Highland Promise

by Hannah Howell

  Bethia knew it would not only be a fierce heartache she would suffer if anything happened to Eric, but a deep, abiding guilt. William and his sons were her enemies, not Eric’s. She had dragged him into the middle of her troubles, blindly and willingly allowed him to share her danger. In truth, he risked far more than she did at the moment. All she had to do was hide.

  Feeding James some cold porridge she had set aside for just such an emergency, and ignoring his almost comical faces of distaste, Bethia tried to find the strength she needed to do as Eric had told her to. That strength would be especially important if he did not return. Glancing at the child, she tried to calm herself with the reminder that he was the most important one. James was totally unable to care for or protect himself. No matter how much she might ache to go after Eric, to try to discover his fate if he did not return by dawn, she knew she could not. She would have to set out on her own, would have to push all grief from her mind and heart and think only of getting Sorcha’s son to Dunnbea.

  Chapter Six

  The sound of a horse breathing was the first thing that penetrated Bethia’s exhausted, fear-frozen mind where she sat crouched in the dark. As the sun had set, she had moved herself and James into the shelter of some thick, uncomfortably prickly bushes. The darker it had grown the more afraid she had become—for herself and James and especially for Eric. She had not dared to light a fire as she had sat in the dark, huddled in blankets, praying diligently for Eric to come back to her. Now that she heard someone approach she had to fight the urge to run out into the open calling Eric’s name. She pulled out her dagger and waited to see who had invaded her refuge.

  “Bethia?” Eric called softly.

  He looked all around the place where he had left Bethia and the child but could see nothing. For a brief moment, he feared that he had gotten lost for the first time in his life, had returned to the wrong place. Then he was afraid that William had somehow found them. He quickly shook away that chill fear as well. Eric had no doubt that he had led the man off in the wrong direction.

  A soft rustling noise made him tense in alarm. He drew his sword and nearly gaped as Bethia stepped out of the shadows. Eric sheathed his sword and wondered how he could have missed seeing her if she had been close enough to hear his soft call. The woman was proving to have some very unusual skills.

  “Where were you?” he asked as he started to unsaddle Connor.

  Clenching her hands together in front of her as she fought the urge to fling herself into his arms, Bethia answered, “James and I were tucked up in the bushes o’er there.” She pointed to a shadowy spot just behind her. “Are ye all right?”

  “Aye, lass. I have set a false trail for the bastard that may be enough to get us all the way to Dunnbea safely.” He moved to the center of the small clearing and prepared a spot to make a small, sheltered fire. “Ye have a true skill at hiding, lass. Did your friend Bowen teach ye that too?”

  She nodded and collected the sleeping James from his hiding place. “When he was still a new mon at Dunnbea and we were dreadfully besieged with raids and fighting. Anyone caught outside the walls was at risk, and since I was let to run free, he decided I should ken how to hide. For such a wee lass, he felt it was the best protection, although later he did show me how to wield a dagger.”

  “Ye learned your lessons weel, lass. I had no hint ye were still here. I feared ye had fled or been taken.”

  “It helped that James is such a sweet-natured child.”

  Eric smiled faintly as he nursed the fire to life. “And one who appreciates a nice sleep.”

  Bethia laughed softly as she set James down and fetched the blankets to lay out their bed. “Aye, he does. ’Tis good, for although he doesnae cry too often, when he is awake his happy babbling can get quite loud.” She lightly touched James’s soft curls. “He is going to be a bonny lad.” She grinned at Eric. “So bonny he may e’en be able to challenge you.”

  “’Tis glad I am that I will be too old by then to care,” he drawled and smiled when she laughed.

  “Do ye think William found our wee refuge?” she asked a moment later, her good humor gone.

  “I dinnae ken, lass. ’Tis possible he was but plodding along the route to Dunnbea hoping he would stumble upon us. He may have the cunning for poisoning a few unsuspecting people, but I dinnae think he kens how to actually fight for what he wants. The few times I watched him and his men, it didnae seem as if anyone was actually looking for us or for any marks of our passing.”

  “I just wish that made him less dangerous.”

  Eric said nothing, just prepared them some porridge. Bethia was right. It did not matter how poorly William Drummond did the job. The man wanted Bethia and James dead. That intent alone made him a serious threat. Even a complete fool could get lucky and accomplish what he had set out to do. The only way to end that threat was to kill the man and, quite probably, his sons as well. Until he had Bethia and the child safely behind the walls of Dunnbea, however, Eric knew he could not indulge in that solution.

  “Mayhap I should just hunt the mon down and kill him,” Bethia said, scowling into the fire.

  It was not easy, but Eric managed to swallow the mouthful of water he had just drunk without choking. He wondered wildly if the woman could read his thoughts, then told himself not to be such a fool. Bethia was a clever woman. She had simply come to the same conclusion he had.

  “Ye cannae do that,” he snapped.

  “And why cannae I?”

  “Because ye are a wee lass.”

  “Nay that wee.”

  “Too wee to chase down a mon who has already killed three people to get what he wants—and his loathsome sons too. And what do ye plan to do with James whilst ye are on this hunt? Keep him slung o’er your back?”

  Bethia stared at Eric in surprise. He seemed almost angry. It had not been a particularly good idea, but she was not sure it deserved that amount of irritation in response. Then Bethia recalled the times when she had presented Bowen with what she had thought was a good idea, but had, upon further consideration, turned out to be anything from silly to quite dangerous. Bowen had often responded in the same way, with angry sarcasm and a hint of frustration. Obviously, men lacked the calm reason to simply discuss the good and bad in a plan.

  “I can see that ye dinnae want to discuss the matter,” she murmured.

  “Actually, what I want is for ye to nay e’en think about it.”

  A stubborn part of Bethia wanted to sharply refuse Eric’s wish, the part that bristled at his tone of command. What right did he have to tell her what to do? A moment later, she sighed. He had the right of her protector, her champion, a place she herself had willingly set him in. There was also the fact that she had already decided that hunting down William was a bad idea, holding far more chance of danger than success. She could concede this time, for she was not actually losing anything and Eric might think that she was a biddable lass. Men liked biddable lasses.

  “As ye wish,” she said quietly and accepted the bowl of porridge he held out to her.

  “So meek.” Eric laughed softly and shook his head before he began to eat. “Ye concede naught.”

  “How can ye say so? Did I nay just agree with what ye asked of me?”

  “Aye, most prettily, after ye had decided nay to do it anyway.” He chuckled at the cross look that flickered over her sweet face. “Ye werenae a verra obedient child, were ye, Bethia?” Eric frowned when she looked a little hurt, a little sad.

  “Nay, I wasnae.” Bethia pushed away the sudden memory of her parents’ blatant disgust and disappointment with her. “Bowen often despaired of me when he wasnae laughing. My mama and papa often said that Sorcha had gotten all of the sweetness whereas I got all of the stubborness.” Bethia paused briefly in sipping some water, for beneath the pain of those words and so many similar ones stirred a small voice that decried those words as unnecessarily cruel, as untrue.

  “Something wrong?” Eric asked, thinking that she looked a
little startled by her own thoughts.

  “Nay, I am just weary.” Bethia took their bowls and cleaned them out with a little sand and water. “I shall seek my privacy for a moment and then get some rest. Ye should rest as weel, Sir Eric. ’Tisnae that long since ye were abed with a fever.”

  He nodded and watched her slip away into the shadows of the surrounding trees. The weariness he felt was almost a blessing. It would make it easier to lie beside Bethia and do no more than sleep. After banking the fire, he slipped away for his own moment of privacy, idly wondering if he could stay away until Bethia fell asleep without causing her any undue alarm.

  Bethia stepped back into the small clearing just in time to see Eric disappear into the shadows. She sighed and moved to the rough bed they would soon share. Slowly, she stripped to her chemise and wondered what she should do now. Twice, when the fever had gripped him so tightly and when he was trying to mislead William, she had faced losing Eric. Now approached the third time. There was this night and perhaps one other before they reached Dunnbea. Bethia was sure that, once there, Eric would leave her and he would not be returning. He had his own quest to fulfill.

  She wanted Eric. Just once she wanted to be held in his arms, to give him the love she dared not speak of. Looking into her future she did not see much chance of finding another man to love even if she could ever forget Eric. She wanted to know what passion was. Eric had given her a taste of it with his kisses, his seductive words and caresses, but she wanted to know the full of it.

  Glancing at James, snugly sleeping in the blanket-lined box they had taken from the hut, she realized that one small impediment was removed. Without James nestled between them, she and Eric would be sleeping side by side, just as they had done in the tiny house. Bethia wondered if that had occured to Eric when he had so amiably allowed her to add the box to their supplies. As she slipped beneath the blankets, she next wondered if the easiest thing to do would be to just wait until Eric kissed her and then not pull away as she had each time before.

  There were a lot of things wrong with what she was contemplating, but Bethia found it difficult to be too concerned about any of them. Her maidenhead should go to her husband, but she was almost twenty and none had yet been presented to her. No one had ever even wooed her. There was also the simple fact that she loved Eric and he made her ache. Some man her family chose for her, if they ever did, would probably not stir her blood the way Eric could with just one smile.

  By the time Eric returned from the wood, stripped to his braies, and threw his plaid over them for some added warmth, Bethia was almost decided. She briefly feared that her feelings were prompted too much by the fact that he was so breath-takingly handsome; then she shook that fear aside. There was no doubt in her mind that she could never again have such a beautiful man express desire for her, but that was not all that stirred her desire. It did, however, add to her feeling that she would be a fool not to grasp the opportunity with both hands and worry about the consequences and the heartbreak later.

  Eric turned to face Bethia and found her staring at him. He wondered if she intended to stop him before he even stole one kiss. She had said nothing more about his plans to seek his rightful inheritance, but William’s appearance could have been all that had prompted her to run back to him. When he slid his arm around her tiny waist, tugging her close to him, and she did not resist, he breathed an inner sigh of relief. She might be troubled by his plans, but she was not going to let that stand between them.

  He started in surprise when, as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, she suddenly wrapped her slender arms around his neck and yanked him even closer. This time when he nudged her lips with his tongue, she readily opened to him. He shuddered from the strength of his need when she timidly returned the prods and strokes of his tongue even as she curled her long fingers in his hair.

  “Ye must be confused, lass,” he said as he released her mouth and began to kiss her throat. “That was a morning kiss.”

  Bethia giggled, then sighed with delight as he moved his hands over her back. “There are different kinds of kisses for different occasions, are there?”

  “For us, aye.”

  “Then what sort of kiss would ye give me if I told ye that I wasnae ready to go to sleep yet?” She cried out softly in surprise when he abruptly turned, pinning her firmly beneath his lean, hard body.

  If any other woman had said such a thing, Eric would have seen it as a blatant invitation to share her bed and he would have been right. He could not be sure with Bethia. Although her kisses were now good enough to make his bones melt, she was still a complete innocent. If he guessed her meaning wrong, he could go too fast and frighten her—or hold back and miss the chance to gain the prize he had ached for since first seeing her. Somehow he would have to find the strength and wit to walk a fine line somewhere between the two until he was certain what she wanted.

  “That would require a kiss that asked, nay, begged for something,” he said in a soft, rough voice as he brushed his mouth over hers.

  The kiss he gave her sent all of Bethia’s senses reeling. She realized that he had been treating her gently, restraining himself. With his tongue, he ravished her mouth, then pulled it back, tempting her to follow with her own, and then the dance would begin all over again. He released her mouth only briefly, just long enough for her to take a breath, then started all over again until she was aware of nothing but the taste of him.

  Eric shifted his body to one side, then slid his hand up her rib cage and covered her breast. Bethia softly groaned into his mouth as he rubbed his thumb over the nipple until it hardened, pressing almost painfully against her linen shift. There was a heated, gentle swelling between her legs, a moistness she did not understand. Eric moved his leg between hers, and with a murmur of confusion and desire, she rubbed against him. When he enclosed the aching tip of her breast in his mouth, gently nipped at it, then suckled, Bethia clung to him and felt the urge to tear away the linen that seperated them.

  Suddenly, Eric stopped. She could sense him looking down at her even before she opened her eyes. Even in the dim light of the banked fire and the waning moon, she could see the tautness of his features. His broad chest heaved as he took several deep breaths. There was a faint tremor in his lean body. Bethia felt her desire soar as she realized that he wanted her, that he was caught as tightly in passion’s grip as she was.

  “Lass,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “If ye mean to stop this, ’twould be a kindness to do so now.”

  “’Twould also be wise,” she murmured and slid her bare foot up and down his hair-roughened calf.

  “Oh, aye, verra wise.”

  “I dinnae feel particularly wise just now.”

  “’Tis flattered I am to ken that my kisses could so disorder your thoughts, but it also means that ye probably dinnae ken what ye are pulling us toward with all your willingness.” He started to move off her.

  Bethia wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly, holding him on top of her. “If ye move away now, I just may have to hurt ye, Sir Eric.”

  Her words echoed in the complete stillness that followed her outburst. Bethia could not believe that she had said such a thing or that she had grabbed the man as if she intended to wrestle him into submission. She took one look at the stunned expression on his face, groaned in embarrassment, and clapped her hands over her face. She was certainly no lady and now Sir Eric could see that very clearly.

  “Sweetling,” Eric said in a choked voice, “I mean ye no insult, please believe me, but—”

  He went off into gales of laughter so loud Bethia nervously glanced at James to be sure that he still slept. Eric was laughing so hard he rolled off her, and Bethia turned on her stomach, pressing her blush reddened face against her crossed arms. Her night of passion was not turning out as she had planned. She had imagined sweet words of acceptance and encouragement, fevered kisses and caresses, and had seen herself gracefully, yet with the appropriate amount of shyness, taking that fi
nal step into womanhood in the arms of the man she loved. Instead, she threatened him, then had to endure his laughter. The only thing that eased the sting of the shame she felt, though not by much, was recalling his apology before he had started laughing. There was a small chance that he did not think she was a complete idiot, and a brazen one as well. Bethia tensed when she felt the gentle pressure of his hand on her back and the touch of his lips on her hair.

  “Come, my own, I meant no ridicule,” he said, a hint of laughter still enriching his deep voice. “’Twas funny. If ye were nay involved, ye would think so too. I have had women woo me, lure me, beg me, buy me—”

  That remark caught Bethia’s attention so sharply she abruptly ceased sulking over her ineptitude and stared at him. “Buy you?”

  “Aye.” He gently but firmly nudged her onto her back and sprawled on top of her. “A verra fat purse she offered me too.”

  “Did she think ye were just some poor carpet knight?”

  Eric had to smile over the outrage Bethia revealed for his sake, as well as her somewhat crude term for a man who pleasured the ladies while other men went off to fight. “Nay, nor some lowly knave. She just kenned that I was rather poor at the time and thought money would lure me more than pretty smiles and kisses. Mayhap she didnae think I would respond to either when they came from her.” He smiled gently as he began to trace the delicate lines of her face with soft kisses. “’Twas tempting.”

  “Eric, ye didnae, did ye?”

  “Aye, I fear I did. I was verra young and in need of some coin so that I could continue at court.” He winked. “I fear I also felt that, if she was so foolish as to pay dearly for something she could have gained with a little seduction, who was I to thwart her?” He was relieved when Bethia grinned, for only after he had begun the tale had he realized that she might not find it as amusing as his family did. “I found out later that she made a habit of buying young knights, paying them handsomely to warm her bed for a night or two.”