Samantha James (28 page)

“Moire,” she breathed.

“Aye.” Robert’s smile was gloating. “She was only too willing to slip poison into his wine. Ah, but she was furious that he did not die! I do believe, lass, that in time you would have been next. But then we came upon the idea of bringing you both here to me! She proved most resourceful, I must say!”

So it was Moire who had also begun the talk that her father was dying. Meredith was suddenly filled with a rage such as she had never known.

“So it was you who arranged to have us attacked when we drew near.” Her stare was infinitely cold.

“Oh, aye, sweet Merry. But alas, your devoted husband will not escape this time. I have already seen to it, have I not?” His gaze rested briefly on Cameron’s prone figure, then returned to her face.

His eyes filled with lust. “Merry, ah, my sweet Merry, I could not resist you once you were grown! You remind me so of your mother. You won’t tell, will you, sweet Merry? You wouldn’t then and you won’t now.” His grin was leering. “Ah, but you dis
appointed me when you ran off to Connyridge, Merry. I intended far more than just that one sweet taste of you, you know. And now I shall have it.”

His head descended. Meredith did not think, but reacted with all the anger in her heart. Doubling her fist, she swung at his face with all her might.

There was a satisfying thud. Robert’s head snapped back. Blood poured from his nose.

His eyes glittered. “By God,” he snarled, “you’ll pay for that!”

He got no further, for suddenly an arm shot out and swiped at his knees. Flung off balance, Robert went down hard upon the floor.

Robert’s blade had bit deep into Cameron’s shoulder, leaving him stunned for a moment. When the mist of pain had cleared, he’d heard Robert’s confession—heard it and been filled with a vile rage more potent than any he’d ever known. He’d awaited the right moment, feigning a mortal wound until at last the moment came. He leaped to his feet, but damn! his sword was across the room, propped near the bed.

In the corner, Robert now sprang upright as well, his features contorted in a feral snarl. He gripped his dagger in his hand.

But in his haste to creep into the chamber, he had left the door ajar. Meredith’s screams had awakened others in the household. And now Robert noticed Angus in the doorway. A glimpse of the blazing fury alight on his brother’s features told him that Angus had heard all.

His breath hissed inward. By God, it mattered not. He was set on his course and he would not allow his weakling brother to stop him.

His lips curled back over his teeth. With a bellow
of rage, he hurtled toward Cameron, his dagger poised high.

The blade never fell, for another sliced up and outward, stopping him cold. An instant later, Robert slumped to the floor. The dagger slipped from his lifeless fingers.

Angus stood over his brother’s form, his sword still in hand. He had always believed in loyalty to clan and family above all else. But in that moment when he lunged toward Robert, he did not see his brother. He saw only the man who had betrayed his trust, the man who had misused his beloved Meredith, the man who had turned her laughter into quaking fear.

Thankfully, Cameron’s injury was not as serious as Meredith had feared. He assured her he’d suffered far worse, yet Meredith fretted anxiously until the bleeding stopped and the wound was bound with clean white strips of linen. Egan had charged into the chamber just as Angus attacked Robert, for he, too, had heard Meredith’s screams.

Robert’s body was removed from the chamber. After Meredith finished tending her husband, she walked with Angus to the door. There she paused, gazing upward into his face.

“Thank you, Papa, for saving my husband’s life.”

“I could not stand by and watch Robert slay him as well.” Angus’s blue eyes darkened. He laid a hand on his daughter’s shining head for a fleeting moment. The tide of emotions inside him was all at once too great to contain. “Lord, Meredith”—his voice was half-choked—“when I think of what he did. That it was he who drove my poor child away—”

Meredith stopped him with a shake of her head. “Please, Papa. Let us not speak of it. Let us put it
behind us and look to the future instead.”

Angus gazed deep into her face and saw no remnants of shadows there. Some of the anguished bleakness lifted from his breast. “I love you, Meredith. ’Tis good to have you here.” The words were simple but heartfelt. “Now that you are here, will you stay?”

A strong hand descended on Meredith’s shoulder. It was Cameron who answered firmly, “Aye, we will stay awhile, but only if you promise to visit us at Dunthorpe.”

“’Tis a journey I may be making far sooner than you think.” Angus’s gaze slid toward the cradle. “I should like to see my grandson grow.” He chuckled. “Though I cannot believe the boy slept through all this clamor!”

He kissed Meredith gently on the cheek and departed, thinking that if the warmly possessive light that shone in his son-in-law’s eyes was anything to go by, his grandson would not long be the only child.

Once Angus was gone, Egan stepped forward as well. His actions were the last thing in the world Meredith expected.

He drew his sword and laid it at her feet, then dropped down on one knee. He bowed his head before her.

“Lady,” he said haltingly, “my sword belongs to you, as surely as it belongs to your husband. I have wronged you—wronged you grievously, for in my heart I thought you guilty of seeking your husband’s death. I can only pray that you will be generous. That you will forgive me, for I am not certain I can ever forgive myself.”

His voice was gratingly low. The depth of emotion she heard there made her heart turn over.

The sight of this fierce Highland warrior stunned
her so that she could scarcely speak. “Egan,” she said shakily. “Egan, of course I forgive you! Now rise, for there is no need to humble yourself so.”

He seized her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Slowly he raised his head. “Mistress”—he was solemnly intent—“you are the greatest lady I have ever known.” With that he rose to his feet.

His declaration brought an aching lump to her throat. Meredith reacted without thinking. With a misty smile, she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed the hardness of his cheek. She sensed that she had startled him, yet the merest smile grazed his lips—she realized it was the first time she had ever seen him smile.

When the door closed behind him, a wispy sigh emerged from her lips. The impossible had happened this day; Egan no longer regarded her as his enemy, and the blood feud between the Munros and the MacKays was no more.

Beside her, Cameron arched a brow. “Careful, wife,” he teased, “else I will think your affections given elsewhere and another feud will begin.”

The light in his eyes was purely tender as he drew her into his arms. Meredith felt her heart soar clear to the heavens.

She placed her fingertips lightly upon his chest. “My heart belongs to you, Cameron. To you and no other.”

“And mine to you, wife.” He was silent for a moment. “You need not worry ever again about Moire, lass. When I first brought you to Dunthorpe, she was anxious to see you thrown in the pit prison. But methinks she and your uncle’s spy may both find, themselves the next occupants.”

“I see,” she said gravely, but her eyes were shin
ing. “So you are no longer entranced by the lovely Moire?”

“Ah, but I never was entranced.” He touched his forehead to hers. “’Tis you I love, sweet, beyond all measure.”

Gladness spilled all through her. “And I love you, Cameron of the Clan MacKay,” she breathed, raising her lips to his.

The kiss they shared was long and unbroken. When at last they parted, Meredith twined her fingers in the dark hair on his nape and glanced at Brodie’s cradle.

“Papa was right,” she murmured. “’Tis hard to believe Brodie slept through all.”

“Aye. How will he make it through a night of tending sheep?” Cameron mused aloud. “He will surely tumble down a hillside, as I did!”

Meredith’s laugh was breathless. However, in the next instant, she marched a provocative fingertip up to his mouth. “However,” she went on, “he will soon be awake to break his fast. And I do believe, husband, ’tis time we broke ours.”

Cameron’s lips quirked. “A wise woman, you are. And brave, too, to have married a rogue such as I.”

“Aye, that you are!” she agreed without heat. “Remember the night we first arrived at Dunthorpe? You commanded that I give you a son. ‘Give me a son and I will free you,’” she “quoted. It was her turn to raise a slender brow. “But now the tables have turned, and I have a command for you.”

He was already backing her slowly toward the bed. “And what is that?”

Slender arms twined about his neck. “Give me a daughter,” she invited huskily, “and I will ensnare you forever.”

He smiled against her lips. “Sweet love, you already have.”

It was SAMANTHA JAMES’s love of reading as a child that steered her toward a writing career. Among her favorites in those days were the Trixie Belden and Cherry Ames series of books. She still loves a blend of mystery and romance, and, of course, a happily-ever-after ending.

The award-winning, bestselling author of fourteen romances and one novella, her books have ranged from medieval to Regency and the American West. Please visit her on the web at
www.samanthajames.com.

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