Highland Promise

by Hannah Howell

  Bethia nodded and idly smoothed her hands over the deep green velvet surcoat she wore. Grizel had found some of the gowns Sorcha had left behind, and after a little stitching to make the gowns fit her slimmer shape, Bethia was dressed finer than she had ever been before. Her hair hung loose and a braided gold netting was draped over it. Her parents had made a few sharp remarks about her audacity in wearing her hair as if she was still a maiden bride, but for once, Bethia was able to ignore their disapproval. Eric liked her hair loose.

  A murmur amongst the crowd warned her of Eric’s arrival. She watched him as he walked toward her, dressed in his plaid and a fine linen shirt. He was such a beautiful man. Bethia could not help but wonder how he could be happy about this when he could do so much better than her for a wife.

  Eric smiled crookedly as he took Bethia’s hand in his and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. She looked nervous and a little sad. She needed assurances from him but now was not the time nor the place to give her any. He kept her hand clasped in his as he looked at Bowen, glancing only briefly at Bethia’s parents who sat on the dais at the head of the hall.

  “They ne’er came to speak with me again,” he said.

  “Nay. ’Tis settled in their mind,” answered Bowen.

  “For all they ken, I could be taking her to a wee shieling in the hills.”

  “They have offered ye no dower for me?” asked Bethia.

  “Nay, lass, but I am nay needing one.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  “Weel, that is verra gallant of you, but whether ye need one or nay, they should have offered one.”

  “Dinnae fret yourself o’er it. Come, they are waving us forward. ’Tis time to kneel afore the priest.”

  “Eric,” she began as he started to pull her toward where the priest waited for them.

  “Ye said ye were mine, didnae ye, my heart?”

  “Aye, I did.”

  “Weel, we are about to make that a true fact, sanctioned by the church.”

  She had no more chance to talk with him. Bethia tried to take comfort in the fact that she felt no reluctance in him. He might not have chosen her, but he did not appear to abhor the idea of being bound to her. As the priest muttered over them, she prayed she was not about to plunge herself into a lifetime of heartache.

  The wedding feast was not as bad as she had feared. Her parents concentrated on the vast array of food set out before them and paid little attention to her. The people of Dunnbea seemed to be genuinely happy for her. Wallace, Bowen, and Peter sat across from her and Eric, ignoring her parents’ disapproval over two men-at-arms sitting so high up the table, and they kept conversation going. Bethia relaxed a little when she saw that Eric and the three men were very friendly.

  “Ye arenae eating much,” Eric said as he offered Bethia a slice of apple.

  “I was a wee bit nervous,” she murmured.

  “Ye are looking verra beautiful, Bethia.”

  “Sorcha left some of her gowns here and Grizel did them o’er to fit me.”

  “Are there others?”

  “Aye, nearly a dozen. Why?”

  “Weel, I would prefer to buy ye your gowns myself and I can afford to, but ye may have need of some finery ere we can get some in the usual way. Can Grizel make some others o’er to fit ye?”

  “Certainly, but why?” She sipped at her wine as she frowned at him, for he was looking very serious.

  “I may have to go to court e’en before I can take ye to meet my family.”

  “Court?” Bethia nearly choked on her wine. “I cannae go to court.”

  “Of course ye can. Ye are my wife now. Where I go, ye go, at least most of the time.” Eric inwardly grimaced, for he had not had time to tell her about his planned trip to the MacMillans.

  Bowen and Wallace drew his attention away from her and Bethia tried to calm herself. The mere thought of going to the king’s court put her into a panic. She had never been trained for such things. There would be rules and courtesies to follow that no one had ever taught her. Bethia was terrified that she would shame Eric and wondered if there was any way she could get him to leave her behind when and if he had to go.

  The time soon came for her and Eric to retire to their bedchamber. He took her by the hand and led her to her parents so that they could politely take their leave. Bethia held her breath and prayed that her parents would just mutter some bland courtesy and let them escape.

  “I think ye could have asked us if ye could ruin Sorcha’s gowns like ye have,” her mother snapped.

  Bethia sighed, then frowned at Eric. His grip had tightened almost painfully on her hand and he looked coldly furious. She placed her other hand over their joined ones in a silent bid for peace.

  “I didnae wish to shame ye by coming poorly dressed to my wedding,” she said.

  Lord Drummond scowled at Eric. “I suppose ye will be taking her away from here.”

  “As soon as I am able, sir.”

  “Weel, I hope ye have the wit and strength to make her a more obedient and respectful lass. We could ne’er do anything with her. She will be your burden now.”

  “Aye, all mine. We wish ye good sleep, laird, m’lady.”

  Bethia barely had time to feign a curtsy to her parents before Eric was dragging her from the hall. She caught up her skirts in one hand so that she would not trip as she hurried to keep up with his long strides. Only once did she force him to halt, yanking on his hand as they started to walk past Grizel just inside the doors of the great hall. The grinning maid held James and Bethia gave the boy a kiss on the cheek. Eric paused to do the same, then started towing her along again. Only a few rowdy bellows followed them out of the hall and Bethia thanked God for the reticence the people of Dunnbea showed.

  When they reached the bedchamber that had been assigned to them, Eric gently pushed her inside, slammed the door, and immediately went to the table that held the jug of wine and two goblets. Bethia stood where he had left her, wringing her hands as she tried not to be distressed by his sudden anger. He had a right to it, she told herself firmly, and she should not allow herself to be hurt by it.

  “Eric,” she began, wondering how one could possibly apologize for something that would affect the rest of his life, “I am so sorry.”

  Eric finished his drink, refilled his goblet, and poured one out for Bethia. “Lass, I have a feeling ye are apologizing for the wrong thing.” He handed her the goblet, smiled briefly, and took another drink.

  “Ye are angry. Ye have every right to be angry. I dragged ye into the midst of my danger and now ye have been weel and truly trapped.”

  “I dinnae feel trapped, my heart. I wasnae angry because of the wedding. I have ne’er been angry about that. Nay, I was angry at your parents.”

  “Oh. Weel, aye, they could have been a wee bit more courteous to you.”

  “I am the mon who seduced their daughter. If naught else, they should wish to wring my neck. Nay, ’twas the way they treated ye that stirred my rage. Ye have no idea how close I came to putting my fist in your father’s face.” He smiled at her look of shock. “That is why we left so abruptly, although getting ye into this bedchamber was reason enough.”

  Bethia quickly took a deep drink of her wine. She had been shocked, but not by the fact that Eric had wanted to hit her father. What had stunned her was the swift strong wish that he had done so which had swept over her. There was an anger in her that was becoming harder to keep buried. There may be a few things wrong with her hurried marriage, but Bethia began to think it was for the best if she left Dunnbea as soon as possible. Eric would take her away, and perhaps this anger that seemed to have been bred in her would leave before it made her do something she might regret.

  “They are still grieving o’er Sorcha’s death,” she said. “It makes them unhappy and thus they are unkind.”

  Eric did not believe that for a minute and he had the feeling that, more and more, Bethia was finding such excuses hard to accept. He would never let her know that her p
arents had almost sent him away, that they had expressed astonishment that he would even bed the lass. It was Bowen, Peter, and Wallace who had insisted upon the marriage. The only feeling he had gotten from her parents was that they were highly annoyed to be losing their servant, the one who kept the keep running so smoothly.

  “Soon ye need not try to explain their unkindness, for ye willnae have to deal with it anymore,” he said as he set down his goblet and began to unlace her gown.

  “Eric, about James,” she said, wanting to get something said about her nephew before passion made her forget everything but Eric.

  “He will stay with us.” He slipped her surcoat off and began to unlace her corset. “I asked Wallace how they acted toward the lad and what he told me was enough to make me ken that we cannae leave him here with them. If Wallace was already the laird, I wouldnae worry, but nay them. They dinnae even believe that he is in danger.”

  Bethia hugged him. “Thank ye, Eric. They called him an it,” she whispered. “They even, briefly, questioned if he was truly Sorcha’s child.”

  “Whose else’s could he be?” he asked, then tensed and pulled her away from him enough to look at her face. “Nay, they didnae ask if he was your bastard, did they?” He cursed when she blushed and nodded.

  “Weel, they had ne’er seen Sorcha’s son, so they couldnae recognize him as hers. And my having been caught abed with you made them question my morals.” Bethia frowned. “Although I dinnae ken where they thought I had been so that I could get with child, hide the fact, and then have the bairn. Or why I would hide him for a year, then brazenly bring him home. Howbeit, I had shamed myself the once and they were, mayhap, nay so wrong to wonder if I had done so before.”

  “Hush,” he said, his voice hoarse with anger. “Nay another word.”

  “Eric?”

  “Nay, we arenae going to talk about those fools at all. I fear that, if I hear any more of what poison spills from their lips and how ye try to find excuses for it, I shall say something we may both regret.”

  His blue eyes were dark with fury and Bethia decided she would abide by his wish to be silent concerning her parents. His outrage on her behalf warmed her. A small part of her still tried to excuse her parents, tried to convince her that they did not deserve Eric’s anger, but it was easily smothered by the delight she felt over his defense of her.

  When Eric got her stripped down to her fine linen shift, Bethia nervously finished off her wine and let him take her goblet away. He started to tug off her shift and she closed her eyes. She was still not comfortable with him seeing her naked, but he was her husband. It was his right, and he seemed to enjoy it.

  A soft gasp escaped her when he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She lay there, watching through her lashes as he disrobed. This time the sight of his aroused manhood only excited her and she reached out to stroke it as he climbed onto the bed beside her.

  “I am glad ye left your hair loose,” he murmured against her throat, slowly running his tongue along the pulse point in her neck and making her shiver.

  “Weel, I wasnae a maid when we said the vows, but ye are the only mon I have e’er been with, so I thought I could pretend without stirring up too much comment.” When he framed her face with his elegant hands, she sighed. “I will try to be a good wife to you, Eric. I ken that ye could have done much better than me for a wife.”

  He brushed a kiss over her lips, then slowly covered her breasts with his hands as he kissed his way toward them. “I could have found a lass with more dowry, mayhap a wee piece of land.” He rubbed her nipples into hard points with his thumbs, then took the taut peak of one deep into his mouth. “I could have also found a lass with bigger breasts.” He smiled against her midriff when she gasped softly. “And fuller hips.”

  “Aye, ye could have, so why did ye bed me?” she asked sharply, even the passion he was stirring in her unable to ease all the pangs of jealousy she felt.

  “Because ye are mine.” He kissed the soft brown curls that sheltered her womanhood, holding her tightly in place when she tried to pull away in shock. “And I dinnae think, in all of Scotland, I would have e’er found one sweeter.”

  Bethia’s whole body grew taut with shock when he kissed her, pressing his warm lips against a place she did not even have a polite name for. Barely a heartbeat later, however, shock was replaced by passion. She shuddered beneath the deep intimacy of his kiss, curling her fingers in his hair to hold him close as he drove her mad with his tongue. He kept her poised on the edge of her release for so long she started to curse him and tried to pull him back into her arms. Suddenly, he relented, joining their bodies with one swift thrust. It was all she needed and she cried out as she was swamped by waves of pleasure.

  Eric felt her body clench around his, watched her release transform her face, and felt himself dragged along for the ride. He groaned out her name as he spilled his seed deep within her womb. Slumping down on top of her, he wondered how she could fail to see how perfect they were together. Her innocence had to be what kept her blind to the rarity of the passion they shared, to how beautifully they were matched.

  “Ah, Bethia, my own,” he murmured as he rolled over onto his back and tucked her up to his side, “I have nay been a celibate, nay, nor even verra cautious with the ladies, but I have ne’er kenned it to be so wondrous.” He sat up enough to dampen a rag in the bowl of water sitting next to the bed and, ignoring her blushes, washed them both clean before lying down again. “Trust me in this,” Eric said as he pulled her back into his arms.

  Bethia idly caressed his chest and tried not to think of how many women he had known, but it was impossible. “I suppose ye have a vast experience to call upon when ye make this judgment.”

  He smiled against her hair and then kissed the soft waves. “I fear I do. I was verra greedy when I was young, then grew more, weel, discriminating. But, aye, I have bedded a lot of women. I wish I could have come to this marriage bed as pure as you, but I cannae change the past. I was a free mon, no one held my heart or my name, so I took what was offered. Because of that misspent youth, however, I ken that this is beyond compare. I ken that I keep saying ye are mine, but believe me, my wee wife, I am yours as weel.”

  “Only mine?” she found the courage to ask, although her voice shook a little.

  “Only yours. If I had thought I couldnae hold to the vows I just took, I would ne’er have taken them.”

  It was no pledge of undying love, but Bethia found comfort in his words. If Eric remained true to her, took his vows seriously, that would give her the chance to make him love her. Surely, if the passion was as fine and rare as he said it was, then it was not beyond hope that love would follow? Bethia prayed that was so, because she dreaded spending her life loving a man who could not love her in return.

  “Where do we go from here, Eric?”

  He sighed and rubbed his hand up and down her slim back. “I fear ye will stay right here for a wee while, although I would prefer to get ye out of here as soon as I can.”

  She looked up at him. “Ye are going somewhere?”

  “To the MacMillans.” He felt her tense against him. “Many of your people have asked me if I am a MacMillan. The look is there. ’Tis time I let my kinsmen see it.”

  “And do ye mean to do it alone?”

  “Ye may still be hunted. Getting to Dunnbea may not be enough to stop William’s deadly plots. And although I dinnae forsee any trouble with the MacMillans, whether they accept me or nay, who can say? Nay, ’tis best if ye and the lad stay here until I sort this out.”

  “And what if they dinnae accept ye as one of their own?”

  “I dinnae ken yet.”

  “Will ye fight them for what is yours by right of birth?”

  He cupped her face in his hands and brushed a kiss over her lips. “I dinnae want to, but I willnae lie and say that I will ne’er do so.”

  Bethia pressed her cheek against his chest. “I ken ye have a right to what ye seek. ’Ti
s just that I cannae believe ’tis right for people to fight and die o’er money and land.”

  “’Tis what sets most people to fighting. That and honor.”

  “Oh, aye, and look what concern about your honor just got ye.”

  Eric slid his hand between Bethia’s legs and caressed her, enjoying the soft gasp that escaped her. “Aye, it got me this.” He slipped a finger inside her and sighed with contentment. “Ah, lass, I do love the feel of you.” He moved his hand to the small of her back and held her close. “I can only promise that I will try to solve all of this without a fight.”

  “That must be enough and I thank ye for the promise.”

  She slowly moved her hand down over his stomach and then to his groin. The low sound he made caused her to smile, for it held a note of pure masculine contentment. She stroked him, fascinated by the way he twitched and hardened beneath her fingers. Glancing up at him, she saw the light flush of a growing passion on his high cheekbones and realized that she was not completely without power. Eric could drive her nearly mad with desire. Mayhap, she could do the same to him.

  Eric trembled when he felt the warmth of her lips on his inner thighs. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, fighting to keep his desire under control and allow her the chance to test her own budding skills on him. It would do her good, might even give her some measure of faith in herself, if she could see that she could stir him so deeply. When she touched her lips to his swollen member, he shuddered with the force of the pleasure that tore through him. He knew he was not going to be able to let her play her game for very long.

  “Lass, are ye trying to drive me mad?” he asked in a thick voice as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

  “’Tis what ye do to me,” she murmured. “Pure madness. And mayhap I have some dark motive.”

  “Ye?” Eric had hoped that talking to her would help him control his desire, but the way her breath stroked him intimately as she spoke, the way her lips moved against him, only made control more difficult. “I wouldnae have thought ye would e’er have a dark motive.”