Page 15 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)
“Why did the clan choose you as laird instead of Dougal?”
She was not familiar with succession rights of the Scottish Highlands, but she knew from her father that Niall Campbell had meant for his son to succeed him—it had been the whole reason this union had been arranged, so that she would gain prestige.
It seemed odd on the part of the elders to contravene the late laird’s wishes, especially when the man they had chosen had not been well-liked as a child.
Dougal had been a man at his father’s death, not a babe in arms, and by all accounts a brave soldier.
He would have been the obvious choice to succeed him. So why had he been rejected?
Cameron crossed his arms over his chest. He really was amused, she realized. Perhaps he didn’t mind her asking questions, since they seemed to give him such pleasure.
“Unlike Sir Patrick’s family, we Campbells are riddled with men.
” He scoffed. “Not lily-livered courtiers either, but rough, battle-hardened warriors hard to keep under control. Not a sensible woman in sight. When Niall died, the elders felt someone like Dougal, who is not only young but hardly ever home, would never be able to rule over such a rowdy, opinionated bunch. So they chose me, as unsuitable as I was deemed when I was born. I’ve always had a good head for numbers, and I can be as rowdy and opinionated as the best of them. Apparently, it was enough.”
The irony of it. It must have pleased Cameron to take his revenge on the men who had reviled him as a child. But he still hadn’t answered her question. What would he have wanted to do rather than keep difficult men under control?
“Why did you accept if you had other plans? As I see it, you didn’t owe these men anything. They had despised your mother and made your life a misery. You would have been well justified in sending them to hell.”
Instead of being shocked at her choice of words, he shrugged, a gesture that had become familiar over the last week.
Odd how you could have the impression that you had known some people all your life.
From the moment she had seen Cameron outside that tavern, she had felt a connection to him, as if their meeting was only a question of time.
He’d seamlessly become part of the fabric of her life.
“Refusing would have been the selfish option. Too many people depended on me. The tenants have done nothing to hurt me, and they need a strong laird to protect them from our neighbors, who are always looking for excuses to stir trouble. Despite the recent victories of the Bruce, times have never been more uncertain. My clan deserves the best protection, and I am the man to provide it.”
Bethan was well and truly chastened. He had sacrificed himself for others, he was doing his duty by people who had treated him badly as a child and protecting others who had never even met him and would never know what he had done. Would she have acted the same in his place? She wasn’t sure.
“It was commendable of you,” she muttered, feeling inadequate.
“Aye, well that’s me. Honorable to the core and putting duty before pleasure.”
Though he was obviously jesting to put her at ease, she knew he was telling the absolute truth.
He would always put others’ needs before his own.
Besides, the words were too evocative not to be a provocation, and she reacted accordingly.
Pleasure. Yes, if ever there was a man who’d been created to give and receive pleasure, it was him.
The hand still in the crook of his arm was resting on rock hard muscle.
Was the rest of him as hard, she wondered? Did he?—
“And I like to roll around in mud, naked in the moonlight.”
“I beg your pardon?” Bethan’s head snapped toward Cameron. Had he just said?—?
He laughed, the sound uncharacteristically joyous. “It is a relief to see that you are listening to me. For a moment it looked as if you were lost in thought and I was talking to myself.”
Bethan blushed because she had indeed been lost in the most wanton musings, as was customary in his presence.
She could not be next to him without imagining the two of them in bed together, locked in all kinds of scandalous positions, and the mention of him naked did little to help her regain her composure.
Yes, he would be hard all over, she suspected, perfect to plunge inside her softness.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I was distracted for a moment. It was most rude of me.”
“Worry not, I’ve survived worse blows,” he said roundly. “If you were distracted, I suppose it is my own fault for not making my conversation more interesting. Well, let me set your mind at rest. I do not roll around in mud, naked or otherwise.”
Stop talking about being naked! she almost screamed. She was spending far too much time imagining it already and this didn’t help.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He scoffed. “Come, it’s getting late. Let us make the most of having a comfortable bed for the night.”
The air around them stilled. He doesn’t mean it like that , Bethan told herself. He doesn’t mean he intends to use the bed to swive you senseless in privacy and comfort, only that it should allow you to have a restful night. More’s the pity.
“Yes. I need a good sleep,” she managed to whisper.
It had been a miscalculation.
Bethan had thought it best to place herself close to the altar during the mass, knowing that otherwise she would have spent the whole service craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Cameron, but she was now questioning her decision.
Her back felt as if it were on fire. There was no way of knowing if he was staring at her the way she imagined he was, but the uncertainty made it all the more unnerving.
Why had she agreed to wear one of Sir Patrick’s daughter’s gowns instead of the one she was carrying in her saddlebags?
The velvet dress was cut more daringly than the ones she was used to wearing and felt rather tight, hugging her in all the places men liked to caress with their gazes, making her body desperate to be touched in a way it would never have, had she been wearing her own, more serviceable gown.
Or perhaps she was just deluding herself.
Perhaps her desire to be stroked had nothing to do with the deep blue dress, and all to do with the provocative Laird Campbell.
The man was too distracting by half, and the moment they had spent alone in the darkness the other night had proved he posed a real danger to her resolve to be a good wife to Dougal.
Was he looking at her? Her nipples, at least, had already assumed he was.
They had hardened, as if trying to pierce through the precious fabric.
Without looking she felt sure the nubs would be visible under the velvet.
Oh well, should anyone remark on it, she could always blame the chilly atmosphere of the church.
She shook her head. What was she thinking?
Of course no one would say a word about the state of her nipples!
The only person she knew who would dare to comment on such a scandalous thing was Cameron and there would be no hiding the truth from him.
Even if she lied, she had a suspicion that he would know the truth, namely that he , and not the cold, was responsible for the way her body was responding.
Because it wasn’t just her nipples and her breasts that were taut with need.
The place between her legs had grown hot and slick.
Bethan shifted on the pew slightly, trying to ease the burning. Damn and blast, how long would the mass last? She couldn’t remember a christening ever being that long. In the state she was in, this was akin to torture.
“Are you all right?” Janet, Sir Patrick’s daughter murmured in her ear as the congregation was preparing to sing yet another hymn. “You seem agitated.”
Agitated. Yes. That was one word for it.
“Forgive me. I have a slight headache, that’s all.”
That was a lie, but what else could she say?
I’m getting in a state imagining my betrothed’s uncle’s heated gaze on me and wishing it was his hands. Can’t you see the way my nipples have peaked? And it is nothing compared to the need burning between my legs.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Janet said, sitting back down once the song had ended. “When this is over, I will ask my aunt Beatrice to give you one of her potions. They work wonders on me.”
“Thank you, I’m sure that will help.”
Bethan already knew the potion would be of no use.
The throbbing was not situated in her temples but much lower, and only one thing would make it better.
As, unfortunately, pushing Cameron to the floor and impaling herself on his hardness was out of the question, she had no other choice but to wait.
Eventually, her body would heed what reality was telling it, and the need for him would go away.
Yes… It had to go away eventually. There was no other choice.
Cameron congratulated himself on his choice of seat.
From where he was, he had a clear view of Bethan, and he could not take his eyes from the beguiling sight.
His superior height allowed him to see most of her, even though she was surrounded by a sea of women.
The velvet dress she was wearing exposed more of her shoulders than the gown she’d been wearing for riding, revealing skin that was just as flawless as the silk of her cheeks.
A beauty spot placed in the crook of her neck as if to lure men in, dared him to put his lips over it and bite.
A long, glossy chestnut lock had escaped from her complicated coiffure and brushed her skin every time she turned her head. It was maddening.
In fact, everything about her that day was maddening.
The cut of the dress Sir Patrick’s daughter had lent her emphasized the sensual swell of her hips and he gave a grunt when his lower body manifested its unequivocal approval.
He was in a church, damn it, he could not get hard now!
But how could he stop himself when she looked like the most mouthwatering offering?
The blue of the velvet was exactly the shade he would have chosen to make her skin appear the color of cream.
He scowled. Thinking about food now wouldn’t help.
It would only tempt him to devour something that he had no right to.
Instead, he allowed his gaze to wander up and down her spine.
She was standing very erect, as if she thought she might be under scrutiny.
Well, she certainly was. He suspected that he wouldn’t be the only man watching her and he wasn’t best pleased with the idea.
Sir Patrick had said that the women outnumbered the men, and it was certainly true, but there were still more than enough men around, men who no doubt delighted in admiring her.
“Lady Bethan has never looked better, don’t you think?” Angus murmured, leaning toward him when they sat back down again.
“She’s not a lady,” was all Cameron could answer. The other option was to agree, and he feared that if he did, he would reveal just how alluring he found her in the blue dress.
“Aye, well, she should be. Pity Dougal could not rally men to his cause, and thus did not succeed the old laird. Then, as his wife, she would have been Lady Campbell.”
Was the man determined to have his nose broken?
Cameron bunched his fists. He cared not to be reminded that Bethan was set to marry his nephew; he was having a hard enough time trying to forget it.
Only the fact that they were currently attending mass prevented him from grabbing Angus by the collar and hoisting him up in the air to relieve his frustration.
“Do you think you could stop bothering me with your unhelpful comments?” he growled, keeping his gaze on the priest in front of him.
Angus inhaled sharply, as if suddenly realizing how his words could be interpreted.
He had inadvertently hinted that he thought it wrong for Cameron to have been chosen in his nephew’s stead.
“Of course, I-I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stammered, worried his laird would think him disloyal, “only that the lady deserved to be married to a man who allows her to become?—”
“I know what you meant, and I’m telling you again, cease your useless blabbering or you will find yourself tasting my knuckles as soon as the ceremony is over. My hand is itching something fierce.”
As was his groin. But that was another matter, and not something Angus could do anything about.
“Aye, my laird.”
When everyone started to make their way to the doors, Cameron realized he had barely heard a word the priest had said. Never had a christening seemed so short.