Page 1 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

A rms wrapped tight around her middle, Bethan stared at the altar in front of her without seeing anything.

Last month she had come to England, and Sheridan Manor, with Jane and a retinue of men.

The previous day, after a series of horrific events, her friend had gotten married in this very chapel to the man of her dreams. The bride and groom had met in unusual circumstances and fallen in love, despite Jane being a lady and Griffin a simple villager many considered beneath her.

In other words, their story was the exact opposite of what would happen to her.

Her own marriage had been arranged by her father behind her back, an all-too-common occurrence, and it was as far from a love match as could be conceived.

She and Dougal Campbell had never met or even exchanged a single letter.

And, as future laird of a powerful clan, he would be the one marrying beneath him when he allied himself with the poor daughter of a dispossessed landowner.

Would he make her feel unworthy of him once they were husband and wife? She dearly hoped not.

“What are you doing here all alone, Beth?” William, Matthew Hunter’s squire, and her friend, spoke from behind her. How long had he been standing in the shadows, watching her fight tears? “Are you all right?”

No, she was not all right. She did not know if she would ever be, considering what fate had in store for her.

“My father has finally found me a husband, the son of an old friend whose life he once saved,” she told him in a dull voice.

For two years, he had tried to find a match for her, but the suitors he’d approached in the hope of starting to rebuild the family prestige, ambitious men themselves, didn’t want a bride without money or connections.

She was beautiful enough that they would gladly have taken her to their bed, but a more honorable arrangement was out of the question.

“I am to marry a man I don’t know. A Scot. ”

Which meant she would have to leave her home. Not that she had a home to speak of, of course. She was spending most of her time with the Hunters, who were not related to her by blood. Still, to become Dougal’s wife, Bethan would have to leave her native Wales.

“Marry? When?”

William sounded as shocked as she felt. But the wedding would not happen for another three years, as she was only fourteen and her future husband, thirteen.

It was something, she supposed. Maybe by the time Dougal came to get her, they would have exchanged letters and gotten to know one another a little.

Love, of course, was too fanciful a notion to even entertain.

This was to be a marriage of convenience, nothing more.

“When I reach my seventeenth birthday.”

Another silence. Then a hand landed on her shoulder, warm and comforting. “I’m sorry. I wish there was another way.”

“I know. So do I.”

But there was no other way. Fate had decided she would marry a Scot, and that was all there was to it.