Page 11 of A Scot for Bethan
“I did too.” The gray eyes lit up. “Truce?”
“Truce.”
He nodded and led the way back to the horses. “I will make sure to tell the men not to use Gaelic until we reach Crois Dhubh, even between themselves, and I will not either. It will be better for you that way.”
“Thank you.”
He’d understood the powerlessness she had felt, and he sympathized. This further proof of thoughtfulness touched her. Though he was taking her away from all she knew and loved, he was not the one at fault. His signature was not the one on the wedding contract. The two of them didn’t have to be enemies. Feeling better than she had all day, Bethan hoisted herself back in the saddle. A moment later they were riding again.
“This reminds me, what does Crois Dhubh mean?” she asked Cameron, coming to ride side by side with him. She had wondered from the moment she had been told the name of her future home what it could mean, but had found no one who could translate it for her.
“Black cross,” he answered in his deep burr.
“Oh.” Though the name was not particularly inspiring, she forced herself to be sensible and read nothing into it. CastellEsgyrn meant Bones Castle and yet it was the most pleasant, welcoming place you could imagine. Perhaps Crois Dhubh would be nowhere near as sinister as the name suggested. Still, she had to admit the image it had conjured up in her mind was rather grim. “And what about your own estate?”
He hesitated, as if reluctant to answer. “It’s called Nead an Diabhail. It means ‘Devil’s Nest,’” he added when she arched a brow.
“I see.” Devil, no less. Well. She’d asked, had she not? “Is everything in Scotland so…formidable?”
The word died on her lips when he threw her an amused look. “Aye, I guess most things are. But don’t let it impress you. I hear that Castell Esgyrn means Bones Castle. It cannot get more sinister than that, and yet you’ll agree that there is nothing remotely fearsome about the place.”
She was surprised he was aware of the meaning of the castle’s name. He had to have asked for the translation, for how else would he know? The thought warmed her. At least someone in the Campbell family seemed interested in her. “Yes. The workers found two skeletons in the ditch when they dug the foundations to build it a century or so ago, hence the name.”
Cameron chuckled, something she would have thought him incapable of. Men like him didn’t chuckle. It was not just that he looked like a warrior, dressed in chainmail and atop a mighty charger horse, although it certainly made it odd to see him act as an amused child, but he seemed too…well too formidable to have such a reaction. And undeniably, it was endearing.
“I hope Ned…”
“Nead an Diabhail,” he supplied when she faltered.
“Thank you. I hope Nead an Diabhail is not called Devil’s Nest for a similar reason.”
Another chuckle. Another beat her heart skipped.
“You ken, I’ve never wondered why it was called like that. But now that I think of it, I doubt the Devil has ever set foot by theloch,much less built a nest there. It’s much too peaceful a place, nothing like the fiery pits he favors. You’ll soon see for yourself, as ’tis only half a day’s ride away from Crois Dhubh, right next to a stream going by the name of Demon’s Bowels and a wee rock the local children call the Crooked Tooth.”
She recoiled at the list of ominous names. Just where was she headed? “Really?”
This time he winked. “Nay, I’m jesting with you. Not all names are that bad, and I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
Bethan didn’t answer, as she suddenly felt unsettled. Cameron Campbell could be whimsical. It was quite unexpected, and though she wasn’t sure why, it unnerved her. His thoughtfulness had been a pleasant discovery, but she wasn’t sure how to deal with this side of him. It was odd because there was nothing she liked more than to exchange pleasantries with people. With him, it seemed dangerous somehow.
By midafternoon, they reached the small but pretty castle that was now Siaspar’s home. Her brother had succeeded in doing what their father had tried his whole life to do. Hardworking, clever, and determined, he had earned himself the respect and affection of the ageing lord he’d been sent to foster with at a young age. When the man had died, a few months after his only son had been killed quite stupidly during a hunt, he had left his estate to the only person worthy of the succession in his eyes.
As a result, aged only twenty, Siaspar ap Morgan was master of Castell y Ddraig. It was a stunning achievement for a brewer’s grandson, undoubtedly, and Bethan was proud of him. He had not let his father’s dispossession affect him and had built a future for himself on his own merit, unlike her, who would oweher subsistence and what little status she’d have to a husband she had not even chosen herself.
Pushing the sobering thought away, she nudged Petal onward and rode under the portcullis at a brisk trot. Her brother would be expecting her, and she was equally eager to see him. Earlier that day, Hamish had been sent ahead with a message from her to make sure everything was ready when the retinue arrived.
“Chwaer!”
Bethan almost dissolved into sobs when Siaspar called her “sister” with such emotion. This might well be the last time she ever heard the familiar endearment—or even saw him. The idea was too awful to contemplate.
While brother and sister fell into one another’s arms, Cameron looked around the bailey appreciatively. The place was well-maintained and two men at arms were patrolling the battlements despite the lack of immediate threat. Though he was the same age as Dougal, the Welsh boy was proving a much more efficient administrator than his nephew would ever be. Would that Crois Dhubh was as half as welcoming and well-guarded as this estate… Poor Bethan was in for a rude awakening, if this was what she was expecting.
His gaze went back to her. The affection between her and her brother was obvious. As soon as she had dismounted, she had thrown herself into his arms. The two of them spent a long moment talking together in Welsh under their breaths, while the Scots glanced at one another uneasily. Cameron thought he understood the reason behind the looks. They, like him, felt like executioners about to lead their victim to the block.
When Siaspar ap Morgan finally drew away from the embrace, it was clear from his scowling countenance that he was as opposed to his sister’s marriage to a Scot as she herself was. Nevertheless, he addressed him with all marks of civility,thereby proving he was not one to hold unnecessary grudges. He knew this union had been decided by others.
“Welcome to Castell y Ddraig, my lord, or should I say, my laird.” His English was even more accented than Bethan’s, which was hardly surprising. He, unlike her, had not been raised at Castell Esgyrn and would have had fewer opportunities to practice. At least they could communicate, which was the important thing.
