Torrian checked the condition of the chambers before moving them inside. He said something else to the innkeeper, then turned to Cailean, “Get everyone settled,” he said, “and you can guard the door until I return. I’m going to check outside again.”
Sorcha wandered through the rooms and then whistled. “There are three separate chambers with beds,” she announced.
Cailean pointed to the bed in the small chamber to the left and said, “Donnan, there’s only one bed in there. ‘Tis yours.”
He couldn’t get there fast enough. He mumbled a quick thanks, closed the door behind him and managed to pull off his plaid before he fell into the bed and closed his eyes, falling fast asleep, only to dream about a beautiful brown-eyed lass.
***
When Donnan awakened, the sun was almost at its peak. He’d slept half the day away, something he never did. He checked his wound, pleased to see that the stitches were intact and he didn’t appear to be bleeding any more. There was only dried blood on the linen strips.
He remembered Bethia’s insistence on keeping Wynda’s wound clean, so he decided he should do the same. He stepped into the main gathering area, furnished with a table and four chairs and a washing table off to the side, and was surprised to find it empty. He knew the area well enough, so he decided to find the bathing house down the street. He’d get an ale, mayhap a meat pie from a street vendor, then bathe.
He ran into Torrian just outside the inn. The laird had an ale in his hand, which he quickly handed off to Donnan.
“My thanks. I needed something.” After several swallows, he returned the skin to Torrian, wiping his mouth.
“Where are you headed? We can get food at the inn. ‘Tis where the others are awaiting my uncle.”
“Bethia advised me on the importance of keeping a wound clean. I’m off to the bathing house.”
“Donnan, forgive me for being nosy, but she is my sister. Do you have any intentions toward her?”
Donnan didn’t know what to say. He stared down the street, thinking carefully before he answered. “I’ve never met anyone like your sister, and that includes my wife. I admit I am interested, but I don’t think ‘twould be fair to your sister, given my past.”
“I understand your concern, but don’t you think she’s mature enough to make that decision on her own? Why not court her and see if the two of you suit? I can see my sister is interested in you.”
Donnan ran his hand down his beard. “Do you think she would consider me?”
Torrian chuckled. “I think so, but may I offer a piece of advice?”
He dropped his hand to his side, surprised Torrian had agreed. He’d little expected the laird would want him—Daft Donnan—as his sister’s suitor. “Of course.”
“You might want to trim your hair and your beard. Lassies aren’t so fond of all that extra hair.” He winked at Donnan and patted his shoulder as he stepped past him and made his way into the inn.
Donnan had been thinking the same thing.
***
In the middle of the afternoon, Sorcha and Bethia decided to seek out more refreshments. Cailean was hungry, as usual. It had been a long, boring day, and Donnan still had not returned to the inn.
“How much longer do you think we’ll be here?” Bethia asked.
“My guess is Papa will be back before dark, and we’ll either go home or spend one more night here. I doubt he’s been able to find Bearchun. The lout has been elusive for quite some time. I doubt he’d be this easy to catch.”
“I hope Donnan’s all right. ‘Tis too soon for the fever to start, but he has not eaten much. He’s been gone far too long.”
“You do like him, aye? I can see it in you whenever he’s near.”
Bethia didn’t know how to answer. She should be truthful, but it would be quite embarrassing when Sorcha learned that Donnan did not return her interest. She sighed and plowed ahead with the truth, something her mother had taught her was always best. “Aye, ‘tis true that I’m interested in him, but he says he’ll never marry again.” She wasn’t sure how much Sorcha knew of his past, so she told her all she knew.
“Oh, how awful. The poor man. I feel so horrible for him,” Sorcha said.
“Now you understand why he’ll never remarry.”
“But you would never leave him. You’re as loyal and faithful as anyone I know.”
Bethia smiled. “Thank you, though I doubt it matters much to him.”
They’d almost made it to the dining hall when Sorcha giggled and whispered in her ear. “I would so love to see what he looks like underneath all that hair.”
Bethia giggled just as the door behind them opened. She turned her head to see who’d stepped inside—and immediately froze.
Sorcha noted her reaction and spun around to the door. “Oh my heavens.”
Bethia couldn’t speak.
Donnan stood in front of them, unmoving, as they both stared at him. “Is something wrong?”
They both shook their heads, Sorcha reacting faster than she did. Then Bethia broke out into a wide smile. “Donnan, you look quite handsome.” She blushed, but she couldn’t help but express her pleasure. It was as if Sorcha’s words had conjured the sight before them. Donnan had shaved off his beard and cut his hair, and she’d never seen anyone as handsome. If he walked into the Ramsay great hall looking like he did right now, he’d have several lasses swooning. His face was so smooth, she wished to reach up and rub the back of her hand across it. After staring a wee bit too much, she managed to get control of her emotions. The gray of his eyes stood out even more now that they weren’t hidden behind his hair and the bushiness of his beard. In fact, they seemed to be dancing in merriment at the moment. He was probably amused by her comment.
Sorcha whispered, “I knew he’d look better, but I never would have guessed…”
“I beg your pardon?” Donnan asked.
“Naught,” Sorcha said. “Naught. Aye, you look fine without the beard. And your hair was trimmed nicely.” She continued to stare wide-eyed at him.
Bethia wasn’t surprised. She knew she couldn’t stop staring. “We’re headed to the kitchens for some meat pies. Would you care to join us?”
“Aye. I am a bit hungry.” He smiled.
Bethia motioned for Sorcha to move on ahead of them and beckoned to Donnan. His lips were fuller than she’d realized, and his teeth were so white.
Focus, Bethia, she chastened herself.
“How is your wound?”
“I removed the bandage and washed it. I didn’t see anything green yet. The stitches are still in place. Must I look for aught else besides green?”
“Well, sometimes the seepage can turn a thick white before the fever sets in. When we return upstairs, I’ll put more salve on it and redress it.”
“Aye, my thanks.”
Now that he’d shaved, she noticed something else about him, one of the signs her mother had taught her to look for in her patients. He was quite pale, not a good sign, and she could see a fine tremor in his hand. “Does it hurt much?”
“Just a wee bit. ‘Tis tolerable. I have an appetite, which is an improvement.” One of the serving girls brought out a tray of meat pies, cheese, and a loaf of bread. Bethia had been so wrapped up in her conversation with Donnan that she hadn’t heard Sorcha make the request.
“Perfect,” Sorcha said. “The bread smells wonderful. Cailean is always hungry. I can carry it. Many thanks.”
They moved back to their chambers and the three stepped inside the main one.
“Holy shite,” Cailean yelled.
“What is it?” Sorcha asked. “Do not scare me, or I’ll drop the tray.”
He pointed to Donnan. “Is that really you, Donnan? You look so different.”
“Where’s my brother?” Bethia asked.
“He’ll be right back. He went off in search of Logan. Took some guards with him.”
“Donnan, I know you’re hungry, but I should dress that wound first.” Bethia turned
to her satchel. “I’ll get my things. If you wish to lie down, I’ll be quick about it so you can eat.”
Donnan nodded and returned to the room he’d occupied the night before. Bethia followed him in, closing the door behind her, though she could still hear Cailean talking.
“Shouldn’t we…should we open the door?” he asked Sorcha. “They’re not married. Torrian would supervise.”
“Nay,” she heard her cousin say. “Leave them be. If my sire or Torrian comes in, I’ll open the door quickly.”
She’d thank her cousin for that later.
Apparently, Donnan had also overheard them. “I’m not in any position to hurt you, lass. You’re not worried, are you?”
She blushed and shook her head, fussing over her supplies. “I don’t see much blood. Did you wash much away?”
“Nay. ‘Twas mostly dried blood. You did a fine job. I’m grateful to you for coming to me last eve. I trust you, Bethia.” He sat on the side of the bed facing her, sitting up as straight as possible, probably because it eased the pain a bit.
She moved a stool over to him, settling her tools within her reach. Once she found what she needed, she leaned back and gazed down at him.
She promptly dropped her tool.
Hell. Unlike Sorcha, she did not typically use the lads’ filthy talk, but that was the only word that came to mind. Donnan was the handsomest man she’d ever set her gaze upon. Now that his beard was gone, his smooth skin called to her in a way she knew not how to control.
“Lass?”
His gaze caught hers and she swallowed, trying her best to come up with any intelligible remark. “May I…would you mind…”
The corners of his lips curved upward in a slight smile. “I’m yours, Bethia Ramsay.” The look he gave her and the husky tone he used shot straight to her core—deep and low enough to make her nearly pant with need. “Do as you wish with me.”
A thousand visions of her lips on him in various places crossed her mind, startling her own sense of decency enough to make her blush.
“Bethia?”
She still hadn’t moved. The only place she wished to move was closer. His hand reached up and stroked her cheek.
In a voice that caressed her insides the same way his hand caressed her cheek, he said, “You’ll have to come to me, or I’ll burst your stitches.”
She almost fell on him, but he righted her at the last moment as her lips found their way to his, her tongue mating with his in a most inappropriate, delicious way. He suckled her tongue until she moaned, causing her to pull away, but not far.
She still hadn’t done what she needed to do. Holding herself as close as she could without pressing her body to his, she reached up to touch his smooth cheek.
“You are glad I shaved?” His teeth nipped at her lower lip, but he held back, allowing her to do as she wished.
“Aye,” she whispered.
“I’ll shave every day if you’ll look at me like that again.”
“Donnan, I need to…”
“Go ahead. Whatever you like…”
She kissed his cheek, running her tongue roughly across his jawline and up to his ear, teasing him a bit there before she sat back in shock at what she’d just done. Her hand came up to her mouth and she dropped her gaze to the floor, suddenly mortified.
“Och, nay, you’ll not disappear on me, woman.” He grasped her shoulder and tugged her lips to his, devouring her mouth, roughly ravaging her with his tongue, his hand kneading the skin on the back of her neck until she wished to scream from pleasure. Her face fell to his neck as she did her best to slow her breathing.
However, when she took the time to notice, she discovered he was panting as badly as she was.
The realization empowered her. Donnan wanted her as much as she wanted him. His hand trailed a path around her cheeks until his thumb found her bottom lip. Her tongue slid out to taste him, and she lifted her gaze to his to see how he would react.
A growl came from deep within him, but then he abruptly turned his head away from her. “Bethia, there’s naught I would rather do right now than pleasure you on this bed until you scream my name, and trust me that if the time ever comes for us, you will scream my name ten times before I finish, but ‘tis not right.” He turned back toward her and reached for her hand. “We have to stop before I cannot. I will not disrespect you that way.”
The door flew open and Uncle Logan barged in the chamber with his hands on his hips, Torrian directly behind him. He took one look at Bethia and leapt at Donnan, planting his fist at his jaw. He then picked him up and tossed him across the chamber. Donnan hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, grabbing his midsection.
Her uncle went after him again.
Chapter Twelve
Donnan managed to push himself up off the floor though he knew he’d torn stitches. He’d felt them give way, could feel the blood seeping through the bandage.
He hated himself for what he’d done to an innocent, but he was also furious. Bethia was of an age to make up her own mind. Logan came at him again, and this time he strong-armed the smaller man, pushing him back with all his might, but it didn’t stop the man’s tirade. “You bastard. That’s my niece, my gentle niece you are playing with. How dare you touch her.” A fist came at Donnan again, and he managed to duck enough to drive a blow of his own into Logan’s belly, but he didn’t have enough strength to do much damage.
But the screams of a sweet lass stopped them both. “Stop it, stop it, Uncle Logan. He cannot fight. What the hell is your problem?”
“You swore at me?” Logan swung around to stare at Bethia, his eyes round with wonder. “You cursed! My dear niece cursed at me. What the hell have you done to her?”
And Donnan was even angrier. “Do not take that tone with her, Ramsay. I care not if she’s your niece. She deserves your respect.”
Logan spun back around to face him again. “You dare speak to me so? You had your hands all over her. She’s an innocent.”
“She has desires, just as any other lass of twenty summers would. My hands never touched below her neck.”
Bethia shouted, “Stop it, both of you! Uncle Logan, you’ll kill him. Look how he’s already bleeding. He’s ripping all my stitches.”
Logan lunged for him. “I’ll rip more stitches, you bastard. Nay, she does not have desires. ‘Tis Bethia, my sweet Bethia. Do not teach her your filthy ways.”
Filthy? The man was addled!
Torrian came between them, reaching for Logan and pulling him off Donnan. Panting with exertion from holding his wild uncle, he said, “Cailean, stand in front of Donnan. Now.”
Logan fought hard against Torrian’s powerful arms. “MacAdam, stay the hell out of this, or you’ll pay later.”
Cailean’s eyebrows shot up, and he took a step toward Donnan, apparently listening to his laird. But his gaze also gauged his distance from his father-in-law.
“MacAdam, your laird gave you an order. Don’t move.” Cailean stood fast, holding his hands behind his back.
“Uncle Logan, what the hell is your problem?” Torrian asked. “They’re both fully clothed. I was directly behind you and saw naught untoward or askew. What the hell could have happened? And my sister is no longer a bairn, may I remind you.”
Logan continued his tirade. “I could see it in both their eyes. His hands were all over her, and she was falling for whatever bull he was handing her. He’ll not violate her. You’re their laird, Torrian. Do something. She’s your sister.”
Donnan stepped away from Cailean, his hand guarding his injury, and faced Torrian. “I’d like to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.” Hellfire, he’d fallen for the lass, and fallen hard. Though the thought of marriage still scared him, he meant every word.
He didn’t miss the wide-eyed look on Bethia’s face or how her jaw dropped open. Would she agree? The pain in his side suddenly seemed unimportant, his attention was fully focused on Bethia and whether or not she would accept his backhanded proposal.
<
br /> Logan said, “Damn right, you’ll marry her. How dare you touch her right in front of me. We’ll find a priest now.” Yanking himself free from Torrian’s hold, he started pacing. “I won’t touch him again, but don’t confine me. I’m still your uncle and a hell of a lot older and smarter than you.”
Torrian quirked his brow at his uncle and shouted, “Fine. Pace all you please, but do you truly think you’re smarter? You sure aren’t demonstrating it at the moment.”
Logan put his face up to his nephew’s. “Are you going to let him touch your sister like that?”
Without moving his face, Torrian asked, “Bethia, did Donnan hurt you or do aught inappropriate?”
“Nay. We only kissed, and I’ll kiss whomever I want, Uncle Logan. I started it,” Bethia retorted.
Logan’s hands went to his head, as if he could not believe what his ears had told him. “What have you done to her? You truly are daft, Donnan. You’ve corrupted my sweetest niece. You’ll marry her, and then I’ll keep the two of you in separate places. You can go back to living in the wild, and she’ll stay sweet and innocent. Do you hear me?”
Another wave of fury washed over Donnan, but before he could say aught, a loud scream interrupted them. It didn’t stop until they all turned to look at her.
Bethia stood with her face raised toward the rafters, her mouth open wide as she bellowed, her eyes lit with fury. Donnan had never seen anything more beautiful.
She ended her scream and dropped her voice to a whisper. “How dare you. How dare you all decide what’s right for me without even asking me what I want. Uncle Logan, I’ll not marry anyone just because you say so. And mayhap you should try talking to me once in a while. If you did, you’d discover that I’m tired of being the innocent in the family. All my younger cousins are getting married, and until a few days ago, I’d never been kissed. Well, guess what? Now I have. And I’ll tell you something else. I liked it.”
Donnan had never seen so many shocked expressions in his life. He stood in the back of the chamber with a small grin on his face, hoping Bethia would continue. She was magnificent in her wrath. A small burst told him what his heart already knew. He loved this strong woman in front of him. He had no idea what she was about to say, but he knew, without a doubt, that she would speak her mind. She was as steadfast as any person could be, something he treasured about her. Had he ever known another like her?
Bethia Page 9
