by Lynsay Sands
He hesitated, shook his head, and then suddenly blurted, "Come to Sinclair with me after ye deliver yer message."
Now it was Joan's turn to go still. She stared back at him silently, her mind suddenly abuzz. He had mentioned the possibility of her working as a healer at Sinclair at the first tavern they'd stopped at in Scotland. But that had been two weeks ago now and he hadn't mentioned it since . . . until now. Although, this time he hadn't said anything about her working.
"As a healer or as your mistress?" she asked quietly.
"I do no' care, I just ken I do no' want this to end," he said quietly, caressing her cheek with the fingers of one hand. "I need ye, Joan."
She lowered her eyes unhappily, wondering what she'd hoped he would say in answer to her question. Had she hoped he'd ask her to come to Sinclair as his mistress? As a skilled healer who would be valued? Or as a wife?
In the end, though, it didn't matter what she'd hoped for, Joan supposed. The truth was, the last two weeks had been the best of her life. They'd set out late, stopped early, traveled at a snail's pace and had made love at every opportunity, turning a journey that could have been accomplished in three days at speed, into a two week orgy of pleasure. It hadn't just been their lovemaking that had brought the pleasure; talking, laughing, bathing, walking and even eating had been pleasurable with this man. There had never been a time in Joan's life when she'd laughed as much, or smiled so often. Her cheeks actually ached by day's end from all the laughing and smiling they did on a daily basis. She couldn't imagine a life more wonderful than one spent with this man.
But she couldn't have him. She was a commoner, he a noble. The best she could hope for was to be his mistress, existing on the fringes of his life, waiting for him to come visit her and bring her to life. Joan would be miserable in that existence, and even more miserable when he tired of her and stopped visiting. Then she would suffer endlessly, watching him with other women. Perhaps he would even eventually give in to his parents' pressure and marry again, having children, grandchildren . . . No. She simply couldn't do it. She wouldn't put herself through that.
Letting her breath out on a small sigh, Joan met his gaze and repeated what she'd said earlier. "Everything comes to an end, Cam."
"Not this," he said at once.
Joan hesitated, but then pushed herself up off him. Realizing the plaid had come with her leaving him in naught but his shirt, she untangled herself from it, intending to drop it back on him, but he was already on his feet.
Catching her arms he pulled her close and kissed her gently. He then rested his forehead on hers and whispered, "Not this, Joan. I do no' want this to end."
"But I do," she said quietly and he jerked his head back as if she'd struck him. Joan almost apologized and explained that she didn't mean that she really wanted it to end so much as she didn't want it to continue and then end. Before she could, however, the sound of someone clearing their throat distracted them, and they both turned their heads toward the direction of the sound.
Joan stared blankly at the man standing on the edge of the small clearing they'd stopped in last night. As tall and wide as Cam, but dark-haired where he was fair and perhaps a couple decades older, the man eyed them with an expression that was part uncertain welcome and part discomfort.
"Laird MacKay," Cam said, releasing Joan and turning to face the man. " 'Tis a pleasure to see ye again."
Joan's eyes widened as she recognized the name of the man she'd traveled so far to see. This was the MacKay her mother had wanted her to deliver a message to.
"And fer me," Ross MacKay said, though Joan couldn't help noticing that his eyes danced away from them as he spoke the words.
Cam didn't seem to notice, however, and asked, "What are ye doin' wanderin' yer woods at this hour?"
"The men on the wall reported seeing a fire in the night," Ross said quietly. "So a couple men and meself set out this morning to see what was about."
Joan glanced sharply to Cam. It had been mid-afternoon when he'd decided they should stop the day before. He must have wanted one more afternoon and evening with her, she realized, because they had to be very close to MacKay for the small fire they'd built the night before to be seen. Close enough that they hadn't needed to stop at all. She supposed she should be angry that he hadn't told her they were so close and continued on, but she wasn't.
"Where are your men and horse?" Cam asked.
"We left the horses back a ways and searched on foot fer yer camp. I did no' want to warn any enemies o' our arrival. But when I saw 'twas ye and the lad here, I sent the men back to fetch our horses."
The MacKay definitely looked uncomfortable as he gestured to Joan. It was his calling her lad that reminded her she was disguised as a boy. While Cam had removed his plaid to wrap around them both to sleep and was now wearing naught but a shirt that barely covered his naughty bits, she had pulled her clothes on before going to sleep to help fight the cold night, including her hat which her hair was stuffed up under. She understood the man's discomfort now. He'd come upon them embracing, and sex between males was considered a mortal sin by the church, punishable by death.
Joan tugged her hat off, allowing her fair hair to spill down over her shoulders and back. Only then did Cam say, "Ross, this is Joan. She saved me life when I was stabbed by a bandit and tended me until I recovered. When I learned she was on her way to MacKay to deliver a message to yerself and yer lady wife, I offered to escort her safely here."
"Oh, thank bloody hell fer that," the MacKay breathed with relief, his stance relaxing. Shaking his head he admitted, "I was fretting o'er what to do. I ken damned right well one o' me men would ha'e reported ye to the priest to save himself a couple hail Marys and then . . ." He shook his head, and strode forward, hand extended. "I'll take the message and then leave ye two be. It looked as if I was interruptin' something when I made me presence known."
"Oh," Joan glanced at his hand, but didn't pull the scroll out of her shirt where it rested. Instead she said apologetically, " 'Tis addressed to Lady MacKay. My mother said you were welcome to read it as well, but that I should ensure Lady MacKay read it first."
"I shall see she gets it then," the MacKay assured her, hand still out.
Joan hesitated, but then shook her head. "My mother was very specific that I deliver it into Lady MacKay's hands myself."
He started to frown at her refusal, but then surprise crossed his face as her words seemed to register. "Yer mother?"
"The message is from her mother. She was on her deathbed when she gave it to Joan," Cam explained, and then added solemnly, " 'Tis a deathbed request and 'tis sure I am Joan wants to follow her mother's instructions to the letter and deliver it to yer wife in person."
The MacKay frowned over that, and then pursed his lips and asked, "Who's yer mother, lass?"
"Maggie Chartres," Joan answered promptly.
"Maggie Chartres?" Ross repeated, and it was obvious he didn't recognize the name.
"She was a healer," Cam offered helpfully, but the man merely shook his head. It wasn't ringing any bells for him.
"In Grimsby," Joan added, hoping that might help, but the man shook his head again and then sighed.
"Well, ye'd best come back to the keep with us then and deliver it to Annabel and I together as requested," he said solemnly, then glanced to Cam and teased, "Ye might want to put yer plaid on first, Campbell. The women'll already be all atwitter over the way we found ye when the men start in gossiping about it. There's no need to give 'em a show to further excite 'em."
Cam scowled at the teasing and knelt to grab and shake out his plaid, then begin pleating it. He was nearly done when several men rode into the clearing with the MacKay's horse. Joan was extremely glad she'd revealed herself as a girl when she saw the expressions on their faces. They'd obviously seen her and Cam embracing too and come to all the wrong conclusions. Their reactions to learning she was female varied from relief to lascivious grins.
Aware that she was blushi
ng, Joan began to wring her cap in her hands and lowered her head to watch Cam work.
"Stop gawking and saddle Laird Sinclair's horse fer him while he dresses," the MacKay barked suddenly.
Joan gave a start at the harsh order, but nodded and turned to hurry across the clearing to where Cam had tied the horse's reins to a tree, but the MacKay caught her arm as she passed, bringing her to a halt as he said kindly, "I was talking to me men, lass."
"Oh," she murmured, noting only then that two of the men had dismounted to rush to do their laird's bidding. One grabbed the saddle and set about putting it on, while the other collected both Cam's bag and her own and carried them over, waiting to hook them to the saddle.
"Maggie Chartres from Grimsby," MacKay murmured suddenly, and Joan glanced to him hopefully. She was rather curious herself to know how her mother knew this powerful laird and his wife, but she could tell at once from his expression that the name still hadn't sparked any memories. Meeting her gaze, the MacKay looked her over and asked, "Do ye favor her in looks?"
"I don't think so," Joan said apologetically.
"Are ye sure?" he asked, examining her features. "Ye put me in mind o' someone." He frowned. " 'Tis wiggling at the back o' me mind like a worm, but I can no' put me finger on it yet."
Joan frowned but said, "My mother had dark hair and green eyes rather than my fair hair and gray eyes, and no one ever said we looked alike. I think I must have taken my looks from my father."
"Hrrmph," The MacKay muttered and then glanced to Cam as he approached.
"Shall we?" Cam asked, taking Joan's arm firmly in hand and pulling her away from the MacKay.
Ross MacKay arched an eyebrow at what could have been construed as a jealous action, but nodded and turned toward his horse. "Let's away."
"Aye," Cam murmured and urged Joan to his horse. Once there, he mounted, and then leaned down to catch and lift her onto the beast before him. He was silent the entire time. That, combined with his stiffness, told her he was angry. She suspected it was about her saying that she did want this to end. Explaining what she'd meant when she'd said that probably would have eased his anger if not banished it altogether, but she didn't do that. It seemed better to her for him to be angry. It would be easier on both of them. There would be no emotional parting now. He would probably drop her at the keep doors and leave for home at once. In fact, she was surprised he hadn't just handed her over to Ross and left already. Especially when she realized just how close they had camped to the MacKay castle. It seemed to her that hardly more than a couple moments passed before they were riding out of the woods into a valley that covered the last little distance to the castle wall.
Terribly aware of the silent gawking the MacKay warriors were doing, Joan was grateful for the short ride. It made her wish she'd had a chance to change before encountering them. Not that she had a dress to change into anymore, but their stares made her wish she did.
And despite the fact that Cam's being angry would make their parting easier, Joan wished he wasn't angry with her and that she could talk to him. While he had become her lover, they had started out friends when he'd thought her a boy, and she was suddenly very nervous about what might be in the message her mother had given her. A message she had insisted Joan deliver in person despite the risky journey that entailed. She ached to talk to him about it, but she couldn't. To do that she had to explain her earlier comment and ease his anger, and if she did that . . .
Joan swallowed and glanced down at his hands on the reins. If she explained, he would surely know just how important he had come to be to her. He would know how tempted she was to stay with him, and he might very well use that against her. A kiss, a caress, and a few sweet words and she knew she would find it hard not to throw caution to the wind and go to Sinclair with him. It was something she was already struggling with. The only thing keeping her from it was her fear of the future, her fear that despite her precautions, his child might settle in her belly. And her fear of the inevitable day when he would tire of her and move on.
A sudden image came to her of standing in the cold and snow, a bairn in her arms, watching Cam kissing and caressing another woman behind a stables. It would break her heart to go through that, Joan knew. No, she assured herself, it was better to treat their relationship like an infected limb and simply cut it off now rather than wait for the rot to spread to the rest of the body. It was going to hurt either way, but this way at least she might save herself some pride and perhaps a little piece of her heart.
"Leave yer horse. The men'll tend him," the MacKay said as they reigned in before the keep stairs and dismounted.
Cam glanced around to nod at those words. He then turned, intending to lift Joan down, but she'd already slid off the beast by herself.
Could she not even bear for him to touch her now? He wondered bitterly as she hurried to follow Ross up the steps to the keep, neatly avoiding his taking her arm to escort her. It seemed now that he'd got her here safe and sound she was done with him. It made Cam wonder if her allowing him to bed her hadn't simply been a means to secure his protection for her journey. Certainly, she'd made it clear that she had no desire to further their acquaintance.
No' this, Joan. I do no' want this to end.
But I do.
His words and her response had echoed through Cam's head repeatedly on the short ride to the keep. In his memory, he sounded like a lovesick lad pleading for her attentions. And she like a heartless harpy, slapping him down. He'd thought at the very least they were friends, but after all their talk, laughter, and passion, she'd refused him outright and without a second thought.
Mouth tight, Cam followed them up the steps. He really wanted to get on his horse and ride home to lick his wounds, but pride wouldn't allow it. He would stay to find out what was in the message, and perhaps partake of the meal he knew Lady MacKay was sure to offer. Then he would head home as if it were the most natural thing in the world and he wasn't heartsore and angry.
"Nay! Jasper nay! Stop! Do not--Oh! Give me that, you horrid dog you!"
Cam glanced around curiously at those distressed calls as he followed Joan and Ross into the keep, his eyes finding Lady MacKay across the great hall, chasing their dog, Jasper, around the chairs by the fire. His eyes widened slightly, but then he noted the cloth in the animal's mouth and realized the problem just as Jasper spotted them and bound in their direction.
Ross bent to catch the dog as it charged forward, but the animal was fast and veered around him, right into Cam's arms.
"There," he murmured, gently tugging what appeared to be a shirt from the animal's mouth, even as he struggled to hold on to the wiggling beast. The dog was wagging his tail so hard, his whole lower body was waving back and forth like a snake's and he was hard to hold onto.
"Thank you, Cam," Annabel said with an exasperated sigh as she hurried over to them. "I swear this dog will be the death of me."
Cam smiled slightly, but remained on one knee to pet the dog with one hand as he handed the shirt up to Lady MacKay with the other. "When did Jasper start stealing clothes? And what the devil are ye feeding the beast? Last time I saw him he seemed old and tired. Now he's as frisky as a pup."
"He is a pup," Annabel said, accepting the shirt.
"We lost Jasper the Second at the end of winter," Ross explained. "This is Jasper the Third. He's about seven months old now."
"Aye, and he is as fond of chewing up clothes as Jasper the First was of cheese," Annabel said with irritation.
Cam shifted his gaze back to Jasper III, eyebrows rising. At seven months old the pup was still growing, yet he was already easily as big as Jasper II had been full grown. The beast was going to be huge.
"Thank you for rescuing Payton's shirt. I had just finished mending a tear in it when Jasper decided he should take it," Annabel said wryly, checking the shirt now. "Fortunately, he doesn't appear to have done any damage . . . this time."
"Me pleasure," Cam said, giving the dog one last pet and strai
ghtening.
" 'Tis nice to see you, Cam," Annabel said. "How is your mother?"
"Fine as far as I ken," Cam said with a grimace.
"Oh, aye, you have been away all summer," Annabel recalled, and then smiled. "She will be glad to see you home."
"No doubt," he said quietly.
Annabel nodded and then peered curiously at Joan, blinking when she noted her hair flowing down her back. No doubt Lady MacKay had thought her a boy at first glance, Cam realized and could hardly blame her. While Joan's hair was now down, it wasn't immediately obvious pushed back over her shoulders as it was. She also wore the braies and tunic she'd been wearing when he'd first encountered her. Anyone would have thought her a man at first glance.
"Wife, this is Joan," the MacKay said quietly. "Cam encountered her on his way home and when he heard she was coming here to deliver a message, he offered to escort her."
"Oh, that was kind," Annabel said, and offered Joan a smile. "Well, welcome to you both. You must be tired after your journey. Come sit yourselves at the trestle tables and I will go ask one of the maids to fetch us some food and drinks."
"Thank ye," Cam murmured, and took Joan's arm to usher her after Annabel when Lady MacKay turned to lead them across the great hall. Their hostess paused briefly at the trestle table, gesturing for them to sit, and then bustled off toward the door to the kitchens.
Ross shook his head as he watched Jasper hurry after her. "That bloody dog follows her everywhere," he said with disgust, and then smiled wryly and added, "Well, when he is no' following Annella."
"Annella?" Joan asked curiously.
"Our daughter," Ross explained. "One of them at any rate. We have two daughters and a son, Annella, Kenna and Payton. Annella is our oldest daughter, though her brother Payton is three years older."
"Oh, I see," Joan murmured as she settled at the trestle table.
"Annella and Annabel spoil the dog," Ross added with a small smile. "They both feed him treats at every turn, but Annella lets him sleep on the foot of her bed, so if she is around, he follows her. When she is not, he does no' leave me wife's side."
"Ah," Joan murmured with understanding.
"Where are Annella, Kenna and Payton?" Cam asked curiously.