Page 1 of A Scot for Bethan
Prologue
Arms wrapped tight around her middle, Bethan stared at the altar in front of her without seeing anything.
Last month she had come to England, and Sheridan Manor, with Jane and a retinue of men. The previous day, after a series of horrific events, her friend had gotten married in this very chapel to the man of her dreams. The bride and groom had met in unusual circumstances and fallen in love, despite Jane being a lady and Griffin a simple villager many considered beneath her. In other words, their story was the exact opposite of what would happen to her.
Her own marriage had been arranged by her father behind her back, an all-too-common occurrence, and it was as far from a love match as could be conceived. She and Dougal Campbell had never met or even exchanged a single letter. And, as future laird of a powerful clan, he would be the one marrying beneath him when he allied himself with the poor daughter of a dispossessed landowner. Would he make her feel unworthy of him once they were husband and wife? She dearly hoped not.
“What are you doing here all alone, Beth?” William, Matthew Hunter’s squire, and her friend, spoke from behind her. Howlong had he been standing in the shadows, watching her fight tears? “Are you all right?”
No, she was not all right. She did not know if she would ever be, considering what fate had in store for her.
“My father has finally found me a husband, the son of an old friend whose life he once saved,” she told him in a dull voice. For two years, he had tried to find a match for her, but the suitors he’d approached in the hope of starting to rebuild the family prestige, ambitious men themselves, didn’t want a bride without money or connections. She was beautiful enough that they would gladly have taken her to their bed, but a more honorable arrangement was out of the question. “I am to marry a man I don’t know. A Scot.”
Which meant she would have to leave her home. Not that she had a home to speak of, of course. She was spending most of her time with the Hunters, who were not related to her by blood. Still, to become Dougal’s wife, Bethan would have to leave her native Wales.
“Marry? When?”
William sounded as shocked as she felt. But the wedding would not happen for another three years, as she was only fourteen and her future husband, thirteen. It was something, she supposed. Maybe by the time Dougal came to get her, they would have exchanged letters and gotten to know one another a little. Love, of course, was too fanciful a notion to even entertain. This was to be a marriage of convenience, nothing more.
“When I reach my seventeenth birthday.”
Another silence. Then a hand landed on her shoulder, warm and comforting. “I’m sorry. I wish there was another way.”
“I know. So do I.”
But there was no other way. Fate had decided she would marry a Scot, and that was all there was to it.
Chapter One
Wales, spring 1317—Seven years later
Bethan stared at the letter in her hand, its enormous seal as shiny and red as a blood stain.
“A letter from Scotland,” the messenger had said as he’d handed her the piece of parchment covered with flowery script.
Scotland. It could mean only one thing. At long last, her betrothed was coming to get her. After more than seven years of waiting and endless delays, Dougal Campbell had finally decided to honor his promise to his dead father and marry her.
On the chair opposite her, Gwenllian was biting her bottom lip. Evidently, her friend had guessed what the missive might be. “Is this it then?” she breathed.
Bethan let out a mirthless laugh. Upon being told about the union her father had arranged for her all those years ago, she had exclaimed that she hoped Dougal would not come until she was an old maid.
Well, she had been made to regret her bitter words ten times over. But it seemed that the wait was about to end.
“Yes, this is it,” she answered through gritted teeth. “Dougal is coming.”
Or…was he?
Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. She and her best friend had often jested that the Scot would end up changing his mind and break off their engagement now that both their fathers, who had arranged the match between them, were dead. After all, he didn’t seem interested in marrying her any more than she was in marrying him. It seemed entirely plausible that he should release her from the contract considering his lack of enthusiasm for matrimony. Hadn’t he prolonged their three-year betrothal by another four years so he could join Robert the Bruce’s army? Didn’t he prefer to fight for the independence of his country and besiege castles rather than do his duty by her? Hadn’t he ignored the numerous letters she had sent over the years?
Yes, a thousand times, yes.
So, was she holding the key to her freedom in her hand? Had he written to announce she could start finding herself a husband she actually wanted because she was no longer beholden to him? The missive in her hand certainly looked nothing like the two short, perfunctory notes he had sent her before he’d joined the Bruce’s men aged barely sixteen. Oh, if only…
Before she allowed hope to bloom in her chest, Bethan broke the seal with a shaky finger and started to read. It was not long before disappointment settled over her shoulders like a lead mantle. This was not the key to her freedom, but rather to the cage she was about to be locked in.
“Dougal has decided it was time we wed but he will not be coming to get me himself. Laird Campbell, his uncle, will be the one escorting me to Scotland. It is easier that way, apparently, as the man speaks English.” Her voice took on a dull quality as she carried on. In his two brief missives, her betrothed had made no secret of his refusal to learn the language of his enemies, even if it was the only way the two of them would be able to communicate, at least at first. “We are to be married the day after I arrive. The retinue intends to set off as soon as the snowhas melted and should reach Castell Esgyrn at the end of the month. It has all been decided.”
The two women stared at one another for a long moment. Not only had her elusive betrothed not changed his mind, but he’d not thought it necessary to come in person to get her. Instead, he’d sent someone else to escort her to her new home. This was a blow, undeniably—anotherblow, she should perhaps say. She had always imagined she and Dougal would have time to get to know one another during the lengthy ride to the Scottish Highlands, in other words, before they became husband and wife. It seemed that she was to be denied even this small boon.
