will arrive before long,” Neil Forbes said.
Bethia stood there, her fists clenched. The insult was great. The bridegroom was missing. He thought so little of his bride-to-be that he didn’t feel it was necessary to be present at her arrival. Well, she dinna want to see him any more than he wanted to see her. She hoped he never appeared. Mayhap he was hunting a boar. Mayhap if she were lucky enough, the boar would win.
But all she could do was clench her teeth as the Forbes clansman led the way inside the structure.
The interior was as unpromising as the exterior. Cobwebs and dust permeated the hall. Tapestries were faded and coated with dirt. Bethia had an overwhelming impression of gloom and neglect.
She involuntarily shivered, hoping no one saw it. She stiffened her spine, forced her fingers to relax from the tight fists her fingers had unconsciously formed.
Her home. She’d once thought her wedding day would be warm and wonderful, full of expectation and laughter and joy. Her family would be drinking to future bairns, her brothers offering toasts.
“Milady?” The handsome Forbes was openly staring at her, his eyes curious and … something more. Jealousy? Certainly not for her, not as she stood, her dress stained, her hair falling away from the braid in damp ringlets.
“I would like to retire to my room,” she said, forcing her body to maintain a dignified posture.
The Forbes clansman nodded and said something to one of the men standing near him. In minutes, a girl appeared.
“This is Trilby. She will show you your chamber and fetch whatever you need.”
The young girl—probably no more than fourteen— curtsied. “If you will be comin’ wi’ me, milady,” she said.
Privacy . How much she wanted it. She had not been alone in the past two days except for humiliating moments when she’d had to ask permission to perform personal tasks. Even then, she was followed at a discreet distance. She never wanted to see another English uniform or a Forbes plaid. Dear God, how she wanted to hide from them all. She wanted to hide her anger, and the humiliation of being abandoned by her prospective bridegroom. He apparently wanted to show her how little he wanted the marriage, and how little value he gave to her feelings.
Well, she would not give him the pleasure of her anger.
She followed the girl up the winding stone stairs and down a long corridor to a room toward the end of the hall. The girl opened the thick wood door and stood aside while Bethia walked in. The room was as cheerless as the ones downstairs. Only the large feather bed looked comfortable.
Her small bundle of possessions arrived next. Two tunics, two overskirts made of sturdy wool, silk stockings, and several pairs of shoes were all that had been allowed her, in addition to the plain dark riding dress she currently wore, and that poor garment was travel-stained and dirty.
“May I have a bath?” she asked, not at all certain her request would be granted.
“Aye, milady. The marquis told us to do all in our power to make you comfortable.”
She weighed that comment. Nothing had made her feel welcome. But, then, had she not dreaded meeting her bridegroom? Why, then, was she vexed that he had not been present for her arrival?
But she immediately knew the answer. The rude discourtesy boded ill.
“Where is the marquis?”
Her face turned red. “I canna say, milady.”
Bethia knew immediately that the girl knew the lout’s whereabouts, but was reluctant to say. She asked no more questions. She needed a friend, mayhap even an ally. This Trilby probably came as close to one that she could expect.
“Then a bath would be glorious,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips.
The girl backed toward the door. “Aye, milady.”
Then Bethia was alone. She went to the narrow window and looked down at the courtyard. This was to be her home, unless the damnable marquis decided he did not want a Jacobite bride. She would make it quite clear that