by Arnette Lamb
He remembered that smile, and with it came a vision of the happy, trusting girl she’d been.
“I haven’t a basket, but I shall buy one, and thank you, Cameron, for telling me about the market.”
“Words of thanks have never been needed between us.” He was tempted to add that they’d always been honest with each other, but she knew that.
If her memory was intact, she also remembered the pledges they’d made. How many of those vows had she broken? How many more would she break? He didn’t know, and now he faced another challenge, for her father must be told the truth.
“Come, your grace,” he said, nudging her toward her mother. “Have a dram with me while Lady Juliet builds a nest for us in this place.”
The duke had been watching them, and his cool gaze moved from Cameron to his daughter, then back to Cameron. “I’d be mistaken in hearing rudeness in your tone, aye?”
It was a subtle challenge, but forceful enough to heighten the tension between them. Cameron had spent a decade under Lachian’s roof. He knew he must lighten the uncomfortable moment. Casual familiarity seemed best. Pulling a toilworn face, he said, “Your grace, have you forgotten that I’ve been at sea with Agnes for better than a fortnight?”
Agnes huffed. “I resent that!”
Chuckling, Lachian tweaked her nose. “Pity any man such a fate.”
She batted his hand away.
Still in the throes of the jest, he gave Cameron a smile of conspiracy. “Allowance granted, lad. My firstborn can drive a man to madness.”
Agnes squared her shoulders. “Come, Mama, Virginia. Another moment in the company of these wretches, and I may resort to violence.”
“Please no, dear,” said Juliet.
As one, Cameron and Lachian threw up their hands in surrender.
“Trolls.”
Virginia smiled up at Cameron. Under his breath, he said, “You’ll be safe here.”
* * *
“She remembers all?”
Now that he’d said the dreaded words to Virginia’s father, Cameron hurried to explain her actions. “Yes, she does. Time has perhaps dulled her specific recollections, but no fall from a horse stole her memory. She invented the story.”
A look of disbelief smoothed the duke’s features. “How can that be?”
An aproned barman set frothy mugs of ale on the freshly scrubbed table, then lit a lantern that hung on a wall sconce near the door to the kitchen. Faint yellow light illuminated the corner. Cameron had chosen the table for its unobstructed view of both the door and the stairs. The other tables were unoccupied.
He fished coins out of his sporran and paid the barman for the beverages. Pocketing the money, the man paused to stir a kettle of rabbit stew that simmered over the hearth.
Lachian drank deeply. “Good ale.”
Cameron waited until the barman returned to the kitchen. “ ’Tis a long story.”
All contemplation, the duke stared into the mug. “On the voyage I wanted to believe that you’d found her, but as I’m a man to my soul, lad, I feared another disappointment.”
Cameron had experienced the same torment. “I know. ’Twas the longest walk of my life . . . down the hall of that plantation to meet her.”
Fatherly love lent a gentleness to Lachian’s rugged features. “She’s bonnie, aye?”
Cameron expected Lachian to ask what had happened to Virginia. If the duke of Ross wanted to savor the moment, Cameron could certainly oblige. “Aye, but I knew she’d be a beauty.”
“Did you now?”
At the slyness in Lachian’s voice, Cameron grew defensive. “She’s bonnie enough for me.”
“For any man with eyes. Although her sweet Virginia speech would be a song to a blind man.”
“Yes.”
Lachian’s gaze, more concerned than judgmental, grew keen. “I saw the way you looked at her, but you cannot know the woman she’s become, Cameron. You loved the lass, and if the past is clear to her, she remembers that she was fair smitten with you. ’Tis foolish to think that she loves you still.”
Out of respect, Cameron let the insult go. No one knew Virginia as well as he. She wanted him; she just wasn’t ready to admit it. “I don’t expect her to ravish me right away.”
Lachian tried not to laugh and lost. When the humor passed, he said, “What happened to her?”
Cameron related the story he’d heard from Rafferty.
“You believe him?”
“Yes. She did lie about attending church, and she’d have us thinking she’s been the housekeeper, but that’s also a lie.”
“She’s afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Does Agnes know?”
“No.”
“Pity. She believed when we did not.”
A fresh bout of guilt assailed Cameron. “Yet Virginia feels safe with me.”
Without malice, Lachian grumbled, “A bolted door couldn’t separate you as children.”
Under the circumstances, a stretch of the truth seemed reasonable. “That has not changed, sir. Our special bond remains. She just isn’t ready.”
“I’m troubled by that. Have you thought of Cholmondeley? He’ll not take kindly to you forsaking his Adrienne.”
Cameron turned his attention to the ale, which was fresh and yeasty. Adrienne would understand or she would not. He’d signed no formal betrothal with her father, and he often thought their association was a convenience to her.
“You cannot wish away your liaison with the English girl.”
Cameron almost challenged him. Lachian MacKenzie’s roguish reputation was legend. Prior to meeting Lady Juliet, he’d seduced more women than was proper, even for a newly reinstated and eligible duke. But good manners kept Cameron silent on that subject. “Virginia has a great strength about her, you know.”
“ ’Tis my Juliet’s doing.”
“Aye, but she looks like you.”
“She does at that.” He smiled fondly. “You taught Virginia to swear.”
Cameron wouldn’t be baited. “ ’Twas Agnes who taught her that.”
Lachian put down the mug. “If you shed your honor or anything else with her before she explains herself, you’ll answer to me for it.”
That tone had once struck fear in Cameron. “You of all people know how I feel about Virginia.”
“I remember well how a young Cameron, eager for a taste of the world, behaved around her.”
“She was only ten. I respected her.”
“There’s the point, eh? She’s a woman now, and I’ve seldom seen a maiden, even a decent one, prevail against your charms. I tell you, lad, we’ll have this lass in our lives before we give her to a husband.”
A husband? Fierce determination rose in Cameron. “She’s mine. She has always been mine.”
“But does she want you? Who is to say that being betrothed to you is not the reason for her deception?”
That possibility hadn’t occurred to Cameron. He knew that indifference had not fueled the kisses they’d shared. Virginia wanted him. Before meeting Rafferty, Cameron had told Virginia about the betrothal. In retrospect, her reaction made sense. She had not expressed outrage or surprise. She’d asked few questions because she knew the answers.
“I say the betrothal to me has no part in her lie.” He had to believe it. “Unless to strengthen her resolve to keep the past a secret.”
“You’ve kissed her, made easy with her?”
Marshaling patience, Cameron kept a reasonable tone. “Her hands are stained with tanning potions. According to Rafferty, she lived in the slave hamlet. Pride for the way she was treated keeps her silent.”
“Does pride or a guilty conscience prevent you from answering me? Have you kissed her?”
“With Agnes hovering about us?” He chuckled for effect. “Surely you jest.”
Lachian gazed at the empty stairs. “True. My apologies, Cameron. Agnes would surely break your leg—or worse.”
Her foreign fighting skills
would fail with Cameron, but he’d keep that knowledge to himself. Other more important matters troubled him. For honest reasons, he’d betrayed Virginia to her father. But beyond the logic lay frustration. He longed to talk openly with her about the missing years.
“What else did this Irish cooper say?”
“He swears that Anthony MacGowan brought her here and sold her to that bastard named Moreland—he owned Poplar Knoll at the time.”
“Why did she not tell them who she was?”
“She did, and they named her Duchess for it.”
“They didn’t even call her by name?”
“Nay.”
“Bloody hell! I cannot fathom it, nor have I the heart to test it.”
Cameron did, and when the opportunity presented itself, he’d find out if she answered to the name Duchess.
“Why couldn’t she get word to me?” Lachian lamented.
Cameron’s throat grew tight at the story he was about to tell. “She tried to escape once on a raft she’d built herself.”
Lachian winced. “Ah, the Scrapper. How she must have suffered. As I’m a MacKenzie, I’ll kill Moreland.”
A greater retribution awaited the duke of Ross, and Cameron intended to steer him there. “His wife died. He’s feebled and taken rooms in Richmond. Killing him would be a gift. Leave him to wither in his misery.”
“Who owns the land now?”
“The Parker-Joneses. They treated her decently.”
“Maybe she stays silent because she fears I would harm them?”
“She has good cause to hate MacGowan and Moreland, but Mrs. Parker-Jones helped her.”
“Where does this MacGowan make port?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve sent MacAdoo to the harbormaster to ask after the bastard.”
Lachian gripped Cameron’s arm. “You find him, lad, and bring him to me—alive. I’ll rip his heart out.”
The tricky part began now, for maneuvering the duke of Ross was no easy feat, even in trivial matters. Too much was at stake now. “She’s ashamed, and we’re to blame. Even you said you were relieved that she had not been enslaved. Agnes wilted in relief when Virginia said she had been well treated. Put yourself in her place, and you’ll understand why she fears that we will pity her.”
Lachian considered that. Twice he started to speak. Twice he faltered. At length he said, “You always did know her mind, but Cameron, should you seduce her before she admits the truth—”
Cameron slapped his right hand over his heart and fisted his left. “On my honor as a sailor, I will not seduce her.” She’d wanted intimacy between them, and he’d make sure she got it.
“See that you don’t. Heed me well, lad. Intimacy with her will leave you vulnerable.” He glanced down, then up again. “I know the pain of keeping secrets from the one you love.”
Now that they were conversing civilly again, Cameron relaxed. “With four illegitimate daughters, most born of noble mothers, you had an obligation to keep secrets.”
“I meant a hurtful secret, when it’s kept out of mistrust.” Again he glanced toward the stairs. “ ’Twasn’t me who was dishonest.”
Lady Juliet had hurt the Highland rogue? That notion baffled Cameron. Putting aside his conscience, he took advantage of the duke’s vulnerability. “I think I should take Virginia to Scotland. She wants to go to Glasgow.”
“Nay. She comes with me. She’ll change her mind about seeking retribution. She’s a MacKenzie.”
Be reasonable, Cameron reminded himself. “Yet she pretends otherwise. Remember how young she was and how proud? Then think about MacGowan.”
As if it were a curse, Lachian spat the name. “MacGowan.”
“You remember him? He often ported at the Black Isle.”
“Aye, and he knew whose daughter she was when he took her.”
“He did it to hurt you.”
As if the idea were foreign, Lachian said, “How can she accept the idea that he will never pay for his crime?”
“I believe ’tis a bargain she made with herself. She traded pride for retribution.”
Lachian pointed a finger at Cameron. “Hear this bargain. I swear he’ll not get away with it.”
“Nay, he’ll hang from a gibbet if she speaks out. He knows that.”
“But why did MacGowan do it? Why would he want to harm me a decade ago? I hardly knew the foosty scunner.”
Cameron had given the matter considerable thought. “Have you forgotten? A year before Virginia disappeared, you took Brodie’s side against MacGowan in a dispute over the Baltic trade.”
Lachian shook his head in disbelief. “He wasn’t the only disappointed captain. Four other clans wanted the trade.”
“He’s the only one who carried a grudge.”
Nodding slowly, he narrowed his eyes. “But we questioned every captain who’d ever docked at the Black Isle.”
“MacGowan took revenge, then changed ports of call, for I’ve not seen him in Scotland or England since.”
“He must’ve gloated the day he took her. Stealing a child and selling her.” He shook his head. “God, what a mean piece of work, Cameron. I’ll kill him . . . slowly.”
Surely MacGowan knew that; he’d fled to evade capture. “When he learns that she has been reunited with her family, he’ll worry.”
Distracted, Lachian reached for the already empty mug. Slamming it down, he clenched his teeth. “Hanging’s too good for the likes o’ him.”
If Cameron’s suspicions were true, the duke had not considered the danger MacGowan still posed. “What if he comes after her again . . . to silence her?”
Lachian’s angry growl vibrated through the room. “He’ll have to go through me, my kinsmen, and every man who names me friend.”
Cameron went for the kill. “Not if you find him first.”
The duke was surprised by that and confused, for he watched Cameron like a hawk after a startled mouse.
Cameron took a deep breath and prayed for luck. “I think I should take Virginia and Agnes to Glasgow. You can hire Brown’s ship and go after MacGowan. Revenge should be yours, my lord.”
“MacAdoo knows?”
Cameron nodded. “Aye. ’Twasn’t fair to send him asking after Anthony MacGowan without knowing why.”
“I’ll tell Juliet.”
“Will you go after him?”
“Aye.”
He’d agreed quicker than Cameron expected.
“I see I’ve surprised you.”
“Aye, you did. I thought you’d insist on taking Virginia home.”
An evil glint narrowed Lachian’s eyes. “I want MacGowan. When I find him, I’ll sell him to Ali Kahn. He’ll rot in the hold of a Moorish galley.”
Cameron’s stomach roiled at the thought. “A fate worse than death in a place blacker than hell.”
“ ’Tis decided then.” He slapped the table. “I’ll go after MacGowan. You’re to take Virginia and Agnes to Napier, and remember this one thing. Agnes will deal with you if you misuse Virginia. I’ll deal with what’s left of you.”
Now that he’d prevailed, Cameron could be magnanimous. “She killed three men, Agnes did.”
“Men who preyed on children.”
Cameron held up his hand. “I’d be mistaken in hearing rudeness in your tone, aye?”
This standoff was new.
To further his case, Cameron said, “Agnes alone will drive me to madness. Let me take Lady Juliet.”
Cameron might have asked for Lachian’s ducal coronet, so incredulous was he. “Nay, you cannot have my duchess.”
“All of your sons-in-law speak in one voice on that subject. They’ll gladly give back your daughters in exchange for Lady Juliet.”
He scoffed. “They say that to gain my favor.”
Cameron laughed; it was an old story and completely false. “What favors are you passing out today?”
“As if I could give you anything you cannot buy yourself, and my daughter is unavailable.”
&
nbsp; “Virginia needs me and who better to help her?”
He pointed that accusing finger at Cameron again. “First you must help her learn to trust us, lad.”
“I shall, sir, and gladly.”
Lachian MacKenzie was more protective than most men, but he’d had more practice sheltering females. With eight daughters and a protective nature, he’d become legend in the Highlands and beyond. And then, because Cameron felt vulnerable, and because Lachian had been like a father to him, he said, “ ’Tis a bloody hard thing, sir. She pretends no knowledge of me or what passed between us.”
Lachian nodded in sad understanding. “ ’Twill change, lad.”
Cameron extended his hand. “Good luck finding MacGowan. Promise you’ll send word to us, keep us informed of your findings.”
Lachian hesitated. To encourage him, Cameron said, “You and Agnes can at last make peace.”
He sighed with overdone exhaustion. A moment later he smiled with unfeigned affection and shook Cameron’s hand. “Hoots! She was right, all those years when she swore Virginia was alive. Won’t Kenneth crow at that?”
“Your heir will go the way all men do where Agnes MacKenzie is concerned—carefully.”
“Speaking of Kenneth. When you arrive in Glasgow, send word to him and your parents. They’ll want to cut short their visit in Italy.”
Cameron’s parents were in Venice with Cameron’s sister, Sibeal, who would soon birth her first child. Both Kenneth and Cora MacKenzie fostered with Cameron’s parents and had traveled with them to Italy. They’d receive word, but Cameron would not encourage them to return immediately. Virginia needed time, and Cameron’s parents deserved to see their first grandchild.
“We’re lucky men, Cameron.”
Cameron laughed. “And like to grow maudlin unless we change the subject.”
“True.” Lachian called out for more ale. “Now, tell me everything that has gone between you and Virginia.”
Chapter
8
Upstairs at the inn, her heart racing with joy, her thoughts twisted by guilt, Virginia watched her mother command the maids.
“Bring two more pillows . . . soft and fresh ones.” Turning, she smiled. “My daughter Virginia likes two pillows on her bed.”