Camden answered and directed Mattie to place the tray on a table situated below a window. Kate followed her sister and poured warm water into the basin.
“Let us ken if ye need anythin’ else,” Kate offered, with another genial smile.
They were certainly happy children, despite the loss of their mother.
And they were so eager to please that it pulled at Bethea’s heartstrings. She made a mental note to advise Keane to send travelers this way. Perhaps Camden would do the same, as well as his brother, Graeme.
“My cloak could use brushin’, and my shoes cleaned,” Bethea offered on impulse. “If ye have time. I’d pay ye, of course.”
The lasses bobbed their heads.
“Of course, we can,” Mattie assured.
Smiling broadly, they left the chamber a few minutes later, carrying not only her cloak and shoes but Camden’s boots, as well.
Another piece of her heart fell at his feet.
At this rate, he’d possess the whole organ before they reached Culloden.
Considering him, she finished drying her hands. He was certainly easy on the eyes. Head tilted, she pointed a finger at him after he shut the door. “Why, Camden Kennedy, yer as soft-hearted as I am.”
He chuckled and rolled a shoulder. “I’ll leave a generous tip. I admire a man who works hard and has taught his children to do so, as well.”
“I thought I’d ask Keane to send a bit of business their way,” she said, fingering the embroidery along the edge of the linen provided for drying.
Approval in his eyes, he bent his strong mouth into a disarming grin. “I had a similar thought.”
Plink. And there went another piece of her heart.
You, Bethea Reganne Margaret Glanville, are in big trouble.
“That smells marvelous.” Sniffing appreciatively, Camden strode to the basin to wash his hands, passing much too close to Bethea for her already heightened senses. Every nerve was strung taut as a violin string, and awareness hummed between them.
Suddenly the room felt entirely too small, and the bed entirely too big.
“Venison stew, I believe.” Bethea concentrated on setting out the food before arranging the serviettes and utensils. Anything to keep her wanton mind off him. She slipped onto a chair and unfolded her napkin.
He joined her at the table, and she couldn’t help but reflect on what a domesticated scene they presented.
As Bethea swallowed her first bite of surprisingly flavorful stew, she realized just how hungry she was. She’d had little appetite after the hasty ceremony. Had it only been this morning that she and Camden had reluctantly exchanged vows?
Bethea had come to know so much about him in such a short time. It seemed as if she’d known him for years. In truth, she was as comfortable in his presence as Keane’s, except for the electric sexual undercurrent that ebbed and flowed between them.
It was always there, lingering just beneath the surface and easily sparked to life at the slightest innocent touch, smoldering glance, or seductive timbre of his voice.
Her spoon resting in her bowl, Bethea paused and studied Camden. Neck bent, he applied himself to the meal with great exuberance. At Trentwick Castle, she’d seen just how much he’d eaten to satisfy a man of his size and build. Likely, he was half-starved, given the minimal amount he’d consumed today.
Lord, but he was a spectacular specimen of manhood. Since first meeting him, she’d thought Camden handsome, but something in her perspective of him had shifted. She viewed him through new lenses now, and she very much liked what she saw.
He was her husband.
True, the arrangement was temporary, but somehow that knowledge that they were husband and wife seemed to have awoken a feminine part of her—a womanly part, very much conscious of him as a virile man. And now, she couldn’t stop thinking about his scorching kisses or wondering what it would be like to be his wife in every way.
Her nipples hardened as heat pooled low in her belly.
Cease.
Such musings were unwise.
She and Camden couldn’t consummate the marriage, or else there’d be no annulment. Aye, they might share a mutual, carnal attraction, but neither was prepared for until death do us part.
Was she?
He glanced up from his food, his fork in midair. “What?”
Caught staring like a goose.
“Nothin’.” Revealing heat stole up her cheeks even as she shook her head. She cursed that she easily blushed. The dratted affliction made it nearly impossible to conceal her feelings.
His well-formed mouth spread into a charmer’s smile.
Bethea had always disdained calf-eyed females who wore their hearts on their sleeves, and here she was, acting the silliest of ninnies.
His gaze darkened seductively as he looked over the brim of his wine glass and took a long swallow.
She forbid her focus to gravitate to his corded neck. Was there any part of Camden Kennedy that wasn’t enticing sculpted muscle and tempting sinewy contours? How was any woman not in her dotage supposed to remain immune to that male perfection?
“Bethea?”
His timbre held arousal, and something significantly more tantalizing.
Lord, she was in trouble.
Refusing to look up or else her eyes might give her innermost thoughts away, she slathered butter on a piece of bread and affected indifference. She didn’t even like butter. “Hmm?”
“Bethea?”
Just the way her name rolled off his tongue sent tingles to unmentionable places.
The wine glass made a light clink as he set it down. “Look at me.”
She shook her head, her attention riveted on her food. “I dinna think that’s a verra good idea.”
“Why?” His voice sounded like warm, smooth honey. Rich and delicious and tempting. So, so tempting.
Good God.
Could that damned brogue sound any sexier? His words entwined around her, sensuous and intoxicating. Bethea was on the verge of throwing herself into his arms and demand he have his way with her. Or she have her way with him.
She was not answering that question.
What would she say?
Camden, just yer voice has me quivering with carnal need.
A very strong suspicion nagged that he knew precisely how he affected her.
His chair scraped unnaturally loudly as he scooted it back, but she kept her attention trained on her food. One touch, one word, and the self-restraint she barely held in check would shatter. Scatter like the thistledown in a windstorm.
When had she become so malleable?
How could she want Camden this much? For surely, that was what this feeling, this aching, burning need was. Bethea didn’t even know what exactly she wanted but instinctively knew he could provide it.
Ye didna wish to marry him, she sternly reminded herself.
Her lustful self tittered, Aye, but ye want to bed him.
This is only temporary.
Dinna let yer emotions become involved.
She closed her eyes in an attempt to ignore the hulking man towering over her and her immediate, intense response.
Too late. Too late. Too dashed late.
Still holding the bread, she seized her wine goblet and took a deep drink, wishing it was something stronger to steady her nerves.
As he gently removed the bread from her shaking fingertips, she swallowed. Just as tenderly, he drew her to her feet, one hand cradling her waist, and the other cupping her nape.
“Ye ken, I want ye, and I ken ye want me, too, leannan.”
Sweetheart.
With each husky word, he dipped his midnight dark head lower and lower.
Lord help her, she was utterly and completely lost.
His mouth took possession of Bethea’s, hot and urgent and hungry.
This was inevitable. She’d known it since Camden had stood in the chamber at The Boar and Brew. And had fought it every minute since saying, “I do.”
With a moan of surrender, she sank into Camden’s embrace and, standing on her toes, wrapped her arms around the wall of his back and returned his kisses.
She opened her mouth and met his tongue with her own. Thrusting and parring, a duel of passion and need.
He tasted of wine and Camden.
A primal, possessive growl throttling up his throat, he scooped her into his arms and, with their mouths still clinging together, carried her to the bed. He lay her down, and a second later, the mattress dipped as he stretched out beside her.
She swallowed at his bronzed, masculine beauty.
Bunching her skirts up, he brushed one big hand up her thigh to her hip. “Yer so bonnie, lass,” Camden murmured throatily between smoldering kisses along her jaw, throat, and behind her neck.
Who knew that spot could turn her bones to warm custard?
Every part of her wanted this, wanted to submit to the bliss she instinctively knew he would give her. And every part of her also shrieked a warning.
If Bethea joined with him, she’d give him more than her body. Her heart would be his, as well. She’d always known that truth for herself. And at this moment, her fear of the future and the unknown outweighed the lust coursing through her.
Her heart and mind racing, passion warring with logic, she lay perfectly still.
She couldn’t do this.
Couldn’t submit to the sensual assault.
As much as her body wanted her to, and much as she wanted to experience Camden’s touch, and to give herself to him, take him into her, she simply couldn’t.
“Camden?” She touched his jaw, trying to ignore the delicious flutters in her belly and the swelling of her aching breasts.
“Aye, lass?” He brushed a thumb across her nipple as if he knew she needed that touch.
She nearly cried out with her pleasure.
Again. Do it again.
And he did, but this time, he rolled her nipple between his fingers.
God almighty. The air escaped her lungs on a harsh woosh, and she pressed her palms to his chest and shoved. If she didn’t stop now, she was lost. “I’m sorry, but we canna do this.”
He went still at once, his hard maleness pulsing against her thigh. He blew out a breath and levered himself upright. “Aye. Yer right. Forgive me. I never intended it to go this far.” He gave a self-depreciatory chuckle as he fingered a curl. “Once I kissed ye…”
“An inferno ignited,” she murmured, voicing her thoughts about her reaction.
“For ye, too?”
She nodded and whispered, “Aye, but if we make love, we’d be married in truth.”
“Would that be so bad?” His intense blue eyes searched hers, probing, seeking.
She swallowed and averted her gaze. “I dinna ken, but I canna let a moment of lust dictate my future.”
He rose, and she felt him gazing down at her.
Did he think her a tease? A wanton?
Why did she want to curl into a ball and cry?
Because she’d almost given herself to him?
Or because she didn’t dare?
“I’m goin’ to check on the drivers,” he said softly, his burr thick with regret and remorse. “I’ll sleep in the corridor. Try to sleep, Bethea.”
Not likely. Not when confusion swirled inside her like a dervish. And not when common sense had denied her what her heart and soul desperately wanted.
A moment later, the door clicked shut.
Turning onto her side, Bethea buried her face in the pillow and burst into tears.
Chapter Thirteen
Glen Toramallan Lodge
Outside Culloden
Eighteen days later-10 April 1721
Whistling under his breath, Camden tramped up the path from Brooke Toram. In one hand, he carried a fishing pole, and in the other, five large, brown trout—tonight’s dinner.
The sometimes-fickle Highland spring had chosen benevolence today, and the sun shone gloriously in a crystal blue, cloudless sky. Two shy does eyed him curiously from beneath a lonely Scots pine, and an early graceful yellow and black butterfly flitted among the grasses.
As he neared Glen Toramallan Lodge, a husky contralto singing Adieu, Dundee carried to him from behind the house, and he grinned.
Like yon water softly gliding,
When the wind are laid to sleep
Such my life, when I confiding
Gave to her my heart to keep.
Bethea.
She liked to sing as she kneaded bread, picked flowers, or strolled the overgrown garden paths. That she couldn’t carry a tune in a handbasket made no difference to her. She unashamedly hummed or sang one ballad after another, just for the joy it brought her.
Crawley and Higgins nodded a greeting as they brushed the matching blacks. For all of their casual demeanor, they took in everything happening around them.
Two of the other men, Stevens and Leech, had assumed roles as footmen. Hulking, awkward, and unsophisticated footmen, in truth. The remaining two guards, Hetrick and Livingston, tended the grounds and patrolled the hundred-acre estate. All six took turns guarding the main house in pairs at night, as well.
In addition to hiring a cook, Mrs. Mary Newberry, who came in the morning and left after dinner, two village lasses, Alice and Brigette, had taken positions as maids. Glen Toramallen consisted of almost thirty rooms, and despite the female employees, Bethea frequently helped with the baking and cleaning.
Since arriving at Glen Toramallan, nothing suspicious had occurred, and Camden hoped they hadn’t all been lulled into a false sense of security. He watched for a letter daily from Keane, Bryston, or even Sir Walter, updating him. Thus far, no missive had arrived, which wasn’t unusual, given the irregularity of the post.
And yet, an undercurrent of unease wouldn’t let him relax and kept him alert.
In all likelihood, Montieth now called a cell his home, if he hadn’t lost his head as yet. The same could be said of Etherington. The one piece of the puzzle that continued to nag like a drunken fishwife was Sir Walter Makepeace.
He swore the man was keeping something from him.
But what? Hopefully, Bryston would find out.
Bethea’s voice rang out louder as he rounded the corner of the house.
Like yon water wildly rushing
When the north wind stirs the sea,
Such the change my heart now crushing,
Love, adier! adieu, Dundee.
A basket of wildflowers in one hand, she twirled in a circle before dropping a curtsy to a trio of black-faced sheep watching her in fascination in the adjacent meadow. Today she wore a blue and yellow gown, as cheerful as the Highland spring day. As she often did, she’d fashioned her hair into a simple chignon, with a ribbon wound around her crown and tied at the nape.
He drank her in, from the slopes of her cheeks to the graceful arch of her back. A woodland nymph. That was what she was, and she’d thoroughly enchanted him. Stolen what he hadn’t already given her of his heart.
“So, ye’ve taken to singin’ to beasties, have ye?”
Camden strolled forward, unable to check his delighted grin. With each passing day, Bethea had wiggled her way further and further into his heart, until she’d set up house there. And he couldn’t begin to imagine his life without her. If she left, nothing and no one could or would fill the empty space she’d leave.
He’d redoubled his efforts to woo her, and in the past few days, from the soft smiles and frequent glances she sent his way, his gentle offensive appeared to be working.
“Aye, indeed.” Instead of blushing in chagrin, she flashed him a mischievous smile and bobbed another curtsy. “They dinna seem to care that I dinna have a voice.” She angled her head and spoke to the sheep. “Do ye?”
One bobbed its head, and Bethea burst out laughing. “I dinna ken whether to be insulted or amused.” She caught sight of the trout. “I see yer fishin’ expedition was successful.”
“Aye.” He’d used it as an excuse to wa
lk the estate and check for himself that no one suspicious loitered nearby. In just over a week, they were to return home. Although, he still hadn’t initiated a discussion with Bethea about where, exactly, they would live.
In truth, he wouldn’t mind remaining here, but Glen Toramallan belonged to Keane. Perhaps it was the peace and happiness Camden wanted to last, this false sense of normalcy. He and Bethea had settled into a comfortable routine, very much like a typical married couple.
The single exception was he’d forbidden himself to make any advances toward her sexually. If their marriage were ever consummated, it would be because she initiated it.
Camden wouldn’t have her live with regrets for the rest of her life.
He touched her often, holding her hand on occasion, and dropping a kiss on her forehead every night before she sought her bed. At which time, he sought Brooke Toram’s frigid waters to cool his ardor. He’d never had his restraint so sorely tested before.
He well understood her reluctance, and yet he had no doubt she wanted him. He’d seen her looking at him, recognized the signs of a woman whose passions had been stirred. And yet she held herself back.
She needed more time.
That was the quandary, however. The more Camden contemplated it, the more he’d come to accept that if their marriage were annulled, it needed to be sooner rather than later. A scandal couldn’t be avoided, and the longer they waited to petition for a dissolution of the marriage, the less likely it would be granted.
Divorce remained an option, but those weren’t easily obtained, either.
If nothing else, these past days had confirmed his belief that Bethea was the woman for him, and he wanted her to remain his wife. Time was running out to convince her of that, however.
“Why the long face?” she asked, coming to stand beside him and peering upward.
“Nothin’.” He shook his head. “I was just wonderin’ why we havena had any word from Keane or Bryston. I expected a letter by now.”
“Aye.” A shadow flitted across her face, and her eyelashes fluttered downward. “I’m sure yer anxious to put this behind ye, and accept yer next mission.”
He bent his head near, drawing a startled glance from her. “Nae, I dinna think a married man ought to take such risks. I’ve decided to resign my position.”
To Marry a Highland Marauder Page 11
