Page 5 of A Scot for Bethan
She shook her head, disgusted at herself. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she come tonight to say her goodbyes to Mistress Elen and the life that had been hers this past year? Before the week was out, she would be on her way to Scotland, and her future husband. She could not be thinking of what it would be like to bed this man, or indeed any man. Once she was Dougal’s wife, she intended to be faithful to him. That meant shecould not allow handsome strangers’ appeal to affect her in any way.
“Don’t worry, I’m used to traveling in these parts alone,” she answered, desperate to appear more assured than she was feeling. “And I have never yet been forced to go down on my knees to pleasure anyone.”
The air seemed to ring with her last words. The man tilted his head, and she blushed furiously. Why, oh why had she said such a thing?
“On your knees. Now, there’s an image to leave me with.” Bethan swallowed. The low purr would have made her legs waver had she not been sitting in the saddle. “Good night then,my lady.”
When she kicked her horse into a trot a moment later, she had the impression she had just been on a reckless ride. She felt out of breath and slightly dizzy.
She was still trembling by the time she reached the safety of her bedchamber. Fortunately, Gwenllian was already asleep, so her escapade would remain a secret. When Bethan started to wash and undress in the velvety darkness, she had the ridiculous impression that she was about to perform the acts the men had wanted her to, but for one of them only.
The man with the sparkling eyes.
Chapter Two
The next morning, the mysterious stranger by the gate was still all Bethan could think about. Try as she may, she just could not get him out of her head. He had made a much stronger impression on her than the few moments they had spent together warranted. It was not just the fact that he had helped her that made it impossible for her to forget him, it was the way he had allowed his gaze to roam over her. She suspected it would haunt her for years to come. It had been sensual rather than lecherous, not marred by any ill-placed possessiveness as was too often the case with men who desired her.
It had been like being stroked when you were used to being groped, a caress and a kiss in lieu of a nip and a bite. Most men just wanted to take their pleasure with her and hoped she got hers in the process, but this man had given her the impression that, for him, giving his lover pleasure was the best way to ensure his.
In her half-awakened state and then in her even wilder dreams, she had pictured the two of them involved in all sorts of scandalous acts. She had been spreading her legs and baring her sex for him to lick. She had dropped to her knees in front of himto pleasure him until he shouted in release, like Murdo had done in the courtyard.
Her cheeks started to burn at the memories, and she was glad to be alone in the bed. Dear God. As she’d pointed out last night, she wasnota girl from the stewhouse, she shouldn’t know about these acts, much less try to imagine what it would feel like to perform them, even with a man of undeniable appeal. Once again, she tried to push these ideas out of her mind. Now certainly wasn’t the time to fantasize about strangers.
She was about to meet her betrothed’s envoy.
After an agitated night, she had slept later than usual and been awakened by a clatter of hooves on the drawbridge, heralding the arrival of at least half a dozen horses. Though they had not expected the Campbells for another few days, Bethan had instantly guessed the riders would be the ones charged with escorting her back to Scotland. The arrival of the retinue, predictably, had sent the castle into a flurry of activity.
Margie had been at her door within moments, a look of alarm on her face and a heavily embroidered dress in her arms.
“The Scots are asking after you,” the old maid told her as soon as she entered.
Yes, they would be. They would be curious to finally see the beauty who had been promised to their laird’s nephew.
“You’ll have to welcome them alone, I’m afraid,” Margie carried on, already fastening the laces on the sides of her bodice with deft gestures. “Lord Sheridan and the family went to the village shortly after dawn. A messenger has been sent to warn them, but it will be a while before they come back.”
Bethan could not repress a groan. Could this get any worse? Not only had she been denied what little respite she’d thought to have, but she would have to face dour old Laird Campbell on her own, while her mind was filled with unsuitable images involving a fascinating, fiery-haired stranger.
Still, there was no other choice, so she let herself be trussed up like a fowl ready for the roasting, which was exactly how she felt at the moment. Eventually there was nothing else to do. Everything had been pinned into place, laced, brushed, and smoothed. Knowing she looked as good as she had ever done was small consolation. Considering why they had come, she had no intention of impressing the Scottish delegation.
“Thank you, Margie. I think I’ll go down now.”
Taking one last deep breath for courage, Bethan descended the spiral staircase. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
After seven long years of waiting, the second part of her life was about to start. Now was not the time to obsess about a man she would never meet again, or marvel at the unprecedented effect his gaze had had in her body. It was difficult though. Never had she seen a man with such presence and compelling beauty. Now that she was not in front of him, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had not imagined it all. It must have been a trick of the light, or rather the absence of adequate lighting that had made him seem so appealing. Either that or she was misremembering him. Surely no one could be that attractive, that sinfully carnal.
No one except…
Except the man standing in the shadow of the keep right now, talking to the castle steward.
Bethan stared in amazement at the man who had come to her aid the previous evening. It was him, there was no doubt about it. Gone were the unkempt stubble and tousled hair, today he was clean shaven, impeccably groomed and wearing a tunic of soft velvet rather than dusty chainmail. Still, she knew it was the same man. Even if her mind had hesitated, her body would have given him away. It reacted as if it had finally been allowed to have what she had been craving for years.
Then a series of thoughts, each more worrying than the last, hit her.
If he was the man who’d been by the gate last night, then the riders waiting in the bailey right now were none others than the ones who had wanted her to pleasure them. And if they were here, it was because they were the Scots charged with escorting her back to Dougal.
Dread shot up her spine. Would they recognize her, expose her to the people of Castell Esgyrn? Maybe not. Today, dressed in all her finery, and with her face clean, she looked nothing like the dirty whore they had thought her to be. Besides, they had no reason to think they could meet such a woman in Lord Sheridan’s castle. If she acted as if she had no idea who they were, it would be all right.
After one last nod at the fiery-haired man, the steward walked away. Bethan remained frozen on the last step of the staircase, hidden in the door frame, wondering what to do. Then a man in a black tunic she thought might be Murdo whispered something in the stranger’s ear and his response drifted all the way to her.
