The answer that rang in her head was a very loud no, but she told herself not to be hasty. As she picked up James and headed back to the hut, she warned herself to be cautious. Eric Murray had actually told her little about himself. Each time she had begun to ask him questions, he had adeptly turned the conversation back to her or the trouble dogging her heels. It was time the man told her a few truths about himself and about why he was riding over the countryside all alone. Only when she had them could she make any sort of decision about what she may or may not take from him.
Bethia woke to the sharp demand of passion. She curled her arms around Eric’s neck as he kissed her. He gently nipped her bottom lip, and although still unsure about such deep kisses, she opened her mouth to the invasion of his tongue. She shivered in his arms as he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue. His beautiful hands moved over her body in a caress just short of intimacy yet still creating a heady warmth.
For a few moments, Bethia simply took what he had to give, enjoying the heat flowing through her veins, the taste of him in her mouth, and the feel of his long, strong body pressed to hers. Beneath her growing passion lay a flicker of fear, but that only added to the excitement. Then he slid his hand up her rib cage and covered her breast. The sharp want that tore through her when he brushed his thumb over her already hardening nipple brought her to her senses concerning the danger she was courting. With a soft cry of alarm, she flung herself from his grasp and scrambled out of the bed.
The man’s health was certainly improved, she thought dazedly as she stood by the bed and stared at him. In the two days since the fever had broken, his recovery had been little less than amazing. Bethia realized it had been a mistake to keep sharing the bed, then soothed her guilt by reminding herself that there had been no other place to sleep. She took a deep breath to try to steady herself, fighting to still the faint tremor of want that still rippled through her body, and grabbed for her gown.
“’Tis warmer in the bed,” Eric murmured as he stretched out on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.
Too warm, Bethia thought as she felt an irritating tension replace the warmth his touch had left her with. As she laced up her gown, she looked at him. He was not as calm and relaxed as he wanted to appear. There was a tautness in his fine body, a heat glittering in his eyes. He wanted her. It was a heady knowledge—so heady that she was tempted to crawl back into bed with him. The fact that a man like Sir Eric would feel passion for her, a skinny little wench with mismatched eyes, made the temptation he presented almost more than she could resist.
She grasped frantically at some sensibility and strength as she hurried to light the fire. She had not had any of her questions about him answered yet. Bethia knew she had allowed concern for his health let her be diverted from her determination to find out more about him. But, she thought as she heard him dress and slip outside, his health was restored. They would leave tomorrow and she did not know much more about him than she had when he had first ridden into view.
Once they had broken their fast and she had tended to James’s needs, she carried a stool over to the bed and sat down. Eric, sprawled on his back on the bed and looking far too fine for her peace of mind, turned his head and eyed her warily. He would talk to her now or she would do her best to see that he did not get any more chances to steal even the smallest of kisses.
Eric studied Bethia’s small face and inwardly grimaced. Several times since he had roused from his fever, she had gently tried to get him to talk about himself. It was clear that she would no longer be gentle. He felt the sharp bite of frustrated need in his body and sighed. It was something he supposed he ought to get used to, for after he answered her questions, she would probably be even harder to seduce than she was now.
“I think ye ken more about me than anyone outside of Dunnbea,” Bethia said, “yet I ken verra little about you, Sir Eric. Dinnae ye think that should change?”
“Mayhap I havenae said much because I am certain ye willnae like what ye hear,” he replied.
“Probably not, but I think I need to hear it. Why is it that ye dinnae seem to ken anything about your mother’s kin?”
“A good start,” Eric muttered. “My father thought I was a bastard got upon my mother by the Murray laird. I was still warm from my mother’s womb when he had me taken to a hillside and left to die.” He smiled grimly when Bethia gasped and paled. “Aye, the laird of Dubhlinn was a hard bastard. He was also a fool. If he had but taken a good look at me he would have seen that I was indeed his spawn. The mark on my back?”
“That wee heart?”
“Aye, ’tis something only the Beaton laird could have given me. ’Tis how my brother’s wife Maldie and I kenned we were brother and sister, equally cursed in our father. She was but one of many girl children he had sired, walking away from them when he saw that the woman he had seeded hadnae given him the son he sought.”
“The son he had tossed away,” she whispered, unable to truly understand how anyone could do such a thing to a tiny baby. “How did ye survive?”
“A Murray mon found me and took me back to Donncoill. It was accepted that I was the Murray laird’s bastard, for he and my mother had feared that the child she carried was his. I was thirteen, convinced I was a Murray, happy in that knowledge, when I had to face the truth. Maldie had come to kill her father. Her dying mother had made her swear to do it to avenge her and I think Maldie needed to avenge the fact that he had deserted her too, not just her mother. She had had a hard life with a bitter mother—a woman who became a whore and tried to get Maldie to be one too.”
“She must have been so angry,” Bethia said quietly as she pulled her stool closer to the bed and rested her arms on the mattress. “Please dinnae tell me she did it, for no one should have such a black sin upon her soul. So sad that her own mother would ask something of her that would so taint her.”
“Nay, she didnae.” Eric smiled faintly when she sighed with relief and he smoothed his hand over her thick braid. “My mother was dead, killed along with her midwife because my father couldnae bear that she had betrayed him. That is why I ne’er kenned my mother. I have learned what I can about her kinsmen o’er the years and sent them word, but they have continued to believe the Beatons. They think I am naught but a bastard.”
“But e’en if ye were, ye are the bastard of their kinswoman. Ye would think they would at least wish to see you.”
Knowing what he was about to say could push Bethia so far away he would never be able to pull her back, Eric softly cursed. “I seek what is mine by the rights of my birth.” He sighed when she tensed beneath his hand and pulled back. “I am the true heir to Dubhlinn, but another Beaton slipped into the place and now denies me. The king doesnae wish to be troubled with all of this, so we cannae get aid from him. Also, there is whatever my mother had. I ken why Beaton wishes to keep me marked a bastard, for I would take everything he clutches, but I am nay sure why it matters to the MacMillans. All I can think is that they dinnae wish to anger the Beatons. And, mayhap, they are shamed by what they see as their kinswoman’s misdeeds.”
“And ye are willing to fight for this?”
“’Tis mine. For thirteen years, I have tried to settle this with no more than words, petitions, months at court discussing it with the king, and many another calm, peaceful way. They willnae heed me. Now I mean to confront them.” Eric watched Bethia steadily as she slowly got to her feet. “I am no William trying to kill and steal my way to land and coin.”
“Of course ye arenae,” she snapped, but was too distracted to pay much heed to her swift and sharp defense of Eric. “I must think about this.”
“Aye, I understand.”
At least he tried to, he mused as he watched her leave. It seemed all very clear to him. He was the rightful heir. For years he had struggled peacefully to gain what was his, and no one would relinquish it. It was the Beatons and the MacMillans who pushed for a confrontation.
James’s soft gurgle brought
Eric’s gaze to the child. The baby lay in his rough little bed sucking on his fingers and slowly going to sleep. His parents were dead and someone wanted him dead as well. Bethia was probably still too locked in her grief and fear to be completely reasonable. She was viewing the matter through pure emotion. He tried to take comfort in the swift, sharp way she had refuted his fear that she thought he was like William.
Eric got up and started to pack their things. They would have to leave in the morning. He had felt that they could leave this morning, but Bethia had convinced him that one more day of rest would ensure the fever would not return. He had to admit that he had not looked forward to riding for a whole day. Eric grimaced and glanced toward the door. He had hoped to spend the day furthering his attempt to pull Bethia into his bed. Instead, she had pushed for the truth and he had given it to her, saying the one thing that could keep her out of his arms. Although he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman, he was a little surprised at how much that thought distressed him. Perhaps, he mused, while Bethia was struggling to sort out her thoughts, he ought to take a longer, harder look at what he was thinking and feeling, besides the need to bury himself in her warmth.
Bethia sighed with weariness when she reached the top of the hill. It was a hard climb to make twice in such a short span of time. She sat on the grass, staring out at the surrounding land, but seeing little. Eric’s words had shocked her deeply. The only way to give them the thought and consideration they required was to get away from him, away from his bonny face and seductive voice.
Emotion was disordering her thinking and she knew it. For a moment, all she had been able to think of was that the man she had turned to for help was yet another seeking land and coin at the expense of others. The fact that she had refused to allow him to compare himself to William, or think that she did, revealed that at least some common sense was still at work within her disordered thoughts. Bethia took several deep breaths of the crisp air. She needed to calm herself and think, needed to grasp reason and push all emotion aside.
Unlike William, Eric had a right to what he sought. Bethia did not think she was being foolishly quick to believe his claims. The tale he had told was too dark, too wild to be anything more than the truth. And no matter what she felt about what he was doing, she simply could not make herself believe that Eric would lie to her. In fact, if he was given to lying, he would never have told her a tale that he had to know could push her very far away.
What troubled her the most, she realized, was the implication that he was ready to fight for what he considered was his. Bethia had the sinking feeling that her unease over that had little to do with the trouble she now faced. It was very possible that she simply did not like the idea of Eric going to battle over anything.
Slowly standing up, she decided she had reacted badly to his news. She had sought the truth and now had to deal with it. It was not so bad. He sought only what was his. Somehow she would get over her distaste for battles fought over land or money. In truth, she thought with a sigh as she studied the landscape, it might not matter if she did or did not. Eric might want to bed her, but there had been no talk of any deeper feelings or a future. It was quite possible he would leave her at Dunnbea and ride away.
Just as she started to turn to go back down the hill, Bethia caught sight of a group of riders. She quickly flung herself to the ground so that she would not be seen and watched the men riding slowly toward the hill. Even from a distance, she recognized the hulking forms of William and his two sons. Theirs were distinctive shapes and equally distinctive poor riding styles. Squirming back toward the path on her belly, she finally stood up and scrambled down the hillside. Their time of rest and quiet had come to an abrupt end. She prayed she and Eric could get away before they were seen.
Eric looked up when Bethia stumbled into the hut. Her obvious distress was all the warning he needed. He quickly yanked on his boots and reached for his sword.
“How near are they?” he demanded.
“On the far side of the hill.” Seeing that he had already packed their things, she reached for James, using the blanket he had been sleeping on to make his sling. “They appear to be in no hurry, so I dinnae think they are following any trail.”
Eric grabbed their packs and started out the door. “Take a moment and see if ye can clear away some of the signs that we have been here.”
Bethia did what she could, but was not sure it was enough. The ashes could even still be warm if William and his men arrived at the hut too quickly. There was also the smell of a fire and recently cooked food in the hut. She fanned the door for a moment, but was not sure that would bring in enough outside air to get rid of the scent of recent habitation. All she could do was pray that William had no time or inclination to look closely or even that he simply never found the place.
Eric rode up on Connor and she hurried to mount behind him. He made no comment on the fact that she added James’s little bed to their baggage. She noted the branch he had tied to the poor beast’s tail in hopes of brushing away their trail even as they rode along. Wrapping her arms around his trim waist she hung on as he nudged his horse into a gallop. If they could get out of the little valley before William entered it they might have a chance of getting away.
They rode hard for several miles and then Eric stopped. Bethia struggled to catch her breath, stolen by fear and the speed of their retreat, as Eric removed the branch from Connor’s tail. She knew it was too soon to relax but she took some comfort from the fact that they had heard no outcry or sounds of pursuit.
“Do ye think we have eluded them?” she asked as he gave Connor some water.
“For now. ’Tis a shame I never got to the top of that hill, for I would have been able to judge how far away they were when ye saw them.” He handed her his waterskin, idly brushing the dust from his clothes as she drank. “I am a little surprised that ye sought my aid when ye saw them.”
As she handed him back the waterskin, she smiled faintly. “Nay, you arenae.” She caught the flash of his grin just before he took a drink. “Besides, I needed your horse.”
“Ah, and here I thought it was my skill as a knight and my charm that brought ye hieing back to my side.”
“Such vanity.” She sighed, the moment of jesting swiftly passing. “I think, after so many days of not seeing that bastard, that I had nourished the hope that we had lost him.”
“Ye cannae really lose him, nay completely. The mon has to ken that ye would make your way back to Dunnbea.”
“Of course, and so only needs to ride in that direction.” She frowned as Eric mounted in front of her and started them on their way again. “He cannae think to confront my whole clan.”
“Nay, I dinnae think so. He must hope he can stop ye ere ye get there, but mayhap he thinks he can talk his way out of your accusations.”
“He cannae. I may nay have the proof needed to hunt him down and hang him, but my family will believe my tale. They will protect James.”
Eric nodded. “They would have more claim to his care than William anyway.”
“Aye, for William isnae blood kin.”
“He does hold Dunncraig, however.”
“For now.”
“And what will ye do next? Fight for what is rightfully James’s?”
Bethia muttered a curse and did not answer him. That was exactly what would happen if William did not give up his hold on Dunncraig, but she did not want to think about it. Land and riches were not worth people’s lives. She did not understand why she seemed to be the only one who felt that way.
It was late in the afternoon when Eric suddenly veered off the trail he had been following and urged her to dismount. Bethia winced as she stood up, her muscles protesting the long ride. The long rest at the hut had stolen away the toughening she had gained before their trouble at the river.
“Where are ye going?” she asked when Eric did not dismount, but turned his horse back toward the trail.
“I want to go back a ways and see if
William is close on our heels. We just passed a hillock that should give me enough of a view of the land.”
“And ye want me to stay here?”
“Aye,” Eric said and bent down to steal a quick kiss. “If he is close, he may see me and I shall have to move fast. I may e’en be able to pull him away from ye, lead him off in another direction.”
“Aye, and he could catch ye.”
“Then ye must go on to Dunnbea. It isnae that far away. There is a wee village up this road. A half day’s ride at most. From there ’tis a few hours to Dunnbea. Nay more than ye had already traveled when I found you.”
That was true but she did not want to travel it without Eric. She took a deep breath to still her fears. Although she did not want him to risk his life in even the smallest way, she could tell by the set of his jaw that he would not be deterred from his plan.
“How long should I wait ere I start out on my own?” she asked, staring down at the packs he dropped at her feet and struggling not to cry.
“If I havenae returned by dawn, go on alone.”
“I didnae nurse ye through a fever to have ye get yourself killed by William and his loathsome sons.”
“I have no intention of letting those fools get me.”
She watched him disappear back along the way they had just come and cursed softly. “Ye may have no intention of it, but ’tis pure vanity to think it cannae happen,” she grumbled.
For a while it was not so hard to wait for Eric. Bethia filled the time caring for and playing with James. As each hour crept by and he did not return, however, the waiting became more and more unendurable. Bethia discovered that she had a fierce imagination, was too easily able to conjure up more gruesome deaths for Eric to endure than she could tolerate.
Highland Promise Page 6
