs a lot of supplies, coin, and verra hard work.”

“I dread to think of what I will find inside the place. The outside looked so barren and meager, even accounting for the time of the year, and Eric says the inside is just as bad.”

“True. The Beatons bled it dry of coin and of people with petty raids and fighting.” Maldie pointed to the line of trees a few yards ahead of them. “Just beyond those trees is one of the best places to find the plants we seek. ’Tis still early in the year but there will be something for us. Ye shall have enough herbs and potions to cure a city ere we are through.”

Bethia nodded and nudged her horse to a slightly faster gait in order to keep up with Maldie. As they rode through the trees, Bethia felt a chill of fear creep down her spine. She looked at the women with her, then at the strong-armed men guarding them, and relaxed a little. There was no need to worry. This was no village where the crowds could hide William. William could not get near her unless she did something foolish and she had absolutely no intention of putting herself at risk in any way. She briefly touched her gently rounded stomach. There was entirely too much at stake now.

After they dismounted and waited patiently for the men to thoroughly check the area, Bethia and the other women collected their small sacks and began hunting for the plants they wanted. Over the past weeks Bethia and Grizel had learned a lot from Maldie. Rarely did they need to question whether a certain plant was really the one they wanted
or if it was ready to be harvested.

Just as Bethia was testing the readiness of some moss, she tensed. A quick glance around showed her that she was not far from the others, still well within their view and almost within their reach. Deciding she was letting her fear rule her too closely, she looked back down at the moss and watched in growing horror as a large, filthy hand ripped it from the ground and held it out to her.

“William,” she whispered, knowing that it was going to take her a moment to get the fear she felt to ease its grip on her enough to allow her to scream. “I am nay alone.”

“Aye, I can see that. Two wee bitches and a half-dozen Murray cowards.”

“Run, William. Ye might still save yourself.”

“Run to where? I am an outlaw. Your husband made me one. No place is safe for me. Even that fool Sir Graham failed me. I might have hidden there for a long while, but once I got myself settled comfortably, the idiot went and got himself killed.”

“Just like you, he tried to take what wasnae his.” Bethia’s voice grew stronger as she struggled to calm herself. Even if no one heard her talking to the man or saw her acting strangely, she would soon be able to let out a scream they would hear all the way back to Donncoill.

“It should have been mine!”

Her eyes widened, for William had screamed those words. Even as she realized that he no longer cared about being caught, she could hear the men from Donncoill yelling and running toward her. Then she saw the dagger in William’s hand and knew they would not be in time. She screamed and mindlessly placed her hands over her belly as he threw the knife. The knife buried itself in her right shoulder, causing a pain strong enough to bring her to her knees. William started to draw his sword and she stumbled back. Then a Murray man stepped between her and William and, with one fierce sweep of his huge sword, took William’s head from his shoulders.

“Dinnae look,” Maldie said as she knelt by Bethia and, placing a hand on her cheek, turned her face toward her.

“He is dead,” Bethia said, swaying slightly. Then she felt Grizel at her back, steadying her.

“Aye. Get a sack, Robbie, and take the head back to Donncoill so that Eric might see it.”

“That is verra bloodthirsty of you.”

Maldie smiled, then studied how the knife was placed in Bethia’s shoulder. “Ye have been hunting that mon for a verra long time. Eric needs to ken that he is dead. He will be sorely disappointed that he didnae kill the bastard himself.”

“I am always disappointing Eric.”

“If ye werenae in so much pain that ye probably wouldnae feel it, I would slap ye for being such a fool.”

Bethia started to laugh, then gasped from the pain it caused. “Is it a bad wound?”

“Weel, he missed your heart, which must have sore annoyed him.”

“I think William was tired of hunting me. He didnae e’en try to hide or run away. All he wanted was to kill me.”

“He was mad,” Maldie said. “There is nay understanding the mad ones. I am going to take the knife out now, Bethia.”

“That is really going to hurt, isnae it?”

“Aye, I fear it is. If God is kind, ye will faint as the pain first strikes ye.”

“Will this make me lose the bairn?” Bethia asked, finally voicing the fear that had gripped her from the moment William had thrown the dagger.

“Not if I can do anything about it.”

“Dinnae tell Eric.”

Maldie did not answer. She just grasped the knife and yanked it out. Bethia opened her mouth to scream, but blackness overtook her before she had even finished taking a breath. Grizel swayed slightly as Bethia sagged in her hold, but she kept a firm grip on the other woman as Maldie worked to stop the bleeding.

“Eric is going to be displeased,” Robbie said as he returned to stand by the women.

“Displeased, is it?” Maldie muttered as she tied a bandage around Bethia’s wound. “Somehow I dinnae think that is a strong enough word. Let us get her back to Donncoill so that I can tend this wound as it must be tended.”

Eric stared at the group returning to Donncoill and felt his blood run cold. Bethia’s horse was riderless. He then saw her with Robbie, the limpness of her body terrifying him. William had won, he thought, and he wanted to scream out his rage. Balfour reached his side and clasped him on the shoulder. The grasp was both a comforting gesture and a silent command to hold steady until he knew exactly what had happened. When Robbie rode up in front of him and tossed a bloody sack at his feet, Eric finally started to pull free of the tight grip of fear.

“The bastard is dead,” Robbie said. “His head is in the bag. Here is the wee lass. She isnae dead.”

Eric moved quickly to grab hold of Bethia as Robbie handed her down to him. Eric’s terror eased a little when he saw that Bethia’s wound was high on her shoulder, although it appeared as if she had lost a lot of blood. She looked too pale and far too delicate to endure such an injury.

“How did he get to her?” Balfour demanded.

“We looked o’er the place, but saw no sign of the fool. Then he just walked up to her and tried to kill her.” Robbie shook his head. “He didnae try to hide or run away. I reached him ere he could e’en draw his sword to finish her.”

“Eric,” Maldie said as she reached his side, a pale Grizel right behind her. “We need to get Bethia to her room. The wound needs to be better cleaned and then closed.”

“Eric?” Bethia called, opening her eyes and staring at him through a haze of pain. “I am sorry.”

“So ye should be,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded as he carried her into the keep. “Ye shouldnae have impaled yourself upon the fool’s dagger.” He found some comfort in the way she smiled fleetingly.

“That is the funny thing. I looked at it whilst it was still stuck in me and realized that he had stuck me with my own dagger.”

“Ah, the one ye lost on the day we killed his sons.”

“Aye. Do ye ken what else was funny?”

“Ye found a lot of humor in nearly getting killed, did ye?”

“Weel, nay, for it does hurt a bit. Nay, ’tis just that I saw his hand first. His fingernails were black.”

“Oh, God, lass,” he muttered, laughing shakily.

Bethia fainted again as Eric set her down on the bed. As Maldie collected what she would need, he helped Grizel strip Bethia. Although Maldie nudged him out of the way when she began to clean and stitch Bethia’s wound, Eric stayed close by. The moment Maldie touched her needle to Bethia’s skin, he was needed to hold his wife steady. Each cry of pain she uttered, each pass of the needle through her soft skin, cut at his heart as sharply as the dagger had cut through her flesh.

When the stitching was done, Eric stepped away to allow the two women to clean Bethia up and slip on her night rail. He was not surprised to find his hands shaking as he helped himself to a large tankard of wine. Just as Maldie finished forcing a potion down Bethia’s throat, he dragged a chair over to the side of the bed, sat down, and took Bethia’s hand in his. He barely managed a thank-you for Grizel as she left.

“She looks verra pale,” he said, glancing at Maldie who stood on the other side of the bed.

“’Tis but the pain and the loss of blood.”

“Will she die?” he whispered.

“Nay, Eric, for if she dies that means that bastard has won and ye really dinnae think I would allow that, do ye?”

Eric found a small thread of strength in Maldie’s words. He sent her off to get some food and rest. Slowly, as he sat there and watched Bethia sleep, he began to get some control over the fear he felt.

He loved her. Eric was astonished that it had taken something like this to make him see it. The knowledge made everything so clear. It explained the sense of rightness and possession he had felt from the start. It explained why he had found her parents’ treatment of her a source of such anger. It also explained his need to know that she approved of his taking of Dubhlinn and the hunger he felt to know what was in her heart. He had always been searching for some sign that she felt more than passion for him and now he knew why. His heart had demanded it.

Now all he needed was the chance to tell her. He smiled at his own cowardliness, for he knew that, if she recovered, he would hesitate. Even though he knew his own heart now, he wanted to know how she felt before he bared his soul.

By dawn, Bethia was caught firmly in the throes of a high fever. Eric helped Maldie bathe Bethia with cool water, force potions down her throat, and hold her still when her thrashing threatened to open her wound. The battle to try to keep her alive demanded all his strength and attention. He calmed her fears, kissed away her tears as she relived some pain in her fevered mind, and talked to her when she slipped into too deep a sleep. After one grueling hour of listening to the hurt child Bethia had been, Eric looked up to find Maldie crying.

“Her parents are cruel bastards, arenae they?” Maldie said as she rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her gown.

“Aye,” Eric agreed. “They made Bethia Sorcha’s shadow.”

“I think it was e’en worse than that. She was set in Sorcha’s shadow, then constantly told she wasnae even worthy enough to be there. And Sorcha—her womb sister, the one person in this world who should have been close to her—should have stood by her, but did naught to change it.”

“Nay.” Eric sighed. “I think Bethia begins to see that for herself now. She is stronger, more sure of herself, but I think the scars will be a verra long time in healing.”

“Aye, but having a bonny laddie like you ever eager to share her bed should help.” Maldie smiled faintly. “Ye Murray men do have a softness for poor wounded sparrows, dinnae ye?”

“Mayhap we just have an eye keen enough to see what will be there when the bandages are removed.”

Maldie stepped over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I am going to curl up with my big brown mon for a wee rest. Be sure to fetch me if there is any change. And”—she pointed at the tray of food Grizel had brought in earlier—“eat something before I am forced to be nursing ye as weel.”

It was on the afternoon of the fourth day that Eric heard Bethia curse. He bent forward, prepared to deal with another fevered dream, but the eyes looking up at him were clear. His hand unsteady, he rested his palm on her forehead and found it cool. He took several deep breaths to calm the emotion swelling up inside of him, afraid that he was close to bursting into tears. Not only would that embarrass him, but he had the feeling it would seriously alarm Bethia.

“Why am I so wet?” Bethia asked, wincing as she realized her throat was so dry it hurt to speak.

Eric poured her some of the sweet mead Maldie had left by the bed and helped her drink it. “Ye have been fevered for four days, lass.”

“Oh.” She slumped against the pillows he hastily plumped up behind her, the simple act of drinking making her feel weak. “At least that explains why, when I first woke up, I didnae understand why my shoulder hurt. Ah, weel, William is dead and that ordeal is o’er.”