Bethia

by Keira Montclair

  “And Donnan, how dare you ask him…” Her finger pointed to her brother. “Before you ask me? I make my own decisions from now on. No one will tell me what to do. I’m a grown woman, and I know what I want. At the present, I wish to get away from all of you…” She turned and fled the sleeping chamber, tears falling down her face. A door opened and slammed, her sobs could be heard all the way down the passageway.

  They all stared through the open doorway of the little sleeping chamber. Logan said, “Don’t just stand there, Cailean. Go after her. If I do, I’ll keep yelling. Sorcha, go talk with her and bring her back. Protect them both, Cailean. Bearchun is still out there. Make sure five guards follow her.” He reached up and tugged on his hair. “Nieces, daughters…how many more do I have?” Cailean and Sorcha hurried out the door.

  Donnan closed his eyes.

  He was a horse’s arse. He’d trampled her will just as the others had done.

  ***

  Bethia ran and ran until she had nowhere else to go. She found a rock and sat on it in a huff, but it was so cold on her bottom, even through her leggings, that she jumped back up and cursed. “Hellfire!”

  Cursing felt quite good, really. Now she understood why Sorcha could not stop herself.

  She paced the small area opposite the inn. Horses were everywhere, but she ignored them, even though a few soft whinnies called to her.

  Just as they always did.

  She missed her animals. Dealing with them was far easier than dealing with people. Mayhap she should have stayed home.

  But then she recalled how it felt to kiss Donnan, and how he’d allowed her to touch him as she pleased. How his hands had felt on her. He made her feel special. But some of the people she loved most of all had talked about her as if she weren’t there. Uncle Logan, Torrian, and even Donnan…

  She sobbed into her hands wondering how she could possibly speak to her brother or her uncle ever again. She’d been caught in a compromising position, something the elders in her family had always warned Maggie and Sorcha about, but never her. She’d kissed and cursed and sobbed and ran and…mayhap uncle Logan was right. What the hell had happened to her?

  She faintly registered the sound of running feet, and before she could be alarmed, Sorcha appeared in front of her. “Bethia, I’m so sorry.”

  She wrapped her arms around Bethia’s shoulders, and Bethia sobbed uncontrollably. When she was finally able to speak, she asked Sorcha, “What have I done?”

  “Oh, Bethia. Just ignore my sire. He ranted at me the same way. You should have seen how cruel he was to Cailean.”

  “He was?” she said, her voice hitching.

  “Aye. ‘Tis just that you surprised everyone so. Cousin, you’ve never raised your voice before. Even I’ve never heard you speak in such a way.” She took a step back and brushed a few strands of hair back from Bethia’s wet cheeks.

  “I know. They’ll be so angry.”

  “Nay. You’ve just shown them something quite important. You’ve grown up, and my sire can’t handle it. He may be angry, but trust me, ‘twill not last forever. Know that I love you, and I am proud of you for standing up for yourself. Your mother would want you to be strong. You haven’t the experience, but why not start now?”

  Mayhap Sorcha had a point. Several Ramsay guards had fallen in around them, one of them Cailean. She dried her cheeks of tears when she saw her brother approaching. “Bethia, forgive me,” he said as he stepped through the circle of guards. “Bearchun was seen in the area several hours ago, so I cannot allow you to stay out here.”

  He moved closer to her. “I’m so sorry. I trust you completely.” He reached up to brush a tear that had escaped. “We’ll talk more when we arrive back on Ramsay land. I want Papa to hear all you’ve said, too.” He paused. “Well, mayhap not all,” he added with a small smile.

  She let out a deep sigh at the thought of explaining her actions to her father. “Must we? Can we not forget it all?”

  “Nay. Donnan will ask Papa for your hand because ‘tis his preference. I know you’re upset, but Donnan is still bleeding and needs to be tended. Logan has reserved the hall in the inn for our dinner.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. How embarrassed she was over all that had transpired.

  Torrian set his finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his, and whispered, “I enjoyed seeing your temper. ‘Tis time it came out. We all have the right to be angry when the situation calls for it. What you said was true, you are a woman fully grown. Uncle Logan will accept it, in time. But we must protect both you and Sorcha, so inside we go.”

  She nodded, gave Sorcha a quick hug, and then followed Torrian back inside.

  Uncle Logan stood inside the entryway to the inn. “Bethia, forgive my loss of temper, but you’ve crossed a line. We’ll be discussing marriage at a later time. Torrian will remain by your side while you repair Donnan’s stitches.”

  She had no desire to speak to her uncle at the moment—and no ability to do so civilly—so she simply nodded to him and strode past him toward their chamber, feeling a fresh wave of fury.

  Donnan sat on the edge of his bed, a cloth held against his wound. She lifted her chin and sat on the stool at his bedside. “My thanks for gathering my supplies,” she said quietly. They’d been kicked about earlier, but he’d gathered them all into a neat pile.

  Torrian came in and settled on another stool, her supervisor. She got up to retrieve a basin of water after washing her hands.

  When she returned, she addressed Donnan. “Has the wound stopped bleeding?” She reached for the linen he held against it, but he stopped her with his hand.

  “Nay, Bethia. You’ll not continue until we settle this between us. I know this is a poor situation, but based on the circumstances, I ask you if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife.” He reached for her hand, but she tugged it away.

  She was angry with him as well. He and the others had made her feel as if she were a wee lass of ten summers, unable to understand what the older people did and completely ignorant of the ways of the world. Shouldn’t he have proposed to her immediately after he ravaged her mouth instead of speaking to her brother as if she were not in their presence? “I appreciate that you are trying to right a perceived wrong, but I am not interested in accepting such a proposal.”

  Silence greeted her declaration. She shoved her stool back and crossed her arms. “Allow me to explain myself, Donnan, because you clearly know verra little about me.”

  The fury that had been foremost in her mind for the past hour took a step back, and a shocking calm took its place. Suddenly, she knew what needed to be said. “Donnan, our acquaintance has been short, so I can understand why you might make such a mistake, but Torrian, you and Uncle Logan disappoint me. You should both know better.”

  She noticed the form of her uncle moving to stand in the doorway of the main chamber, his gaze now on her.

  “Mayhap I have lived a protected life, much of it by choice, but that doesn’t give anyone else the right to make decisions for me. I was raised…” She paused for a moment to choke her tears back. “I was raised by two of the most wonderful parents a lass could have asked for. My parents raised me to believe that my mind is every bit as good as a man’s. Aye, I have not traveled far from Ramsay land, but that does not make me a fool. I have a good mind. My father adores my mother and consults her whenever he needs to make a decision because he values her wisdom.”

  “Bethia,” Uncle Logan said. “Please…”

  “Nay, do not interrupt me, Uncle. Have enough respect for me to allow me to speak my mind. I remember my grandmama well, as should both of you.” She pointed to Torrian and then her uncle. “Grandmama Arlene was a strong woman and did a fine job as the mistress of our clan. And my mother’s mother made Uncle Alex promise to give the lasses in the Grant family a say on who they were to marry. I understand that many in the land would disagree with her forward thinking, but I did not expect any of you to tr
eat me that way.”

  She paused to gather the strength to finish, her gaze traveling to meet Donnan’s. Though she’d expected condemnation or anger, she saw only admiration. It helped her find the strength she needed to finish speaking her thoughts. “Donnan, I do not accept your proposal. It was made for all the wrong reasons, and I will not be forced into a marriage by anyone.” She stood and moved over to her brother. “Brother, I have made the decision to refuse his proposal.” Then she stomped over to her uncle. “Uncle Logan, I love you dearly, but you will not choose my husband for me. I kissed that man because I chose to. I do not regret that decision, but ‘tis no reason for you to force a marriage. It was a kiss. I’ll only marry a man who wants to marry me without any pushing. I’ve said all I care to say about this, and I don’t want to hear it discussed until we are back in Ramsay keep, and then I…I will talk to my parents about it.”

  She spun on her heel and headed back to the stool.

  “Wait, Bethia,” Uncle Logan said, his voice surprisingly soft.

  She paused, her chin lifted another notch.

  He hugged her and said, “You are right. You have my apologies. I was in the wrong.”

  She returned his hug and said, “My thanks. Now I need to fix my stitchery.”

  “As soon as you’re finished, meet us downstairs for dinner. Bearchun was in Edinburgh, but we lost his trail. As I said before, I believe he’s found someone to keep him hidden while he consults a healer. If so, I’d prefer to keep him off guard. I want him to think we’re spending the night in the inn, but we will move immediately after dark.”

  “Ride home in the dark?” Torrian asked.

  Uncle Logan turned to leave but stopped at the door. “Someday you’ll learn, nephew. No one knows this land better than I do. I’ve spent years traveling and roaming.” He cast a glance at Bethia. “He can’t surprise me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Donnan had eaten almost every meal alone for the past two and a half years, and yet this felt like the quietest meal he’d ever endured. The tension was so thick it was nearly visible. Listening to Bethia lecture the three of them on her value as a woman had come as a rude awakening for him. He was ashamed of his behavior, especially since he did appreciate her.

  He’d fallen in love with a very intelligent woman with a tender heart. When she’d finished repairing his stitches before dinner, he’d said, “My thanks for not taking your anger out on me with your needle.”

  She’d sighed and replied, “Donnan, if you even considered that possibility for a moment, then you truly know naught about me.”

  He’d lowered his voice and said, “But I’d like to know more.”

  Her shoulders had sagged a bit and she’d left him, gathering her things in preparation for their departure.

  Nary a word had been spoken during the meal other than Logan and Torrian’s continued conversation on Bearchun and his whereabouts.

  All Donnan could think of was how he’d wronged Bethia and how desperate he was to fix it, although this was the wrong place. For the moment, he thought the best plan was to get Sorcha and Bethia safely back to Ramsay land, then he would approach Bethia before he spoke to her parents.

  They left after the meal, the group still quiet. They had just reached to the outskirts of Edinburgh when the shouts of a man carried to them from down the road. “Stop, please!”

  Donnan and the others tugged the reins of their horses.

  “Halt, I say,” the man cried out desperately.

  Logan, who was in the front line of the group, said, “I’m Logan Ramsay. What is this about?” He glared at the intruder.

  The man stopped next to Donnan and said incredulously, “I was correct. ‘Tis truly you.” He stared at Donnan.

  Donnan’s gut clenched in fear, true fear. Were all the secrets he’d worked so hard to protect about to be casually revealed by a stranger? He said a quick prayer that he’d be able to conceal his identity for a short time longer. He dared not speak for fear the tremor in his voice would give him away.

  “State your business quickly. We’re moving out,” Logan said.

  “Panmure, you’re the son of the deceased Earl of Panmure. If you do not appear within a moon, you will forfeit your inheritance. You must appear before the magistrate, my lord.”

  Donnan blushed. Doing his best to hide his reaction, he forced out a response. “I’m sorry, I know not of what you speak. Clearly, this is a case of mistaken identity. Continue on, Ramsay.”

  Logan narrowed his gaze at Donnan, but he flicked the reins of his horse nevertheless. “Carry on, Torrian.”

  As they moved away, the man’s calls followed them. “Thirty days until all of Cairnie Castle falls to your sire’s enemy, my lord. Please do something. Your sister is desperate.”

  “Know you aught about this?” asked Torrian, who rode beside Donnan.

  “Nay, I don’t. Carry on.”

  “Cairnie Castle neighbors our land. I heard the old earl died around a moon ago. His daughter and her husband occupy the keep now, but they are to be sent out shortly. They have nowhere to go. Her brother disappeared several years ago,” Logan explained to Torrian as he threw a covert glance over his shoulder at Donnan. “We’ve been waiting to see who will be awarded the land. I’ve already requested it for the Ramsays in case the new earl does not make his presence known.”

  Donnan gripped the reins of his horse, trying not to pass his tension on to the animal. The only two people who knew the truth of his situation were Quade and Logan Ramsay. He’d had to confess all before he was accepted into their clan because Logan had recognized him. He’d long since denounced his title and his position as heir, and he had no intention of changing his mind now.

  Quade had informed him a fortnight ago about his sire’s passing. The news had jarred him something fierce, but when the former laird had asked him to take his rightful place as the new earl and declare an alliance with the Ramsays, he’d refused.

  He just couldn’t do it. After the breach in his family, he could not bear to move back into Carnie Castle as if nothing had happened. His only regret was that he could not console his sister. This loss must have hit her hard. He would have to ensure that she and her husband inherited the castle, even if it required him to take the title in name.

  “Donnan? Is everything all right? Is something wrong with your wound? Did you pop a stitch or two mayhap?” The concern in Bethia’s voice warmed his heart. Even though she was undoubtedly still upset with him, Bethia Ramsay was a compassionate healer down to her core.

  “Just a bit dizzy. I’ll be fine in a moment.” He forced himself to focus on the present and forget the past. He loved his sister, and someday he would return to visit with her, but not now.

  As soon as he felt he’d mastered himself, he moved his horse up next to Bethia’s mount. “My apologies for intruding on your thoughts, my lady, but may I ask a question?” Changing the subject was the best tactic.

  Bethia kept her gaze focused directly in front of her. “Donnan, please do not do this. My name is Bethia, not my lady.”

  “Accepted. Bethia, may I ask you a question?”

  “Answer me this question first and I will return the favor.” She still refused to make eye contact.

  “Aye, if you’ll look at me.” How he prayed she would not ask him the one question he could not answer…not here, not now. He’d never lie to her, but he would postpone the confrontation if he could. Telling her now, while they had an audience, could jeopardize all he’d been trying to build with her.

  She turned her face to look at him, her expression devoid of all emotion.

  He nodded. One step at a time. “My thanks. Now do we have an arrangement?”

  She turned back to face forward, then said, “I agree. I’ll start.”

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.” How he hoped she wasn’t about to ask him the one question he didn’t wish to answer. He was not willing to be forthcoming about everything. Some things he preferred to forget.r />
  “Do you know the Earl of Panmure?” She tipped her head toward him, he guessed to gauge his reaction.

  He kept his horse at a steady gait, fighting the urge to gallop away. If only that foolish stranger hadn’t planted ideas in everyone’s heads. He thought for a quick moment and gave her an honest answer. “I knew the old Earl of Panmure. He could be a bit curmudgeonly, as he was advanced in age. Now may I ask my question?”

  “Aye. I’ll answer if I’m capable.”

  “My thanks.” The partial moon had brought a memory back to him, and he was eager to know whether he had the right of it. “Before I was injured, I believe I saw Shewolf hit with an arrow. Do you know what happened to her?” His gaze scanned the area as he spoke.

  “Aye. After I finished your stitches the first time, I washed my hands in the stream not far from where you were injured. Shewolf came to me, the arrow still in her side with the shaft broken off. I numbed the area with my salve and pulled it out, but I didn’t dare stitch her.”

  Donnan was incredulous—even a wild beast had trusted the lass. “I would have held her for you. How bad was it?”

  “Not bad. It wasn’t verra deep. I managed to cover it with the same poultice I gave you in the hope of keeping the fever away.”

  “I appreciate you caring for my friend.” His gaze carried over both sides of the land, searching for any sign of the beast.

  “Donnan, I care about all animals, not just yours.”

  He gave her a sheepish look. “I know that. I didn’t mean aught by it.” He needed time alone with her, a chance to explain his feelings without an audience, but it was not to happen anytime soon. “I meant what I said about wishing to get to know you better.”

  “I feel the same, but…”

  “But what?”