Highland Promise

by Hannah Howell

  Eric shifted in his saddle and dragged his fingers through his hair. He wanted to scream out his frustration. There were signs that William was near, that he had followed them here from court, but no sight of the man himself. Even Thomas had failed to find a trail he could follow to the end.

  “I begin to think the bastard can fly,” Wallace grumbled as he rode up beside Eric.

  “Or fades into the air whene’er it suits him,” Bowen added as he paused on Eric’s other side. “Poor Thomas fears his skills have faded. He is sorely dispirited.”

  “I didnae think the mon was this clever,” Eric said, shaking his head. “Mayhap it was arrogance, but I really didnae think he would be this much trouble to hunt down and kill. He certainly hadnae shown any great wit or skill before this.”

  “Nay,” Bowen agreed. “He used poisons, a coward’s weapon, and his success was more because he dealt with blind fools than because he had any wits. ’Tis the madness.”

  “Ye think that he is mad?”

  “Aye. I think he always has been. ’Tis the only explanation for murdering so many people. ’Tis certainly the only explanation for why he continues to hunt Bethia and James now. Any other mon would have fled by now, accepted that he had lost, and tried to save his own neck.”

  “He just accepts that he is a dead mon,” Eric murmured, recalling what the man had said when he had held Bethia in the alley. “E’en before I got him outlawed, he simply accepted it. All he seems to want to do is take Bethia with him. He speaks of James as weel, but I am nay sure he really thinks of the lad much anymore. ’Tis Bethia he seeks.”

  “She was the one that put a stop to all his plans,” Wallace said. “He blames her for his failure.”

  “Nothing,” Thomas grumbled as he walked up to them. “I find a sign and then it disappears or appears to. I cannae find the cursed mon.”

  Eric almost smiled as he watched Thomas walk to his horse and mount. The man’s whole body was set in an expression of despair and anger. When Thomas said nothing else, just started to ride back to Dunnbea, Eric turned to look at Bowen.

  “I believe the hunt for William has just ended for the day,” Eric drawled. He smiled faintly when both Wallace and Bowen laughed. “I begin to fear that Thomas will ne’er forgive me for this.”

  “It has sore bruised his pride,” Bowen agreed as he and his companions turned their horses back toward Dunnbea.

  “We shall have to keep an even closer watch upon Bethia,” Wallace said.

  “Aye.” Eric sighed. “I intend to go to Donncoill verra soon if the fine weather holds.”

  “There is a good chance William will follow ye there.”

  “I ken it, but he will be on unfamiliar ground. Mayhap that will aid in his capture. It matters not. I need to get Bethia away from here.”

  “’Twill do the lass good,” said Bowen. “And ye are her husband. She should go where ye go.”

  “Verra true, but Bethia wasnae raised to go anywhere, was she? Unlike most lasses, she has ne’er been readied to leave her home, to have her own family. Nay, Bethia was raised to do the work her mother should be doing.”

  Wallace grimaced and nodded. “Aye, ye have the right of it. ’Twas clear to see whilst Bethia was verra young. Sorcha was to make the good marriage and Bethia was to be the one who stayed behind to tend to her parents’ needs. ’Tis odd that they often seem verra ungrateful for that, e’en though ’tis what they wanted.” He glanced at Eric and grinned. “And ye will ne’er be a favorite of theirs for ye are taking her away.”

  Eric laughed as they rode through the gates of Dunnbea. “Oh, I saw that from the verra start. Nay, I will get Bethia away from here, and mayhap she can finally shake free of their hold on her.”

  “Will ye be needing men to fight for Dubhlinn?”

  “Aye, I will.”

  “Then ye shall have some.”

  “And I suspect ye may be needing some men to work at your new keep,” Bowen said as they dismounted and handed their horses over to the stable lads.

  “Aye,” Eric said carefully, glancing at Wallace as he added, “And any mon who seeks to stay shall be weel settled, with good pay and housing.”

  “Then me and Peter may be joining ye. We will certainly be fighting for ye, if only because it will get the wee lass a keep of her own.”

  “I will be pleased to have ye and I dinnae think that it needs to be said that Bethia will be delighted.” Eric watched Bowen walk into the stables, then turned to Wallace as they started toward the high, heavy doors of the keep. “And what do ye have to say? Ye will be losing two good men if they plan to stay with me at Dubhlinn.”

  “That I will, and I think a few others will go if ye find yourself as short of trustworthy and able men as ye think ye will.” Wallace smiled a little sadly. “Bowen and Peter were ne’er my men or e’en my uncle’s. They have always been Bethia’s men. Aye, they have had the training of me, and I am most grateful, but they must go where they feel they will gain the most for their labors. That isnae here.”

  “Dunnbea isnae a poor keep.”

  “Nay, which is why we have so many healthy people. And that means there arenae as many deaths as there are in other places. Especially since we have done little fighting here for many years. ’Tis a peaceful place now. There are more hands to do work than there is work for them to do. And since there are really too many people depending upon Dunnbea, it means some dinnae do as weel as they might elsewhere. Nay, I will let Bowen and Peter go if they choose to, because they deserve a chance to gain for their skills and labor and there is no gain for them here.”

  “Nor gratitude for their efforts,” Eric murmured as they entered the keep and were barely acknowledged by the laird and his lady as they passed them on the stairs.

  “That has e’er been in short supply.”

  “Ye didnae find him, did ye?” Bethia said as Eric entered their bedchamber.

  She was not surprised when he shook his head and then began to ready himself for the evening meal in the great hall. There had been a grim, disappointed look upon his face that had been all too easy to read as he had walked in. Bethia pushed aside her own disappointment and anger and turned her attention to Eric.

  As she helped him get his dusty clothes off, she talked about James and how much he had grown. She made him smile with her tales of all the new skills and words the boy had learned. By the time he was ready to walk her to the great hall, she felt she had cheered him. Then he pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick, hard kiss before leading her out of their bedchamber.

  “What was that for?” she asked as she struggled to calm her racing pulses.

  “For working so hard to help me cast off my dark mood,” he answered.

  “Oh.” She grimaced. “Ye guessed what I was doing, did ye?”

  “Dinnae look so guilty. I think that may be one of the things wives are supposed to do. I am almost tempted to send ye to Thomas, because that mon was verra beset with wounded pride and anger.”

  “How does Wiliam keep slipping away? I would ne’er have believed he could be so skilled at it or so clever as to elude us for so long.”

  “Neither did I believe it, but Bowen thinks madness sharpens his wits.”

  “Aye, that is possible. ’Tis sad that madness can make a mon stronger than most, sly and devious when they ne’er have been before. Mayhap we need to lure him into a trap,” she said, frowning in thought.

  “A trap requires bait and if ye are thinking of offering yourself as that bait, I should pause a moment to think again.”

  “It might work,” she grumbled, a little annoyed that he had cast aside her idea before she had even had a chance to speak of it.

  “And it might get ye killed. We arenae dealing with the mon we thought we were, or the mon William used to be. He appears and disappears. E’en Thomas cannae follow the mon, and Thomas could track thistledown. William’s trails seem to start, then stop, then start somewhere else as if he is leaping o’er the land. Aye, s
etting ye out in the open, apparently unguarded, would certainly draw him out, but I am nay longer certain we could stop him from killing ye and getting away again.”

  Bethia shivered and walked a little closer to his side as they entered the great hall. Her mind was so consumed with the problem of William that she took her place at the head table beside Eric and barely noticed her parents’ customary scowls of greeting. Next to the threat William posed, her parents were but a small irritation. They had a true skill for making her feel useless and for hurting her feelings, but William could kill her.

  “So ’tis nay enough that ye have taken all of your sister’s gowns,” Lady Drummond began in her cold, hard voice, “or that ye are taking away our grandson, but now ye plan to take some of our men as weel.”

  “I havenae taken any of your men,” Bethia said, pulled from her thoughts about William so abruptly that she did not really understand what her mother was complaining about now.

  “Wallace has kindly offered me some of the men of Dunnbea to help me take and hold Dubhlinn,” Eric said.

  That seemed to hint at fighting and Bethia frowned. She had not allowed herself to think about how Eric would get Dubhlinn away from Sir Graham Beaton. The king had given it to Eric and told Sir Graham to leave. Bethia supposed it had been extremely naive of her to think that was the end of it. Sir Graham had refused Eric his rightful place for thirteen years. He probably would not calmly ride away from the land now.

  “’Tis the wrong time of the year for a battle,” Lord Drummond said.

  “I dinnae mean to ride to the gates tomorrow and demand that Sir Graham leave or fight.” Eric took a long drink of wine to steady himself, refusing to let them anger him. “I, and your daughter and grandson, will need men at our side as we travel to Donncoill, however. And since spring is soon to be here, it seemed reasonable to hold the men Wallace gives me until then. That will allow them to train with the men the MacMillans are sending as weel as my brother’s men.”

  “I wasnae consulted on this.”

  “The Murrays are our allies now, and the MacMillans have always been,” Wallace said. “I didnae think we had any reason to refuse their request for aid in this matter.”

  Bethia could tell that that calm reasoning annoyed her father. Although she dreaded even the thought of a battle, she could not understand his reluctance to offer aid. She knew Dunnbea would not be left unmanned and certainly would not have its purse depleted by much.

  “I will do my best to see that your men arenae carelessly thrown into a needless battle,” Eric said, “and that they are returned to you as swiftly as possible.”

  He chanced a look at Bethia, but could tell little by her expression. She always assumed a calm, meek look when in the presence of her parents. He realized he had grown to dislike that look intensely. Right now, he was eager to see how she was taking the talk of battle. It was something he had tried to keep away from her. Since there was nothing to be read in her face, however, he decided he would have to wait until they were alone to talk about it.

  Bowen entered at that moment and brought Sir David MacMillan with him. Bethia was a little astonished at how much the young man looked like Eric. It was no wonder everyone had begun to question Eric’s claim of being a Murray from the moment he had drawn near to the MacMillans’ holdings. After the introductions were made, Sir David sat across from her and Eric, and Bethia found herself subjected to even more talk of a possible battle to gain Dubhlinn.

  She sighed to herself as she struggled to finish her meal. None of the men sounded particularly bloodthirsty, but it was evident that they held some degree of anticipation for a battle. They saw it as a good cause, right being on their side. Bethia wished she could too. All she could see, however, was that men, including the man she loved, were about to risk their lives and the lives of others for a piece of land.

  “Mayhap ye should leave the laddie and Bethia here until this is all settled,” Lord Drummond said.

  “Nay,” Eric replied firmly, his voice a little sharp as he reached out and took Bethia’s hand in his. “My wife and James travel with me.”

  To Bethia’s complete surprise, her father did not argue. “Are we to leave soon?” she asked quietly.

  “Aye, tomorrow, if the weather holds,” replied Eric.

  Bethia opened her mouth to argue, then quickly shut it. She would not question Eric in front of her parents. Instinct told her that they would try to take advantage of any hint of disagreement and that would only add to the tension she could feel in her husband. In truth, she had no real complaint about when they would leave. She had simply reacted to the tone of command Eric had used. That in itself surprised her a little, for she had grown very good over the years at bowing to that tone of indisputable command and arrogance. Her father and mother used it a lot.

  “Weel, lass, it seems your husband insists on thrusting ye right into the middle of his troubles,” her father said. “I hope ye are ready to behave as a wife should. ’Tis time to cast aside all of your recklessness and disobedience and follow your husband.”

  “Recklessness?” Bethia murmured, wondering when she had ever given her father the idea that she was reckless.

  Lord Drummond looked at Eric and said, “I fear we have nay prepared the lass weel for marriage. Ne’er thought a mon would have her since she is such an odd-looking thing. But I am sure ye can teach the child what she needs to ken to be a good wife. We did our best. ’Tis to our shame that it was ne’er enough.”

  Eric stood up abruptly and dragged Bethia to her feet. “I think ye did more than enough. We will leave at dawn. Mayhap we will see ye to say our fareweel then.”

  Bethia stumbled after Eric as he dragged her out of the hall. Something had made him furious and she had a feeling it was her father’s remarks about her. She was so accustomed to such complaints about her looks and behavior that she had not paid them much heed.

  “Mayhap I should begin to pack,” Bethia said as Eric pulled her into their room.

  “’Tis nearly done,” Eric replied sharply, then sighed and pulled her into his arms. “I am sorry. ’Tis nay ye I am angry with.”

  “I ken it, although I am nay sure what has made ye so furious.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and glanced up at him.

  “That ye are so used to hearing such things said about you that ye feel no anger at all only adds to mine.”

  “Father was disappointed with me from the day I was born, or at least from the day he saw that I wasnae exactly like Sorcha. If I heeded his remarks too much I should have gone quietly mad by now.”

  He smiled faintly and began to nudge her toward the bed. “And I shall go mad if I must stay here and continue to swallow such insults to you. So for the sake of our sanity, ’tis best if we leave as soon as possible.”

  Bethia laughed, then gasped with amused surprise as Eric tumbled her down onto the bed. “If we are to begin traveling so soon on the morrow, I think we had best get a lot of rest,” she said, but did not stop him from removing her clothes.

  “Oh, we will,” he murmured against her breast. “After.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Huddled in a blanket and pressed close to Grizel, James tucked up between them, Bethia stared out at the men riding with them. They looked as cold as she felt. For three days, they had ridden as hard as they dared, always watching for the weather to turn against them. Instead it had remained no more than cold, although Bethia was beginning to think that was becoming as great a danger as any snow or icy rain would be.

  She was going to be glad to reach Donncoill. Any shyness or uneasiness she might have felt about meeting Eric’s family had already been frozen right out of her. Her first concern was going to be getting warm.

  The cart started to slow down and Bethia leaned forward enough to look at the sky. It was late and she realized with a groan that they were going to have to spend one more night outside. The large fires the men built, the tents, and the way people all huddled together had eased some
of the chill, but Bethia was eager to crawl into a nice warm bed.

  “Only one more night, my heart,” Eric said as he rode up behind the cart.

  “’Tis all right, Eric,” she said as she grasped his outstretched hand and let him pull her up in front of him on his horse. “Connor shall be verra glad of his stable though,” she murmured as she patted the mount’s neck.

  “If we had even as much as that at the moment, he would have to fight the men for some room.”

  “At least there has been no storm. I keep reminding myself of that each time I feel inclined to complain.”

  “Aye, I have been doing the same.” Eric shook his head as he started to ride away from the camp the men were setting up. “Still, it may not have been wise to travel now. I probably should have waited.”

  “Ye were eager to get home. I am sure everyone understands that.”

  “Come, lass. Ye ken that part of my need to ride home now was because I was angry with your parents.”

  Bethia sighed and pressed closer to him, murmuring her enjoyment when he wrapped his plaid around her and pulled her into its warmth. “I ken it. Father is a hard mon to get along with.”

  “Wallace manages.”

  “Nay, Wallace just ignores him most of the time.” She smiled when Eric laughed. “And Wallace doesnae have to put up with much, for he sleeps with the men a lot, and since he has already been named my father’s heir, my parents are reluctant to criticize him too much. After all, that could steal away the men’s confidence in Wallace, and my father might have to lead the men into battle himself.”

  Eric almost kissed her. There was a definite bite to her words, and for once, she did not immediately rush to apologize for what she had said or try to excuse her father in some way. He did not want her to come to hate her parents, but he was very pleased at this sign that she was starting to look at them more clearly. Once she began to see their faults, she would begin to see that they were wrong in what they had believed about her and what they had raised her to believe about herself.