Page 26 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

Cameron raised himself up on his elbows so he could hover over her and forced her to look at him. His eyes had gone liquid with desire, the color extraordinary, just like quicksilver.

“You wanted a man, not a boy, is that it?” he purred, allowing a smile to bloom on his lips. He’d known it all along, and he enjoyed making her say it.

“Yes. Now, I have answered your question,” she said lightly. “I have held my end of the bargain; it is time you held yours.”

“But of course. I am a man of my word.”

With this promise, he lifted himself off her and made to leave the bed. The sudden loss of his weight and warmth was a shock.

“Wait, where are you going?” she shouted in dismay, catching his hand before he could stand up. Surely he was not leaving now?

“I said I would let you go when you had answered my question and you have, so I’m letting you go,” he answered innocently. “Why, did you have something else in mind?”

The wretched, wretched man!

“I did.” Pushing him back onto the mattress, Bethan came to lie on top of him.

Seeing his eyes catch fire when she started to rub herself against his chest, she afforded a smile.

He would pay for the torture he had just put her through.

And then she would get her reward. “So, you like teasing, do you? Let us see how you handle it when the roles are reversed. Didn’t you complain the other day that women never made you surrender to their will? ”

“I did. Although you proved earlier that you weren’t afraid to ride your lovers.”

Yes. And he had loved it, as had she.

“Show me how much you love me taking charge,” she whispered in his ear. “And if I like what you provoke in me, I might allow you to reach your release as well.”

The faint scraping of metal against stone and hushed male voices.

It was only because he was still awake that Cameron heard them.

His whole body tensed. There was no mistaking what was happening.

Men, armed with swords, were coming up the staircase.

Next to him, Bethan slept on, unaware of the danger.

Thank God he’d had a sleep earlier or he would have been asleep himself right now, and unprepared for the intrusion.

Who was coming up to Bethan’s chamber at this hour?

As to why, he could guess only too well.

No one paid visits at this hour, and in such a stealthy manner.

The rich, beautiful Welshwoman who slept alone and unprotected was going to be abducted then raped and married off to one of the local lairds, not necessarily in that order.

With the marriage already consummated, the man responsible for her ordeal would have no difficulty finding a priest who would agree to make the union legal.

No one knew Bethan was not a virgin and her suitor would have thought the loss of her maidenhead would be enough to bind her to him.

Over his dead body.

Contrary to what the intruders were hoping, she was not alone, she was not unprotected.

He was here, and with surprise on his side, he fully intended to emerge the victor from the confrontation.

He could only congratulate himself for choosing this day to finally surrender to the desire he felt for Bethan.

Had he not come to her bed, she would have been alone to face the attackers.

There would have been no escaping them. She would have woken up and found herself pinned under her future husband, unable to fight him off.

And on the morrow, Cameron would have found her gone, with no idea of what had happened to her.

It did not bear thinking about.

Silently, he left the bed, reached for the scabbard he had deposited on the chest earlier that evening and drew his sword out.

There was no time to get dressed. For the first time in his life, he would have to fight naked.

Armed, he flattened himself against the wall, ready for the attack he was sure to come.

A moment later the door opened without a creak.

This was odd. Everyone could tell Crois Dhubh was in a bad state.

Someone must have oiled the hinges earlier that day, in preparation for this moment, which meant not only that the attack had been premeditated, but also that the treacherous laird coming to abduct his rich bride had an accomplice within the castle.

This was bad indeed, and questions would have to be asked in the morning. For now, he had to focus.

Cameron tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and waited.

A shadow soon appeared in his line of vision, too dark for him to recognize who he was.

Certain of the intruder’s ill intent, he struck first. He could not afford to wait, since he had no idea how many men were coming, and he was alone and naked.

If the man died from the blow, he would have only himself to blame.

He should have thought better of coming to attack women in their beds.

Bethan was woken up by the cry of a man.

She bolted upright, staring ahead of her without discerning much. In the darkness, all she could see were shadows. But she could hear the terrible sound of steel hitting steel.

At the foot of the bed, three—or was it four?

—men were locked in a sword fight, the tight space preventing them from using their weapons the way they were supposed to.

Grunts and curses made clear this was no jest but a fight to the death.

Why? What was happening? Who were these men?

The only one she could identify, because he was the only one without clothes on, was Cameron.

His pale skin glowed, making him appear almost unreal.

A hand landed on her ankle, bringing her back to the reality of the situation, and started to drag her to the edge of the bed.

Without thinking, she flexed her leg and kicked with all her might.

There was a scream when the man reeled backward.

Then someone struck him on the back of the head and everything went silent.

“Are you hurt?”

Cameron, thank God. He was alive, even if he sounded winded.

“No,” she whispered, glancing at the shape crumpled on the floor. “He wanted to grab me, but I kicked him in the…in the…”

“No need to make the effort of finding a polite way of saying it. I understand. Good for you.”

Cameron stood in front of her, a figure of power almost demonic in its aspect.

Naked, with blood on his chest and a sword in his hand he presented such an image of violence that she took in a shaky breath.

How odd to think that this formidable warrior had been in her bed not too long ago, stroking her with careful tenderness, then taking her with unbridled lust.

“What happened? Who are they?” she asked, looking at the three men lying on the floor. They were sprawled face down, but she doubted she would have recognized them even if they had been looking up to the ceiling.

“We’ll soon find out.”

With a kick, he turned over the one who had grabbed her ankle.

At that moment, the moon appeared from behind the clouds, shedding enough light for them to identify the young laird who had assaulted her the other day.

There was no mistaking his face, as she was certain it would haunt her nightmares for years to come.

She recalled every line, every groove. The mole at the side of his nose, the flecks of brown in his hazel eyes. She even remembered the way he smelled.

“Donald McDonald, one of the local lairds,” Cameron said, evidently thinking she didn’t know the man and needed him to identify him. She didn’t. Unfortunately.

She shivered, horrified at the man’s determination to have her. Having been stopped the other day, he had decided to come find her when no one could come to her aid. What would have happened had Cameron not been in her bed tonight didn’t bear thinking about.

Why, oh, why had she stopped Murdo from killing her attacker? she thought savagely. He’d been given a chance to live, and less than two days later, he was back for more. He hadn’t deserved her mercy.

Her gaze landed on Cameron, who was still panting hard after his confrontation with three men.

She remembered thinking it would be arousing to see him fight to protect her from assault the evening they had met.

Well, he had done just that, and her mind was irrevocably changed.

It wasn’t arousing, it was terrifying. Never again did she wish to see men fight and kill one another on her behalf.

With a growl, he retrieved her shift from the floor where it had landed earlier. “Get dressed, Ealasaid.” He sheathed his sword before reaching for his own clothes. “We need to talk, and I will not risk the men coming to while are discussing what needs to be done next.”

“You mean they are not dead?” She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d run them through with his sword. After all, he’d been on his own against three, his survival and her rescue would have justified every ruthlessness on his part.

He shrugged on his undershirt and braies, not bothering with the tunic. “One of them definitely is dead. But the other two could wake up any moment. I need you out of here and safe when they do.”

Nodding, she donned her gown and walked over to the door, careful not to step over the men. Which one was the dead one? Bile rose in her throat at the idea that there was a corpse in the room with her.

Her legs less steady than she would have liked, she followed Cameron to the great hall, where the men of his retinue were sleeping, curled up in a corner. The only one missing was McBain. He’d been sent home the moment they had arrived, which had not surprised her.

“Angus, Murdo!”

The men snapped to attention, while Cameron fired up orders in rapid Gaelic.

Though Bethan did not understand more than the odd word, the gist was pretty obvious.

Two of the men were sent up to her chamber to retrieve the corpse and neutralize the survivors, who would be questioned as soon as they came to.

The others were sent to investigate how the McDonalds had entered the castle.

Once they were alone again, Cameron poured them both a cup of ale.

“This decrepit castle is too hard to defend properly. We leave at dawn,” he decreed, emptying his own cup. “Assemble what you want to take with you now. The rest of your possessions can be sent later on. We’ll go to Nead an Diabhail first, where we’ll decide what to do next.”

The instructions were given with brisk efficiency, just like before, in the room. But this time Bethan rebelled. He was allowing her no say in the matter, or even asking her opinion. Everything within her bristled.

“I’m not going to your castle,” she answered. “I told you I wanted to go to Wales, so I might as well?—”

He stopped her with a cutting gesture of the hand.

“Keep your protests.” He had never sounded more implacable or more determined.

“I am taking you to my castle. I can defend you better there while we think. Then once we have come up with a plan, I am taking you to Wales, where I agree you will be safer. This is not a matter of debate. You are mine to protect.”

“I am not. I never actually married your nephew; I am not a member of your family or even your clan.” What was possessing her to be so contrary she had no idea, but she had just found out how powerless she was, and she hated it. At least in this she had some say. “You do not owe me anything.”

The flash of fury in the gray eyes almost frightened her.

“If you care for my sanity, you will never repeat such a claim. A woman betrothed to someone of my family, whether the wedding took place or not, will benefit from my protection until the day she dies. That is a question of honor and non negotiable.” He took another step toward her, all brooding intensity.

“As to women who have shared my bed, their welfare is most definitely my affair. Do not forget it again. Christ, Ealasaid, how can you even suppose that I would not want to keep you safe after what happened between us?”

Bethan did her best not to waver. He wanted to help, and in truth she needed him. She could not travel to Castell y Ddraig alone. It was too dangerous. He was right. They needed to think before they acted.

Her hand landed on his forearm, a gesture of surrender and thank you.

“Very well. I shall go and prepare.”