Bethia Read online

  The Grants and Ramsays in 1280s

  GRANTS

  LAIRD ALEXANDER GRANT and wife, MADDIE

  John (Jake) and wife, Aline

  James (Jamie) and wife, Gracie

  Kyla and husband, Finlay

  Connor

  Elizabeth

  Maeve

  BRENNA GRANT and husband, QUADE RAMSAY

  Torrian (Quade’s son from his first marriage) and wife, Heather—Nellie (Heather’s daughter from a previous relationship) and son, Lachlan

  Lily (Quade’s daughter from his first marriage) and husband, Kyle—twin daughters, Lise and Liliana

  Bethia

  Gregor

  Jennet

  ROBBIE GRANT and wife, CARALYN

  Ashlyn (Caralyn’s daughter from a previous relationship) and husband, Magnus

  Gracie (Caralyn’s daughter from a previous relationship) and husband, Jamie

  Rodric (Roddy)

  Padraig

  BRODIE GRANT and wife, CELESTINA

  Loki (adopted) and wife, Arabella—sons, Kenzie (adopted) and Lucas

  Braden

  Catriona

  Alison

  JENNIE GRANT and husband, AEDAN CAMERON

  Riley

  Tara

  Brin

  RAMSAYS

  QUADE RAMSAY and wife, BRENNA GRANT (see above)

  LOGAN RAMSAY and wife, GWYNETH

  Molly (adopted) and husband, Tormod

  Maggie (adopted)

  Sorcha and husband, Cailean

  Gavin

  Brigid

  MICHEIL RAMSAY and wife, DIANA

  David

  Daniel

  AVELINA RAMSAY and DREW MENZIE

  Elyse

  Tad

  Tomag

  Maitland

  Table of Contents

  The Family Trees

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Autumn 1280s, Highlands of Scotland

  Bethia Ramsay settled on the straw next to the litter of puppies her half-brother Torrian’s dear wolfhound had given birth to a few days ago. The wee squeals that came from the furry bundles as they pushed at one another and nuzzled their mother in search of a teat made her smile. Their mother Bretta stared at her, a bland expression on her face that spoke of exhaustion. It was a chore taking care of six wee ones, even for a dog.

  Bretta was still feeling quite protective of her offspring, so Bethia did not attempt to take any of them away from her yet. Torrian was the only person the new mama would allow near her puppies for a while, and Bethia respected that.

  A beastly bellow much like the cry of a wounded animal echoed across the moors between the forest and Ramsay land. Leaping up from her spot, Bethia yanked her skirts down before she tore out of the stables to see what kind of creature had made that sound of terrible pain.

  She stood in the doorway, searching for an animal, but the bellows had come from beyond the curtain wall. Eager to see what was causing the noise—and, hopefully, to help—she hurried to the gate. To her surprise, it wasn’t an animal, but a man, and he was running straight toward the guard in the gatehouse.

  Her brother and laird, Torrian, raced toward the gate. Though she hadn’t noticed him in her haste, he must have left the keep just when she’d left the stables. She didn’t recognize the man, but apparently her brother did.

  “Donnan, calm down,” he said. “Tell me what happened.” The guard had opened the gates, and the giant of a man tore right toward her brother.

  “My dog. Torrian, my dog, Wynda!” He stopped only because Torrian held out a hand to him.

  She heard the voices of more guards, men who’d approached to investigate the sound.

  “Daft Donnan again.”

  “He’s getting worse and worse.”

  “What the hell could be wrong with Daft Donnan? There’s no blood on him.”

  When Bethia turned her head to glare at the guards, she saw her mother, Brenna, hurrying toward them from across the cobblestone courtyard. “Is he hurt, Torrian?” Brenna was the healer of the castle, and although Torrian, her stepson, had mostly taken over from his father as laird, she was still treated with the respect due to the mistress of the Ramsays.

  Bethia moved closer because she’d heard the man mention his dog.

  “Slower, Donnan,” Torrian said. “Slow down, I cannot understand you. What is it?”

  The man stood at least a head taller than her brother, who was a tall man, and boasted a full beard the color of chestnuts and matching hair, which had probably not been clipped for years. His brown eyes danced back and forth in a look of fear, the kind that bubbled out of the gut and took control of a person.

  “My dog. Someone attacked my dog. She’s bleeding. I need Lady Brenna.”

  As soon as Donnan set eyes on her mother, he hurried over to her. He looked eager enough to grab her, but controlled himself enough to fist his hands at his sides instead. “Please, mistress. Please come save my dog.” He bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths for a moment.

  Brenna glanced at Torrian, clearly hoping for an explanation—who this man was, what had happened to him, anything.

  Torrian said, “This is Donnan. He lives alone in a cottage he built for himself near the falls. I gave him a couple of puppies from my last litter, and he has Morda.”

  Brenna held her hand out to Bethia. “Donnan, I do recall your name now. My daughter is the best healer for animals. This is Bethia. Mayhap she could come along with me.”

  The man was so undone, he was incapable of speech, tears misting his eyes as he gazed at Bethia. “Please save my dog. Please?”

  His contorted face broke her heart, so she nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Let me fetch my bag.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll get it for you. Where is it?” He started to dash off toward the stables before racing back to stand in front of her. “Where?”

  The man’s wild temperament would have frightened her if not for her brother’s manner. He moved over to set his hand on Donnan’s shoulder. “I’ll get Bethia’s satchel. You wait right here for us. You came on your horse?”

  He nodded.

  “We’ll follow on horseback,” Torrian said softly. “Bethia, my mother, and I will all come. Will that suit you?”

  He nodded. “My thanks, my thanks.” He spun on his heel and ran back to mount his horse outside the gates, never once turning back to check on them, instead sending his horse into a full gallop across the moor. The guards who’d come to assess the situation shook their heads and muttered to one another. Before they could wander away, Kyle, Torrian’s second-in-command, came hurrying toward them from the keep.

  As soon as Donnan was out of hearing range, Bethia turned to her brother. “Is he truly daft, Torrian? Should we be going?” She didn’t try to hide her nervousness about the man she’d agreed to help. “Does he live on our land?”

  Torrian glanced at Brenna
, who grasped Bethia’s hand and said, “He’s not daft, dear. Donnan joined the clan four summers ago. He used to be a warrior for your father, but his wife left him for another, so he chose to move away and live alone. Your brother was gracious enough to give him three dogs. He dotes on them.”

  “He takes verra good care of the dogs. He loves them. Trust me. You’ll be pleased to see him with any of his animals.” Torrian called out for Kyle to assign ten guards to travel with them.

  As they walked to the stables to mount their horses, Bethia’s mother continued with her explanation. “I had so hoped Donnan would come back to live with the men, be one of your guards, Torrian, but he’s not ready yet.”

  “He may never be,” Torrian said. “He took his wife’s betrayal verra hard. He’s not been the same.”

  “He’s not likely to find another living out in the wild,” Brenna said. The stable boy saddled their horses, and Bethia stroked her horse’s velvety muzzle before mounting up like the others had done. While her mother flicked the reins of her horse and led them out through the gates, Bethia hung back until Torrian had assigned the ten guards their positions. Then brother and sister rode together to catch up.

  “I would hardly call where Donnan lives out in the wild.” Torrian laughed, returning to Brenna’s comment. “The man appears unkempt because of his hair and beard, but he’s far from bedraggled. He’s a step ahead of the rest of us, in my opinion.”

  “What do you mean?” Bethia asked, riding between him and her mother.

  “Donnan is clever and he loves to work with his hands. His pups have better living quarters than my deerhounds, and his house is a marvel to behold. Ask him to show you sometime, Brenna. You’d love his contraptions.” Torrian took the lead, glancing over his shoulder as his horse galloped toward the path through the forest.

  Bethia felt calmer after hearing her mother and brother discuss Donnan’s attributes. If the man would trim his beard or his hair, he might not look so frightening. She giggled, remembering her first thought upon setting eyes on him: that he looked like a giant bear. He was tall and broad-shouldered, though his clothing was so threadbare and loose, she couldn’t tell aught about the rest of his build.

  They traveled through the forest for a ways until they reached the stream that ran to the loch on their land. A large hut built from logs and stone sat on a hill not far from the water, with a separate building that likely served as a stable for his horse. His home was as impressive as Torrian had indicated—it looked large enough for a family of ten, to her mind. He’d used logs instead of stone and wove a finer thatch for the roof. However strange his circumstances, she decided she’d not pass judgment on a man who possessed this much skill and creativity.

  Once they neared his home, Donnan bounded out of the stable, which, upon closer inspection, was large enough for two horses and a pen for the dogs.

  “In here, mistress,” he motioned to her mother, a frantic expression still on his face.

  They all dismounted their horses and tied them to a post in front of his house, another convenience he’d added to his home. Bethia followed her mother inside the stable, gasping when she saw the deerhound that lay on a straw mat, the handle of a dagger sticking out of the side of her belly. Two other dogs paced the area, one baring his teeth at Brenna.

  Donnan stepped over to his pets, kneeling in front of them. Two were gray while the one with the knife in her belly had a dark red coat.

  “Torrian, red fur?” she asked.

  “Aye, Donnan wanted her, so I gave her to him. You don’t see many of them, and she’s a beauty.” Torrian knelt down beside the injured dog. “Isn’t that so, Wynda? You’re quite a handsome girl.” He moved his hand carefully toward the animal to see if she would remember and accept his touch. “Aye, you know my scent.” His tone was so calming that Bethia couldn’t help but smile at her brother. Torrian had always had a natural way with the dogs—it was one of the things that tied them together. He settled his hand on the animal’s neck, doing his best to coax her head down so she would relax for Bethia.

  Donnan called the other two dogs out and put them in a pen down the passageway. Then he returned and sat next to the injured dog’s head. “I was afraid to take the dagger out. I thought it would hurt her more.” He lifted the hound’s head and settled it on his lap.

  “You did right to wait,” Bethia said. “Donnan, do you think you need to wrap her muzzle so she won’t bite?”

  Donnan’s gaze caught hers and the pain in his eyes wrenched her heart. “Nay, she’ll not bite you with Torrian and me here with her.” He focused his attention on the dog. “Will you, Wynda?”

  Wynda gave a soft whimper but closed her eyes, as if signaling that she’d heard and understood his missive. Bethia’s heart melted as she watched the animal give her trust to the two tall men at her side.

  Her mother left and returned with a cloth. “Here, Bethia. I’ll pull the dagger out as carefully as I can, then you can apply pressure with this cloth wherever she’s bleeding most.”

  “Mama, grab my satchel. I’m going to give her something to make her sleepy. I don’t think ‘twill take much with Donnan and Torrian here to calm her. But I will probably have to stitch her up.”

  Donnan nodded. “Put her to sleep, so she’ll not awaken until the morrow. I do not wish to watch her in pain.”

  Bethia assembled what she needed, then knelt next to the large deerhound. She gave Wynda a draught to drink, leaving her hand near the dog’s muzzle so she would learn Bethia’s scent. After examining the area where the knife sat, she grabbed the cloth and said, “Go ahead, Mama. I don’t think her stomach or her intestines were pierced.”

  Her mother knelt next to her, placed her hand on the handle, and looked at her. “Donnan, keep your hand near Wynda’s muzzle. She’s tiring already, but we’d best be careful.”

  “I’ll not allow her to hurt either of you. Go ahead. Do what you must.”

  Her mother gripped the handle and pulled the knife straight out, careful not to twist it at all, and Bethia placed the cloth over the spot where the blood was the heaviest.

  “‘Tis not pulsating, so ‘tis not the big vessel, Bethia.” Her mother dropped her head to peer into the wound that was about half the length of her hand.

  “Aye, ‘tis a good sign.” Bethia lifted the cloth to examine the wound, trying to determine where she would need to stitch. “The bleeding is slowing.”

  “Is she going to die?” Donnan whispered, as if the dog would understand him if he spoke any louder.

  Bethia put pressure on the wound and said, “I think she’ll live. She’ll not be running for a while, but I don’t see any evidence of damage to her major parts. I’ll sew her up and put a poultice on it. You’ll have to do your best to keep her from licking the wound as she mends.”

  Donnan stared at her, his eyes warm and surprisingly trusting. Something in them drew her attention, though she couldn’t figure out why. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. Just keep her alive.”

  Bethia set to work with her mother’s assistance, which made her task go much quicker. An hour later, she sat back and said, “There. I think that should do it. She may never have a litter of pups, but I think she’ll be fine in a fortnight.” She applied the poultice, cleaned her hands, and wrapped the dog’s belly with linen strips. “I’ll leave you something you can mix with her food so she’ll stay sluggish. We don’t want her running.”

  “Whatever you say, my lady.”

  “Donnan, you may call me Bethia. My mother and Torrian’s wife, Heather, are your mistresses, not me.”

  He nodded, his brown eyes telling her how much he appreciated what she’d done for his dear pet.

  “She may not wish to eat, and I’d keep her away from the others tonight so they won’t take her bandage off. If they try to lick her wound, they may rip the stitches out. I’ll come back on the morrow to see how she’s doing.”

  “You promise? I’d come for you myself, but I don’t wish to
leave Wynda.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll see that she has an escort on the morrow.” Torrian helped Bethia clean up. When she finished, he asked, “Donnan, how did this happen?”

  The forlorn man finally stood, setting the sleeping animal’s head down on the straw. “We were out hunting and came upon a man on horseback alone. The dogs became unsettled, which is unlike them. I called them back and went to speak to the man, but he pulled the dagger out and threw it, hitting Wynda. Her squeals upset me so, I didn’t pay any attention to where he went. The next time I checked, he was gone.”

  Torrian said, “Strange. Someone you’ve never seen before?”

  “Aye, he was a stranger to me, but I haven’t been a warrior for a few years.”

  Brenna and Torrian exchanged a long glance. After watching them a moment, Bethia moved to the pen to pet the other two dogs, reaching over the door. They both responded to her quickly and eagerly.

  Donnan’s gaze followed her until he saw how quickly the other dogs accepted her. “My dogs didn’t like him. ‘Tis rare for them to react as such.”

  Bethia peered at Torrian and her mother, wondering what they were thinking. And yet…in her gut, she already knew.

  The man who’d kidnapped Sorcha, Jennet, and Brigid was still out there somewhere, and they feared he’d returned.

  Bearchun, a man who bore an unnatural hatred for the Ramsays.

  Chapter Two

  Once he was confidant Wynda would live, Donnan fetched an ale from his house and brought it outside, taking a seat on one of two boulders he’d arranged around a larger rock that he used as a table. He ran his hand through his hair before he stroked his beard, something he often did when lost in thought. The laird had taken his leave a few hours ago, along with Lady Brenna and Bethia.

  The lass had mesmerized him. She appeared to be of an age to marry, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether she was pledged to anyone. Though her warm brown eyes and brown hair matched her mother’s looks, it was the lass’s gentleness with Wynda that had truly moved him.