True Heart

by Arnette Lamb

  He said one thing and meant something else. A French term described it, but the words, taught by Sarah, had faded from Virginia’s vocabulary. Not much use for the old tongue at Poplar Knoll. Bothered by the loss, she asked him for the words.

  “Double entendre?”

  “That’s it.” She soaked up the knowledge.

  His hand found her wrist. Her fingers reached for his. When they were joined, he said, “What else have you remembered, other than pranks I played?”

  “That my father is the best man o’ the Highlands.”

  He nodded in greeting to an elderly couple and smugly said, “You heard Captain Brown say that.”

  She clung to the simple joy she felt at acknowledging strangers out of respect. “Careful or I’ll think you don’t want me to remember.”

  “You’ll think I—?” He shook himself and his mood grew chilly. “Now would that be a Christian deed.”

  His sarcasm puzzled her, and she grew defensive. “You’re meaning is . . . ?”

  “I thought the past would return to you in a snap of the fingers.”

  An interesting answer, but it asked more questions. “No, the past comes back to me in bits and snatches.”

  “What compels it? A sound or a color or a feeling?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I kissed you, did it summon a memory?”

  He spoke casually; yet his attention was firmly fixed on her. “Yes, kissing you reminded me that I should know better.”

  “Why? I’m the man you promised to marry. I’m the man who shared your every heartache, toothache, and bellyache.”

  Maintaining the facade exhausted her. “Please, you must think of me as a stranger.”

  “I could sooner hack off my right hand and toss it into the sea.”

  The sheer honesty shamed her; at the touch of his lips on hers, she had seen a glimpse of the girl she’d been. Had she embraced the image too vigorously? “I don’t know what to say, Cameron.”

  “Cam,” he insisted. “You always called me Cam.”

  A clever conversational nudge, she had to admit. “I’m certain the past will come back to me, Cam.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You already have, and Agnes has promised to aid me.”

  “Believing her is a mistake.”

  He’d said that before. Agnes proclaimed them as close as brother and sister. The search for Virginia had forged their friendship. “Even when she told me you asked to be named godfather to her new daughter?”

  As if he were asking after the fit of her shoes, he said, “Care to share the duties with me?”

  She almost tripped on her own feet; it was customary for husband and wife to fill the roles. “You’re bold.”

  “I was hoping for a yes rather than a character judgment.”

  The hot edge to his tone sparked her defiance. “I’d care to consider it.”

  He stopped at a fruit stand. “Then you haven’t recalled the truly important things about us?” That poignancy spoken, he innocently said, “Apple? Or something else? Have whatever you like.”

  He wouldn’t get away with that. “Agnes was correct. Troll perfectly suits you.”

  He winked and eyed the apples.

  Leaving him to his deviltry, she let her gaze wander over the exotic bounty before her. Early melons, coconuts, oranges, and three shades of berries overflowed their baskets. Ordinary plums were considered a delicacy at Poplar Knoll. She eyed the candied figs. Her mouth watered, and she tried to remember how long since she’d been given a choice at mealtime. Had she ever tasted a coconut? She couldn’t remember, yet she knew the word and recognized the nut. It was a true memory loss and annoying. Not only would she have to work at feigning knowledge of the past, she had to work to remember other things.

  “Are you ignoring me? I’ve bored you.”

  So befuddled was she by his easy charm, she lost the gist of the conversation. “What were we discussing?”

  He laughed. “Our appetites.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  As innocent as a spring lamb, he said, “By asking if you’ve made up your mind what to eat?” He indicated the baskets of fruit.

  The vendor thumped an apple, then began polishing it on his apron. Cameron held up his hand, and the man tossed the fruit.

  The sound of him biting into the crisp fruit made her stomach growl. But she couldn’t make up her mind.

  Cameron nudged her. He held the apple in his teeth and with his hands, picked up three coconuts. Leaning down, the apple in his mouth, he spoke to her with his eyes. “Take the apple,” he said without words.

  She reached for it with her hand. He backed away. “Coward.”

  Emboldened, she moved to him and sank her teeth into the unblemished side of the apple. A teasing light gleamed in his eyes. Or was it something serious?

  After the trouble she’d had with a simple term like double entendre, how could she be expected to discern anything as complex as his thoughts?

  He winked and let go of the apple. For an instant in time she felt adrift, felt herself waver. Inside she teetered on the edge of the very emotion she wanted from him: love. But without trust and honesty, affection had no foundation on which to grow.

  “A coconut for your thoughts.” That said, he began to juggle the nuts.

  She recalled the May Fair where he’d learned to juggle. He’d paid a gypsy to teach him.

  “Come, Virginia, what are you thinking?”

  “I had it in mind to ask if you were flirting with me.”

  His hands faltered. The wickedness of their youth made her say, “You’re bungling the juggle.”

  The silliness of the exchange captured them both, and they giggled as they had a thousand times. It was the kind of spontaneous laughter that had drawn reprimands from their parents and jealousy from their siblings. He caught wayward coconuts, kept one, and asked the vendor for a knife. He pitched the nut into the air and with a downward slash of the machete, whacked the fruit in two. Milk splattered to the ground.

  Waving half of the coconut under her nose, he grinned. “Are you thoroughly captivated?”

  Her mind silly with the joy of the moment, what could she say but the truth? “Yes.”

  “Then I was flirting with you.”

  “What if I had said no?”

  “I would have admitted to no more than conversational prying.”

  Which was exactly what she was doing. Cloaked in a playful mood the repartee seemed harmless, but that was deceptive and dangerous. Much more of his charm and she’d give herself away.

  From his money pouch, Cameron paid the vendor. “Send the coconuts, apples, and . . .” He paused, soliciting her preference.

  Her mouth watered. “The melons.”

  “And the melons—all of them—to my ship, the Maiden Virginia.” Pausing, he glanced down at her. “So named for this fair flower of Scotland.”

  Virginia blushed to her toes. How much sweeter could this man get, and how could she keep up the facade in the face of so much male charm? An answer escaped her.

  The commerce concluded, Cameron accompanied her to the bookstore, the chandler, and the smithy, where she purchased her own flint and steel.

  At the fishmonger’s stall, a commotion broke out. A child wailed, a young boy shouted in alarm. The fishmonger stood over the children, his eyes blazing, a terrified kitten clutched in his beefy hand. With a flex of his fingers, he could crush the little cat.

  “Off with you ruffians,” he yelled at the children. “Your mousers ate yesterday’s profit. And this one”—he shook the kitten—“this one still bears a cut on its nose from the pinch of one of my crabs. Reckon I could use this one for bait.”

  “Oh, no, please,” the lad begged. “She’s the only one left from the litter.” He opened his hand. “See? We got a penny each for the others.”

  The frightened cat began to wail too. The monger shook the poor thing again. “More fool he who pays good coin for n
onsense. It ain’t worth a penny alive.”

  Virginia dashed forward. “I’ll give you a penny if you will not hurt that cat.”

  He slung the cat. Virginia gasped. Limbs sprawled, eyes bulging, claws bared, the poor thing flew through the air toward her. Even before she caught it, Virginia winced. But when the needlelike claws sunk into her breast, she yelped.

  Cameron cursed and reached for the cat.

  “Wait.” In a soft voice, she tried to comfort the kitten. In response, the terrified bundle of fur crawled up her chest and clung to her shoulder.

  Cameron snatched up a herring and shoved it under the kitten’s nose. Hunger won out over fear, and the cat latched onto the fish. Cameron put both down. The tiny kitten tried to drag its catch away, but the fish was twice its size.

  The lad soothed his sibling until the little girl quieted. In dirty, chubby fingers she held an empty basket.

  “You’ve bought yourself a kitten, Virginia.”

  “Oh, no.” She had only wanted to prevent a cruelty to the animal. Pets were unthinkable. In the spring of her thirteenth year, she’d gotten attached to a crippled duckling. The overseer had killed it for his Christmas dinner. This kitten she could save.

  Cameron was frowning. To the lad, he said, “She comes from mouser stock?”

  “The best in the tidewater, sir.”

  “I just so happen to be in need of a ship’s cat.”

  “She’ll make a fine one, sir. Girls make the best mousers.”

  His sister giggled.

  Cameron handed the boy a half crown. At the sight of the coin, the lad’s mouth dropped open.

  Pushing the money into the boy’s hand, Cameron said, “I’ll need the basket as well.”

  “For that much, you can have my sister too.”

  The girl screwed up her face and yelled.

  “I didn’t mean it, Hixup.”

  To bear out her name, the girl was suddenly beset with hiccoughs.

  Stunned, Virginia watched the exchange of money for goods. Then Cameron pried the kitten from the fish and, dodging bared claws, shoved it into the basket. Over what could only be called caterwauling, he fastened the bone latch on the basket’s flap to keep the animal inside. “Would you care to trade?”

  He had said he wouldn’t carry her basket. The troll. “How thoroughly male and generous of you.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  Smug troll. Parcels switched, they headed back the way they’d come.

  “Why didn’t you want the cat?”

  What could she say? The truth begged to be spoken, and because that wasn’t an option, she managed a part of it. “I couldn’t be sure that I could keep it at Agnes’s home.”

  “You could stay with me in Glasgow.”

  It was scandalous the way he baited her. “Does Agnes like cats?”

  His sly grin told her he was aware of her switch in conversation. “If the cat were yours, she would tolerate it, but I bought the creature—”

  “Creature?” She reached for the basket. “I’ll buy it back from you.”

  He held it up, out of her reach. “A trade suits me better.”

  Oh, Lord. What would he ask for? She didn’t know enough about the workings of polite society to carry on the jesting game with an adult Cameron. Fortunately, she could tell the truth about that. “I will not go down a path of intimacy with you.”

  “Then name the path you will travel with me.”

  “Friendship.”

  She might have told him she’d inherited the British Isles so broadly did he smile. “Splendid.” He slipped the handle of the basket over her arm and took the parcel containing her personal items of clothing and violet-scented soap. He looked at ease, as if he often carried the intimate clothing of ladies. But that was unfair. For a promise of cordiality from her, he’d given her a kitten, and she was too excited about having a pet of her own to argue.

  The sound of her father’s voice calling her name stopped her. She looked at Cameron, and his expression turned stormy. She followed the line of his vision and saw Papa coming toward them, his strides long and angry. Beside him, MacAdoo hurried to keep pace.

  “Why is he angry, Cameron?”

  “Because he’s overprotective. He’s the chieftain of his clan. He’s a duke to the English.” He shook his head and expelled a breath. “Shall I go on?”

  Not even when she’d used his best sporran to gather bugs for her pet lizard had her father shown such anger.

  “He’ll not be angry with you. I should have told him that I was taking you shopping.”

  No. Cameron had always borne the brunt of Papa’s lectures, no matter if Virginia had played a part, which was often the case. She’d been too young and selfish to stand up for herself. Not any more.

  Before he could unleash his fury on Cameron, Virginia stepped between them. Smiling brightly, she held up the basket. “Look, Papa, Cameron bought me a kitten. What should I name her?”

  Only slightly distracted, he didn’t answer but glared at Cameron, who was almost a head taller.

  “Papa, you cannot be angry because Cameron took me shopping. He offered to carry my purchases . . . even the ladies things.”

  The bundle fell to the grass. Handing Cameron the basket, she scooped up the parcel and took her father’s hand. “Very generous of him, wouldn’t you say?” Her father said nothing. Glancing back at Cameron, she gave him a wink. “Oh, goodness, Papa. I’ve embarrassed him.”

  Cameron chuckled as she led her father away, but the sound held as much humor as her father’s expression.

  “Doubtless you’ve embarrassed him, lassie,” her father said with overdone sarcasm. “Everyone knows Cunningham’s a stranger to a lady’s toilette.”

  Feeling out of her depth, she chided herself for broaching the subject in mixed company. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the inn, where you’ll stay unless a family member accompanies you.”

  But Cameron was “family” to her; he had always been. “We’re friends, Papa.”

  “ ’Twill go no farther than that, I assure you, until we’re home.”

  Part of her thrived on his attention, but she’d been on her own for too long. For ten years she’d sought permission for the most basic of life’s needs. With freedom came volition, and she intended to exercise her own. Yet she owed her father an explanation.

  “Papa, I have never been to Norfolk. I hadn’t the means to—”

  “Bloody hell!” He faltered, and when he looked at her, his eyes gleamed regret. But not pity, thank heavens. “I’d forgotten, lassie. I did not think about that. Still, you cannot traipse about with Cunningham.”

  Loyalty, ingrained and practiced in her youth, urged her on. “Because you are a duke, I cannot have a friend?”

  “Because he is a rogue.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Everyone says the same about you.”

  “ ’Tis different.”

  He didn’t squirm well, but the exchange was so welcome she couldn’t let the subject die. “How is it different?”

  “I’m not bound to answer you.”

  “But you will.”

  As if the words were pulled from him, he said, “ ’Tis different because you are my daughter.”

  “You gave Agnes to Edward Napier without a fight.”

  “Agnes knows what she wants.”

  “How do you know that I don’t?”

  “There’s the root of it, isn’t it, lassie?” He bore down on her, and she had the distinct impression that he was angry at her for more than not telling him she’d gone off with Cameron. But that was ridiculous; Papa couldn’t know that her memory was intact. Almost intact.

  Placating him seemed wise. “Forgive me. I shan’t go out again without telling you.”

  “Good, because I’m trusting Cunningham to take you to Glasgow. Agnes will accompany you—”

  “You’re not coming with us?”

  “No.” He stopped at the tanner’s stall
and made a show of examining the hides on display. “Napier and I own a factory in Boston.”

  His gruffness surprised her. Did he feel guilty about seeing to his own affairs? He’d come a long way to find her, and he’d never been one to shirk his responsibilities. The disappointment tasted bitter, but she’d shouldered worse. She had years to enjoy his company now that she’d been given back her life. Struggling to sound chipper, she said, “Everyone in America knows of Edward Napier. His sliding fan motor revolutionized the tobacco industry.”

  Again, he paused. “You sound like Sarah.”

  This gentle tone was the one she remembered. Soon Virginia would see the sister who had taught her to count and hold her own with Lottie, Agnes, and Mary. The prospect brought tears to her eyes.

  “What’s amiss, lass? Would you rather come to Boston?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She had assumed they’d all return to Scotland together.

  “You sail with Cameron and Agnes. Your mother and I will be there before you can put names to all of the new faces.”

  Uncertain of how to proceed, she shifted the bundle. “When do you sail?”

  “On the morning tide. Same as you.”

  “Cameron said nothing about leaving tomorrow.”

  “Oh, well, it must have slipped his mind. Have you more errands?”

  She didn’t believe him, and now he’d changed the subject. Or perhaps Cameron followed her father’s orders. No, she couldn’t picture that.

  “I’ve arranged for a private dining room. Your mother’s meeting with the cook.”

  “Does Mama know we’re leaving tomorrow?” She hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

  “Aye, that’s why we want you there.”

  All she could think to say was, “I’ll miss you.”

  He draped an arm over her shoulder. “By harvest next, you’ll be calling me overbearing.”

  It will come a little at a time. She took that pledge to heart. By harvesttime, she’d have told him the truth and begged his forgiveness. They’d be on even footing, as they had in her childhood. Now she must hold back and play the role of stranger.

  “I hope I shan’t give you reason to bear down on me. I hope to make you proud.”

  “You will, lass, when the time is right.”

  She had the oddest notion that he knew the truth.