Page 20 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

Chapter Seven

I n the end it took the retinue just a little over a fortnight to reach Crois Dhubh.

It had been the best and the worst two weeks of Bethan’s life.

Being with Cameron day and night was both a blessing and a torment because with each passing day, her feelings for him grew stronger.

What had been little more than lust at first was evolving into something far more worrying, something she had not felt for any of the men who had taken possession of her body.

She feared that this Scot who had never even kissed her might have taken possession of her heart.

He’d taken to riding by her side instead of behind her and entertaining her with stories of his youth and she, in turn, had shared memories of her time spent with the Hunter family. It had been surprisingly soothing to recall those happy times.

The day they had crossed the border Murdo had been so relieved to be back on Scottish soil he’d burst into song.

Soon, all the men had joined in, even Cameron.

His voice was rich and true, warming her to the soul.

Entranced, she had listened to songs in ancient Gaelic, and sworn to herself she would start learning the beautiful language at the first opportunity.

Which was, she realized, right now. As they rode through a landscape of rolling purple hills and sparkling blue lakes, she had asked the men to teach her a few essential words.

They had been only too delighted to help.

But as pleasant as it had been to ride through magical land in the company of men who had only her well-being at heart, she could not forget where they were headed and by the time they passed through the gate of Crois Dhubh, Bethan’s nerves had been frayed to an unprecedented point.

Her first glimpse of the place that was to be her home only added to her trepidation.

It looked to be in a bad state of neglect.

Used to the comfort of Castell Esgyrn and having seen what her brother had done at Castell y Ddraig, she could only despair at the contrast.

Oh, well, at least putting everything to rights would give her something to do.

They found an old man in the bailey, looking somewhat lost. When he saw Cameron dismount, his face lit up.

Then he looked at her inquiringly, as if he had no idea who she was supposed to be.

Her stomach fell another notch. Admittedly they had never met, but it would not be hard to guess who an unknown woman in the company of the laird might be.

Didn’t the people here know she was coming? Hadn’t Dougal warned them?

“ Fàilte gu Crois Dhubh .”

“He’s welcoming you to Crois Dhubh,” Cameron whispered in her ear. Bethan smiled her thanks, but she had understood the greeting. Then the man started to talk, his words coming too fast for her to even try to follow.

Cameron cut him short and answered in her stead.

“ Béarla ” was the only word she recognized, because she had made sure it was one she learned, so as to ask people whether they could speak English or not upon meeting them.

The man shook his head. Evidently, though he had been instructed to address her in English, he could not.

Dear God. Once the retinue had left, she would be left alone with people who could not understand her.

It would happen soon enough. Cameron had been away from Nead an Diabhail for weeks.

Eager to resume his responsibilities as laird, he would not linger here, but instead rush home at the first opportunity.

It was hard to fight the sense of panic at the idea that they were soon to be parted.

“Please, I would like a moment to freshen up before I…before…”

Before I meet the man who is to be my husband.

Where was Dougal? Was he hiding in one of the rooms overlooking the bailey? Why hadn’t he come to greet her? Was he even here? Or had he been called by the Bruce yet again? She hadn’t imagined she would have to endure another delay.

“Of course. I’ll have someone escort you.”

Cameron looked preoccupied. What had the old man told him to cause him alarm? Had they been attacked while he’d been away? She had no idea, and she had enough on her mind to worry about this as well.

At a nod from his laird, Angus led her to a surprisingly clean and well-furnished bedchamber. It was clear the room had been aired and recently made ready. Bethan’s spirits lifted marginally. At least some effort had been made to welcome her.

“Here you are, my lady.” He looked worried as well, nothing like the jovial man she had come to know. What was going on?

“Thank you.”

Once alone, she took every care with her appearance, smoothing the folds of her gown, shaking off the dust the journey, making sure to erase all trace of anguish on her face.

The pounding of her heart though, she couldn’t do anything about.

After waiting for so long, she was finally about to meet the man who would marry her on the morrow.

A knock on the door a moment later startled her.

“ Dewch i mewn .” She was so startled she only realized too late that she had given the instruction to come in in Welsh. Still, she wasn’t sure English would have been much better, and the meaning would be obvious.

A petite woman entered with a ewer of warm water and a piece of cloth.

There was an odd look in her eyes. Diffidence?

Pity? After placing everything on the table, she curtsied and retreated.

Evidently, she didn’t speak English either.

The knot in Bethan’s throat tightened another notch. How much worse could this get?

“ Tapadh leat ,” she thanked the woman, who was already closing the door.

Well, no use in lingering unnecessarily. She had better get on with the task of making herself presentable. There was no doubt the water and cloth had been sent by Cameron, who always saw to her comfort.

Before leaving the room she took in a deep, fortifying breath.

This was it. Feeling absurdly like the fourteen-year-old girl she had been when her wedding contract had been signed, she stepped out into the spiral staircase.

She promised herself she would write to Gwenllian as soon as she could, and tell her all about her groom, in the hope that she would be able to reassure her friend.

In the courtyard she found a small group of men talking, predictably, in indecipherable, rapid Gaelic.

Cameron was nowhere to be seen. Angus, Murdo and Hamish had also disappeared.

Everything within her roiled. Surely they had not left already, without ensuring she was all right first, without saying goodbye?

She walked over to the men, making herself as tall as she could. Soon to be mistress of the place, she had better start as she meant to go on. She could not be seen as hesitant or frightened.

“Does anyone here speak English?” she asked, bracing herself for their blank looks of incomprehension. “ Béarla ?”

All eyes turned to a tall man who, despite his tall stature, seemed to be no older than she was. Her heart skipped a beat. Could this be Dougal Campbell? If he was, then she was pleased to see that her first reaction to him was not one of revulsion. He seemed quite personable.

“I do,” he said with obvious reluctance. It was not hard to guess he would have liked nothing better than to have someone else deal with her, but seeing as he was the only one capable of talking to her, he had no choice but to volunteer. “Rory McIntosh, at your service.”

Ah. So not Dougal then. Her heart plummeted.

“Where is Laird Campbell?”

Let him be still here, please.

“He’s…talking to the steward.”

“Well, I’m ready. Please take me to his nephew, Dougal.” Better to get this over with as soon as possible.

Silence met her request.

“I’m so sorry, my lady. The old laird’s son…” The man floundered, looked helplessly around him. Unsurprisingly, no one offered any help. “I’m afraid Dougal Campbell is dead.”