Chapter 26
T he next morning dawned every bit as bright and beautiful as the day before. Finola cooked them all a hearty breakfast in the small kitchen, which lacked the modern range but was otherwise uncannily familiar. Once they were all fed, it was time for work to begin. Bethany followed Finola out into the garden and launched into the business of learning about herbs. After just a few moments, she realised that this would not be easy. There were so many small, nondescript plants, all with such wildly different properties.
“It’s going to be quite a mission to remember all of this,” Bethany admitted. If only writing was a bit more common in Dal Riada. An encyclopedia of medicinal herbs would have been invaluable.
“You’ll lean,” Finola said, smiling. “And it’s all worth it in the end.”
Bethany nodded vigorously. She loved the idea of being able to help heal someone. And she could remember all of this. She’d graduated with a good degree in time travel science, hadn’t she? She had a brain, when she got the chance to use it. All of this work would be challenging, but that wouldn’t stop her.
When she heard the sound of hooves coming down the lane, she ignored it. They’d had a couple of passers-by earlier in the morning, local farmers heading to market in the town. Finola seemed to know everyone.
This time, though, Finola got to her feet, rubbing her back as she straightened. She walked over to the gate. Half-listening as she tried to identify a particularly tricky herb, Bethany heard the old woman greet someone. But the answering voice shattered her concentration. She jumped to her feet and whirled around just in time to see Comgall walk into the garden. She gasped, and the cuttings in her hand tumbled to the ground.
Comgall strode towards her - then stopped, as if he was suddenly uncertain what to say. He stood there amongst the flowers, twisting his fingers together and staring at her mutely.
Bethany drew a deep breath and pulled herself together.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said politely. “I hope you are well.”
“Yes,” Comgall said, still staring at her. “Bethany, do you have time to talk for a while? Perhaps we could go for a walk somewhere. It’s a lovely day.”
Bethany cast an anxious look at Finola.
“Go ahead,” the older woman said with an encouraging smile. “I’ll watch Matthew. He’s doing such an excellent job helping me weed the vegetable plots.”
Bethany drew another deep breath. Why did her lungs not work properly when Comgall was around?
“A walk would be lovely, my lord,” she said. As long as she could refrain from embarrassing herself .
The two of them set off down the lane. It really was a lovely day, with dappled shadows spreading across the dirt road, and birds singing amid the green leaves.
“How are you?” Comgall asked, breaking the silence that stretched between them for a moment too long.
“I’m very well,” Bethany said, smiling up at the sky. “I like it at Finola’s. She’s kind. How are you, my lord?”
“You don’t need to call me that,” Comgall said.
Silence fell for another awkward moment.
“It’s been a little difficult trying to sort out the new inauguration,” Comgall said at last. “The situation is rather unusual. Everyone’s been arguing about the protocol.”
“I can imagine,” Bethany murmured.
Had he ridden all the way out here to complain about his inauguration?
He stopped abruptly, right in the middle of the road.
“I miss you, Bethany,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t even be here today, with everything going on at Dunadd, but I gave my guards the slip and rode out to visit you. I wanted to check that you really are happy with Finola. I couldn’t bear it if you felt forced to stay somewhere you hated.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry,” Bethany assured him, trying to stamp out the spark of warmth blossoming in her heart. “I’m very happy.”
Comgall nodded and resumed pacing alongside her, his footsteps firm on the dusty earth.
“I wish you’d told me you were leaving,” he said after another pause.
More words that Bethany had not expected. She fumbled for a response.
“I assumed you were busy with Eithne,” she said lamely .
Comgall stopped again. But this time, he reached out to grab her hands, turning her to face him.
“Eithne is not you ,” he said passionately. “It isn’t the same. It could never be the same.”
Bethany looked up at him in surprise. She thought perhaps she could fall into his eyes, huge pools of hazel, full of anguish and confusion. A mirror of her own.
And then he kissed her. She found herself at the edge of the road, backed up against a massive oak tree as Comgall kissed her over and over again. The bark was rough on her back, but how could she complain when he was so wonderful and warm against the rest of her body? She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and closer until she could barely breathe between the hardness of the tree and the hardness of Comgall’s body. His hands shifted to her hips, bunching up her dress until she felt cool air on her thighs. Her own hands dropped to his tight stomach and slid beneath his shirt. Fumbling with his clothes, Bethany almost let herself go.
Then she came back to her senses like she’d been hit with an abrupt splash of cold water. She pushed him away and clutched the tree for support as she breathed hard.
“This is wrong,” she gasped. “Comgall, you’re betrothed to someone else. We can’t do this.”
“Bethany,” Comgall started, reaching for her. Then he paused, his hand suspended in the air. His eyes darkened with pain, and he let his hand drop. “You’re right,” he said heavily. “Of course you’re right.”
He took a step backwards, away from her, although he never broke eye contact.
“I should go home,” he said quietly.
Bethany nodded. But he did not move. Neither did she. They just stood there, gazes locked. Bethany’s entire body felt heavy and aching as she stared up at him. The beautiful, wonderful man she could never have.
He lunged forwards and kissed her hard, cupping her cheek with a sweetness that melted her bones. Then he strode off, leaving Bethany gaping after him.
She hovered in the trees for a moment, trying to collect her emotions. She could not cry. She would not cry, not over a man who had always been promised to another woman. He had never been hers, so she had never lost him. Half-hidden behind the thick undergrowth, she watched as Comgall collected his horse and rode back past her, headed for Dunadd. She did nothing to catch his attention. Instead, she stood there, dry-eyed and frozen, as he rode straight past without seeing her.