by Paula Quinn
“Kendrick?”
His son looked away from Charlie’s smiling face and his eyes glistened with tears. “Father.”
Cameron ran to him and cupped Kendrick’s face in his large hands. He studied him, his eyes, eyes he knew. Tears fell down his face onto the bed, into his son’s shoulder when he pulled him into his arms.
Patrick wiped his eye and caught Charlie smiling at him. He winked at her, forgetting that an instant ago he was angry that she was here yet again.
She left her chair and went to him. “There’s something I would speak with you about.”
“Of course,” he said and led her out. They met Mary in the hall and Patrick forgot about the man in their bed and what he still meant to Charlie thanks to the children running around his legs. He wanted this. He looked at Charlie. And he wanted it with her.
They followed the brood into the kitchen, where they met Duff and Elsie.
“Cameron is here,” Patrick told his cousin then bent to the children. “Go play in the yard. I’ll join ye shortly.” He wanted to speak with Duff about fighting and he didn’t want them here to hear it.
“Do I have yer word that ye’ll no’ try to harm him?” he asked him when the children ran outside.
“Aye, ye have it,” his cousin told him, “but ’tis difficult knowing he killed my mother.”
“Kendrick thirsts.” Cameron’s voice drew every eye to where he stood in the doorway. When Charlie hurried to fetch Kendrick some water, Cameron held up his hand and smiled at her. “Thank you, Miss Cunningham, but let me see to him now that I am here. You have my deepest gratitude for all you’ve done already.”
She nodded and he waited while she filled a cup.
“Your mother was my friend,” he told her in a quiet, quavering voice. His gaze fell on Duff and on Elsie. “I know it won’t bring her back and I take full responsibility for it. The fault of it lies with me. But I would have you know that it was a terrible accident.” He took a deep breath then continued as if he’d been waiting for years to tell them. Patrick knew he had. “We had come here to exact vengeance from your father. Because of my past friendship with your mother, I decided to spare her sons, and her of course. But she hadn’t known. When we attacked, cutting a path to Allan Cunningham, your mother had leaped in front of us, cutting off our path to plead for her family’s lives.
“Even covered in blood, I wasn’t satisfied. I’d come to kill the man responsible for taking my son. Nothing was going to stop me.
“Ignoring your mother’s pleas, I…I shoved her away. She fell and landed on a guardsman already splayed out on the floor. His blade, exposed and tilted across his chest…” He stopped for a moment to try to gather himself. Patrick knew how difficult this was for his uncle. But it was time to heal.
“When I saw what I had done, I went to her and lifted her from the blade. I carried her to a cushioned chair and fell at her feet to plead her forgiveness. I don’t know if she would have given it. I left Cunningham House ashamed of my blood-lust.” He lifted his gaze from the ground and set it on Duff, then at Charlie. “We have done things we regret. I hope you can all someday forgive me.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Patrick hoped it was enough.
Duff moved forward and Patrick readied himself to break up a fight.
“We were commanded to take your boy to Dumfries and kill him. I like to think ’twas my age that made me so foolish.” Duff reached him and sat on the edge of the table. “I wanted to please the man who raised me, to finally be accepted as his son, so I agreed to do it. I took him from you and cast him into a life worse than death. If anyone pleads forgiveness, ’tis I.”
Patrick smiled watching him. Duff was a good man, a MacGregor, for certain. Will would be honored to call him son.
“You have it,” Cameron replied.
Charlie stepped forward and handed Cameron the cup of water she’d been clutching to her chest. “You’ll stay for supper then?”
Cameron accepted the cup and smiled.
“And later,” Patrick’s uncle added. “We can discuss the marriage ceremony.”
Elsie hurried forward, her blue eyes sparkling. Patrick was glad she looked healthier than when he’d first arrived. And now she was going to wed Shaw. She’d be a Fergusson. He was happy for her.
“I’ll be a good wife to your son, Mr. Fergusson,” she beamed.
Cameron looked a wee bit lost for an instant and then his grin widened. “Aye, ye and Shaw. We’ll make it a double ceremony.” He smiled at them all and then turned and continued down the hall.
What? Patrick’s smile faded. A double ceremony? No damn way in hell…“Uncle!” he called out, catching up to him. “What’s goin’ on?”
Cameron opened his mouth to speak and then rethought his words. Finally he said with a sigh, “I understand that Charlotte Cunningham may have caught your eye, but Kendrick loves her.”
“He told this to you?” Patrick’s heart drummed in his ears, the sound of war. “Ye were barely in there long enough to—”
“When I asked him how he lived, his reply was her.”
Patrick turned to look at her. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Nae! His heart battered against his ribs as if it sought to break free and fly to her. Nae, his jaw tightened. He wouldn’t lose Charlie to Kendrick.
“You must know,” his uncle continued, dragging his gaze back to him, “that if his love for her has remained true after all this time, he should have her.”
Nae. Patrick shook his head and ran both hands over his face. Nae. He didn’t know that. All he knew was that he was ready to put away his careless ways and be responsible for someone else. Her. He’d given his heart to her, his soul. For what? To have Kendrick return from the damn dead and reclaim her? Nae! He turned to her again with his heart in his eyes. “What d’ye want, Charlie?”
Her eyes were large and liquid in the soft candlelight. She couldn’t say. She didn’t have to. Patrick was certain his heart was about to stop for good and he’d drop to the floor dead at her feet.
Cameron placed his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. His eyes, pouring over his sister’s son, were filled with love and hope Patrick hadn’t seen in him.
“She was about to agree to Kendrick’s proposal when we entered.”
Patrick must have looked like he was about to be ill or about to start breaking jaws because his uncle moved in closer and cupped his face in both hands. “Lad, she cannot mean that much to you. You haven’t known her long, have you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I would see him happy, nephew. Make this small sacrifice for him, and I’ll be sure to write your father about it. Think on it please. Now, I must go. Kendrick’s waited long enough.”
Patrick watched him enter the room and wondered what kind of monster he’d become to hate Kendrick.
He needed to be away from here. He needed to plot his course of action with a clear head.
He strode past Charlie, not answering her when she called out and headed for the door. He didn’t want to speak to her or look at her. He couldn’t have been this big of a fool. He didn’t care what Cameron wrote to his father, but this was kin. He could only go so far. How far would that be? He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to fight. He left the house before he could consider it further and strode toward the fields. He wouldn’t go too far in case his uncle tried to have them wed by the village priest.
The thought of Charlie spending her life with anyone but him made him want to do more than just bust some bones. He tried to plan the best way to convince Cameron that he wasn’t giving her up, but he couldn’t think straight. His head felt as if it were about to burst, his heart felt the same.
Was it wrong of him to keep her from a man she’s loved her whole life? Was he still nothing but a selfish bastard? He wished he could speak with his father and mayhap gain some insight on what the hell was happening to him. He’d never felt this kind of pain before. What would his father have to say to him? Hadn’t the men of Camlochlin risked all for love
? Had any one of them given up his woman? His father would tell him to fight for her. But how far?
And what was there to fight? Charlie wanted Kendrick. She couldn’t even look at him. Patrick had known she loved his cousin. His sling at her thigh attested. He should have left her to her ghost.
He sank to his knees at the twisting ache in his guts, his chest.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Charlie watched Patrick leave and looked at the doorway to the sleeping quarters. Her indecision as to where she should go kept her rooted in her spot. She wanted to go to the room and tell Cameron Fergusson that there was no future for her and Kendrick. But how could she turn her back on the boy she loved so deeply? He’d grown to manhood in a world of beatings and chains and fought his way to the brink of death, for her. How the hell was she supposed to tell him the truth? She’d actually considered agreeing to his proposal. But guilt and regret were prisons she no longer wanted any part of. And Kendrick deserved more.
She looked toward the front door and thought of the man who’d set her free. Was Patrick leaving? Dare she chase him?
She took off running. He’d told her he loved her, and she believed him. Then why was he giving up so easily? Had he given up already? He rarely requested her company of late. When he checked on Kendrick, he spoke briefly to her then left. She’d wanted to speak with him about Kendrick’s proposal. Did he still love her? Was she giving up her childhood love for a man whose fickle heart had changed once again? But she knew he loved her when he’d looked at her, his heart laid bare before her. Why hadn’t she told him then?
When she stepped outside, she was surprised and utterly relieved to see his horse still tethered to the small post. She looked around. He couldn’t be too far. He’d either gone right toward the village, or left to the fields.
She lifted the hem of her delicate skirts and ran left.
When she saw him kneeling in the grass, she stopped and clutched her hands to her breast. He looked anguished and in terrible pain.
“Patrick?” she said, reaching him. She fell to her knees before him and cupped his face in her hands. The long spray of his lashes were dark with moisture around his somber gaze. “Are you unwell?”
He nodded. “A plague.”
“What do you mean, please be serious. I’m concerned.”
One corner of his mouth quirked, but it was void of any humor. “’Tis love. It has befallen me.”
She blinked and removed her hands from his face to fold her arms across her chest. “Befallen you. Like a curse. A plague.”
“Aye, I—”
She gave him a shove backward and bounded to her feet. “And here I was concerned over you.”
He rose and caught her arm when she moved away. “What would ye call it when ye’re willin’ to fersake all others fer the sake of one? Or the gnarled talons clawin’ away m’ insides and threatenin’ to leave me in ruins? How would ye describe the feelin’ of drownin’ with no one around to help, every damn wakin’ moment? I want to say, the choice is yers.” He shook his head, his eyes glistening under the sun. “But I canna speak the words. I want to fight fer ye. I want to fight him and it shames me.”
She returned to him, her eyes, wide, warm, and worshipful. “I choose you, Patrick MacGregor. What do you think I meant when I told you that you’d succeeded where my father failed?” When he shook his head, she smiled and reached up to run her fingers over his strong jaw. “He tried to kill Kendrick to make me stop loving him. There will always be love in my heart for Kendrick but you are the man I want in my bed every night.” She stepped into his arms. His smile made the backs of her knees burn. “You are the man I want to father my children, and grow old with. ’Tis you I want. I love you, and only you. God and all his angels help me.”
She lost herself in his laughter and his passionate kiss.
They stood at the entryway on the brink of possibly starting another feud—or ending one. Patrick prayed he could convince his uncle what Charlie meant to him, and that Charlie could help Kendrick understand. They were going to claim their futures, defy anything that came against them, together. She’d been at his side during every battle he’d faced since coming here, sometimes dragging him into the glaring light of self-examination. When the thieves had attacked them outside Colmonell, her stones had flown with pinpoint precision, saving his arse. Looking at her, Patrick doubted it would be the last time they would stand united against whatever cause Charlie took on next.
His gaze drew hers. He smiled like a fool, drinking in the sight of her delicate jaw, the shape of her lips angling upward. “I love ye, lass.”
He saw her reply in her eyes before she spoke. He’d won her. “I love you, as well, Patrick.”
She moved against him with haste and reached up to press her lips to his. She turned away and stepped inside. Patrick hung back, his ear alerted to a sound.
He turned toward the kitchen. Were the children still outside? Another sound turned his blood cold.
A child’s muffled scream.
He reached the kitchen before the cry ended and passed Duff and Mary on their way out.
“Children!” Patrick shouted, spinning in a circle as his gaze scanned every direction.
“Jamie!” Mary screamed.
Patrick turned to see the lad running from the barn. Was that…blood on him? Patrick ran to him. “Nonie!” he roared toward the barn. “Robert!”
Robert and Andrew ran crying from the barn next, stilling Patrick’s breath as he caught them in his arms. “Where’s Nonie?” he asked while he quickly examined Jamie for any wound.
“’Tis not his blood,” Robert sniffed and wiped his eyes.
“Nonie bit the monster,” Andrew cried. “He was holding her and Jamie and she bit him.”
“Hendry!” Duff’s voice resonated off the distant trees, and through Patrick’s soul. “What the hell are you doing? I’ll kill you, you bastard! Let her go!”
Patrick rose up from the children. Nonie. Hendry stood at the barn doors holding Nonie by the hair. At Duff’s threat, Hendry produced a knife and held it to her throat.
Patrick caught Nonie’s eye and he winked, though he felt like he had no air left to breathe.
“What d’ye want, Hendry?” he asked with deadly calm.
“I must pay a debt. You know how I enjoy the card tables.” He grinned at Duff and Patrick fought not to rush at him and break every bone in his face. “I want my sister. She must marry Alistair Dunbar or my life is forfeit. So you see?” He tugged Nonie’s head back by her hair, exposing more of her thin throat. “I’ll do whatever I must to have her. Bring her to me now.”
“You offered up our sister at a game of cards?”
Patrick turned to glare at Duff. He was going to get Nonie killed if he tried anything. This wasn’t the time to lose his temper over how Charlie had been treated. Hendry would never have her, nor would the Dunbars. It was not something to worry over.
“Let go of the lass,” he called out to Hendry and returned his gaze to him, “and I’ll bring Charlie to ye m’self.”
“Why? Did you tire of her already?” Hendry laughed. Did all her pining over poor dead Kendrick finally get to you?”
Patrick was supposed to be proclaiming his love for her, instead he stood here, preparing himself to denounce her.
“Aye, I—”
“You’re a liar, Monster!” Nonie shouted. “Kendrick isn’t dead!” She sank her teeth into his arm for the second time and bit him.
Hendry threw back his head at the pain in his arm at the same instant Charlie’s stone flew at his head. The stone struck him in the cheek, tearing skin away from bone.
Patrick took advantage of Hendry’s moment of shock and pain and leaped at him.
“Run to yer mother!” he shouted at Nonie as Hendry’s grip on her loosened and he fought to remain upright.
The lass broke free and ran as Patrick reached Hendry and took hold of him.
Patrick had never wanted to kill a man, until
now. Clutching Hendry’s léine, he balled his free hand into a fist and hit him. And again. Three direct blows to the face was enough for the worm, and his legs collapsed beneath him.
Patrick wanted to kill him. But he stepped away and turned to Charlie. Hendry was still her brother.
He moved toward her and saw his uncle appear at the doorway, his pistol raised and pointed at Patrick.
What in blazes—
Patrick heard a sound behind him and ducked. Cameron’s pistol ball shot above his head and hit the bloodied man rising to his feet.
Hendry fell to the ground.
Thankfully, Mary had brought the children inside while Patrick was punching Hendry. Charlie looked away from Hendry’s body and disappeared into the house. Duff passed him, moving toward his brother.
“Uncle?” Patrick went to him. Cameron’s eyes were wide, his brow still furrowed. His pistol still held aloft, shaking in his hand. “Are ye well?”
Cameron blinked and looked at him. He nodded, shoving his weapon beneath his belt. “I am now.”
Patrick held Charlie in his arms within the starlit muirs. The day had been long and difficult and they wanted to be alone. He’d spoken to her briefly about the death of her brother. But her solemn reply was correct. Hendry had brought it on himself.
“Do ye think Kendrick took yer confession well?” Patrick asked against her brow.
“I think he is going to need a long time to heal from his past,” she replied softly. “Caitriona has asked to go to Tarrick Hall to see to his mending. She’s loved him all along. I think I always knew.”
Patrick was glad. They would be here too if Kendrick needed them. Patrick would remain with Charlie in Pinwherry until her father was properly taken to prison for conspiring to kill a boy. Patrick would ask Daniel Marlow, a general in the queen’s army and his cousin by marriage, to see it done.
After he knew the people of Pinwherry were safe, he would take Charlie and Duff to Camlochlin to meet their new kin, and then return here.