Highland Promise (21 page)

“Are ye sure we ought to trust her?” Nigel whispered as they followed the woman through the shadowed wood.

Eric shared Nigel’s wariness, but it was not strong enough to make him refuse her aid. They had waited until nightfall, using the torturous hours of waiting to lay out their plans. Then, leaving Wallace, Peter, and Balfour behind to direct the men, Eric, Nigel, and David had gathered nearly two dozen men and followed Mistress Leona. They were taking a risk, one that could get them all slaughtered, but Eric preferred to follow his instincts. They told him that the woman could be trusted.

At the very edge of the wood, still a fair distance to the walls of Dubhlinn, Mistress Leona stopped them. Eric’s eyes widened as, with Nigel’s quickly offered help, she lifted what appeared to be the remnants of a lightning-shattered tree stump. It was a hatch. The woman held her sheltered lantern in front of her and descended the narrow steps her light revealed. She waved them to follow her, and Eric hesitated only a moment before doing so. Somehow, the fact that Sir Graham—mayhap even his father—had built such an incredibly long tunnel to help himself, and the very few people he trusted, escape an enemy made him feel more confident. Sir Graham trusted no one. Eric could not believe he would have revealed such a deep, useful secret to a mere maid, to a mere woman, no matter what gain it might promise him.

“Where does this lead to?” Eric whispered as he moved close to Mistress Leona’s side while she led them along the tunnel.

“To the laird’s own bedchamber,” she replied in an equally soft voice.

“That doesnae seem a particularly wise place to visit.”

“’Tis the best place right now. I have survived through the reigns of three lairds. During one of the many squabbles the Beaton lairds provoke with their neighbors, a battle the Beatons werenae winning, I noticed that the laird had disappeared from the fray. That got me to thinking that the bastard had a way out. It has taken me years, but I found his wee bolt-hole. I also noticed that, whilst in the midst of a battle, a Beaton laird stayed with his men unless he felt an urge to rut. Then he would grab a lass, bed her, and leave her quickly to return to the walls. Either way, the way out of this should be clear for us.”

Once inside of the laird’s bedchamber, Eric felt more certain of success. He sent
the youngest of his men back out with word for Balfour and with orders and to escort Mistress Leona to safety with the Murrays. There was only one thing lacking.

“Mistress Leona,” Eric said as her youthful guard tried to pull her inside the tunnel, “what about your family? If ye could describe them, mayhap we could protect them or lead them to safety.”

“I have already done so. The moment I decided that I had to help, I slipped my daughters and their children out through this tunnel. They are huddled in a damp, dark shieling high in the hills with my cousin Margaret. If ye win, they will return. If not, they will flee with or without me.”

“A woman who kens weel how to survive,” Nigel murmured as Mistress Leona disappeared into the tunnel. “I wonder why she didnae flee this dark pit ere now?”

“Mayhap she wished to stay and help me. Mayhap she didnae feel she could get far enough away ere her absence and that of her family was noticed. This battle and the confusion that will follow it will give her the time to get verra far away,” Eric answered. “Now let us go and open these gates.”

As they left the laird’s bedchamber and made their way through the keep, Eric knew they were being watched. Once or twice he caught a fleeting glimpse of a servant, but no one cried out against them. Sir Graham had obviously not bred loyalty or love amongst his people. He would soon pay dearly for his arrogance and his cruelty.

Sir Graham’s men fell quickly, since their attention was on the men outside the walls. They had never anticipated an attack from behind. A few, Beaton by name and blood, surrendered to Eric and his men on sight. A slender young man named Pendair Beaton even helped them open the gates for the others.

Once the gates were opened, Balfour led the rest of the men into Dubhlinn’s bailey swiftly and loudly. The war cries they screamed as they pushed through the gates and set upon Sir Graham’s men with a vengeance even set Eric’s hair on end. Several times Eric saw Sir Graham himself and fought to reach the man. Sir Graham was trying desperately to cut his way through his enemy and get back inside the keep, to his no longer secret bolt-hole.

Eric looked from Sir Graham to the keep, trying to judge the best place to put a stop to the man’s flight, and froze. He stared at the man half way up the stairs to the heavy door of the keep. When he realized it was indeed Sir William Drummond he saw, and that the man was close to escaping, he broke free of his stupor and raced toward him, only faintly aware of Bowen and Peter swiftly moving to protect his back.

A cry of pure rage escaped him when William disappeared inside the keep. Even as Eric bounded up the blood-slick steps, Sir Graham raced inside, but he was unable to bar the door. Eric shoved it open, causing Sir Graham to stumble backward, but the man quickly recovered and faced Eric. Over Sir Graham’s shoulder, Eric saw William going up the stairs. He fought to regain some sense of calm, knowing that he could not give into the urge to relentlessly pursue William. An able fighter, Sir Graham stood firmly between Eric and the man he so ached to kill.

“Drummond, ye cowardly bastard,” Sir Graham bellowed. “Get back here and fight!”

“Nay, ye are on your own,” William yelled back. “Ye said ye could beat this fool. That is what I sought. Ye were to rid me of the ones who stand between me and that wee bitch. Weel, ye havenae done it. Aye, ye have lost this battle. I mean to flee ere I die with
ye.” William disappeared up the stairs.

A moment later, Peter followed William while Bowen stayed to guard Eric’s back. Eric forced his attention to Sir Graham, pushing aside his disappointment and fury. He knew he had lost William yet again, knew in his gut that Peter would fail to catch the man, but his fight was with Sir Graham now.

“Ye were a fool to ally yourself with that madmon,” Eric said as he and Sir Graham warily circled each other.

“He told me he could sway the Drummonds, if nay to join me, at least to nay fight against me.”

“That mon has no sway o’er the Drummonds. His hands are too stained with their kinmen’s blood.”

“Aye, I wondered on that. Howbeit, he was verra good at tormenting you and he might have finally succeeded in killing your wee wife. That would have pleased me. ’Twas worth the risk.”

“Ye should have left this place while ye had the chance.” Eric lunged and took careful note of how Sir Graham protected himself against his sword, noting the weariness evident in the man’s movements.

“Dubhlinn is mine. I have held it for thirteen long years.”

“Ye have held nothing. Ye claimed what was ne’er yours.”

“This land is mine!”

“Since ye love it so dearly, I will be sure to leave ye enough to bury ye in.”

The fight was short, if fierce. Sir Graham had skill, but he had not kept it well honed. He was soft, his strength lost to drink and debauchery. When Eric finally pierced the man’s heart with his sword, he felt no real sense of victory. He had not really wanted to gain Dubhlinn by spilling the blood of his kinsmen, no matter how much that man deserved killing. As he knelt to close Sir Graham’s sightless eyes and cleaned his blade upon the man’s jupon, he felt almost sad. It appeared that the only Beatons he could trust were the poor ones of low birth and the bastards his father had bred so freely.

“Peter?” Eric called as he watched that man come down the stairs, but he was not surprised when the man reported his failure with one curt shake of his head. “Curse the bastard. Will I ne’er catch him?” he grumbled as he stood up and sheathed his sword. “Get out the word that Sir Graham is dead and that a new laird holds Dubhlinn,” he ordered his two men.

“I should stay and watch your back,” Bowen protested.

“I will be fine. And as soon as the people hear that Sir Graham is dead, I believe the fight will end immediately.”

“Aye,” Bowen agreed. “These men willnae fight now that the promise of pay has been snatched from their grasp.”

As soon as Bowen and Peter left, Eric took a look around. By the time he had finished touring the keep, he had a small group of wide-eyed terrified servants following him from a safe distance. This tentative sign of acceptance eased a little of the dismay he felt upon seeing the poor state of the keep. He gave his brothers a faint smile when he descended the stairs and found them waiting for him.

“No sign of William?” Nigel asked and cursed when Eric shook his head.

“Not much sign of anything else either,” Eric reported.

“Aye, from what little I have seen, if there was wealth here, it has been completely
stripped away.”

“There is indeed verra little left and what there is hasnae been kept weel at all.”

“Ye will have a lot of work to do.”

“When I saw William here I had thought I could end all of my troubles in but one battle. Now I have my lands, but I will have to fight to bring them back to what they were, what they could be again. And William still hunts Bethia.”

Balfour draped his arm around Eric’s shoulders. “One battle at a time, lad. Ye have won this fight. Ye will soon win the other. William may disappear like a ghost, but he is still naught but a mon. He can bleed and he can die.”

“And he can go to hell, which is where I mean to send him as soon as possible,” Eric vowed.

“Cease this pacing or I shall tie ye to the chair,” Maldie warned.

Bethia sighed and sat down. She, Maldie, Gisele, and several other women had gathered in the great hall to await the return of the men. They had done the same the previous day until late into the night. Although she had finally retired to her bed along with the others, Bethia had slept too fitfully for it to have been restful. Now she sat at the table, picking at the food set out for their morning meal, still tense and desperate for some word from the men. Bethia was amazed at how well the other women appeared to maintain their calm. She feared that, if she did not hear something about Eric’s fate very soon, she would start tearing her hair out.

“Are ye sure ’tis nay a bad sign that they didnae return yesterday?” she asked Maldie.

“Aye, verra sure,” Maldie responded.

“Once I realized I wouldnae be granted my wish that Sir Graham would just give up and that the battle must still be fought, I had hoped that it would be a verra short one.”

“It could have been. Howbeit, if it wasnae, that doesnae mean verra much. Balfour and his brothers are always verra careful with the lives of their men. Such caution can slow the progress of a battle. They could even have decided it was best to place Dubhlinn under siege.”

“Oh Jesu,” Bethia groaned. “That could take months. I shall be naught but bones by then.”

“Aye, it could take months,” Maldie said, but her tone was gentle with understanding. “’Tis better than hurling men against weel-protected walls and watching the dead and wounded pile up. And from what Eric told me of Dubhlinn, I dinnae think a siege will last for months.”

“Sir Graham refused to give up Dubhlinn despite orders from the king himself. I dinnae think a mon who spits in the eye of his liege, who risks charges of treason, will be brought to his knees by a siege. And from what I saw of Dubhlinn, a wee touch of starvation willnae deter him either.”

“
Non
,” Gisele agreed; then she added meaningfully, “Not the starvation of his people or even his men.”

“But he willnae be able to long abide his own pangs of hunger or thirst,” Bethia finished the thought. “But how can we ken that he will suffer them? Dubhlinn ’tis a verra sad place. Oh, do ye ken, I saw no animals.”

“Which means they have all been sold or eaten,” Maldie said. “The mon has either filled his purse with the unwise selling of all his stock or eaten so much naught has been left to adequately replenish that stock. True, ’tis the wrong time of the year to be certain, but Eric said the fields looked as if they had been verra poorly managed, mayhap not e’en planted in a long while. Nay, the mon willnae be weel supplied in his keep, I am thinking.”

“What of the people of Dubhlinn?”

“The people of that cursed land have learned how to protect themselves. Aye, they learned it long ago. They dinnae throw their lives away fighting either. After all, what care they who the laird is? They have gained naught but misery and pain from the last three lairds. They hide and they are verra skilled at it.”

“There are so few of them, or so it appeared when we paused near the place.”

“There are certainly a lot fewer than when my accursed father held the land, but I doubt they were killed in battle. Nay, cruelty and hunger, both inflicted by their lairds, have decimated their numbers.”

Bethia smiled suddenly, casting Maldie a faintly scolding look. “Ye are nay so subtly trying to make me see that Dubhlinn will be weel served by the removal of the laird. Nay need to be so clever. I ken Eric will be better for them all.”

“’Tis odd. Dubhlinn has been brought to near complete ruin, the clan little more than a handful of ragged, terrified paupers who spend a lot of time hiding, and their one chance of survival lies with Eric, the supposed bastard of the previous laird. The Beatons will be saved by a mon who refuses to carry their name, by the true heir to Dubhlinn, who was cast out to die in the hills. In truth, all Eric should wish to do is raze that place to the ground.”

“And spit upon the ashes,” Gisele added, then slowly eased herself out of her chair. “I am to bed.”

“Are ye all right?” Maldie asked.

“
Ou
i, I just do not sleep well.” She smiled as, with a nervous maid keeping close by her side, she started to walk out of the great hall. “I know it looks as if I sleep a lot, but I merely lay this bulk upon the bed a lot and pray for sleep. Wake me when Nigel returns.”

“Nay, I will send the mon to ye and let him take the risk or nay as it pleases him.”

“She is all right, isnae she?” Bethia asked after Gisele left, her mind briefly distracted from worrying about Eric.

“Aye. ’Tis her last month and she finds it hard, always has. She carries large and has verra active bairns,” Maldie said with a faint smile. “The poor woman finds it uncomfortable to sit, to walk, e’en to lie down. And she sleeps fitfully; thus she is e’er tired. She will be glad to be brought to her birthing bed.”

Bethia surreptitiously smoothed her hand over her still very small stomach, then caught Maldie grinning at her. “I but wondered if I will be so verra uncomfortable in a few months.”

“Every one of us carries differently, but once ye ken what ye will or willnae suffer, ye can always find a woman to compare ills with”—Maldie briefly exchanged a grin with Bethia—“or learn from. When are ye going to tell the mon?”

“Ah, a good question.” Bethia sighed and shook her head. “I ken that ye warned me, but I really didnae think the right moment would be so cursed hard to find. When he returns”—she took a deep breath to steady her sudden rush of fear for Eric—“and I ken what is to happen next, I will pick a time and I will tell him—e’en if I have to tie him down. Oh, aye, and make sure he cannae murmur sweet words or touch me until I have finished speaking.” She smiled when Maldie laughed. “He is certain to notice soon, and again ye are right: ’Twould be best if I can tell him ere he guesses for himself.”

“The two of you badly need some time when ye arenae surrounded by kinsmen or fighting someone.”

“Aye. This will settle the trouble with Sir Graham. That leaves only William.” Bethia shivered faintly at the mere mention of the man and cursed the fear he had bred in her. “I find it hard to bear, but I dearly want that mon dead.”

“’Tis the only way ye will be free of him. Dinnae find fault in yourself for seeing
that dark truth. Nay, the mon chose his own path the day he decided to use murder to steal what wasnae his.”

Before Bethia could respond, she became aware of a growing noise. A moment later, she recognized it as the sound of excited voices. She exchanged a brief glance with Maldie, then started out of the hall, the other women quickly following. They nearly ran down the boy sent to tell them the good news. By the time Bethia went through the doors of the great hall, she was running. The men had returned and she was desperate to see that Eric had returned, if not completely unharmed, at least only mildly wounded. She was more than happy to accept a scar or two on his fine body, even a limp—anything so long as he was alive—and she needed to see him breathe with her own eyes before she dared to hope.

Once in the bailey, Bethia was forced to slow down. Chaos ruled. Men, horses, and women looking for their men crowded the place. Then Bethia saw Eric dismounting near the stables and she started to run again. Now that she knew he was alive, she was desperate to touch him. It was hard not to curse and flail at everyone and everything in her way.

Eric turned toward her even as she cleared the last cluster of people between her and her husband. Bethia flung herself into his arms so forcefully she knocked herself breathless and caused him to stagger back a step. She pressed her ear to his chest and shuddered with relief at the strong, steady beat of his heart.

“Lass, are ye all right?” Eric spared a brief smile for Maldie as she hugged Balfour; then he turned his concerned gaze upon Bethia. “’Tis o’er and done with, Bethia.”

“Are ye hurt?” She released him enough to glance at his clean linen shirt and equally clean plaid. “Ye dinnae look as if ye have e’en been in a battle.”

“I am fine, as are the others ye are about to ask after. We took the keep after dark. We were led inside by a Beaton woman. Since we couldnae ride home until dawn, I had a chance to bathe and change,” he explained. “I had to kill Sir Graham.”

Hugging him tightly again, Bethia nodded. “Aye, he left ye no choice.”

Eric smiled as he tucked her up against his side and started to walk toward the keep. He had seen nothing in her expression as she had raced toward him except pure, unhidden relief. Now, as he confessed to having killed Sir Graham, she shrugged the slaying aside, referring to it only as the unpleasant necessity it was. He did not believe she had had some sudden change of heart in such a short time, so he began to think he had misread her.

She clung to him, smoothing her hand over his chest, often pausing to hold it over his heart for a moment, before starting her stroking all over again. Eric began to wonder if he had allowed himself to be so concerned with her feelings about the battle with Sir Graham that he had missed seeing a lot of things. Bethia cared for him. It was there in her touch, in the looks she was giving him. She had obviously spent hours deeply afraid for his safety and was unable to hide her deep pleasure over his safe return.

In fact, Eric decided as they entered the keep, he was almost sure that Bethia loved him and did not believe it was vanity that made him think so. It would be good to have his wife love him, he mused. There would be no more concern about the passion they shared fading away. She would stay with him forever, tied to his side by the strong bond of love. It occured to Eric that he ought to take a good, hard look at why he wanted Bethia to love him, why the thought that she might thrilled him, and why he was always
so concerned that she be firmly marked as his. Determined to find the time to thoroughly examine his own feelings, he started into the great hall, only to be halted by Bethia’s strong hold on his arm.

“I thought to have some ale to wash the dust from my throat,” he said, trying to read the expression on her face, his eyes widening as he suddenly recognized the warm gleam in her eyes.

“I have some verra fine wine in our bedchamber,” she said, a little surprised at the huskiness in her voice and the heat in her blood, for the man had not even kissed her.

“Good. We may e’en find a moment to drink some.” He grabbed her by the hand and headed up the stairs.

Bethia was not sure what ailed her, but it produced a pure hot need in her and it called out loudly for Eric. She made no protest about his speed even though she had to trot to keep pace with him. In fact, she found herself wishing she had longer legs so that they could move even faster. It shocked her, but she realized she was going to find it difficult to wait until they reached their bedchamber.

The moment Eric tugged her into their room and shut the door, Bethia flung herself into his arms. She kissed him with all of the hunger that raged inside of her. He stumbled back against the wall next to the door and returned her kiss with a need equal to her own. Bethia started to unlace his shirt, quickly examining each newly exposed patch of skin for any sign of injury before kissing it.

“The bed”—Eric began, only to help her undo his plaid.

“Do ye need one?” Bethia asked as she helped him shed his shirt.

“Nay.” He began to unlace her gown, groaning as she kissed his chest and curled her long, slender fingers around his erection. “I dinnae think I have the wit left to find it.”

Bethia smiled slightly as she lowered her kisses to his taut stomach. He looked glorious standing there in his soft deerhide boots and naught else. Bethia was stunned at how wild she was acting, but found it exciting. Eric’s vocal pleasure as she knelt in front of him and took him into her mouth only excited her more.

A cry of surprise escaped her when, but moments later, he yanked her to her feet. He stripped her down to her shift so hastily she heard a few distinct tearing sounds, but she could not make herself care if her clothes were ruined. Eric turned and pressed her against the wall. When he knelt before her, pushed her shift up to her waist, and began to repay her intimate kisses in kind, Bethia groaned and shuddered with delight. She was too desperate for him to endure such play for long, no matter how sweet it was. Despite her pleas, he took her to her release with a kiss, then started her on that heady climb all over again. When he stood, picked her up in his arms, and urged her to wrap her legs around his waist, she did so and rubbed herself against him greedily. Eric groaned and quickly joined their bodies. It was rough, fast, and feverish, but Bethia delighted in it, crying out his name as a second release tore through her body. She wrapped her body tightly around his as he held her against him and shuddered with his own release.

It took them a few moments to regain some semblance of calm. Eric eased out of her body, smiling faintly at her murmur of regret, and carried her to the bed. He dropped her on the bed and sprawled on top of her, pillowing his head on her breasts and idly moving his hand up and down her thigh.

“Are ye satisfied that I havenae damaged anything, lass?” he finally asked when he recovered enough strength to talk.

Bethia wearily patted his head before combing her fingers through his thick hair. “Aye, ye did weel, husband.”

He grinned, finding that he really liked those teasing words. “Ah, weel, ye being so light and small and easy to move about.” He grunted when she lightly punched him in the side. “My heart, one thing that made those words so amusing is that there is some truth to them.”

“Are ye saying that ye like me being such a wee lass?” Bethia smiled faintly, both flattered and amused.

“Aye, I find it verra pleasing indeed.”

“Good, for I dinnae think I will be growing much.” She shivered with pleasure when he chuckled against her skin. “So Dubhlinn is now yours, is it?”

“I hold it now. I left Bowen and Peter and a few men there.”

“Do ye think there will be any trouble?”

“Nay. The few people who dared to come out of hiding were pleased to see that I had won. After so many years of Beaton lairds who were not but cruel, greedy, and cared naught for their people, it will take time to win their trust.”