She turned her head to look at him. “I want you inside me again.”
“Yes.” Already, he’d knelt between her legs and his cock nudged at her entrance. She tilted her pelvis to allow him access.
He slid home, and she released a sigh of pleasure. She was sensitive and hot and raw, but he filled her, took away the feeling of emptiness.
He leaned down over her, his breath whispering in her ear, his chest flush against her back. She loved the press of his warm skin against hers. It felt so right. So perfect. So good.
After her orgasm, she was supple and languid. She felt like a warm, smooth river, encompassing him, caressing him. Within moments, his cock hardened and began to pulse. His muscles tightened, banded around her. And then he thrust hard, once, and his cock contracted deep within her, filling her with his seed.
He slumped down beside her and, as she curled into a ball on her side, he curved his body protectively around her. Delirious with satisfaction, they both sank into a deep sleep.
When Ceana opened her eyes, the first vestiges of a gray dawn leaked lazily in through the shuttered windows. She stretched and yawned, noting the pleasant soreness of her body.
“Mmm.”
Cam’s hand slipped over her waist and then rose to stroke her breast. “Come home with me today.”
“Why?” she murmured.
“I want you with me.”
She tried not to go stiff. She chuckled. “Impossible.”
“I’ve decided not to marry Elizabeth.”
She flipped over to face him, her eyes wide. “But you must!”
Lord, she should have expected this after all that had happened. But even late last night he’d seemed intent on making Elizabeth his wife. From his words alone, she’d assumed she was safe. What a fool she was.
“You must marry her!”
“Why do you say that? We’re not even married yet and she has betrayed me. What kind of wife will a woman like that make?”
She reached forward, cupping her hands over his shoulders, and tried not to attempt to shake some sense into him. “You have betrayed her as well.”
“That’s different.”
She raised a brow. “Is it?”
Impatiently, he pushed a hand through his hair. “Hell, Ceana—”
“You must marry her.”
“Why?”
Fear for the young woman—for all of them—rose in her chest. “You mustn’t tell her uncle about what happened, Cam. You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“I have no intention of telling anyone. She is a young, well-bred English lady. If word of her indiscretion spread . . .” He shook his head. “No. I see no reason to damage her reputation.”
“That is why you must marry her.”
“To save her reputation? That’s absurd. It is clear neither of us possesses a strong desire for the other. Why would we commit ourselves to a lifetime of unhappiness with each other just to salvage her reputation?”
“You will ruin her if you cancel the wedding.”
“Not necessarily. What if I kept quiet about her indiscretion and instead admitted to my own?”
Ceana’s hands slipped off his shoulders. She merely shook her head.
He reached forward and wrapped his hands around her neck, his expression intent, his eyes dark and serious. “What if I told them I no longer wanted Elizabeth? What if I told them I wanted someone else?”
She shook her head again, mute, panic clawing at her stomach.
“What if I told the world I wish to be with Ceana MacNab instead?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cam rode back to the castle in a fog. After they’d eaten a light breakfast, he’d taken Ceana home, where they’d found no trace of Sorcha or any of the others. A patient awaited Ceana at her door, however, an old man with a rattling cough, and her tension visibly melted away the moment she saw him. She’d jumped off the horse, given Cam a perfunctory adieu, and, with nary a glance back at him, ushered her patient inside.
She’d been silent and snappish the entire way to her cottage. Did it mean she didn’t want to be with him? Had he broached the topic inappropriately? He hadn’t openly offered her marriage. Was that what she wanted? A deeper promise? A lifetime commitment?
He’d never offered to marry Sorcha MacDonald, and that was how he’d lost her. He’d managed the situation with Sorcha like an ass, and he damn well didn’t want to repeat his mistakes now. He cared for Ceana too much. The thought of losing her forever was un fathom-able.
But what was the proper way to approach this? The events of last night—all of them—had proven to him that he cared for her beyond measure.
That thought clamped his chest so tight he wondered if he’d ever be able to take a deep breath again.
Nevertheless, as much as his gut commanded him to, he could not rush impulsively into a marriage with Ceana MacNab. He didn’t want to offer her something that would affect them so significantly without putting a great deal of thought into the repercussions. He had learned at least a few valuable lessons from the mistakes of his impetuous youth and his rash behavior with Sorcha.
Could Ceana give him the companionship he sought? The mutual affection he craved? Could they overcome the political backlash and the potential enmity of the Duke of Irvington? Was it an exaggeration to say that if he broke off his engagement to Elizabeth, it would ruin her life?
Could he take Ceana into society and among his peers? Could he make her happy?
Would she make him a better wife than Elizabeth?
Not politically. He sighed. Too many ties depended on his association with the Duke of Irvington. If he didn’t follow through with his engagement to Elizabeth, the most important and influential people in the world would be sorely disappointed in him. Ultimately, that could negatively affect not only him, but his tenants and all the residents of the Glen.
Perhaps that was why Ceana had fled. She was practical to a fault. She knew who they both were. She knew that in the social order in which they existed, their two worlds didn’t—couldn’t—overlap.
Yet Elizabeth had already betrayed him, and he’d betrayed her. The fact that both of them had already strayed did not bode well for the happiness of their marriage.
Still, he could not simply undo the betrothal and discard Elizabeth. There was too much at stake.
He rode for some time, his mind a garble, before he realized he was leading the horse in the wrong direction. Grimly, he turned back toward Camdonn Castle.
The sun had begun to descend in the misty afternoon sky when he passed through the castle gates and dismounted at the stables, where Robert MacLean approached to take his horse.
Cam gazed at the man who’d taken his betrothed against a cavern wall last night. Why couldn’t he conjure up a murderous rage? Was it because the man might be his brother? Was it because Cam didn’t possess any proprietary feelings for Elizabeth? Was it because he didn’t love her?
None of that should matter. She was still his betrothed. She still belonged to him. Despite that, as much as he tried to muster the requisite hate for Robert MacLean, he couldn’t find it in himself.
He handed the reins to Rob in silence and turned toward the keep, but the other man laid a hand on his arm. “A large group of your tenants arrived this morning. Charles Stewart and your manservant are with them.”
Cam tried to imagine the boyish Stewart and Duncan MacDougall, his aged valet, attempting to keep a hoard of angry Highlanders content in the confines of his study.
He rubbed his fingers over his temple. Between his feelings for Ceana, his confusion over Rob and Elizabeth, and his desire to make peace with his own people, his ability to manage it all was wearing thin.
He went directly to his study and was instantly bombarded by representatives of the poorest of his tenants, begging for work to exchange for overdue rents. Cam sorted through the Highlanders one at a time, and Charles helped him to match skills to the work most suited to each man.
Bram MacGregor
hung back, waiting for everyone else’s concerns to be addressed before reporting that Hamish Roberts was sleeping out in the open, and his wife and children had been scattered among families who volunteered to house them a few days at a time.
“Why doesn’t Roberts make any attempt to care for his family? Why hasn’t he tried to keep them together?” Cam asked.
MacGregor sneered. “What does he possess to care for ’em with? He’s been evicted, left with nothing.”
Cam eyed MacGregor coolly. “He hasn’t petitioned me for work.”
“Because ye willna grant it.”
“No one knows that for certain until he tries.”
The fuming MacGregor strode toward the door, but Cam stopped him. “Why do you champion this man MacGregor? He is a thief, and I have it on good authority that he is a drunkard too.”
“He’s representative of how poor leadership causes the Highlands to suffer.”
“Or perhaps how poor judgment can lead a family to ruin? In any case, I suggest you find worthier men to champion in the future.”
MacGregor opened the door.
“Oh, and MacGregor?”
His dark eyes brimming with annoyance, MacGregor turned to face him.
“If you know where Mrs. Roberts is, you might advise her to see my housekeeper. My household is growing, and I require more staff. Perhaps she possesses one of the skills Janet is looking for.”
MacGregor stilled, and some of the fire drained from his eyes. After a long pause, he said, “I will send her.”
With that, the man disappeared. Standing at Cam’s side, Charles whispered, “Well-done, my lord.”
Cam released a breath and gazed at his empty room. Perhaps he’d someday learn how to lead these people, after all.
That night at dinner, Elizabeth sat at the table demurely as always, eyes downcast, hands folded. As he watched her, Cam’s appetite deserted him. He pushed away his bowl of oxtail soup.
“You don’t care for the soup, my lord?” Elizabeth asked as a footman took it away. “I find it very pleasant.”
“It is excellent,” agreed her uncle.
“I fear I’m not very hungry tonight.” Cam cupped his glass in his hands and stared at his wine.
“That’s too bad, Camdonn, because it is really quite good.” The duke swiped a napkin over his lips. He looked from Elizabeth to Cam, and a slow grin spread across his face. “So. A little less than a fortnight now.”
Cam slid a glance at Elizabeth. “Yes.”
“I must say, I heartily enjoyed hearing your names when the banns were called at services this past Sunday. It made the event seem all too real.” The duke beamed. “I know you will be happy together. A perfect match, indeed.”
“Indeed.” Cam was grateful his tone sounded somewhat honest. Again, he glanced at Elizabeth. She gazed at her lap, expressionless.
“I daresay the two of you will make beautiful children,” the duke proclaimed. “The perfect combination of dark and light. Which shall prevail, I wonder?”
Cam couldn’t breathe. He braced his hands on the edge of the table, forcing them not to clench, forcing his itching feet not to stride away. He curved his lips into a grimacing smile. “Hopefully we will know the answer to that question very soon.”
“Ah, good,” the duke said. “Excellent. Lizzy will make an outstanding mother, and I do believe that the occupation of mothering will subdue her.”
Slowly, carefully, Elizabeth took a sip of her wine.
The sounds of her harsh gasps last night, her breathless cries of pleasure, rushed through Cam’s mind. Would mothering his children subdue her? Take away that passion he’d witnessed?
He kept his attention on the duke. “Why have you never married, Your Grace? Surely you have the wish to beget an heir?”
“Ah.” The duke took a long draft of wine. “Perhaps someday soon, but until now I have been too preoccupied with doing right by my only niece—the sole member of my family remaining after my brother and his wife and son were cruelly taken by smallpox.” He cast a loving glance at Elizabeth, which she returned with a smile. “Elizabeth was the only one who survived. She had suffered through tremendous pain and heartbreak. She required so much affectionate care to keep her young spirit from descending into permanent melancholy.”
“You have done right by her,” Cam said.
“Indeed you have, Uncle. And you have my never-ending gratitude.”
Cam stared at her, for the first time discerning a hint of disingenuousness in her words. Perhaps if he hadn’t heard her liaison with Rob, he wouldn’t have noticed. But every moment he was with her, it was becoming clearer that the core Elizabeth was a very different person from the icon of sweet perfection he’d thought he was to marry.
God, the girl was going to drive him mad.
How could he go through with a marriage to a woman he couldn’t trust? She’d reveal her true colors to Robert MacLean, but not him.
Never him.
It struck him that she might leave him, might run away with Rob. He pushed away the initial feeling of relief that thought elicited. As much as he’d like to easily solve the problem of his marriage to Elizabeth, he had no desire to face the embarrassment of that scandal.
In any case, from Elizabeth’s point of view, that action wouldn’t be sensible, or even reasonable. She’d lose everything. Her life would change for the worse. She was a pampered duke’s niece, not a woman who had been raised to weather the rough life of a Highland outcast. Surely she was intelligent enough to know all this.
Nevertheless, Cam realized, after that scene down by the loch, that Elizabeth was more than capable of making rash, illogical decisions.
He set down his wineglass on the ivory linen tablecloth. Maybe he should force her to be candid with him. Perhaps if he told her he knew about her and Rob, she would abandon her facade and finally be candid with him.
It might hurt both of them to be honest with each other. While he could easily reveal his heart, his hopes, his fears, and his thoughts to Ceana, the thought of doing so with Elizabeth gave him a sick, anxious feeling, and he couldn’t comprehend why.
Still, he must make the effort.
Soon.
A few hours later, Cam prepared for bed as Duncan puttered around his bedchamber. Cam looked up at the older man. “You knew my father, didn’t you, Duncan?”
“Aye, sir. I knew him very well. Worked at the castle as a serving boy when he and I were lads, and we became right good friends until he was sent away to school.”
“Do you remember the days after my mother died?”
Duncan’s lined face turned grave. He looked up from the pile of clothes he was folding. “Aye. Those were dark days. Dark days indeed.”
Cam got right to the point. “Do you remember the women he brought to his bed?”
My bed, Cam thought bleakly, staring at the hulking carved oak bed with its heavy green and black damask bed curtains.
“Er . . .” Duncan straightened, eyeing him with perceptive blue eyes. “Why do ye ask, milord?”
Cam shrugged. “Curiosity, I suppose.”
Duncan looked thoughtful. “Well, indeed, there was a string of ’em, sir. Just after Lady Camdonn departed this earth. I always thought it ’is way of mourning . . . of trying to find a replacement for her. But none of them was right, of course. They was all lasses from the Glen.”
“Who were they?”
Duncan frowned. “I can’t say I remember them all. MacDonald lasses. One or two MacLeans . . .” Duncan’s frown deepened. “One of them was married. A pretty one, she was. The husband eventually discovered her betrayal, and there was a big row betwixt the three of ’em, and she and the husband stole away late one night to never return to Camdonn Castle. The earl was furious, so he was—I think he was fonder of that lass than he was of the others. He sent a search party to retrieve them. Alas, they were never found.”
“What were their names?”
“Marian and . . . Peter, I think it w
as.” He scrunched his forehead as if he doubted himself. “It was long ago.”
“Do you remember the year? The month of their departure?”
Duncan gazed at him shrewdly. “Do you think you know them, milord? Have you met them? Do you remember the incident? Indeed, it caused quite an uproar, but everyone thought you too young—”
“Just answer the questions, Duncan.”
“I believe it was 1692, and . . . I cannot remember the month. The trees were bare . . . autumn?”
Cam sat in silence. Robert MacLean was twenty-four, which meant he was born after April in 1693. Could the couple Duncan spoke of be the parents of Robert MacLean? There was only one way to find out. He rose and strode to his wardrobe, taking out a fresh shirt and breeches.
Duncan frowned at him as he pulled on the breeches.
“There’s something I must do. Go to bed, Duncan.”
After the manservant left him, Cam hurried to the stables. Finding the stable door unlocked, he went in and mounted the stairs to Rob’s apartment. Light and warmth emanated from upstairs, so he knew the man was at home.
Hell, Elizabeth might be here. He paused near the bottom of the stairs. “Ho, MacLean? Are you here?”
He heard a scraping noise, and then Rob appeared at the top of the stairs. “Milord? Do you require assistance with one of the horses?”
“No. I . . . wish to speak with you about something.”
Rob paused, his expression very still, then said, “Please come up.”
Cam climbed the stairs and entered the stable master’s quarters. Rob led him to a chair Cam recognized as one of the chairs from Queen Anne’s time that his father had kept in his study before Cam had ordered the room refurbished for his own use.
“Would you like some ale? I haven’t any whisky.”
“Ale is fine.”
Cam was quiet while Rob poured the frothy mixture into a cup and handed it to him. He dragged a wicker chair close to Cam and lowered himself into it. “What brings you here, milord?”
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