Page 4 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

Bethan’s heart sank. These were not only men, but drunken men—and English.

The fact had not registered earlier, when she’d heard Murdo and his friend, but they had not spoken in Welsh.

Damn and blast indeed! Now she was in serious trouble.

A pack of Englishmen could only mean danger to a lone Welshwoman, especially if they thought she was the kind who earned her living on her back.

Fortunately, living with the Hunter family, she had a reasonable knowledge of the language, even if she spoke it with a much stronger accent than she would have liked, so she would be able to at least try to defend herself.

“I’m not what you think I am,” she said before they could get the wrong idea. “I’m a…a l-lady,” she stammered.

Well, she wasn’t, not exactly, but neither was she a simple villager, much less a whore. And she was not going to service them, whatever they thought.

Laughter answered her, as could have been predicted.

“A lady are you now?” the man called Murdo scoffed, joining his two friends.

She was relieved to see he had tucked himself back in his braies at least. “We all know that ladies spend their time wandering around taverns at night looking for men. I’ve lost count of the number of grand noblewomen I’ve fucked on wooden tables, amidst pitchers of ale.

There was even a princess once, if I recall. ”

“Aye, wasn’t she the one who sucked you dry in front of everyone?”

“Nay, that was the Duchess of the Holy Land. Get your story straight, Hamish!”

More laughter. Bethan had no idea how to get out of this.

As she had taken care to dirty her face and dress as plainly as she always did when visiting Mistress Elen, she knew that it was ridiculous to claim to be a lady.

The disguise usually protected her identity, but it might prove to be her downfall today.

She didn’t want to give her name, as the last thing she needed was for Lord Sheridan to find out that the girl he was kindly housing under his roof was visiting stewhouses at night to obtain herbs preventing conception.

Besides, there was no guarantee the men would believe her if she claimed to be under the protection of the local lord.

They seemed too aroused and drunk to see sense.

A shiver of dread slithered down her spine. That she was no virgin didn’t mean she wanted to be raped by…how many men were here exactly? At least six. Dear God. She might not survive the ordeal.

“Come, lass, you can see we’re harmless men in search of well-earned relief.

You have nothing to fear from us. We’ll even let you have first pick,” another man offered, whilst she debated what to do.

He was younger than Murdo, and his speech was less gruff.

Still, she was far from reassured. “Who do you want to go first?”

“No one. I just want to get to my horse. Please. I need to go.”

She turned back to face the man blocking the way, hoping that he would let her pass this time.

All throughout the exchange with his friends he hadn’t said a word or budged an inch.

In the light of the torch one of the men was holding she saw that he was fixing her intently, his demeanor serious rather than lecherous.

It was clear that he was in charge of the retinue, and he was the only one without a drink in his hand.

Bethan stilled, taking him in.

Despite the danger, she found herself thinking that she had never met a man quite like him, so intense and, well, so stunning .

His eyes in particular stole her breath away.

In the light of the flickering flames, they appeared almost transparent, and she couldn’t quite decide if they were blue, green, or gray.

Not that it mattered, not when they glittered like precious gems.

The rest of him was just as striking. His hair was of a color rarely seen, a deep, fiery auburn too intense to be called ginger and too bright to be merely brown.

It glowed in the torch light, but she guessed it would dazzle in the sunshine.

The hint of stubble on his square jaw, slightly darker than the hair on his head, gave him an air of virile strength.

It wasn’t the only thing that did, though.

The nose perched above a sensual mouth, the arms crossed over a muscular chest, everything about him exuded power and manly confidence.

As if that were not enough to make him one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, the smile playing on his lips, along with the gleam in his eye, hinted at a sensuality that made something inside her stir.

At any other time, she would have felt compelled to try and speak to him.

Right now, however, she only wanted to escape the unwanted attention of the drunken men.

Could she dare hope he would see reason?

The other men did not believe she was not one Mistress Elen’s girls, but Bethan had the odd impression that he wasn’t fooled by her humble appearance.

It was as if he could see straight to the pretense and to the heart of who she was.

His direct stare reached all the way down to the bottom of her soul.

No one had ever looked at her with such unnerving intensity before and she couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

At least he looked more sensible than the others.

It was all that mattered because he was her only hope.

If his friends were convinced she was there for their entertainment, she would never make it out of here unscathed.

With half a dozen drunken men waiting to take their pleasure with her, she would be lost if the man couldn’t help her.

Bethan looked at him beseechingly and opened her mouth—only for her tongue to refuse to move. Go drapia , but he really was gorgeous. Or rather, impossibly forbidding. Or…something.

“Please, let me pass,” she said after what felt like an eternity. “I just want to get to my horse and ride home. I’m not who you think I am. I truly am a lady.”

He let his gaze wander over her as if to decide whether to help her or not. Before he could reach a decision, a man spoke from behind her, his words so slurred she barely understood what he was saying. He had an accent she had never heard before, nothing like the gentle lilt of the Hunters.

“Come on, enough of this, we’re waiting here.”

A hand shot out from under his cloak, reaching for her shoulder. She tensed, readying herself for the moment he would grab her but before one finger could touch her, the man by the gate captured the roaming hand in what seemed like an iron grip.

“Leave it. She says she’s a lady.” His voice was deep, and he sounded mightily annoyed at his man’s insistence.

“And you believe her? She looks like a tavern wench to me,” the lecher protested, trying to extract himself from the hold. In vain. When his commander finally released him, he cradled his wrist with a grimace.

Her defender pursed his lips, eyes alight in amusement. “She does look like a tavern wench,” he conceded, eyeing her up and down. “And a particularly dirty one at that. But I’m sure she has a good reason for it. As well as a good explanation for her presence here so late at night.”

“I do!” Bethan huffed. Annoyance had started to replace fear. How long would this farce go on? She needed to get away, now, or the people at Castell Esgyrn would notice her absence and get worried. “Not that I have to share them with you, mind you. Just let me pass.”

A raised eyebrow greeted this less than meek answer. “Well, my friends, what say you? Will this show of haughtiness suffice to convince you she is indeed a lady and not a girl from the stewhouse?”

Convinced that she had nothing to fear from the man—or his friends now that he had taken her defense—Bethan pressed her suit. “No, I am not a girl from the stewhouse, as I keep telling you. Now if I could just get to my horse.”

“Of course. Worry not. My oafish companions will leave you in peace.”

He nodded to the men who retreated to the fire without another comment, even the gruff Murdo and the aggressive lecher. Bethan could not help but be impressed by the man’s natural authority. At his command the men had gone from rowdy bunch to subdued puppies.

Without a word, she hurried to the stables.

Now that the way was finally free, she did not intend to linger any longer than necessary.

Heaven only knew what could go wrong next.

In the darkness, it took her longer than she would have liked to saddle her mare, and her trembling fingers made the job of putting the bridle on more taxing than usual but eventually, she was ready.

When she emerged from the stables with Petal in tow, the man was still in the same place, watching her. She forced herself not to stare back and instead focused on getting out of here.

“Do you need an escort?” he asked in his deep voice while she led Petal to the mounting block.

“No, I do not.”

Bethan hoisted herself into the saddle with decision.

The question had made her ill at ease. Had he sent the men away so that he could have her all for himself?

If she agreed to have him accompany her, would he waylay her once they were alone in the woods?

Did he mean to use her as a reward for his help earlier? She had expected better from him.

He seemed to read her disillusion and smiled.

“You have nothing to fear from me. I did not spare you my men’s advances only to force myself on you at the first opportunity.

” The earnestness in his voice was too obvious for her not to believe him.

Her shoulders relaxed. “But how can you be sure you will not meet with other men who mistake you for what you are not and make the same demands on you as my men? As your escort, I could fend them off.”

An unbearable heat spread through her body at the thought of him fighting to protect her from ruffians’ assault.

How arousing it would be… When she moved, she felt the hard nubs of her nipples push against the rough fabric of her shift, something she didn’t even know could happen.

It caused her to inhale sharply. Not new to the pleasures of the flesh, nevertheless Bethan had never met a man who could make her body melt with a mere glance.

Instinct told her that this man whose name she didn’t even know would be more accomplished, have more stamina, give her more pleasure than all her other lovers combined.

She shook her head, disgusted at herself.

What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she come tonight to say her goodbyes to Mistress Elen and the life that had been hers this past year?

Before the week was out, she would be on her way to Scotland, and her future husband.

She could not be thinking of what it would be like to bed this man, or indeed any man.

Once she was Dougal’s wife, she intended to be faithful to him.

That meant she could not allow handsome strangers’ appeal to affect her in any way.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to traveling in these parts alone,” she answered, desperate to appear more assured than she was feeling. “And I have never yet been forced to go down on my knees to pleasure anyone.”

The air seemed to ring with her last words. The man tilted his head, and she blushed furiously. Why, oh why had she said such a thing?

“On your knees. Now, there’s an image to leave me with.” Bethan swallowed. The low purr would have made her legs waver had she not been sitting in the saddle. “Good night then, my lady. ”

When she kicked her horse into a trot a moment later, she had the impression she had just been on a reckless ride. She felt out of breath and slightly dizzy.

She was still trembling by the time she reached the safety of her bedchamber.

Fortunately, Gwenllian was already asleep, so her escapade would remain a secret.

When Bethan started to wash and undress in the velvety darkness, she had the ridiculous impression that she was about to perform the acts the men had wanted her to, but for one of them only.

The man with the sparkling eyes.