by Lauren Royal
"Regardless," he said, "it's sorry I am that I did walk away." His hazel eyes looked so earnest, she couldn't doubt him. "I needed to think it through; I'll admit to that, Clarice. In that very moment I wasn't certain of my feelings. But now I know my heart. I've told you the truth, and I've never lied to you before, so I'll thank you not to accuse me of it now." His hands squeezed hers. "What you have to offer is enough. I cannot live without you—not happily, at least."
All at once, rather than seeming too young, he seemed wise beyond his years. And Clarice felt young and untried, frightened of the future yet even more afraid to refuse her one chance at happiness.
"What do you say?" Cameron stopped, right there in the middle of the dance. "Will you become my handfasted wife, Clarice Bradford? Tonight? For day after tomorrow I leave for my castle, and I'll be wanting to take you with me. You and Mary."
"She'll think she's a princess."
"Nothing will make me happier than she be my princess. Except, of course, if you'll be my wife. Lady Leslie. It has a nice ring to it, aye?" His smile made her heart turn over. "The glass shoe fits you, Clarice. You deserve to wear it."
"The glass shoe would never fit." She glanced down at the hem of the gorgeous gown, thankful it was plenty long to hide her plain black slippers. He hadn't thought to bring her proper dress shoes, and for that he'd apologized profusely, though she suspected he'd wanted to but hadn't been able to find ones that fit her big feet.
Not that she'd have chosen to wear formal shoes, anyway. She could barely perform the new dances in flat shoes, let alone heels.
"It fits," he insisted.
It still sounded impossible. She'd be living in a castle. Dazed, she glanced around Cainewood's enormous great hall: the polished plank floor, the tapestries on the walls, the intricate oak hammerbeam ceiling. The chamber exuded a stately majesty she could never aspire to live up to.
"Leslie Castle is nothing like this," Cameron said, reading her mind as only he could. "Nothing. It isn't ancient like this, but almost new—Caithren's father built it. It boasts naught but fifteen rooms, small rooms, none of them anything like the massive chambers here. It's but a fortified house, really, built to look like a castle."
"Fifteen rooms," she murmured. "Naught but fifteen rooms." Her lips curved in a wry smile. "I've only ever lived in one."
"Don't worry—I will hire someone to clean it for you. You won't be expected to break your back making our castle a home."
"That wasn't what I was thinking." Good heavens, she would have a servant? Whoever would have thought it?
But of course she would. She would be Lady Leslie.
"Will you marry me, Clarice? Please. Tonight. Right now." Dropping one of her hands, he pulled a white ribbon from his surcoat pocket. "Mary is waiting for your answer."
"Mary?" She glanced up to the gallery, and her daughter waved again. "Mary knows you wish to do this tonight?"
"Well, now, while we were waiting for you in the carriage, she asked again about the bear. She was afraid it might be dangerous." He grinned, displaying the dimples that reminded her he was young. But wise, she reminded herself. So very wise. And entirely too charming. "So I explained to her about bearing witness, and what a very important job that would be. She assured me she is mature enough to handle it."
"Oh," she said, her free hand rising to trace the curve of the unfamiliar pearls around her neck. She felt overwhelmed, pressured from all sides. And within herself. She'd been so sure she wanted to be free of men, just she and Mary making a life for themselves. But Cameron would leave on Sunday, and she knew if he left alone, he'd be taking her heart along with him.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, uncertain of her answer until she opened them. Then, "Yes," she whispered. "I will be honored to become handfasted to you, Cameron Leslie. Tonight."
He let out a whoop that had heads turning as he pulled her from the great hall.
Laughing, she ran after him, and his cousin, Lady Cainewood, came running after them both.
"Cameron! What are you up to?"
He stopped in the entry, a three-story stone chamber graced with impossibly tall columns and a magnificent staircase. "Getting handfasted, cousin. Right now."
"Without asking me to attend? How dare you?" His cousin's words sounded stern, but her hazel eyes, so like his, were dancing conspiratorially. "Where? I must fetch Jason."
"Not Lord Cainewood," Clarice begged under her breath. "I couldn't…"
"You alone, Cait." Cameron started up the steps. "Mary will be the second witness."
Without hesitation, Lady Cainewood followed. When they reached the top of the stairs, Mary came running down the corridor and threw herself into Cameron's arms. "Did she say yes?"
"Aye, princess, she did. Aren't we lucky?"
"Can I call you Papa?"
He froze in his tracks, clearly made breathless with surprise. "I would be honored," he told Mary gravely, his voice husky with emotion.
And in that moment, Clarice knew for certain she had made the right choice, no matter how frightened she was of the marriage bed, and moving to Scotland, and becoming a lady. It was the right choice for her daughter, and Mary was more important than all the mental obstacles barring Clarice's way.
He led them all to a chamber and threw open the door. Clarice's breath caught in wonder.
The entire room seemed golden. A carved bedstead was gilded and hung with golden brocade. The rest of the furniture was upholstered and gilded to match. The largest mirror Clarice had ever seen hung over a marble-topped table. She glimpsed herself in it, looking flushed and awed and younger even than Cameron.
"The Gold Chamber," Lady Cainewood explained. "My husband told me it's saved for honored guests, and no guest here is more important than Cameron."
Cameron rolled his eyes. "It's the truth I've felt rather ridiculous bumping about this enormous room by myself." He took Clarice's hand and pulled her inside. "It will be much nicer in here tonight with you by my side."
"Me? In here?" She couldn't imagine. She was afraid to even stand on the patterned carpet that covered the floor. Her mind boggled at the luxury and expense.
"Did you think I'd be spending our wedding night alone? Or in your little cottage? Not that it isn't nice," he rushed to add. "You keep it quite bonnie. But it's one room, you see, and with Mary—"
"We all see," his cousin put in. "And you are more than welcome to stay here, Mrs. Bradford, until the day you leave for Leslie."
Clarice wasn't at all sure she was mentally prepared for a wedding night. "I wouldn't presume, Lady Cainewood—"
"You must call me Caithren. Or Cait, if you please. We're about to be cousins, after all."
Could this get any more unbelievable?
"Now," Cameron said, "take my hands, right to right, and left to left. In this way our arms make the symbol of infinity, signifying our commitment to be together. Forever."
It sounded too much, too soon. "I thought you said it was for a year and a day?"
"Normally, aye. But for us, forever."
When he looked at her like that, she was hard put to refuse him anything. She only hoped this strange ceremony included a kiss at the end like the traditional one, because she was dying to feel his mouth on hers. No matter that her daughter and his cousin were watching.
He dropped one of her hands long enough to give the ribbon to Mary. "Can you tie this around our four hands, princess?"
"I'll do it," Caithren volunteered.
"No, I can do it." Proudly Mary stepped up and took the white ribbon. "I learned how to tie last year, didn't I, Mama?"
"You surely did, poppet."
Cam reclaimed Clarice's hand. "Then tie it well, princess, for it symbolizes how tightly our family will be bound together. You, me, and your mama."
"Wait." Frowning, Mary chewed on a nail. "At Lady Cainewood's wedding…well, shouldn't Mama be holding flowers?"
"Nay!" Cam and Cait shouted together. Eyes wide, Mary jumped,
and in spite of the serious occasion, Clarice found herself laughing.
What a marvelous new life she was going to have.
She sobered when Mary came closer, and if the bow was a bit crooked when she finished tying, it didn't matter. "Perfect," Cameron declared.
Then he dropped to one knee and captured Clarice's gaze with his.
"I present to you, Clarice, my love and my pledge. May I never knowingly or willingly do anything to harm nor grieve you in any fashion. Accept this pledge as a token of my trust. Like our hands are bound, may our love be as strong. That which is mine is yours, my heart and all my worldly belongings. Will you share my life with me, Clarice?"
A hush settled over the room, and his hands squeezed hers.
"What am I supposed to say?" she whispered.
"Say aye, my love. Only aye."
She ventured a tremulous smile. "Aye, then. I will share your life. For a year and a day and forevermore."
He rose and leaned forward, his mouth meeting hers in a rush of heat, their bound hands crushed between their bodies.
All too soon, he pulled away.
"Now, Mary," he said huskily. "Cait? Will you untie us, if you please, and bind Mary's hands to ours as well?"
Tears flooded Clarice's eyes as his cousin did as he bid. Soon they were tied together, the three of them, and Cam dropped to one knee again.
"We are bound to you, Mary, from this day forward, as your parents in our hearts and our souls. You have our love, and with it our promise never to harm or grieve you willingly in any fashion. Like our hands are bound, let our love be as strong. Will you share your life with us, and be known from this day forward as Mary Leslie, daughter of Cameron and Clarice?"
"What am I s'posed to say?" Mary whispered.
Beneath the ribbon bow, Clarice squeezed her daughter's hand. "Just say yes, sweet."
"Yes!" An exclamation of pure joy, the single word echoed in the ancient stone chamber.
And though Clarice had felt like Mary was hers from the day Lord Cainewood brought the girl to her doorstep, in that moment she felt closer to her daughter than she'd ever thought possible. Bound, as Cameron had said, heart and soul. She would never be able to thank him for this precious gift of belonging.
All at once, Caithren was untying the ribbon, and Cameron raised Mary into the air and gave her resounding kisses on both cheeks. Then he handed her to Clarice, wrapping his arms around them both as though he could protect them from the world.
She hoped he could. She was counting on it.
"Am I a princess now?" Mary asked when he finally released them.
"No, poppet," Clarice started.
"Aye," Cam interrupted before she could say another word. "You're my princess. And you always will be, even after you go off and get married."
"I'm never getting married," Mary declared. "I'm going to live with you forever."
Cameron ruffled her golden curls. "Well, now, it's the truth that nothing would make me happier. But we'll have to wait and see what happens, aye? Don't forget that only last week your own mama was saying she'd never get married, either."
"I must get back to the ball." Caithren sighed, then brightened. "I cannot wait to tell everyone the news."
"Nay." Cameron put a hand on her arm. "This is your night. Yours and Jason's. If you've no objection, I've a mind to take my two women here downstairs for a dance or a dozen—"
"Me, too?" Mary squealed. "Is that why you taught us the dances?"
"Absolutely. We've much to celebrate, the three of us. But in secret, aye? No one else will know it's not only cousin Caithren's wedding we're celebrating, but our wedding-for-three as well. So lock your lips, aye?"
Mary clapped both hands over her mouth and nodded.
"Good." He took her by the hand and Clarice with his other. "Then let us celebrate."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Celebrate they did, dancing the new dances and supping on scrumptious delicacies until the wee hours when the ball finally wound down. The locals headed for home, and guests who'd traveled a distance were each shown to one of Cainewood Castle's hundred chambers. Mary fell asleep on the way up the stairs, and they took her to the nursery and tucked her into one of the small beds that flanked baby Jewel's cradle.
"She looks like a princess," Cameron whispered.
Clarice went on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for including her in the handfasting. It meant so much to her." She hesitated a moment, still shy with this man—her new husband. "To both of us."
"To all three of us," he corrected her. He bent to kiss Mary's little forehead. "Now we've celebrated that, it's time for a more private celebration."
Though she told herself she was being ridiculous, Clarice trembled as they walked the short distance to the Gold Chamber. Once more she was awed by the gorgeous room, though Cam didn't give her much time to admire it. The door had barely shut behind them when he set down the candle he'd been carrying and dragged her up against him and into his arms.
His lips on hers were soft, caressing, almost sweet, but she sensed an urgency in him just before the kiss went hot and fervent. He kissed her senseless, plundering her mouth until she was breathless and tingling all over.
"I'll make you forget them," he promised when he finally pulled away. "Your first husband and the other man who mistreated you."
"I've forgotten them already," she whispered.
"That's not yet true," he said, "but I'll make it true." He lavished her face with little kisses, and her forehead and her neck and her ears. All the while he worked his arms out of his surcoat, and it dropped to the floor with a soft rustle.
Slowly he backed her up, until Clarice felt her legs against the bed. Someone had removed the costly brocade counterpane, and the quilts were folded back in a way she imagined was supposed to be inviting, but only served to boost her anxiety.
When he eased her down to the sheets, her trembling increased. Best to get this over with. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "All right," she forced between gritted teeth. "You can do it now."
She waited a few heartbeats, and when he didn't touch her, she opened her eyes. Cameron stood by the bed, staring down at her, his face an inscrutable mask.
She swallowed hard and frowned at him. "Do you not want to do it?"
"You can bet I do." His long fingers worked at the knot in his cravat. "But not until you're ready."
She bit her lip. "I'm ready now. Just…just do it."
"Nay." He drew off the cravat and set it on the bedside table. "I'll know when you're ready. You needn't announce it. Especially when it's not true."
"I'm ready," she insisted, wanting nothing more than to have this part out of the way. This part wasn't a fairytale, and she wanted to get back to the fairytale part of her exciting new life.
Tomorrow she and Mary would pack up their things and say good-bye to Gisela and Anne and all their other friends and neighbors. Then Sunday they'd be on their way to live in a castle…
"You're not ready," Cameron disagreed with staid calmness. His gaze was steady, his voice tender and huskily seductive. "When your breath comes heavy, when you ache deep inside, when your body trembles with need, not fear…then you'll be ready. And I won't be doing it until I know you want it just as much as I do."
"Oh, Cam." Her heart ached at the thought of disappointing him, but she didn't think that was the ache deep inside he was talking about. "I thought I'd explained this to you—I thought you understood. I'll never want it as much as you do. I'll never want it at all."
"Then we won't do it," he said simply.
Her jaw went slack, and a moment passed before her tongue could form any words. "You—you cannot mean that," she finally stammered.
"I don't lie, Clarice."
"But never…" It was incomprehensible. "Do you mean to say that if I don't want it, you will never do it at all?"
"Aye."
She struggled up on her elbows to better se
e into his eyes. He truly looked sincere. And he'd never given her cause to distrust him. She felt a flood of relief, mixed with wonder and a rush of love. "Thank you," she whispered.
Facing away, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off one of his shoes. "I don't think it will come down to never, though," he said conversationally. "I reckon that not too long from now you'll be dying to have me inside you."
She blushed at the frank talk. "Maybe," she said doubtfully, not wanting to argue. "In a few years."
"I was thinking more like a few hours." His second shoe hit the floor, and he shifted on the bed to look at her. "Or minutes."
Her elbows slid out from under her, and she lay flat, staring up at him. His eyes darkened. Thinking of the way he talked—when your breath comes heavy, when you ache deep inside, when your body is trembling…you'll be dying to have me inside you—made the heat rush to her cheeks and her mouth go dry.
She licked her lips. No man had ever talked to her like that. In fact, her first husband had never talked in bed at all—he'd either yelled or taken his pleasure as quickly as he could, in sullen silence.
When Cameron began to lower his mouth to meet hers, a little whimper rose from her throat. She wasn't quite sure whether it was a sign of fear or anticipation.
"Hush," he soothed, and sat up. In a businesslike way, he slipped his hands behind her neck and unclasped the pearls. They glistened in the candlelight as he slowly laid them on the bedside table with a series of soft clicks. "Do you like your wedding present?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
He was already removing her shoes. "Your wedding present. The pearls."
She gasped, and it wasn't only because his hands were streaking under her skirts. "But…when? How? I thought they were borrowed. It's too much—"
"Don't be silly, Clarice," he said, plucking off a garter. "Lady Leslie should own a nice set of pearls." The second garter joined the first on the floor. "Did you know your new cousin Amy is a jeweler?"
"Amy? Oh, you mean Lady Greystone? Yes. She gave Mary a locket for Christmas."
"Well, she asked a mere pittance for those pearls. Having a jeweler in the family proves to be mighty convenient."