Page 37 of A Scot for Bethan
“This decrepit castle is too hard to defend properly. We leave at dawn,” he decreed, emptying his own cup. “Assemble what you want to take with you now. The rest of your possessions can be sent later on. We’ll go to Nead an Diabhail first, where we’ll decide what to do next.”
The instructions were given with brisk efficiency, just like before, in the room. But this time Bethan rebelled. He was allowing her no say in the matter, or even asking her opinion. Everything within her bristled.
“I’m not going to your castle,” she answered. “I told you I wanted to go to Wales, so I might as well?—”
He stopped her with a cutting gesture of the hand. “Keep your protests.” He had never sounded more implacable or more determined. “I am taking you to my castle. I can defend you better there while we think. Then once we have come up with a plan, I am taking you to Wales, where I agree you will be safer. This is not a matter of debate. You are mine to protect.”
“I am not. I never actually married your nephew; I am not a member of your family or even your clan.” What was possessing her to be so contrary she had no idea, but she had just found out how powerless she was, and she hated it. At least in this she had some say. “You do not owe me anything.”
The flash of fury in the gray eyes almost frightened her. “If you care for my sanity, you will never repeat such a claim. A woman betrothed to someone of my family, whether the wedding took place or not, will benefit from my protection until the day she dies. That is a question of honor and non negotiable.” He took another step toward her, all brooding intensity. “As to women who have shared my bed, their welfare is most definitely my affair. Do not forget it again. Christ, Ealasaid, how can you even suppose that I would not want to keep you safe after what happened between us?”
Bethan did her best not to waver. He wanted to help, and in truth she needed him. She could not travel to Castell y Ddraig alone. It was too dangerous. He was right. They needed to think before they acted.
Her hand landed on his forearm, a gesture of surrender and thank you.
“Very well. I shall go and prepare.”
Chapter Eleven
The contrast between Crois Dhubh and Cameron’s home was glaring. As much as she had felt ill at ease in the draughty, grim castle buried at the bottom of the valley, she could actually see herself living here. Situated at the edge of a tranquilloch, surrounded by rolling hills carpeted with purple blooms that scented the air with their subtle sweetness, Nead an Diabhail was an idyllic place, despite the fearsome name. Indeed, the Devil had never set foot or even glanced this way, she was certain of it. But it would seem that she would not be allowed to spend more than a few days here. Soon, they would have to leave and get to a place of safety.
The day after their arrival, Murdo had ridden through the gate, his face like thunder, his horse half-dead from exhaustion. Cameron and Bethan, who happened to be in the bailey, hurried over to him.
“You were right to take her ladyship away,” he said without preamble—and in English. Bethan was grateful to see he seemed to think she had the right to hear what he had to say.
“What happened?” Cameron snapped, running a soothing hand over the stallion’s rump. The poor beast was panting hard, betraying the haste of his rider. Bethan placed her hand on hissoft muzzle, trying to calm the beatings of her own heart. This would not be good, she could sense it.
“Moments after you left yesterday, Malcolm McDonald came, enquiring after his brother. Bold as you please, he said he knew something must have gone wrong because Donald didn’t turn up at the meeting point with his Welsh bride during the night.”
“Did he now?”
“Aye.” The word was little more than a growl. Dear, oh, dear, the man was truly a grizzled bear when he wanted to be. “We…erm, asked him some questions, and he revealed the plan the McDonald brothers had hatched between themselves.”
Murdo explained that the young laird, incensed at her refusal to marry him, and more determined than ever to replenish his clan’s coffers by a match with a rich woman, had decided to force her hand by abducting her, a practice that was unfortunately not uncommon. Bethan had heard of many a rich and well-born woman being taken away and raped by men who wanted their fortunes for themselves. In her country, there was the famous case of Nest ferch Rhys, the daughter of the last king of Deheubarth, of course, but she was not the only one. Now it seemed that Dougal’s generosity had placed her in danger of being the next victim of such a heinous plot.
“Aye. We already suspected that was what the bastard’s intent had been,” Cameron said, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, and she knew that he was remembering how the man had tried to grab her from her bed, naked and helpless. What he didn’t know was that there had been another attempt at rape before that, in the solar.
Murdo glanced at her, clearly of the opinion that she should speak now. Bethan shook her head. Cameron was already on the verge of an outburst. She could not risk making things worse than they already were. In a few days she would be out ofhere, it was not worth the Campbells starting a feud with the McDonalds, or anyone, on her account.
“There’s more,” Murdo carried on. “I’m afraid the McDonald died from his injuries while we were talking with his brother. Only one of the three men was able to leave Crois Dhubh with Malcolm’s retinue.”
Bethan gasped in horror. Despite what he had done, she hadn’t wanted the man dead. But the blow to the head he had received for grabbing her ankle seemed to have been fatal.
“He’s dead you say?” Cameron didn’t seem to share her consternation.
“Aye.” Murdo didn’t sound sorry either. “Malcolm swore revenge against you for killing him and has vowed he would marry the lady himself instead. They must really be desperate for coin. I’m certain he has no intention of wooing her ladyship, but rather do like his brother, and simply abduct her. Nevertheless, we had no choice but to let him go. Thus far he has done nothing wrong.”
“Bloody hell, this is a right mess.” Cameron snarled. “We had better leave for Wales without delay, and place Bethan out of reach of the people who know about her new fortune, which will be most of the Highlands by now.”
“Aye,” Murdo agreed. “We have to take her to safety, especially as we still don’t know who let the bastards in the castle.”
This time when the two men started to plan the trip to Wales Bethan did not utter a word of protest. She did need to leave; it was not safe for her to stay in those conditions. Too many people had died already. It was time it all came to an end.
That night, Morag, the serving girl Cameron had assigned to her because she spoke English, found her weeping in her bedchamber.
“Oh, my lady!” she cried out. Just like everyone else, she simply refused to accept that Bethan did not have a claim to the title. Acting with surprising familiarity, she dropped the clothes she was carrying on the bed and drew nearer, concern etched on her face. “What on earth is the matter?”
What could Bethan say?
