To Marry a Highland Marauder by Collette Cameron

Author:Collette Cameron
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-05-11T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Easter Road outside Edinburgh

22 March 1721

CAMDEN HAD INSISTED that he and Bethea take this coach, rather than sharing Sir Walter’s. He well knew his superior would’ve preferred Camden travel with him, but by damn, he wasn’t abandoning his new wife minutes after saying, “I do.”

Instead, he’d made arrangements to meet Sir Walter after seeing Bethea safely to the bosom of her family. The man could hardly argue the point, as he’d been the one to insist on the nuptials. Besides, he’d agreed Roxdale was entitled to an explanation.

“Yes, yes, indeed. You are quite right, Camden,” he’d said, shrugging on his black, satin-lined cloak. “See to your lovely bride, soothe any qualms her family may have, and meet me at Montieth’s at, let’s say, three?” He crooked a grizzled eyebrow as he hooked the clasp at his throat. “Is that sufficient time to set things to right?”

Nae. It would take months. Years even.

Sir Walter didn’t know Keane or Bethea. Exchanging vows had been the easy part. It was everything that came after—none of which had been anticipated or planned—that would be an unholy mess to untangle.

“Aye, that should suffice,” he acquiesced.

Now, three hours later, he held his new wife in his arms as she slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted. At least she’d been spared a sick stomach by sleeping most of the journey.

Bethea had said little the first few miles, her thoughts obviously elsewhere until her lids had drifted downward, and she’d fallen asleep. She also suffered from a headache, though she didn’t whisper so much as one word in complaint.

Slumber had eluded him, but he’d drawn her into his arms and held her, feeling a protectiveness and—something else. Something foreign but enticing, suffusing him.

His lack of rancor and frustration at the situation astonished him. Yes, Camden took orders and carried them out with precision and expertise, but he’d never been a man who’d permitted himself to be manipulated.

Bethea’s dark lashes fanned her porcelain cheeks, her pink rose-bud mouth parted as she slumbered. Wrapped in a servant’s brown cloak they’d purchased from one of the barmaids for twice what it was worth, her subtle perfume wafted to him now and again.

Lilacs befit her. Fresh and sweet, but with a hint of something alluring, as well.

Camden had always faced the truth squarely, and he’d do the same in these circumstances. If he were entirely honest with himself, he hadn’t been averse to marrying Bethea. How they came to be husband and wife wasn’t the most romantic or ideal progression, but he could, in all honesty, say he didn’t mind.

She, on the other hand, had been utterly appalled. Only Camden’s assurance that the union could be voided later had led her to concede to go through with the ceremony.

The woman sleeping in his arms had fascinated him since he’d first seen her at Eytone Hall’s cèilidh celebration last August. She’d also intrigued and delighted him with her quick wit, a ready smile, and perpetual kindness to all during the week-long Hogmanay celebration at Trentwick Castle.

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