Samantha James (20 page)

“Alexander! That is not right!” This came from Meghan. “The trouble began when Edgar was chieftain!”

“Nay, ’twas Edgar’s bride who was stolen away!”

“I shall ask my husband,” Meghan said stoutly.

“Yer husband!” another scoffed. “Do ye think he will know any more than we do? The girl is right. This feud has gone on for a hundred years or more and we know not why!”

Meredith did not know that Cameron had seen her jump up from the table. On his way to the gatehouse, her outburst stopped him cold. He paused just inside the doorway listening, for her voice carried clearly. He caught just a glimpse of her as she charged toward the tower stairs.

Tears shone bright and glistening in her beautiful eyes.

A pang shot through him. He had deliberately blinded himself to how lonely she must be, ever the outcast, to all but him. Guilt rode heavy on his soul at the helplessness, the sadness he sensed in her. It was his fault, he realized, his alone.

The thought was not particularly palatable.

In truth, he had not wanted to examine too closely his reasons for keeping her with him. He’d brought her here in order to take his revenge upon the Red Angus…

He’d kept her solely for himself.

Almost from the beginning, he’d wanted her.
Wanted her with a raging fever he’d never felt for another. He’d given little thought to her feelings. And only now did he admit the truth…

Her beauty was not just in face and form, breathtakingly lovely though she was. No, he thought slowly, hers was a beauty that resided in the heart as well. Many a time he’d seen her with the children—she was caring and kind and loving to all.

It was later that day when he entered his chamber. Meredith sat on the side of the bed, pale but dry-eyed. He would take his cue from her, he decided in that instant. If she mentioned the incident in the hall with the women of the keep, he would not keep from her the knowledge that he’d witnessed her outburst; but if she chose to ignore it, then so would he.

Peeling off his tunic, he dropped it on the floor. He was wet to the skin, having just crossed from the stable in a downpour. “Meredith,” he called, “would you fetch a dry tunic from my chest?”

Wordlessly she arose. Opening his chest, she pulled the soft woolen garment from atop the neatly folded pile of his clothing. She was just about to close it when the glint of metal in the corner caught her eye. Bending low, she peered closer, then caught her breath.

It was her crucifix, the one he’d snatched from about her neck the day he’d stolen her away from Connyridge. But it was no longer intact; one of the shining silver links was detached from the other so that it could no longer be worn.

Raw pain sliced through her. She felt as if a piece of her heart had been chipped away.

As Cameron stepped near to retrieve the tunic which hung over her arm, he saw the chain dangling from her fingers.

At his approach, she looked up at him, her expression stricken. “’Tis broken,” she said faintly. “My crucifix is broken.”

Cameron had dropped the necklace in his chest upon his return from Connyridge. In all honesty, he’d forgotten it was there.

Disappointment was plainly written on her features. “’Tis but a cross,” he said quickly. “Another can easily be gained.”

“’Tis not the same.” She shook her head. “’Tis not the same!”

He frowned. “Do you value it so highly, then?”

“I valued it above all else,” she said, her voice very low.

“How came you by it? Did the sisters—”

“Nay.” Her voice cut across his. She hesitated. “’Twas a gift from my father,” she confided. “He gave it to me the day I entered Connyridge. He reminded me that God would always be with me—as would he.”

At the mention of her father, the muscles of his face seemed to freeze. His expression grew painfully aloof. She could almost see him curling inside himself. Before she could say anything more, he plucked the necklace from her palm. She watched as he crossed to his chest and dropped it within. Her heart twisted.

It seemed his hatred was fired as keenly as ever. Without a word, he left the chamber. Indeed, she wondered that he did not destroy it then and there.

He didn’t return until late in the evening. The cast of his profile was not so grim as before, yet Meredith was not given to leniency just then. She ignored him as he strode to stand before the fire. With her lips compressed, she confined her attention to combing her hair, aware of his scrutiny. The lengthy strands crack
led and flowed out about her shoulders and down her back, a mantle of living flame. But to Meredith it was wild and untamed. She pulled the comb through the strands once more, then dropped it in frustration. Pulling it into a long rope over one shoulder, she separated it into three lengths with her fingers.

“Nay,” came his voice. “Do not plait it.”

Her chin firmed. “I want it plaited. It gets too tangled if it is not.”

“You’ve not slept with it plaited since you came to me,” he pointed out.

Meredith’s eyes flashed. “I did not come to you!” she flared. “You stole me away! And I did sleep with it plaited. Always until then!”

All at once he was there before her. Strong hands curled about her own. He tugged her to her feet.

“What is amiss, Meredith?”

She gazed up at him, the soft line of her lips faintly defiant. Yet deep within her, she knew it was but a token gesture. There was a frown etched between his brows. His expression was fraught with concern.

Meredith trembled inside. Ah, but she wished he would rage and storm. Then she could have hated him, defied him…or at least tried to!

“Can you not tell me?”

A maelstrom of confusion warred in her breast. He was so gentle. So sweetly tender. Once she had been afraid of his strength…but now she feared his tenderness far more. She should have hated him for all he had done to her, yet she could not. Indeed, when his mouth brushed hers, it was all she could do not to twine her arms about his neck and cling to him.

She could lie to herself no more. The very sight of him made her knees weak and turned her blood afire. Oh, she’d told herself she yielded to him because it
was the only way she could gain her freedom. But once she’d lain with him, her passion rose up to meet his own. Aye, she thought bleakly, she had been tempted by the pleasures of the flesh—she had bowed to their lure with pitiful resistance.

And now…now she was ashamed of her weakness, that she had allowed him to make his will her own.

Fiercely she berated herself. Always she was afraid. Of water, though she had at last learned to swim. Of men. Of the uncertainty of the future…

A finger beneath her chin, he brought her face to his. “Meredith,” he said again, “can you not tell me?”

The breath she drew was deep and ragged—it felt like fire in her lungs. “You leech my will from me,” she said, her voice very low. “You render it your own and I—I hate myself, for I am ever meek and fearful!”

Cameron was sorely tempted to laugh. Meek? he wondered in amazement. Fearful?

“Surely you jest!”

“I do not. Women are weak”—bitterness edged her tone—“and I am weaker than most!”

Cameron could not help but be reminded of all she’d said at the noon meal.

“Is there no strength in softness?” he noted quietly. “A man tests his might with his sword arm. He fights with dagger and dirk. But women possess a strength that cannot be seen. They wait while the men ride off to war, tending to children, even defending their home if need be. They share the burden when their men falter.” Lean hands closed over her shoulders. His gaze delved directly into hers. “As for you, you were incredibly brave the night I took you from
Connyridge, braver than many a man.” She had taunted him as many a man would never dare to do, and so he told her. “Never,” he finished intently, “have I met a woman with more courage and strength than you.”

Her eyes grew stormy. “You say that only because you wish to bed me!”

“Oh, aye, that I do”—a gleam in his eyes, he swept her high in his arms—“but I say it because it is true.” Laying her on the bed, he kissed the mutinous swell from her lips—kissed her until the faint accusation in her eyes glimmered no more and they were both left breathless and gasping.

As always when he touched her, his body clamored for release. But Cameron did not take her, for she seemed disarmingly defenseless just now, her emotions laid naked and bare before him. He sensed her admission cost her pride greatly, and everything within him compelled him to offer what comfort he could. Instead he wrapped her in his embrace, nestled her tight against his side. Urging her head into the hollow of his shoulder, he brushed his mouth across the softness of her temple and buried his lips in the flaming cloud of her hair. He was feeling protective of her just now, though he dared not ask himself why.

It was a long time later that he broke the silence that had enveloped them.

“Meredith,” he said quietly.

“Aye?” She stirred. He knew by the blurriness of her voice that she’d been on the verge of sleep.

“The man who took you from your bedchamber at Castle Munro. He spoke to you. Called you by name. He was not a stranger, then, was he? It must have been someone who knew you—who dwelled within the castle walls.”

She hid her face against his shoulder. “I don’t want to think about it,” she said, her voice muffled. “Please, I cannot!”

He felt the shudder that went through her—the memory haunted her still! His arms tightened. “I’m sorry, sweet. I’m sorry. I should never have spoken.” Brushing his lips against her temple, he cursed himself for distressing her so.

In time she fell asleep. Yet her sleep was restless. In the night, she wept, tears that blotted his soul like blackened stains. She was miserable, and the blame rested solely on his shoulders. So what the devil was he to do? Send her back to the Red Angus? Or back to Connyridge?

His jaw clenched hard. Nay, he thought blackly.
Nay
! The thought of either was untenable. In that moment, he sealed a bargain within his own heart. He would never let her go. Never.

She was his…and so she would remain.

When Meredith awoke the next morning, Cameron was gone. With a sigh, she shifted to her side. Unbidden, her hand crept out to touch the place where he’d lain—the sheets were still warm from his body.

Her eyes grew cloudy. She didn’t understand him. Indeed, she feared she never would. When he’d learned her crucifix had been a gift from her father, she’d felt his coldness like a vast sea of ice. The certainty was like a thorn in her heart. He hated her father so…did he hate her, too?

Silly fool! scoffed a voice in her head. Does he treat you as if he hates you?

Little by little, the tension seeped from her limbs. He did not. He’d been achingly tender last night, his arms a haven that shielded her from all harm. But in all the weeks since they’d returned from the isle, this was the first night he’d not bedded her.

Her mind raced and there was no help for it. Had his desire waned already? Had he abandoned his quest for a son of her?

A niggling voice within whispered she should have been relieved, for mayhap he would release her. Ah, but would he turn to Moire, then? At the thought of Cameron with the dark, voluptuous beauty, there was
a betraying little catch in her breast. Why? her heart cried. Why was it so? She shouldn’t have cared who he bedded, as long as it was not her! God knew she could never hate him, but she should have been glad of the chance to gain her freedom.

Long minutes passed before she told herself to rise. A frown pleated her brow, for of late it had been a supreme effort to drag herself from bed in the morn. At the priory she had always risen promptly at dawn, coming instantly awake, yet now the thought of rising so early wrought a groan. Chiding herself for her laziness, she swung her feet to the floor and rose.

For an instant her head spun dizzily. Her belly heaved, like giant waves sloshing in her middle. Saints beware, was she sickening? This had happened nearly every day for the past fortnight. Several times she’d even lost her morning meal. Too, her breasts seemed swollen and sometimes hurt to touch. Was it the same sickness? Yet by the time she’d washed and dressed, the dizziness and queasiness had passed.

Downstairs in the great hall, she winced, unable to smother her dismay. The women of the keep were gathered at a table. In order to exit the hall for the chapel, her path would take her directly past them. For a moment, she thought to flee before she was seen.

But that was the coward’s way, she told herself. She would not quail in her room, feeling sorry for herself. Dredging up the strength from somewhere deep inside, she angled her chin high and moved forward, determined not to let their coolness wound her anymore. She glanced neither to the right nor the left.

“My lady, will you break your fast with us?”

Her ears had surely deceived her. Surely one of them had not said…

“Meredith! Meredith, please stop!”

There was no mistaking the sound of her name. Meredith’s pace slowed to a halt. Ah, but she was sorely tempted to ignore the call. Yet something inside would not let her. Squaring her shoulders, she summoned both pride and dignity and turned to face the table.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Glenda. Like yesterday, Moire was not present. But it was Adele—Aileen and Leith’s mother—who rose to her feet, glancing at the others as she did. Odd, Meredith noted dimly, but Adele looked as frightened as she felt. Yet Meredith was determined not to show her fear.

“Aye?” she said quietly.

Two bright spots of color had appeared on Adele’s plump cheeks. “Lady,” she said quickly, “we have thought much on all you said yesterday. We have talked…all of us here…and—and ’twould seem we have misjudged you. You are right. As women, we share a bond that…that men canna understand. And ’tis our hope that—that mayhap we can learn from each other.”

“Aye,” someone called from the far end of the table, “she speaks for all of us, she does.”

“Aye, we are heartily ashamed of our pettiness, and ask your forgiveness.”

This last came from Meghan, who had once denounced her so cruelly. Meredith was stunned, scarcely able to believe her ears. She searched the faces of those present, yet neither mockery nor disdain dwelled within their faces. All appeared contritely earnest—all but Glenda, who sat at the far end with her hands folded before her, her lashes lowered.

Meredith’s throat constricted. This was one morning her prayers could wait, she decided suddenly, for
the impossible had happened; these women had extended a hand of friendship, and she would not thrust it aside.

Somehow she managed a watery smile. She saw them all through a misty blur. “Ladies”—she couldn’t control the slight quaver in her voice—“I would be glad to break bread with you.”

Hands tugged her down on the bench. “Och, now, lassie, dinna cry!” An arm slid around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug.

Across the table there was a toothy grin. “Ye’ve a heart of puddin’, ’tis plain to see!”

The morning passed far more quickly than she could have imagined. For the first time a tiny kernel of hope took root in her heart; for the first time she felt she might not forever be the outcast. Yet when next she glanced at the end of the table, she discovered that Glenda had slipped away.

It was several days later as the women left the table that a tremendous wave of giddiness caught her in its sway.

“Meredith,” said a voice. “Meredith!”

It seemed to come from an immense distance. Spots of black and gray swam before her. A roaring sound buzzed in her ears. She stretched out a hand, for the floor beneath her feet tilted alarmingly.

The next thing she knew, she was lying prone on the rushes. A dozen faces peered down at her.

“Give ’er some air,” someone said, “and fetch Cameron.”

“Meredith. Meredith, can ye speak?”

“Aye,” she said unsteadily. She stretched out a hand to push herself to a sitting position.

A hand slipped into her elbow. “Careful, now, lest ye fall and give us a fright again!”

It was Adele. Meredith took a deep breath while the world righted itself. “I didn’t mean to frighten anyone.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “It isn’t like me to be so sickly, but I fear I’ve had such spells often of late.”

Several of the woman exchanged glances. “Have ye been feeling poorly in the morn?”

Meredith tipped her head to the side and regarded Meghan. “Aye. I have. But how did you know?”

No one answered. Instead someone said, “Have ye lost yer meals?”

“Indeed I have. Several times, in fact.”

Still no answer. “Yer courses, milady. When did ye last have yer courses?”

Meredith flushed, then pondered a moment. “Just before I came here.” Again that strange look passed among the women. Meredith frowned. “What is it? Do you know what ails me?”

“Dinna worry”—someone flashed a grin—“it will not last much longer.”

“Hah!” came a vehement protest. “I retched nearly every day!”

“No doubt ’twill not be verra long before yer belly begins to swell.”

Her bewilderment had turned to outright fright. “What!” she cried anxiously. “What is wrong with me?”

“Ye were too long in the convent,” Miriam said cheerfully. “Yer breeding.”

“Breeding,” Meredith repeated, then blanched. “Do you mean to say I’m…” Faith, but she could scarcely bring herself to say it.

Meghan had no such trouble. “There can be no doubt, lassie,” she said with a lusty chuckle, “yer with child.”

The announcement could not have come at a worse time. With a gasp Meredith looked up to see that Cameron had stepped up. He towered over all of them. Another time, and the expression of astonishment that washed over his features would have struck her as humorous.

But not just now. Sweet heaven, not now…

For he laughed, the wretch—he threw back his head and laughed!

There could be no doubt he was pleased. The women parted in unison as he made his way forward. His eyes alight, a smile upon his lips the likes of which they’d not seen for many a month, he stooped and gathered her against his chest. In one swift move he was on his feet. The women whispered among themselves as he bore her toward the stairs.

“Do ye think the babe is his?”

“Of course it’s his! He took her to his bed all but that verra first night!”

“Did ye see the look on his face? Oh, I vow he’ll be a proud papa indeed.”

“’Tis exactly what he needs. With a child he’ll not grieve so over the loss of his father and brothers.”

“Do ye think he’ll marry her?”

“Marry a Munro? Once I would have said never in this world! But he is fond of her, so who can say?”

Someone sighed. “Ah, but I wish my ’usband would look at me the way he looks at her.”

Meredith did not hear their whispers. As Cameron whirled and turned toward the tower stairs, she caught a glimpse of Moire over one broad shoulder. What she saw nearly made her cry out. Moire’s eyes glittered with ill-concealed malice.

In his chamber, her heart thumped wildly as he eased her onto the bed.

“How are you now, lass?”

Meredith was still reeling. She was with child—with child! Saints, but it all seemed like a dream!

She took a deep, fortifying breath. “Better,” she murmured.

He laid his palm against her cheek. His gaze captured hers.

“You did not know, did you?”

Though she longed to look away, she couldn’t. “Nay,” she said faintly. “In truth, I had no idea what to expect…what to look for.”

His lips twitched as he fought against a smile. “Miriam was right. You were too long in the convent—though I can see why they did not speak of such things.” He paused. “I’m surprised your mother did not tell you.”

“She died when I was but eight. When I started my monthly flux”—she felt her cheeks heat, but she plunged ahead anyway—“one of the elderly women told me it was the curse of Eve. She said that it was her penance for sinning in the Garden, a penance that must be paid by all women. She said that the pain of childbirth was the most terrible pain a woman could bear.” She shivered, for she’d forgotten those words until this very moment.

Cameron cursed the woman vilely, for he could hear the sudden fright in her voice. Weaving his fingers through hers, he brought her hands to his lips. “Don’t be afraid, lass.” His eyes held hers. “I will be at your side, I promise.” A faint smile formed on his lips. “Besides,” he added, “where else would I be when my son is born?”

Her eyes flared. “Your son?” she snapped. “What makes you so certain this babe is yours?”

“A silly question, lass, and well you know it. But
I see, you seek to wound me. Yet today…’tis impossible!”

Her attempt at a glare failed miserably. His eyes were dancing, as clear as a rushing stream. Something caught at her heart, something she could not deny. Never had she seen him so happy, so clearly elated. And when he stretched out beside her and brought her mouth to his, she parted her lips with a tremulous little sigh. Her arms crept tight about his neck.

As always, her nearness made him throb. But when he felt those slender arms steal around his neck, the way her lips parted beneath his with a breathy sound of pleasure, his chest filled with a wild elation. His hands moved restlessly over her back. Filling his palms with the roundness of her buttocks, he rolled suddenly.

Now she was the one who lay atop him. With a soft cry, her mouth broke free of his. She half-rose above him. He smiled at her bewildered confusion.

“Cameron—”

“Hush, lass.” Burning inside, he tugged her gown down over her shoulders, baring her to the waist.

His eyes darkened. His smile faded.

Even as she watched, he splayed his fingers wide over both breasts. The contrast between his tanned fingers and her pale white flesh was riveting. His fingers shifted so that her flesh jutted high and full. In some faraway corner of her mind, she noted that her breasts were fuller, her nipples tinged a darker hue of rose. His thumbs raked across the turgid peaks. Gentle though he was, she winced.

Gray eyes flashed to her face. “Are you tender there, sweet?”

“A little,” she admitted.

She felt herself drawn down against him. Husky
laughter drifted across her cheek. “Then I’ll have to find some other way to please you, won’t I?”

In seconds they were both naked. He fed on her mouth endlessly.

He raised his head, his eyes glittering. One lean hand rested possessively on the silken hollow of her belly, for she was still as slender as ever. “Aye, this child is mine, and I’ll kill any man who dares touch you.”

His whisper was heated and intense; it sent a thrill all through her. With a moan Meredith caught his head in her hands and guided it to hers.

But he was not content with only her lips. A brazen finger slid through the soft down at the joinder of her thighs, then dipped boldly within. Heat unfurled within her, for now he traced a shattering path along her furrowed channel. Another finger joined the first, their wicked rhythm a tempting inducement of what was to come.

His mouth followed suit, trailing a forbidden pathway down the ladder of her ribs, across the satin plane of her belly. Down, ever down…until his lips grazed the thatch of curls that guarded her innermost sanctum.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her head rose off the pillow. “Cameron!” she said faintly. “Cameron, nay!”

He did not stop.

“Aye, lass.
Aye
!”

His tone was starkly compelling. Dazedly she felt the powerful sweep of arms around her hips. Her heart lurched. Instinctively she tried to clench her legs together, but he would have none of it.

He gave an odd little laugh. “Nay, sweet, do not deny me.” Even as he spoke, with the breadth of his
shoulders he spread her quaking limbs, leaving her open and vulnerable to his hands, his eyes…

And his mouth.

Her cheeks flooded crimson. Her pulse thundered in her ears. To her utter shock, warm breath swirled against her, stirring damp red curls. He kissed the tender inside of each thigh. With his thumbs he parted her.

She gasped at that first wanton stroke of his tongue, for never in her life had she imagined such an intimate caress. His mouth was tormentingly elusive, coming close to yet never quite touching the center of sensation hidden within sleek pink folds. A thousand shivers raced along her spine. She thrust her cleft against him, a wordless plea for him to end this torture.