Page 20 of A Scot for Bethan
“Aye, well, she should be. Pity Dougal could not rally men to his cause, and thus did not succeed the old laird. Then, as his wife, she would have been Lady Campbell.”
Was the man determined to have his nose broken? Cameron bunched his fists. He cared not to be reminded that Bethan was set to marry his nephew; he was having a hard enough time trying to forget it. Only the fact that they were currently attending mass prevented him from grabbing Angus by the collar and hoisting him up in the air to relieve his frustration.
“Do you think you could stop bothering me with your unhelpful comments?” he growled, keeping his gaze on the priest in front of him.
Angus inhaled sharply, as if suddenly realizing how his words could be interpreted. He had inadvertently hinted that he thought it wrong for Cameron to have been chosen in his nephew’s stead. “Of course, I-I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stammered, worried his laird would think him disloyal, “only that the lady deserved to be married to a man who allows her to become?—”
“I know what you meant, and I’m telling you again, cease your useless blabbering or you will find yourself tasting my knuckles as soon as the ceremony is over. My hand is itching something fierce.”
As was his groin. But that was another matter, and not something Angus could do anything about.
“Aye, my laird.”
When everyone started to make their way to the doors, Cameron realized he had barely heard a word the priest had said. Never had a christening seemed so short.
Chapter Six
Who on earth had thought it a good idea to place her so far away from Cameron? Bethan stared at her empty cup of ale, feeling dejected. She had been with him almost constantly in the last week and it felt odd to not even be able to see him.
The meal was nearly over, thankfully. Next to her a tall, blond man who’d introduced himself as one of Sir Patrick’s numerous cousins, was describing the merits of flailed maces over regular flanged ones in combat. Under normal circumstances such a discussion would not have stirred the least spark of interest within her but, with her mind full of thoughts of Cameron, she was one anecdote away from breaking the habit of a lifetime and escaping mid-conversation. Only her unshakable politeness made it impossible for her to simply stand up and leave.
In her place, of course, Cameron wouldn’t have hesitated to tell the man he was boring him. She found herself jealous of his ability to be blunt and to the point. How much time and energy she would save if she could just follow his example. Maybe it was only self-preservation that made him send annoying people tohell. He was only trying to preserve his sanity. It seemed a very wise choice right now.
When the music started Sir Alan was still doing his best to engage her attention. Mercifully, he had stopped describing the damage that could be inflicted on a human body with lethal weapons. Instead, he started to whisper compliments into her ear. Bethan cringed. This was way, way worse than descriptions of smashed human skulls. Evidently, he had mistaken her compliance during the banquet for interest on her part and the gleam in his eyes made it clear he thought her already won over.
“I will say that poor Janet never wore that velvet dress the way you do,” he purred, his gaze fastening on the bodice edge framing her breasts. It was admittedly quite low, but did he really have to eye her up so shamelessly? “She doesn’t have such sweet fruits to offer so perhaps it is no surprise.”
Go drapia. In a moment he would tell her he wanted to peel the dress off her and taste those “sweet fruits.” The thought of his lips sliding over her skin gave her the courage she needed.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but being betrothed, I’m sure I should not consent to have men whispering tender words into my ears.”
“Betrothed?” He sounded as if he was choking on the nut he’d just popped into his mouth.
“Yes. I am even now on my way to Scotland, where I will be married to a man from a powerful clan, Dougal Campbell.” This blasted betrothal was at last proving to offer some advantage. “Didn’t Sir Patrick tell you?”
“No, he didn’t,” Sir Alan said slowly. And, to her relief, he straightened back up, his eyes on her face once more.
The satisfaction of having put a stop to his unwelcome advances was quickly replaced by annoyance, however. From prospective seducer, he appointed himself as protector of her virtue, scowling at every man bold enough to even look her way. She clenched her teeth and waited for the musicians to startplaying. Surely it could not be too long before she was finally free of him.
At long last, the servants began to clear the table, leaving only the plates of sweetmeats and jugs of spiced wine in front of the guests. Sir Alan glanced at the musicians who were tuning their instruments and tilted his head in consideration. Bethan tensed up. As soon as they struck the first chord, he would ask her to dance, she could just feel it. She had to get out of there before it was too late.
Luckily, Cameron had left his seat and was now standing on the other side of the hall, talking to a man who was sporting an impressive beard. Straightening her shoulders, she improvised.
“I’m sorry, I will have to leave you now that the meal is over. I see Laird Campbell, my betrothed’s uncle, by the door and I have a message from one his men to deliver to him.”
“Surely it can wait a moment? The music is about to start.”
“I’m afraid not. As he was talking to the priest earlier, I didn’t dare disturb him, but he’s been anxious to get that message. He is quite an overbearing man and will only come and get me if I don’t go to him now that he is free. Surely you understand that I don’t want to give him or my betrothed cause to reproach me?”
Bethan repressed a smile, delighted with herself. The lie had passed her lips more easily than she would have suspected. This was easier than she had thought.
Or…perhaps it was not, if people were going to ignore what she said.
“Come,” Sir Alan said, filling her cup with more wine. It was as if she had not spoken. “You don’t need to be afraid of the man, demanding though he might be. He’s hardly going to run you through with his sword for a small delay.”
No, butImight crush your skull with a flailed mace in a moment, Bethan thought savagely.I hear they are superior to the flanged ones.
“I’m sorry, but I really should go before he comes to get me. He can really turn quite nasty, as I’ve learned to my cost,” she said, addressing her mental apologies to Cameron who, she suspected, did not have a cruel bone in his body. Being formidable was one thing, nasty quite another.
