Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga

by Connors, Meggan

  She moved with surprising grace as she settled herself behind him. Heat lit in his belly and tightened his chest when she circled him with her arms and pressed her chest against his back. Her hands, flat against his abdomen, caused his muscles to tense and bunch and blood to fire in his groin. She rested her cheek against his back.

  He found himself unable to describe the feeling soaring through him.

  While he didn’t want to examine the emotion too closely, he didn’t want to lose it either.

  As they approached town, she said, “Leave me here, please. I’ll make my way back to the hotel on my own.”

  He nodded and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He didn’t behave like this, and he’d never mourned something he’d only had for a matter of days. When he’d first started pursuing her, he’d known there could never be anything lasting between them.

  She was a gypsy and a thief, and he had no room in his life for a woman. Once he reclaimed his land in Virginia, got himself established, and made something of himself, he’d find himself a respectable wife. A fine, upstanding woman from a good family who would have made his mother proud.

  But a tiny, forlorn voice in some forgotten corner of his heart whispered that maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He’d always had an affinity for wild things. Would he really be satisfied with fine and upstanding?

  A part of him would mourn Fiona forever if he let her go. But she seemed determined to get back to her band, and he couldn’t force her to stay. He wouldn’t, even if he could.

  Midnight slowed and stopped, and Cameron dismounted. As he assisted Fiona off the horse, he held her too close, for too long, and his body responded. Her proximity, her heat, her scent—like desert rain and fragrant spice—made for a heady combination. For a moment, he simply breathed her in, and she wrapped her thin, wiry arms around his body and held him tight.

  As if listening to the drumming of his heart, she pressed her cheek to his chest and cleared her throat. “Thank you for last night. It meant . . . a lot to me.”

  The resignation, the finality in her tone settled like a stone in his chest, and his heart lurched. “Meet me again tonight, Fiona.”

  “I doona think . . .”

  “I’m not asking for forever. Just dinner.”

  Her lips curled in a self-conscious, anxious expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “That’s no’ a good idea.”

  “Just dinner. Nothing more.” Accept, he silently commanded. Say yes, Fiona.

  She sighed heavily and looked away. Already, the heat of the day had begun to set in and dry wind brought billowing clouds of dust and the promise of late afternoon storms. Brushing her hair away from her face, she turned back to him. “All right.”

  “What time?” Again, a strange, unfamiliar lightness—if he didn’t know better, he’d describe it as joy—soared through him.

  She shrugged. “I’m supposed to read fortunes all afternoon, but I should be free around dusk.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you at The Globe. Same as last night.”

  A line formed between her brows, but the smile she gave him lit the shadowy corners of his heart. “I look forward to it.”

  He turned and mounted Midnight, and she simply stood there, still and silent. As he moved to leave, he felt her hand on his calf. “Cameron.” He glanced down at her and grinned, but her expression was immobile—set and serious. “I—I think you’ve been looking in the wrong direction for a long time. I think . . . I think you’ve always had what you were looking for.”

  He scowled. He didn’t want the cryptic words and riddles of a fortune-teller; he only wanted the truth from her, the one thing she’d never give him. “What do you mean?”

  She drew a breath. “This thing you say you’re looking for, this thing you lost. I doona think it’s what you really want. What you actually want is something you’ve had the whole time. Think about it, Cameron. Is all of this”—she gestured to the city around her—”really about the land and the ring? Or is it maybe something more than that?”

  A chill coursed through his body despite the heat of the summer sun, and he frowned. “What else could it be?”

  “You’re telling me you did all of this so you could buy back some dirt? That this isn’t about gaining the respect of your brother? Redeeming yourself because you think you lost the land he fought for?”

  His jaw began to ache. He couldn't do this with her, not now. “This has nothing to do with Duncan. It's about my mother, and my land. About my legacy and my family. It's about roots.”

  She nodded slowly, and her gaze darted away. “Well then, perhaps I’m wrong.”

  Irritation, bordering on anger, itched beneath his skin. “Perhaps you are.” His tone was colder than he’d intended.

  Unmistakable pain creased her features. “Well, then, I wish you well.”

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he offered, softening his tone. He didn’t want to part with angry words.

  He waited a long time for her to respond, and when she finally did, she gave him nothing more than a single nod.

  Fiona trudged up to her hotel room, fingering the ring in her pocket as she ascended the stairs.

  All the time they’d spent together, and he’d never once asked her if she had the ring. He must know she had it, but he’d never asked for it back.

  What kind of game was he playing? He had to be working some kind of scheme. No one would just give up the quest for a thing of such value without some sort of motive. Was he trying to gain her trust so she’d give the jewel back? He hadn’t given her the ring, so why didn't he demand she give it back? What could he possibly want from her in payment?

  Experience told her nothing came without a price.

  Her stomach twisted into knots, her chest ached, and her breath came short and fast. Her vision swam as she thought of all the implications of what she had done, and what she continued to do. Seamus, if he knew where she’d been the night before, would demand his due as the leader of her band, and he would want more from her than just the ring in her pocket. Cameron had made her no promises beyond dinner tonight, and she didn’t expect any. After all, once he got his ring back, he would surely abandon her.

  As well he should, since she continued to betray him every moment she kept it.

  Heavy-hearted, Fiona turned her key. Before her door had opened all the way, an angry voice asked, “Where ha’ ye been, woman?”

  Seamus.

  “I was working,” Fiona responded, leaving the door open behind her.

  “Working,” Seamus echoed bitterly. “I’m sure ye were. Earning a little extra on the side, Fi? Because if ye are, ye know what belongs to me.”

  “Certainly no’!” She gritted her teeth against the suggestiveness in his voice.

  He stalked toward her, his strides purposeful and angry. Leaning past her, he slammed the door behind her and grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip painful. “Where ha’ ye been?”

  “I told you. I’ve been out working.”

  “All night? Ye’ve been working all night?”

  She swallowed against the fear rising in her throat. Sweat dotted her brow, and she wiped it away angrily. His nostrils flared and heat flamed in his eyes, and she wondered if he knew precisely what she’d been doing. “Of course no’.”

  “Ye think me a fool, woman? Ye didn’t sleep in yer bed.”

  “I was working,” she repeated.

  “Tell me the truth!” With the back of his hand, he struck her face and she cried out. “Ye were with him last night!”

  Him meaning Cameron. She straightened her spine, dabbed at the blood dripping from her lip, and glared at him. “That’s no’ true!”

  “I was here all night, Fiona.”
Seamus’s voice was calm and deadly, and Fiona’s heart sank. She could have been indignant over his intrusion into her room, but he’d only see through that. Just as she was about continue to protest her innocence, he held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t bother lyin’ to me, Fi. Ye never came back after ye left camp last night. Now tell me again where ye were. Tell me ye weren’t with him.”

  “How many times must I tell you? I was working. Telling fortunes in my tent. You saw me there. Then I went to a saloon, and some of the lads there paid me to read their palms. They were deep in their cups and I thought I might be able to get some money out of them. For you.”

  The grip he had on her shoulders tightened to the point of pain, and he pressed his body against hers. “What do ye have to show fer it, then?”

  “I . . .” She cast about for a ready excuse, something he might believe. She thought about the black bag she had in the wardrobe, where she kept her wigs. In it, she had her stash of “extras” as she called it—the money she kept hidden from Seamus. Dread spiraled in her chest. Taking a breath to steady her heart, she said, “The bag in the closet. There’s some money in there.”

  Seamus tore open the doors and ripped open the bag. He dumped the contents on her bed—wigs, makeup, fake jewelry, and pulled out several pouches of silver and a money clip.

  “This is what ye have?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you bring it in?”

  “It was late,” she said. “Stuck it in the closet and went right back out again. Dinna even see you in here. Like I said, I was working.”

  Narrowed eyes studied her. Seamus’s gaze shifted from her bed to her face and back again. “It’s not a bad take, Fi.”

  “I thought you might be pleased.”

  “Is there anything else yer hiding?”

  Her thoughts turned immediately to the solid weight of Cameron’s ring in her pocket. Seamus stalked up to her, crowding her body with his, and she knew he had plans to search her, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with the ring. It was hers, and it was Cameron’s, and the thought of Seamus possessing something so precious turned her stomach.

  Greedy hands touched her body, lingered too long on her breasts, and found their way into her pockets. His smile was malicious as he took Cameron’s heirloom from her pocket.

  “What ha’ we here, Fi?”

  I am so sorry, Cameron.

  “I heard a rumor about the ring you were havering on about the other night. Followed it. ‘Tis where I was all night.”

  Seamus arched a disbelieving eyebrow at her. “Did ye now?”

  Her breath came short and fast, and anxious tears pricked the insides of her eyelids. “Aye.”

  The anger in Seamus’s eyes shifted just a little, replaced by wary interest. He turned the ring over in his hand and studied the gemstone in the center. “Tell me a story, Fi.”

  Bitterness lanced her heart, and she silently cursed herself. Cameron deserved so much better than her. The future she’d seen in his cards didn’t include her—she knew that now.

  “I heard some of the miners in The Bucket o’ Blood talking about a ring they’d stolen off some dandy. So, after I told their fortunes, I came back. Worked the leader the whole night and once he passed out, I relieved him of his prize.” The lies spilled from her lips easily, without thought.

  After all, this was who she was when she wasn’t with Cameron. A liar and a thief. She’d do well to remember that.

  “And ye didn’t think to give this to me when ye first came in?”

  “Look at the thing, Seamus,” she snarled. “‘Tis beautiful, is it no’? I wanted to hold it for a little while longer.”

  “It is beautiful,” he acknowledged, and his anger seemed to diminish. Greed was something Seamus understood and could forgive. Her heart seized, the heavy weight of remorse almost too much to bear. “Ye think this big stone is a diamond?”

  She shrugged, but she was certain it was. Cameron had never said, but in a ring that old, the gemstone couldn’t possibly be anything else. “Of course no’. What kind of fool would bring a diamond that size to a place like this?”

  Seamus chuckled. “A rich fool, that’s who.” He tucked the ring into the pocket of his vest and tweaked her chin. “Ye did good, Fi. Get yer things together. We’re leaving.”

  Fear found a place in her heart. “What?”

  “This place is tapped out. It’s time for us to move on. Get yer things together and meet me at the wagons. Ye ha’ an hour.”

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  Fiona wrapped her arms around her body, sat on the bed, and wept.

  Chapter 8

  The papers were signed, the money transferred, the claim officially sold. This should be the happiest day in his life.

  So why did he feel so out of sorts?

  While he waited for Fiona, he nursed his whiskey. He’d been sitting at the bar ever since his meeting had ended, considering all the things Fiona had told him over the last few days.

  The cards, and the thing about choice.

  Her ridiculous idea that, somehow, all of his work wasn’t about his land. After all, the thought of buying his grandfather’s land back from Jacob Smith had been what had driven him over the last five years. Five long years of blood, sweat, and toil, doing a job he hated. How could he be motivated by anything else?

  The idea was preposterous.

  Yet the more he was with Fiona, the more he thought about his brother and his family. Mary and the kids. His niece and his two young nephews. Duncan, in his last letter, said Samuel, the youngest, was the spitting image of Cameron, all the way down to the personality. Though barely out of infancy, Duncan had spoken of Samuel as a spitfire and a daredevil, and in his letters, his words had sounded . . . fond.

  Cameron wanted to know his brother’s children. He wanted to spend time with his brother and rekindle the friendship they’d lost. He wanted children who would grow up around Duncan’s children, boys with fiery red hair and a dark-haired girl, like her mother. None of those things would happen if he reclaimed their land in Virginia. He’d be too far from his brother in Ohio to visit with any regularity, too far to really know his brother’s children or to have them know him.

  Perhaps he didn’t want the land in Virginia so badly, after all. Maybe what he wanted was a dark-eyed gypsy girl and land near his brother. His history wasn’t nearly as important as the future he envisioned for himself. And for Fiona.

  Fiona.

  Pain shot through his chest as he thought of her, with her dark hair and eyes, her pale features. But the question was, could he learn to trust a woman who’d stolen his family legacy from his pocket and offered him so little in return? Was he able to risk his heart on a gypsy?

  Glancing around, he noticed how busy the saloon was for a midweek afternoon. For the last two weeks, most of the miners would go to the makeshift gypsy tents to have their fortunes told, to dance and to drink. Yet as the day began to edge toward night, and the day-shift workers got off from work, The Globe got busier and busier, as the boisterous miners came to drink and gamble away their earnings.

  The barkeep came strolling up, wiping a glass with a dishtowel. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Cameron set his money on the bar and shook his head. “No, thank you.” He glanced around. “You’re busier tonight than I expected.”

  The barkeep barked a laugh. “Yeah, we are. Must have something to do with the gypsies leaving town. I say, good riddance to bad rubbish. About time they left. They stole all the business from the honest folk.”

  Dread spiraled through Cameron and his heart raced. His breath caught. “They’ve left?”

  The barkeep nodded. “Yeah, this morning. Didn’t you hear? The whole caravan just packed up their tents and left.”

  “Al
l of them?” Surely Fiona would have found him and at least said goodbye. She would have told him if she had known they were planning on leaving. Wouldn’t she?

  “Yup.”

  Without a second glance, Cameron dashed out the door after her.

  Fiona’s body swayed as Seamus maneuvered the wagon over the rocky and rutted road. They’d left hours before, headed down the road toward Carson City. Since their departure, she’d been largely silent as she struggled to hold back the tears. She thought the pain would fade as they made their way down the mountain, as the miles stretched between them, but instead, she found that distance made the pain grow stronger, until it was an ache in her chest so intense she could scarcely draw breath.

  She missed Cameron. It was as simple and as complicated as that. She missed him with every breath in her body, even though she knew she didn’t deserve him. Somehow, she’d managed to fall hopelessly in love with a man she’d only known for a few days, a man who said he didn’t believe in love, and one who hadn’t made her any promises.

  The first drops of rain began to fall, a gentle tapping on the canvas skein of the wagon, the sky weeping where she couldn’t, and even that seemed unfair.

  Her thoughts wandered back to Cameron.

  She’d figured last night would be their only night together. Still, she’d hoped to say goodbye to him, not leave like a thief in the night—though she supposed that was what she was. She glanced at Seamus’s slim back and thought of Cameron’s broad one, remembering the gentleness in his touch that had masked the strength and the power of his arms.

  His face, open and honest, flashed behind her lids. He deserved so much better than her.

  And she deserved so much better than this.

  If she left, Seamus would give her nothing. No money, no food. Everything she had belonged to him. Not even the clothes on her back belonged to her, if Seamus decided to keep them. She’d stayed for as long as she had because she was just a gypsy. No skills, save thieving and fortune-telling. Nothing to call her own since Seamus had taken it all this afternoon.