by Arnette Lamb
As sisters, they’d taught Virginia to prank and bedevil, to forgive and forget. Agnes had always been the leader, but Mary could connive the best.
“You must tell me. I’m completely trustworthy.”
“Agnes anticipated her wedding vows.”
“No.” Virginia thought of the man behind the machines that modernized the world, the man who put happiness in Agnes’s heart. “Edward Napier seduced you.”
A completely disgruntled Agnes shot to her feet.
Cameron howled with laughter.
As she passed him, Agnes shoved his shoulder, sending him for a tumble. Quick and agile, he sprang to his feet, crouched low, his palms open, his hands held stiffly in a defensive position. “Care to try that again, countess?”
Tried patience glittered in Agnes’s eyes. “You’ll be sorry, Cameron.”
“Will I?”
She sighed and took up the challenge, giving Virginia her first glimpse of weaponless fighting. They squared off, circling like poorly matched adversaries, for Cameron dwarfed Agnes.
Then she spun on one leg, the other snapping like a whip to kick him in the chest. In a blur of motion, he grasped her foot and flipped her over his shoulder. Blond hair flying, she came to rest on her back, Cameron’s knee bracing her body, his elbow poised above her neck.
Thinking he’d hurt her, Virginia jumped up. “Let her go, Cam.”
Agnes’s eyes bulged in surprise, and she grasped his arm. “Where did you learn that?”
“From Auntie Loo’s cousin.” Cameron sprang to his feet and extended his arm.
Agnes took his hand and stood. Righting her clothing, she said, “I don’t think I like that. Nay, I don’t like it a wee bit, but—”
“There’s more where that came from.” As cocky as a rooster with a new hen, he towered over her.
She marched off, wearing her pride like a mantle.
“Agnes,” he called after her, “we’ll finish it properly.”
Halting, she turned. Grudgingly, she placed her hands on her knees and bowed to him.
He returned the gesture, then waved her off. “Now go and pluck the chickens.”
Cameron came back to Virginia. “We’ll make port any day now. Would you like to climb to the crow’s nest?”
She’d roamed the ship from stem to stern, but she had yet to climb the mast. In her youth, the crow’s nest had been her favorite place aboard ship, but she wasn’t supposed to know that. “How can you tell how close we are to port?” She waved her arms in a circle. “It all looks the same to me.”
He pondered the question. “I suppose instinct best describes it. And there are currents. They run like rivers in the ocean.”
She recalled a conversation between him and Quinten Brown during the journey from Poplar Knoll to Norfolk. “Like the Hampton Roads, which aren’t roads at all but water?”
His gaze captured her. “Bright lass. In the tidewaters, the currents are smooth and steady. Here, they are swift and powerful.”
“Can you see them?”
“Sometimes.” He held out his hand. “Climb up with me, and we’ll look for one.”
He pulled her up with ease, then called for the spyglass. Tucking it into the waist of his breeches, he led her to midship. She preceded him up the mast. They passed crewmen, who were too busy with the laundry to spare a glance. Work in the fields kept her body strong and nimble, and she wasn’t even winded when she reached the top.
The crow’s nest, larger than a water barrel, seemed smaller than she remembered, but she’d been a child the last time she’d stood up here.
Cameron stepped in beside her. “There.” He pointed to a spot off starboard.
In the midst of the ocean swells, she noticed a slight difference in the pattern of the waves. It did look like a river. “Where does it lead?”
“Eventually to the continent of Australia—New Holland ’tis sometimes called.”
The penal colony. England’s current dumping ground for criminals, seditionists, and those accused of treason. Virginia’s stomach soured at the throught. “What’s that current’s name? Is it famous?”
His arm brushed hers. “You name it.”
She considered every nautical term she’d heard during the voyage. “Neptune’s Trickle.”
He scuffed her head, which was covered by a kerchief. “Well done. Now ’tis famous.”
She almost laughed at his gallantry. What had come over him this morning? “Save your charm.”
“For who?” He turned, his hip grazing hers. “My betrothed?”
In the narrow space, their bodies constantly touched, but it seemed to Virginia that his elbows brushed her breasts too often and lingered overlong. “As if you’ve spent the decade chaste.”
From below, MacAdoo yelled, “Laundry’s afloat.”
A ghost of a smile lifted Cameron’s lips. “Shall we debate man’s primal need for a faithful mate?”
He looked ready to debate Thomas Paine and win; Virginia retreated. “No. It’s very selfish and unfair.”
“ ’Tis a manly thing.” He rubbed the edge of her kerchief between his thumb and forefinger.
The fresh scent of his bathing soap mingled with the tangy salt air. Virginia’s mouth watered. “How many women have you had?”
“If you wish to know how many women have engaged my affections, I can truthfully say one.”
Even in the face of that compliment, she refused to demur. “If I ask you to name the others?”
His smile turned rueful. “I will decline to answer.”
Martinet perfectly described him. “I didn’t really expect one.”
“You brought it up to make trouble between us, because you are confused by your feelings for me.”
Meaning the opposite, she said, “You know me so well.”
If a look could speak, his expression said, Better than you think.
He wouldn’t get away with that. “Better trouble between us than ruin.”
“That’s vague, Virginia. Say what’s on your mind.”
For weeks, she’d thought about that evening. Awake in her bunk, she’d relived those glorious moments of loving. But the imagining always ended the same. “I can still see Mama’s face. I shamed her.”
“Nay.” A peculiar rumble deepened his voice and his knee brushed hers. “She loves you well.”
“I was naked in your arms.”
He sighed and lifted his gaze to the sky. “I remember it well.”
Flattered and embarrassed at once, Virginia looked out to sea.
“Juliet was your father’s lover before they married.”
According to Papa, Mama was the most honorable woman in Scotland. Virginia huffed. “No.”
“Aye.” Cameron pulled out the spyglass, and his arm touched her breast. “Ask them. Now that you’re older they will tell you. I assure you, your mother wasn’t shamed at what she saw. She was sad because she doesn’t want to lose you so quickly to me.”
A likely view of the situation for him. “Then why not take me to Boston with them?”
He braced his feet apart, bringing his leg in contact with hers, and raised the glass to his eye. “Perhaps she thought you were engaged by choice.”
Engaged? A benign term for the passion that had passed between then. “You did come to my room intending to seduce me. Don’t you dare deny it. I just made it easy for you.”
In a smooth motion, he scanned the horizon, his chest rubbing against her. “I’m very glad you wanted me, but I have one, small complaint . . .”
“Complaint?” Aghast, her pride reeling, she squared her shoulders, hitting his arm and almost making him drop the spyglass.
“Yes.” He leaned into her, tipping her back over the rim of the nest. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me.
Virginia grew apprehensive. “I have?” What did he know?
He pressed his thighs and his hips against hers. He didn’t bother to hide his desire, rather he lifted his brows, pointedly drawing her a
ttention to his arousal. “You didn’t think I would see the truth, did you?”
Perched high enough in the air to make an ordinary fellow dizzy, she felt completely secure. And absolutely free. Joy filled her, and she gave up the fight to resist him. “Please don’t tell Agnes.”
“Why not?” He undulated against her. “She’ll understand.”
Under the circumstances, only honesty would do. “I’m not ready, Cam. They aren’t either. They should get to know me before judging me a wanton.”
“They are fair people, and they love you.”
She wouldn’t be swayed. “I need more time with them.”
He turned on the full force of his charm. “And with me?”
Yearning filled her. “I do not recall being dragged up the mast.”
His gaze roamed over her face, her neck, and her breasts. “You came willingly with me.”
“Oh, very well, yes, I did, but I have one complaint.”
Her declaration pleased him. “Complaint?”
“And a bargain. You’re too charming by half. If you’ll belay some of it, I’ll admit to being susceptible to some of it.”
He pressed closer. “Only that?”
Her boldness had limits. She grew defensive. “I didn’t sail the Atlantic looking for you.”
“But you would have come to me”—he leaned full against her until her back arched over the edge of the nest, and he touched his lips to hers—“the moment your memory returned.”
Conscious thought fled. He’d brought her to the top of the world. Now he wanted to take her to heaven. She couldn’t summon a protest.
He was so close she could count his eyelashes. “Someone will see us.”
He tipped his head and glanced over the side. “No. Look at the deck.”
She peered over the side and relaxed. The laundry had been cleverly hung out to dry in such a way that blocked the view of the next from the deck.
“Now look at me.”
She did, and the affection glittering in his eyes robbed her of the strength to resist him. But she wouldn’t go meekly into his arms. “It does not give you leave to rule my life.”
He threw back his head and spread his arms wide in surrender. “Then I give you leave to rule mine.”
“For how long?”
Watching her, he opened his mouth to say something serious but changed his mind. Grinning, he said, “An hour or so, I should imagine.”
Flushed with embarrassment at both his bold words and what they were about to do, she couldn’t resist tickling him.
“Nay, nay.” He struggled as he always had.
“You wiggle like a hooked worm.”
He grasped her wrists to stop the torment. “You remembered one of our finer moments.”
That earned her a languid kiss more sweet than seductive. Just when her thoughts turned to dreamy imaginings, he knelt at her feet and trapped her legs between his. Looking up at her, he slipped his hands under her shirt and splayed his hands over her breasts.
She sucked in a breath. He closed his eyes and smiled as he caressed her.
“Take off that kerchief,” he said. “Let the wind have your hair.”
She did, holding the scarf into the breeze and watching it flutter. One thought rose in her mind: here they were, she and Cameron and the horizon in every direction.
When his lips touched her belly, the thought fled and she almost lost her grip on the cloth. His palms still kneading her breasts, he used his teeth to untie the drawstring at her waist. His warm breath teased her navel, and she shuddered with anticipation of what was to come.
Abandoning her breasts, he began to ease her breeches over her hips. With each tug on the garment, his lips moved farther down. By the time her thighs were revealed, he was kissing her in a way that set her knees to trembling. She grew dizzy and grasped his head for balance.
“Nay,” he said against her most private place. “I’ve got you.” To prove it, he squeezed her waist. “Now fly, Virginia.” That said, he devoured her so thoroughly, so erotically, so scandalously, she thought it surely must be a sin.
Beyond protestations, she flung out her arms, and as she let go of the kerchief, she cast every reservation to the wind.
She felt cleansed, so much so, that had he asked her to name the man who’d brought her to Virginia, she would have shouted Anthony MacGowan’s name to the heavens. But it was Cameron’s name that she called out over and over. She was still saying it when he spread her legs, rose, and, in one smooth motion, filled her.
He hadn’t lied when he said she’d feel pain only that first time, for as he began to thrust and withdraw, she begged him for more.
“You’re so eager,” he said between gasps for air.
In her mind, she fell out of the sky and plunged into ecstacy. On a groan of frustration, he quickened the pace of his thrusts and, heartbeats later, followed her. Flush with perspiration and the remains of their passion, she felt the wind cool her heated skin.
“Now our betrothal is doubly sealed.”
Now who was eager? He couldn’t love her yet. He didn’t truly know her. His feelings must stem from guilt or obligation. In time, he might love her for herself but not now, not until she told him the truth.
She cleared her throat. “Cameron, it’s too quick to reinstate the betrothal. I need time, and don’t ask me to choose between you and what I must have.” When her parents returned to Glasgow, she’d gather the entire family and explain to them why she lied. But first, she’d find a private place and tell Cameron the truth.
To her surprise and delight, he took the news in good spirit. “You’re in luck, then, for I just happen to have an abundance of time where you are concerned. Patience is what I lack.”
“Perhaps a trip to London to distract you?”
He smacked his lips. “One delicious distraction is enough, thank you very much.”
* * *
A trip to London to explain the situation to Adrienne Cholmondeley proved unnecessary for Cameron.
Her carriage awaited them at Glasgow Harbor.
* * *
Standing at the rail, Virginia stared at the quay. She thought that short of a prince, the empty carriage must belong to Edward Napier. When asked, a workman on the wharf said the carriage had come to the dock every day at high tide for the last week.
As big as a room, lacquered in black with a golden shield on the doors, and drawn by eight magnificent grays, the carriage was the grandest she’d ever seen.
But then everything here was grand. The ships, the commerce, the constant comings and goings of free people. No slavers made port in Glasgow; Cameron had assured her that was so.
Cameron. Her heart fluttered when she thought of the times they’d shared during the last three days. Just yesterday he’d cornered her near the upended ship’s boat. He’d kissed her breathless, and when MacAdoo said a very loud hello to Agnes, Cameron had pulled Virginia beneath the boat. With her sister only steps away, Virginia had mounted Cameron and made love to him. He’d been wild, relentless; she’d felt wickedly wanton, and at the moment of his climax, she had covered his mouth with her own lest Agnes hear them.
The experience had changed Virginia, given her confidence, made her brave. Now her life would change again. Glasgow and her family awaited. Sarah, Mary, and Lottie and their families. Her younger sisters, Lily and Cora, and her brother, Kenneth. Rowena was away in Vienna. From the drawings in Mary’s sketch book, Virginia had become familiar with all of their faces. She’d even come to know some of her nieces and nephews.
Agnes, garbed in a glorious red gown and plumed hat, joined her at the rail. Virginia wore her best gown, the modest pink that Cameron favored. Even so, standing beside Agnes, she felt like a wren in the shadow of an exotic bird. No melancholy accompanied the comparison, for one day soon, Virginia would make peace with herself and find her place in Scotland among the MacKenzies.
She nudged Agnes. “Is that your carriage or Lord Napier’s?”
“No.”
“Then to whom does it belong?”
Agnes turned and let out an ear-piercing whistle, followed by a yelled, “Cameron!”
The ship went silent. Gulls squawked overhead and activity on the other vessels went on as normal, but the Maiden Virginia was as still as a tomb.
Below a door slammed, then the hollow stomping of boots sounded on the companionway steps. The hatch doors flew open, and Cameron burst onto the deck. Alarmed, his sleeves rolled up, a pistol in each hand, he paused and followed the line of Agnes’s arm.
He uttered a curse, handed the pistols to MacAdoo, and bounded down the gangway. The driver spied him and climbed down. He gave Cameron a letter, which he stuffed into the sash of his tartan. They conversed briefly—Cameron calmly, the driver obviously confused. Hands on his hips, Cameron began a series of instructions, for the driver nodded, listened, then nodded again. That done, Cameron retraced his steps. The driver called out. Cameron stopped and waited while the man reached into the carriage and pulled out a basket overflowing with fruit. Cameron took it, waved the man off, and returned to the ship.
MacAdoo awaited him. Cameron handed off the basket and approached Virginia and Agnes.
Rolling his sleeves down, he said to Agnes, “I asked the driver to stop at Napier House and tell Edward that we have docked.”
Virginia knew that Glasgow proper was fourteen miles away. “We should have taken that carriage,” she said, “since the driver was going to Agnes’s home anyway. We could have saved Lord Edward a trip.”
Agnes smoothed the fit of her black leather gloves. “That carriage is already taken.”
Spoken without inflection, the words and their meaning confused Virginia. “By whom?”
“Come, my ladies.” Cameron fastened the horn buttons at the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve paid the crew. Let us thank them with a toast.”
The smell of roses drifted to Virginia. Sniffing for direction, she discovered that the perfume was coming from Cameron. The corner of the letter peeked from beneath his tartan. A scented letter. A carriage that was taken. A basket of fruit.
A woman. But who and what place did she occupy in Cameron’s life? From the crest on the carriage door, which Virginia couldn’t make out, she knew the woman was of noble birth, not a mistress in the ordinary sense.