by Carmen Caine
Rising from the bed, he stepped into his breeches and groped for his shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders when the slip of Kate’s bloodstained bodice fluttered to the floor.
“What is that?” she asked as he stooped to pick it up.
Slowly, he held it out.
She recognized it at once, and a look of dismay crossed her face.
“I kept it always, close to my heart,” he confessed softly.
“Then keep it no more!” she pursed her lips. “Ach, burn the dreaded thing, it has no place in our life now.”
But a sudden thought crossed his mind, and he shook his head, tucking it away into the folds of his cloak. “I have other plans for this, my sweeting. But I will see that ye never lay eyes upon it again. Come, ‘tis time to start the day.”
He watched her dress and then holding her close, shared a tender kiss before descending the tower stairs to find Julian already gone with the dawn, bound for Edinburgh.
Cameron sighed, knowing that he must do the same.
They stayed longer than they should have before finally exchanging farewells and promises to visit soon. Then Cameron gently led Kate down to the sea-gate, lifted her into the boat, covered her warmly with a fine woolen plaid, and ordered the men to depart.
As they set sail, Merry appeared on the shore astride her black stallion, and as the boat glided north, the young lass raced with them for a time, galloping along the shores and across the blooming, purple moors with her dark hair streaming out behind her.
But when the boat approached the shadow of a mighty cliff, she reared the beast on its hind legs, and waving a cheerful farewell, wheeled around to fly in the opposite direction.
The sea was calm and akin to smooth glass as they sailed past islands and precipitous cliffs. The flat tops of MacLeod's Tables rose in the distance.
Kate rested her head upon Cameron’s shoulder as they sat in the warm sunshine, watching the peaceful rolling moors slip by them. Sailing past Duntulm Castle standing on its lofty mound with its windows looking sheer into the sea, they turned south down the coast to the narrows of Raasay.
And it was then that Kate asked if she might bid farewell to Flora.
“I wouldna be here, Cameron, if not for her,” Kate said, sharing the details of the woman’s care.
“Then I am forever in her debt, my countess.” Cameron kissed Kate’s fingers, permitting his eyes to smile.
Reaching Kiltaraglen shortly thereafter, they sailed into the loch mirroring the rosy-tinted hills and the darker, shattered peaks of the Cuillin behind them.
Cameron leapt ashore and with an easy arm, lifted Kate down, setting her carefully upon her feet. And then hand in hand, they slowly walked up the path leading to Flora’s small cottage on the hilltop.
When they arrived, the old woman was sitting on the bench beneath the tree.
“Kate, ‘tis good to see ye again, lassie.” Flora hobbled to her feet, placing both wrinkled, clawed hands on the top of her stick. “Isobel sent word that ye might come.”
Kate rushed over to wrap the old woman in a warm hug as Cameron followed at a sedate pace. He waited until they had exchanged their greetings before bowing over the ancient woman’s hand.
“I am forever in your debt, kind lady,” he addressed her in a respectful tone. “Is there aught ye desire? Name it, and I’ll see it yours.”
Flora laughed, shaking her head. “There is little I need, laddie, and there is little I desire anymore … aye, nae even youth.”
“Surely there must be something?” Cameron insisted politely. “Ye have saved the life of my wife and child. A man can owe no greater debt.”
“Ach, well, if ye insist.” Flora’s lips split into a wide smile. “I’ve always wanted to taste an orange, my lord. I’ve heard they are as sweet as honey. I saw one once, a few years ago, but I didna taste it.”
Cameron smiled. “I’ll see that ye have your fill of them and more besides, good mother.”
Aye, he’d see her well supplied with all of the delicacies of the king’s table. Eyeing the state of her cottage, he decided he would send men to repair it as well. Aye, he’d see that she wanted for naught for the remainder of her days.
As Kate and Flora began to chatter, he strolled about, taking notes of things he would have done before returning to hear Kate say, “And if ye see Maura, let her know that both my father and Sir Arval live still. I would have her know the truth so that she may find some peace in her tortured heart.”
Flora patted Kate’s hands. “Hold kindness dear to your heart, sweet lassie, and dinna let the travails of life rend it from your soul.”
And as Kate kissed her withered cheek in farewell, Cameron bowed politely.
Though he was less inclined to be so forgiving of Maura, he did feel the stirrings of pity for the woman.
It was too dark to resume their journey by the time they reached the bottom of the hill, and so they stayed the night at the local inn instead. And after dispatching a man to arrange fitting transport for Kate’s journey to Edinburgh and another to see to Flora’s needs, Cameron joined Kate in a lavender-scented bed and for the first time in months, slept well.
They rose with the dawn and set sail once more. Kiltaraglen dwindled into the distance as the boat ploughed through the sea, wave by wave.
And as the afternoon sun finally pierced the pearly haze that had shrouded the sea since morning, they entered the narrow channel of Loch Alsh where the castle of Eilean Donan perched on its rocky islet with moss and golden seaweed clinging to the black rocks at the base.
The elderly Lord MacKenzie and his white-haired lady met them as they disembarked and led them to the castle where they stayed until Kate’s velvet-curtained litter arrived several days later.
“What is this?” Kate asked, wrinkling her nose at the luxurious litter slung between two white palfreys. “I’m not the queen, Cameron!”
“I’ll take no chances with ye, lass.” Cameron lifted a challenging brow. “’Tis not safe for ye to ride a horse while carrying a bairn.”
She protested only a little after that, but soon he saw her safely ensconced in pillows and plaids. They exchanged their farewells with the Mackenzies and set off, traveling at a slow pace, up slopes fragrant with thyme, through stands of birch trees quivering in the breeze, and along the blooming moors.
They halted early each day, spending nights in ivy-covered inns, neighboring castles, and more than once in one of his own holdings before finally crossing the mountains to see Stirling Castle perched below them in the distance.
And as they once again crossed the old stone bridge spanning the River Forth, Kate called out for the horses to halt.
With a bright smile, she held out her hands. “Let’s walk awhile, Cameron!”
Cameron gently lifted her out of the litter, an answering smile curving his lips.
“’Twas not so long ago that I thought ye an outlaw.” Kate laughed, pulling him up Stirling’s cobblestoned streets. “And ye let me think it, ye lout!”
“Even then, I could not bear to lose ye, lass,” Cameron replied softly, viewing her from under lowered lashes. Reaching down, he stole a kiss.
She blushed a little, batting him away before she said, “We should hie ourselves off to the almshouse straightway. Even though I know Lady Kate cares for it now, we should see whether she’s doing it properly, shouldn’t we, Cameron? I’ve been fair concerned over it. What if she’s lost interest and wee Donald is suffering?”
“I do believe the lady has been preoccupied of late,” Cameron replied with a sly twist of his lips. “But I have heard from the monks that ‘tis the wee Kate Ferguson they fear. I doubt your Donald has come to harm.”
She walked a few steps before cocking a bewildered brow at him. “How would ye hear from the monks now? When did ye have aught to do with the almshouse?”
“I sought ye there a time or two when ye still thought me an outlaw.” Cameron’s lips twitched into a broader smile. “And Father Gilbert m
entioned your meddlesome ways upon each occasion then.”
“Meddlesome?” Kate’s brown eyes lit with indignation. “Ach, the woolens were of poor quality, Cameron!”
Frowning a little, she fell silent but quickened her pace until they once again turned down the tree-lined lane.
The almshouse bustled with activity. The roof had long ago been repaired, and the men were halfway complete with the building of a new addition. A group of children played under a tree with several barking dogs as a group of women surrounded a large, black cauldron. They were chatting with the elderly gray-haired monk stirring it.
As Cameron and Kate arrived, the monk glanced up, and his blue eyes smiled. Handing the ladle to one of the women, he hurried over to greet them.
“My lord, my lady, ‘tis well to see ye again. Ye’ll find all in order here.”
“Ye’ve done well, Father Gilbert.” Cameron surveyed the place, nodding in satisfaction.
The monk dipped his head in respect and replied, “As have ye and Lady Kate, my lord, ‘tis through your generosity that these good works can continue.” He then smiled at Kate. “And, my lady, ye’ll find the woolens to be of the highest quality as ye requested.”
It was then that Cameron saw the understanding dawn in Kate’s eyes. Misty-eyed, she rounded on him and punched him in the shoulder. “Ach, ye lout! ‘Twas your hand all along!”
With a soft laugh, Cameron caught her wrist and pulled her close. Planting a kiss on her cheek, he murmured, “Then go see that the lady has done all to your satisfaction, my wee Kate. There’s no limit to what this Lady Kate may desire done.”
They stayed some time there, and while Kate found them all—including the wee Donald—quite well taken care of, she found plenty of changes to make and began rattling off orders until the poor monk was overwhelmed, and Cameron feared she would exhaust herself.
Pulling her away at last, he retired with her to the castle on the hill overlooking the river below and rested until the pale moon rose on the horizon. That night, they once more slept in the chamber where their love had begun, and he again stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning, but this time to savor the feeling of peace as Kate slept deeply, with her head upon his shoulder.
They left early the next morning, bound for Craigmillar, passing swiftly through the woodlands, the tops of the trees blurred by mist. Cameron had sent messengers ahead to prepare Kate’s father and Sir Arval for the journey on to Edinburgh, but it was an unexpected surprise when both men, sitting astride fine horses, met them three miles from the castle.
The change in Kate’s father was astounding.
The man dismounted with only a helping hand from Sir Arval and walked to meet Kate halfway as she ran to her father’s side. She wept as though her heart would burst, and there was not a dry eye among those witnessing the reunion.
After several hours had passed, the party neared Edinburgh, and it was not long before Cameron once again saw the dark castle rising high on the crag above him.
He sighed.
Treachery and intrigue awaited him there, but this time he vowed that he would overcome it.
Lord Julian Gray stood in the upper courtyard to greet them, clad in a fine velvet cloak and with both a dirk and a sword belted about his slim waist.
At his side, hovered Lady Nicoletta and Lady Elsa.
“And what is this?” Cameron’s dark eyes swept over Julian’s weapons.
“’Tis Albany in France.” The man sighed a little. “And tidings he may be the target of an assassination plot.”
Lady Nicoletta rolled her eyes in a gesture that Julian did not miss. Turning upon the sultry woman, the fair-haired lord cocked a challenging brow. “Ye’ve been naught but discouraging of this entire venture to protect the prince, Nicoletta. Enough so that now I’m wondering what drives ye. Do ye want this assassination to succeed?”
Lady Nicoletta’s eyes flashed dangerously. “And who are you to accuse me of such perfidious desires, lordling? If such tidings are true, then the queen should send a man who knows how to use a dirk for more than spearing a partridge while dandling a lass upon his knee!”
“Ach, are ye jealous?” Julian’s eyes narrowed in surprised speculation. “I didna think ye fancied me—”
“Fancy you?” Lady Nicoletta eyed him in outright disdain. “Who would fancy a man who has kissed every woman in Scotland, if not in France as well?”
“Life is simply one person going as another arrives,” he answered with a flippant shrug.
They moved away, continuing to spat, as Lady Elsa stepped forward to bow low before Kate.
“I would you forgave me my jealous words of ill will, my lady.” The woman’s fingers fluttered nervously. “I was—”
“’Tis more than forgiven, my lady,” Kate interrupted, hurriedly pulling Elsa to her feet.
“You may not call me that, my lady,” Lady Elsa whispered with a shy twist of her lips. “You must call me Elsa.”
Kate grimaced, but her dark eyes were smiling. “Ach, I’m little learned in such fine ways. Ye’ll have to teach me!”
“I would be honored and delighted, my lady.” Lady Elsa’s face flooded with a genuine warmth, and then she turned to Cameron and bowed again. “’Tis good to see ye well, my lord.”
“And so with ye,” he replied, inclining his head politely and then added, “I have not thanked ye as I should have for standing in for Kate at the wedding.”
Lady Elsa smiled wryly. “’Twas not the wedding I had wished for, my lord,” she confessed ruefully.
“Forgive me, kind lady,” Cameron answered softly.
“There is naught to forgive, my lord,” she replied in a wistful tone. “Now that I see you both here together, I would I could wait for love ere you wed me off.”
“I swear ye’ll only marry the man ye wish,” Cameron promised.
He then led Kate across the upper courtyard, into the castle with its high gray-stoned walls and up a stairway to his apartments before leaving her in the company of ladies waiting with the gowns and jewels that befitted her station.
He retired to his own chamber, to make ready for meeting the queen, but it did not take him long. Soon, he stood again before his desk, peering down at the writ upon it declaring Kate to be his wife.
At once, the memory returned of the parchment accusing her of witchcraft, and he slid his hand into his pocket, removing the bloodstained bodice. Moving to the window, he stared down in the direction of Holyrood.
Aye, he’d leave Cochrane a message that would strike fear into his soul. He’d see justice done, not only for the sake of Kate, but in memory of John Stewart, Earl of Mar.
Sir Arval’s voice shattered his thoughts, announcing the queen expected both Cameron and his lady to join her for supper.
Tucking the bodice away, he stepped into the adjoining chamber but paused upon the threshold.
Kate was already waiting for him, standing straight and proud before the crackling fire. He’d always thought Kate bonny, but the stunning creature in front of him took his breath away. The finest gown of blue satin fell over her prominent belly in graceful, loose folds. The bodice gleamed with pearls, and the jewels about her neck twinkled in the firelight.
Ach, she truly was born to be a countess—to stand among the leading nobles of the realm. With grace in her every movement she walked towards him to slip her arms about his waist.
The scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and he let his hand caress and tickle her neck. “We’d best go afore I find an excuse not to go at all, my sweeting,” he teased in a low, soft voice.
As they stepped into the queen’s privy chamber, Queen Margaret rose to greet them, the long sleeves of her green satin gown sweeping almost to her knees. Her blue eyes locked on Kate’s prominent belly and lit with interest even as her own hand dropped to rest upon her own unborn child.
“I did not know you were expecting a child, Cameron.” The queen smiled warmly.
“He didna know it himsel
f, Margaret,” Princess Anabella snorted as she swept into the room, but her grim eyes were twinkling as her gaze swept Kate from head to toe. “Now ye look the proper countess, Kate.”
Kate curtsied deeply to them both.
“Now that we are cousins, I will expect you often in my company.” The queen nodded to one of her ladies standing in the corner holding a large bundle wrapped in silk and said, “Give the countess her gift.”
The woman set the bundle on the table and carefully lifted the silk covering away to reveal a gilded cage housing two yellow canaries.
Kate’s eyes sparkled in delight, and in moments, she was chattering with the queen quite comfortably. And as the evening progressed, and talk turned to the business of childbirth, Cameron rose to his feet and excused himself.
He exited the queen’s privy chamber with a smile upon his lips. The three women had scarcely noticed he had left.
But then his countenance darkened, and drawing out Kate’s bloodstained gray bodice, he held it up against the torchlight.
His dark eyes narrowed, and covering his face with his hood, he left the castle bound for Holyrood.
* * *
Thomas Cochrane had stayed late in the king’s apartments in Holyrood, speaking with his majesty on possible ways that they might regain control of the country. It was Cameron now, who held the nobles of Scotland in his hand. Both the king and he were at a loss of how they might wrest even a shred of power back.
Since encountering Cameron on the day of Mar’s death, Thomas had feared for his life. A fear, of late, that grew tenfold by the day. He ordered guards to accompany him at all times now, even within Holyrood itself. And he’d taken to posting men outside every window and each door of his apartments, in order to guarantee the safety of his private chambers.
He hurried down the corridors, six armed men at his heels. Taking the steps two at a time, he nervously glanced ahead and spied his guarded door with some sense of relief.
He was almost safe.
He rushed past the bowing men and fairly flew into his apartments, leaning against the door with a loud sigh.
He was in his sanctuary now, a place so well protected that no one could penetrate it.