Highland Promise Page 16

The guilt she felt for putting Eric in danger was hard to push aside. It was undoubtedly a cause any true knight would fight for willingly, but Eric now had no choice. She wrapped her body around his a little more tightly. Bethia knew that, if anything happened to Eric, the guilt and fear she felt now would seem like a pinprick next to the desolation which would sieze her. All she could do was pray that his honor and sense of justice did not cost him too dearly. It seemed a pathetic weapon to wield against a madman.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bethia grimaced as the maid entered the room to help her dress for the evening feasting. Court was not proving to be very exciting. It consisted mostly of gossip, ceremony, and eating. And women who did not seem to understand that adultery was a sin, she thought crossly. She had only gotten to dance once as well.

  She slowly sat up from where she lay gracelessly sprawled on the bed. Sitting very still, she clutched the edge of the bed tightly and took several deep breaths to still the nausea and dizziness that briefly assailed her. They had been at court for almost a month, and in the last week, this illness had struck every evening about the same time. Bethia wondered if she was being made ill by too much rich food and intrigue.

  “I can get ye a potion for that, m’lady,” said the maid as she helped Bethia into her deep blue corset and skirt.

  “A potion?”

  “Aye, to rid yourself of the bairn.”

  “The bairn?” Bethia’s eyes widened as she considered that possible explanation for her strange malady.

  “Oh.” The maid blushed. “’Tis your husband’s child then, is it?”

  Bethia looked at the plump young maid and shook her head in amazement. That the girl would so blithely offer her a potion to prompt a miscarriage and, worse, seem a little surprised that she might actually be carrying the child of her rightful husband said more about the immorality at court than Bethia really wanted to know. This was not a way of life she could ever become accustomed to. She was a little surprised that Eric seemed so comfortable, but began to suspect that he simply paid it all very little attention. Men, she decided, often showed a true skill at being oblivious to what went on around them.

  “I fear there is no delicious intrigue here,” she told the maid, Jennet, smiling faintly. “’Tis my husband’s child. It could be no other’s.” She frowned as Jennet tugged hard on the laces of her pale blue surcoat. “That is, if I am truly with child. I am nay sure.”

  “Have ye had your courses as ye should?”

  “Nay. Not since before I was married.”

  The maid nodded as she gently pushed Bethia down onto a stool and began to force her hair into one of the intricately braided hairstyles so popular at court. “And ye feel sick and light-headed every day at about the same time.”

  “Aye, right now. Although last eve, when they set that oddsmelling egg dish right in front of me, I certainly didnae feel too weel.”

  “Some women do find that some smells and foods are verra hard to endure when they get with child.”

  “It seems too soon.”

  The little maid giggled. “Some women get with child on their wedding night.”

  Bethia placed her hands over her stomach. It was certainly possible that she was with child. She felt excitement course through her veins, then fought to control it. It was still too soon to know for sure. A great deal had changed in her life lately, and she was living under a constant threat. Such things could easily affect her courses. Although she hated to even think about it, she reminded herself that many women lost their child in the first few months. She decided to say nothing until she was certain that she was with child and that it was well set in her womb.

  “I havenae said anything to my husband yet,” she said.

  “No one shall hear it from me, m’lady.”

  “Good. I should hate gossip to give my husband such news ere I could share it with him.”

  “And such a fine, handsome mon ye have too”

  “Thank ye.” Bethia smiled, then glanced in the polished metal mirror at her elaborate hairdo of coiled braids. She prayed she did not look as foolish as she felt. “I certainly find him so,” she murmured, then easily turned the maid’s attention to fashion and hair.

  Once readied to go to the great hall for the nightly feast, Bethia sent the maid away. She poured herself a tankard of wine and drank it down. It helped brace her for the night ahead. Bethia smiled ruefully as she set the tankard down and left her room. If she and Eric stayed at court too much longer, she could become a drunkard.

  Eric met her even as she stepped into the great hall and led her to their table, To Bethia’s dismay, Lady Catriona MacDunn seated herself directly across from them. The woman had become a complete nuisance since her arrival only a week ago. Lady Catriona made no secret of her desire to pull Eric into her bed. Bethia could not seem to find Eric alone outside of their bedchamber and, she thought glumly, if Lady Catriona could find a way to get in there, she would.

  When Lady Elizabeth MacFife sat down on the other side of Eric, Bethia nearly groaned. Lady Elizabeth also spent far too much time flirting with Eric. Glancing at Lady Catriona, Bethia caught a fleeting look of anger on the woman’s pretty face. That woman obviously did not like Lady Elizabeth’s flirtations either. Bethia wished she could find some satisfaction in that. Instead, it looked to be a long, upsetting meal ahead. If she did not already have stomach troubles, this meal would undoubtedly give her some.

  Bethia reminded herself that Eric was in her bed every night. He also spent a great deal of his time trying to get the king to heed his case against William and the Beatons. The way he treated the ladies who pursued him revealed no more than simple politeness, a cool courtesy that offered no encouragement. That did not help. Calm and reason were hard to cling to as the meal dragged on, and the only conversation Bethia managed to have with her own husband was if she rudely interrupted the other two women.

  She was just thinking of giving up and going to her bedchamber for a hearty sulk when Eric kissed her on the cheek. Bethia prayed he had not done that because she already looked as if she felt sorry for herself. The highly annoyed glances the other two women sent her way soothed her bruised feelings a little.

  “Do ye mind returning to our chamber on your own, my heart?” Eric asked. “Lord Douglas signals to me, and I must go and see what he wants. Mayhap he has finally decided to aid me. If he has, I will soon gain what I seek and we can leave this cursed place.”

  “I think I should like that,” she murmured, smoothing her hand over the fine embroidery decorating the front of his jupon.

  Eric smiled, his gaze soft with sympathy. “I ken that this is a tedious, unkind place.”

  “’Tis where ye must be to gain what is rightfully yours. I do miss wee James though.”

  “Aye, so do I.” He stood up, then bent to kiss her on the forehead. “Just dinnae let any of these lustful rogues distract you.”

  “Nay, I have found a good stout club to beat the hordes back,” she drawled.

  He laughed and shook his head, then hurried away to meet with Lord Douglas. Bethia was sweetly unaware of the men who tried to flirt with her. A few tried to lure her from his side out of spite or just to try to claim the coup of cuckolding him, but many were truly intrigued with Bethia’s looks and air of innocence. Eric could not completely quell a sense of pride and satisfaction when, each time she entered a room, her gaze sought him and only him.

  A grimace crossed his face as he glanced back at their table and watched the ladies Catriona and Elizabeth, both of whom he had once dallied with. He had thought the affairs ended long ago and amiably, but both women seemed to see Bethia as a challenge. Bethia did not plague him with fits of jealousy, but he knew the games the women played were hard for her to bear. It was just another good reason to get her out of there as soon as possible. The very last thing he needed was for some of his old lovers to start regaling Bethia with tales of their affairs or false claims about any continued association. Even he could unde
rstand that there was only so much a wife could tolerate and, whether or not Bethia trusted him, had little to do with it.

  Bethia sighed as she watched Eric disappear into the crowd. She prayed that he was right, that Lord Douglas was about to help him get what he wanted. Although she would stay if it was necessary, Bethia really wanted to go home. Her home or Eric’s home—it did not matter. She had had a bellyful of court life.

  When she stood up to leave, she was dismayed to see Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catriona do the same, appearing united for the first time that evening. She had the sick feeling that the women wanted to talk to her privately. Although Eric had said nothing about either woman, Bethia felt sure that, at one time, he had been far more than some coolly polite courtier to them. She did not really wish to have her suspicions confirmed. Knowing Eric had bedded other women in the past could be accepted and set aside. Hearing sordid details about those love affairs could not be so easily dismissed, might even linger in her mind and heart to act like a slow poison upon her marriage.

  “We will escort ye to your chambers, Lady Bethia,” Lady Catriona said, smiling sweetly.

  “’Tis kind of you, but not necessary,” Bethia murmured as she stepped away from the table.

  “’Tis no great imposition,” said Lady Elizabeth as she and Catriona flanked Bethia. “We must pass your room to reach ours.”

  “Ye must tell us how ye came to meet our dear, bonny Eric,” Catriona said.

  Resigned to a long, possibly grueling walk to her bedchamber, Bethia told them the tale that she and Eric had agreed on. It was the truth to say that she and Eric had met on the route to Dunnbea and that he had been invited to join her entourage because he traveled alone. The lie was in the implication that her entourage had consisted of the usual armed men and maids, and not just herself and James. Nor was it a complete lie to imply that a love match had ensued, for she, at least, was deeply in love.

  “So romantic,” murmured Catriona, “but then Eric was always a mon of strong passions.”

  “Oh, aye,” Elizabeth agreed, those two words heavy with meaning.

  “A much sought after lover, but he was so discriminating.” Catriona patted her elaborately coiffed blond hair and then, after a quick glance at Bethia’s chest, fleetingly played at smoothing out some unseen wrinkle upon her well-filled bodice.

  Not verra subtle, mused Bethia, trying hard not to feel like some child as she walked along between the two taller, far more shapely women.

  “Verra discriminating,” agreed Elizabeth. “Many men were verra jealous of Eric’s conquests, but, I suspect, ye have already suffered some because of that. I have noticed a few of Eric’s enemies attempting to woo you.”

  Frowning at the woman, Bethia almost said that she had not noticed anyone flirting with her. The implication that a man would do so only to avenge himself upon Eric was insulting, however, so she just nodded. She wondered idly if one of Elizabeth’s current lovers or one she sought to capture had shown some fleeting interest in her. The fact that she had not responded, had not even noticed the man’s interest, would not matter to Elizabeth. Bethia suspected Elizabeth was one of those women who took a man’s wavering interest as nothing less than an insult.

  “True,” agreed Catriona. “Few men were able to tolerate Eric’s weel-kenned skill as a lover. Sir Lesley Moreton was quite enraged when Eric began to woo me. One must always beware of jealous men,” Catriona told Bethia with an air of a dear friend imparting some great wisdom.

  “Aye, ’twas the same with Lord Munroe when Eric turned his beautiful gaze my way.”

  Bethia wondered if the two women often sat together over wine discussing their mutual lovers, then scolded herself for being nasty. She then wondered if she could claim a sudden violent illness and race ahead to her chamber. They were going to start to tell her all about their affairs with Eric. She could see the unwanted confidences trembling on their lips and dreaded them.

  She tried to remain calm, even polite, as Catriona and Elizabeth congratulated her on capturing such a wondrous lover. Their apologies for being too personal, their occasional gentle queries about whether or not they were distressing her with their revelations, were all that was polite and blatantly false. They told her of Eric’s wooing, of their many trysts, even of the sweet love words he had used to so skillfully seduce them. Bethia was so happy when they reached the door to her chamber that she almost cheered aloud. The women had exhausted every aspect of their affairs with Eric that could be spoken of with some subtlety, and Bethia feared they were about to tell her such things as just how often Eric had bedded them and how. It was, as far as she could see, the only things left to discuss.

  “I do envy you, Lady Bethia,” Catriona said. “Just how do ye manage to hold on to such a glorious mon?”

  Looking at the two women who thought nothing of describing their exploits with a lover to the man’s own wife, Bethia was suddenly furious. It did not help her temper any to hear, in the very tone of her voice as she had asked the question, that Catriona obviously felt she had to have some strange hold on Eric or he would not be with her. She had done nothing to these women. And despite their less than subtle hints, she knew Eric would not have given them any false promises. They tried to hurt her—that was all. Whether it was from spite, stung pride, or jealousy did not matter. They were being unneccessarily cruel, and at that precise moment, she hated them for it.

  “I hold him firmly by his pintle,” she said in a voice so sweet it nearly sickened her. “Surely the two greatest whores in all of the king’s court would understand that.”

  She stepped into her room and slammed the door shut on their shocked faces. Pressing her head against the wooden door, she listened to them walk away, not able to hear exactly what they said, but recognizing the fury in their voices. Now she had given them a real reason to hate her. Bethia wondered why she did not feel better about it.

  Deciding not to ring for the maid, Bethia undressed to her shift. After a quick wash, she decided she did not feel like taking down her hair, so she simply loosened the coiled braids and crawled into bed. Bethia sprawled on her stomach, buried her face in her pillow, and decided it was time to indulge in a sulk. The evening she had just endured cried out for one.

  Try as she would, she could not dismiss what Catriona and Elizabeth had said. They were both fulsome, fair-haired women, and it was painfully easy to see them as Eric’s lovers. It was also painfully easy to compare her slight form to their lush curves and begin to feel sadly inadequate. Bethia suspected their skills in the bedchamber far exceeded hers as well.

  Telling herself that Eric still sought her bed and none other, that his passion still ran hot for her, did not make her feel all that much more confident. They were but newly wed, lovers for such a short while. What would happen when that newness faded? What would happen if her body grew round with the child she might be carrying?

  The sound of the door opening and shutting, and Eric’s distinctive tread on the stone floor, pulled Bethia from her dark thoughts. She turned her head just enough to peer at him with one eye. He came to a halt by the side of the bed, put his hands on his hips, and frowned at her.

  “Are ye sulking, Bethia?” he asked.

  “What makes ye ask that?” The man’s ability to guess her moods was not always welcome, she mused. It would be nice to be mysterious.

  “Mayhap the way ye are lying there trying to smother yourself in the pillow,” he teased and started to undress. “I begin to think that ye actually enjoy a hearty sulk from time to time.”

  “I suppose I might. I hadnae expected ye back so soon, so I thought I had the time to indulge.”

  “My meeting with Lord Douglas was quick, but we didnae need to say much to each other. He has agreed to support me.”

  “That is wonderful.” The thought that they would soon be able to go home was enough to give her voice the appropriate touch of delight.

  “Poor Bethia.” Eric kissed her cheek and, tossing his jupon and s
hirt on a chest, moved to wash up. ‘What has put ye into a sulk?”

  “Eric, how come ye have ne’er given me flowers?” she asked, then inwardly cursed herself for revealing her weaknesses and doubts.

  “There are none about and willnae be until spring. I might be able to find ye some heather blooms, but that would be all.” He watched her closely as he rubbed himself with a drying cloth. “Those two bitches had a wee talk with you, didnae they?”

  She stared at him in some surprise. “That seems a harsh way to speak about your lovers.”

  “Old lovers and, my heart, ye must ken that a mon doesnae need to like or respect the women he beds. Ere I met you I looked only for comely and willing. Catriona and Elizabeth were both. I wooed my way into their beds, and, trust me, it took verra little wooing to lift their skirts, took what I wanted, and left. I had thought I had played the game as weel as their former lovers, but perhaps not. ’Tis clear that they wish to cause me trouble through you.”

  “I think they are just a wee bit piqued that ye married me—a lass they dinnae believe shines as brightly as they do.” She frowned as Eric got into bed beside her. “I think their pride has been pinched.” She cast him a guilty look as he tugged her into his arms. “I fear I have made it worse.”

  “Aye? What did ye do?”

  “Weel, they walked me to our chambers.” Bethia nodded as he grimaced. “Dinnae worry. I got here ere they could be too precise in their tales. But I suddenly got verra angry.”

  “I am sorry, Bethia. I wish I could rub out my past.” Eric lifted his brows in surprise when she placed her fingers over his lips.

  “I wasnae angry with you, or e’en about the fact that ye bedded women ere ye met me. True, I dinnae like meeting them, but as ye told me, no one held your name or your heart. Ye were a free mon and ye didnae e’en ken who I was. Nay, I was angry at them. There was no reason for them to tell me such things. I have ne’er done them any wrong. And yet, they sought to hurt me, mayhap e’en cause trouble in this marriage by stirring up jealousies and doubts. I fear I said something they will find hard to forgive, and now that I think on it, it wasnae verra kind to speak of ye in such a way.”