Page 14 of A Scot for Bethan
The hairs at the back of Cameron’s neck instantly prickled. The man had spoken in Gaelic, despite his express instructions that they were to speak only in English during the journey, so as not to make Bethan ill at ease. Nevertheless, as there might be a good reason for the change, and Bethan was down by the river, out of hearing range, he answered in the same language.
“What is it?”
“I spent the last two days wondering where I had seen the Welshwoman’s horse before.”
Cameron barely repressed a growl. Why was it that he always corrected his men when they called Bethan “my lady,” and yet he wanted to snap McBain’s neck for calling her “the Welshwoman?” It had to be because he could not stand the man, he decided,notbecause he didn’t like to hear her being talked about so casually.
And then the meaning of McBain’s words hit him.
He thought he had seen Petal, Bethan’s mare, before. And of course he had, that night at the tavern, when the men hadthought her a whore. This could prove disastrous. No one at Crois Dhubh could know that Dougal’s future wife had been seen in a stewhouse and been propositioned by his men. That was bad enough, but inevitably, the story would become distorted. It wouldn’t be long before word got round that she had been seen with her skirts round her ankles and a lover thrusting between her legs.
He turned to the man and said in his most uninterested voice. “Have you? That was a waste of time, if you ask me, because you can’t have.”
“Well… Maybe I can. You remember the night we stopped at the tavern before we reached Castle Ergwin?”
“Castell Esgyrn, you mean?”
“Aye. That’s what I said.”
No, it wasn’t but Cameron was doing his best to give the impression this conversation was of no interest to him, so he didn’t insist. “I vaguely remember, yes.” Or rather, he remembered it very vividly.
“Well, that night I saw that horse.” He nodded toward Petal, who was munching on some grass next to his stallion. “It was dark, so I didn’t see the color of the mare’s coat as well as I see it now, admittedly, but I saw her face. No doubt she is named Petal because of the petal-shaped marking on her forehead. It’s quite distinctive.”
Damn it, the man was a fool, but an observant fool. “You saw a horse with a white mark on its face that night. What of it?”
How long could he keep pretending he had no idea where the man was going with this, Cameron wondered? But betraying no alarm was the safest way to act.
“Not a horse,thathorse. Don’t you see? If the horse was there, it means that Bethan felch Morvan?—”
“Ferch Morgan.”
“Aye, well if her horse was there, it means that she is the whore who?—”
Cameron moved before he knew what he was doing. A heartbeat later McBain was pinned to the nearest tree, his feet dangling a few inches in the air. “If you ever, ever, call the woman who is to marry into my family, my nephew’s longtime betrothed, my future niece by marriage, a whore again, you will find yourself without a tongue with which to spread your slander. Are we clear?”
“But—”
“You say you saw a horse with a white marking on its forehead while out of your mind with drink. Well, I say it means nothing. Why should I trust you remember anything of that night? Hundreds of horses sport such markings, and yet you think that’s enough to go around accusing a lady of depraved behavior?”
“She’s not a lady, she just said herself that her grandfather was a brewer.”
Mo chreach! Was the man determined to have his tongue ripped out of his mouth and his bollocks fed to the dogs? It certainly appeared so. Cameron would have liked nothing more than to indulge him, but he could not.
“McBain. If I ever hear you say, or hint, or even think such a thing of the woman again, I will make sure you wish you had kept your foul mouth shut,” he hissed, bringing his face inches away from the vile man’s. “The horse at the tavern that night, which I saw better than you sinceI, unlike you, was not in my cups, did have a white marking on its forehead. It also was a stallion. Now look again and tell me. Do you see anything dangling between Lady Bethan’s mare’s legs?” He narrowed his eyes, indicating there was only one way to answer the question.
“N-no.”
“Well then, we are agreed it cannot be the same beast. Now make sure you do not tempt me to cut off whatever sorry appendage is dangling betweenyourlegs. It would not take much to convince me.”
“Yes, my laird.”
“Good. Now go and plunge yourself in the river. You stink.”
He released the man and watched him leave on unsteady legs. Then he took a moment to calm the anger boiling in his veins. Murdo and Hamish, having seen the altercation, arched a brow in question. He shook his head, and they didn’t insist, even though it must look obvious that he was in a towering rage.
Bethan was braver, inevitably. A moment later, she approached, a frown on her face. “Is aught amiss?”
“Nay.” He probably sounded too curt for her to believe him, but what else could he say?
