True Heart

by Arnette Lamb

Tears filled her eyes, and he knew she was thinking fondly of Mary. To cheer her, he said, “You must be stern with Lottie. If you let her, she’ll begin with your wardrobe and take over your life.”

  Breathing deeply, she mastered her sorrow. “Truly?”

  “When I told her I’d bought an empty house in Glasgow, she descended on the estate and furnished it.”

  “Were you pleased?”

  He’d always wanted Virginia for himself. With that desire had come acceptance of her family. Now he thought of them as kin. “I was and am flattered.”

  She stopped at a fence covered with barren berry vines. “Agnes said my happiest times were with you.”

  Cameron couldn’t have resisted kissing her again, not if his life had depended on it. “ ’Tis true.” Drawing her close, he cupped her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers.

  His imaginings had fallen far short of the mark. Putting his heart at her disposal came as naturally as steering into the wind. But the hot spur of passion that fired his loins was new. He’d cherished her with a lad’s affection. Now he needed her with a man’s desire, and if the way she kissed him back was any sign, she felt the same.

  He worked out the motions required to lay her on the ground and strip away their clothing, and he cursed himself for not wearing his tartan. With a ready blanket and an hour’s privacy, he’d ease the physical ache and in that lovely doing, tear down one of the barriers she’d erected between them.

  Not breaking the kiss, he eyed the ground around them. The well-worn path meant others often came this way. Heavy undergrowth offered shelter, but at what price?

  Faced with poor choices, he stifled his need and drew back. “Much as I want you, this is not the place.”

  “Much more of that and you’ll learn all of my secrets.”

  Was she tempted to end the ruse? He longed for that day, but until then he’d pressure her. So he said the first thing that popped into his mind. “You kept only one secret from me.”

  Her skin was flushed with passion. “I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “Yes, you do. You did not tell me of your plans on the day you left us.”

  She studied her hands.

  Did she blame him for what had befallen her? In the event she had not thought through the deception, he said, “A pity you cannot remember, for now you cannot seek justice against those who wronged you.”

  She stared into the distance. “If I did remember, my heart would be filled with anger.”

  Only that? He suspected other deeper emotions held Virginia MacKenzie captive and kept her silent. “Tell me what occupies your heart now?”

  “Is that your blackmail demand?”

  “Yes.”

  A flock of sparrows darted overhead. She followed their flight. “Thoughts of you. Agnes was very forthcoming last night.”

  Agnes had been Virginia’s foremost champion; she’d say nothing to hurt her. “What did the trouble finder tell you?”

  “Many things. Interesting details about your life.”

  “Believe none of them.”

  “She said you are responsible for the lifting of the ban on tartans and bagpipes. You’re a hero to many.”

  The subject always made him uncomfortable. At the time he’d begun the quest, he’d done so because he needed a purpose in life. He’d been rudderless without Virginia. “We half-Scots must work harder to make a place in the Highlands.”

  “You’re being modest. Agnes said you were.”

  “Agnes talks too much, especially on the subject of Scottish politics.”

  “I’m half Scottish, same as you.”

  “Say that in front of your father and you’ll regret it.”

  “Agnes brought me a MacKenzie plaid.”

  Virginia’s coloring would make pale the most festive of all the Highland tartans. “We’ll fly it atop the mast . . . in case we pass your father on the river.”

  “Agnes also said she went with you to China. You met the Emperor.”

  “We were looking for you.”

  She turned and headed back the way they’d come. “I’m glad you found me.”

  Now that she’d relaxed, he said, “Do you think you ran away?”

  “I do not know, but I have faith that it will all come back to me in time.” She lifted her brows and shot him a warning glance. Cheerfully, she said, “You will find yourself at the disadvantage then.”

  What moment would she choose to end the charade? “I think I have always been at the disadvantage with you.”

  She laughed at his flattery, but her tone was serious when she said, “What made you think I ran away from home?”

  Bittersweet humor filled him. “You asked me to take you with me, and when I refused, you accepted it too easily. I should have known at the time that you were up to something.”

  She looked away. “You could have taken me with you.”

  Not should, but could. Another unspoken message; she did not blame him. In their youth, he’d always known what she was thinking. Now he must listen in a different way.

  “No, I could not, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Don’t be sorry. We’re leaving. All will be well.”

  He smelled bacon frying just as the house came into view. He thought of the long voyage to Scotland, the private places aboard the ship, the hours they could fill with passion. “I’ll see you at the ship in an hour.”

  * * *

  Locating Quentin Brown delayed their departure. Using the time, Virginia hurried to the hamlet to retrieve her special keepsakes. With the basket of remembrances on her arm, she stood in the clearing. Paths led in every direction, paths she and the others here had worn smooth, paths that led both everywhere and nowhere at once, depending on who walked them.

  Logs and rocks surrounded the cold hearth and served as a meeting place for the people in the hamlet. In the beginning she’d sat on the fringe of this place. Later she’d claimed the stool-sized boulder near a sapling oak. Now the tree thrived, and she’d long since taken a position of authority near the fire.

  Songs were sung here and jests played. Handmade gifts were exchanged, disputes were settled. No matter the occasion, sadness would always taint her memories of those times. She glanced down the least used path and thought of the whipping post that awaited there. Silence, save the chatter of birds and insects buzzed in her ears. She’d been spared the lash, but watching the punishment of others had left deep scars on everyone in the hamlet.

  She said a silent prayer, asking God to watch over Fronie, Georgieboy, and the others. Her peace made, she went in search of Merriweather. She found him in the storehouse, a dust smock over his butler’s garb, the inventory journal open on the workbench. Merriweather hated counting the stores.

  She latched the door behind her. “I came to say good-bye.”

  He didn’t look up but took great care and time capping the ink and cleaning the quill. “Everyone else is in the fields.”

  Bond servants came and went. They were always held at a distance by the slaves at Poplar Knoll. Because of her age and the length of her indenture, Virginia had been accepted. Her attempt at escape had made her a prisoner. In the years that followed, the slaves had given their hearts to her; watching her leave would bring them to despair. “It’s better this way. Will you—?”

  “Yes, I’ll tell them, and I hope you will take some fond memories with you. There have been those.”

  The personal satisfaction of reading a purloined newspaper. Rewards after a successful harvest. Keeping her dignity in the face of utter shame. “I shall.”

  “Take this also, for luck,” He gave her a wooden medallion on a length of white ribbon. Carved in the smooth oak was a stately eagle.

  “I don’t know what to say except thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

  “It’s our symbol of liberty. Promise me you will not let some highborn Scot or Brit rob you of what you’ve earned here.”

 
; He was speaking again of character, of self-respect. “But I lied to Cam and my family.”

  He shrugged, but his keen gaze was anything but casual. “As much for them as for yourself. Worry not. The only thing your family and friends possess in abundance that you do not is guilt. Haven’t they gone on with their lives?”

  “Yes. That’s why I told the tale.”

  “Kindness has ever been your way—” He pulled off the smock and bowed from the waist. “Virginia, of the ducal MacKenzies. Now you are a woman off to take the next path in her destiny. Walk it proudly.”

  “I will.”

  Folding the smock, he draped it over his arm. “What have you decided to do? Where will you go?”

  She’d spent the night on Cameron’s ship, but she had slept little. She and Agnes had talked themselves into exhaustion. “After we find my parents, I’ll be reunited with the rest of my family in Glasgow. Horace Redding is there.”

  That got his attention. “Truly?”

  “Yes. I plan to give him the copy of ‘Reason Enough.’ ”

  “The one you penned on that exquisite rabbit hide?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’ll be very impressed, but I imagine he’ll be too busy admiring you.”

  She flushed. “Shall I remember you to him?”

  He laughed. He’d never set eyes on Redding. “Go.” He made a shooing motion with his aged hands. “Snatch up the life you were destined for.”

  “May I hug you?” She’d surprised him; his sudden uncertainty was proof of that. Partially for explanation but because she couldn’t leave without it, she said, “My family was always open in their affection.”

  He tisked and shook his head. “You battled much more than any of us knew, didn’t you, gal? Yet never have you looked downtrodden.”

  All of that was behind her. “I’ve won, Merriweather.”

  “You have. No one will ever break your spirit. Bondage certainly has not.” He held out his arms.

  She stepped into his embrace. He smelled of juniper berries and sad farewells.

  “Don’t forget,” he whispered. “Your family loved the girl. They’ll love the woman more.”

  She sighed, and her cheek grazed his wrinkled jaw. Words wouldn’t come. All of her good-byes to the slaves and bond servants would be said through Merriweather. It was better that way.

  In an overdone tone of authority, he said, “Don’t let that dashing Cunningham sweep you off your feet before you’ve found them.”

  “He’s very handsome and charming, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Stand proud of yourself, gal, and think of us. We’re losing a duchess. The MacKenzies and Cunningham have everything to gain.”

  The weight left her. “If you are ever in Scotland . . .”

  “I shan’t be.” He stepped back and smiled. “I think I shall enjoy living under a freely elected president rather than the Hanoverian king of England.”

  His dignity was contagious, and pride infused her. “God bless you, Merriweather.”

  Tucking the medallion into her basket, she took her time walking away from Poplar Knoll. She had also said her good-bye to Mrs. Parker-Jones, who had cried and again expressed her regret. Virginia had comforted her and promised to write as soon as she arrived in Scotland.

  As Virginia walked the path of herringbone bricks that led to the river, her steps grew light. She’d come here as a child. Somewhere between a bewildered ten-year-old and the woman she was today, a girl had thrived. That child had learned to tend her own wounds, both inside and out. When loneliness had threatened to smother her, she’d fought back tears by imagining herself at home in her soft bed, her mother singing a favorite lullaby.

  Now she was free, but as she boarded the ship named for her and prepared to lie to those who loved her, she felt as if she were stepping into another kind of bondage.

  Cameron was all smiles and charm. He’d donned his tartan plaid, a yellow shirt, and cockaded hat. The feather rippled in the breeze.

  Agnes paced the deck, the heels of her shoes clicking on the boards. Quinten Brown stood at the ship’s wheel. MacAdoo and two others stood ready to cast off.

  “Do you have everything you need?” Cameron said, taking her arm.

  Stronger legs would help, she thought, trying to still her wobbling knees.

  Agnes threw up her arms. “Of course she does. But whatever she’s forgotten, we’ll buy in Norfolk.”

  Cameron closed his eyes and winced. “Save me from her, Virginia, for I swear she can drive a man to madness and bruise him with words.”

  He didn’t look bruised. He looked confident and appealing to Virginia. She thought of the kiss they’d shared in the forest, and her stomach bobbed.

  “Captain Cunningham. Wait!”

  Turning, Virginia saw Mrs. Parker-Jones running down the path, a package in her hands. “You’ve forgotten the painting.”

  Painting? What painting?

  Cameron yelled, “Hold the plank.”

  A confused Virginia watched Mrs. Parker-Jones board the ship and push a framed painting into his hands. It was the drawing from the parlor. “Why do you want that painting?” she asked.

  “ ’Tis a gift for Mary.”

  “Let me see.” Agnes took it from him. “I remember this. It was in the parlor. It’s rather like that drawing Mary made of you and Virginia as children.”

  He glanced at Virginia and vowed to make her forget the name Duchess. “Aye, ’tis. Mary will appreciate the style.”

  Agnes grew smug. “When we return with Virginia, Mary will draw you again as a savior, but instead of redeeming Scotland’s tartans, she’ll give you a palm and lance and declare you Pancras, the savior of children. You’ll again be the talk of the isle.”

  With great conviction, he said, “Nay, Mary will leave me out of her political cartoons.”

  Immediately alert, Agnes barked, “What secrets do you know about her?”

  “Enough to save my pride. A pity you have no such weapon against Mary’s wicked quill.”

  “You cannot hold her hostage and keep quiet about it.”

  They argued like Georgieboy and his sister. Virginia stepped into a familiar role. “Will the two of you bicker away the day? Or shall we leave this place?”

  They both laughed. Agnes started to hand back the painting but stopped. “Mrs. Parker-Jones?” she said. “Who is this Duchess who signed the painting?”

  Fidgeting, the mistress eased toward the gangway. “She was a bond servant acquired by the former owner.”

  Virginia hurried to say, “She left years ago for Kentucky.”

  Cameron took the painting from Agnes. “Well, I’m sure Mary will enjoy her work.”

  “I shan’t detain you further. Have a safe journey. Fare you well, my lady.”

  At the formal address, Virginia cringed in fear. She didn’t know how to be a noblewoman. Her knowledge of the gentry had ceased when she was ten years old. Before that, she’d been forgiven slips in protocol because she was a child. She’d been indulged.

  Wood scraped against wood as the plank was taken up.

  Virginia marshaled her courage.

  “Stand by the braces, mates,” Cameron shouted. “To the sea we go.”

  A cheer went up, and crewmen scurried in the rigging and manned the mooring lines. Amid a slapping of canvas, the ship began to move.

  The moment of freedom was at hand. Virginia’s throat grew tight.

  “Care to stand at the bow?” Cameron asked, his hand sliding to the small of her back. “Without Agnes?”

  “Haud yer wheesht!” Agnes shouted, but her tone belied the command to silence Cameron.

  Unable to speak, Virginia nodded and, on stillshaking legs, moved to the front of the ship. A MacKenzie tartan draped the bulwark and fluttered in the breeze. Everything and everyone moved too slowly. She gripped the railing and pushed as if she could speed the ship along. Fly away from here, she urged, and like a wagon hitched to a fine team, the Maiden Virginia ease
d into the fast-flowing current.

  They stood at the bow in companionable silence. Behind them, Agnes chatted with Captain Brown. Sloops and barges passed, even a water jenny, as the tinker’s boat was called. Occupants of the other conveyances waved; Cameron and Virginia returned the greeting. The farther they sailed, the more her tension eased, and when she breathed in the salty smell of the ocean, she knew a keener sense of relief.

  Seemingly satisfied that Brown was not steering them to disaster, Cameron rested against the rail. “Are you saddened at leaving?”

  What could she say? What should she say? “A little.” That was the truth; she felt miserable for the lies.

  “How did you spend the holidays here?”

  The truth was too bittersweet. “In church,” she lied. “That’s where we have the Nativity play.”

  He stared out at the river, his eyes narrowed against the wind. “The Parker-Joneses accompanied you to services?”

  She intended to embellish the tale, then change the subject. “Yes, they have their own pew.”

  Glancing down at her, he said, “Tell me about the Nativity.”

  Around the bend in the river came another ocean vessel, its sails trimmed, a dash of colorful cloth in the rigging.

  “Were you in the play?” Cameron prompted.

  Merriweather had spoken of the guilt her family and Cameron carried. Virginia felt it now. “Yes. We use farm animals. When I was young, I played an angel. One year I was the wise king carrying frankincense.”

  “You have rare spices in Virginia?”

  She smiled at that. “It was actually pieces of sugar cane . . . for the children. And how do you spend the holidays?”

  “At sea most often. Had you ever considered leaving Poplar Knoll?”

  She thought of the poorly made raft. That girl had swallowed defeat and learned from it. But she must be careful in her answer. She chuckled and said, “Oh, yes. Every year at spring cleaning.”

  He laughed too, and she reminded herself to tell him more of such stories.

  “Ahoy, the Virginia.”

  The sailing ship was almost abreast of them.

  Agnes raced to the bow. Cameron clutched Virginia’s arm.

  “It’s Papa and Juliet.”

  “It’s your parents.”