Moments later, the reverend uttered the final blessing. “The Lord sanctify and bless you. The Lord pour the riches of His grace upon you, that ye may please Him and live together in holy love to your lives’ end.”
Applause erupted in the small space, almost deafening in its intensity. And then they were surrounded by people. Men slapped Cam’s back, offering congratulations, while women dabbed at Ceana’s tears with their handkerchiefs and kissed her cheeks.
The men grinned at them, and the women bowed and blessed them both. Over it all, she met Cam’s eyes, and they smiled at each other, the love they shared at this moment made more powerful by his people’s support.
Bram MacGregor, the man she’d cured of ague, approached the earl and gave him a short bow. A wide grin split his cheeks, and he took Cam’s hand to give it a hearty shake. “Congratulations, milord.”
Ceana released a breath, and with it, all her fear of Cam’s never winning his tenants’ affection evaporated. His people finally, wholeheartedly, approved of their lord.
And she was married to him. The curse was broken.
“I have good news,” Bram continued. “As you requested yesterday afternoon, I took some men with me to follow the trail of the highwaymen who attacked you.”
“I hadn’t expected you back so soon,” Cam said.
“We found the men, sir, including one who made mention of the whore from the mountain, Gràinne. Said he remembered her from Inverness.”
Ceana saw Cam’s features tighten and she squeezed his hand.
“I questioned the woman, and she confirmed it was the man who attacked her.”
Cam nodded.
“They were Jacobites from Inverness, milord, all of them. On a quest of folly to rid the Highlands of its loyalist lords. We’ve thrown ’em all into the dungeon.”
“Excellent, Bram. Well-done.”
“One more thing, milord. There was an English servant woman on the mountain. Gràinne wished me to deliver a message to ye on her behalf.”
Cam frowned in confusion. “An English servant with Gràinne? Why?”
“She didn’t say, milord. She said to inform ye that Bitsy was well, and that as soon as the duke left for England, she’d return forthwith to Camdonn Castle to serve her lady once more.” Bram shrugged. “She said, ‘I’ll return with the diamonds.’ Whatever that means.”
Still frowning, Cam nodded. “I’ll tell Elizabeth.”
Bram turned to go, but Cam placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “I thank you, MacGregor. From the bottom of my heart.”
Turning beet red, Bram made his obeisance and left. Grinning, Ceana took Cam’s arm. “You’ve won them over,” she whispered.
“Have I?”
“Aye, all by yourself.” Without her help, without the help of Alan MacDonald. Cam’s own generous nature had accomplished the feat.
Again she was torn away from Cam by someone’s grip on her hand. She looked up into Elizabeth’s smiling face. “Oh, Elizabeth, your arm.” She’d forgotten all about her intention to bandage it.
“It’s perfectly all right,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I just wanted to congratulate you. I’m so glad Cam dragged you to the altar. I—I didn’t know . . . I didn’t understand that his heart was promised elsewhere.”
Ceana smiled. “As was yours.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Indeed . . . my lady.”
She frowned at Elizabeth, who grinned back at her, and then they both glanced at Cam. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Rob, and Ceana was gratified to see some color had bloomed over the younger man’s cheeks. Ceana paused, her gaze narrowing as she studied the two men side by side, and then she gasped. “You
are
brothers!”
Cam nodded and reached out to take her hand. “Yes, love.” He glanced at Rob, clasped his shoulder, and then smiled at Elizabeth. “A rather inauspicious start to our newly formed family, I suppose. But we will make it work.”
Elizabeth sighed. “We had planned to go to Glasgow, but—” “Of course not,” Cam said. “You’ll stay here.”
“At Camdonn Castle?”
“If that is what you wish.” He gave her a soft smile. “Until your house is built.”
“House?”
“You’re a duke’s daughter.” Cam met Rob’s steady gaze. “You’re an earl’s brother. You’ll require a home of your own. Consider it my wedding present to you.”
Elizabeth glanced at Rob. “As a matter of fact, we already had a place in mind.”
Cam frowned. “Did you?”
“You’ve a little hunting cottage across the loch—”
Cam waved his hand dismissively. “That place is too small for the two of you.”
“No,” Elizabeth murmured. “No, it is perfect.”
Cam paused, then took her hand in his own and squeezed it. “Then it is yours.”
Ceana took Cam’s and Rob’s hands in her own. They formed a solid square at the altar of Camdonn Castle’s chapel. A unit. A family. One that had come within a hairsbreadth of never existing. But, Ceana knew, the four of them were strong together. They’d make an indestructible team.
Happiness so great she nearly burst with it flooded through her soul. She squeezed her husband’s hand, and he leaned toward her, kissing her softly on the cheek.
“Do you believe in curses now, Ceana?” he whispered in her ear.
“Aye,” she said solemnly. “But I believe you’ve broken mine.”
“We broke it together.”
“But what of everything else, Cam?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Your responsibilities—”
“My responsibility is to you first and foremost. Then to the rest of my family.” He glanced at Elizabeth and Rob, who had stepped away and were speaking in low tones to the reverend. “And to my tenants.” Looking around at the clustered people’s smiling faces, he grinned. “I’d say I’m managing my responsibilities rather well.”
“What about the Duke of Argyll? The king—”
“They knew nothing of Irvington’s treachery.”
“Still”—she motioned to herself, from her wild hair to her simple garments to her stained and frayed shoes—“they expected more for you than this.”
“God, no.” Slipping his arm around her waist, Cam drew her close and pressed his lips to her hair. “They expected less.”
Ceana’s lingering doubts and resistance fled. Closing her eyes, she leaned against him, and for a long moment she basked in the bliss flooding through her. Nothing had ever felt so right.
But how could it be? She was married to the man she loved. To an earl. The curse had been broken. Her husband was alive and well.
“Are you certain this isn’t a dream?”
“Come with me.”
She opened her eyes and allowed Cam to usher her out of the front door of the chapel. The sun cast a spring glow over the keep, making it shine silver. Beyond it, tiny sparks, like stars fallen from the night sky, shimmered on the crests of the loch’s little waves. “This,” Cam said, “is yours now. It is ours. It is real.” He gestured at the crowd behind them, smiling at them. “These are our tenants.” He turned to her. “You are mine, and I am yours.”
She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings, expecting it all to go dim and fade away. But it didn’t. The sun continued to shine. The people continued to smile. The loch continued to glimmer.
Cam still stood beside her.
The curse was broken. Never again would she fear losing her love.
“See?” he murmured.
“You were right.” She turned to him, happy tears pricking at her eyes, and he gathered her into his arms. “It’s not a dream,” she whispered against his shoulder. “It is heaven.”
Dawn Halliday
has earned degrees in computer science and education and held various jobs, from bookselling to teaching inner-city children acting, but she’s never stopped writing. When she doesn’t have her head buried in a book, you can find her playing video games or posing as a baseball mom in California, where she lives with her husband and three children. You can learn more about Dawn on her Web site at
www.dawnhalliday.com
.
Read on for a sneak peek of another passionate tale in Dawn Halliday’s Highland romance series,
Highland Obsession
Available now from Signet Eclipse.
Scottish Highlands
October 1715
C
am dismounted and tethered his horse to the spindly trunk of a juniper. Though a full moon had brightened the night sky earlier, clouds had gathered and now a soft mist fell. The horses’ heavy breathing steamed the air and their intermittent snorts contrasted with the whisper of water on the bushes and grass.
Ignoring the needles scraping his arms, Cam glanced back at MacLean, who remained mounted, waiting for Cam’s instruction. The man and his horse formed an inky shadow in the increasing gloom.
The ground sank under Cam’s feet and leaves rustled as he moved to take measure of the small valley below. He scanned the stables and few dark outbuildings hardly visible through the rain, but his gaze came to an abrupt stop when it collided with the largest dwelling in the enclave—Alan MacDonald’s two-room cottage near the banks of the loch.
Sorcha and Alan were inside. Alone at last on the first night of their marriage.
Hours ago, from behind an old cairn, Cam had watched the villagers dance around a bonfire as the lively tune of their fiddles and pipes echoed through Glenfinnan. Cold to the marrow of his bones, he’d stared past the stones down at them, at
her
. Sorcha smiling shyly as Alan led her in a reel, her skirts swishing around her calves. She looked as a young bride should: beautiful, happy. Innocent.
But she wasn’t innocent.
Her father had tried—and failed—to keep a tight rein on her. Now it was Alan MacDonald’s job. Cam knew Alan would do it better.
Smoke puffed in small clouds from the chimney and light spilled out from the cottage windows onto the water, making it glitter as it splashed gently against the pebbled shore.
Again Cam glanced at MacLean, who sat patiently upon his horse, reins held loosely in his meaty hands. “Wait here. Come only if I call for you.”
MacLean nodded. Cam didn’t allow his gaze to linger on the big man—he didn’t want to see any sign of disapproval, though logic told him MacLean followed him blindly with no interest in separating right from wrong. If Cam saw disapproval in MacLean’s expression, he’d be conjuring it from a blank slate.
Swiping the back of his hand over his stinging eyes, Cam stared at the cottage. He had no choice but to go down there. He had to see it through to the end. Maybe then his obsession with her would end.
“Stay out of sight,” he murmured to MacLean.
“Aye, milord.” MacLean’s rough voice came from behind him, but Cam hardly heard. He was already striding down the wet slope toward the cottage.
Sorcha
. Her name rose in his mind, peaked and receded like a delicate wave. How had it happened this way? And why, for God’s sake, did it even matter? He’d thought Sorcha was a toy, an entertaining plaything. A dalliance. Nothing more. How wrong he was.