Cam had agreed to this audience only because Rob had intervened. Now he was beginning to regret it. Since Ceana had left, his shoulder had not stopped aching, and exhaustion crept through his bones whenever he considered the daunting task that lay before him. How to turn men like Bram MacGregor to his side? Hell if he knew.
“How can I help you, MacGregor?”
“I’ve come on behalf of Hamish Roberts.”
“Ah.” The man he’d had removed from his lands as soon as he’d arrived home. Two years ago, Roberts had been leading mobs of MacLeans into Argyll’s land to steal and slaughter his cattle. Cam had put a stop to that as soon as he’d heard. Since then, the man—a surly bastard he was, too—hadn’t paid his rents. The whole ordeal put a sour taste in Cam’s mouth.
“The Robertses have been tenants of the Earls of Camdonn for a hundred years.”
“I know that,” Cam said.
“And ye’ve tossed them out. Not only Hamish, but his mother, his wife, and his six bairns.”
“He didn’t pay his rents. Hasn’t paid for quite a while, if my factor’s reports are correct.”
“Aye, my lord,” Charles said from beside him. “It’s been over a year since Roberts last paid.”
MacGregor drew to a halt in the center of the room, turning furious eyes on Cam. Cam stared back at him, undaunted. First off, though Cam hadn’t enforced the Disarming Act on his lands, he didn’t allow his tenants to bear arms on castle grounds, so MacGregor carried no weapons. Second, Cam didn’t fear anyone. Certainly not this man. The worst he could do to Cam was kill him with his bare hands, but that wouldn’t be wise.
Perhaps Bram and the others who treated him with such distrust didn’t comprehend exactly how stupid it would be to kill him. If Cam died, the earldom would go to his cousin, a man who’d never stepped foot in the Highlands and possessed no tolerance for anything non-English and non-Whig. At the first sign of seditious intent, he would trample these people into the dust.
Did Bram know this? Cam sighed. Lack of foresight was a problem with many of his Highlanders.
MacGregor threw a sneer across the room. “And how’d ye expect ’em to pay rents? There be no way do so anymore. What with the restrictions ye’ve placed on the acquisition of cattle, ’tis impossible for them to survive.”
“The acquisition of cattle?” Cam raised a brow. “You refer to my desire to prevent Argyll’s men from slaughtering my own.”
“ ’ Tis the way of things.” Bram clenched his fists. “Cattle filching is a time-honored tradition. How Highlanders have endured since the dawn of time. ’Tis the only way they know how to survive.”
“I won’t argue tradition with you, MacGregor. But I won’t advance my wealth through thievery, and neither will anyone who lives on my lands.”
“Then they’ll be starving.”
“There is no need for that—not on my lands. There is an abundance of work to do.” And plenty of capital with which to do it.
MacGregor’s hand flew up. “Where?”
Cam took a deep breath. “I’ve several projects in mind. I wish to build a road from here to Glenfinnan. Fortify the cliffs and build a larger wharf. Redo the inside walls of the castle outbuildings. Build a new mill. Institute a loan program for the farmers and cattlemen. I need men. The MacDonald laird and I are investing in more stock, so management of the herds will require more manpower. If you know of a man whose family is going hungry due to his idleness, have him come to my factor or myself, and if he proves himself worthy, he will have work.”
MacGregor narrowed his eyes. Still he didn’t trust him. Cam hadn’t expected it to be easy, but he couldn’t let this man believe he held the power. Cam was still the master here. “You are dismissed.”
A muscle jerked in the man’s jaw; then he swiveled around and marched out. Casting Cam a grim look, Rob followed after him.
As if relieved that the men had gone away, Charles’s stomach growled. The boy ate with the usual abandon of a still-growing youth.
“Go on, Charles. I know you’re hungry.”
Charles nodded somberly. “I’ll be back in under an hour. Do you wish to work out the details of your loan program this afternoon, sir?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea, lad.”
After the door closed behind his factor, Cam took a deep breath, pressed his fingers to his temples, and lowered his head to stare down at the surface of his desk.
Ceana had left more than a week ago. Since the morning of her departure from Camdonn Castle, he’d split his time between work and entertaining the Duke of Irvington, taking him hunting and fishing, and showing him his lands, but all the while a flicker of panic had burned in his gut. As much as he’d tried to quash it, as the days passed, the flicker grew into a steadily burning flame. Standing at his drawing room window a few nights ago, he’d watched a Beltane fire burn in the courtyard below, and that fire had fueled the flames of his own.
He’d come to the conclusion that his feelings for Ceana were different from the way he’d felt about Sorcha. His need for Sorcha had been a selfish thing—wrought by arrogance and lust. Something told him that Ceana, however, had the power to change him, to change his world. His life.
Yet, as much as the ache for Ceana plagued him, he couldn’t forget his reasons for coming home. He understood his goals, what he needed to change, and what he needed to accomplish. He must ensure the well-being of his people. He must win their confidence and their loyalty. In doing so, however, he must count on the backing and support of the most powerful men of England and Scotland: Argyll, Parliament, the king. Cam’s plan wasn’t a simple one, but three weeks ago, he’d been prepared to implement it without any knowledge of Ceana MacNab’s existence.
That was the problem. Now he knew she existed. And an existence without her seemed very bleak indeed. He sighed, and confusion swirled around the fire within him. He had no choice—he must make good his promise to Elizabeth. He could no longer allow Ceana to occupy his thoughts when his pretty bride should be the one doing so.
Diligently, he turned his focus to his betrothed. Except for her foray up the mountain, he had been occupied with her uncle and had little knowledge of how Elizabeth had busied herself during the days. Perhaps he should pay more attention. How did she feel about her new home? About Scotland and the Highlands? Was she adapting to the people’s ways? Was she worried about her acceptance here? Terrified of their upcoming nuptials and of the life that had been chosen for her?
If so, it was his duty to allay her fears. He had avoided that particular responsibility for too long. Thrusting Ceana’s sharp gray-blue eyes and snapping voice from his mind, he left the study in search of his wife-to-be.
It was almost half an hour later when he found her curled up comfortably in the corner of the leather sofa in the small library. He smiled in surprise upon seeing her. He’d never taken her for a book lover.
She dropped the book onto the sofa and scrambled to her feet. “Oh! My lord! You startled me.”
He gave a small bow. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to disturb you. What are you reading?”
Pink crept over her cheeks and she glanced back at the book. “Oh . . . It is a religious text, my lord, but though I was staring at the words, my mind was wandering elsewhere. I’m sorry.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor, and Cam ground his teeth. Guilt swirled through him. He’d been thoughtless, as usual.
“I am the one who is sorry.”
Her blue eyes were wide when she looked back up at him. “Why, my lord?”
“I have not given you the attention you deserve. This place must be so unfamiliar and frightening to you.”
She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t require any attention. I understand you have been preoccupied with more important business since you arrived home.”
He gazed at her, clasping his hands behind his back and struggling to think of something to say. Conversation flowed so easily with Ceana, but he always struggled with Elizabeth.
Her chest rose and fell, showing the creamy tops of her bosom, and she smoothed her hands over her pale pink bodice. She was lovely. A portrait of feminine beauty.
Why, then, didn’t she move him like Ceana did? Visions of Ceana’s wild curls, her rounded breasts, her bowed lips, her gray-blue eyes, crossed through his mind in rapid succession. He pushed each one away ruthlessly and systematically.
“The Highlands are very beautiful. There is so much variety here that I never saw at home,” she said. “I am looking forward to learning all about this new world. And Camdonn Castle is lovely. It’s such an ancient seat—it truly does give one the impression of power. I will be proud to call it my home.”
Her answer did not bring him the contentment it should have. Why not? Something about it didn’t seem right. It wasn’t that it was disingenuous, but . . . He couldn’t place his finger on it. It felt almost rehearsed. Like she’d formed every word into exactly what he wished to hear.
“I am glad.”
A faint smile crossed her face.
“In two weeks we will be married, Elizabeth.”
“I know.” Her voice was breathless.
Maybe . . . maybe if he tasted her as he’d tasted Ceana. She would be sweet, he knew. Sweet and supple—she was so young—not yet twenty. Maybe she would obliterate the taste of Ceana from his mouth, from his heart and mind.
He stared at her little pink mouth. He had to kiss her. He wanted to, damn it. He’d always known she’d be easy to bed. That hadn’t changed.
Another step. She tilted her head to look up at him. Her blue eyes focused on his as he reached his hand to her face.
Gently, he traced her hairline. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “My lord.”
“I don’t want to frighten you.”
She gave a minute shake of her head, a gesture of disagreement.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured. He watched her carefully, searching for any sign of terror. Finding none, he bent forward, simultaneously curling his palm around the back of her head and tugging her toward him.
He bussed his lips over hers. They were tight and warm, like her small body standing before him, arms straight at her sides. He brushed tiny kisses over her mouth, then gently touched his tongue to her upper lip. A spasm jerked through her, and he jumped back.
He stared down at her. “Elizabeth?”
Slowly, her eyes opened and gazed up at him, blue and guileless. It was as if the kiss had never happened. Nothing had changed. She was still his perfect English rose.
And he was completely unaffected as well. His body hadn’t responded to the kiss at all. Unlike the kiss with Ceana that had incited an inferno blazing through him—an inferno doused only temporarily by the appearance of Sorcha and Alan.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Never mind.” He fought to form a smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt your reading.” Belatedly, he remembered she hadn’t been reading at all.
“It is quite all right.”
“Well. I’ve business to attend. I’ll see you at dinner.”
She curtsied. “Yes, my lord.”
He turned and left her.
He kept his hands clasped behind his back as he strode down the passageway. Perhaps there would never be true passion between him and Elizabeth. And was that so bad? He could focus on his other goals. In his search for a bride, passion hadn’t been one of his requirements. In fact, it was a detriment, in his opinion, after what had happened with Sorcha.
Still, it ate at him. How could he spend a lifetime with a woman he felt no passion for when there was a woman he burned for within his reach?
No, that was wrong. Ceana wasn’t within his reach. He was an earl, and she was a pagan Scottish healer. Not only that, she was a MacNab. MacNab women never marry.
He walked to the stables, where he and Rob exchanged brief words about Bram MacGregor and his aggressive attitude during their meeting earlier. Rob believed that Cam’s reception of MacGregor, while it hadn’t changed the man’s overall attitude, had been a start.
Then Cam mounted his mare and rode up the mountain, taking a group of men with him to relieve the men stationed at Gràinne’s cottage. Gràinne was up and about, scrubbing her table when he entered without knocking. He pursed his lips, set his hands on his hips, and stared at her menacingly.
“What, love?” She brushed a strand of red hair out of her face and tossed her soiled cloth into a bucket on the floor. A solid ring of blue had formed around one of her eyes, and Cam’s fingers itched to punch someone—preferably the worthless bastard who’d done that to her. “Did you expect I’d sit in bed for a week?”
“Yes.”
She hissed in annoyance, but her wide lips remained spread in a smile as she cocked her head at him. “What brings you, Cam?”
“I wanted to check on you.” Dropping his hands, he walked inside and closed the door against the cool breeze behind him.
“I am well, as you see. Near whole again. Ceana MacNab is a miracle worker.”
She eyed him, assessing his reaction to her words. Gràinne was far too observant when it came to him. He would not discuss Ceana with her—that would be a grave mistake. So he smoothly diverted the conversation.
“How is your wrist?”
She glanced down at the sling Ceana had fashioned that held her arm bound tightly against her body. “Better. It can be a wee bit of a challenge to perform certain tasks. But I have friends to help me.” She gestured at a chair. “Sit. I’ll pour you some whisky.”
“No, I’ll fetch my own. You sit.”
She did as she was told, watching him as he strode to the shelf by the hearth and poured whisky into the two clay cups beside the small cask. He brought them back to the table and lowered himself onto the chair across from her.
He curled his fingers around the cup and gazed up at Gràinne. The act of looking on her beautiful face marred by violence did strange things to his insides. It made him want to cause pain to the person who’d done this to her, but it also roused his gentle and protective instincts. He could hardly prevent himself from gathering her in his arms, taking her to the bed, tucking her beneath the blankets, and soothing her until she fell asleep.
“I am well, Cam,” she said quietly, reading his mind.
He gestured with his chin toward the door. “My guards?”
“I don’t require them.”
He didn’t bother to answer. They would stay until Cam was certain the menace was gone. He had no intention of negotiating that.
Gràinne sighed. “They have been surprisingly good to me, though none has seen any sign of my attacker. Nor will they.” Her lips curled as she studied him over the rim of her cup. “It was an honor to meet your betrothed.”
“Ah.” Cam took a reassuring swallow of whisky. “What did you think of Lady Elizabeth?”
“I liked her.”
That surprised Cam. He raised a brow. “You’re not madly jealous?”
Her smile widened. “You know I am not. Of course, I’ll miss you.” Her gaze flicked to the bed and then back to him. “But you know I won’t tumble you when you’re married. Even when you’re betrothed to another. However”—she raised her hand as if to interrupt him from whatever he might be thinking—“trust that is not due to any honorable feelings on my part. It is in due consideration for you.”
“Me?”
“Aye. ’Tis your honor I consider. You couldn’t bear to destroy a woman by being unfaithful to her. This is the reason I won’t seduce you now.”
His lips twisted. Sometimes it seemed Gràinne understood him better than he understood himself. She’d always been a good friend to him. He’d always love her for that. He’d always take care of her—though he’d done a damn poor job of it of late.
“What did Elizabeth say to you?” he asked, curious.
> Gràinne grinned. “She wanted me to teach her how to please you.”
Cam sputtered on his whisky. “No!”
“Aye. She did. She was very open about her desire to give you carnal satisfaction.”
The air depleted from his lungs, Cam stared at Gràinne dumbly.
Gràinne pushed a finger around the rim of her cup. “That surprises you.”
“Hell, yes, it surprises me! I didn’t even know . . .” His voice dwindled and heat crept through his cheeks. “Well, hell.”
“What didn’t you know?”
“It never occurred to me that Elizabeth knew anything about sexual congress.”
Gràinne broke out into a peal of laughter that lasted several moments. When she finally calmed enough to speak, she wiped the back of her hand over her glistening eyes. “Oh, that’s rich, love. You think she’s the epitome of perfection—and, of course, she is—but to you the natural progression of that is that she’s utterly virginal, untouched in heart, mind, and body. Poor Cam.”
“Are you implying she isn’t?”
Gràinne snorted. “Of course she is not.”
Again Cam was too stunned to speak.
“She’s far more experienced than she’d let on. Even to me.” Gràinne relaxed back in her chair, a smug look on her face. “There are certain things even an expert at deception like Lady Elizabeth cannot hide from me.”
“But she hides it from me.” Cam frowned. “Why?”
“Because she must, of course. Wouldn’t she be ‘ruined’ or ‘disgraced’ if she behaved in any other way?”
Cam murmured something noncommittal.
“Would you have chosen her if you knew she was interested in ways to please a man? If you knew that perhaps she’d pleased a man before?”
That required some thought. Cam cocked his head, thinking of how he’d approached the task of finding a wife. To Cam, the perfect wife first and foremost must be different from Sorcha MacDonald—he couldn’t choose someone who reminded him of the woman he’d been so obsessed with. But certain other elements were critical as well: title, riches, youth, beauty, intelligence, political and social ties, easy personality, strength of constitution. Elizabeth had qualified in every way.
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