Highland Promise (24 page)

“Ye. Eric, ye do ken that I am nay here just because ye are bonny, dinnae ye?” she asked in a soft voice, suddenly shy and uncertain of how to say what she wanted and needed to say.

“Aye, lass. I have become verra good at judging who stands by my side just because they think me bonny. In truth, I believe that, at times, ye are almost afraid of it, would much rather I were a plainer mon.” Eric smiled faintly when Bethia cast him a brief, guilty look. “’Tis odd, for once, to find my face more a curse than a blessing. ’Tis but a face, my heart, a lump of flesh that can be torn, scarred, or broken and made verra ugly indeed. For now, why cannae I find some pleasure in the fact that I have a face my wife might be pleased to look upon? I am always pleased to look upon yours.” He lightly caressed the blush upon her cheeks with his fingertips.

“Thank ye, but if our bairn has a choice of faces, I hope it gets yours.”

“Ah, my own, ye are fair, and I eagerly await seeing that sweetness in the face of one of our bairns.”

“Weel, ye may nay have as long a wait as ye think.” Bethia smiled at Eric when he sat up and grasped her by the shoulders for the look upon his face told her, clearer than any words could, that he would welcome their child.

“Ye are with child?”

“Aye, near to four months gone. Ye will soon see what face our child carries.”

She laughed softly when Eric hugged her almost too tightly. When he urged her down onto the bed, she offered no resistance. Bethia could think of no better way to celebrate the wonder of their child than to make love. And perhaps, she mused as he tugged off her shift and tossed it aside, she might find the courage to speak her heart while caught in the heat of passion.

Eric smoothed his hands over her midriff, then rested one hand against her stomach
as he gave her a slow, gentle yet seductive kiss. “I should have noticed,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her body to cover and weigh her breasts. “I ache to make love to you.”

Bethia frowned, for it sounded as if he was hesitant to do so. “I believe, nay, I am certain I havenae protested the idea.”

He smiled and brushed a kiss over her mouth as he teased her nipples to an aching hardness with his thumbs. “I dinnae wish to hurt the bairn.”

When he started to move away, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him close. “Ye cannae hurt the bairn.”

“Ye are so small, sweetling.”

“Your brothers’ wives arenae verra much bigger than I, yet I suspect your brothers didnae leave their wives alone at such a time.”

The way his tiny, slender wife was clutching him, as if she could somehow hold him against his will, made him smile. She was right, however. Now that he had cleared his mind of a sudden fear for her, he knew there would be no harm done if he made love to her. Eric did think, however, that he might continue his pose of hesitancy for just a little while longer. It could be amusing, and undoubtedly delightful, to see how Bethia might try to change his mind.

“But my brothers’ wives havenae been dragged from keep to keep, chased and wounded by some mad fool.” Eric closed his eyes and bit back a groan of pleasure as she trailed her soft hands down his back and lightly caressed his backside.

Bethia traced his collarbone with short, wet kisses. She sensed that he played a game, that his protests were not heartfelt, but she was more than willing to play. The moment he relaxed against her, she shoved him away. He tumbled onto his back at her side and she quickly straddled him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, lightly pinning him to the bed. Bethia knew he could break her hold swiftly and easily but he did not move.

“I was with child whilst all of those things were happening to me,” she said as she trailed kisses over his broad chest and down to his taut stomach. “Naught would shake this fruit from the tree.” She glanced up at him when he gripped his hands in her hair a little too tightly.

“Ye could have lost the bairn when ye were wounded and fevered.” His voice was hoarse as he realized that she had been in even more danger than he had realized. If she had miscarried their child, it surely would have been enough to kill her.

“Aye, but the bairn still thrives.” As soon as his grip on her hair eased she began to cover his strong legs with kisses. “I am hale, Eric. E’en the sickness has passed.”

Eric wanted to ask her why she had waited for so long to tell him of the child, but then her tongue lightly stroked his manhood. He groaned his pleasure as she loved him with her mouth. Despite all of his efforts to control his passion so that he could enjoy her attentions for a long time, his control was shattered soon after she enclosed him in the warmth of her mouth. With a soft growl of need, he grabbed her under her arms and dragged her up his body.

“Ride your mon, my own,” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady from the force of his passion as he eased their bodies together. “Ah, my heart,” he rasped as she slowly moved upon him, “there can be no sweeter place for a mon.”

Bethia cried out his name as her release tore through her. She was faintly aware of
his echoing cry as he grasped her by her hips and held her tight against him. Still trembling, Bethia slowly collapsed against him, enjoying the way he enfolded her in his arms and touched her face and hair with languid kisses.

The sweetness of their lovemaking still warming her blood, Bethia kissed his ear and whispered, “I love ye, Eric Murray.”

Her eyes widened when his whole body trembled once. He grabbed her by the arms and shoved her into a sitting position so quickly she felt her head snap back. Cursing softly, she rubbed the back of her neck, soothing the faint, taut pain caused by the wrenching he had inadvertently given her.

“What did ye say?” Eric demanded.

“Weel, I am nay sure I can repeat it now that ye have fair snapped my neck,” Bethia muttered.

“Repeat yourself.”

She studied him for a moment. His gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon her face. To her surprise, she caught a gleam of uncertainty in his eyes, the hint of a fierce hope. The man had to feel something for her if he was so interested in her emotions. Eric might not yet return her love, but it was evident that he was anxious to hear about hers. For now, that would serve. She would make it serve.

“I love ye, Eric,” She gasped when he yanked her back into his arms. “If this is how ye act when I speak those words, I believe I will have to use them sparingly or I will be forever suffering from a wrenching pain in my neck.”

Eric laughed shakily, then turned so that she was sprawled beneath him. It did not surprise him to see his hand tremble as he gently brushed her tangled hair from her face. Emotion raged through him like some caged animal frantic to break free. The news of their child had given him joy, but it paled compared to what those three words had stirred within him.

“When did ye ken it, lass? Today? Is that why ye stared at me so?” he asked.

“Nay, I told ye I was but looking at ye closely, with my eyes open and all my doubts and fears ruthlessly reined in. My heart was already set firmly in your hands. I was sure it wasnae just because ye were bonny, but after seeing the bitter truth about my family, I sometimes feared I was more like them than I was aware of.” Bethia traced the perfect lines of Eric’s face with her fingers. “Oh, I do love looking at your bonny face, but I finally realized it wasnae your eyes or your smile that captured my heart, but ye, the mon. This beauty could be savaged in your next battle, and though ’twould grieve me some, I kenned ye would still hold my heart in your hands. I kenned ye were my love when ye fell ill after your wee swim in the river. The fear I felt for ye was verra strong, and I kenned that, if ye died, it would tear the heart right out of me.” She smiled and welcomed his kiss.

“Why didnae ye tell me ere now?”

“I wasnae sure ye would wish to hear the words.”

“Ye can be a verra foolish lass,” he said so gently it took all of the sting from his words.

“I ken it. Ye were right, Eric. At times, your fine looks troubled me deeply. I kept wondering how or why such a mon seemed to want me.”

“Because he loves you.”

Bethia blinked, unable to speak or move for a moment. There it was. All her
heart’s desire spoken quietly, without warning. Finally, giving a soft cry, she kissed Eric. Despite all of her efforts not to cry, tears trickled from her eyes.

“When did ye ken it then?” she asked, smiling as he kissed each tear-dampened cheek.

“I think I kenned it for a long time, but I finally confessed it to myself when I feared ye would die.”

“Ye ne’er said anything.”

“Ah, my wee bonny wife, I feared ye wouldnae believe me. Then there were your concerns about how I was seeking my inheritance.” He kissed her fingers when she set them against his lips to silence him.

“It troubled me, but I was ne’er able to convince myself that ye were like William in even the smallest way. Nay, nor like Sir Graham.”

“I soon kenned that ye didnae condemn me. When I returned from unseating the Beaton laird, the way ye welcomed me home assured me that ye no longer doubted my right to do what I did. I dinnae ken why I have held silent. I am a coward. I didnae ken what ye felt and didnae want to bare my soul ere I did. But it may have helped ye o’ercome your doubts about yourself if I had told ye and—”

“But ye didnae wish to bare your soul and meet only disbelief or gain naught but a polite thank-ye. And though it pains me to admit it, ye may have gained naught else from me. I needed to ken my own mind and heart first. Aye, I saw clearly that my family had treated me poorly, saw it shortly after reaching Donncoill, but it took me a little longer to truly see that they were wrong to do so. I needed to take that last step out of Sorcha’s shadow. I needed the courage to love you e’en if ye didnae return that love.”

Eric brushed a kiss over Bethia’s lips. “My heart, ’tis returned tenfold.” He grinned when she frowned and started to speak. “Do ye mean to argue with me o’er which of us loves the other the most?”

“That could take a verra long time.”

“Years. Our whole life.”

“Then I shall make a promise to you, my bonny knight. Promise me your love for always, as I now promise ye mine.”

“For always and ’tis a promise easily made.”

“And easily kept,” she whispered against his mouth.

Yuletide—1445

“James, I really dinnae think your cousin Bega wishes to be sat upon,” Bethia said, biting back a smile as she lifted the giggling boy off his cursing cousin. Gisele’s delicate little girl certainly had a colorful way with words, she mused.

“Bethia, I think our wee lass is going to win this time,” Eric called.

Glancing at her husband, Bethia exchanged a look that was an equal mix of amusement and exasperation with Gisele and Maldie. Her daughter Sorcha had just begun to crawl and Gisele’s child Brett, although five months older, still crawled more than he walked. Nigel and Eric had taken to racing them against each other, some of the men even making bets. Bethia suspected it was not quite proper, but it kept the men and the older children entertained.

As she set James down and moved to sit next to Eric, ready to catch her daughter as she reached the end of her run, Bethia looked around the great hall. All of Eric’s family had gathered at Dubhlinn to help them celebrate their first Yuletide in their new home. There was Balfour and Maldie and their seven children, Nigel and Gisele and their four children, and even a few of Gisele’s French relations. Bowen and Peter were there with their wives and Bowen’s lively children. Wallace and Gisele’s cousins, Sir Guy and Sir David, sat together laughing at the antics of the children. Her parents were not there, but Bethia realized it no longer mattered. This was family, she thought and grasped her husband’s hand even as their sturdy little daughter reached them.

Eric laughed and hugged his daughter, then grinned at Nigel, whose son stood up and staggered the last few feet into his father’s open arms. “The lass is fast,” Eric said.

“She only bested my lad because he cannae decide which he wants to do: crawl or walk,” protested Nigel.

“Weel, we will have to race them when they are both steady on their feet.”

“Eric!” Bethia cried, laughing and catching her daughter when the little girl flung herself into her arms.

“I jest, my heart.”

She might have believed him if she had not caught the look he exchanged with Nigel. Bethia decided not to argue the matter now. Sorcha was making it known a little too clearly that she was hungry, and although almost weaned, she was hungry for her mother’s nourishment. Blushing slightly as Sorcha tugged on her bodice, Bethia quickly excused herself and hurried away to her bedchamber.

Once settled comfortably against the pillows on her bed, Bethia put her daughter to her breast and sighed with contentment. She had thought that her child would be a boy, as Gisele’s had been, but she was not in the least disappointed. Not even when she had seen that her child had her mismatched eyes. Little Sorcha was a charming mixture of both of her parents. She lovingly touched her daughter’s thick red-gold curls, studied the features that already held the promise of a lovely delicacy, and smiled. She and Eric made beautiful babies, she mused with a sense of pride.

“And what has ye smiling?” asked Eric as he entered their bedchamber, walked over to the bed, and sprawled at her side.

“I was just thinking that we make beautiful babies together,” she replied and met his grin with one of her own.

“Aye, that we do, my heart.” He ruffled his child’s silken curls and kissed Bethia
on the cheek.

“Do ye ken, I really thought I was carrying a son as Gisele did.”

“Dinnae fret, lass. Ye will give me a son yet. And if all ye bear me is lasses, I willnae complain. I have more nephews than I can count and we have James to raise. Aye, and if the lasses are all as bonny as this wee one, I shall be run ragged keeping the rogues and lusty lads away from our door.”

Bethia set her daughter against her shoulder, rubbing her tiny back even as she leaned over and kissed Eric. Although she had been delighted to have a healthy child, regardless of the sex, she had at first worried that Eric would be disappointed that she had not given him a son. He had quickly dispelled that worry. His pride in and love for his little daughter was and continued to be obvious to all.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Because I love ye and ye have given me a wondrous family.”

Eric laughed, for the noise from the great hall could be heard even in their room. “Mayhap too big a one.”

“Nay, ne’er that. ’Tis what I have e’er dreamed of,” she said softly, “when I allowed myself to see that something wasnae right with my own. And this Sorcha will ken the beauty of it. So will wee James.”

“Aye, my own, a family. Whate’er else we have or dinnae have, that much I can give you. Aye, a family and all the love ye could possibly need. I promise ye that.”

“As I promise ye, this bairn, wee James, and any other bairns we are blessed with.”

They kissed, but the sweet solemnity of the moment was abruptly shattered. Little Sorcha belched so loud Bethia jumped with surprise and felt her daughter’s tiny body rock with the force of it. Her daughter then sighed with contentment and giggled. Eric laughed as he stood up and took his daughter into his arms.

“Do ye ken,” he murmured as he started toward the door, “I think that was louder than any Nigel’s lad Brett has made. Hah! I bet my lassie can win at that too.”

“Eric!” Bethia cried and was redoing her gown even as she hurried after her laughing husband.