Page 14 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

Chapter Five

“ P lease, my laird, sit.”

“I thank you.”

Cameron sat down next to Sir Patrick, Bethan to his right. Indeed, a hot meal would be most welcome. For three nights on a row the retinue had slept under the stars, and eaten what food they could purchase in the villages but today the weather had forced them to find refuge in a nearby castle.

Sir Patrick, who owned the place, had been delighted to welcome a retinue of strong-looking men under his roof.

“’Tis my niece’s christening the day after tomorrow and we are in sore need of men to keep company to—and most especially dance with—my numerous daughters, sisters, nieces, and cousins. My family has been blessed with a surfeit of beautiful women, you see.”

The man, a jovial individual two decades his senior, let out a short laugh.

Cameron took an instant liking to him. He was calling the women beautiful, and he’d used the word “blessed” when many others might have said “cursed.” Men, as a rule, wanted sons to succeed them, warriors to advance their family’s prestige in battles.

Cameron, however, had always thought he would like nothing more than being surrounded by sweet-smelling, mischievous daughters.

After a lifetime spent dealing with rowdy, somewhat unkempt Campbell men, he was ready for a change.

“A blessing, indeed,” he murmured, not wishing to dwell on the thought of himself holding a bairn in his arms one day.

“Yes. The only drawback is that we men are sadly outnumbered at family events,” Sir Patrick continued, before letting out another chuckle.

“But we need not be today. Your presence here is quite providential. Please say you will stay and attend the banquet on Saturday. A couple of days delay cannot hurt, surely?”

Cameron shook his head in surrender. Seeing as the whole world seemed intent on making a mockery of his resolve to spend as little time as possible with Bethan, he might as well surrender graciously.

“Of course. We’ll be delighted to repay your generosity by providing the women company on Saturday,” he agreed when Bethan nodded her own assent.

The men, as could have been expected, had been only too happy to comply, and so it had been decided.

This having been settled, Sir Patrick gave his orders to the servants and soon, the smell of freshly cooked bread and meat roasted with spices filled the hall.

Aye, their meeting with their host was propitious indeed.

The rain could be heard hammering down in the bailey, making it clear they were better off around a table, enjoying a hearty meal, than sleeping outside in the woods.

As Sir Patrick and his wife shared their trencher, Cameron found himself sharing his with Bethan. It was not the first time he’d eaten in proximity to a woman at a feast, of course, but this time it felt disturbingly intimate.

The way she was enjoying her meal stirred something inside him.

She was taking her time, smelling the pottage before bringing the spoon to her lips, eyeing up the slice of suckling pig before taking her first bite.

When the taste of the spiced meat hit her tongue, her eyes fluttered.

Later, when she bit into her pigeon pie, she groaned in delight.

The sound of that groan shot straight to his cock.

It was clear that, for her, eating was a deeply sensual experience.

If she behaved like this when she was eating, it would definitely be worth finding out what she was like in bed.

Cameron’s fingers tightened on his knife handle.

He had to stop this, he could not entertain such thoughts about his nephew’s betrothed, no matter how much she attracted him, no matter how long they were forced to remain in each other’s company.

Perhaps he should take the opportunity of this halt at the castle to bed a wench or two, cool the blood roaring in his veins in the hope that he would be able to be more sensible afterward.

There were a few buxom servants milling about, who seemed delighted by the arrival of a retinue of Scots.

Judging from the way they eyed him up, he would not find it hard to find a willing partner while he was here.

But, alas, none of the women held any interest for him.

The only one he wanted in his arms was the only one he had no right to, the one sitting so close to him that their knees brushed every time they moved.

The meal soon drew to a close. Cameron let out a sigh of relief and frustration combined as he stood up.

His body was tense, but his appetite for food, at least, had been well satisfied.

The custard pies, in particular, had been exquisite, cinnamon having been liberally dusted onto the top. This bode well for the banquet to come.

“I would like to go for a stroll if I may, seeing that the rain has finally stopped,” Bethan declared, standing up in turn. “We haven’t had much opportunity to walk of late.”

Indeed, being on horseback all day, they had not been able to stretch their legs.

Whenever they stopped, Cameron preferred not to let her wander out of sight and, to her credit, she had not complained.

One never knew who or what might lurk in the shadows.

But here, within the castle walls, she would be safe, so he nodded his agreement.

Instead of heading for the door, as he had expected, she tilted her head expectantly. “Won’t you accompany me, my laird?”

He stared at her in disbelief. It wasn’t just the whole world who was conspiring to keep them together, it was Bethan herself. How could he fight if that were the case?

“Aye,” he said, before offering his arm. Out of nowhere, his words from a few days ago came back to him.

Surrendering to a beautiful woman’s will feels like the sweetest victory.

He’d been talking about bedsport, of course, but that statement could apply to what was happening right now. She was more than beautiful—and he was surrendering to her desire to go for a stroll, unwise as it was.

Bethan took the arm Cameron was offering with a thudding heart.

What had possessed her to ask him to accompany her?

Couldn’t she have gone for a stroll on her own?

It would have been the sensible thing to do.

But she could not resist stealing a private moment with him because for once they didn’t have anything to do other than talk.

There were no fires to tend to, no horses to feed, no danger to look out for.

They retrieved their cloaks and exited the hall.

Torches had been placed at regular intervals around the inner bailey, allowing them to get their bearings but as soon as they passed through the gate and entered the outer ward, darkness descended.

The thin crescent of moon hanging above the battlements was shedding barely enough light for them to see where they were going.

Bethan slowed down, unsure of her footing.

Should they turn back? No. With Cameron’s solid body by her side, she would not fall.

“What did you want to do with your life, if not become laird?” she asked, once all the light and sound from the great hall had vanished into the night.

She started. Where had that question come from?

“Why would you want to know that?” Cameron apparently agreed that the question was an odd one to ask him.

She shrugged. Though she suspected she was only trying to ensure her mind didn’t start to wander down forbidden paths, she could not deny being curious. “We have been riding together for days, and I still don’t know anything about you. It feels wrong.”

They took a few more steps and she wondered if he was going to answer. Eventually, he stopped and sighed. “Dougal’s father, Niall, was only my half-brother, and a lot older than me.”

This was not new to her. Her father had once tried to explain the intricacies of the Campbell family to her, but she had barely listened to him, thinking it of little interest. Now she was most certainly interested. “Was he?”

“He was born from our father’s first wife, the daughter of the chief of a powerful clan.

He was the oldest of three brothers but the other two died at a young age in mysterious circumstances, from what I’ve been told.

I am the old laird’s second wife’s son, and she died soon after birthing me.

I have no memories of her. All I know is that I look a lot like her, and we have the same eyes. ”

Bethan clenched her fists. Why had she asked him a question that would reawaken the pain of his loss? This was where curiosity led, and she should have known better than to pry. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered.

White teeth gleamed in the darkness, betraying the fact that Cameron was smiling. Relief made her shoulders sag. Despite her indiscretion, he was not angry with her.

“Don’t be sorry. ’Tis all a very grim affair.

He had married her only because her father, a local merchant of some importance, had demanded he did so when her belly started to swell with his child—me.

The clan elders made it clear they thought my mother was not suited to the role of Lady Campbell, unlike his first wife, and they never saw me as a fit second son for their laird. ”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

He smiled again, as if amused that she should ignore his instructions not to be sorry. But she was sorry—and, unlike him, she did not see what could be funny in that story.

“I’ve made my peace with it. The miracle is that the laird did not ignore the merchant’s demand or pretend not to be the bairn’s father.

Who could have forced him? Nay, though he plainly did not love her and his clan resented him for it, he married the woman and when she died a year later, he vowed never to wed again.

Of course, that did not prevent him from fathering half a dozen bastards on local women. ”

Dear Lord, that was awful, but this time Bethan managed to stop herself from telling him she was sorry. He’d probably guessed it anyway.