“Sleeping like the wee, sweet bairn he is,” replied Grizel. “Your mon and I looked him o’er weel, from his soft curls to his tiny toes, and found naught but a few bruises.”
“I had hoped that was the way of it. Ah, Grizel, how could anyone, mon or woman, even think of murdering that bairn?”
“Greed, lass. Pure unreasoning greed. Peter and Bowen are enraged that adder slithered out of their grasp.”
“So am I. I am also terrified.” Bethia shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “If ye could have heard him threaten me and James as he fled, ye would be too. I dinnae think he was ever fully sane. How could he be and even consider killing five people o’er some land—people who had done him no wrong? But now he is mad. I could see it in his ugly face as he glared at me.”
“Dinnae fret. Ye and the lad are weel guarded.”
“But how weel can one be guarded against such insanity?”
“With strong, weel-armed men,” Grizel said firmly. “Not only will ye and the lad be watched, but that bastard will be hunted.” She set a jug of wine and a goblet on a little table next to Bethia. “Now ye set here afore the fire and sip some wine. ’Twill relax ye ere ye get into bed.”
“Aye, I am a little weary despite the rest I had earlier.”
As the door shut behind Grizel, Bethia poured herself some wine and stared into the fire as she sipped it. She needed to calm herself, not only because of the ordeal of her capture, but the ordeal of dinner in the great hall. Bethia realized she had thought her parents would welcome Eric once he had married her, but that was not happening. Eric was certainly pretty enough to suit them, perhaps even prettier than Robert. The more she thought about it, however, the more she realized that there was one very large difference between Eric and Robert. Eric was a strong man. Robert had been sweet and easily led, just like Sorcha. Eric obviously did not take well to being led, at least not by her parents. It was probably time she, Eric, and James left Dunnbea, and as soon as Eric joined her, they would discuss the matter.
“What are ye doing here?” Bowen asked as Wallace and Eric entered Bowen’s small cottage just outside the walls of Dunnbea. “’Tis late.” He winked at Eric as he poured his unexpected company some ale. “I would have thought that, after having been away for a fortnight, ye may have a word or two ye wanted to say to Bethia.”
Eric grinned as he sat down on the bench at the rough table. “If she goes to sleep ere I get there, I suspect I can wake her up.” He laughed briefly with the men, then grew serious. “I plan to take Bethia to the king’s court with me in a day or two.”
“So ye will be wanting some men to ride with ye,” said Bowen.
“Aye, but my greatest concern is that I also plan to leave James here.”
“Dinnae worry o’er the lad,” Wallace assured him. “E’en if my uncle is too great a fool to see the threat to the lad, we do. The bairn will be watched verra closely, day and night.”
“Thank ye, but there is more that I would ask.” Eric took a deep drink of ale to calm himself, not sure of how his next words would be received. It was one thing for members of the laird’s own clan or family to criticize the man, quite another for an outsider to do it. “I would prefer it if the laird and his lady have as little to do with the child as possible while Bethia and I are gone. It was my hope that Grizel would share in the care of the lad with his nurse and thus keep the lad quietly tucked out of sight,” Eric said.
Bowen nodded. “He will be.”
“It may require verra little as the laird and his lady dinnae seem verra interested in the lad. Jesu, I am nay sure they e’en recall his name.”
Wallace frowned and rubbed his chin. “I noticed that. In truth, seeing how much the lad looks like his mother, I was a little afraid they would take o’er his care, doting on him as they had doted on Sorcha. Ye are right, though. ’Tis as if they looked him o’er, decided he wasnae perfect enough, and promptly forgot him.”
“Mayhap they dinnae like looking at the proof that their wee angel actually bedded a mon,” drawled Bowen.
Eric’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ye may just have the right of it. Weel, it matters not how their strange minds work, so long as they dinnae taint James. Now I will be able to reassure Bethia when I tell her the bairn will be left behind.”
“Are ye sure ye wish to travel to the king’s court now?”
“I would prefer to wait until William is dead, but, aye, now would be a good time. I have the acceptance and support of the MacMillans, and that will add weight to my claims upon the Beaton lands. Also, to be blunt, if I stay here much longer, I will probably put my fist down your laird’s throat—mayhap his lady’s as weel.” Eric smiled crookedly when the other men laughed. “I dinnae want to fight with Bethia’s parents, dinnae wish to put her in a position where she might have to choose between us. That would be a trial for any new bride, but, I think, it would be especially hard for Bethia.”
“Go to court. The lad will be shielded from William and Bethia’s parents,” Bowen vowed. “Get the lass away from here. ’Twill do her good to get out from under their bootheels for a wee while.”
Eric suspected Bowen was right. As he walked to his bedchamber, he considered several different ways of telling Bethia his plans and how to get her to agree with them. He smiled faintly as he entered their room and caught her nodding off in front of the fire. Quietly, so as not to startle her, he walked over and lightly touched her on her shoulder.
“Oh, Eric, ’tis you.” Bethia quickly put her hand over her mouth to hide a huge yawn.
“To bed with you, my wee wife, ere ye tumble off your stool and into the fire,” he teased as he helped her stand and nudged her toward their bed.
Bethia shed her robe and climbed into bed. Simply getting up and moving was enough to rouse her. She suspected the wine and the heat of the fire had made her so somnulent.
As she watched Eric strip down to his hose and wash up, she decided she could stay awake for a little while longer. She had missed him, missed his touch. After staring death in the face today, she also needed him to hold her, to make her blood flow hot and her heart pound, to make her know she had truly survived.
When he got into bed and tugged her into his arms, Bethia cuddled close to him, then frowned. He had brushed a kiss over her forehead and idly rubbed her back for a moment, then no more. After two long weeks of an empty bed, she had expected quite a bit more than that. For a brief moment, she feared he had sated himself on so many willing women at Bealachan that he had no interest or strength left; then she forcefully reminded herself that she had sworn to trust him. She moved her leg until it rested over his groin and found hard proof that he still had plenty of both.
So why was he lying there like a lump? she mused. Realizing she was drumming her fingers against his chest as her irritation rose, she quickly stopped. Bethia took a deep breath and forced back her demons—the ones that would have her believe he no longer desired her. For some reason, Eric was treating her gently and had obviously decided not to force his desire upon her. Then Bethia recalled all she had been through and almost laughed at herself. Eric probably felt she needed rest and care, not passion. She started to think of all the ways she could change the foolish, if gallant, man’s mind.
Eric gritted his teeth against a surge of desire as Bethia moved her small, soft hand over his stomach. He wanted her so badly he did not think there was a part of him that did not ache. She had been hit, kidnapped, and then threatened with death, had even had to endure the fear that James was about to die as well. She needed rest, not some lust-crazed fool pounding into her body, trying to slake a hunger that had gnawed at him for two long weeks. It would be a good time to discuss going to court, he decided.
“I have decided that we will leave for the king’s court in a day or two,” he abruptly announced, grabbing her hand to stop its tormenting progress up his thigh.
Bethia was immediately distracted from trying to seduce her husband. “So soon?”
She leaned up and brushed a kiss over his mouth. “I am so pleased for you, Eric.”
He swallowed the urge to hold her close for a fuller, more passionate kiss. “It did feel good to be accepted. I am content to be a Murray. I wanted for naught at Donncoill, but a small part of me was pinched by the fact that my own blood had turned their backs on me. The moment I rode up to the gates of Bealachan only to be questioned by the guard if I was truly a Murray and not a MacMillan, I realized I had erred in not coming to them sooner. One look was all the laird needed. He clearly saw his sister in me. He had been convinced by the Beatons that I was just some opportuning bastard. They didnae e’en read the letters I sent them.”
“If the mon loved his sister, he would have found dealing with such trickery verra painful.”
“’Tis what he said. His lady wife also said that there was a subtle threat made by the Beatons as weel—something about how they would take it as a personal affront if the laird tried to deal with me in any way. ’Twould be the same as crying the laird of Dubhlinn a liar.”
“Clever.”
“The Beatons have e’er been that. But now that the MacMillans accept me, now that they believe the tale of murder and lies I told them, they are ready to stand with me as I press my claim for Dubhlinn. They sent word of their support to the king whilst I was there. I feel it would be wise to follow that as soon as I can.”
Eric decided it was best not to mention that the MacMillans had also offered him men and arms if he was forced to fight for Dubhlinn. Bethia seemed to accept that he had a right to all that had been his father and mother’s. It was the possible need to go to battle to gain it that troubled her. For now he would only talk of petitions. He could only hope that, by the time it came to go to battle—and he was sure that time would come—Bethia would understand that it was far more than some greed for lands that caused him to pick up his sword.
“Weel, I have been learning what I could about the ways of the court,” she muttered, “so mayhap it willnae be so verra great an ordeal.” She smiled faintly when Eric laughed. “Dinnae forget, I have ne’er really left Dunnbea and have had little training.”
“Ye will be fine.” He took a deep breath, readying himself for any argument, and added, “I think we should leave James here.”
Bethia raised herself up on her forearms and frowned slightly. “Do ye think it will be dangerous to go to court now?”
“No journey is ever completely safe and William still lurks in the shadows. It would be difficult to keep a close watch on James amidst the crowds and confusion that can reign in the king’s court. Here, at Dunnbea, he can be guarded day and night and no stranger could e’er draw near unseen.”
“That is true.” She sighed, then grimaced. “I just dinnae like leaving him in the care of my parents for too long. ’Tis probably just that they are still so grief striken o’er Sorcha’s death that they have found dealing with her child verra painful.” Bethia frowned briefly, certain that, out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Eric roll his eyes. “They appear to ignore him and that isnae good for the boy. He is a loving child who needs plenty of attention and love.”
“I have spoken to Bowen, and I will speak to Grizel. Bowen and Wallace have already sworn that they will protect the lad and see that he doesnae fall under the care of your parents.”
“It would appear that ye have thought of everything,” she drawled, eyeing him with suspicion.
“I tried,” he admitted. “When I feel what I am going to say may cause an argument, I do try to think it through so that I have my thoughts clear and my answers ready. Otherwise I might be reduced to simply repeating my demands, too caught up in the quarrel to indulge in any reasoning or explanation.”
“Ah, and thus begin to sound like the arrogant laird, setting up the hackles of your opponent.” Bethia smiled crookedly. “Especially if that opponent is a woman. I suspect ye discovered this during your many years as a rogue.”
“Actually, I learned it from watching my brothers with their wives. Standing outside of an argument at times makes it easier to see how it went wrong. It didnae take long to see that making sweeping demands didnae set weel with women who had both spirit and wit.”
“Ye think I have spirit and wit?” Bethia asked, surprised and deeply flattered.
“More than I think ye ken yourself.” He lightly touched the bruise on her face, wishing he could have made William pay for that. “Ye faced William with no fear.”
“Eric, I was fair sick with fear for myself and especially for poor wee James.”
“Aye, but ye didnae let it rule, didnae let it turn ye into some cowering, stupid sheep ready for the slaughter. That is spirit.”
Bethia was so moved by his praise she felt close to weeping, so she kissed him. He tried to halt her at a brief brush of the lips, but she would not allow that. She teased his lips with her tongue and he quickly gave in, wrapping his arms about her and giving her the passionate kiss she craved. To her disappointment and annoyance, however, he found the strength to stop with but one kiss.
“Enough of that, lass,” he said in an unsteady voice as he held her away from him, “or I shallnae let ye rest.”
“Husband, do my eyes look as if they are being weighted closed with sleep?” She opened her eyes very wide and stared at him.
Eric smiled faintly. “Nay, ye look quite wide awake. Howbeit, ye have been through an ordeal today.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word, for his slender wife was wriggling down his body, kissing his chest and stomach and rubbing her lithe, warm body against his in a way that made desire throb through his veins. He groaned when she curled her long fingers around his erection. This was more temptation than any man should have to endure.
“Aye, I was punched, kidnapped, and threatened with death.” She licked him, smiling with triumph when he cried out softly and threaded his fingers in her hair. “Howbeit, last I looked, naught was broken or cut.”
“My heart, after a fortnight of sleeping alone, I am nay sure I will be able to be verra gentle with you.” Eric was surprised he could still talk with her mouth and tongue caressing him so intimately.
“Good. After a fortnight of sleeping alone, I am nay sure I will be able to be verra gentle either. And, mayhap, after facing death, a little wild, rough loving is just what I need to make me certain that I survived. ’Twill certainly make me glad that I did.”
She enclosed him in the moist heat of her mouth and Eric ceased to fight. Before he lost all control, he pulled her away and pushed her onto her back. He soon had her in a frenzy equal to his, leaving no part of her silken body untouched or untasted. When he finally joined their bodies, he held still for a moment, eager to savor the feel of her body encircling his.
“Eric?” Bethia called softly as she ran her hands up and down his sleek back.
“Dinnae move, dear heart. I but wished to enjoy the feel of your heat for a moment.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I have spent too many long, lonely nights thinking about it.” He felt her muscles clench around him and groaned, knowing he could wait no longer. “Weel, mayhap later.”
Bethia laughed briefly, then softly cried out her pleasure as he began to move. This was what she needed. She just wished she had the will to make it last longer, she mused, and then succumbed to the force of her release. Eric’s cry a moment later told her he joined her in that heady fall and it added to her pleasure. She held him close as they both slowly recovered their senses, wondering a little sadly if she would ever be able to tell him what he meant to her.
“Do ye feel alive now, wife?” he asked as he finally eased the intimacy of their embrace, rolled onto his back, and tucked her up against him.
“Oh, aye.” She sleepily patted his smooth, hard chest. “Ye did good, husband.” She smiled when he laughed.
“Ye are too kind, madam.” He yawned, then grimaced ruefully and shook his head. “As I rode her
e from Bealachan I had some verra grand plans to spend the night loving ourselves into a stupor.”
“I think we have done that.”
“Aye, I just hadnae expected it to take only one time.”
“Ah, weel, ye hadnae planned on hieing to my rescue ere ye had even had a chance to dismount.”
Eric tightened his arms around Bethia slightly, clearly recalling his fear for her. “Nay, and I have an urge to lock ye in a tower surrounded by armed men.”
“’Twould keep me safe, yet somehow, to do so would almost be the same as letting William win.”
“Aye, and ’twould make ye unhappy. Both reasons stop me from giving into that urge.”
Bethia kissed his shoulder, then rubbed her cheek against it. “’Tis terrifying to think that the mon lurks out there craving my death. Aye, and especially for things that were his own fault. I cannae let that fear guide my every step, however. Always watching o’er our shoulders, trying to flush him out of whate’er hole he hides in, will be trial enough.”
“I ken it.” He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. “We will find the bastard and then we will kill him.”
“I am sorry, Eric.”
“For what, my heart?”
“Bringing ye such trouble. Making ye have to kill a mon.”
“None of it is your fault. The mon is long o’erdue for killing. ’Twill be naught but justice. Rest now, dearling. Ye will need your strength for the journey to the king’s court.”
For a long while, Bethia lay in his arms, listening to his breathing slow, feeling his arm grow heavy around her as he fell asleep. Although her body cried out for sleep, her mind was too busy to let it conquer her. Only a month or so ago, the greatest worry she had was whether the garderobes smelled fresh or if she could finally put a meal on the table that her father would not find fault with. Now she had a madman hunting her, a husband, and a child.
Highland Promise Page 15
