Page 6 of A Scot for Bethan
“McBain is a fool. If he is incapable of managing such a simple task, then I can find plenty of people who can. Make sure to tell him that I’m not above leaving him behind. I’ve had enough of him.”
There it was, the deep voice she remembered. She let its wash over her a moment, before a shiver replaced the warmth created in her body. Dear, oh, dear, he sounded a hundred times more commanding than he had been the evening before, when he had spoken to her, and proportionally intimidating.
This McBain, whoever he was, was in serious trouble.
As was she. If the men who had come to take her to her husband recognized her, then she would have an awful lot of explaining to do. Her behavior had seemed to amusethe handsome stranger last night, but it could have serious repercussions. If he decided to tell Dougal that his future wife was in the habit of wandering around at night unaccompanied, and had narrowly escaped being used as a whore by a company of inebriated men, her life would become very complicated.
And even if no one recognized her, it wouldn’t be much better. She had just spent the night lost in lewd musings involving a man in her betrothed’s retinue. Such a thing was not easily forgotten.
Just when she thought of stealing back to her chamber to give herself some time to compose herself, he turned around and saw her standing in the door frame. Their gazes met, and her feet started to move before she could make the decision to go to him.
Once she stopped in front of him, three things became obvious. First of all, his eyes, which had seemed transparent the night before, were actually a silvery shade of gray. Secondly, he was in a foul mood. And finally, most importantly, he hadn’t recognized her.
Relief washed through her. Perhaps this would be all right.
“You must be Bethan ferch Morgan,” he told her with a bow. The tone was too curt to pass for polite, even if it was obvious that his annoyance was not directed at her but rather at this McBain he’d just described as a fool. It reassured her. He was welcome to be preoccupied if it prevented him from looking too closely at her and seeing that she bore a close resemblance to the woman he’d rescued the night before.
“I am.”
“The reports of your beauty were not exaggerated, I see.”
How original. Bethan gritted her teeth. She knew she had been accepted by Dougal’s father because of her beauty and she had heard her beauty praised too many times not to feel irritated when it was the first thing someone brought up upon meeting her, as if it were the only thing that could be of interest abouther. She had expected better from this man. The way he had looked at her by the gate had been more sincere than the bland compliments she had heard a hundred times—and had struck a chord within her. Last night, dirty and disheveled, she had captured his attention. Now that she looked like the lady she would never be, he was acting like every other man she had ever met and saying what he thought she wanted to hear.
“Thank you. I would have hated to disappoint you,” she replied somewhat tartly.
The man smiled, clearly intrigued by her reaction, when someone else might have been offended. “I see you like that compliment as much as I like to hear people praise me on my peerless swordsmanship. Such an unimaginative thing to say. I will grant you that I should have done better but, forgive me, I was distracted for a moment.”
That was new. Usually no one saw how irritated she was by compliments on her beauty. Or if they did, they didn’t comment on it. It was her turn to be intrigued. Perhaps all was not lost. Not that it mattered, of course, since she was to marry Dougal and would never get to make the most of the appeal this man exerted over her.
“The difference is that you earned the right to be praised by honing a difficult skill, and that your expertise is not written on your face for all to see.”
“Perhaps not on my face. But I hope it shows on my body.”
Oh, it did. Heart drumming in her ears, Bethan did her best to stop her gaze from roving all over his perfect physique. In vain. From such close proximity and in adequate lighting, it was most impressive.
She shuffled her feet, suddenly light-headed. They had to start talking about something else than her beauty and his impressive body. Like his identity. Why was this man at the head of the retinue? Where was Dougal’s grizzled old uncle? It did notsurprise her that there had been yet another change of plan, but it was highly unwelcome.
“Why are you here? Was Laird Campbell incapacitated?” she asked, cursing her luck for the unfortunate choice of escort. Couldn’t Dougal have sent a less distracting man in lieu of his uncle? Couldn’t he have guessed what the sight of such a strong, virile man would do to his bride-to-be? Or was he himself a man of such exceptional appeal that he did not fear comparison?
“Incapacitated?” A spark ignited in the man’s eyes. Silver, yes, to match the bronze in his hair, a most unusual combination, as far removed from the sapphire and gold she favored in her lovers as could be. “No. I would argue that I am in full command of my capacities, thank you.”
“You mean thatyouare Dougal’s uncle?” she exclaimed, too shocked to try and find a more suitable answer. This was Cameron Campbell? She had expected a seasoned soldier a great deal gruffer than the knight looking at her with sparkling eyes. She felt like a sick child might feel after being force-fed honey when they had been bracing themselves for the bitter brew they’d been told would make them feel better.
“I am Dougal’s uncle,” the man she now knew as Laird Campbell answered, looking at her strangely. “Why? Is there a problem?”
“There isn’t. Only I thought you would be…”
Uglier, less strong, less distracting, less…everything.
“Older,” she finished in a whisper.
The twitching mouth made it clear he had guessed what she really meant. “Yes. Well, sorry to disappoint but I am not in my dotage yet. I’m only eleven years older than my nephew.”
Eleven years. He was thirty-one then, ten years older than herself, nothing like the decrepit man she had imagined when receiving the letter warning her of Laird Cameron Campbell’s arrival.
Just then the steward came back to announce Lord Sheridan had finally arrived and was ready to welcome the Scots.
Laird Campbell gestured at the men to follow. Bethan lowered her face and made sure not to look any of them in the eye. So far, she had not been recognized, and she intended to keep it that way. In the hall, Connor Hunter was waiting for them, standing in front of the dais. Two of his men were stationed at either side of the platform. Bethan was relieved not to be alone with Cameron any longer. Now that she knew who he was, she wished she had never set eyes on the man.
