Highland Promise (4 page)

Eric became aware of how heavily Bethia was leaning against him and, relutanctly, but gently, pushed her into a seated position. “I think ye need to bed down now, lass.”

Bethia blinked, rubbed her hands over her face, and realized she was more asleep than awake. “Aye, I am weary.” She staggered to her feet. “I will just slip away for a moment.”

Even as she stumbled into the shadows, Eric hastily moved to the far edge of their camp and relieved himself. As quickly as he could, he laid out their bedding side by side. He sat down and was removing his boots when she returned.

Barely a foot from the fire, Bethia stopped abruptly and stared at the bedding. It took her sleep-dulled mind a full minute to accept what she saw. Her bedding was spread out next to Eric’s. She glared at him.

“Now, lass, why are ye looking at me as if I am some adder poised to strike?” Eric asked, lying down, tugging a blanket over himself, and crossing his arms beneath his head.

“Mayhap because ye look much akin to one at the moment,” she replied. “I will sleep on the other side of the fire.”

“A fire already so small it gives off verra little warmth.”

“We have blankets to give us warmth.”

“Bethia, ye need not fear me.”

“Nay? Are ye sure ye arenae thinking to, weel, convince me to thank ye for your aid in some way?”

“One thing I learned ere I was e’en old enough to care was that a mon always heeds a lass’s nay.” He patted the bedding next to his. “Come and rest. Ye can wrap yourself tight in your own blanket. Use it as a shield, if ye wish. ’Twill still be warmer for the both of us if we sleep side by side. Aye, and set the bairn atween us. He will also be in need of some warmth.”

There was no arguing that. James would not only be warm nestled between them, but protected. Although Bethia was nervous about sleeping so close to Sir Eric, she realized that she was not truly frightened by the idea. She could not make herself see him as a threat. After setting James in the middle of the bedding, she sat down and removed her boots, praying all the while that the man’s bonny face was not dulling her wit.

After a great deal of fidgeting and arranging, Bethia settled down on her side
facing the fire, then softly cursed. She should be facing James, her arm lightly encircling the child so that she would be warned if he tried to leave the bed. After some more fidgeting, she got herself turned round and curled protectively around the sleeping child. Despite her best efforts to close her eyes and ignore the man lying so close to her, she looked at Eric, not surprised to find him grinning at her.

“Settled now, are ye?” he asked, idly reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair off her face and ignoring her frown.

“Aye. Ye cannae fault me for being cautious,” she said, cursing the defensive tone of her voice. She had every right to wonder if he played some game with her.

“Weel, ye may ease your fears. The bairn separates us.”

“He isnae much of a barrier.”

“Nay, but I swear to you, Bethia, the word nay is all the shield ye will e’er need with me.”

“Good, for if ye think I will be giving ye any favors just because ye are helping me, ye had best think again.”

“I dinnae need to think on it e’en the once. Nay, I dinnae want ye to fall into my arms because ye feel gratitude.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

She tensed when Eric raised himself up on one elbow and leaned over the baby. His face was suddenly much too close to hers. Bethia looked at his mouth, knowing it was a mistake, but unable to stop herself.

“Aye,” he said softly. “When ye come to me ’twill be because ye wish to share my passion. The last thing I wish in my bed is gratitude. Weel, mayhap a wee bit after I pleasure ye wouldnae be amiss.”

Bethia gasped softly, but was not sure if it was only because his words shocked her. Just hearing the word
passion
on his lips set her heart racing. Her surprise kept her from jerking away when he touched his lips to hers. Then the feel of his warm mouth against hers was enough to hold her in place as he gave her a short, seductive kiss. Even as she regained enough of her wits to untangle her arm from her blanket, fully intending to shove him away from her, he lay back down on his side of their rough bed.

“What did ye do that for?” she whispered, clenching her hand into a tight fist to stop herself from touching her lips in wonder over how such a gentle caress could make the blood pound so hotly through her veins.

“I was but saying good sleep to you.”

“Weel, next time try just saying the words.”

“’Tis nay as much fun.”

Bethia pressed her lips together, refusing to say anything else. It would only give the impossible man another chance to speak and further unsettle her. She closed her eyes. Looking at him was equally as dangerous.

The words he had said, however, were not so easily ignored. He wanted her to share his passion. She was not fool enough to think that passion was just for her, but that realization was not enough to cool her sudden interest. There was a far too large part of her that was intrigued, indeed, strongly tempted, to discover what Eric’s passion was like. Bethia suspected that a man as beautiful as Sir Eric Murray had a great deal of experience in the art of passion and was probably very skilled.

Such curiosity, she decided, was not truly bad. What worried her was the strong
possibility that the feelings stirring within her went far deeper than mere curiosity. Bethia lightly touched her lips, still feeling the warmth of his. His kiss had not been very passionate—a slight pressure of his mouth, a brief tease of his tongue—but it had sent sharp, hot feelings spilling throughout her body. Sir Eric was indeed a threat to her, but she could not leave his side for she needed his help too much. Bethia could only pray that he would not betray her to her enemies and that she would have the strength not to betray herself in his arms.

Bethia knew glaring at the river they had to cross would not make the rough water flow slower or run lower, but she did it anyway. For three long days they had slunk over the countryside, William and his sons hot on their heels. A few times they had even seen their enemies and nearly been seen themselves. Bethia heartily wished she could raise an army right now, ride out to confront William, and cut him and his loathsome sons down. The fear and the constant need to hide were driving her mad. She desperately wanted to feel safe again, wanted James protected and warm.

A quick glance at the man standing next to her made her silently curse. Sir Eric might be doing a fine job of keeping her and James alive, but he was also driving her mad. He said good night each night with a kiss and woke her each morning with another. The night kisses were almost chaste, but the morning ones were pure, heated seduction. Fool that she was, she never found the strength to refuse either. As they rode, he belabored her heart and mind with caresses and words that stirred her passions. She felt tense, irritable, caught between wanting to beat Eric senseless and hurl him to the ground to force him to finish what he had started. The man was indeed pushing her into madness.

“I am nay sure we can cross safely here,” she said, forcing her thoughts to the important problem of eluding the men hunting her and James.

“It can be done.” Eric idly stroked his horse’s neck. “I would prefer to stay upon dry ground, but that isnae possible. And William is so close at our backs that we havenae the time to wander about looking for a better trail.”

“And if there is one, he or some of his men probably crouch there.”

“Aye. Ye can swim, I pray.”

“Oh, aye, verra weel. Bowen taught me.” She smiled faintly. “In truth, he and Peter decided to teach Wallace, and I demanded that they teach me as weel. Bowen finally agreed, saying that since I was such a sharp-tongued wench ’twas certain some mon would try to drown me one day.”

Eric laughed softly yet felt a twinge of sadness as well. Whenever Bethia spoke of her childhood, she spoke of Bowen, Peter, and Wallace. Her father and mother were rarely mentioned unless she spoke of Sorcha. It was good that Bethia had found someone to care for her, yet that should have been her parents. Every tale Bethia told revealed that she had been treated much as her cousin Wallace had for a while, as some bastard child they were forced to take in. Even worse, in his mind, was the growing evidence that the wondrous Sorcha never did anything to change matters. The situation was beyond his comprehension.

“Weel, ’tis best to get this done.” Eric made sure James’s sling was firmly secured high on the saddle.

“Would it nay be better if one of us carried the lad?” Bethia asked as she hitched up her skirts to free her legs.

“We will need all of our limbs free to fight the strength of the water. And Connor is far taller than either of us. Set here as he is gives the lad a better chance of keeping his wee head clear of the water.”

“And Connor will head straight for the opposite bank?”

“Aye, and then wait there. He has proven himself a strong swimmer, unafraid of water, time and time again.” He held his hand over the horse’s flank. “Ready?”

“Aye.”

Bethia fought back a sudden surge of panic when Eric slapped the horse and the animal plunged into the water. James quickly began screaming as the cold water penetrated his sling and splashed his face. Bethia took a deep breath and dove into the water, Eric swiftly doing the same. The cold made her curse, but she gritted her teeth and began to swim, her gaze fixed upon the horse. The water was rough and littered with debris, the current strong, but the horse never faltered and quickly reached the other side. Connor shook the water from his coat and caused James to scream all the louder. Bethia closed her ears to the child’s distress and concentrated on getting to the other side. By the time she reached the bank, she was shivering from the cold and the strain.

Sitting down, oblivious to the mud, she looked for Eric. A scream of warning and terror erupted from her throat when she saw a tree branch whirling his way. She leapt to her feet even as it slammed into him. For one heart-stopping moment, he disappeared beneath the water. Even as his head reappeared, Bethia saw his arm curled around the branch. He did not start swimming again, however, and she realized he was now simply fighting to keep from drowning. Unless he regained his strength, that was already a lost battle.

Grabbing the horse’s reins, Bethia hurried along the bank, keeping Eric constantly in view and frantically trying to think of some way to help him. A few yards down the river the wood he clung to became tangled in a small dam formed by other debris. Eric managed to pull himself a little farther out of the water, but Bethia could see how weak he was. He could even have been hurt when the branch struck him. The small dam shifted and bounced in the current and she knew it would not hold for much longer.

Bethia stripped off her soaking clothes until she wore only her thin linen shift. The weight of her clothes had wearied her during her first swim and she dared not risk letting them sap the rest of her strength now. She grabbed the rope Eric kept looped on his saddle, tied one end of it to the saddle horn, and then draped the rest of it over her shoulder. As she took a deep breath and prayed for strength, she leapt into the icy water and swam toward Eric.

“Lass, ye fool, what are ye about? Go back,” Eric demanded when she reached his side, but the hoarse faintness of his voice stole most of the power from his command.

“I intend to save your bonny hide,” she said as she tied the rope around his waist.

“I doubt I look verra bonny at the moment.”

She noticed how pale he was. His lips were tinged blue with cold, and blood from a graze on his forehead was smearing the side of his face. “Nay, ye do look a wee bit pitiful. Now how do I get your horse to pull us out of this mess?”

“Just tell him to pull. He will ken what to do.”

After slipping her arm around his chest, Bethia yelled the command at Connor. It took one more bellow before the horse began to move. Bethia quickly turned onto her back, her body submerged beneath Eric’s. She fought to keep both of their heads above water and to ward off the trecherous debris swirling around them as they were pulled toward the shore.

Once on the bank, Bethia let the horse drag Eric onto the shore and then removed the rope. As Eric lay gasping for air and shivering, Bethia took a few moments to rub herself dry, dress, and then change James. Collecting what she felt was needed to attend Eric, she hurried back to his side.

Despite Eric’s dire need to be dry and warm, Bethia found it disturbing to undress the man. He was certainly not looking his best, the cold stealing all of the life from his skin, but he was still fine enough to make her hands tremble slightly as she rubbed him dry. His chest was broad and smooth. A thin line of fair hair started at his navel, dove down to his groin, where it blossomed slightly, then fanned out to lightly coat his long, muscular legs. It annoyed her a little that he even had nice-looking feet.

“Considering that I am frozen to the verra marrow of my bones, I doubt I look verra monly just now,” Eric said with a rueful glance at his groin, the cold he still felt making his voice tremble.

Bethia gave him a slightly disgusted look as she started to tug on his dry clothes, then drawled, “Why, nay, sir, ye look as bonny as James. Ne’er kenned a mon could be so cute down there.” Despite her worry for his health, she was almost able to laugh at his shock.

Eric started to laugh, then winced and clutched at his aching head. “God, woman. Like wee James? Cute? God’s bones,” he said and laughed again, but with a little more care this time. “How ye wound me.”

“I believe your vanity will survive.” After wrapping him in a blanket, she leaned over him to more closely examine the wound on his head. “’Tisnae deep enough to require any stitches,” she murmured as she wiped the blood off his face with a scrap of cloth.

“Some hint of mercy at last.”

Bethia just smiled faintly as she put some salve on his wound, then wrapped a bandage around his head. He had ceased to shiver so bad that his teeth clicked, but he still looked pale. She knew he was very weak too, for although he had tried to help her get him dressed he had been able to do little more than tug down on his jupon a little.

“Dinnae look so fretful, lass,” he said as he slowly forced his aching body into a seated position.

“Are ye sure ye can move?” When he stood up and swayed, she quickly put her arm around him to steady him.

“Enough to get on my horse. We cannae sit here, lass. Those dogs chasing you and the bairn were verra close the last we looked. ’Tis why we crossed here, if ye recall.”

“Aye, but ye are verra unsteady, Eric.”

“Just get me in the saddle. I will sit behind you and hang on whilst ye take up the reins.”

“Will Connor let me?” Bethia asked, eyeing the huge horse warily as she helped Eric stumble over to the animal.

“Aye, since I will also be on his back.”

It was not going to be easy to get Eric there, she mused, as they reached the horse. “Just let me gather the bairn and what little I have unpacked,” she said.

“Do that. I will just slump here against old Connor and prepare myself to be hoisted up into the saddle.”

There was something very similar to petulance tainting his rich voice and Bethia had to bite back a smile. Eric clearly did not like to be dependent upon a small woman—probably on any woman. She quickly picked up the few things scattered around on the bank, including their very wet clothes, then settled James in a dry blanket sling across her chest.

It was not easy getting Eric up into the saddle, but, after some pushing, it was done. Bethia took a deep breath to steady herself, then mounted in front of him and took up the reins. Although she considered herself a good rider, she had never handled a warhorse before, nor even any horse as big as Connor, and she was not sure how well she would do. The moment Eric wrapped his arms around her waist and was resting steadily against her back, she nudged Connor into a slow amble.

“We could go a wee bit faster, lass,” Eric said, a little concerned over how slowly the warmth was returning to his body.

“Nay, not until I get to ken this beastie a wee bit better,” she replied. “Do ye think William is nigh?”

“He would have to be in France ere I ceased to think that he was too nigh. Nay, e’en that would be too close.”

“Aye. I wouldst prefer him and his loathsome sons dead and buried.”

Eric smiled weakly against her wet hair. “Ye always call them his
loathsome sons
.”

“All ye would have to do is see them once and ye would understand. They are huge, dark, hulking beasties with cold eyes that clearly reveal their bone-deep meanness. William feels that he has a sound reason for murdering people. His sons dinnae want or need one.” Bethia sighed and shook her head. “Dunncraig would probably be knee-deep in bodies, save that William holds a tight rein on that evil pair. They do, however, abuse the lasses within their reach with impunity. I saw that soon after my arrival. Aye, and did so despite the weight of my grief. It did puzzle me some that Sorcha ne’er did.”

It was getting harder not to offer a rather sharp, unflattering opinion upon Sorcha. Eric suspected the woman would never have seen the plight of the women on her lands simply because she probably never really noticed who did all of the work. If the woman was unable to see the sad plight of her own twin for years, she would certainly never notice some poor maid’s distress. That was more truth than Bethia would want to deal with now, however. Eric was not sure she would ever wish to do so.

Holding his tongue concerning Sorcha was going to prove difficult if he and Bethia got married. Eric was forming a picture of the woman as vain, completely self-concerned and selfish, and probably irresponsible. It was possible for the woman to have been all of those things and worse, yet still appear sweet and charming. It was becoming clear that no one had ever denied Sorcha anything. Sorcha Drummond had been able to trip through her, admittedly, sadly shortened life happy and smiling disarmingly, for people had scurried to remove all obstacles from her path or she had simply ignored them. Someday Bethia was going to relate one tale too many revealing her sister’s charming disregard for all around her and Eric feared he might feel compelled to tell her a few cold truths. Perhaps, he thought with a wry smile, the constant battle to allow Bethia her delusions about her twin would be the penance he had to pay for seducing her.

Too exhausted to keep talking, Eric clung to Bethia and tried to regain his strength. His head throbbed and his body ached all over from the battering it had taken in the river. There was a painful knot too low in his throat to clear away and his lungs ached with every breath he took. Eric feared he had not cleared all of the water from his body.

A few more miles passed before Eric realized that he needed to stop moving. He was not going to get the rest he needed to recoup his strength sitting on the back of a horse. What he needed was a bed, no matter how rough, perhaps a little food, and a long rest. It was not safe to pause for too long while Robert Drummond’s murderous kinsmen
dogged their trail, but without a good rest, Eric knew he would collapse, and could easily become too ill to move for days. They were close to Dunnbea, but not close enough. That was true of the little village he had been riding toward as well. Even if he could cling to health and conciousness until the village, the chill damp in the air told him that a storm was brewing. Another soaking could well finish him.

“Bethia, we must halt soon,” he forced himself to say, ruthlessly beating down that prideful part of him that longed to keep on going.

“Ye wish to eat or”—she blushed—“see to some other need?”

“Nay. It shames me to admit it, but I need to rest. I need to lie down near a warm fire.”

“’Twould be best if ye did that. I just wasnae sure ye would heed me if I said so.”

“If ye had said so whilst we shivered on the riverbank, I probably wouldnae. I was determined to shake off the battering that twice-cursed river gave me as easily as I shook the water from my hair, but that was prideful nonsense. My head throbs so fiercely it causes my stomach to churn and I dinnae think there is one part of me that doesnae ache.”