Page 21 of A Scot for Bethan
Deciding it was the only way to convince Sir Alan of her intentions, she stood up.
He rose in turn, and she quickly understood he was not merely being gallant. He meant to follow her.
“That’s it. I’ve heard enough of this Lord Campbell. Worry not, if he wants to take issue with you, this time he will have to contend with me first.”
Without further ado, he started to lead her in the direction of the door. Dismay washed through Bethan. This was why she never lied, because it only created problems! Why had she painted Cameron in such a bad light? Why had she pretended she needed to see him at all? Couldn’t she have done what a normal person would do, and said she needed to see to her personal needs? Or even better, tell Sir Alan the truth, namely that she was bored out of her mind in his presence? Everyone else she knew would not have given it another thought. Instead, she had dug herself and possibly Cameron, too, into a hole, and she had no idea how to get out of it.
“Please, this isn’t necessary,” she whispered, panicked at the idea of the scene to come. The man was taking his role as protector ridiculously seriously and it could only end badly, in humiliation or anger.
“I beg to differ. I will not have you face the monster on your own. Where is he?”
“Over there, talking to the man in the green t-tunic,” Bethan stammered. After the disaster created by her first lie, she could not think of another.
“Oh.” Sir Alan slowed down, obviously daunted by Cameron’s commanding presence. It was hard to blame him. The Scot had never looked more intimidating than he did tonight, dressed in black from his fiery-crowned head to his boot-clad toes. She had the impression that if she’d made it clearer who her betrothed’s uncle was before, her self-appointed defender would have passed on the chance to accompany her to face the “monster.” Which would have suited just fine.
But unfortunately, with his credibility as a heroic man at stake, he couldn’t back down. He walked bravely on and stopped behind Cameron, ready to stand his ground.
There was no time to lose. Bethan spoke quickly, before he could tell them he was not expecting any messages and ruin everything.
“My laird, Murdo bade me to speak to you without delay.” When he turned around, she did her best to convey with her eyes that he was expected to go along with the pretense. Would he understand? “Do you have a moment?”
Cameron raised an eyebrow in surprise and no wonder. They both knew Murdo was unlikely to use her to deliver his messages. She was no menial. Before he could answer, however, Sir Alan spoke.
“My lord, this young lady here tells me that you have something important to discuss with her but surely it can wait. The music has just started, and I was about to ask her to join the dance.”
He managed to sound both patronizing and pompous, a disastrous combination. Bethan knew that even if Cameron hadn’t wanted to help her before, he would now, just to put the man back into his place. She breathed a discreet sigh of relief and braced herself for the onslaught.
“Being Scottish, and not English, I prefer to be addressed as ‘my laird,’ as you just heard.” He paused and seemed to groweven taller. “And how should I address you, pray tell? I’m afraid I have no idea who you might be.”
“I’m Sir Alan,” the man supplied in a much less confident manner.
“Well, Sir Alan, unfortunately no, my discussion with Bethan can’t wait. I would have thought that she, or I, would be in a better position to appreciate this than you, but you evidently thought differently.”
“I only meant?—”
“I know what you meant, thank you. My grasp of your language is more than sufficient.” Eyes glittering like crystals, he offered his arm to Bethan. Utterly under his spell, she took it. “Don’t worry, though,” he carried on, his gaze once again on Sir Alan, “I promise to release the lady the moment she expresses the wish to return to you. In the meantime, I suggest you find yourself another dancing partner. It should not be too difficult. As you can see, women abound tonight.”
Throwing an apologetic glance at a bemused Sir Alan, Bethan followed him.
To her surprise, however, instead of turning to the door, he led her straight to the middle of the hall, where people were twirling in time to the music. She had expected him to take her outside in the lists and in all honesty, a breath of fresh air would have been welcome. The atmosphere in the hall was heavy with spices, sweat and smoke, and after having endured Sir Alan’s blabbering for what felt like an eternity, she was suddenly seized by the desire to be alone with Cameron in the cool darkness, like the other night.
“I have no wish to dance,” she whispered, both relieved he had played along with her scheme and confused at the vehemence he’d displayed. He had been twice as intimidating as usual, and made sure to speak in a near unintelligible accent, a far cry from the burr that usually charmed her ear. If she didn’tknow better, she would have thought Sir Alan was one of his enemies. But surely the two men had not met before?
“Too bad you don’t want to dance, as that is precisely what we’ll be doing,” Cameron answered, joining the circle of dancers who were getting ready for another carole.
The moment his fingers closed on her right hand she averted her gaze. Though they were dancing in a round at least twenty people strong, the contact felt impossibly intimate. When she froze, the man to her left took her other hand and smiled at her encouragingly. He evidently thought she was nervous at the idea of following steps she didn’t know. She wasn’t, even if admittedly, she had never been the best dancer. Instead, she was panicked everyone, including Cameron himself, would see how disturbing she found it to be held by the brooding Scot.
The music started. For a moment, Bethan focused on mimicking the movements of the people opposite her, then once she felt comfortable, she turned to face Cameron. It had just occurred to her that if she appeared flushed, she could blame it on the dancing.
“You enjoyed humiliating the man, didn’t you?” she chided in a low voice.
Cameron let out a grunt that could equally have been a laugh or a scoff. “And here I was thinking that you would thank me for going along with your scheme when I could easily have exposed your shameful lie. Deliver a message from Murdo, indeed! What did he ask you to tell me that he could not tell me himself, I wonder?”
The urge to tease him was so overwhelming she didn’t even try to resist it. “He asked me to inform you he had gone to the nearest tavern, in search of a willing woman, as he’s tired of using his callused hands to see to his needs.”
This time she recognized the grunt for what it was. Amusement. Or possibly shock. And no wonder. What hadpossessed her to jest about what she had seen that night at the tavern? They had agreed not to talk about it, had they not? And yet here she was, being unforgivably brazen.
Cameron leaned in toward her, his heat warming her cheek. “Well, be sure to tell Murdo next time you see him that I need not know how and where he gets his relief. The less I think about it, the better.”
