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

That was new. Usually no one saw how irritated she was by compliments on her beauty.

Or if they did, they didn’t comment on it.

It was her turn to be intrigued. Perhaps all was not lost. Not that it mattered, of course, since she was to marry Dougal and would never get to make the most of the appeal this man exerted over her.

“The difference is that you earned the right to be praised by honing a difficult skill, and that your expertise is not written on your face for all to see.”

“Perhaps not on my face. But I hope it shows on my body.”

Oh, it did. Heart drumming in her ears, Bethan did her best to stop her gaze from roving all over his perfect physique. In vain. From such close proximity and in adequate lighting, it was most impressive.

She shuffled her feet, suddenly light-headed.

They had to start talking about something else than her beauty and his impressive body.

Like his identity. Why was this man at the head of the retinue?

Where was Dougal’s grizzled old uncle? It did not surprise her that there had been yet another change of plan, but it was highly unwelcome.

“Why are you here? Was Laird Campbell incapacitated?” she asked, cursing her luck for the unfortunate choice of escort.

Couldn’t Dougal have sent a less distracting man in lieu of his uncle?

Couldn’t he have guessed what the sight of such a strong, virile man would do to his bride-to-be?

Or was he himself a man of such exceptional appeal that he did not fear comparison?

“Incapacitated?” A spark ignited in the man’s eyes. Silver, yes, to match the bronze in his hair, a most unusual combination, as far removed from the sapphire and gold she favored in her lovers as could be. “No. I would argue that I am in full command of my capacities, thank you.”

“You mean that you are Dougal’s uncle?” she exclaimed, too shocked to try and find a more suitable answer.

This was Cameron Campbell? She had expected a seasoned soldier a great deal gruffer than the knight looking at her with sparkling eyes.

She felt like a sick child might feel after being force-fed honey when they had been bracing themselves for the bitter brew they’d been told would make them feel better.

“I am Dougal’s uncle,” the man she now knew as Laird Campbell answered, looking at her strangely. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“There isn’t. Only I thought you would be…”

Uglier, less strong, less distracting, less…everything.

“Older,” she finished in a whisper.

The twitching mouth made it clear he had guessed what she really meant. “Yes. Well, sorry to disappoint but I am not in my dotage yet. I’m only eleven years older than my nephew.”

Eleven years. He was thirty-one then, ten years older than herself, nothing like the decrepit man she had imagined when receiving the letter warning her of Laird Cameron Campbell’s arrival.

Just then the steward came back to announce Lord Sheridan had finally arrived and was ready to welcome the Scots.

Laird Campbell gestured at the men to follow.

Bethan lowered her face and made sure not to look any of them in the eye.

So far, she had not been recognized, and she intended to keep it that way.

In the hall, Connor Hunter was waiting for them, standing in front of the dais.

Two of his men were stationed at either side of the platform.

Bethan was relieved not to be alone with Cameron any longer.

Now that she knew who he was, she wished she had never set eyes on the man.

This could all too easily end in disaster.

“My laird, I’m sorry for making you wait but I had gone to the village to see to one of my tenants. We didn’t expect you before the end of the week at the very least,” Lord Sheridan said, tilting his head in welcome.

“Nay, but the snow melted rather quickly this year and we were able to set off earlier than planned. As my men are a hardened lot, who travel without complaint, we made good time.” Cameron Campbell’s accent, more rugged than the one she was used to hearing at Castell Esgyrn, charmed her ear.

Had he spoken like that the evening before?

She couldn’t remember. Perhaps now that he had been identified as a Scot, he was not afraid of sounding like one.

“We could have arrived yesterday, but after a long ride we did not want to present ourselves in front of the bride-to-be all dusty from the road. We stopped at the nearest tavern. The men wanted to…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, he glanced over to her, a frown on his face. When he stilled, Bethan knew without a doubt that he had recognized her for the woman he had gotten out of his men’s clutches. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

“The men thought it best to spend the night there,” he finished in a totally different voice.

Bethan’s heart rate was now alarmingly high, and she made sure to keep her eyes on Lord Sheridan, wanting to see if he suspected anything was amiss. Fortunately, he did not seem to, even if he had guessed what the delay at the tavern might have been.

“Say no more,” Connor said pleasantly.

“Indeed, I dare not. I’m afraid such talk would not be suitable at present.”

Cameron’s whole demeanor was different now that he had recognized her.

Her level of nervousness a hundredfold. She willed herself to behave calmly while the two men discussed the various arrangements involved in getting her to Scotland, but the challenge was proving too hard.

Every time her gaze landed on the Scot, her heart seemed to skip a beat.

Or three.

“Shall we give you a moment to get acquainted with your nephew’s bride?” Lord Sheridan eventually suggested.

“Thank you, that would be most welcome.”

Of course, no one in the room knew that the two of them had already met, after a fashion.

Once they were alone Cameron started to pace around the hall, a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Feeling utterly at a loss, Bethan waited for him to speak first. She had the impression that she had just entered a great beast’s den and, what was worse, she wasn’t sure she didn’t want this particular beast to devour her.

“So, we meet again, my lady .”

His mood had changed again, it was not protective like it had been at the tavern, or irate like earlier in the bailey, or serious like during his discussion with Lord Sheridan but gently mocking, and altogether more worrying. Bethan wished that the earth could swallow her whole.

“We do,” she agreed in a low voice.

“It seemed that you lied after all,” he carried on, not looking at her. “Because you have no right to the title of lady, have you?”

“Please, could we just forget about last night?” she breathed instead of answering. They both knew she was not nobly born.

At last he ceased his prowling and turned to face her, eyes ablaze. It was then that Bethan realized that forgetting about their previous encounter was never going to happen. He didn’t seem prepared to, and she would never forget her reaction to him, or the night she had spent because of it.

“Not easy, I’m afraid.” He gave her a smile she imagined to be one of apology, but which did nothing to make her feel more at ease.

“Considering your parting words, I am having difficulty not imagining you on your knees in front of me, ready to welcome me between your lips. And you have the perfect mouth for this, which doesn’t help, full and sensual. ”

Bethan gasped. Had he just—Had he dared allude to?—

Yes, damn him, he had!

Outrage swept her embarrassment away. “Your men treated me like one of the women in Mistress Elen’s employ last night and I despised them for it.

It was not the first or even the tenth time I had been harassed by men, but never before have I been mistaken for a whore.

You came to my rescue, so I did you the honor of thinking you had more finesse than them.

Evidently, I was mistaken. You are just as crude as they are, for all that you now call yourself ‘laird.’ I may not be a lady, but I am discerning enough to know that you’re nothing like Lord Sheridan who, unlike you, was born into the role. ”

The mocking expression was instantly replaced by one aimed at making her tremble. It did, even if she tried her best not to show it.

“Have a care,” Cameron Campbell said between his teeth. His own temper was about to explode. “You are to marry into my family and become a member of my clan. Do you really think this is the way you should talk to me?”

Oh, she knew she was taking liberties. But so was he.

“I apologize, I should not have mocked you for not being born noble.” God knows it was not a taint, she herself had less than prestigious ancestors.

“But neither should you have told me you were imagining me on my knees in front of you, ready to offer you relief with my mouth. You are here to escort me to my betrothed, your own nephew. In the circumstances, I am amazed that you should dare to allude to my ability to perform such acts, and on you of all men.”

Had she been less irate, Bethan would have been shocked at her brazenness.

She never snapped at people, she never contradicted them, even when she was dying to.

So where had this unusual courage come from?

It was not as if Laird Campbell were harmless, either, quite the contrary.

She looked at him warily, fearing that he would make her pay for her impudence.

He appeared menacing enough to do it and plenty of men she knew would not hesitate but, to her surprise, he merely laughed.

“Well. Never have I been so thoroughly put in my place. I’m impressed. Though, since you seemed to dislike my comments about your beauty, thinking it lacked originality, you will at least admit that my compliment about your mouth was less conventional.”