Highland Promise (12 page)

“Luck was with us or, mayhap, with ye and the lad. One of the horses ye took eluded capture by William, but stayed near at hand. Dougal survived, dragged himself onto the horse, and hied back to Dunnbea. We werenae that far behind ye.”

“And of course, ye had Thomas to find the trail.”

“Aye.” He lightly ruffled James’s bright curls. “And this wee laddie’s voice to follow for a wee while.”

“I was so afraid I had failed him, had led him straight to his death.”

“Nay, lass. William fooled us all. We thought he had gone back to Dunncraig too, or we would ne’er have let ye and the lad ride outside of the walls of Dunnbea. Your mon was nay pleased to find out we had done so.”

Bethia frowned toward Eric, but quickly looked away, unable to watch him fight without feeling choked with fear for his safety. She wondered if she should allow herself to see some clue to Eric’s feelings for her in his anger over the fact that she had left the safety of Dunnbea, then told herself not to be a fool. He had sworn to protect her and James and had done so again when he had wed her. Eric was a knight, a man of honor. He had left her at Dunnbea, thinking her safe, only to return and find her in danger. That was all that stirred his anger. She glanced once more toward Eric, saw him fighting his way toward William, and hastily closed her eyes. She stopped worrying about what he did or did not feel for her and started praying for his safety.

Eric swore as he cut down the man standing between him and William only to have another shoved into his path. William was throwing away the lives of his men just to save his own. It was hard for Eric to control his fury as he saw how close the man was to
reaching his horse and the chance to escape.

“Stand and fight like a mon, ye filthy bastard,” Eric yelled even as he fought the man William had pushed into the fight.

“I dinnae plan to die here,” William replied as he struggled to get hold of the nervous horse. “Nay, that bitch has caused me to lose my sons and the lands that should have been mine. I intend to live long enough to make her pay dearly for it.”

Cursing viciously, Eric knocked the sword out of his opponent’s hand, then glared at the white-faced man. “Get out of my way,” he snarled and was not surprised when the man bolted, making no attempt to pick up his sword and return to battle. “Ye brought yourself to this end,” Eric said as he darted around the men still fighting and the bodies of the slain.

“Dunncraig should have been mine!” Wallace screamed as he swung up into the saddle and kicked his mount into a gallop, heedless of anyone who was in his path.

“Wallace!” Eric yelled in warning even as he ran after the fleeing William.

Wallace cursed as he saw William bearing down on them, his sword raised. “Move out of the way the moment I yell
now
, Bethia.”

“Sweet Jesu, does he mean to run us down?” she whispered, holding James close and wondering how she could protect him.

“Now!” Wallace met and deflected William’s deadly swing, but the force of the blow staggered him.

Although it felt cowardly to do so, Bethia darted behind Wallace as William tried to control his panicked mount. Twice more he tried to cut down Wallace and get to her. Then he looked beyond her and cursed. A quick glance over her shoulder told Bethia why. Eric and the others were racing toward them. William could not fight them all, and what few of his own men had survived were using the distraction to run for their lives.

“This isnae o’er yet, bitch,” he yelled at Bethia.

“Ye have lost, William. Give it up,” Bethia replied, frightened by the look of madness twisting his features.

“Nay. Ye must pay for the lives of my sons. Ye and the bratling.”

William galloped away, disappearing into the wood. Bowen sent two men after him, but Bethia could tell by the expression upon his face that he did not hold out much hope of catching the man this time. She trembled as Eric stepped up beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. After a quick look showed her that he had no wounds, she leaned against him. He smelled of sweat and blood, but for the moment, she did not care. She needed his strength to calm her fears.

It had been a near escape, too near. Worse, Bethia knew that it was still not over. With so many witnesses to his attempt to kill James and her, William could no longer work from the strength of Dunncraig. He was now a hunted man. She believed his threats, however. Being stripped of everything—his sons, lands, coin, and fighting men—would not stop William. Now he would hunt her not for greed, but for revenge. And now that he knew his plots for gain were known, he would do his hunting from the shadows.

“What were ye thinking of to leave the safety of Dunnbea?” Eric asked after taking a long drink from a wineskin Wallace gave him and then offering some to Bethia.

After a quick glance around revealed the men of Dunnbea at the grim task of stripping the dead of all that was valuable, Bethia took a long drink of wine and decided to fix her attention only on Eric. “I fear I believed in the false trail the mon had laid. I
thought he was at Dunncraig.”

Wallace muttered a curse and nodded as he accepted his wineskin back. “We ne’er thought to question or spy upon his messenger.” Wallace took a drink, glanced around, and then pointed to one of the dead men with an arrow in his back. “That is him right there.”

“Do ye recognize any of these men as Drummonds from Dunncraig?” Eric asked.

“Nay,” replied Bethia, “but William had obviously replaced Robert’s men with his own, most of them base hirelings.”

“Men who wouldnae be troubled fighting for a mon who gained his land and wealth through cowardly murders. The true men of Dunncraig might also have had some qualms about attacking other Drummonds, true Drummonds.”

“There were a few who were ready to betray their clan, their blood, and aid that usurper in the hope of some reward. I didnae see any of them here, however. They will probably have to be cleared out of Dunncraig.” She glanced in the direction William had fled and shivered. “’Tis nay o’er yet.”

“Weel, if any of those curses ye hurled at his head should take, he will be verra easy to find,” Eric drawled, and he grinned when Wallace laughed. “It should be quite easy to find a bald, toothless, pain-ridden mon who limps and has blackened toenails and fingernails.”

“Ye heard it all, did ye?” Bethia felt somewhat embarrassed.

“Right up to the threat of a twisted monhood.” He chuckled when she blushed deeply, but then grew serious. “What were ye thinking of, my heart? Ye were pushing those men hard, stirring up their darkest fears. They were aching to cut ye down.”

“Actually, I was hoping that they might hesitate to murder me out of fear. They were clearly more than ready to believe I was some witch. Aye, and all because I didnae eat the poisoned food William had sent to me and James.”

“They could just as easily have killed ye a lot sooner than they had planned to.”

“All I could think to do was to gain some time,” Bethia said quietly. “I had already gotten him to boast of all his crimes and argued over the wisdom of killing James and me. Then he mentioned that he thought I was a witch. It gave me the idea of trying to make him think it was dangerous to kill me. After all, if he was fool enough to even think I was a witch, surely he was fool enough to believe my claim that I was and to fear my great powers. I wasnae sure rescue would come, for I thought both my guards were dead, but I was compelled to try to gain enough time for someone to come and rescue me. Bowen had told me that I must be back by sunset and I kenned he would set out to find me as soon as that time had passed. I was trying to hold off the execution William had planned for me and James.”

“Weel, as a plan it wasnae perfect, but it served its purpose,” Eric said, nodding a greeting to Bowen as he joined them.

“Time to leave this dark place,” Bowen said, briefly touching a sleepy James’s curls.

“Aye,” Bethia agreed. “’Tis a place of death, those promised and those fulfilled.”

Bowen nodded as he started to walk toward where the men from Dunnbea had left their horses. “And witchcraft.”

Bethia sighed and shook her head as all three men laughed. “I shall ne’er hear the end of this, shall I?”

“Nay.” Bowen bent to kiss her cheek, then laughed again. “Twisted monhoods, eh? Jesu, that was terrifying.”

When all three men laughed yet again, Bethia decided to just ignore them. She allowed them to have their fun. It was good to hear the laughter, for she doubted it would last long. William was still out there and now he wanted revenge.

“At least ye didnae get any of our men killed with your foolishness,” said Lord Drummond.

Bethia inwardly sighed and filled her trencher with food. She had succeeded in avoiding her parents when she had first been brought back to Dunnbea. Eric had skillfully gotten her upstairs and into their bedchamber, where she had had a calming bath and a rest before her parents had even seen her. By the time he had returned to take her to the great hall for the evening meal, she had hoped that enough time had passed to dull the bite of her parents’ tongues. It made her sad to discover that had been a foolish hope.

Her parents obviously did not want to admit that they had been wrong about William Drummond. It would also require them to admit that she had been right about the man, and that was evidently something they could not abide to do. Somehow it had all become her fault, as if she had set out to get herself brutally murdered just to spite them. Not once had they asked if she had been hurt. What really troubled her, however, was that they had not asked after James either. Their only grandchild had been held at swordpoint and they said not a word. It was as if the child did not exist.

“I am sorry,” she said. “At least we have reduced the number of our enemies to one.”

“And just how is it that he got away?”

That question carried a criticism of Eric, Wallace, Bowen, and Peter, and Bethia could not allow that. The laird of Dunnbea sat on his well-rounded backside, safe inside the walls of Dunnbea, and then dared to belittle the efforts of his men. Even as that thought passed through her mind, Bethia nearly gasped in shock. Never had she had such an angry, almost disloyal, thought about her father. All she could think of was that her need to defend the men who had so gallantly rescued her and James had briefly overwhelmed her, prompting such wicked thoughts. Her father was the laird, she sternly told herself. He had every right to question his men. Bethia wondered why that reminder did not fully kill her anger, then decided that she was simply too tired to be reasonable.

“He used his men as his shield,” Eric replied. “We were unable to kill them fast enough to reach him.”

Lord Drummond grunted and gave Eric a cross look before returning his attention back to his overfilled trencher. Bethia breathed a silent sigh of relief and tried to eat something. Her father did not like to be criticized, no matter how subtly, and that was just what Eric had done. Worse, she could sense a cold anger in Eric. Although she understood his sense of insult—for himself and for the other men—she prayed he would keep it controlled. She did not want to be caught in the middle of a quarrel between her husband and her father.

A few more remarks were made about her rescue and the threat William still posed. Her father not so gently criticized, and Eric and Wallace not so gently defended themselves while rebuking him. There was no outright argument, but Bethia soon found it all very hard to bear. The food she had managed to eat now sat like lead in her stomach, and she completely lost her appetite.

“I believe I will seek my bedchamber now,” she said to Eric, but loudly enough so that her parents could hear.

Eric kissed her on the cheek. “I will join ye soon.”

“Eric,” she whispered, sensing his lingering anger at her father and fearing he might unleash it once she was gone.

“Dinnae fret, my own. I willnae allow myself to be too provoked.”

She nodded and walked out of the great hall. It was both pleasant and unsettling that he could so easily guess her concerns. Bethia hoped it was because he understood her well and not because her face was too easy to read. After all, if he could too easily read her emotions in her expressions, so could others, and she did not want her parents to see the occasional surges of anger and resentment she found harder and harder to control.

“Ye didnae stay verra long in the hall,” Grizel said as Bethia entered her chamber.

“I couldnae eat another bite,” Bethia replied as Grizel began to unlace her gown. “Father isnae happy to discover he was so completely wrong about William and I fear he tries to find fault with the men. That makes Eric and Wallace angry. The food I was eating began to sit like a rock in my gullet as I waited for someone to cease being politely angry and become truly enraged.”

“I would suspect no mon likes to hear the battle he just fought at risk to his own life being demeaned and criticized by a mon who hasnae lifted a sword in o’er a dozen years.”

The sharpness of Grizel’s tone surprised Bethia; then she recalled that Peter had been one of her rescuers. In a way, her father was heaping scorn upon Grizel’s husband as well. Bethia wished her father would be more cautious in his criticism, then decided it was probably too late for the man to change his ways. The fact that so many men lingered in service to Dunnbea despite her father’s constant complaints was probably out of loyalty to Wallace and Bowen. They simply waited patiently for the day when Wallace would be the laird of Dunnbea.

“I am sure my father doesnae completely scorn their efforts,” she murmured and ignored Grizel’s snort of disbelief. “How is James?” Bethia asked as, dressed only in her shift and a thick robe, she sat on a stool in front of the fire so that Grizel could brush out her hair.

“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?”

“Aye. The MacMillans now fully accept me.”

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.”