The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (2 page)

Subdued, the men clustered around their table, sending her dark looks.

With a rare smile threatening his lips, Cameron sat back down and stretched his long legs out before him. Clearly, the lass was well versed in handling such men. Aye, and there
was
something rather intimidating about her. He was certain the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder.

As he watched, she boldly met his gaze and headed his way.

She was even tinier up close.

“I’ve come to thank ye, sir,” Kate said, dipping a pretty curtsey.

Rising to bow courteously in return, Cameron replied with a sardonic twist of his lip, “And to relieve me of my coin?”

Her brown eyes sparkled in response. Placing her basket on the table, she invited herself to sit opposite him, saying, “I couldna help but notice that ye were coming to my aid, sir.”

“Foolishly so, it would seem.” Cameron allowed himself to smile. It felt refreshing. He hadn’t genuinely smiled in almost two months, since visiting his closest friend, Ruan MacLeod in Dunvegan.

Oddly, he had experienced more than one baffling pang of envy since Ruan had wed Bree. He had thought the feeling to be a fleeting thing, but upon seeing Ruan proudly hold their newborn son, the jealousy had returned full force.

It was a mystery.

Cameron could say with complete certainty that he desired neither wife nor bairn. Aye, several of his brides had arrived with bairns. He certainly had no desire for more. And after having suffered through seven political marriages, each having ended with his becoming a widower shortly thereafter, he had come to believe he truly was cursed and that his name alone would consign a woman to an early death. He had made his peace with the fact that it was not his fate to love as other men could.

“Sir?” Kate’s lively brown eyes swam into view. “Have ye been struck dumb?”

Cameron blinked, startled at his lapse of concentration. He pushed his tankard of ale back suspiciously. Perhaps there was something amiss with the brew. Turning back to Kate, he nodded apologetically. “Forgive me, kind lady. My undivided attention is now yours.”

“Such fine words!” Kate wrinkled her nose in a bewitching smile. “I was merely pondering what a splendid gentleman such as yourself could possibly need charmed?”

Cameron tilted his head in detached amusement.

When he didn’t reply, she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Or are ye needing a cursing stone? Nothing too harmful, mind ye, only a wee bit of trouble!”

If only she could give surety of tremendous misfortune, he would right gladly purchase cartloads and have them delivered to the king’s court favorite, Thomas Cochrane. With lips crooked in the hint of a mocking smile, he rumbled in a low voice, “Tempting, but no.”

Persistence was clearly one of her qualities. Propping her elbows on the table, she insisted, “A man can never have enough luck, sir. What is your trade?”

“Surely, such a canny witch as ye would know?” He issued the amused challenge and settled comfortably back on the bench.

Aye, the lass was proving a charming diversion.

Pursing her lips, Kate studied him thoughtfully. “Your clothing is fine, and your manners are well-bred, but no noble would deign to enter such a humble establishment as this …” She held out her hand, indicating the alehouse as her laughing brown eyes swept him from head to toe.

Cameron enjoyed her bold scrutiny. It afforded him the opportunity to study her in return. He was quite unused to deviously impudent women, but he was finding it surprisingly invigorating. Instead, he was familiar with the women of the court, and they were of the flirtatious, retiring, and duplicitous kind.

Slamming a palm on the table, Kate exclaimed, “I have it, sir!”

Tilting his head to the side, he waited.

Leaving her place to slip onto the bench next to him, she whispered in his ear, “Ye’ve come upon grave misfortune and have turned to outlawry! Ye must be among the daring sort to sit so fearlessly beneath the shadow of Stirling Castle in the broad light of day!”

At that, Cameron found his lips bending into a genuine smile. “And ye seem to be wickedly clever, lass.”

“Then buy a stone from me for good luck, sir.” She lifted the corner of the cloth covering her basket in a tantalizing manner. “There are many wonders to behold here! And surely a man in such a perilous trade as yours can use all the luck he finds in his path!”

Cameron eyed the spirited lass at his side with a deepening interest. Tossing a shilling onto the table, he lowered his lashes and murmured suggestively, “Aye, I’ll buy something from ye.”

Her brown eyes widened in shock at the shilling, and in a flash, she tucked the coin away, once again wrinkling her nose in the catching smile that he found quite delightful.

“And which charm would please ye most, sir?” she asked. “To be swift fingered, fleet of foot, or perhaps glib of tongue?”

The corner of his lip twitched in amusement. Fires of Hell, but this young witch actually possessed an uncommon ability to make him relax. With his dark eyes smoldering a little, he leaned close and replied, “A kiss.” A mere kiss wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Never had he seen such expressive eyes. Even now, as she rolled them, they were gleaming with mirth. “My kisses canna be bought, sir!”

“A pity,” Cameron murmured with a twinge of disappointment.

Placing a smooth stone on the table—of the most common kind he had seen in countless numbers on every riverbed and loch shore—Kate announced with a precocious grin, “But since ye paid me good coin, sir, I’ll grant ye my luckiest stone. With this, ye’ll have far more good fortune than ye would have had without it!”

Cameron captured her hand in his long fingers, bantering lightly, “Surely, such a bonny lass as ye could not begrudge a weary traveler a kiss?”

She didn’t move her hand from his, but leaned closer, brushing against him as she whispered a warning, “Beware, sir! I’ve a noble, jealous lover who would avenge my honor, even on the likes of ye!”

Cameron was not surprised to find her taken, though he deemed the man rather despicable to allow his mistress to walk around in such bereft attire. She obviously deserved better. Still, he had only wanted a kiss. Mildly curious, he inquired, “And who might this dreaded lord be?”

Sliding her fingers from under his, she swept her arms in a dramatic gesture. “He is none other than Cameron, the Earl of Lennox … the Dreaded Earl of Death
himself
!”

Cameron stared at her blankly.

With a sly twinkle in her eyes, she nodded in satisfaction. “Aye, now ye really
have
been struck dumb!”

Dismayed to hear his own name upon her lips, he repeated stonily, “The Dreaded Earl of Death?”

“Aye, his touch alone can curse!” she promised brightly.

The words were hauntingly familiar and Cameron winced, no longer enjoying the exchange. “If his touch is cursed, then he is a poor choice of lovers,” he observed in a cutting tone.

“He is a most skilled lover, sir!” Kate responded with a haughty toss of her head. “But I’m of low birth, and I’ll never wed the man. I’m in no danger!”

The kerchief binding her hair slipped askew, freeing the heavy mass to spill over her face and shoulders in the most appealing way.

Inexplicably, Cameron’s annoyance fled.

Catching her wrist, he pulled her close and imparted a sound kiss full on her lips. His intention was to tease, or so he told himself as he felt her lips freeze in surprise beneath his. But then she returned the kiss with such an unexpected burst of enthusiasm that he was swept into the enjoyment of it all until a wild hunger threatened to rise in his blood.

With great difficulty, he tore his lips away and stared down at her, startled.

A moment later, he found himself roundly slapped across the face.

“How dare ye take the liberty, sir!” Kate jumped up, her cheeks flaming.

Cameron blinked and held still. He had stolen countless kisses from whomever he pleased his entire life, and none of the lasses had ever slapped him for it.

“The Dreaded Earl of Death does not allow others to fondle his mistress, ye lout!” Kate planted her hands on her hips, taking him to task.

None had ever dared to name him a lout before, either. Affronted, he rose to his feet. As he had thought, she didn’t even come up to his shoulder. “Have a care, lass,” he advised in a chilling tone. “I only took what ye named mine!”

Kate’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Ach, ye must be drunk! I’ve half a mind to send the Dreaded Earl to knock some sense into that thick-witted head of yours!”

“Then, do so!” Cameron replied in a soft, chilling tone. But then again, his annoyance vanished, and even though his cheek still stung, and he was less than pleased to discover his own reputation as the Earl of Death, he found a perverse amusement in the situation. With a cynical gleam in his eye, he added, “I confess that I’m quite anxious to meet the man!”

He stood close, towering arrogantly over her in a manner that had oft before intimidated many a man, but the lass merely jabbed his chest with her finger.

“Surely, ye aren’t such a muckle fool?” She clucked her tongue. “He’s a jealous lover and canna bear another man to even gaze upon me! Just be off afore ye’re never seen again … alive.”

Folding his arms, Cameron replied dryly. “Ach, lass, I do believe I’ve nothing to fear from your
Dreaded Earl of Death
.”

Clearly irritated, Kate’s voice took on a storyteller’s lilt as she splayed and theatrically wiggled her fingers. “Ye should be quaking in your boots! The man has slain countless men and even his own seven wives, each on their wedding night, and the first he killed when he was a wee lad of eight!”

His humor dissipated.

He hadn’t expected her to speak of his ill-fated marriages. And she wasn’t even accurate.

Icily, he felt compelled to correct. “The first wedding was at the age of eleven, and ‘twas purely an arrangement of titles and land. The English lass was ill on her deathbed, but she lived a week.” Because of the massive amount of land involved, the church had overlooked his young age and blessed the union under the pretext that since the bride was from England, the marriage should adhere to English church law.

Kate’s lips parted in surprise. “Then, ye
have
heard of him!”

“Perhaps.” Cameron lifted a long finger, signaling that he no longer cared to continue the conversation. He was not inclined to discuss his past wives with the lass, no matter how pleasurable he found her kisses. And even though he thought of his past often, he simply never discussed the matter.

She didn’t take his hint. In an exaggerated tone, she continued, “Then, ye know that he murdered the next wife, a poor innocent wee bairn, not even five years of age!”

Of all his wives, the murder of Anna still haunted him. He closed his eyes, unable to prevent the memory from returning full force. He had only been eighteen when political interests sent him off to England once again, to a child-bride named Anna. He had given her a doll and had straightway returned home to Scotland. Several years later, he found himself once more at her estate, standing at her funeral.

“Some say ‘twas poison—” Kate was saying.

“The Keiths murdered Anna!” He raised his voice in displeasure, his fingers clenching imperceptibly. No one dared to speak of Anna in his presence. They all knew better.

“Ach! Why would that be?” Kate snorted, piqued at the interruption.

With his lips tightening in a thin line, he replied curtly, “To bolster their claim for the land! They argued the marriage was against church law from the start.” Aye, he was still fighting some of them on the matter to this very day.

Kate slapped her palm on the table, clearly aggravated. “Ach, ye must have a different tale to tell of Elizabet and Cecilia, then?”

At least she had the names right, though he doubted anything else would be.

“Beheaded, both of them!” She inserted before he could stop her.

“Nonsense!” Cameron roared, striking the table with his fist.

He blinked, taken aback at his uncommon loss of control. Rarely did he lose his temper, and why he was doing so now, he was at a complete loss to understand. Perhaps it was because he simply never discussed his unfortunate marriages with anyone, save Ruan, and even then, only when he was drunk and on the verge of being traded yet again, like a horse at the market.

Quickly composing himself, he replied in a restrained tone. “Elizabet fell victim to the plague, and Cecilia died of milk fever!”

“Only a fool would believe that when the poor bairns he got on them have been locked away in dungeons ever since!” Kate disagreed stubbornly.

Taking a deep breath, he answered evenly, “The wee lassies are safe in Inchmurrin.” They certainly weren’t his children. He’d never shared a bed with any of his wives, yet Cameron had claimed the bairns as his own in exchange for land, titles, and political influence. It had seemed a fair bargain at the time. Now, he wasn’t so certain.

“He hung the fifth wife!” Kate was clearly enjoying herself.

“The fifth ran off with her lover, and their horse plunged over a cliff in the darkness of night.” Cameron differed in a cool tone.