The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (19 page)

Swearing loudly, he whirled and strode purposefully through the royal apartments to the chambers of Princess Anabella. He did not wait for her ladies-in-waiting to announce him. Shamelessly, he opened the door, waded through the shocked, gasping women, and entered Princess Anabella’s privy chamber.

The princess sat at a large table, feeding her precious dog bits of waterfowl. She glanced up as he stood boldly before her.

“Aye,” the woman said, taking one look at him. “Now ye have seen what ye’ve done, ye foolish lad.”

He had always shared a special bond with the princess. Upon occasion, she had played the role of mother after his own mother had died giving birth to him. He winced. Even then, his touch had been death.

Stooping to place her dog upon the floor, the princess commented harshly, “I always warned ye that love was the worst danger of all.”

Her expression was bitter. She had suffered two ill-fated marriages, both having ended in annulment. And she had loved each husband, only to experience the court intrigue that ripped them both from her side.

He suddenly found his voice. “Kate must join your household.”

The woman pursed her lips and replied with a severe scowl, “Though ‘tis dangerous for ye both if she remains outside the castle, having her here with me will be even more so if ye cannot keep your hands off the lass.”

“I will never touch her again,” Cameron whispered hoarsely. “I swear it!”

Princess Anabella rose from the table. She was an imposing figure and considered by many to be the most powerful woman in Scotland. She was definitely the most politically astute. “’Tis the only chance the lass has. If our enemies believe your heart lies elsewhere then she cannot be used as a tool against us.”

Clenching his jaw, Cameron nodded.

“But after your spectacle this morning, ‘twill take much convincing, and it may never be done, ye foolish lad.” She shook her head in exasperation, sweeping her hands over her skirts as a hard expression entered her eyes. “Ye’ll have to wed again, Cameron. And right quickly.”

Cameron felt the color drain from his face.

“Ye’ll wed your ward, Lady Elsa,” Princess Anabella announced starkly.

“No!” He answered in a chilling tone. He’d never touch another woman but Kate. Aye, if he couldn’t have her, he would turn monk.

“’
Tis not your touch that is cursed, lad,” the princess retorted, misunderstanding him. “’Tis your blood. Ye’ll never love as others can. You are a Stewart. Ye’ll wed your ward and suffer whatever fate has in store for ye.”

“I’ll not do it,” Cameron replied. It was a vow never more fervently felt.

“Ye haven’t a choice.” The woman shrugged.

He watched her move to the window, stubborn and resolute, and then he replied with soft authority, “No. Ye haven’t a say in this. Ye’ll take Kate into your household this day. I’ll never wed again. Not even Lady Elsa. Send for Kate at once and be swift.”

Princess Anabella turned a shocked expression his way as he strode from the chamber, pushing through her ladies eavesdropping at the door.

“Cameron!” the princess shouted after him. “Love is only for fools! Ye must prove that ye no longer care for the lass or else ‘twill be used against ye, if not us all!”

He paused, his hand on the latch, to whisper, “I’ll never stop loving Kate.”

Making his way to the royal stables, he ordered his charger to be made ready with haste, and shortly thereafter, pounded through Stirling’s gates and down into the town.

Kate had refused his aid. He understood her anger. Ach, he deserved more than a slap on the face, but he would not let her suffer. He would take care of her, whether she willed it or no, and he knew right well how to do it.

Spurring his horse on, he galloped through the cobblestoned streets and down the tree-lined lane to Maura’s cottage.

Dismounting, he entered without hesitation.

“Cameron?” Kate’s father stood in the door of the back room, leaning heavily on a cane. “Kate isn’t here, lad. She’s gone to the almshouse to ask for aid—”

“The almshouse?” Cameron snorted contemptuously. Ach, but she was a wee stubborn lass. Did she truly imagine he’d allow her to throw herself at the mercy of an almshouse? Who did she think him to be? Setting his annoyance aside, he cleared his throat. “I’ve not come to speak to Kate, sir.”

“Ah!” The man nodded once, moving back in invitation and holding out a shaking hand. “Pray enter, lad. Ach, forgive me! I should address ye properly, my lord.”

Cameron caught his breath and flinched. “Then Kate … has spoken to ye?”

“Aye, my lord.” Her father sat down heavily on the edge of his straw pallet and placing both hands upon his cane, leaned wearily against it. “The lass told me the truth of it.”

“Then know that I’ll never allow her near the almshouse, sir. I’ve come to see ye both well taken care of,” Cameron swore in a strong, sure voice. “Princess Anabella will see to Kate, and I’ve come to ask what ye wish for yourself and I’ll see it done.”

The man sat still, his head cocked slightly to the side for several long moments, and then he questioned mildly, “Are ye trying to buy me, lad?”

“I am protecting Kate, sir,” Cameron replied firmly.

The man nodded thoughtfully, and then asked, “I’ve one question for ye, my lord. And I beseech ye to answer it truthfully.”

“Aye,” Cameron promised with a firm nod.

“Do ye love my wee Kate?”

Cameron took a deep breath. Clenching his jaw, he whispered the truth, “More than life itself!”

Her father smiled. “’Twas in your voice from the beginning, lad, and it warms my heart to know that my Kate will be safe, even if I were to leave this world.”

Cameron clenched his fists. “She’ll never be safe with me.” He could not lie to the man. “For my touch is death. I am a cursed man. Surely, ye’ve heard of the ill fate of my seven wives, and ‘tis not for naught that I am named the Dreaded Earl of Death. But I swear upon my life that I will never touch her again.” His voice shook with emotion and he paused a moment, and then finally managed to whisper, “I will pay for my sin by seeing her well taken care of the remainder of her life and ye in yours. I vow I will never lay a hand upon her again.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, the man rose shakily to his feet and gave a snort. “’Tis a foolish vow, my lord, look around ye. Ye aren’t the only one to encounter loss and misfortune. Life is harsh and ‘tis only the love that makes life worth living. Once ye find it, dinna be so hasty to throw it away.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Cameron murmured, and then added darkly, “… for others.”

Kate’s father smiled a little, feeling his way to the tiny cottage window. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the latch. After watching him struggle a moment, Cameron reached over and gently pushed the shutters open.

The man stood there, taking several deep breaths of the fresh air before speaking softly. “I lost my sweet wife and youngest bairn, my livelihood as a fisherman, and I am now no more than a blind beggar, but I dinna call myself cursed. I have my wee Kate. I can still smell the fresh-turned earth. I can feel the heat of the sun and hear the call of the birds. Life is pain, lad, but life is also joy. Only ye can choose which way ye want to see it.”

Watching the blind man stand there, leaning heavily upon a stick with shaking hands, Cameron suddenly felt ashamed. Aye, others suffered. There were many ways of suffering, he supposed, and clearly some had suffered far worse tragedy than he had.

He was not in the habit of considering that.

Feeling his way to the door, Kate’s father smiled. “Aye, I’ll accept your kind offer, my lord, and become your reminder.”

“Reminder?” Cameron repeated, frowning a bit uncertainly.

“Aye, my lord, ye’ll bring me into your personal household so I may sit on your hearth and remind ye daily that life is to be lived.” The expression on the man’s wan face was calm and self-assured, as one with deep knowledge of life. “Ye aren’t living, my lord, if ye let the fear of loss keep ye from love.”

“Mayhap it is not my fate to have love,” Cameron responded bitterly.

The man shrugged. “’Tis a coward’s answer, my lord.”

Cameron’s head snapped back. “Did ye just name me a coward?” he asked, astonished. No one had ever dared to name him a coward before. The man was just like his daughter.

“Aye.” The fisherman’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “My Kate has suffered much, yet she lives each day, cherishing the joy that comes her way. If such a wee lass can stand in the face of uncertain destiny, surely a man as powerful as ye can forge his own fate?”

Cameron blinked and opened his mouth to retort, but the man lifted a hand. “I’ve one last wish, my lord.”

“Aye?” Cameron responded slowly, unsure of what to expect.

“Ye say ye love my Kate, enough ye would lay down your life for her, aye?”

“Aye.” Cameron agreed. Why did he feel a net had just snared him? The fisherman was proving to be exceedingly crafty.

“Then, for her, can ye lay down your fear instead, lad?” her father asked softly.

Inexplicably, Cameron smiled, and it gave him pause. He hadn’t thought to smile again. But though the man’s request was a provoking one, he didn’t believe the answer to be so simple. Still, he eyed the man curiously and asked, “Might I know your name, sir?”

“My name is John.” The man bowed respectfully. “’Tis best we leave afore Kate returns from the almshouse to find me now your man whilst she is still hot with fury towards ye.”

“Aye,” Cameron agreed, imagining her passionate, brown eyes flashing with anger. Ach, how could he stay apart from her? ‘Twas a cruel fate. “I’ve brought my horse for ye to ride, sir. I thought to bring ye away before she could flee with ye.”

It was not long before the man was in the saddle and ready and Cameron led his charger back up the hill in a companionable silence, pondering the words they had shared as he eyed the outline of Stirling Castle somberly.

Once in the castle courtyard, he assisted the man to a nearby stone bench and sent for Sir Arval, ordering him to place Kate’s father under the care of the royal physicians at once and that he be given quarters befitting a place of distinction within his household.

He left them there and made his way to the gardens, pacing for a time, deep in thought, amidst the peacocks wandering along the gravel paths.

Already, his heart longed to hold Kate close in his arms once again. The vows he had so passionately sworn that morning already seemed impossible to keep.

“Ach, I’ve been searching everywhere only to find the lovebird keeping company with the peacocks,” a mirthful voice mocked, shattering his thoughts.

Cameron glanced back to find Julian standing behind him, arms folded, observing him in merciless amusement.

“’
Tis too late, Cameron,” the muscular young lord announced. His lashes lowered in a teasing look before he continued, “Even if I were to believe ye cursed—and I most sincerely do
not
—‘tis too late with your wee Kate. Ye’ve already claimed the lass as yours. Turning from her now will not stop the hands of fate. Wed the lass and be done. She’ll make a stunning countess.”

Cameron expelled a deep breath.

It was true. He was behaving foolishly now. It no longer mattered if he were cursed or not, a coward or a fool. His feet were already upon the path.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and whispered, “What have I done?”

“Ye’ve fallen in love.” Julian shrugged and then admitted, “Ach, I’m half in love with the wee, feisty vixen myself.”

Cameron turned his head away, looking out over the green grass swaying in the wind. What was to be done now?

“But I did not come to speak of love,” Julian’s deep voice continued. “I came to escort ye to the king’s privy chamber. The Flemish astrologer has arrived, and we’ve both been summoned.”

Lost in thought, Cameron followed him in silence as they returned to the royal apartments and made their way to the king’s privy chamber.

It was a luxurious room with tapestry-lined walls, ornate chairs, and finely crafted rugs. The princes, Albany and Mar, were already present, standing before several portraits hung next to the fire, and as Cameron and Julian entered, they briefly glanced over their shoulders with grim expressions before returning their gaze back upon the portraits.