Highland Promise Read Free

his riches. An alliance through blood with the more favored MacMillans might be just enough to force the man to admit the truth, to concur with all he fought to deny and decry as lies. Eric became even more determined to win the favor of his mother’s kinsmen. It now meant more than the legal winning of his birthright. It could easily mean the final ousting of a long line of despicable Beaton lairds.
     
    “Maman?”
    Bethia swallowed a sudden welling of tears as she held the ornate silver quaich up to James’s mouth and let him sip at the water it held. The small, shallow drinking cup, its two handles beautifully carved with an old Celtic design, had been her sister’s wedding cup. Their father had spent a great deal of money on it and had searched long and hard for the best craftsman to make it. To hear Sorcha’s child ask for his mother as he drank from that treasured memento made Bethia’s heart clench with a sorrow she had not yet had time to deal with.
    “I fear I must be your maman now, laddie,” she whispered as she ruffled his silken curls and gave him a small piece of bread to chew on. “I ken that I am nay as good as the one those bastards stole away from you, but I shall do the best I can.”
    A small voice in her mind murmured that she would at least keep James alive, something his mother had almost failed to do; then she cursed herself for having such a disloyal thought. In the two days she had been creeping through the wood, inching her way toward home and safety, she had found herself suffering more and more unkind thoughts about her sister and her husband. She cursed their weakness, silently derided them for their blindness, and wondered how such a sweet child could have two such fools for his parents. Each time she thought such things, she felt overwhelmed with guilt.
    “I need time to sit and look into my heart,” she said to the boy, then idly chewed on a piece of bread. “I am so angry, and ’tis odd, but most times I am angry at your poorparents. They did naught but get murdered, which isnae their fault, not truly. Aye, they could have been more alert, more cautious, mayhap looked at those around them instead of at each other all of the time, but those arenae really faults.”
    “Maman?”
    “Nay, laddie, no maman.” Bethia kissed her nephew’s forehead. “She is gone. ’Tis just me and ye now. Mayhap that is why I feel so angry. Sorcha should still be here. She was young and hale, nay ready for a cold grave. I fear I can think of too many things she and her bonny husband could have done to save themselves and then I become angry that neither of them did any of those things. There is only one mon I should curse—William. Aye, and his two brutish sons. That is where I must direct all of my anger, eh?”
    “Baba.”
    “Baba? What is a baba?” She smiled, then sighed. “We dinnae ken much about each other, do we, James? I dinnae think that fleeing men who wish to kill you will give us much time to do so either. Mayhap when we get to my home, to Dunnbea, we may take the time to learn of each other and your grandmere will be most eager to help. Aye, and your grandpere. Ye willnae be alone, sweet James, though none of us can replace those ye have had stolen away from you. There will be loving and caring aplenty and mayhap that will ease the loss ye have suffered. ’Tis a blessing that ye are still such a young bairn for the loss and pain may nay be so deep or painful.”
    Bethia knew that she was fortunate in one thing. James was a very even-tempered child who did little fussing or crying. He had his mother’s sweet nature—Sorcha’s ever flowing happiness with life and the world around her. It served Bethia well as they ran for their lives, but she was determined that Sorcha’s son would learn the value of a little wariness and caution.
    She was just preparing to pack up their things and continue her long walk home when she heard a soft noise. Cursing herself for not watching more