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Still baffled about what she’d missed, Bethea returned Branwen’s embrace.

“I’ll see ye upstairs in a few minutes,” Branwen said. “I’ll start packin’ yer belongin’s.”

So Bethea was to leave then. Bundled off like a wayward child. She couldn’t help the spark of resentment that flamed behind her breastbone.

Until she reminded herself it was unfair to jump to that conclusion when she’d not heard the conversation.

Drat her inattentiveness and daydreaming.

With Marjorie’s help, Branwen limped from the salon, Keane trailing behind them.

At the door, his hand on the latch, he turned and offered his first genuine smile. “Camden, I do appreciate what ye did for Bethea. I ken yer hands were tied.”

“Ye’d have done the same, Cousin.” Camden acknowledged the thanks with a wry smile and inclination of his dark head.

“Aye.” Keane’s gaze slid to Bethea. “I’ll await ye in the entry.”

After he’d quit the room, Camden settled his large form on the chaise beside Bethea. Why did the room suddenly feel tiny, and as if the air had been sucked out of it? And why must she be so aware of the virile male so close that his heat beckoned her nearer? His musky, masculine scent enticed her—drew her ever nearer, much like the proverbial moth to a flame. And yet… having her wings singed might be worth it.

“Keane’s goin’ with ye to arrest Montieth?” She wasn’t surprised, nor particularly worried. Keane and Camden knew their way around a sword and were seasoned warriors.

“Aye. He needs to feel like he’s doin’ somethin’ to vindicate ye.” He flicked the tip of her disheveled braid. “I canna permit him to kill the rotter, though. Montieth’s too valuable alive.”

“Mmm.” Despite the truth of his words, Bethea was shocked at the degree of loathing for Montieth heating her blood. She wanted him dead. That knowledge forced her to face a side of herself that, until today, she’d never have believed existed. She was capable of deep, abiding hatred.

It made her sick to her stomach.

Camden quirked his mouth into a smile and brushed a lock of hair off her face. “I dinna ken how long this business with Montieth will take, but Keane is eager for ye and me to depart Edinburgh as soon as ’tis completed.” He hesitated and then took her hand in his. “He’ll spread the word that we eloped and are now enjoyin’ a romantic weddin’ trip.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Our families are close, and we’ve been in love for years.” His brogue deepened, and a decidedly primal glint gleamed in his blue eyes.

She nodded, having a hard time concentrating when he kept brushing his thumb over the back of her hand, and with his marble-like thigh pressing into hers. She gave a toss of her head. “Elopements are so common in Scotland, the gossip should be minimal.”

Minimal?

Nae, but perhaps subdued?

His expression thoughtful, he nodded. “Unless Montieth flaps his mouth, which is doubtful given his culpability. And when he’s arrested in a couple of hours, nae one will regard anythin’ he says.”

At the mention of Montieth, her stomach toppled over. A fake marriage was far preferable to despoilment at the earl’s hands. She owed Camden much. “I’m afraid I was speakin’ with Branwen and missed whatever decision ye and Keane settled on.”

Since whatever they’d decided also affected her, it would’ve been nice to have been included in the decision. But men were forever making decisions on women’s behalf, and women were expected to accept those choices docilely.

She wasn’t peeved, exactly, for she recognized that if she’d been paying attention to the conversation, she might’ve interjected her opinion. It was unfair to blame them.

He scratched a hawkish eyebrow, a slightly enigmatic smile curving his mouth. “Yer family will remain in Edinburgh for at least a month to reinforce the elopement subterfuge, and we will journey to Culloden.”

“Culloden?” She tilted her head, pulling her eyebrows together in her confusion. “No’ Trentwick Castle or Eytone Hall? I dinna understand.”

“Keane has a house there. Actually, more of a huntin’ lodge a couple of miles outside of the township.” He relaxed against the back of the chaise, drawing her with him.

She should protest, but couldn’t bring herself to voice an objection. In truth, it felt rather wonderful, tucked into Camden’s side, his heat warming her.

“We’ve agreed that until Montieth, Etherin’ton, and whoever else they’re collaboratin’ with are securely locked in whatever prison His Majesty decides upon, ye may no’ be safe,” he murmured into her hair.

Did he just sniff her hair?