Highland Promise (10 page)

Bethia idly caressed his chest and tried not to think of how many women he had known, but it was impossible. “I suppose ye have a vast experience to call upon when ye make this judgment.”

He smiled against her hair and then kissed the soft waves. “I fear I do. I was verra greedy when I was young, then grew more, weel, discriminating. But, aye, I have bedded a lot of women. I wish I could have come to this marriage bed as pure as you, but I cannae change the past. I was a free mon, no one held my heart or my name, so I took what was offered. Because of that misspent youth, however, I ken that this is beyond compare. I ken that I keep saying ye are mine, but believe me, my wee wife, I am yours as weel.”

“Only mine?” she found the courage to ask, although her voice shook a little.

“Only yours. If I had thought I couldnae hold to the vows I just took, I would ne’er have taken them.”

It was no pledge of undying love, but Bethia found comfort in his words. If Eric remained true to her, took his vows seriously, that would give her the chance to make him love her. Surely, if the passion was as fine and rare as he said it was, then it was not beyond hope that love would follow? Bethia prayed that was so, because she dreaded spending her life loving a man who could not love her in return.

“Where do we go from here, Eric?”

He sighed and rubbed his hand up and down her slim back. “I fear ye will stay right here for a wee while, although I would prefer to get ye out of here as soon as I can.”

She looked up at him. “Ye are going somewhere?”

“To the MacMillans.” He felt her tense against him. “Many of your people have asked me if I am a MacMillan. The look is there. ’Tis time I let my kinsmen see it.”

“And do ye mean to do it alone?”

“Ye may still be hunted. Getting to Dunnbea may not be enough to stop William’s deadly plots. And although I dinnae forsee any trouble with the MacMillans, whether they accept me or nay, who can say? Nay, ’tis best if ye and the lad stay here until I sort this out.”

“And what if they dinnae accept ye as one of their own?”

“I dinnae ken yet.”

“Will ye fight them for what is yours by right of birth?”

He cupped her face in his hands and brushed a kiss over her lips. “I dinnae want to, but I willnae lie and say that I will ne’er do so.”

Bethia pressed her cheek against his chest. “I ken ye have a right to what ye seek. ’Tis just that I cannae believe ’tis right for people to fight and die o’er money and land.”

“’Tis what sets most people to fighting. That and honor.”

“Oh, aye, and look what concern about your honor just got ye.”

Eric slid his hand between Bethia’s legs and caressed her, enjoying the soft gasp that escaped her. “Aye, it got me this.” He slipped a finger inside her and sighed with contentment. “Ah, lass, I do love the feel of you.” He moved his hand to the small of her back and held her close. “I can only promise that I will try to solve all of this without a fight.”

“That must be enough and I thank ye for the promise.”

She slowly moved her hand down over his stomach and then to his groin. The low sound he made caused her to smile, for it held a note of pure masculine contentment. She stroked him, fascinated by the way he twitched and hardened beneath her fingers. Glancing up at him, she saw the light flush of a growing passion on his high cheekbones and realized that she was not completely without power. Eric could drive her nearly mad with desire. Mayhap, she could do the same to him.

Eric trembled when he felt the warmth of her lips on his inner thighs. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, fighting to keep his desire under control and allow her the chance to test her own budding skills on him. It would do her good, might even give her some measure of faith in herself, if she could see that she could stir him so deeply. When she touched her lips to his swollen member, he shuddered with the force of the pleasure that tore through him. He knew he was not going to be able to let her play her game for very long.

“Lass, are ye trying to drive me mad?” he asked in a thick voice as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“’Tis what ye do to me,” she murmured. “Pure madness. And mayhap I have some dark motive.”

“Ye?” Eric had hoped that talking to her would help him control his desire, but the way her breath stroked him intimately as she spoke, the way her lips moved against him, only made control more difficult. “I wouldnae have thought ye would e’er have a dark motive.”

“Ye are leaving me tomorrow to go to the MacMillans.”

“Aye, I must. Want to get the business done. Jesu,” he groaned when she covered the tip of him briefly with her mouth.

“There will be a lot of lovely lasses at Bealachan. The MacMillans are said to breed some bonny women.”

“I have ye.”

“Aye, ye do. Howbeit, I have seen the way the women are drawn to ye, Sir Eric Murray.”

Each time she ceased talking, she slipped her mouth over him, slowly, tauntingly, and he was not sure he could form a coherent word anymore. “I willnae e’en see them.”

“Weel, just in case ye do espy one or two, and just in case they try their wiles upon you, I thought I might send ye on your way with such a warm memory of me that ye scoff
at their attentions and think, ‘Why should I dally here when I can find such pleasure at home?’”

“Ye will be able to hear me scoff all the way back here.”

“Good. I shall be listening.”

She said no more and turned all of her attention to sending him into a frenzy with her mouth. Eric tried to maintain some sense of sanity, aching to enjoy the pleasure she brought him for as long as possible, but he quickly succumbed to blind need. With a growl, he grabbed her beneath her arms and dragged her up his body.

Bethia gasped with a mixture of shock and delight when he set her down on top of him, entering her body in one clean stroke. She sat there straddling him for a moment as she savored this new position. Teasingly, she moved up and down on him once, very slowly, and smiled when he groaned and clutched at her hips.

“For a lass who is still verra innocent, ye are a verra fast learner,” Eric said in a hoarse, unsteady voice.

“I am glad.” She grinned at him, the pleasure rushing through her veins making her feel almost euphoric. “I begin to think there are many ways to play this game.”

“Oh, aye, and I am going to enjoy teaching ye each and every one.” Eric moved her on him and murmured his pleasure over the feel of her. “Ride your mon, my heart.”

She readily obeyed his command. To Eric’s delight and surprise, she proved to have a true skill. Bethia kept them both stretched taut on passion’s rack for a long time before she drove them over the top. He caught her in his arms as she collapsed on top of him even as he savored the last shivers of his own release.

“I think we need to rest, lass,” he said as he tucked her up against his side. “We may have slept apart last night, but we fair exhausted ourselves the night at the inn.”

She covered a yawn with her hand and sleepily rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Aye, we are a greedy pair.”

Eric felt her grow heavy against him, her breathing slowing in sleep, and closed his eyes. There was some trouble ahead for them, and not only the possible further threat from William. There was the whole matter of his rightful inheritance, for although he might not have to fight with the MacMillans, he knew the Beaton laird would demand one. There was the need to get Bethia away from the poison her heartless parents dealt her in such large doses. There was the king’s court to visit to further his pleas and then he had to take her to Donncoill to meet his family. And while he was trying to show her that she had worth, that she mattered to him, there would be the women from his past to contend with. He was embarrassed by how many there were, and he had the sinking feeling that Bethia would, in some way, make him pay a penance for each and every one.

Bethia tried very hard not to yawn while she stood watching Eric prepare to leave Dunnbea. The last thing she wanted her clan to think was that she had exhausted herself in her new husband’s bed. That was exactly what she had done, but it was none of their business. She did not like to see Eric leave. He would be on his own again, temptation hurled his way at every turn, not that her presence was enough to stop the women from languishing over him. He would also be alone to think about what he had been dragged into: danger and marriage. There was always the chance that he would decide she was not worth all of the trouble and just stay away.

Eric stepped up to her and gave her a light kiss on the lips. “I am nay sure I will be
able to sit my horse for the ride to Bealachan since my wee wife wore me out.”

Although she blushed, she said sharply, “Good. Then ye willnae be able to ride anything once ye get there.”

“I should tell ye not to worry, scold ye for your jealousy even, and try to assure ye that, e’en if we had nay but kissed last night, I would ne’er turn to another woman. But”—he gave her a sweetly lecherous grin—“I think that might just make me a fool. Be at ease, my heart, I shall nay be gone that long. And”—he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers—“dinnae forget that ye are now my wife, no longer anyone’s daughter or sister or servant, but my wife.” He mounted and rode out through the gates of Dunnbea.

Bethia turned around, saw that her parents stood right behind her, and suddenly understood Eric’s parting words. He had seen her parents there and had probably spoken as much for their benefit as her own. As she slipped by them and started toward her bedchamber, she prayed Eric would not be away for too long. It was definitely time to leave Dunnbea, definitely past time for her to begin a new life.

“Murray?” The burly man at the gates of Bealachan scowled at him, a look of confusion in his gray eyes. “Are ye sure? Ye have the look of a MacMillan.”

Eric almost laughed. It was amusing to have so many people question him this way, but it also made him feel as if he had erred in staying away from his mother’s people for so long. If the resemblance was so strong that the Drummonds and now the MacMillans themselves saw it, one look might well have been enough and he could have saved himself years of tiresome petitions and diplomacy.

“Aye, the name is Sir Eric Murray. I will confess this much. There is a question concerning my birth. I will also assure ye that your laird and his wife will recognize my name. Assure them that I have come alone. I but wish to speak with them.”

The man curtly ordered another man to watch Eric and went into the keep. Eric sat calmly on Connor, making no move that could be considered even the slightest bit aggressive or threatening, but it was hard. He wanted to get the meeting done and over with. With so many people recognizing his MacMillan blood, he wanted the laird himself to see it. He also wanted the matter dealt with favorably or unfavorably as quickly as possible so that he could return to Bethia. Favorably would be best, for then, at least in this case, he would not have to decide on whether he fought for what was rightfully his—and risked Bethia turning away from him—or gave up completely and tried not to feel as if he had been cheated.

The man returned and quietly led Eric into the keep. There was a tense alertness to the guard that told Eric he had not truly been welcomed, but he had to wonder if the guard had mentioned his likeness to the MacMillans and that was why he was finally being allowed an audience. A quick glance around as he was shown into the great hall told him that the MacMillans were certainly not refusing his claim because they were poor. There were more chairs than benches in the great hall, tapestries lined the walls, a huge fireplace dominated the far end of the massive hall, and there was a lush carpet on the dais where the laird and his wife sat.

Eric approached the dais, acutely aware of the armed guard close at his side, and bowed. As he straightened up, he watched the laird’s eyes widen. The man grew so pale that his wife cried out and grasped him by the arm.

“Dear sweet heaven, ’tis my sister Katherine,” he whispered and took a long drink from the silver goblet in front of him.

“I thought ye had the look of us,” the guard grumbled and he relaxed at Eric’s side.

“I am Sir Eric Murray of Donncoill,” said Eric.

“I ken the name. Ye have plagued us for thirteen years with petitions and letters and the like.” The laird waved to a seat to the left of him. “I have the ill feeling that I have been lied to and nay by ye as I have always believed.”

“Nay, sir, not by me,” Eric said quietly as he sat down and accepted the wine a page poured for him. “Graham Beaton holds Dubhlinn and means to continue to hold it. It is to his benefit that no one aid me.”

“He said ye were some bastard who tried to claim he was the child Katherine had born, a child who died.”

“Ah, so he didnae just tell ye that I was her bastard.”

Lord Ranald MacMillan shook his head. “If that was what we had been told we
would have taken ye in. ’Twould have been hard to accept that my sister had commited adultery, but it would nay have been hard to accept the child of that sin. Nay, Beaton, Katherine’s husband, and now Graham, have always claimed that ye are just some impostor, a liar and a thief who smells easy gain.”

“And he made it verra clear that he wouldnae consider us allies and friends any longer if we allowed ye near us to try to play your game,” said Lady Mairi MacMillan.

“And ye ne’er questioned why, if I was but some impostor, he would care if ye got a look at me?” Eric asked.

Lord Ranald winced. “It was easier to believe that than to believe my sister had born a bastard. Her husband—”

“Was a beast and a fool. He wanted a son, spent most of his miserable life begetting children on every lass he could get his hands on, but they were all girls. The mon thought I was the son of his wife’s lover and tossed me out.”

“Tossed ye out?”

“He had his men take me into the wood and leave me on a hillside to die. Then he had your sister, my mother, and her midwife murdered or did it by his own hand—I was ne’er sure.”

“Tell me the whole tale.”

“’Tis an ugly one.”

Lord Ranald laughed shakily and refilled his goblet. “I begin to see that.”

Eric sighed and began. Most of what he said he had tried to tell them in his letters and petitions, but he began to think they had not even read them. He watched Lord Ranald pale with each word he said and realized the man had never seen the true depth of evil in his sister’s husband. Eric smiled faintly when he saw tears glistening in Lady MacMillan’s eyes. Bethia had looked much the same when he had told her the story.

“And this Graham is of the same ilk?”

“Weel, I believe so. Life for the poor souls at Dubhlinn doesnae appear to have gotten any better under his rule. ’Tis one reason I havenae given up on gaining hold of Dubhlinn. I believe the people there deserve a better life for a change.”

Lord Ranald watched him closely as he said, “Ye are Beaton’s heir and a true MacMillan, yet ye continue to call yourself a Murray.”

“And I believe I probably always will.” Eric shrugged. “I was raised for thirteen years thinking I was a Murray bastard. I still felt like a Murray e’en after I found out I was no bastard. ’Tis true that no one would be pleased to claim Beaton as his father, but I dinnae think that is all of it. Balfour and Niger had the raising of me. Mayhap we arenae bound by blood but we are bound in every other way. I owe them my verra life.”

“Aye, ye do.” Lord Ranald reached out and briefly clasped Eric’s hand in his. “Will ye stay a while? There are others to meet. Aunts, cousins. I should also like to tell ye about your mother.”

“I am but newly married, sir.” Eric briefly told them about Bethia and how he had met her, smiling a little when their eyes widened at the tale.

“The Drummonds havenae asked for aid, or are ye here to tell us that they have?”

“Nay, I dinnae think Bethia’s parents believe the tale.”

“But ye do?”

“Aye. The only thing I am nay sure of is how the mon will act now that Bethia and the bairn are safe at Dunnbea. Have ye e’er met my wife?”

“A time or two when we went to visit the Drummonds.”

“She was ne’er brought forward,” Lady Mairi said. “One occasionally bumped into her or caught word of some mischief she had gotten into. I think she wasnae treated verra kindly,” Lady Mairi said cautiously.

“Nay, she wasnae. I should like to get her away from that place and her parents as soon as I can.”

“Can a week or two more make all that much difference?” Lord Ranald asked.

Eric hesitated. He already missed Bethia and he was a little worried about leaving her to her parents’ untender mercies, for they could easily ruin what little gain he had made, stealing away the hints of spirit and confidence he had begun to glimpse in her. But after so many years of trying to get the attention of the MacMillans, he had it and he had complete acceptance. Not only would it be wise to strengthen that tentative connection, but there was a lot they might be able to tell him about Beaton that could help him later.

“I will stay for a week, two at the most, and then I must return to Dunnbea,” he said and smiled crookedly at the delight his newfound uncle and aunt could not hide.

“I will fetch a mon to take a message back to Dunnbea for you,” said Lady Mairi. “’Twill ease your wife’s mind.”

Eric hoped so. Bethia might try to understand, but he knew she was not sure of him yet. He took some comfort in the fact that she was safe behind the walls of Dunnbea, so, at least for now, he did not have to worry about her safety.

Bethia sighed as she sat on a grassy spot in the rear of the bailey and watched James stumble around. His walking was improving each day, but he still tried to go too fast and tumbled a lot. Letting him practice on the soft grass kept his bruises to a minimum.

She missed Eric and she tried very hard not to. He had every right to stay away for a while. The MacMillans had accepted him and wished him to get to know his kinsmen better. Although it had only been a fortnight, however, she was eager to see him again. She did not sleep well without him by her side and her dreams were tormented with visions of him enjoying the company of beautiful women, women who might lure him away from her forever.

“Cease your sulking,” said a cheerful voice from beside her as Grizel sat down on the grass.

“I am nay sulking,” Bethia replied.

“Aye, ye are. Ye are missing that bonny husband of yours.”

“Mayhap.” Bethia sighed when Grizel snorted in disgust over her false haughtiness. “If it will make ye happy, then I will confess that I am worried about the women he must be seeing at Bealachan.”

“Aye, I thought ye might be being just that stupid.”

“Are ye sure ye are just a maid?”

“Dinnae try to put me in my place. That haughty tone willnae work with me. We have practically grown up together and I am wed to Peter, who is nearly an uncle to you.”

“If ye try to make me call ye aunt I believe I will strike ye.”

“I am trembling in my slippers. Lass, why do ye think your husband would be sniffing the flowers in another field?”

Bethia stared at Grizel for a moment and then laughed. “What a strange way to put it.” Then she sighed and grew serious again. “Ye havenae seen how the lasses slather and drool o’er him. The maids at the inn near to ravished him before my verra eyes.”

“Aye, I think I can believe that. He is a fine-looking mon. Some of the lasses here were doing a wee bit of that slathering and drooling.”

“If ye are trying to make me feel better, ye are failing miserably.”

Grizel laughed. “Sorry. I fear ye have just got to get used to it. Ye cannae blind all the lasses in Scotland.”

“’Tis a thought.”

“Nay, ye could ne’er be so cruel. I dinnae ken what to say. I really didnae get the feeling your lad was one to spit on his vows. It would seem to me that ye are being unfair to him. Until he gives ye reason to believe he is unfaithful, ye shouldnae be accusing him of it in your thoughts.”

Bethia nodded and caught James in her arms when he stumbled up to her; then she laughed when he immediately started off in another direction. “I ken it. I should just trust him until he gives me cause to do otherwise.”

“Aye, and heed this. A mon doesnae mind a wee touch of jealousy in his woman, but only a wee touch. In truth, ye are rather impugning his honor each time ye think he will succumb to the temptation of willing lasses.”

“Oh.” Bethia grimaced. “I ne’er really thought of it that way.”

“Try. If ye let such thoughts plague ye in your mind, soon the cross words come slipping out of your mouth. Next ye ken, ye are accusing him of bedding all the lasses within a day’s ride, and if ye accuse him of it often enough, ye just may push him to it. That sort of mistrust and jealousy can be a poison to a marriage, Bethia. I saw it in my mother and father, so I ken what I speak of.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“Nay, ’tis in the past. It taught me something though, and although I cannae say I dinnae get jealous when I see a lass smiling at my Peter, I look to him first. Does he smile back? Is he in my bed every night? Does his passion still burn hot? I still get an aye to all of those questions and it eases the jealousy. Of course, that doesnae stop me from hunting down that forward wee slut who was making eyes at my mon and smacking her.” She laughed along with Bethia.

“There is one problem with asking those questions about Eric right now. He isnae in my bed every night.”

“True, but ye ken where he is and he has sent ye a message near every other day.”

Recalling that, Bethia smiled. “Aye, he has. And he calls my some verra pretty names. My heart and my own.”

“Weel, lass, if he is calling ye things like that, I think I should worry less about what he is being offered by the lasses at Bealachan and prepare myself to reward him mightily for refusing them all.” Grizel stood up and brushed off her skirts. “I think we had best get that laddie in to have some food and ye are past due for another lesson in courtly manners.”

Bethia softly cursed as she stood up and collected James. When she had expressed her dismay over the possibility of going to court with Eric, Wallace and Grizel had begun to train her. Although she began to feel that she would not put Eric to shame, she did think that the king’s court was not going to be terribly enjoyable. There were too many
rules to remember even about whom to curtsy to and how deep one should do it. The only thing she had enjoyed at all was learning how to dance, but she could not be sure she would ever get a chance to do so.

It was early afternoon when Bethia found herself alone with James with nothing to do. She decided to go and find some herbs. Recalling how helpless she had felt while Eric was fevered that time, she had decided to learn some of the art of healing from Old Helda, the clan’s healing woman. Now she was trying to put together her own collection of herbs and medicines.

She briefly wondered if it was wise to go outside of the walls of Dunnbea, then shook aside her fear. From all she had heard, William was now trying to get Dunncraig by petitioning the king and her parents to become James’s guardian. Since the messages he had been sending had come from Dunncraig, he could not even be close by. For now, Bethia felt she could venture outside in some safety and she went to find Bowen.

Bowen disagreed. “I think ye ought to stay right where ye are.”

“I need to get away from these walls for just a wee while,” she said, following him as he walked into the stables.

“A grave will feel even more confining.”

“Bowen, the mon isnae even near here.”

“How can ye be so sure of that?”

“Because he is sending his messages here from Dunncraig.”

Bowen leaned against a stall and frowned at her. “Aye, so it is said. ’Tis just that the mon wanted ye and the lad dead. I have no reason to think he has changed his mind.”