Highland Promise

by Hannah Howell

  Bethia tried, but could not, and that saddened her. “I dinnae think that it was all her fault,” was all she could say.

  “Nay, she was raised to be nay more than a beautiful woman. Your parents cherished her outside, but nay nurtured her inside. No one e’er taught her how to love or care for anyone but herself.”

  “I think she loved Robert. Aye, and James.”

  “As much as she was able, aye. And think on this: Who did Sorcha call out to when she finally realized that her son was in danger? Nay her parents, as one would think she would, nor any of those fine, strong men so captivated by her beauty. Nay, she sent for you. Sorcha kenned that you—the one she and your parents tossed aside—were the one who could protect and care for her son. In the end she acknowledged your worth. Can ye nay see that your mon does too?”

  “Ye are making me want to cry.”

  “Lass, ye are with child. Near anything could make ye want to cry.” They exchanged a brief grin.

  “So ye think my husband may care for me.”

  “I dinnae think anything I can say will truly make ye believe it, for ye have believed yourself near worthless for too long. But I believe he does. The mon cannae keep his hands off of you. Aye, and dinnae forget how he was when ye were wounded and like to die. That tells ye something. He cares for ye a lot, lass. So when ye tell him about the bairn, I think ye should tell him how ye feel about him. Tell him how much ye love him.” Grizel stood up and, grabbing Bethia’s hairbrush, started to fix her lady’s hair. “The way he replies could end all of your uncertainties.”

  “’Tisnae easy to hand a mon your heart when ye are nay sure he wants it or is of a mind to make ye an equal trade.” Bethia sighed. “I fear how I will feel if I tell him how much I love him and he says little more than thank ye.”

  “I think he will say a great deal more than that and all the words it would do ye good to hear, but ’tis your choice.”

  Bethia was still considering all Grizel had said when, after breaking her fast alone in the great hall, she went in search of her husband. Fear and indecision knotted her insides, but that began to annoy her. She did not like to be such a coward.

  She saw Bowen near the stables mending a harness, and she walked toward him. “Have ye seen Eric?” she asked.

  “He is in the village again. There is a lot that needs repairing,” Bowen answered with a shake of his head. “Those fools did verra little to care for the lands they were so eager to cling to.”

  “Aye. After a little wariness, the people seem pleased to have a new laird.”

  “They ken he is a good mon.” Bowen glanced at Bethia’s middle. “When are ye going to tell him about the bairn?”

  “Ye ken?” Bethia gaped at her friend in utter surprise.

  “Lass, I come from a verra large family and I have five bairns of my own. Ye have the look.”

  “Eric hasnae seen it.”

  “Weel, I think ye are verra good at hiding a lot from the lad.”

  She sighed. “He is such a bonny mon.”

  Bowen laughed and nodded. “And that sore troubles ye, doesnae it?”

  “A wee bit. Do ye think he cares for me, Bowen?” she asked abruptly and blushed beneath his look of disgust.

  “Ye can be such a foolish wee lass. He wed ye.”

  “Ye had a sword at his throat.”

  “I took it away ere he said the vows.” He nodded at her look of surprise. “I didnae want ye bound to a mon who would hurt ye. I asked him if he really wished ye for his wife and he said aye. I gave him the chance to run. He stayed.”

  Bethia was still wondering over that when Eric returned from the village. He told her all about his plans as they went to the nursery to visit James. She realized that he did not hesitate to ask her opinion and truly listened when she gave it. Bethia realized that he had always truly listened to her, even argued with her as if he considered her an equal. Accustomed to such treatment from Bowen, Peter and Wallace, she had not really noticed, but Eric was no mere man-at-arms or childhood friend and cousin. Eric was born and bred to be a laird. For him to treat her so was a surprise.

  It took only a moment of watching Eric play with James for her to lose the last of her concerns about how he would feel about the baby. Eric loved children; he treated James as if the child was his own. She had seen that from the beginning, but had let her own doubts about herself make her forget. The news about their child would undoubtedly please Eric, and she was sure that he would care little if she bore him a son or a daughter. Or even, she thought with a warmth that spread throughout her body, if the child was bonny.

  Her eyes now opened, Bethia watched Eric for the rest of the day. She noticed how often he touched her, as if he could not be within reach of her without doing so. He sought her out several times to talk over some plan he had. She watched how the children followed him, how every man and woman with a problem felt free to come to him. No matter how hard she looked, she saw no hint of discontent in her husband.

  By the end of the day, Bethia felt both stupid and ashamed. She cursed herself for a fool and worse as she prepared for bed. Just as her parents and so many others had done, she had seen only Eric’s beauty, had let that taint her every thought and feeling, had let it feed her doubts and fears. The men who talked to him about the defense of the keep were not doing so because he was bonny. The villagers who sought him out to discuss repairs and trade were not doing so because he was bonny. The children who skipped after him, or came to him with their hurts, probably would do so if he was covered in warts and had three eyes. They saw what her heart had always seen, but unlike her, they did not let their minds become clouded with his fair looks.

  Sir Eric Murray was a very good man. His beauty went to the bone. That was why she loved him. That was why the diverse group now living at Dubhlinn all loved and respected him. Eric might not love her as she did him, but he liked and trusted her. It was far more than her parents had ever given her. Caught up in her own doubts, she had not completely returned the gift. She suspected he might even truly care for her. Bethia had wondered about it when she had been wounded and he had cared for her so well, but again, she had let her own lack of confidence smother that hope. If any man deserved to be loved, Eric did, and Bethia decided it was past time for him to know how his own wife felt.

  When Eric entered their bedchamber, Bethia watched him prepare for bed. She smiled faintly as he washed, stripped off his clothes, and sprawled on his back on the bed, his hands crossed behind his head. If Eric had a fault, it was his complete lack of modesty. Still dressed in her thin linen shift, she sat beside him on the bed, watching him as she brushed her hair. As always, the sight of his lean body made her blood warm, but she struggled to subdue her heedless desires. They needed to talk.

  “Ye are staring at me,” Eric said, clenching his hands against the urge to tangle them in her soft, beautiful hair.

  “Weel, mayhap I am nay used to having so much naked mon in my bed,” she drawled.

  He grinned briefly, then grew serious again. “Ye have been in an odd mood all day.”

  “I have?”

  “Aye, ye have. Ye have been staring at me all day, watching me as if ye thought I might disappear on the wind.”

  Although Bethia had hoped Eric would not notice, she saw no reason to deny it. “Aye. In truth, I would say that I have been looking at you, truly looking. I havenae really done that, have I? For some reason, I couldnae get much past your bonny face and fine body.”

  Eric turned on his side and gave in to his need to touch her, idly trailing his fingers up and down her thigh. The way she sat cross-legged with her thin shift riding high up on her beautiful legs told him that the intensity of her modesty had waned a little, and he was pleased. It also appeared that she was about to be honest concerning at least some of her feelings, and he felt himself tense. For the first time in his life, he was unsure about a woman. Although he liked the fact that Bethia could puzzle him, he ached to have at least some knowledge of wha
t she felt for him beside passion. She held his heart in her small hands and he felt vulnerable. It was a new feeling for him and one he did not really like.

  “And what were ye looking for?” he asked.

  “Ye. Eric, ye do ken that I am nay here just because ye are bonny, dinnae ye?” she asked in a soft voice, suddenly shy and uncertain of how to say what she wanted and needed to say.

  “Aye, lass. I have become verra good at judging who stands by my side just because they think me bonny. In truth, I believe that, at times, ye are almost afraid of it, would much rather I were a plainer mon.” Eric smiled faintly when Bethia cast him a brief, guilty look. “’Tis odd, for once, to find my face more a curse than a blessing. ’Tis but a face, my heart, a lump of flesh that can be torn, scarred, or broken and made verra ugly indeed. For now, why cannae I find some pleasure in the fact that I have a face my wife might be pleased to look upon? I am always pleased to look upon yours.” He lightly caressed the blush upon her cheeks with his fingertips.

  “Thank ye, but if our bairn has a choice of faces, I hope it gets yours.”

  “Ah, my own, ye are fair, and I eagerly await seeing that sweetness in the face of one of our bairns.”

  “Weel, ye may nay have as long a wait as ye think.” Bethia smiled at Eric when he sat up and grasped her by the shoulders for the look upon his face told her, clearer than any words could, that he would welcome their child.

  “Ye are with child?”

  “Aye, near to four months gone. Ye will soon see what face our child carries.”

  She laughed softly when Eric hugged her almost too tightly. When he urged her down onto the bed, she offered no resistance. Bethia could think of no better way to celebrate the wonder of their child than to make love. And perhaps, she mused as he tugged off her shift and tossed it aside, she might find the courage to speak her heart while caught in the heat of passion.

  Eric smoothed his hands over her midriff, then rested one hand against her stomach as he gave her a slow, gentle yet seductive kiss. “I should have noticed,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her body to cover and weigh her breasts. “I ache to make love to you.”

  Bethia frowned, for it sounded as if he was hesitant to do so. “I believe, nay, I am certain I havenae protested the idea.”

  He smiled and brushed a kiss over her mouth as he teased her nipples to an aching hardness with his thumbs. “I dinnae wish to hurt the bairn.”

  When he started to move away, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him close. “Ye cannae hurt the bairn.”

  “Ye are so small, sweetling.”

  “Your brothers’ wives arenae verra much bigger than I, yet I suspect your brothers didnae leave their wives alone at such a time.”

  The way his tiny, slender wife was clutching him, as if she could somehow hold him against his will, made him smile. She was right, however. Now that he had cleared his mind of a sudden fear for her, he knew there would be no harm done if he made love to her. Eric did think, however, that he might continue his pose of hesitancy for just a little while longer. It could be amusing, and undoubtedly delightful, to see how Bethia might try to change his mind.

  “But my brothers’ wives havenae been dragged from keep to keep, chased and wounded by some mad fool.” Eric closed his eyes and bit back a groan of pleasure as she trailed her soft hands down his back and lightly caressed his backside.

  Bethia traced his collarbone with short, wet kisses. She sensed that he played a game, that his protests were not heartfelt, but she was more than willing to play. The moment he relaxed against her, she shoved him away. He tumbled onto his back at her side and she quickly straddled him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, lightly pinning him to the bed. Bethia knew he could break her hold swiftly and easily but he did not move.

  “I was with child whilst all of those things were happening to me,” she said as she trailed kisses over his broad chest and down to his taut stomach. “Naught would shake this fruit from the tree.” She glanced up at him when he gripped his hands in her hair a little too tightly.

  “Ye could have lost the bairn when ye were wounded and fevered.” His voice was hoarse as he realized that she had been in even more danger than he had realized. If she had miscarried their child, it surely would have been enough to kill her.

  “Aye, but the bairn still thrives.” As soon as his grip on her hair eased she began to cover his strong legs with kisses. “I am hale, Eric. E’en the sickness has passed.”

  Eric wanted to ask her why she had waited for so long to tell him of the child, but then her tongue lightly stroked his manhood. He groaned his pleasure as she loved him with her mouth. Despite all of his efforts to control his passion so that he could enjoy her attentions for a long time, his control was shattered soon after she enclosed him in the warmth of her mouth. With a soft growl of need, he grabbed her under her arms and dragged her up his body.

  “Ride your mon, my own,” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady from the force of his passion as he eased their bodies together. “Ah, my heart,” he rasped as she slowly moved upon him, “there can be no sweeter place for a mon.”

  Bethia cried out his name as her release tore through her. She was faintly aware of his echoing cry as he grasped her by her hips and held her tight against him. Still trembling, Bethia slowly collapsed against him, enjoying the way he enfolded her in his arms and touched her face and hair with languid kisses.

  The sweetness of their lovemaking still warming her blood, Bethia kissed his ear and whispered, “I love ye, Eric Murray.”

  Her eyes widened when his whole body trembled once. He grabbed her by the arms and shoved her into a sitting position so quickly she felt her head snap back. Cursing softly, she rubbed the back of her neck, soothing the faint, taut pain caused by the wrenching he had inadvertently given her.

  “What did ye say?” Eric demanded.

  “Weel, I am nay sure I can repeat it now that ye have fair snapped my neck,” Bethia muttered.

  “Repeat yourself.”

  She studied him for a moment. His gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon her face. To her surprise, she caught a gleam of uncertainty in his eyes, the hint of a fierce hope. The man had to feel something for her if he was so interested in her emotions. Eric might not yet return her love, but it was evident that he was anxious to hear about hers. For now, that would serve. She would make it serve.

  “I love ye, Eric,” She gasped when he yanked her back into his arms. “If this is how ye act when I speak those words, I believe I will have to use them sparingly or I will be forever suffering from a wrenching pain in my neck.”

  Eric laughed shakily, then turned so that she was sprawled beneath him. It did not surprise him to see his hand tremble as he gently brushed her tangled hair from her face. Emotion raged through him like some caged animal frantic to break free. The news of their child had given him joy, but it paled compared to what those three words had stirred within him.

  “When did ye ken it, lass? Today? Is that why ye stared at me so?” he asked.

  “Nay, I told ye I was but looking at ye closely, with my eyes open and all my doubts and fears ruthlessly reined in. My heart was already set firmly in your hands. I was sure it wasnae just because ye were bonny, but after seeing the bitter truth about my family, I sometimes feared I was more like them than I was aware of.” Bethia traced the perfect lines of Eric’s face with her fingers. “Oh, I do love looking at your bonny face, but I finally realized it wasnae your eyes or your smile that captured my heart, but ye, the mon. This beauty could be savaged in your next battle, and though ’twould grieve me some, I kenned ye would still hold my heart in your hands. I kenned ye were my love when ye fell ill after your wee swim in the river. The fear I felt for ye was verra strong, and I kenned that, if ye died, it would tear the heart right out of me.” She smiled and welcomed his kiss.

  “Why didnae ye tell me ere now?”

  “I wasnae sure ye would wish to hear the words.”

>   “Ye can be a verra foolish lass,” he said so gently it took all of the sting from his words.

  “I ken it. Ye were right, Eric. At times, your fine looks troubled me deeply. I kept wondering how or why such a mon seemed to want me.”

  “Because he loves you.”

  Bethia blinked, unable to speak or move for a moment. There it was. All her heart’s desire spoken quietly, without warning. Finally, giving a soft cry, she kissed Eric. Despite all of her efforts not to cry, tears trickled from her eyes.

  “When did ye ken it then?” she asked, smiling as he kissed each tear-dampened cheek.

  “I think I kenned it for a long time, but I finally confessed it to myself when I feared ye would die.”

  “Ye ne’er said anything.”

  “Ah, my wee bonny wife, I feared ye wouldnae believe me. Then there were your concerns about how I was seeking my inheritance.” He kissed her fingers when she set them against his lips to silence him.

  “It troubled me, but I was ne’er able to convince myself that ye were like William in even the smallest way. Nay, nor like Sir Graham.”

  “I soon kenned that ye didnae condemn me. When I returned from unseating the Beaton laird, the way ye welcomed me home assured me that ye no longer doubted my right to do what I did. I dinnae ken why I have held silent. I am a coward. I didnae ken what ye felt and didnae want to bare my soul ere I did. But it may have helped ye o’ercome your doubts about yourself if I had told ye and—”

  “But ye didnae wish to bare your soul and meet only disbelief or gain naught but a polite thank-ye. And though it pains me to admit it, ye may have gained naught else from me. I needed to ken my own mind and heart first. Aye, I saw clearly that my family had treated me poorly, saw it shortly after reaching Donncoill, but it took me a little longer to truly see that they were wrong to do so. I needed to take that last step out of Sorcha’s shadow. I needed the courage to love you e’en if ye didnae return that love.”

  Eric brushed a kiss over Bethia’s lips. “My heart, ’tis returned tenfold.” He grinned when she frowned and started to speak. “Do ye mean to argue with me o’er which of us loves the other the most?”