by Arnette Lamb
Cameron and Agnes spoke at once, but their words were unnecessary. Virginia recognized the couple at once. Papa had never cared for hats; the years hadn’t changed that. He still wore his hair longer than fashion; he even sported braids at his temples in the Highland way.
Agnes waved her arms. “We’ve found her!”
They waved back, Mama’s mouth tight with the effort to hold back tears. Papa hugged her, then cupped her face, much the same as Cameron had caressed Virginia earlier in the day. Rather than kiss Mama, Papa spoke.
She shook her head.
He spoke again.
In resigned agreement, she nodded.
Papa ripped off his jacket and climbed the ship’s rail.
“Hoots!” cried Agnes. “He’s going to swim over.”
Virginia’s breath caught, and she clung to Cameron. As she let the tears flow, she watched the best man o’ the Highlands plunge into the River James to reach her.
Chapter
7
“Man overboard!” Cameron yelled.
Traffic on the river slowed.
Moving behind Virginia, Cameron grasped her upper arms. “Worry not. He’s an excellent swimmer.”
She knew that, but it didn’t lessen her shock. In stunned bewilderment, she leaned against Cameron. Crewmen on the other ship hoisted a rowboat over the side. She bit her lip to stave off a cry as her mother was lowered into the boat.
MacAdoo threw a rope ladder. Hemp squeaked beneath her father’s weight. She couldn’t see him, but from the movement of the rope, she could discern his progress.
Her heart clamored into her throat. Time slowed to a crawl.
As trim and as agile as a man half his age, Papa bounded over the rail and landed barefoot on the deck. He’d shrunk, she thought, but no, she’d just grown taller.
He wore a pale gray silk shirt and long breeches of dark blue wool. She stood frozen as he brushed his hair from his eyes.
In the commotion, Agnes had hurried to the bow and fetched the MacKenzie tartan. “Here, Papa.”
He wiped his face, his attention fixed on Virginia. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you, lassie mine?”
Where would she find the strength to lie to him? And why hadn’t he found her years ago?
Cameron spoke softly. “If you did remember the past, you’d run to him.” A nudge at her back pushed forward. “He loves you more than spring. Go.”
Her feet moved, and in the next breath, she was engulfed in her father’s arms. The earliest of her memories, tucked safely beside an image of her mother brushing her hair, was this feeling of being surrounded by the strength of Lachian MacKenzie. He radiated joy and affection.
“I love you more than spring.”
He’d said that often. She wanted to tell him that he’d been in her thoughts every day, but she couldn’t. The little girl in her soaked up his love. The woman squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, holding on to that love and savoring it. Dampness seeped into her dress, but she didn’t care.
Drawing back, he turned with her to face the approaching rowboat. “Juliet!” With his mighty hands, he gripped Virginia. “It’s our lass, our Scrapper.” His voice boomed across the water. “Bless Saint Ninian, it’s our lass!”
From the boat, Mama waved. “Virginia!”
“MacAdoo,” Cameron shouted. “Man the ladies’ chair. The duchess of Ross is coming aboard.”
Virginia saw movement on the deck, saw MacAdoo hauling an odd chair to the bow, but she felt distanced from the events around her. She couldn’t look away from the woman in the blue dress, the woman who looked young enough to be her sister. Mama.
“Virginia?”
Cameron was calling to her. He gave her a smile of encouragement, and she reached for him. Her father held her fast.
“What happened to you, lass?” Papa’s voice was raw with yearning and thick with the burr of the Highlands. “Why did you not send word to us sooner?”
She girded herself and told him the first lie. “I couldn’t.”
“Sir!”
“Papa!”
Cameron and Agnes came to her rescue. Cameron gestured to Agnes. “You do the explaining, button maker.”
Virginia didn’t know why, but at the endearment, Agnes shot him a knowing look that promised retribution. “Hoots, Papa. She doesn’t know who she is. ’Tis her memory. I mean to say she now knows who she is, but she didn’t until—”
“You’re stammering, Agnes,” he interrupted, tossing her the cloth. “ ’Tisn’t like you.”
Cameron stepped between them. “What Agnes is trying to say is that Virginia has no memory of us.”
“What?” he roared, his hold on her tightening.
Agnes wadded the tartan. “A horse tossed her on her head, and she lost her memory.”
Then Papa’s hands were in Virginia’s hair, feeling her scalp, looking for an injury.
She found her voice. “ ’Twas years ago, sir.”
“Sir?” His blue eyes, the same shade as hers, studied her. Awareness unfocused his gaze. Then he shook himself. “Do you recall nothing, lass? Nothing of your kin or of Scotland?”
Uncomfortable with the lie, she moved to Cameron. “Only my life at Poplar Knoll.”
“They treated her kindly, Papa,” said Agnes. “Never was she forced or imprisoned.”
He sagged with relief and mussed his hair. “Thank the saints for that. I’d spare the beast no mercy who harmed you.”
“Your grace,” said Cameron with gentle reprimand. “We’ve overwhelmed her. She remembers nothing about us. We are strangers to her.”
Her suspicions about her father’s reaction had been correct. Later, when she’d settled herself within the family, she’d make amends. “I’m healthy and very happy to at last know where I belong.”
Papa cupped her cheek. “No one beat you or threatened you? No man forced you?”
She’d been right to lie. If he knew about Anthony MacGowan, he’d go after that man and risk harm to himself. He’d also learn the truth. He’d know that she’d soiled her clothing aboard that ship years ago. Reeking of vomit and confinement, she’d fought like a badger while they doused her with cold water. They’d bared her chest and laughed at her immaturity. When she’d tried to run, they’d shackled her. “No.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank the saints.”
Perhaps she’d never tell him.
“We’ll take you to Edinburgh,” he said. “The best doctors are there and Sarah too.”
“Hoots, Papa! The second-best doctors are in Edinburgh. Edward can perfectly care for her.”
He seemed to notice Agnes then, really notice her, for he moved away from Virginia. “You found her,” he declared. “You stubborn, trouble-finding, obstinate, half-Campbell female—”
“Papa!” The picture of offended womanhood drew herself up and stiffened her neck. With too much satisfaction, she said, “I told you she was alive. I promised to find her.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Curse me for an eel-eating Englishman, but you did.” She squealed when he swung her into his arms and turned in a circle.
Cameron pulled Virginia beside him and draped an arm over her shoulder. “A thrilling moment,” he said. “We’ve waited ten years to see them make peace.”
He’d said that before, but words paled beside the joy that passed between Papa and Agnes. It was the reunion Virginia should have had.
“A pity you don’t recall the past, Virginia.”
Something in his voice—strangely like criticism—drew her attention.
She looked up at him. “Why?”
He gave her a bland smile. “You’d be as happy as Agnes is now.”
An eerie feeling passed through Virginia, a sense of exposure, of vulnerability, as if Cameron could see through her lies.
A bundle of male clothing sailed over the railing. Quick as a snap, Agnes dashed to the left and caught it. The duke moved to the gunwale and helped his wife from the chair that
had been lowered over the side. Giving her a smack of a kiss, he spoke softly to her. She started, then with eyes wide with shock, she studied Virginia.
“Oh, no.”
“Take heart, Juliet. Come and see our bonnie lass, Virginia.”
Again, Cameron pushed her forward. She floated into her mother’s arms. Stifling a sob, she basked in her mother’s love.
With the joy came anger at the fate that had robbed her of a thousand moments like this.
“Oh, my darling girl. Worry about nothing. You’re safe with us. No one will ever take you away again.”
She drew Agnes into the embrace. “Thank you, and God bless your brave heart, Agnes MacKenzie.” Tears swimming in her eyes, Mama smoothed Virginia’s hair. “You have the most wonderful sister.”
“She doesn’t know us.”
“Is it true? You recall nothing?”
Fisting her hand, she said a silent prayer. “Only snatches.” Love squeezed her chest. “But I’m so glad you found me.”
Watching the pretense weakened Cameron. He had seen that kind of inner strength twice before in MacKenzie females. Mary had been the brunt of a jest staged by Robert Spencer, the earl of Wiltshire. On the night he’d seduced her, a thoroughly compromised Mary had righted her clothing and walked through a gauntlet of gloating English lords. Years earlier when Virginia’s gander had died, she’d insisted on digging the grave and burying her pet herself. Cameron had held her blistered hand as she’d said a prayer for the old bird.
The earl of Wiltshire didn’t deserve Mary MacKenzie. Virginia didn’t deserve this torment. Her reunions should have been joyous with abandon, not restrained with prideful deception. But judging her was wrong; so he followed his instincts. Good cause was behind her behavior. It was up to him to help her.
He exchanged greetings with the other captain and told him to follow them to Norfolk. For the remainder of the voyage, Cameron watched and listened as Virginia skirted the same questions from her father and mother as she had with Agnes and him. Fixed in a smile, her mouth occasionally trembled. She often ducked her head. She always made that fist when she lied.
In port, Cameron held back as Quinten Brown ushered the MacKenzies into the Wolf and the Dove Inn. Less than a week ago, Cameron had come here searching for Brown.
Mary Bullard, Brown’s partner in the enterprise, greeted them. A stout woman, her face and petite body rounded in good health, Mary limped forward, her weight braced on a cane. Over a fashionable dress of blue satin, she wore an embroidered apron. “Welcome again, Captain Cunningham.”
“Have you hurt yourself?”
She waved the cane. “A twisted ankle is all.”
Captain Brown grew flustered. “You’ve summoned the doctor?”
“Yes, Captain Brown.”
Seeing the way she dealt with Brown, Cameron couldn’t resist saying, “ ’Tis no riddle who the ‘dove’ is in this partnership.”
She folded her hands at her waist and turned her gaze to Captain Brown. “Coo for them, Quinten.”
He flustered, but his voice was overly solicitous when he said, “Mary, me love, be of good cheer and meet the Highland rogue himself, Lord Lachian MacKenzie, and his family.”
Lachian stepped back and, with a flourish, pretended to doff the hat he wasn’t wearing and sketched a courtly bow. “ ’Tis a delight to meet you, Mistress Bullard.”
Her face flushed with embarrassment. “Ooh, ooh.”
At the cooing sounds she made, Captain Brown laughed. “There’s my dove.”
She glared at him but spoke to Lachian. “Sweet Betsy, when talk gets out that we’ve the best man o’ the Highlands under our roof, we’ll be deluged with grovelers and favor seekers.”
Lachian said, “Some say America is a land of ne’er-do-wells.”
Her interest engaged, her gaze sharpened. “What do you say, m’lord?”
“I say you Americans should open your arms to the poor Scots who must share an island with the greedy Brits.”
Cameron choked back laughter. Virginia shot him a puzzled frown. He winked and moved beside her.
In his British speech, Brown said, “I’ve no quarrel with your people, MacKenzie, nor does Mary.”
Mary Bullard huffed. “You haven’t time to quarrel with anyone. You’re too busy bedeviling me, and I’ll speak for myself.”
He growled, jammed his coat on a peg by the door, and stormed up the stairs.
At each of his deafening footfalls on the wooden planks, Mary winced. The slamming of a door ended the noise.
Cameron had witnessed a similar row between them and thought Brown was spoiled by Mary. To her, he said, “Would you name Captain Brown a lovey dove or a mourning dove?”
As if it were a scepter and she a queen, Mary held on to the cane and smiled. “Both . . . on his good days. Well,” she went on, as chipper as could be. “How many rooms will you need, your grace?”
“Papa?” said Virginia. “May I have . . . If it suits you and it isn’t too much trouble—”
“What is it, lass?”
“I’d like a room to myself . . . if I may.”
He took her arm to pull her away from Cameron. When she did not move, he stepped closer. His eyes twinkled with affection. “You and Lottie always do.” More seriously, he said, “You’ll have a palace if that’s what you want, Virginia MacKenzie.”
He said her name so proudly, she choked back a sob. “Thank you, Papa.”
Agnes edged to his side. “Give it no thought, Virginia. He will not truly buy you a palace.”
Still holding Virginia’s hand, Cameron couldn’t help saying, “Aye, he will. So long as it neighbors his.” She looked up at him, and he added, “Don’t expect him to let you out of his sight.”
“She’s a MacKenzie, Cunningham.”
Only in reprimand did he address Cameron that way. “I know the feeling well. You fostered me.”
Agnes drew off her gloves. “Ten pounds says Papa posts a guard outside Virginia’s door, and it shan’t be me.”
Virginia shrank back.
Cameron held her fast. “Your grace, shouldn’t we settle the ladies in rooms before we have the first fight over Virginia?”
The duke spoke softly, but his glare was as hard as steel. “I seem to recall saying those same words in Edinburgh to a lad who was quick to overstep himself.”
They’d traveled to Edinburgh years before. Immediately upon arrival, Virginia and Cameron tried to sneak away from their lodgings and explore the city. Lachian had caught them before they reached the street.
But Cameron knew how to deal with the duke of Ross. “For that good lesson and hundreds more does my mother thank you. From her I learned to think first of the fairer sex.” He glanced at Mary Bullard. “Rooms, Mistress Bullard, and hot baths for the ladies.”
“My pleasure, sir.” With a thump and a shuffle, she exited through a swinging door.
Lachian moved closer to his wife and whispered in her ear.
She took great pleasure at his words, for her eyes closed and a secret smile curled her lips.
If love were a color, it glowed in rainbow hues around the duke and duchess of Ross. Cameron had come of age in that colorful glow. Lachian MacKenzie knew how to love females, how to make them glow as women. Cora, Lilian, and Rowena were friendly and affectionate, but as the eldest and Juliet’s first child, Virginia had received all their attention, theirs and the love of Agnes, Lottie, Sarah, and Mary. And Cameron.
Even in her mother’s womb, Virginia MacKenzie had been loved and anticipated. It had not spoiled her. Rather, it made her more giving to others. Having lived amid such harmony, a solitary life was preferable to Cameron than a life without it. He’d tried to find love and happiness with others. Adrienne Cholmondeley was perhaps his greatest disappointment, if only for the number of years he’d tried. But long sea voyages left them with only lust for a bond.
“My parents are beautiful together.”
What if her time in bondage had sto
len her ability to share her soul and welcome him? The old pain returned but not the emptiness. Virginia was alive and free, and for those blessings, he was thankful. “Aye” was all he could say.
Lady Juliet sighed. “Much more of that from you, and I’ll take a room to myself.”
Lachian grinned and challenged her. “You never would.” When she did not budge, he took her hand. “I’d only break down the door.”
She laughed.
Agnes laughed too. “Hoots! He’s going to scold her.”
Leaning close to Virginia, Cameron whispered. “ ’Tis a shame you don’t recall the MacKenzie way of scolding.”
“It will come back to me in time.”
At a time of her choosing, he was certain. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t sneak away from Poplar Knoll?”
Her eyes searched his. “Yes.”
Both of her palms were open. Relieved that she spoke the truth, Cameron thought of the future. She still faced a private reunion with her mother. In Scotland, she would repeat the process a dozen times beginning with her sisters Sarah and Lottie, who surely awaited in Glasgow. For those occasions, he pitied Virginia.
Now he must help her. “Would you care to take a walk . . . later?” he said for her ears only. “There’s a merchant’s colony on Becker Street, not far from here. Would you like to see it?”
She squeezed his hand and her eyes sparkled. “A market with shops and stalls and wares to be bought?”
“Of every kind.”
As children they’d had hundreds of similar exchanges. No matter the errand or mission, he could always count on Virginia wanting to go along. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been.
“Cameron?”
“Come downstairs later, and I’ll be waiting.”
Alarm widened her eyes. “You won’t be staying at the inn?”
His first reaction was to feel flattered, but the compliment was crosswise at best. Because of the lie and the emotional burdens she’d chosen to hide, she probably preferred Cameron’s company. But she looked like a woman with love on her mind.
“No, I’ll stay aboard my ship.”
“But you’d wait here and take me to the market?”
She was much too serious, her comment much too naive, since she damned well knew he’d take her anywhere. “Not if I must carry your basket.”