Page 2 of A Scot for Bethan
Bethan stilled, resignation seeping to her very core. Deep down she knew the news she’d just received should rouse a reaction out of her, but she just felt numb. Soon she would have to say goodbye to all she knew, settle in an unknown place and, the following day, marry a perfect stranger. It was an appalling prospect, whichever way she looked at it, but she had endured so many setbacks over the years, swallowed so many disillusions that she could not muster the energy to be devastated.
Gwenllian put on a brave smile, determined not to let her own dismay show. “Well, I suppose we knew this day would come.”
Yes, they had, which was ironic because none of the rest had gone the way it was supposed to go in that grim affair. When her father had betrothed her to Dougal seven years ago, he had done so on the understanding that her future husband would, in time, succeed his father and become laird. But at the Scot’s death a few months ago, the title had gone to Cameron Campbell, Dougal’s uncle instead. The clan, understandably, had preferred to elect an experienced man to rule over them rather than take a chance on an untried youth of barely twenty summers who was never there.
In spite of this new development, the arrangement between them had been maintained, for which Bethan was grateful. No one had wanted to ally themselves with the fourteen-year-old granddaughter of a brewer, whose penniless father had been dispossessed of what little he had managed to build by the English King after the conquest. She was now one and twenty, not old exactly, even if it often felt that way, but she was certainly no child bride anymore. And she was still as poor as she had been seven years ago. All in all, she was hardly an enviable party and Dougal’s offer was the best she could aspire to.
Bethan sighed. What would her father think of all this? He had arranged her eventual marriage to the prospective Laird Campbell to restore their family’s prestige. When he’d died two years after signing the wedding contract, he had gone to his grave comforted in the knowledge that he had made an advantageous match for her. But instead of being the wife of a clan chief, and the lady of the castle, as he had planned, she would end up being married to one of the laird’s nephews, a man who was only interested in fighting for his country’s independence and likely to be killed before too long as a result.
She looked around, seeing the bedchamber she shared with Gwenllian with new eyes. Soon she would leave Castell Esgyrn, never to return. Though it was not, strictly speaking, her home, it was the place she felt most comfortable in. Because of her friendship with Gwenllian, the Hunter family had always considered her like a daughter. After the death of her father, they had offered to welcome her under their roof. It had been natural to accept their kindness.
In leaving them, she would leave the people she loved the most in this world, the only people who cared for her, except for her brother Siaspar, who had been sent to foster in a castle beyond the valley as a young lad.
Yes, the people of Castell Esgyrn were her family. And yet, close as they were, they didn’t know her secret.
The respectable,betrothed, Bethan ferch Morgan, was no virgin.
How would Dougal react when he found out? Would he even notice? He was younger than her, so maybe he was not so experienced that he would know the difference. Would he care if he did notice? She was not even sure. Theirs was not a love match, far from it, so he might well not worry about his wife’s past, as long as she did not make a fool of him once they were married. The thought that her indiscretion might never be exposed should have reassured her, but it didn’t, because it only served to show the lack of interest her future husband took in her. Prolonging their betrothal beyond what was acceptable was proof enough that he had no interest in her. Sending another man to get her on the pretext that he didn’t speak English was such a feeble excuse… He could easily have come along and brought an interpreter with him. But no. He didn’t care about her, and she doubted that would change when he met her.
As for her… What did she think?
Though she was determined to give this marriage a try, Bethan didn’t see how she would ever get on with a man who had not bothered writing to her more than twice in seven years, whose only interest seemed to be in political machinations and whose ways would be utterly foreign to her, at least at first. If he didn’t speak English—Welsh had never even been mentioned—then how were they to converse, and get to know one another? She had been unable to find a single person able to teach her Gaelic, so she would have to learn when she reached Scotland. It would take time. An interpreter was all well and good, but having someone constantly lurking in the background, repeating your every word, hardly helped build intimacy. And how would it work when they were alone, in bed? Unable to communicatetheir doubts and preferences, they would be reduced to copulating like beasts without exchanging a single loving word or voicing out a tender reassurance.
This was one of the reasons she had taken the shocking decision to bed someone before meeting the husband who had been selected for her. She had not wanted her first time to be with a man who would be unable to speak to her during their first joining, comfort her if need be, stop if she begged him. She had also, given Dougal’s apparent lack of enthusiasm for this union, started to fear that he would never come to her. The prospect of ending up as an old maid, of dying a virgin and never having known what it was to lie in a man’s arms was not a cheerful one. Last of all, and rather foolishly, she had hoped that their engagement would be broken at the death of the old laird, leaving her free to marry a man of her choosing, one who would love her and wouldn’t mind her not being untouched.
It had not been difficult to find a lover.
Men had taken an interest in her from a very young age, competing for her favors, choosing to forget she was not free to indulge her senses, boasting about their skill in bed in order to be the one having the honor of making a woman out of her. It had pleased her to ignore those overconfident rogues and give her maidenhead to a shy youth instead. Edward had been perfect, both tender and too awed by her not to do his best to give her the pleasure she was after. In truth, she had intended for William, her friend from Sheridan Manor, to be the first man to possess her, but things had not gone the way she had hoped. When she had tried to kiss him, he had confided the reason why he would never be able to do what she was asking.
That night the whole castle had been celebrating in his honor. The faithful squire, who had arrived at Sheridan Manor as a page, had finally been made a knight.
Just before the banquet the two friends had gone for a stroll around the bailey, eager for some fresh air after the suffocating heat of the day. Bethan had led him to the herb garden, and a little alcove hidden in the wall. Earlier that day, she taken the precaution of heaping cushions over the stone bench so as to provide maximum comfort. It was the perfect place to put her plan to execution, cozy and private. In the fading light, no one would see them unless they were standing right over them.
Raising herself onto her tiptoes, she placed her lips on William’s mouth.
“W-what are you doing, Beth?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length, his shock evident.
This was not the reaction she had expected but she did not let it worry her. Bethan knew he would understand when she explained what this was about. He knew about her pending union to Dougal, so he would not judge her. He lived in England, thereby ensuring that this encounter would remain a secret, and he was one of the most caring and handsome men she knew. He would be gentle and mindful of her pleasure.
Yes, William was perfect for what she had in mind.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she breathed, nestling herself against his chest. He felt so good, so tall and broad, hard and deliciously masculine, the perfect foil to her feminine softness. Would Dougal feel as good? She still didn’t know anything about his physical appearance. She pushed the uncomfortable thought away. There would soon come a time when she would know exactly how he looked—dressedandnaked. “Will you show me what pleasure men can give women?”
“I can’t.” Gently, he pushed her away.
“You need not fear you are taking liberties,” she reassured him, aware she was asking a lot from him. Not only was she suggesting he deflowered a virgin, but also a woman who was betrothed to another man. For someone as honorable as he was,such a thing would be unthinkable. But her mind was made up. “I want this, I want to know what it is to be touched by a man I know and trust, someone I chose for myself, before I become?—”
“I’m sorry, but as much as I sympathize with your predicament, and would love to help you, I really can’t show you what men and women do together.”
With those words, William did the last thing she’d expected him to do. He took her hand and placed it between his legs. There was no hardness there, nothing that betrayed any lust. He was not lying. He did not feel any desire for her, which meant he would not be able to possess her, no matter how much she tried to entice him. Everything within her collapsed. How cruel that William should be the only man she had not been able to ensnare with her much-praised beauty. Bethan had lost count of the number of men who had stolen kisses from her and ground their hard members against her stomach in their bid to show her how much they wanted her and how ready they were to make her theirs.
And now, when for the first time she would actually welcome this proof of desire, she felt only soft, unresponsive flesh.
“I see.” Never had she felt more dejected.
“No, you don’t. This has nothing to do with you.” He sounded agonized and he drew her back into a brotherly embrace. “But you see, I, myself, am still waiting to find out how wonderful it is to be touched by a man I trust,” he whispered in her ear.
Aman.
