Highland Promise (8 page)

Eric just laughed, then sat down. He cut Bethia a thick slice of bread and then a smaller one for James. As soon as he had savored a large piece slathered with thick honey, he began to cut the meat. It took only a few more bites of food before their manners were completely cast aside, much to Eric’s delight. Even little James giggled and cooed with pleasure as he stuffed his little face like some greedy piglet.

Finally, knowing she could not eat another bite no matter how much she was tempted, Bethia slumped back in her chair. She looked down at James and was torn between laughter and dismay. Sticky with honey, the child was covered with various pieces of the food he had eaten.

“What a messy wee piggy ye are,” Bethia said as she helped James to a drink of goat’s milk.

“Aye, he will need some scrubbing.” Eric refilled their tankards with wine. “There is a bowl and ewer of water o’er by the window. It looks as if most of the food is on his clothes.”

Bethia nodded and started to strip the child. Despite her care, some of the food on his clothes got onto the squirming, giggling boy. Playfully scolding him, she took him to the water and washed him clean, then readied him for bed. After setting him in his little box set near the big bed, she stared down at her nephew for a moment. Soon they would be back at Dunnbea and he would no longer be only hers.

“Ye willnae lose him, lass,” Eric said as he stepped up beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders.

“Soon he will be in my parents’ care,” she said, leaning against him and enjoying the comfort his strength gave her.

“Aye, but he will still be yours. He already calls you mama.”

“I ken it.” She grimaced. “When he does I feel so pleased. Then I feel verra guilty o’er that pleasure. I shouldnae feel happy, nay when it means that he has forgotten my sister already, forgotten his true mother.”

“He isnae old enough to have many strong memories of her. And if he was often in the care of a nursemaid, there could be even fewer memories.”

Bethia winced and returned to the table to pick up her tankard. “He had a nursemaid. I talked to her some about the child and, God forgive me, gave little thought to how she would feel when I fled with the boy.”

“If she cared for the lad at all, she was probably pleased that someone had the wit and strength to try to save him.”

“Aye, she had the care of him a lot and ’twas clear to see that she loved him dearly.” Bethia smiled shyly at Eric when he picked up his tankard of wine, then half sat, half sprawled on the bed as he took a drink. “I was a little surprised to learn just how often James was left in the woman’s care, but then Sorcha was still rather newly wed and blindly besotted with Robert, unable to leave his side for verra long. At least Sorcha chose weel. Once this trouble has ended I shall see if the woman wishes to come to Dunnbea to help care for the boy.”

“That would be kind.” Eric patted the bed beside him. “Come to bed, lass.”

Although Bethia moved to sit beside him, she said, “We are still dressed.”

“At least we dinnae have our boots on.”

“How verra weel mannered we are,” she drawled, then tensed slightly as he set his tankard down on a table by the bed and began to unlace her gown. “’Tis verra bright in here.”

“Aye, and I am glad of it. Last night I was heartily cursing the darkness,” he said, taking her wine away and setting it down next to his so that he could more easily divest her of her gown.

“Weel, I was verra pleased with it.”

“Ah, my own, ye are bonny.”

He kissed her, and for a while, she forgot how much light there was in the room. Eric kept her so bemused with his kisses she offered no resistance as he skillfully stripped them both of their clothes. Then, suddenly, she was sprawled on her back on the bed with him crouched over her. There was such warmth in his eyes as he looked her over that she felt almost beautiful even while she blushed with embarrassment.

In an attempt to distract herself from the unease she felt over being seen naked, her lack of womanly curves all too plain to see, Bethia looked at Eric. She had seen him naked before when she had nursed him through his fever, but she knew she would never tire of looking at him. His warm smooth skin stretched taut over hard muscles was a pure delight to see. Then her gaze rested upon his groin and her eyes widened. She had never seen him aroused. Bethia was glad that she had not had a chance to see him in that state last night or she would have lost all interest in becoming his lover. She was amazed that he had managed to get that inside of her without causing her a great deal more pain than he had.

Seeing the direction of her wide-eyed stare, Eric grinned and laid down in her arms. “It isnae that horrible a sight, I pray.”

“Nay, I was just thinking that it was for the best I didnae see it last night. I cannae believe it fits,” she whispered.

“’Tis nay any bigger than any other mon’s and, aye, it fits, beautifully so.” He took her hand and placed it on his manhood, closing his eyes in pleasure as she shyly stroked him. “Are ye sore, my heart?”

“Nay. Should I be?”

“Some women claim that the pain lingers for a while. I dinnae ken much about it, in truth, for I have never lain with a virgin.”

“Never? Truly? Was that some sort of rule?”

“Aye, that it was. I have weel and truly broken it now, havenae I?”

“I am sorry,” she murmured, then wondered why she was apologizing.

Eric laughed softly and kissed her on the tip of her small nose. “And so ye should be for being such a sweet temptation, more than any sane mon can bear.” He gently removed her tormenting little hand. “Enough of that.”

“I was doing something wrong?” Bethia was a little disappointed, for she had enjoyed touching him.

“Nay, ye were doing verra weel indeed. Too weel.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he kissed her. Bethia decided that he did that a lot, but it was such a pleasant way to end a discussion, such a sweet diversion, she decided not to complain. This was how she wished to spend the night, soaked in the pleasure only Eric could give her. It was the last chance she had to fully love the man and she did not intend to waste a minute of it.

Bethia allowed her greed for Eric—her need to try to sate herself on the feel and taste of him—to push aside all hints of modesty and embarrassment. She matched him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, although he skillfully eluded her attempts to stroke him as intimately as he did her. Soon she was so eager, so hungry for him, she tried to force him into her embrace. This time when he laughed, she did as well, for she knew that he shared her frenzy, that his amusement was born of the joy they made each other feel.

When he finally joined their bodies, Bethia cried out in pure delight. Her passion was quickly dimmed when he did not move, however. She looked up at him, shivering a little beneath the hot intensity of his gaze.

“Eric?” She slid her hands down his back to caress his buttocks, but although he groaned and trembled, he still did not move.

“Ye are mine, Bethia,” he said, suddenly desperate to try to make her understand that this was more than simple love games, much more than a night of fevered lovemaking followed by a polite farewell.

“Weel, aye, since I am splayed out beneath ye like a filleted haddock, I think I might be,” she murmured.

Eric laughed, despite how tightly knotted with unassuaged hunger he was. “Such a loving way ye have to flatter a mon,” he drawled; then he grew serious again. “Nay, I dinnae mean just now, while I lie buried in your sweet body. I mean that ye are mine, all mine. Say it, Bethia. I need to hear ye say it.”

Although Bethia was not sure what he meant, or what his expressed need for such words might imply, she decided to give him what he asked for. He could not know it, but it was the simple truth. She was his, would always be his no matter what happened to either of them in the years ahead. His mark was upon her, and even if she tried, it would never be removed. He held her heart and her happiness in his elegant hands, but she could never tell him so. By admitting that she was his, however, she could at least hint at that sad truth. It might ease some of the sorrow of unspoken words in the cold, lonely years ahead of her.

“Aye, Eric,” she replied quietly, reaching up to stroke the fine lines of his face. “I am yours.”

It was not all he wanted, but it was enough for now. It gave them a spoken bond. There was a look of confusion in her passion-dark eyes, but he could not yet say what was needed to ease that. Now was not the time to speak of marriage. He had too much left unfinished. Bethia would also think he asked only out of a sense of honor, only
because he had taken her chastity. He needed time to make her believe that it was so much more than that which drove him to want to tie her firmly to his side.

Eric began to move, a slow, tantalizing rhythm that soon had Bethia feverish with need again. She was his, irrevocably his, and she wondered how he could not know it, could not feel it in her every touch or hear it in her every cry. As her release swept over her with blinding strength, she felt Eric move only twice more before he joined her in that state of bliss. Even through passion’s haze, she heard him call out, but it was not her name upon his lips. He cried out the word
mine
as he sprawled in her arms. Bethia wondered dazedly if Eric too suffered from some doubts. She held him close, lazily kissing his shoulders as she fought to recover her strength and wits. If Eric had any doubts about how firmly she felt bound to him, by the end of the night, when they were finally too exhausted from their lovemaking to even wriggle their toes, all of his doubts would have faded.

Cold steel caressing his throat was an unwelcome way to greet the day, Eric decided as he slowly opened his eyes. He tightened his arm ever so slightly around a still sleeping Bethia. They had been found and it was all his fault. Eric felt weak with guilt and twisted with frustration and rage. It seemed too cruel of fate to make his last thought in life be the realization that he had so utterly failed Bethia and James.

“Cousin, ye had best open your wee eyes, and be it the blue or the green one, cast an eye at this laddie ere I skewer him,” said the tall young man holding the sword to Eric’s throat.

Cousin
. Eric did not think the word had ever sounded so sweet. Bethia stirred against him and he kept his grip on her firm. She was naked and he did not wish her to start awake, unthinkingly displaying herself to the four men crowding their room.

He gently closed his hand around her shoulder and squeezed as he studied the men watching him with intense dislike. The man standing by the bed still holding the sword point far too close to him for comfort had to be Wallace. With his green eyes and dark red hair there was some family resemblance. The other three men were older and dark in coloring. Eric had the sinking feeling that two of them were Peter and Bowen. This was not the first impression he had wanted to make upon the men who had been so important to Bethia throughout her lonely childhood.

“Eric?” Bethia murmured as she started to stretch, then realized that he was holding her firmly to the bed.

“Caution, lass. We have company.”

Bethia was briefly terrified as she opened her eyes and looked around the room. As she recognized Wallace, Peter, Bowen, and a man called Thomas, her terror rapidly changed to intense embarrassment. She could not believe they had found her and in such a compromising position. Then she saw the sword pointed at Eric and, with a soft curse, pushed it aside.

“What are ye doing, Wallace?” she snapped. “There is nay need to threaten the mon.”

“The mon is lying naked in a bed with you, cousin,” Wallace replied angrily but he lowered his sword. “Are ye going to tell me ye are wed to him?”

“Why dinnae ye all step outside and let us get dressed and then we can talk about this.”

“Ye didnae answer me, cousin. Are ye wed to this pretty rogue?”

“I dinnae mean to have this talk whilst I am still undressed.”

“Five minutes,” growled the largest of the men, his dark brown eyes cold as they settled on Eric.

“Bowen,” Bethia protested.

“Five minutes. We will be outside the door and Thomas will be set below the window.”

“We best hurry,” Bethia said the moment the door closed behind the four men. “When Bowen says five minutes, ’twill most like be four.”

She cursed softly to herself as she and Eric got dressed. Bethia wanted to talk to Eric before the others returned but Bowen was not going to give her the time. It was sad that her last night with Eric was ending so badly, but she put aside her disappointment.
She was going to have to be very careful in what she said next or she and Eric could find themselves in a great deal of trouble.

“Eric, I am so sorry,” she began, then winced as the door slammed open so loudly it startled James and he began to cry. “Oh, have a care,” she snapped. “Ye woke the bairn, Bowen.”

She picked up James and rubbed his back to soothe him, then turned and looked at the men. Her clansmen encircled a remarkably calm Eric. Bethia stared at them all in some surprise because even Wallace, the shortest of the three men, was a bit taller and broader than Eric. Bowen and Peter had always seemed especially large to her, but she began to think Eric had been right to say that, next to most men, he was not particularly big. Then, seeing the anger darkening her clansmen’s faces, she began to fear for Eric’s safety.

“Ye dinnae need to crowd him like that or glare at him so,” she said as she hurried over to Eric’s side.

“Nay? Who is the bairn?” demanded Wallace.

“James, Sorcha’s son. What are ye doing here anyway?”

“That is nay important. I want to ken why ye were in bed with this bonny laddie!”

“Weel, I think it is important to ken how ye found us.”

Eric almost smiled at the way the three men cursed and turned their glares on Bethia. He could sympathize. She was doing a good job of diverting them, but he knew it could not last for long. The big, dark man called Bowen looked stubborn enough to outlast her.

“We were here for the market day,” replied Bowen. “We stopped in the inn to break our fast ere we returned to Dunnbea. One of the maids was gossiping about some guests they had. She was most taken with the bonny laddie but complained that he didnae seem to notice her. It confused the lass since the woman he had with him was such a skinny brown lass with the oddest eyes. How could such a fine mon want such a curveless lass whose eyes didnae match? she asked. Weel, that caught my interest. So I called the maid o’er and had a wee chat with her.”

“Fine,” Bethia said between clenched teeth. “If ye are intending to repeat the whole of it, do ye think ye could reconsider and leave out the insults to me?”

“I am nay sure, lass. It might make it hard to ken how we decided to come have a wee peek.”

After glaring at Wallace, who was grinning widely, she returned her cross look to Bowen. “Ye could have at least knocked.”

“Nay. Ye would have slipped away if we had given ye any warning. I taught ye too weel.” Bowen scowled at Eric. “Weel, at least in most things. It seems I should have told ye a wee bit more about nay falling for the sweet words of pretty laddies.”

“Sir Eric Murray has kept me and James alive. I think that is the most important thing.” Seeing that she had their full attention, she told them about her suspicions and how she had had to flee. “So since ye are now here to help me and the bairn get safely to Dunnbea, I think we can just allow Sir Eric to be on his way, dinnae ye?”

“Nay,” said Wallace, and then he frowned at Eric. “Murray? Ye have the look of a MacMillan. Aye, and there is a fine lot of seducers in that clan.”

“He is Sir Eric Murray,” Bethia said, but the men refused to allow her to distract their attention from Eric again.

Eric smiled faintly as all three men looked at him. He found it interesting that Wallace thought he was a MacMillan. That gave him hope that the meeting he would soon have with his mother’s kinsmen might not go as badly as he had feared. It had to go better than this one, he mused with an inner sigh.

He knew what would happen now. They were going to demand he do what was right by Bethia. This was not how he had wanted it to happen, but there would be no stopping it. Somehow he was going to have to make Bethia understand that, although her kinsmen were forcing them before a priest, he had no objection to being there.

“Are ye wed, lad?” demanded Bowen.

“Nay,” replied Eric.

“Betrothed?”

“Nay.”

“Weel, ye are now. Ye are betrothed to the lass and ye will be wedding her verra soon.”

“Nay!” Bethia protested, chilled by the thought of Eric being forced to marry her.

“Dinnae be a fool, child. Ye are a weelborn lass and ye were a virgin.”

“Nay, I wasnae.” She scowled when Bowen gave her a mildly disgusted look and then looked at Eric, one dark brow raised in silent query.

“Aye, she was,” Eric quietly answered the unspoken question.

“Eric!” Bethia could not understand why he was being so complacent.

“I cannae let ye blacken your name, can I?”

Once marriage was demanded and Eric had agreed, Bethia could say nothing to get the men to change their minds and just let Eric go. Bethia soon found herself mostly ignored as their things were packed and they all left the inn. Worse, her clansmen very neatly kept her separated from Eric so that she could not even talk to him. It was going to be hard to find a way to free him if she was not even allowed to speak to him.

The ride to Dunnbea did little to lift her spirits. She and James were set behind Wallace while Bowen and Peter flanked Eric. All anyone would allow her to talk about was the trouble with William. Bethia found some comfort in the fact that her clansmen believed her talk of murder and threats without hesitation. She wished they would be so accommodating when she tried to talk them out of dragging Eric before a priest.

As they rode through the gates of Dunnbea, Bethia found her thoughts and concerns pulled away from Eric for the first time since their rude awakening at the inn. Now she would confront her parents. She was suddenly uneasy, not certain that they would believe James was in danger. As she was hurried off to her room so that she could clean herself and James up before seeing her parents, she also dreaded what they would have to say about Eric.

“What a bonny wee laddie,” her maid Grizel said as the young woman hurried into Bethia’s bedchamber and gazed at James, who lay on the bed playing with his toes.

As she tugged off her gown and began to wash up, Bethia eyed her maid. Grizel and she had known each other for nearly ten years. They were almost friends. Bethia suspected that, if her parents and Sorcha had not kept the woman rushing around from dawn to late at night, she and Grizel could actually have been very good friends. There simply had not been time to really get close. The slightly plump, brown-haired woman was only a few years older than her and had but recently married Peter. If Peter loved her, Grizel had to be the good, kindhearted woman she appeared to be, and Bethia wondered
if there might be some help to be had there.

“Oh, nay. Nay, I willnae do it,” Grizel said, looking at Bethia over James curls with wary brown eyes as she hugged the baby.

“I havenae asked ye anything yet,” said Bethia.

“I ken it, but my Peter warned me. He said that if ye start staring at me, steady and hard, and there is a considering look on your face, I should just say nay and keep saying it. He said ye are at your most dangerous when ye are considering something.”

Bethia wondered if she had time before meeting with her parents to go and smack Peter. “Where have they put Sir Eric Murray?”

“Weel, they took him in to meet with your parents for a wee bit and then put him up in the east tower.”

“And locked him in, nay doubt.”

“Aye. Oh, lass, that is one fine looking mon.”

“He is, but his bonny looks arenae going to get him out of that tower, are they?”

Grizel put James down and hurried over to help Bethia into a clean gown. “Nay, and neither are ye.”

“Grizel, they are forcing that mon to marry me.”

“And so he should after bedding ye and dinnae try to deny that he did, for my Peter told me how they found ye.”

“Ye did a lot of talking ere ye rushed in here.”

“Peter can talk verra fast and he told me most of it as I ran here. That mon had to ken that this could happen when he seduced you.” Once Bethia was dressed, Grizel moved to clean up James. “Ye are a lady and were a virgin. Honor demands he wed ye.”

“Mayhap I dinnae want a husband who was forced by honor to wed me.”

“Considering what the two of ye were doing at that inn, I would say there is a wee bit more atween ye than honor. Dinnae look so sad, Bethia. He isnae yelling, isnae angry at all. Fact is, he was most pleasant. Went to the tower chatting most amiably with Bowen and Wallace. He didnae look at all like a mon being forced to do something he doesnae want to do.”

Eric’s friendly complacency had troubled Bethia a little. The few times she had looked his way as they had ridden to Dunnbea, he had seemed relaxed, had even smiled at her. She was not sure how a man forced to marry would act, but she did not think Eric was behaving quite as one would expect. She wished she could talk to him, find out what he was thinking. Bethia had the sinking feeling she was not going to have a chance to say one word with him until they were already securely married.

“Weel, since ye dinnae seem ready to help me—”

“Not in this. Ye have been seduced. The mon must do right and wed ye. Come, Bethia, he is a fine-looking mon and ye have had no other offered for a husband. If all had been as it should have with you, a husband would have been chosen for you. Take this one, for believe me, ye are probably getting a far better one than your parents would have chosen. He is fair, young, and ye obviously like how he warms your bed. I dinnae believe your parents would have e’er willingly wed ye off to any mon.”

“Why?” Bethia asked, thinking the same, but unable to understand.

“Ye do all their work for them. Ye are verra useful. I am nay the only one who thinks they planned to keep ye here to see to all their needs and run this keep. Here is your chance to get away from them, to have a husband and some bairns of your own.
Take it, lass.”

“A sensible lass would, wouldnae she? A sensible lass wouldnae be hoping the mon would have asked her to be his wife because he cared for her and accept honor and vows said as good enough. And a sensible lass wouldnae worry about wedding a mon that the lasses chase after like hounds after a hare.” She smiled faintly when Grizel laughed. “Weel, it doesnae matter, truly, for ’tis clear that neither I nor Eric will be given much choice.”

“Nay, lass. None. Shall we take this laddie down to meet your parents?”

“Aye, ’tis best to get such confrontations o’er with as fast as possible.”

Bethia fought to grasp some confidence and calm as she walked to the great hall, where her parents waited, but the moment she stepped inside and saw them, she lost what little she had gained. Grizel marched over to her parents to hand Lady Drummond her grandson and Bethia reluctantly followed.

She stood unnoticed as her father and mother studied James as if he was some strange object, then handed the baby right back to Grizel. Bethia inwardly frowned, for there had been little sign of delight over the child and only one or two cool remarks about how James looked a little like Sorcha. It appeared, for the moment, that poor little James was not going to be smothered in appreciation just because he was part of the much adored Sorcha. The thought that the child might find himself treated as she and Wallace had been chilled Bethia to the bone, but she was not sure what she could do about it.