Page 8 of A Scot for Bethan (The Welsh Rebels #6)

Chapter Three

W hen the door closed on Bethan, Cameron took his first real breath since he’d seen her framed in the door at the foot of the keep earlier.

Bloody hell, was he dreaming or had all this really happened?

The whole morning had been a succession of surprises, some more pleasant than others.

The first one had been when a lady in a cream-colored dress had walked up to him with bold, deliberate strides.

She had to be the most stunning woman he had ever seen, and he could not understand how that could be.

Because if he’d been forced to describe her, nothing in his description would have made her stand out in any way.

Her hair was a very common chestnut brown, and her eyes just a shade lighter.

Her skin was neither pale nor tanned, and her figure completely average, neither slim nor curvy.

And yet… And yet there were auburn streaks dancing in the chestnut tresses, like so many sparks of fire drawing the eye, the brown in her eyes was warm, and sprinkled with surprising green and amber flecks, her skin was smooth and flawless.

As to her average figure… The assertive way she moved made it come alive.

Her hips swayed in scandalous invitation, her breasts jutted forward, inviting a man’s caresses— his caresses.

He was still trying to put order to his thoughts when the second, and perhaps most unpleasant surprise of the day, had hit him. This beauty walking to him as if she’d been expecting him all along had to be Bethan ferch Morgan, her nephew’s betrothed.

Damn and blast!

How could any man be so cursed as to meet a woman who made his blood heat up and his brain scramble and then be told in the next breath that she was the last person he should take an interest in?

What had he done to deserve this? Dougal would be stunned when he met the woman his father had arranged to marry him to all those years ago, the one he had barely spared a thought to in all that time.

Even if he was not one to waste time admiring the female form, he would have no choice but to notice her eyes the shape and color of almonds, her wavy hair so lustrous it reminded him of a freshly shelled chestnut, and her red lips ready to be tasted in a slow kiss.

Cameron started.

Why was he looking at Bethan as if she were something to be devoured?

Well, perhaps because she did look good enough to eat.

His groin tightened at the idea of kissing her, then dropping to his knees to find out just how delicious she tasted.

He guessed her lips and tongue would be sweet like honey and her soft folds as intoxicating as spiced cream.

The impulse to run after her and beg her to open her legs for him shocked and worried him in equal measure.

He could not think like that! This woman was about to be wed to his nephew, he should not be fantasizing about things only Dougal would ever be allowed to do to her.

But try as he may, all he could think of was using the table behind him for a purpose that had nothing to do with the one it usually served.

Damn it all, he had promised her only a moment ago not to allude to her skill in bed, and here he was, mouth watering at the idea of licking her into sweet surrender.

This was a disaster. Cameron was admittedly a lusty man, his desire had always been easily roused, but this was different, stronger, almost inexplicable.

More to the point, she was not a woman he could ever have.

Bethan was not free, she was promised to another, and he was charged with escorting her back home.

She was the last woman he should think about bedding.

He was supposed to protect her body, not use it for his pleasure, and he was meant to guard her maidenhead, not take it himself.

Closing his hand on the hilt of his sword, he stormed out of the hall.

He had to find his men to inform them they would set off again before the day was over.

The less time he spent in the temptress’ company, the better.

He would also warn them they were not to inconvenience Bethan in any way.

He had not lied; he doubted they would have recognized her as the woman they had mistaken for a whore the previous evening, but that didn’t mean they would not see how exceptionally beautiful she was.

They would not act on it, of course, as she was set to marry his nephew, but that might not stop them from treating her in ways that would make her uncomfortable.

He found them at the back of the stables, partaking in a hearty meal with the grooms.

“I have spoken to Lord Sheridan and met Bethan ferch Morgan,” he told them, making sure to speak in Gaelic in case they should be overheard.

“There is nothing more to do and we will leave before the day is over. Mark my words, I will not tolerate any crudeness in her presence, as she seems quite the shy kind.”

This last comment almost wrenched a smile out of him because there was nothing shy in the Welshwoman. The way she had berated him for doing precisely what he was forbidding his men to do was proof enough. But he had to say something to make the men behave.

“Of course, my laird,” Murdo said, a smirk curling his lip. “It wouldn’t do to shock the little virgin and?—”

“No, it most definitely would not,” Cameron snapped. “Need I remind you that she is soon to join not only my clan, but also my family? You will treat her with nothing less than the respect she is due.”

“Aye,” the men said as one.

“Don’t mind Murdo, you know how ill-tempered he gets when he is away from home,” Angus added, glancing toward his friend, who scowled back, proving the point. “He’s like a bear with a sore head. Still, worry not, we’ll look after the lady.”

“She’s not really a lady, as you know, and will never be, married to Dougal.”

Cameron started. Why had he felt the need to point that out? It was not like him to be so petty. The reminder, however, did not seem to matter to Angus, who nodded toward the keep meaningfully.

“She lives in this grand castle; she was all but raised by Lord Sheridan. As far as we’re concerned, she’s a lady, and we’ll treat her as such.”

Cameron barely repressed a snort, remembering how the previous night the men had refused to believe her claim that she was a lady and how they had wanted to treat her.

Well, when they saw her in her finery, they would be shocked into respect, that much was certain.

He trusted them unconditionally. They could be rough at times, and they were not above letting their bodily urges overwhelm them on occasion, but they were good men.

All except McBain, that was.

McBain was a fool, but Dougal had insisted that his childhood friend join the retinue sent to fetch his bride.

Cameron had often wondered if his nephew had not included the man to act as a spy.

But to what end? That was what he could not fathom.

Had he feared that his betrothed’s rumored beauty would entice the men into behaving like randy beasts?

Surely he knew that Cameron would never let anything happen to her?

Or was it worse? Did he mistrust him, his own uncle, thinking that he might try to seduce Bethan before they reached Crois Dhubh?

He stiffened his spine, not pleased by the notion, because had she been anyone else, he would most probably have tried to do just that.

“Well, I will not countenance any?—”

He was interrupted when Hamish’s eyes widened so much, they became in danger of falling off from their sockets.

Something in the bailey had caught his attention, it seemed.

Or perhaps someone . Someone too stunning to be believed in her cream dress.

Cameron turned in time to see Bethan draw to a halt in front of him.

Though he had seen her only a moment ago, he was struck anew by her beauty.

No wonder the men looked as if they had just seen a heavenly apparition.

“My laird, a word with you, if I may,” she said in her heavily accented English.

“But of course.”

He led her away from the men, glad to see they had indeed not recognized her for the woman they had accosted so crudely the night before. This was one issue he would have to deal with.

“What is it?” he asked once they were a safe distance from the stables.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Behan said, staring him straight in the eye.

“I know you want to depart as soon as possible, but I would like to say goodbye to my friends, Gwenllian and Seren, before leaving. They are still at the village with Lady Sheridan, their mother, and I would hate to leave before being able to?—”

Her bottom lip started to wobble, and he saw how painful this separation would be.

If she had indeed been raised here, then Lord Sheridan’s two younger daughters would be like sisters to her.

In this moment, he felt like an executioner dragging an innocent victim to the block on the order of some cruel king.

Cameron cleared his throat, waiting for her to get a hold on her emotions. She soon did, which did not surprise him. The woman seemed to have more backbone than most people he knew.

“There’s also my brother, Siaspar,” she carried on, her voice firm once more.

“He lives a day’s ride away, to the east. Perhaps we could stop there for the night tomorrow?

It would be the perfect opportunity to say goodbye.

Not expecting you to arrive for a few days yet, I had planned to visit him before leaving.

I would hate to leave without having seen him one last time. ”

How could he refuse her this second, perfectly reasonable favor? If her brother’s castle was to the east, then it made sense to go there anyway. A small detour would be worth the comfort of proper bedding and hot food. There would be enough nights spent on the road during their ride north.