Bethia

by Keira Montclair

  “Many thanks for allowing me to stay on Ramsay land under your protection, my laird.”

  “Donnan, you fought verra hard for our clan for years. I’ll not forget your dedication. What happened to you would definitely leave a mark on any man. If you ever decide you’d like to return to the guards, just say so. In the meantime, I hope you’ll continue to keep your eyes out for the one enemy we still have—Bearchun.”

  “Aye, I vow to watch for him. If I see him again, I’ll go after him. I have a wolf that I’ll bring along.”

  Bethia’s eyes widened as she glanced up from Wynda’s stiches—all fine—and scanned the area. Her sister Lily had a way with wolves, but it was a rare ability indeed. “A wolf?”

  “Aye, she stays in the stable sometimes. I know many fear wolves, but she’s quite docile around me. She hunts around here often. In fact, she brought three rabbits back for Wynda last eve, but she wouldn’t eat. Wika and Morda enjoyed them. I think she’s one of the reasons I’ve not been bothered more often. She protects my area.”

  Again, Donnan stared at her. She couldn’t help but wonder what her sire had meant about Donnan’s past. A man would be changed if his wife left him for another, certainly, but the word ‘forever’ indicated there was more to his story. The expression on his face told her he’d had much pain in his life.

  Her father said, “We’re planning a small festival for two days from now. Why not come to the hall and share in our supper? We’ll have many meat pies with plenty of ale and tarts for all. I think your pet should be much better by then. Do you not agree, Bethia?”

  She decided to retrieve more poultice for the dog’s wound. On her way back to her horse, she answered her sire, “Aye, she should be getting around on her own by then, especially with Donnan’s fine care.” She had not heard of any festival, but she thought it a fine idea for her sire to invite Donnan. He seemed so lonely out here…

  Her sire must have thought she was far enough away not to overhear him. “The gathering is for Bethia. We’re considering finding a husband who would suit her.”

  Bethia froze, embarrassed that her father had said such a thing in front of her. It hadn’t occurred to her that her parents would have already discussed the matter and planned the event, for two days hence. Her cheeks felt hot with shame, but what choice did she have but to forge ahead and pretend she hadn’t heard him?

  Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, she withdrew the poultice from its depths and returned to the dog. The dog allowed her to apply another thin layer to the wound, which pleased her. All the while she treated the animal, Donnan whispered sweet words to the dog, calming her. He had such a relaxing nature, she wondered if he would consider becoming her assistant.

  Then his gaze came back to hers.

  Nay, she’d never be able to function around him. If his gaze warmed her this much, what would his embrace do? Would she ever have the luxury of being held in a man’s arms?

  She cleared her throat and said, “I think I’m finished here. Donnan, you’ve done a fine job with her. I would add some more of the herbs I gave you to her food, just something to keep her a little sleepy. She’s still not ready to chase a deer yet.”

  “Whatever you say, Bethia.”

  The way he said her name made it a caress, touching down on her ear and then traveling down her shoulder, to her arm, and all the way to her fingertips. She shivered before she stepped away.

  “Would you like to see my cottage?” Donnan asked.

  She glanced at her sire, hoping he would grant his permission. Ever since Torrian had first told her about Donnan’s house, she’d imagined seeing the inside for herself. Her father nodded to her and said, “You should see some of Donnan’s creations. They are quite unusual. Torrian and I have discussed bringing some of his ideas to our keep. I’ll wait for you right here.”

  She didn’t need him to tell her why. He was conserving his strength for later, when he’d need to do more walking.

  “You have a verra different roof,” she said to Donnan, staring up at the top of the building.

  “Aye, ‘twas something I thought of with my sire’s help. He created a tighter thatch to protect from water. I used his ideas and added a few of my own. Come inside and I’ll explain it to you.” He ushered her toward his door. A few steps led up to the front door, and the area was covered by a small platform and a roof.

  “What is this?” she asked, looking over her head at the wooden beams.

  “Och, ‘tis my own idea. I hated bringing my soaked clothes inside in the drenching rain, so I built this.” He pointed to the nails embedded into the four wooden support beams. “You see, I hang my brat or drenched plaids out here to dry before I step into the front hall of my home. When the rain stops, I can hook one end of my plaid to each beam and the sun will help dry it.”

  She glanced over her head at her sire, who shrugged his shoulders at her. The small smile on his face told her that he was equally impressed by Donnan’s inventions. Where had he come up with such unique ideas?

  Once inside, Bethia stood in the middle of the large chamber and stared at all his contraptions, pivoting to take them in. She’d never seen the like… “This is so different. And you have wooden floors and walls.”

  “Aye. When I was young, my papa used to take me out to his hunting cottage and we’d talk about ways we could improve the structure. We hated how wet the floor always got inside once the snow melted. We often talked about ways of diverting the water out of the house rather than allowing it seep in through the dirt floor.”

  “You found a solution?”

  “Aye, with the help of my sire’s ideas. I covered the floor with small stones and built the timber floor above it to keep the dampness out. The logs are better at keeping the cold out than the stone, though I use both. I spent quite a bit of time smoothing the edges over so I wouldn’t trip on the uneven wood.”

  “But the floor is quite level.”

  He chortled. “I’ve had plenty of time to work on it.

  “Donnan, ‘tis amazing.” She had never seen the like, and it touched her that he and his father had worked on these inventions together. It reminded her of how she’d learned from her mother. “Does your sire live nearby?”

  “Nay.” A strange look crossed his face. “Come, I’ll show you where I sleep.”

  They stepped into the next chamber and Bethia found herself looking at the softest bed she’d ever seen. The aroma in the room was wonderful. “What is it?”

  “Heather. I make my mattresses from heather and bird feathers, though I place the feathers on the bottom so the quills stay away from me. ‘Tis quite soft.”

  Donnan stood directly behind her and she became infused with a sudden rush of heat. His scent seemed to radiate toward her. He smelled of fresh soap with a touch of pine and heather mixed in; he had to be the cleanest man she’d ever encountered. She turned to stare at him and he stepped in front of her, the heat in his gaze matching that in her body. It caused a most unusual reaction in her. Parts of her tingled that she’d not known existed, and she had the sudden urge to touch Donnan’s lips.

  Her sire’s voice caught them both off-guard, almost as if he knew something had transpired between them. “Bethia, are you ready to leave?”

  “Aye, Papa.” She hurried out of his chamber and then left through the front door. “My, but he is quite creative,” she said. “You know Mama would love to have some of his creations.

  Bethia stepped on a log and mounted her horse, only then allowing herself to look back at Donnan. “Take good care of Wynda. If you need aught, please let me know.”

  He smiled and waved, his gaze latching on to her. The people in the clan could call him daft all they wanted, she knew he was brilliant.

  But there was more to that man than what he created. There was something about how he looked at her that made him different than any other lad. And then there was the way he made her feel…

  Somehow, she knew her life was about to make an abru
pt change.

  How she prayed it would be in a good direction.

  Chapter Four

  Far out in the forest, a lone man watched Quade Ramsay and his daughter Bethia. Bearchun rubbed his scar as a grin crossed his face. He would do this right, taking his time to attack at exactly the right moment.

  He’d decided he would kidnap the old laird’s eldest daughter. He’d spirit her away and make them beg him for her return, especially that bastard Logan Ramsay. Ramsay would be on his knees begging in front of him, and he planned to enjoy every minute of the man’s torture. He’d found the perfect hiding place, and they wouldn’t dare kill him for fear they’d seal her fate. Of course, they’d never find her anyway.

  But stealing Bethia wouldn’t be enough.

  No, he owed them pain and suffering for all they’d done to him.

  Bearchun had almost made it as a Ramsay warrior when wee Jennet had discovered his tendency to faint whenever he saw blood. She’d decided a test was in order, so she’d poured red liquid all over herself on the field, pretending it was blood. Sure enough, he’d fainted dead away.

  He’d been doomed ever since. Who wanted a warrior who dropped at the sight of blood?

  Logan Ramsay was the first one who’d laughed about wee Jennet’s test. True, her sire had yelled at her and taken her off the field—he’d even made her apologize to him—but the damage had been done.

  All the while, Logan Ramsay had smirked.

  And that wasn’t all. It had been a Ramsay warrior who’d almost taken his eye out in the battle at Buchan Castle. Ramsay warriors who’d ruined his aim to make money off Simon de La Porte and mad Glenn of Buchan. They’d ruined everything.

  But they would pay. All he had to do was to hire his own warriors to help him see it finished. He’d managed to steal some of Buchans’ coin—the bastard was dead and had no need for it anymore—so he could afford to pay his fighters. He’d only need them for a short time. Once he had his revenge, he’d leave this accursed place for good and ride for London. There would be plenty of remaining coin left for him to enjoy his life.

  But first, revenge would be his.

  ***

  The night of the festivities, Bethia sat in her chamber, Sorcha fixing her hair. She’d chosen to wear the golden gown Sorcha had given her a while ago. Her mother had done a final fitting so it complemented her curves perfectly.

  Throughout it all, one thought had reverberated in Bethia’s mind: would anyone show up? She’d mentioned the festivities to her brother Gregor and cousin Gavin to see if they’d give her any hint about who would be attending, but they’d given her their usual teasing grins—in tandem—and left. The two together had been a bit devilish their entire lives, back to the days when they’d guarded the castle with their wooden swords.

  She especially wondered if Donnan would come. Though she was still embarrassed that her sire had asked him to come, she couldn’t deny she’d be pleased if he walked through the door.

  Sorcha finished and spun her around. “Bethia, you are beautiful. You have the most beautiful smile of anyone.” She pinched her cousin. “Now, will you not show me that smile?”

  “Do you think so? I wish I looked more like you.” Her eyes dropped to the floor as she said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t be humiliated tonight. “What if no one comes at all?”

  “Do not be ridiculous. Of course many will come. We cannot all be as popular as Lily, but you’ll have several suitors. You are beautiful and you are the former laird’s daughter.”

  She sighed. “I do hope you are correct. My thanks for dressing my hair…and for the dress.”

  “That gold gown looks far better on you than it would have looked on me.”

  Bethia had been hoping to ask Sorcha a question for a while now, but it was a private matter, and she rarely found her cousin alone. Mayhap this was her chance. Clearing her throat, she forged ahead. “Do you like being married, Sorcha?”

  “What? Of course.”

  “Tell me what it’s like.” She blushed, hoping her cousin would understand exactly what she’d asked. Being a person who cared for animals, she’d seen plenty of them mating and plenty of births, besides, had even heard Lily talking about the act of love. But she wanted to know more.

  “Married life?” Sorcha flounced onto the bed, staring at the rafters for a moment. “Come sit with me, and I’ll tell you.”

  Bethia sat down, hoping not to wrinkle her dress too much. She brought her gaze up to her cousin’s hesitantly, almost embarrassed by her question.

  “First, I’ll say I love Cailean more than I had thought possible.” Sorcha thought for a moment, then fell back onto the bed, lying on her back and staring up above. “Part of it is how he makes me feel.” She glanced at her cousin before lifting her gaze to the rafters again. “He likes to tease me in a way that lets me know how much he loves me. Och, he’s always touching me. I’m not so touchy unless ‘tis in the dark, but he’s touchy all day, morning, noon, and night.” She giggled. “Touchy. ‘Tis a great word for Cailean. I know he loves me because he shows me.”

  “Even when he chases you, like at Aunt Jennie’s loch?”

  “Aye, ‘tis when I know he loves me more than aught. He cannot stay away.” She turned her head to look at Bethia, her expression more serious than usual. “You’ll find someone. Do not worry.”

  “And the marital part? Do you like it as much as he does?”

  Sorcha waggled her brow at Bethia, then sat up and squeezed her elbow. “Sometimes more.”

  “You do?” The admission shocked her—never had she considered that a woman might enjoy the act as much as a man, let alone more. “More than Cailean?”

  “Aye. Sometimes he goes fast and sometimes slow. When he’s slow and spends extra time caressing me, ‘tis the way I like it best.”

  The door opened and her mother stepped inside, Jennet behind her. “What are you two chattering about?” Brenna asked.

  Jennet gave them a thoughtful look and said, “My guess is they speak of lads and love. ‘Tis the silliness that Sorcha loves most, and now that Bethia’s gathering is upon us, she’s giving her advice.”

  Sorcha bounced up and hugged Jennet. “Verra good guess, my sweet.”

  Jennet was the image of their mother, a healer down to her heart, though she was more serious than Brenna would like. Everyone in the family tried to encourage Jennet to smile more, but it was not her way. If Bethia were to guess, she’d predict Jennet would grow to be a better healer than both her mother and Aunt Jennie, for whom Jennet was named.

  Jennet replied, “I know not why you think ‘twould be difficult. You are quite predictable, and you’ve been gigglier than ever since you married Cailean.”

  Brenna ignored her youngest daughter and focused on Bethia. “Are you ready? I think ‘twould be nice if you were in the hall before everyone arrived.”

  “Aye.” She stood in front of her mother for her approval. “How do I look?” She turned around so her mother could check everything.

  Her mother kissed her forehead. “You look beautiful, Bethia. I do love that gown on you. Nice choice, Sorcha.”

  Grinning, Sorcha grabbed Bethia’s hand and said, “Come. Let’s go together. I’ll walk down the steps so you’ll not be alone.”

  Bethia smoothed her skirts and pinched her cheeks before stepping into the passageway to wait for Sorcha. They headed down together, and though Sorcha began to babble, Bethia ignored her, too nervous to listen to all she had to say. Her mother and Jennet followed them.

  As they headed down the staircase, she slowed her pace to take in the scene down below. They had indeed arrived before the guests, but her sire and uncle were near the hearth, and they both hurried to greet her. The serving lasses moved around the hall, making sure everything was in place. The door opened and Cailean came in with Gavin and Gregor, a few more lads trailing behind them, so her mother motioned for the serving girls to bring in the food and arrange it on a long table near the doorway.

>   Her mother had asked Cook to prepare food that could be eaten on the move, so the guests could mingle and talk to one another. The minstrels arrived with a couple of fiddlers, and the musicians took their spot along one side wall. A group of lasses from the cottages outside the bailey filed into the hall, their speculative gazes on Gavin and Gregor. Cailean stepped out from the small crowd and grabbed Sorcha, kissing her neck until Uncle Logan cleared his throat.

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Cailean let his wife go and gave her father an apologetic look.

  Sorcha scowled at her father, but that only caused Logan to emit a low growl at Cailean, who grabbed Sorcha by the hand and led her toward the spread of food that had just been set out on the table.

  “Hungry, wife? I sure am.”

  Bethia was happy for her cousin. It always amused her to watch the banter between Cailean and Uncle Logan. The younger man was taller and probably stronger than her uncle, but he was easily intimidated by him. Even so, she knew Uncle Logan trusted Cailean—she’d noticed that they always rode side by side when they left Ramsay land, and Cailean was often assigned to protect one of her cousins, a duty Logan wouldn’t trust to just anyone.

  She watched all of her cousins: Sorcha and Cailean, Gavin and Gregor surrounded by three lasses, and Maggie and Lily with the twins near the hearth. Molly was off with Tormod somewhere, and Torrian had gone to see Heather. A half hour passed and Bethia hadn’t seen one possible suitor. She wandered over to her sire, wiping her sweaty palms down the front of her skirts.

  The door opened and a buzz traveled through the small crowd, though Bethia had no idea why. She turned her head and caught sight of a man with a bouquet of flowers headed her way.

  Whispers abounded around her.

  “Daft Donnan.”

  “Look, ‘tis daft Donnan here for Bethia.”

  “Is he the only one?” Giggles followed, but she refused to turn her head to see who’d insulted her. More and more of the clan arrived behind him, but she could not tear her gaze from him as he strode toward her.