Highland Promise Page 9

  “’Twas just rudeness of a sort, lass. Aye, and a sad blindness to the utter disinterest I felt.” He suddenly smiled at her. “Are ye going to stay and help me bathe?” He tugged off his shirt and tossed it aside.

  The sight of his bared chest was enough to make Bethia’s heart skip. She was tempted to take him up on his suggestion. It was time to retreat.

  “I am taking James and we are going to find some goat’s milk.”

  “Coward,” Eric said, laughing as she hurried away.

  “Best ye lock this door,” she called after herself. “I should hate to return to find your poor body being ravished.”

  “Dinnae worry, lass. I mean to save it all for ye.”

  Bethia smiled, then sighed as she passed the two maids on her way out of the inn. Perhaps it was for the best that she and Eric would part soon. It would drive her mad to constantly watch women try to lure him into their arms. She would be doomed to spend her days wondering which invitation he would finally accept. Surely no man could be so beset by willing women and not succumb to the temptation eventually. If, by some miracle, Eric took her as his wife, Bethia feared she would end her days as a babbling fool, driven insane by fear and constant jealousy.

  “And I have too fanciful a mind,” she muttered, then turned her attention to finding James some of the goat’s milk he so loved.

  When Bethia returned to the room at the inn, she could smell the food even before she opened the door. She stepped inside the door, took a deep breath, and savored the smells of roasted meat and fresh bread. A soft laugh drew her gaze to Eric.

  “I was thinking of hollering out the window for you,” he said as he moved toward the well set table placed by the fire. “They brought this in but moments ago and one sniff was enough to make me ravenous. I feared I wouldnae be able to wait for your return ere I set upon it like some starving wolf.”

  “Oh, I dinnae ken what to eat first,” she said as she sat down at the table, James on her lap, and gazed at all the food on the table. “If we eat all this, Connor shall ne’er be able to carry us to Dunnbea.”

  Eric just laughed, then sat down. He cut Bethia a thick slice of bread and then a smaller one for James. As soon as he had savored a large piece slathered with thick honey, he began to cut the meat. It took only a few more bites of food before their manners were completely cast aside, much to Eric’s delight. Even little James giggled and cooed with pleasure as he stuffed his little face like some greedy piglet.

  Finally, knowing she could not eat another bite no matter how much she was tempted, Bethia slumped back in her chair. She looked down at James and was torn between laughter and dismay. Sticky with honey, the child was covered with various pieces of the food he had eaten.

  “What a messy wee piggy ye are,” Bethia said as she helped James to a drink of goat’s milk.

  “Aye, he will need some scrubbing.” Eric refilled their tankards with wine. “There is a bowl and ewer of water o’er by the window. It looks as if most of the food is on his clothes.”

  Bethia nodded and started to strip the child. Despite her care, some of the food on his clothes got onto the squirming, giggling boy. Playfully scolding him, she took him to the water and washed him clean, then readied him for bed. After setting him in his little box set near the big bed, she stared down at her nephew for a moment. Soon they would be back at Dunnbea and he would no longer be only hers.

  “Ye willnae lose him, lass,” Eric said as he stepped up beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders.

  “Soon he will be in my parents’ care,” she said, leaning against him and enjoying the comfort his strength gave her.

  “Aye, but he will still be yours. He already calls you mama.”

  “I ken it.” She grimaced. “When he does I feel so pleased. Then I feel verra guilty o’er that pleasure. I shouldnae feel happy, nay when it means that he has forgotten my sister already, forgotten his true mother.”

  “He isnae old enough to have many strong memories of her. And if he was often in the care of a nursemaid, there could be even fewer memories.”

  Bethia winced and returned to the table to pick up her tankard. “He had a nursemaid. I talked to her some about the child and, God forgive me, gave little thought to how she would feel when I fled with the boy.”

  “If she cared for the lad at all, she was probably pleased that someone had the wit and strength to try to save him.”

  “Aye, she had the care of him a lot and ’twas clear to see that she loved him dearly.” Bethia smiled shyly at Eric when he picked up his tankard of wine, then half sat, half sprawled on the bed as he took a drink. “I was a little surprised to learn just how often James was left in the woman’s care, but then Sorcha was still rather newly wed and blindly besotted with Robert, unable to leave his side for verra long. At least Sorcha chose weel. Once this trouble has ended I shall see if the woman wishes to come to Dunnbea to help care for the boy.”

  “That would be kind.” Eric patted the bed beside him. “Come to bed, lass.”

  Although Bethia moved to sit beside him, she said, “We are still dressed.”

  “At least we dinnae have our boots on.”

  “How verra weel mannered we are,” she drawled, then tensed slightly as he set his tankard down on a table by the bed and began to unlace her gown. “’Tis verra bright in here.”

  “Aye, and I am glad of it. Last night I was heartily cursing the darkness,” he said, taking her wine away and setting it down next to his so that he could more easily divest her of her gown.

  “Weel, I was verra pleased with it.”

  “Ah, my own, ye are bonny.”

  He kissed her, and for a while, she forgot how much light there was in the room. Eric kept her so bemused with his kisses she offered no resistance as he skillfully stripped them both of their clothes. Then, suddenly, she was sprawled on her back on the bed with him crouched over her. There was such warmth in his eyes as he looked her over that she felt almost beautiful even while she blushed with embarrassment.

  In an attempt to distract herself from the unease she felt over being seen naked, her lack of womanly curves all too plain to see, Bethia looked at Eric. She had seen him naked before when she had nursed him through his fever, but she knew she would never tire of looking at him. His warm smooth skin stretched taut over hard muscles was a pure delight to see. Then her gaze rested upon his groin and her eyes widened. She had never seen him aroused. Bethia was glad that she had not had a chance to see him in that state last night or she would have lost all interest in becoming his lover. She was amazed that he had managed to get that inside of her without causing her a great deal more pain than he had.

  Seeing the direction of her wide-eyed stare, Eric grinned and laid down in her arms. “It isnae that horrible a sight, I pray.”

  “Nay, I was just thinking that it was for the best I didnae see it last night. I cannae believe it fits,” she whispered.

  “’Tis nay any bigger than any other mon’s and, aye, it fits, beautifully so.” He took her hand and placed it on his manhood, closing his eyes in pleasure as she shyly stroked him. “Are ye sore, my heart?”

  “Nay. Should I be?”

  “Some women claim that the pain lingers for a while. I dinnae ken much about it, in truth, for I have never lain with a virgin.”

  “Never? Truly? Was that some sort of rule?”

  “Aye, that it was. I have weel and truly broken it now, havenae I?”

  “I am sorry,” she murmured, then wondered why she was apologizing.

  Eric laughed softly and kissed her on the tip of her small nose. “And so ye should be for being such a sweet temptation, more than any sane mon can bear.” He gently removed her tormenting little hand. “Enough of that.”

  “I was doing something wrong?” Bethia was a little disappointed, for she had enjoyed touching him.

  “Nay, ye were doing verra weel indeed. Too weel.”

  Before she could ask what he meant, he kissed her. Bethi
a decided that he did that a lot, but it was such a pleasant way to end a discussion, such a sweet diversion, she decided not to complain. This was how she wished to spend the night, soaked in the pleasure only Eric could give her. It was the last chance she had to fully love the man and she did not intend to waste a minute of it.

  Bethia allowed her greed for Eric—her need to try to sate herself on the feel and taste of him—to push aside all hints of modesty and embarrassment. She matched him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, although he skillfully eluded her attempts to stroke him as intimately as he did her. Soon she was so eager, so hungry for him, she tried to force him into her embrace. This time when he laughed, she did as well, for she knew that he shared her frenzy, that his amusement was born of the joy they made each other feel.

  When he finally joined their bodies, Bethia cried out in pure delight. Her passion was quickly dimmed when he did not move, however. She looked up at him, shivering a little beneath the hot intensity of his gaze.

  “Eric?” She slid her hands down his back to caress his buttocks, but although he groaned and trembled, he still did not move.

  “Ye are mine, Bethia,” he said, suddenly desperate to try to make her understand that this was more than simple love games, much more than a night of fevered lovemaking followed by a polite farewell.

  “Weel, aye, since I am splayed out beneath ye like a filleted haddock, I think I might be,” she murmured.

  Eric laughed, despite how tightly knotted with unassuaged hunger he was. “Such a loving way ye have to flatter a mon,” he drawled; then he grew serious again. “Nay, I dinnae mean just now, while I lie buried in your sweet body. I mean that ye are mine, all mine. Say it, Bethia. I need to hear ye say it.”

  Although Bethia was not sure what he meant, or what his expressed need for such words might imply, she decided to give him what he asked for. He could not know it, but it was the simple truth. She was his, would always be his no matter what happened to either of them in the years ahead. His mark was upon her, and even if she tried, it would never be removed. He held her heart and her happiness in his elegant hands, but she could never tell him so. By admitting that she was his, however, she could at least hint at that sad truth. It might ease some of the sorrow of unspoken words in the cold, lonely years ahead of her.

  “Aye, Eric,” she replied quietly, reaching up to stroke the fine lines of his face. “I am yours.”

  It was not all he wanted, but it was enough for now. It gave them a spoken bond. There was a look of confusion in her passion-dark eyes, but he could not yet say what was needed to ease that. Now was not the time to speak of marriage. He had too much left unfinished. Bethia would also think he asked only out of a sense of honor, only because he had taken her chastity. He needed time to make her believe that it was so much more than that which drove him to want to tie her firmly to his side.

  Eric began to move, a slow, tantalizing rhythm that soon had Bethia feverish with need again. She was his, irrevocably his, and she wondered how he could not know it, could not feel it in her every touch or hear it in her every cry. As her release swept over her with blinding strength, she felt Eric move only twice more before he joined her in that state of bliss. Even through passion’s haze, she heard him call out, but it was not her name upon his lips. He cried out the word mine as he sprawled in her arms. Bethia wondered dazedly if Eric too suffered from some doubts. She held him close, lazily kissing his shoulders as she fought to recover her strength and wits. If Eric had any doubts about how firmly she felt bound to him, by the end of the night, when they were finally too exhausted from their lovemaking to even wriggle their toes, all of his doubts would have faded.

  Chapter Eight

  Cold steel caressing his throat was an unwelcome way to greet the day, Eric decided as he slowly opened his eyes. He tightened his arm ever so slightly around a still sleeping Bethia. They had been found and it was all his fault. Eric felt weak with guilt and twisted with frustration and rage. It seemed too cruel of fate to make his last thought in life be the realization that he had so utterly failed Bethia and James.

  “Cousin, ye had best open your wee eyes, and be it the blue or the green one, cast an eye at this laddie ere I skewer him,” said the tall young man holding the sword to Eric’s throat.

  Cousin. Eric did not think the word had ever sounded so sweet. Bethia stirred against him and he kept his grip on her firm. She was naked and he did not wish her to start awake, unthinkingly displaying herself to the four men crowding their room.

  He gently closed his hand around her shoulder and squeezed as he studied the men watching him with intense dislike. The man standing by the bed still holding the sword point far too close to him for comfort had to be Wallace. With his green eyes and dark red hair there was some family resemblance. The other three men were older and dark in coloring. Eric had the sinking feeling that two of them were Peter and Bowen. This was not the first impression he had wanted to make upon the men who had been so important to Bethia throughout her lonely childhood.

  “Eric?” Bethia murmured as she started to stretch, then realized that he was holding her firmly to the bed.

  “Caution, lass. We have company.”

  Bethia was briefly terrified as she opened her eyes and looked around the room. As she recognized Wallace, Peter, Bowen, and a man called Thomas, her terror rapidly changed to intense embarrassment. She could not believe they had found her and in such a compromising position. Then she saw the sword pointed at Eric and, with a soft curse, pushed it aside.

  “What are ye doing, Wallace?” she snapped. “There is nay need to threaten the mon.”

  “The mon is lying naked in a bed with you, cousin,” Wallace replied angrily but he lowered his sword. “Are ye going to tell me ye are wed to him?”

  “Why dinnae ye all step outside and let us get dressed and then we can talk about this.”

  “Ye didnae answer me, cousin. Are ye wed to this pretty rogue?”

  “I dinnae mean to have this talk whilst I am still undressed.”

  “Five minutes,” growled the largest of the men, his dark brown eyes cold as they settled on Eric.

  “Bowen,” Bethia protested.

  “Five minutes. We will be outside the door and Thomas will be set below the window.”

  “We best hurry,” Bethia said the moment the door closed behind the four men. “When Bowen says five minutes, ’twill most like be four.”

  She cursed softly to herself as she and Eric got dressed. Bethia wanted to talk to Eric before the others returned but Bowen was not going to give her the time. It was sad that her last night with Eric was ending so badly, but she put aside her disappointment. She was going to have to be very careful in what she said next or she and Eric could find themselves in a great deal of trouble.

  “Eric, I am so sorry,” she began, then winced as the door slammed open so loudly it startled James and he began to cry. “Oh, have a care,” she snapped. “Ye woke the bairn, Bowen.”

  She picked up James and rubbed his back to soothe him, then turned and looked at the men. Her clansmen encircled a remarkably calm Eric. Bethia stared at them all in some surprise because even Wallace, the shortest of the three men, was a bit taller and broader than Eric. Bowen and Peter had always seemed especially large to her, but she began to think Eric had been right to say that, next to most men, he was not particularly big. Then, seeing the anger darkening her clansmen’s faces, she began to fear for Eric’s safety.

  “Ye dinnae need to crowd him like that or glare at him so,” she said as she hurried over to Eric’s side.

  “Nay? Who is the bairn?” demanded Wallace.

  “James, Sorcha’s son. What are ye doing here anyway?”

  “That is nay important. I want to ken why ye were in bed with this bonny laddie!”

  “Weel, I think it is important to ken how ye found us.”

  Eric almost smiled at the way the three men cursed and turned their glares on Bethia. He could sympathize. She was doin
g a good job of diverting them, but he knew it could not last for long. The big, dark man called Bowen looked stubborn enough to outlast her.

  “We were here for the market day,” replied Bowen. “We stopped in the inn to break our fast ere we returned to Dunnbea. One of the maids was gossiping about some guests they had. She was most taken with the bonny laddie but complained that he didnae seem to notice her. It confused the lass since the woman he had with him was such a skinny brown lass with the oddest eyes. How could such a fine mon want such a curveless lass whose eyes didnae match? she asked. Weel, that caught my interest. So I called the maid o’er and had a wee chat with her.”

  “Fine,” Bethia said between clenched teeth. “If ye are intending to repeat the whole of it, do ye think ye could reconsider and leave out the insults to me?”

  “I am nay sure, lass. It might make it hard to ken how we decided to come have a wee peek.”

  After glaring at Wallace, who was grinning widely, she returned her cross look to Bowen. “Ye could have at least knocked.”

  “Nay. Ye would have slipped away if we had given ye any warning. I taught ye too weel.” Bowen scowled at Eric. “Weel, at least in most things. It seems I should have told ye a wee bit more about nay falling for the sweet words of pretty laddies.”

  “Sir Eric Murray has kept me and James alive. I think that is the most important thing.” Seeing that she had their full attention, she told them about her suspicions and how she had had to flee. “So since ye are now here to help me and the bairn get safely to Dunnbea, I think we can just allow Sir Eric to be on his way, dinnae ye?”