Page 21 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

Chapter Eight

D ead.

Arms wrapped tight around her middle, Bethan stared at the altar in front of her without seeing anything, just like she had all those years ago at Sheridan Manor, when William had asked her what was wrong. She felt just as at a loss now than she had felt then.

Her husband was dead. Or rather, the boy she had been betrothed to for so long would never marry her.

Her father’s machinations had all been for naught.

Her situation was unchanged. The twenty-one-year-old woman she’d become was in just as hopeless a situation as her fourteen-year-old self had been.

They had buried Dougal the day before, the morning after their arrival, in other words, on the day he should have married her.

His death had preceded the retinue’s arrival by less than half a day.

Had they not stayed for Sir Patrick’s niece’s christening, Bethan would have made it in time to meet him, perhaps even marry him on his deathbed.

She could not help but think it would have been better, if admittedly grim.

As a widow, she would have been afforded considerably more leeway than as an undesirable, penniless virgin expected to be chaste.

As Dougal Campbell’s widow, her future would have been assured, perhaps even her happiness.

No one would have minded if she went back home or even remarried. She would have been free.

If only it had not rained that day, if only they not taken refuge in Sir Patrick’s castle, if only they had not accepted his invitation or had not?—

No.

Bethan put an abrupt halt on her wayward thoughts. Dwelling on them could only cause her pain. What was done was done, and poor Dougal was dead, killed by a bloody flux contracted during the retreat from Dublin, where Robert the Bruce and his men had gone to reenforce his brother Edward’s army.

She hadn’t even known he’d gone there in the winter. No doubt this also accounted for his decision to send Cameron to get her. He’d thought to rest for a while after another hard campaign and finally set his affairs in order. Instead, he’d gotten eternal sleep.

Footsteps were heard behind her. Bethan stiffened and turned around. Master McDuff, the castle steward, was walking up the aisle, oblivious to her presence in the shadows. He came to a halt when he saw her. She had sat at the end of the pew, as close to the wall as she could.

“Forgive me for interrupting, I didn’t know you had come here to engage in private prayer,” he said, coming closer. “You must be devastated.”

Bethan lowered her gaze to hide her reaction. She hadn’t come here to pray, but to be alone, to hide and be with her thoughts. As to being devastated… Was that what she was feeling?

She pursed her lips when the answer hit her.

No, she was not devastated. Rather, she felt oddly empty.

All this time spent waiting for something that would never happen, all these pointless preparations, these crushed hopes, these never-ending questions, these sleepless nights now felt like a waste of time.

Be careful what you wish for.

After years spent wishing her betrothed would break the contract signed by their fathers, she had gotten what she wanted. Fate had ensured in the cruelest way that she would never be Dougal Campbell’s wife. She could have laughed if her freedom had not cost the poor man his life.

“We had no idea where you had gone but the laird is looking for you,” the steward told her quietly.

Bethan nodded. She had guessed he would be. They had not spoken since the moment she had retired to her bedchamber after having buried Dougal. Cameron would be wondering how she was.

“Ask him to join me here,” she said, standing up. In the cold of the church, her limbs had started to stiffen.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t long before the door of the little chapel opened behind her.

The sound of hard boots on stone, such a masculine sound, heralded Cameron’s arrival.

It suddenly occurred to her that for the first time she would face him as a free woman.

How would they behave? Heart thudding hard in her chest, she bunched her fists and turned to look at him.

Jesus. Had he always been so manly? Yes. But this time there was a gleam in his eyes she had never seen before, one she could not make sense of.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked, deciding it would be better for her peace of mind if she didn’t know why he was looking at her in that way.

“Yes.”

He did not offer any explanation, didn’t move a muscle. His face betrayed nothing. She waited.

“My condolences,” she said eventually. “Dougal was your nephew. I imagine that you must feel his loss keenly.” Perhaps that was the reason behind his unusual behavior. A member of Dougal’s family, he would be more affected by his death than she was.

Cameron sighed, looking slightly caught out. “I didn’t really know the boy.”

“And I never even saw him!” she cried, unable to stop herself.

At last, the emotions boiling under the surface erupted.

“I don’t even know what he looked like!” This was ludicrous.

How could she mourn a stranger? The two of them had no memories together.

She wasn’t even sure she could pretend to feel grief.

Fortunately, Cameron didn’t seem to require it of her.

“I know. You do not have to pretend to be sad with me. I understand. Dougal was nothing to you, his death has left you cold.”

The blunt statement did not shock her, for it was nothing but the truth. It felt good to have someone else acknowledge it without any judgment. And he was right. The boy lying in his grave was nothing to her.

Perhaps that was why she felt so out of sorts, because the situation was anything but normal.

“Yes. And I was nothing to him. His father shackled him to me when he was too young to even think about marriage. In all this time, he never made any effort to come and see me, he wrote to me only twice, years ago, two brief notes that revealed nothing of the man he’d been.

I always came second, or even third in his mind, after his loyalty to the Bruce and his country!

” she said fiercely, as resentment, bitterness, fear for the future poured out of her.

“He never spared a thought about me, all these years. Why should I mourn him? Why should I care when he never showed me any mark of interest? He would not have recognized me had we found ourselves face to face with each other in the middle of a room, me, the woman he was supposed to spend his life with! I left my country for nothing, I worried for nothing, and now I have nothing.”

All anger spent, Bethan fell on the nearest pew.

Slowly, tears started to flow down her cheeks. As dissatisfactory as the arrangement had been, she had imagined herself married to Dougal for what seemed like forever, and it was hard to imagine an alternative.

“What will happen to me?” she said, lowering her head in defeat.

Instead of answering, Cameron sat down next to her—and drew her into his arms. She tried to fight him off at first and then she allowed herself to relent, telling herself that he would not let her get away anyway.

He was so warm, so strong, his embrace was so comforting, and she had wanted to feel his arms around her for so long that she could not resist.

For a long moment he just held her, allowing her to ease some of the weight crushing her chest by crying. She had desperately needed the release so she was grateful.

“I will tell you what will happen to you,” he murmured in her ear when her tears finally abated. “You will marry a man of your choosing, instead of being shackled to a stranger who never showed any interest in you.”

“How? No respectable man will want me. I have no fortune or land. I am no longer a virgin. I am old.”

Against her cheek she felt Cameron’s chest vibrate and it took her a moment to understand that he was laughing. How could he laugh at a time like this? “Old? You cannot be a day over fifty! You still have all your teeth, and from I can see when you scowl at me, they are reasonably straight.”

Fifty! Bethan would have drawn back in outrage had it not been obvious that he was mocking her to make her feel better. To her surprise, it did. Being mocked by Cameron was oddly soothing. There was a tenderness in his voice when he spoke, and his arms had tightened around her as if in protection.

“Teeth, be they reasonably straight, is not what men are looking for in a bride,” she said weakly, her face still buried in his chest.

Her beauty meant that men would not stop looking at her, but with only one purpose in mind—to take her to bed, not to the altar. They would only ever want her as a leman, not a wife.

“There is only one thing men will ever want from me, and it will never lead anywhere. I’m hardly an enviable party.

As you know, my grandfather was a brewer, my family was dispossessed of what little land my father had managed to acquire before the invasion, and I have no fortune to compensate for that fact. ”

There was a silence and the body against her went unnaturally still. What was happening? What had she said? Slowly, she straightened her back to look at Cameron. Gone was the teasing in his eyes. He had never looked more serious—or more alluring.

“You do have a fortune now. That’s what I came to tell you.”

It was her turn to still. Had she heard him right? She had a fortune? How? Had her brother given Cameron some money to be handed over to her once they had arrived in Scotland? It seemed unlikely, as he had little to spare, but it was the only explanation she could think of.

The silence stretched, quicky becoming unbearable.

Cameron stood up and started to pace around the chapel, evidently trying to find the best way to word his explanation. In the end Bethan lost patience and planted herself in front of him. The master of bluntness was choosing this moment for being circumspect? Well, she would not stand for it.