Bethia

by Keira Montclair

  “We knew you and Uncle Logan would come for us,” Jennet said. “Where’s Bethia?”

  Tears misted Donnan’s eyes as he watched Bethia hug her sister. He could see the tears rolling down her cheeks, too. They were all alive. Bethia, Jennet, and Brigid appeared to be physically fine. He was sure it would take some time for the wee lassies to overcome the horror of what had happened to them this night, but no more wee lassies would be harmed by Bearchun, and Glenna could no longer ruin him or hurt Bethia.

  Jennet noticed the horseman leading the others through the trees and yelled, “Papa!” She ran to her father, who scooped her up and settled her on his lap.

  “Well done, Gwyneth,” Quade winked at her. “You gave him exactly what he had coming to him. Your reputation stands.”

  Donnan watched the family’s reunion with a happy heart, but as he thought over everything that had transpired, a strange urge possessed him. He snuck past the small gathering and let himself inside the gates, then headed up the stairs and into the great hall.

  This was his childhood home.

  Once inside, the urge that had brought him here gave way to a deluge of tears. He fell into a chair by a trestle table. His arms dropped onto the wooden surface, his head following suit as sobs wrenched from his gut, onto his clothing, and all over the table.

  Tears for his son and his sire intermingled until he could no longer see, his wails echoing through the large chamber. His own wife had killed their wee laddie, smothering the breath from his slight form.

  He’d find Shewolf and give her the biggest bone he could find. She’d not only saved Bethia, but she’d given him the opportunity to live again.

  In a soft voice only he could hear, he whispered, “You were right, Papa. Forgive me for my foolishness. But now I’ve found a lass whom I’m certain would meet your approval.”

  He lifted his head and brought his gaze around the chamber he knew so well, wondering how his sister and his sire’s servants were. The hall was still decorated beautifully, tapestries and well-carved furniture in front of the hearth with thick cushions everywhere. His thoughts vanished when the door opened and Bethia stepped inside with her sire and her uncle.

  Bethia rushed to his side and placed a hand on his one shoulder, checking his other shoulder, the wounded one, before she spoke. “Are you all right? Forgive us for intruding, but I told my sire and uncle about Glenna and what she said. Donnan, I’m so sorry for all of the sorrow you have borne, but you did not kill your son. I hope you take some comfort from that. She was an evil woman.”

  He pushed back from the table and stepped away from it, his shoulders squared, wiping the tears from his eyes before he spoke. He wrapped his uninjured arm around Bethia’s shoulder and kissed her forehead before he turned to face the Ramsay brothers. “My laird…never mind. Just a moment.” He turned his attention back to Bethia. “Bethia Ramsay, I formally declare my love for you.” He paused to clear his throat. “Your compassion, your patience, and your heart inspire me and others every day. The wee ones love you, the animals would follow you forever, and your family loves you so much that they’d tear apart an army to protect you.” He glanced over at Logan, who was actually smiling…slightly. “I know I could not possibly prove myself worthy of being your husband, but I’d welcome the honor and pleasure of having you by my side for the rest of my life.” He removed his hand from her shoulder and dropped to one knee in front of her. “And I know my sire would be proud to call you the Countess of Panmure. Bethia, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Bethia squealed and threw her arms around Donnan. “Aye. I love you, Donnan.”

  He gave her a chaste kiss once he stood, but then stepped away to address her sire. “My laird, I’d like to ask for your permission and your blessing of this union. I love your daughter with all my heart, and I vow to protect her with my life.”

  Quade asked, “Shouldn’t this question have come to me before my daughter?”

  “Nay!” Logan shouted, wide-eyed. “Not unless you wish to incur your daughter’s wrath. Donnan and I have endured it once before.”

  Bethia gave her sire a sheepish grin and nodded.

  Before Quade could respond to Donnan’s request, the big man pivoted to face Logan. “And I would also like to ask your permission as her beloved uncle, as I have seen the evidence of your feelings for your niece, and I pledge to treat her with the honor and respect she so deserves.” He reached for Bethia’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Hellfire, Douglas, you took an arrow intended for the lass,” Logan replied, reaching up to rub his eyes. “My heart skipped at least three beats, and I know not if I’d have survived watching it hit its intended target.”

  “What in the hell did I miss, Logan?” Quade shouted.

  “Be glad you missed it. It nearly killed me. Bearchun gave a signal to his archer, and he released an arrow headed straight for her heart. Donnan stepped in front of it,” he pointed to his shoulder. “Did that to him.”

  “Papa? Have you answered his question?” Bethia’s hand gripped Donnan’s forearm as they awaited her father’s answer. “I’ll tend his wound in a moment.”

  Gwyneth’s voice came from outside the door. “Hellfire, answer the man, Quade, so the rest of us can come inside!” She opened the door and peeked around the corner, Jennet, Molly, Brigid, and Torrian all stood behind her.

  Quade clasped Donnan’s elbow and said, “Aye, you have my permission and my undying gratitude for taking the arrow intended for my daughter.” He leaned down and kissed Bethia’s cheek as the door burst open and several people shouted with joy, rushing in to congratulate the couple.

  Donnan leaned over to kiss Bethia’s cheek and whispered, “Are you happy, lass?”

  Her face radiant and lovelier than ever, she nodded. “Happier than I had thought possible.”

  ***

  The following day, Bethia settled Donnan at the table in the great hall so she could redress his wound. Many of the Ramsay guards had gone home, along with most of her family, but her mother and father had stayed to help her plan the wedding. They’d gone outside so her mother could search for herbs in the forest with her sire’s help, one of their favorite pastimes. Her father had an uncanny ability to see certain herbs from his horse.

  Donnan said, “Your hand trembles, my sweet, something I’ve never seen before.”

  She let a deep sigh out when she finished, setting on the chair next to him. “Do not fear. Your wound is healing nicely. I worry that I may not meet your sister’s expectations, that she’ll be disappointed in me when she returns from Edinburgh.”

  “Nay, that will never happen. My sister is kind-hearted, and she was not overly fond of Glenna. She will be verra pleased to meet you.”

  She returned her tools to her satchel, setting aside the ones that required cleaning. As she worked, she scanned the hall. “Your sire truly did have a fine hand.” She ran her hand across the back of the chair in which she sat. “The scrolling is lovely.”

  A small smile tipped up his lips. “At first, he kept his talent hidden, believing ‘twas beneath his station to craft such treasures, but as he grew older and found I shared his interests, the desire to create blossomed in him again. I’ll be forever grateful to him for that.”

  She took his hand in hers. “Mayhap you should forgive your sire. Relieve your heart of this turmoil between the two of you. Choose to focus on the good memories.”

  “You are right, and I will do my best to honor his memory, although I have no intention of taking his place.”

  “And what if we have a son, Donnan? Would you deny him his heritage? Did you consider that before Donnie died?”

  “I did, and there were times I wished I had not denounced the title. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I’ll consider your question and give it careful thought.” He leaned over and placed a peck on her cheek. “My thanks for your honesty.”

  The door opened and a man stepped inside, holding the door open for another. A
beautiful dark-haired woman followed him into the great hall. She gasped at the sight of Donnan and rushed over to stand in front of him. “Donnan, is it truly you?” She threw her arms around his shoulders. “Dear brother, I have missed you so.”

  Donnan returned her embrace, but she must have noticed his wound because she ended the hug abruptly. “You’re hurt?”

  “Nay, do not think on it. Joan, I’d like to introduce you to the woman I plan to marry. This is Bethia Ramsay, and we are to wed within a fortnight.”

  Joan spun around to greet her. “Welcome to Cairnie Castle, Bethia, and thank you for bringing my brother back to me. I have missed him dearly.” The tears misting her kind eyes told Bethia exactly how much she meant those words. Suddenly her fears melted away. This was no cruel or demeaning woman—Joan was just as warm and loving as her brother.

  As soon as she introduced them to her husband, Joan tugged Donnan over to the hearth, and they spent the next two hours becoming reacquainted. Their laughter and tears filled the hall, while Bethia and Joan’s husband chatted and enjoyed the reunion. When their conversation finally lulled, Joan’s husband nodded to her. She made her way to the mantel over the hearth, opened the hinged box atop it, and retrieved a sealed parchment.

  She returned to Donnan’s side and said, “Papa wrote this when his illness started.”

  His name was printed in bold letters across the envelope with the words, “The Fourth Earl of Panmure,” underneath it.

  Bethia glanced at Donnan to gauge his reaction. Emotion flickered across his face as he traced the letters with his finger.

  He thanked his sister, then glanced at Bethia. All she could do was nod, encouraging him to open the note. How she hoped this letter would help put an end to the pain he endured whenever he thought of his father. He deserved the chance to recapture the happy memories of his youth.

  ***

  Donnan turned the letter over and over in his hand.

  Joan said, “We’re going to head to our chamber. You should read this in private.” She sent the servants off with different tasks.

  Bethia got up to leave, but he reached for her hand and said, “Nay. Please stay.”

  She nodded and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

  After much deliberation, he broke the seal of wax and unfolded the parchment, reading it aloud so Bethia could hear it.

  Son,

  It is with both sorrow and gratitude that I pen this note to you. Sorrow because I know my time is near, gratitude because this new development in my life has forced me to re-evaluate my choices.

  I’ve missed your presence in my life. Your sister and I have both been deeply saddened by your absence. Once I discovered my time was limited, I had my steward gather some information about you.

  You have my deepest sympathy for the loss of your son. I’m sorry I did not have the pleasure of seeing you together.

  I am not sorry that your relationship with Glenna did not withstand the tragedy you were both forced to endure, but I won’t speak any more on that subject.

  I wish to tell you how much it has pleased me to hear about your continued interest in building new things. I’ve heard you’ve fashioned some wonderful contraptions in your home built of logs.

  I’m pleased to hear you’ve chosen to join the Ramsays. They are good people, and if you stay in good standing with Logan and Quade Ramsay for the rest of your days, I would be proud.

  As a dying man and father, I find I have several wishes yet. What do I wish for?

  I wish you’d find another woman deserving of your love, one who would return your love and bring you happiness.

  I wish I’d been a better man and swallowed my pride, my stubbornness. For that, I apologize.

  I wish you would take your rightful place as my heir. It is yours, and it is what your sister wants, and what your dear mother would want.

  I wish you many children, as despite my behavior, you and your sister have been the two lights of my life.

  Above all, I wish you much happiness.

  With much love,

  Your father,

  William Douglas

  The Third Earl of Panmure

  He folded the letter and returned it to the box on the mantle. What little remained of the wall he’d built around his heart had just crumbled.

  “What are you thinking?” Bethia asked.

  He looked at the woman he adored and reached for her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers. Her generous heart would want him to forgive his father, and he had to agree. If he and Bethia had a son one day, and he and the lad had a bitter argument, he knew he’d wish for his son’s forgiveness. So how could he withhold it from his own father? It was time to let the bitterness go.

  “I’m thinking that if a father truly loved his son, his heart would be broken if his son chose the wrong woman to marry,” he finally said. “What do you think?”

  Bethia stepped close enough for him to see the tears misting her eyes. Tugging his hands up with hers, she unclasped their fingers and pressed her palms to his. “I think your sire regretted his actions. ‘Tis clear he wished the best for you, and that he did indeed love you as any father would love his son.”

  “I cannot disagree with you.” He lifted his chin and stared into her beautiful brown eyes, admiring the sparkling flecks of gold. How he adored this woman.

  How he wished his sire had been given the opportunity to know her…

  “Loving Donnie has changed me. I find I’m more open to forgiveness.”

  “Aye, your son helped you grow into a more mature man who is able to give more of himself, and I am grateful to have met you when I did.”

  “I know this is something I have no right to ask, but will you promise to never leave me? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Bethia pushed their hands aside and leaned in close, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I promise. And do you know what many in my family say?”

  “Nay, please do share,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek, breathing in her wonderful scent.

  “That you will see your sire again one day. Does that ease your mind?”

  “Aye, but not for the reason you think.”

  She tipped her head, a question in her gaze.

  “Because I would like to introduce you to him, and if your beliefs are true, then I’ll have that opportunity someday.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A sennight passed and Bethia’s stomach would not calm down, no matter how much she told herself Donnan loved her for who she was inside. He’d told her many times how beautiful he found her, but she’d never truly felt beautiful. Her cousin, Molly, had sought her out for a talk, and she’d promised Bethia that her perception of herself would change after marriage. When pushed for an answer, Molly had simply said that love changed everything. But while Donnan’s love had changed much in her life, Bethia often felt lacking. How she hoped her wedding day would change that…

  They had agreed to marry in Edinburgh as the Earl of Panmure should, and she would carry the title of countess, but they would live in the home Donnan had built, not far from her parents, and not far from the animals she treated for the clan. Joan and her husband would live in the castle, but they would visit with them often.

  In another sennight, Bethia would become Donnan’s wife, the Countess of Panmure. The trepidation she felt over marrying in Edinburgh in front of droves of people had almost been too much for her, especially since she had not yet seen the dress she was to wear.

  Donnan’s sister, Joan, whom she adored, had told Donnan about the wedding gown their mother had ordered many, many years ago, soon before her death. She’d announced it was to be for Donnan’s future wife. Her maid had passed the message on and kept the gown hidden away. The former earl had refused to bring it out for Glenna.

  This was a gown fit for a countess, made with jewels and lace, beads and silk, with all the trimmings. How Bethia hoped the gown had not been made for some petite lass.

  D
onnan had arranged for the seamstress to come to Cairnie Castle to assist with the adjustment of the gown. He had offered his chamber for the event because it was the only one large enough to hold them all as well as the gown. Her mother and all the sisters and cousins had begged to stay in the countess’s dressing room, anxious to see Bethia in her gown, but she had sent the rest of the family downstairs to wait. Many of them had arrived the previous eve to share this special occasion with her. Donnan’s sister, the seamstress, the maids who were helping her with the dress, and Bethia’s mother would be the only ones in the room when she tried it on the first time. Brenna seemed to feel almost as anxious as she did.

  The seamstress who’d made the gown had taken one look at Bethia and smiled, though that smile could mean any number of things. Joan and the maids and seamstress had gone off to fetch the gown, and Bethia stood in the middle of the chamber on a pedestal, already dressed in a silk chemise and beaded slippers.

  The giggling chatter of her family carried up the stairs. She heard Aunt Gwyneth and Aunt Avelina, along with her sisters, Lily and Jennet. Her cousins were having a fantastic time. Sorcha, Brigid, Molly, and Maggie were all there, along with several of her Grant cousins—Kyla, Elizabeth, Gracie, and Elyse.

  She prayed she would not be embarrassed in front of everyone she loved.

  Her mother, as if reading her thoughts, said, “Bethia, you will be beautiful even if the gown is not your color.”

  Joan came into the room from the next chamber, gave her shoulders a squeeze, and said, “Are you ready? They’re bringing it in now. My mother—” she teared up, “—must have had a premonition that my dear brother would meet you. The gown is perfect.”

  She held the door open and the maids carried it in.

  The entire gown was ivory silk, a brilliant shade that was a glorious contrast to Bethia’s dark hair. The lace at the top of the gown was a rich gold brocade, but the most striking feature was the golden belt encrusted with jewels that would cinch her waist.