Highland Promise (17 page)

“Oh, dear.”

“Aye. Oh, dear.”

“’Tis a verra fine keep.” Bethia curled her toes into the soft sheepskin rug before the fireplace, then hastily redonned her slippers.

“This is what I want Dubhlinn to become.”

Bethia looked around at the tapestries warming the walls, the huge fireplace warming them, and the rugs warming the floor. Then she eyed Eric a little warily. “I ken that ye arenae without some coin, but do ye have this much?”

“Nay, but only because I believe a lot of what I have will be spent on such things as roofs for the cottages, plows, seed, and other such necessities. This will come.”

“Of course. I wish my father had nay been such a tightfisted mon. Ye should have been given some dowry for taking me and it could have helped.”

“Ye will help. That is all I need.”

“Have ye told your kinsmen the whole truth about us?”

Eric nodded, stood up, and grasping her hand, tugged her to her feet. “There is no need to play the game we did at court.”

“That wee tale made us look a wee bit more weel behaved than we were. It wasnae such a bad story.”

“Ye need not fear that ye will be faulted for how we got married. Believe me when I say that the way we met and wed was probably the most common and boring way a Murray has met his wife in quite a while.”

Bethia was not sure she believed that, but she did not argue. She clung tightly to Eric’s hand as he led her down to the great hall, where a welcome feast had been laid out,
if the smells coming from that direction were any indication. Her stomach started to growl and she started to blush, only to giggle when Eric’s did the same.

Once in the great hall, food became more important than conversation for a while. Bethia was surprised at how much was said despite the noise of so many hungry people eating. It was not until the sweet and mulled wine was brought round that the true conversation began, however. She sat enjoying a stewed, honey-sweetened apple and sipping her wine as Eric told his family all that had happened since he had left them.

A lot was said quickly, for he had kept them well informed, but then came the subject of William and the problem of Beaton and Dubhlinn. The hunt for William would go on. Bethia wished she could believe that he would be found soon. There had been too many failures, however—failures by good, quick-witted, skilled men—for her to be too confident. To think of William also meant that she had to face the fact that she badly wanted a man dead. Although few men deserved it as much as William did, that did disturb her.

When the men began to talk of ousting Sir Graham from Dubhlinn and the battle that would surely have to be fought, Bethia lost what remained of her appetite. Yet again, she listened as good men, men she would never consider bloodthirsty or greedy, talked of fighting to regain a piece of land. Here too was that hint of anticipation, that near excitement over the possibility of fighting a battle that had right on its side.

“I should try nay to listen, if I were you,” Maldie said, moving closer to Bethia after Gisele quietly left to go to her bed. “That is what I do.”

“It might be wise. These are things I cannae understand, m’lady.”

“Please, call me Maldie. We are sisters now, ye ken.”

“Thank ye, Maldie. Do ye understand all of this?”

Maldie shrugged her slender shoulders. “’Tis a just cause. Dubhlinn should be freed of the yoke of too many bad Beaton lairds. Why the men almost seem to enjoy the thought that Sir Graham will make them fight for it? Nay, that does puzzle me, but ’tis the way of men. They probably wonder how I can get so excited o’er a finely turned-out dinner or a new potion I have found. I think men and women are doomed to confuse each other from time to time.”

“I dinnae want them to fight. I dinnae want people to die o’er a piece of land.”

“Neither do I, Bethia, but ’tis the way of things.”

Deciding that even this pleasant woman could not seem to understand how she felt, Bethia turned the subject. “Eric told me ye are a healer.”

“I do what I can. I dinnae wish to sound vain, but I believe I have some skill and knowledge.”

“’Tis nay vain to recognize what one can do. ’Tis just that I have begun to learn what I can. Old Helda, the healer at Dunnbea, taught me some things, but I should like to learn more. I begin to think that Dubhlinn shall have to be rebuilt in many ways, not only in mortar and stone or new plows, but in skills.”

“I shall be glad to teach ye all I can before ye go to your new home.”

It was late before Eric took her back to their bedchamber. Despite all the talking Bethia had done with Maldie, it had been impossible to completely ignore the talk of war. As she watched him shed his clothes, she found herself wondering how many places there were on his fine body that could be pierced and how many would become fatal wounds. She softly cursed and crawled into bed. When Eric slipped beneath the covers
and pulled her into his arms, she remained tense against him for a moment, before the warmth of him and her body’s response to his touch could make her relax.

“It looked as if ye and Maldie found a lot to talk about,” Eric said, smoothing his hands over her back and wondering why she seemed upset, almost distant.

“She is going to teach me about healing. I thought it might be a useful skill when we reach Dubhlinn.”

“Ah, Dubhlinn. Bethia, I dinnae want to fight,” he began.

“Nay”—she kissed him to stop his words—“dinnae say anything. There has been enough talk of Dubhlinn and Sir Graham and righteous fights tonight. We havenae shared a bed for three long, verra cold nights. I can think of better things to discuss, cannae you?”

“Aye, but soon we really must talk about this.”

Bethia placed her hands on the side of his head and pulled his face down for a kiss. She put all of her need for him, all of her increasing fear into the kiss, and soon they were both breathing heavily. Passion made her feel better, made her happy, and with her head filled with men talking of war, she wanted the forgetfulness it also brought her. That blissful oblivion was very short-lived, but she craved it.

Eric soon found himself dragged along beneath Bethia’s passionate assault. He sensed that she was using him and the passion they shared in some way, but he was too afire to care. He wrestled with her over each caress, each kiss, over the matter of who would dominate whom in the lovemaking. It was a battle he loved to fight with her, for he was usually too lost in pleasure to care if he was the victor. As he joined their bodies and felt the sense of rightness only she could give him, he decided that, so long as it brought him to this sweet point, he was always the winner.

Drained and happy, Eric flopped onto his back and tugged an equally limp Bethia up against his side. “Welcome to Donocoill, Bethia Murray,” he drawled and grinned when she giggled.

“I dinnae think your wee wife likes this,” Balfour murmured as he watched Bethia hurry away from the training ground.

Eric sighed and took a long drink from the wineskin Bethia had brought him. “Nay, she doesnae. I have tried to talk to her about it, but”—he grimaced—“she is verra good at distracting me.”

Balfour laughed and nodded in complete understanding. “At least she doesnae berate ye or weep all o’er you trying to change your mind. Just what doesnae she like about all of this?”

“Aye,” Nigel said as he walked up beside them and accepted a drink from Eric’s wineskin. “What could trouble her about this fight? ’Tis a righteous one.”

“She sees it as a fight o’er land, and she doesnae like people fighting and dying o’er such things,” Eric replied. “In most such instances, I might agree with her.”

“Are ye saying that she doesnae accept your claim to Dubhlinn?”

“Oh, she accepts that. She has no doubt that Sir Graham is wrong, that he has no claim at all to Dubhlinn, and that he should give it to me.”

“Ah, I see.” Balfour laughed softly. “And somehow this will all happen without any of us having to lift a sword.”

“A foolish thought and I ken that Bethia isnae a foolish lass. Nay, she thinks with her heart in this matter and that makes it verra hard to reach her and reason with her.”

“Then leave it be. Let her sort it out in her own mind and heart.”

“That may be for the best. She kens the facts of the matter. I have e’en shown her how bad it is at Dubhlinn. There is nay more I can say. If she is to accept this, she must do it on her own.”

“There is that or”—Nigel smiled as Gisele waddled over to him followed by Maldie—“there is getting like minds to speak with her.”

Bethia frowned as Maldie and Gisele entered her bedchamber. She had thought the soft knock had been Grizel, for the last she had seen of the two women they had been going to visit with their husbands. Setting aside the tiny shirt she was making for James, she poured them each some wine and pulled the stools over in front of the fire. In the month since she had arrived at Donncoill, this was the first time the women had purposely sought her out and she was a little nervous as to the reason why.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as she sat down beside Gisele, but angled enough to see both women clearly.

“Aye,” Maldie replied, then she sighed. “And nay.”

“I have done something wrong?”

“Why do ye always think that?”

“What do ye mean?”

“Each time there is even the smallest thing amiss, ye apologize, or if one of us seeks ye out to have a talk and, mayhaps as now, looks a wee bit serious, ye always ask if ye have done something wrong.”

“It has been my experience that that is quite often the case,” Bethia murmured.

“Bah,” Gisele snapped. “I have seen no great fault in you since you came here. Eric certainly sees none. You do not trip. When you have helped around the keep you show
true ability at managing, and you are always very kind. People have been trying to make you think you are a nothing and you should ignore whatever they said, eh? They were clearly very stupid people.”

Bethia almost smiled. Gisele sounded so fierce. It was also very flattering to have the woman talk of her abilities.

“Ye do both look verra serious though,” Bethia said.

“We have come to speak to you about Eric. I think you do not mean to, but you make him unhappy.”

Maldie frowned. “That wasnae the best way to put that, Gisele.”

“Why? He is unhappy. Not with you,” Gisele hastened to say when she saw the look of distress on Bethia’s face. “With something in your head, something you think.”

“Bethia,” Maldie said, reaching out to pat Bethia’s clenched hands, “your distaste for the battle that is to come has, in some ways, hurt Eric.”

“Has he sent ye to tell me this?”

“Nay, our husbands did. Eric thinks we but mean to talk only of the battle and try to help you see that it is, if nay all right, at least nay as bad as ye think it is. He believes ye are seeing it all with your heart and, mayhap, thought women could best discuss it with you. After all, in his wee mon’s mind”—she exchanged a quick grin with the other two ladies—“he has told ye everything. Since he has and ye still dinnae see the matter as he does, he is at a loss.”

“And this hurts him?”

“He didnae say that. He talks about how he doesnae like the way it has upset you. But, aye, I believe he is a wee bit hurt. He understands, but he also wants ye to stand fully behind him.”

Bethia sighed and took a bracing drink of wine. “I will ne’er go against him.”

“That was well said,” Gisele murmured.

“Come, lass, dinnae try to play with us,” Maldie said and smiled gently. “We have been married too long. The answer that isnae an answer and the promise that isnae really a promise is a game we ken verra weel and can quickly recognize. Just tell us exactly what is in your head and mayhap we can help ye reach some compromise, some place where ye willnae be so upset by all of this and Eric’s poor bruised feelings will be soothed.”

“I cannae like people fighting and dying o’er land,” Bethia said.

“’Tis more than that and I think ye ken that. Dubhlinn belongs to Eric. He has every right to it. It will be Sir Graham refusing to obey the king’s orders to give it up that will cause the battle.”

“And that isnae fighting o’er land?”

“In a way, but doesnae he have a right? And ye saw how it is at Dubhlinn. The people are sick at heart. The past three lairds have cared naught for the people who depend upon them. They have beaten them, starved them, tossed away their lives in useless squabbles with neighboring clans, and kept them terrified, hungry, and poor until they are little more than sheep.”

“I think you know all of this,” Gisele said. “Mayhap you should look more closely at why you are so upset about this battle. I wonder if it is less the why of the battle and more about who shall have to go and fight it.”

“Of course I dinnae want Eric to go and fight. Nay, nor Bowen, Wallace, or Peter.
Yet I have ne’er felt it was right for people to die in a fight o’er land. ’Twas a greed for land that cost my sister her life, and the lives of her husband and his aunt. And ’tis the same greed for land that has set a madmon on my trail. Can ye blame me for nay liking it?”

“Not at all,” said Maldie. “But ye dinnae really think Eric is like that mon, do ye?”

“Nay, of course not.”

“Yet, that may be what ye are telling Eric when ye let him see how much ye dislike this.”

That thought horrified Bethia. “I have told him that I dinnae think he is anything like William.”

“Aye, but sometimes just saying so isnae enough.”

“Ye are trying to make me feel guilty.”

Maldie smiled. “A wee bit. All I ask is that ye look into your heart and try to see the true reason ye dinnae like the idea of Eric fighting for Dubhlinn. I think Gisele is right. I think ’tis a fear for Eric and the others more than the reason for the battle.”

“Weel, I will admit that, when I do think of the battle to come, I am nay thinking of the men with Eric or the people of Dubhlinn. I think only of Eric, my cousin, Peter, and Bowen. I couldnae bear it if anything happened to them, if they died fighting for a piece of land.” She grimaced. “Which is just what Gisele said, isnae it?”

“Verra nearly,” said Maldie. “I dinnae think we have eased your fears at all, but mayhap ye could cease speaking of how ye feel. If ye must say anything, express only your fear for the safety of those you care about.”

“Ye want me to hide what I feel?”

“Just the part that has Eric thinking ye condemn what he may be forced to do.”

Bethia thought about that for a moment. Her fear for Eric and the others was a deep part of why she hated the battle that was to come. It would not be that hard to fix her mind upon that and push her dislike for the reasons to the back of her mind. It would not be quite the same as lying to Eric.

“Then that is what I will do,” she finally agreed. “If ye feel ye must tell him something about this talk, then tell him that. Mayhap if he hears it from you, he willnae press me to talk about my feelings.”

“At which time ye may say the wrong thing.” Maldie nodded as she stood up and helped Gisele to her feet. “I understand. We are all afraid, Bethia. None of us wants to see our mon ride off to fight for we ken that someone will be trying to kill him. Ye arenae alone in that fear.”

The moment they left, Bethia hurried over to lie down on the bed. Evening approached and her head and stomach began to feel very uneasy. As she lay there, she thought over all that the women had said. The very last thing she wanted to do was hurt Eric or make him feel that she had nothing but disdain for him concerning this battle he would be forced to fight.

She had been selfish, she decided. She had been so concerned with how she felt that she had given no thought to the feelings of others. Bethia sighed and felt embarrassed. It was time to cease being such a child. The other women at Donncoill also faced the loss of their men, of the husbands, lovers, and kin that would soon ride off to fight Sir Graham and his men.

She decided it was far past time that she showed a little of the courage they did. It
did not mean she had to be false to herself, only that she had to keep some of her feelings to herself out of kindness for others. However, she mused, she would still pray every night that some fierce attack of gallantry overcame Sir Graham and he handed over the lands of Dubhlinn to their rightful owner without a fight.

“Ye are with child,” Maldie said as she wiped the sweat from Bethia’s face.

Deeply embarrassed that she had become ill in front of Maldie, Bethia could only nod. This attack had come in the morning instead of the evening and thus had taken her completely by surprise. Bethia was glad that she had only just let Maldie into her bedchamber, that Eric was gone, and that she was not in some well-crowded hall or bailey. As she slowly sipped from the goblet of cider Maldie served her, she wondered how well Eric’s sister would take her request for silence.

“I havenae told Eric yet,” she said.

“Ye didnae need to tell me that. Eric wouldnae be able to keep such news to himself. What I cannae understand is why are ye hiding it?”

“Probably for verra silly reasons. I wanted to be sure I was with child and then I wanted to be sure I would stay with child.”

“Nay so foolish,” Maldie said as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “Weel, ye must be sure now.”

Bethia laughed softly, then frowned. “While I was at court, and for a while here, this illness came in the evening. ’Twas verra faithful. Just before I was to go and dine I would feel weak, dizzy, and nauseous. Do ye think something has gone wrong and that is why it has begun to strike in the morning?”

“Nay, I doubt it. It may have decided to come now instead of later. Ye may find that it still comes in the evening. Twice a day isnae so unusual. Or it could just be that something ye ate last night didnae sit weel in your belly. Being with child can sometimes make the mildest of foods a torture on one’s digestion. How far along do ye think ye are?”

“Two months, mayhap a wee bit more. I fear I cannae be certain when the last time was that I had my courses. All I am sure of is that I havenae had them since I met Eric.”

“Then I would count from the first time ye and he lay together. ’Tis nay so unusual for a lass to get with child the first time she beds with a mon, but e’en if ye didnae, ’twas probably soon after.”

“Then I probably approach three months’ time.”

“And soon ye willnae get sick anymore. Most women cease to empty their bellies in the third or fourth month. Then all ye have to do is sit back and get verra fat.”

“There is something to look forward to.”

“So when do ye tell Eric?”

Bethia sighed and rubbed her hand over her stomach. “I believe I will wait a wee bit longer. I am nay sure it is something one should tell a mon practically on the eve of battle. In truth, I have been with child for the whole six weeks I have been here and he hasnae noticed. I think I would like him not to be so preoccupied and so busy elsewhere when I tell him.”

Maldie laughed and stood up. “Aye, ’tis news that ye want to tell at the right time and in the right place. There is a lot of trouble surrounding the two of you though. So keep in mind that that time and place may be a long time in coming and ’tis always best if
ye tell him ere he finds out for himself. Men can sometimes have some verra unkind thoughts when they think ye have been hiding something this important from them. Ye certainly dinnae want the moment ruined by an argument.”

As she watched Maldie leave, Bethia decided that was advice she would be wise to remember. She had heeded the last advice Maldie and Gisele had given her concerning her feelings about the upcoming battle and that had proven sound. Eric might not feel as if he had her complete approval for what he would do to get Dubhlinn, but she was sure he no longer felt that she hated what he was about to do. The few times her fears and unease were noticed or mentioned, she referred to no more than her concern for his safety.

In truth, she was beginning to realize that that was exactly what it was. The more she kept her mind on her fear for him, the less she fretted over the why of the fight. Bethia decided she had let herself get her fears and her opinions all mixed up. In her heart, she knew that Eric had no choice and that there was no comparison between what he was about to do and what Sir Graham and William had done. Sir Graham was the thief and it was past time that he gave up his ill-gotten gains.

There were still a few weeks left before the time of year was right to have a battle, she mused as she closed her eyes. She would never be able to send Eric off to fight with a kiss, a smile, and a wish for good luck, but she felt she could begin to let him see that she believed in his cause.

Time at Donncoill passed quickly and, to Bethia’s great relief, peacefully. She played with James and Eric’s nieces and nephews, studied healing with Maldie, and attempted to learn French from Gisele. Although she still could not bring herself to openly approve of the battle the men so diligently prepared for, she had tried to let Eric know it in small ways.