Page 26
Even at this hour, the place buzzed with conversation and laughter.
Camden escorted her to the chamber assigned to him. Leaving the door ajar, he swiftly lit a lamp and nodded his approval. Small and humble, but clean. A bed took up most of the room, an extra quilt folded across the foot. On one side of the bed stood a washstand, and on the other, a chair. A single window, the shutters closed and barred from within, was centered in the wall across from the bed.
As this was the third story, no one would be entering that way. He closed the door, and after inspecting the sturdy bar that acted as a detriment to unwanted visitors, he cupped her shoulders.
Her eyes huge in her pale face, she gazed at him with such trust, it humbled him.
“I have to leave ye, Bethea.”
A sharp rap portended the mistress of the establishment’s entrance. “My, but ’tis a busy one,” she said, blustering into the already cramped chamber. She set the tray upon the chair and motioned for a teenage lad to pour steaming water into the basin from the pail he held.
“Thank you,” Bethea said with a generous smile for both of them. “The food smells delicious.”
She’d always done that—had a ready smile for everyone and made everyone feel special. Mayhap she’d been too polite to Montieth, and he’d mistaken her kindness for something more.
Mrs. Dowerdy beamed. “There’s soap and linen on the washstand.” She wiped her hands on her apron before pushing several strands of wispy dark blonde hair under her cap. “If ye havna need of anythin’ else, I’ll go below. Those soldiers seem to think my girls are available for purchase.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “I’m a God-fearin’ woman, and I run a respectable establishment.”
She cast Camden a gimlet eye before her less than subtle gaze slid to Bethea. He’d told her husband Bethea was his betrothed, but her lack of a chaperone or maid certainly made that assertion suspicious. Not to mention, she still wore his coat.
Bethea gave him a helpless little glance.
“Thank ye.” Camden produced a coin, and that seemed to mollify the woman.
She took herself off, giving the weary lad orders as they departed.
“Bar the door and dinna open it for anyone but me,” Camden said. “If I can manage it, I’ll send Bryston up to guard the door.”
Bethea nodded as she sank onto the bed and put a hand to her injured head. “How long will ye be?”
He shook his head. “I have nae idea. Try to eat somethin’ and then rest.”
“I shan’t be able to sleep a wink, but I am hungry.” She lifted the cloth covering the tray and smiled. “Scotch pies.” She held two out to him. “Here, ye must be starvin’, too.”
He gratefully accepted them with one hand and drew her close with the other. He dropped a kiss onto her forehead in what he hoped was a brotherly fashion. What she stirred in him was most certainly not fraternal, but there was no time to explore that now.
Sir Walter awaited him, and the king’s advisor was not a patient man.
Camden stepped from the chamber and drew the door partially shut. “Secure it after me.”
Taking a bite of the savory pie, he waited until he heard the bar slam home before heading below, gulping down the remaining pie as he went. He needed a pint of ale now.
Hell, a bottle of whisky wouldn’t go amiss.
He might’ve saved Bethea from Etherington and Montieth’s despicable plans for her, but how in Odin’s teeth could he salvage her reputation?
He couldn’t.
Ruined.
That was what she was.
Utterly and irrevocably.
Even before he brought her to the inn, she’d been beyond redemption. Merely being alone with Etherington was enough to cause a scandal, and then she’d been alone with Camden. And now two score men, as well as Dowerdy and his wife, had seen her.
An astute lass, surely Bethea understood how perilous her situation was.
Camden didn’t want to contemplate Keane’s reaction. Keane was the product of rape and a forced marriage. He’d come unhinged if he thought Bethea had come to harm, or if a hint of scandal or impropriety was associated with her name.
