Authors: Hannah Howell
“Weel, if I try to think like ye do, then I would say ’tis because his pawn nearly drowned herself. But I, being so much cleverer, think ’tis because he nearly lost his lover, that he wasnae thinking of his sister at all at that moment. He is angry because ye took a grave risk and, mayhap, because he couldnae do anything to help Donald himself. Men dinnae like being helpless or having lasses rush to the rescue.”
“A lot of people cannae swim,” Avery murmured, too tired to take issue with Gillyanne’s pert replies.
Gillyanne nodded then yawned. “I think my wee swim did tire me some after all.”
“If that is a ploy to try to get me to rest, dinnae trouble yourself I am already more asleep than awake.”
A moment later, Gillyanne glanced over her shoulder and saw that Avery was fast asleep. She doubted her cousin had stayed awake for much longer than it had taken to finish her sentence. Just as she was about to turn away and indulge in a little nap herself, Cameron rode up, reached down, and lightly brushed his knuckles over Avery’s cheek.
When Cameron raised his gaze to meet Gillyanne’s, he felt a little embarrassed to be caught doing something that could be seen more as a tender, caring gesture than one of idle concern. “She has lost that deathly chill.”
“Aye, though she says the cold has set deep,” replied Gillyanne, turning slightly so that she was more comfortable while talking to him.
“Who taught the two of ye to swim like that?”
“The ones in our family who had already learned took turns teaching us. Our fithers kenned how and felt it was a good thing to learn. My mither kenned how, too. She saved my fither once.” Gillyanne looked down at Avery, then back at Cameron, and, thinking to save her cousin a lecture later, said, “Kenning she might be able to save Donald, she couldnae just set there and let the river take him.”
Cameron released a deep sigh and, with it, much of his lingering anger over the risks Avery had taken. “Nay, of course not. ’Twould be beyond the will of a Murray lass to do anything else but hurl herself into a raging river to save the life of a lad she barely kens.”
“It wasnae raging. Just tumbling along a wee bit faster than it should.”
“Ye are an impertinent brat who wasnae dealt a stern hand often enough.”
“So I have been told. Aye, my own fither says it now and again, but he spoils me. He says ’tis because I look a lot like my mither—and he spoils her, too.”
“And who does Avery look like? Her brother?”
“Nay, her fither, my uncle Nigel. Payton looks a wee bit like both of his parents. Payton is…weel, beautiful. A maid once told our cousin Elspeth that Payton is so bonny that he but needs to walk by and he rips a sigh of longing from the heart of every woman who espies him, young or old.” Gillyanne laughed softly at Cameron’s look of disgust. “’Tis how most men react to that bit of nonsense. But he is bonny. The only other men I have e’er seen who might be said to be as bonny are my fither and my cousin Elspeth’s husband, Cormac.”
Cameron was annoyed by his own curiosity, but he felt almost compelled to ask, “And just what makes him so verra bonny?”
“Weel, he has lovely hair, the perfect blend of red and gold, thick and soft as silk. He has beautiful skin of a pale golden color, much akin to Avery’s. He isnae as tall or as broad as ye are, but tall enough, lean, and verra graceful. His features are nearly perfect and he has beautiful eyes—a warm golden brown with shards of emerald green.” She shrugged. “He is my cousin. I can see the beauty, but nay as another woman might.” She quirked one brow. “Nay as your sister might—as a mon she would do most anything to have.”
After staring at Gillyanne for a moment, Cameron ordered, “Watch for signs of a fever,” then rode away.
Even though he tried to immerse himself in the work of guarding his people and searching out a safe place to camp for the night, Cameron could not shake Gillyanne’s words from his mind. Avery and Gillyanne had claimed that Payton was the sort of man who did not need to seduce a lass, that he was too bonny to need to, yet he had shrugged those claims aside with ease. He was not sure why a description of the man should suddenly make that difficult. Although Cameron knew he could not claim to know just what women liked, it certainly sounded as if Sir Payton Murray held a lion’s share of such qualities.
Could Katherine have seen the man and decided she had to have him? Even he could not deny that his sister was spoiled, used to getting anything and everything she wanted. Mayhap Payton had not returned her interest and she had lashed out, falsely accusing him in her fit of pain or hurt pride over such a rejection. Katherine might not have expected matters to become so complicated and, now, did not know how to untangle the mess she had made.
Cameron cursed himself for what felt far too much like disloyalty. If he followed that line of thinking too much further, he would be thinking his sister the sort of woman who would callously destroy any number of lives just to get what she wanted. He refused to believe his own flesh and blood would do such a thing.
In all fairness, however, he eased his condemnation of Sir Payton. He realized he
could not make himself believe the charge of rape, and now even the charge of a heartless seduction began to look questionable. That change of opinion was aided by coming to know Avery and Gillyanne. Although a lot of families had a bad seed, he could not believe those two would so staunchly defend a man who would rape a woman or who was a heartless user of women.
That left him with the possibility that Sir Payton and his sister had had an affair. It did not match with Avery’s insistence that her brother would not bed a virgin, then refuse to wed her. It also left Katherine still looking like a liar with her claims of rape, but that could have come about because the affair had been discovered and she had panicked. That could be a forgivable sin, especially if she had already begun to suspect that she was with child.
He shook his head and rode back to the cart holding Gillyanne and Avery. No matter what the truth was, his sister needed a husband. She claimed Payton as her lover, possibly the father of her child, and that claim was now widely known. Although he could accept the possibility that Katherine had spun a tale to try to salvage her reputation, he could not believe that she would lie about everything. Sir Payton had bedded Katherine and he would be made to marry her. What Cameron wanted now was a little more information about this man, even though Payton’s cousins made him sound far too good to be real. It would help him decide the correct approach to take to resolve the problem awaiting him at Cairnmoor. After all, it would not do to offend or anger too deeply the man who would soon be his brother by law.
When he reached the cart only to find both Anne and Gillyanne kneeling by Avery, Cameron forgot all about his sister and her problems. “Something wrong?” he asked, hoping he did not sound as terrified as he suddenly felt.
“We are going to have to stop running for a wee while, laird,” Anne said.
“Anne,” he snapped, “what ails her?” He tensed as Anne’s expression told him he was about to hear something he did not want to hear.
“Fever, Laird,” Anne whispered, uttering a word that made Cameron’s blood run cold.
“Hot.”
“Aye, lassie, I ken it.” Cameron dipped the rag into the bowl of cool water and gently bathed Avery’s face, just as he had hundreds of times in the past three days. “’Twill pass.”
Avery opened her eyes and tried to fix her gaze on the owner of that familiar deep voice. “Cameron? ’Tis too hot.”
“’Tis a fever ye suffer from, lass.” He began to bathe her arms. “Your wee swim in the river has left ye fevered.”
“Fever. Ah, I am to die, then.”
“Nay,” snapped Cameron. “Ye will conquer this.”
“Nay, I am too tired. Where is my mither and Aunt Maldie? Aunt Maldie will fix this.”
Cameron winced, dismayed that she was not thinking as clearly as he had first thought. Although she was not as alarmingly delirious as she had been from time to timesince the fever had taken her, she was still badly confused. He mixed up some of the herbal drink Gillyanne insisted he use, sat beside Avery, and put his arm around her shoulders. As he supported her against him and forced her to drink the potion, the heat of her body alarmed him. Nothing they did seemed to break the fever’s tight hold on her. He could not believe such a delicate, slender woman could last much longer; in fact, he was surprised that she had the strength to fight it for as long as she had.
“Did Aunt Maldie make that?” Avery asked as he settled her back down.
“Nay, loving. Your aunt isnae here. We are still in France.” He frowned when she suddenly looked terrified.
“DeVeau!” she gasped. “Dinnae let him touch me.”
He grabbed hold of her hands. “Never, lass. I will keep him away. I swear it!” He sighed when she looked at him, silent tears running down her face. “DeVeau will ne’er get hold of you. I willnae allow it.”
“But ye mean to leave me.”
“Nay, lass, I will stay right here and guard you.”
“For now. Then ye will leave me. I havenae had the time I need. I havenae made ye want me.”
Cameron brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Of course I want you. Havenae I shown ye that truth often enough?”
“For rutting with, but nay for the rest. I need time and I dinnae have it.” She closed her eyes and muttered, “There just isnae enough time left ere ye leave me. I havenae been able to make ye love me as I love you. ’Tis so unfair. Elspeth won her gamble. Why cannae I? If ye love someone, shouldnae they love ye back? That would be only fair.”
“Aye, loving, that would be only fair,” he said softly, but she was already asleep.
Slowly he stood up, poured himself a large draught of wine, and gulped it down. It was the fever talking, he told himself, just as he had every time she had spoken of loving him. She was caught fast in dreams and memories—perhaps even confusing him with someone else. The very thought that she might be speaking those words to someone else, even a man existing only in her dreams, twisted his innards into painful knots. Even that was preferable to believing in her avowals, however. Not only did he find the idea that Avery might love him much too tempting, but the possibility presented him with far more
problems and doubts than he could deal with. After all, to help his sister he had to return Avery to her family, had to force her brother to marry his sister, and did, in fact, have to threaten her family to bring all that about. Cameron doubted that was something even a woman in love would be able to forgive too easily.
“If ye use her words against her, I will cut out your tongue.”
Turning around, Cameron was not really surprised to see little Gillyanne there, although the coldness of her words and the fierce look on her small, pretty face was a little startling. “Avery is delirious, suffering the fancies of a mind gripped by a fever. I dinnae take anything she says now verra seriously. ’Tis all naught but babble.”
The noise Gillyanne made was rife with scorn. “If it makes ye feel better to think that, I willnae argue with it.”
“How kind.” Sometimes, Cameron mused, it was difficult to recall that Gillyanne was not a woman grown, but a girl of barely thirteen.
After placing her small hand on Avery’s forehead, Gillyanne took a deep breath to steady herself. “The herbs dinnae seem to be working.”
“She is nay any worse.”
“Nay, but I had hoped it would break by now. Anne is having a cold bath brought. We are going to sink her whole body in it.”
“Do ye think that wise?”
“My aunt Maldie says it can help.”
Cameron knew better than to argue. Soon after Avery had become fevered, he had discovered that whatever Aunt Maldie said about healing was treated as God’s own truth. Since Maldie’s knowledge had kept Avery alive this long, he had to concede that the woman must have some skill. He was just not sure that plunging Avery into cold water, the very thing that had apparently brought the fever on, was the way to make it go away.
“Leargan is preparing to ride out to look for DeVeau,” Gillyanne said, watching him with that knowing look that made him so uneasy at times. “He would welcome your company, and we will be all done ere ye return.”
“I think she might like her hair cleaned,” he said, and he felt himself color faintly when Gillyanne gifted him with a little smile.
“Aye, she would. We shall tend to it.”
Afraid he would soon reveal far too much of his confusion to this young girl if he stayed any longer, Cameron hurried away to join Leargan. Cameron told himself it was ridiculous to feel so uneasy around a girl who was more child than woman. Despite that sensible scolding, he could not fully discard the feeling that Gillyanne saw people all too clearly, could see right through whatever emotional armor a person wore or whatever guise one tried to hide behind. He was almost tempted to ask her what she saw when she looked at him, just to see if her opinions would ease some of the confusion he was trapped in.
After curtly replying to Leargan’s inquiry about Avery’s health, Cameron rode away from camp with his cousin. The chore of searching for any sign that DeVeau had found them or was close at hand did not work to keep his thoughts off Avery as he had hoped it would. Thoughts of her served only to keep his emotions in an uncomfortable state of turmoil.
The chance that she could die absolutely terrified him. That told him that he had not done a very good job of protecting himself, that his emotions had definitely become
entangled with his passions. Cameron did not dare examine just how deeply and completely he had been captured by Avery. The fact that he found her delirious claims of love a source of bitter joy made him think he probably had no chance of drawing back now—at least not emotionally. He also knew that he would not be able to stay out of her arms, either. His passion for her, his hunger for her touch, would not be denied. Somehow, he was going to have to shield himself better than he had before.
“The bastard has either given up the chase or will be waiting for us on the docks,” said Leargan.
“I ken it. We have lost our lead,” Cameron said, sighing as they headed back to camp.
“Weel, it cannae be helped. We will just have to approach the port and whatever ship we can find verra cautiously.”
“True. And it will probably be days yet ere we can travel. E’en if the fever breaks by morning, Avery will need several days of rest ere she is strong enough to travel, and several more days of traveling verra slowly so as not to dangerously weaken her.”
“All of which is necessary, I ken it, but it will also give DeVeau plenty of time to prepare for our arrival.”
“Then mayhap I will have the pleasure of killing him at last. He haunts her. Her fear of him comes out in her delirium,” he said quietly. “I spoke aloud the wish that I might find what was needed to ease that fear. Her blood-thirsty wee cousin suggested she go, hunt the mon down, and bring Avery his head.” Cameron was able to smile faintly when Leargan laughed. “Wretched brat. Worse, I think there is a small part of her which was completely serious.”
“Probably more than a small part. The few times the lass has mentioned DeVeau, her voice holds a cold, hard, and verra mature fury. ’Tis because of the rape of her sister. I think none of those Murrays have an ounce of mercy in their hearts for a rapist.”
Cameron nodded. “I ken it, so ye need not begin to lecture me. S’truth, I began to doubt Katherine’s claims of rape soon after meeting Avery and Gillyanne. Whilst they have a tendency to make Sir Payton sound like one of God’s own sainted angels, I dinnae think they would defend him if he was a mon who treated women poorly.”
“If Katherine lied about that, could she nay have lied about the rest?”
“Who kens for certain. I cannae. Nay until I speak to her. E’en if all that happened between them was a brief affair, one ended when Sir Payton’s interest waned, her name had been blackened. He must make amends for that. And if she carries his child, he needs to give it legitimacy.” He held up his hand to stop Leargan when his cousin began to speak. “Nay. There is naught to be gained from chewing o’er Katherine’s troubles. What e’er the truth is, her reputation has been sullied and she needs a husband. Sir Payton is as good a choice as any, finer than many, and I have the means to get him.”
“But to gain that prize for Katherine, ye must give up Avery, and I dinnae think ye are as easy about that as ye were at the beginning of all of this.”
“No mon would wish to send away a lass who warms his bed as wee as Avery warms mine.” Cameron inwardly cringed to hear himself speak of Avery in such a way, but he told himself it was for the best, that such an attitude would help him to regain the aloofness he needed.
“Of course,” Leargan drawled, the sarcastic tone of his voice clearly revealing his lack of belief in Cameron’s callous words.
“Such a rich feasting after almost three years of naught can confuse a mon. When everything is settled, I will find myself a skilled leman.”
“Aye. I am certain some mercenary whore is just what ye will need to forget Avery.”
Cameron glared at his cousin, thinking that Leargan had become far too skilled at the chore of being his conscience. “And a sound knock offside your fat head is just what ye need to get ye to keep your mouth shut.”
Leargan rolled his eyes but was quiet. Cameron knew it would not help all that much to keep silencing Leargan. Unfortunately, he could not silence his own thoughts as easily. The last thing he wished to confide to Leargan was that he was having to fight a constant, fierce battle to stop himself from holding tight to Avery. He had to make himself believe that it was just lust, combined with a comfortable liking for the woman Avery was, which made him hesitate, however briefly, to do as he knew he must. That there might be more than liking and passion between him and Avery was not a possibility he dared even consider. Therein lay a bitter tragedy.
When they rode into camp, Cameron saw all his people gathered in front of his tent. “She has died,” he whispered, too afraid of what he would hear or see even to dismount.
“Or recovered,” said Leargan as he dismounted. “There is only one way to discover what is happening, Cameron.”
It was the last thing he wished to do, but Cameron dismounted and walked toward his tent. He came to an abrupt halt but a step away from the crowd. Cameron knew he was gaping, but a quick glance at Leargan told him he was not alone in that.
Someone was singing. And yet, he thought, that word was simply not enough to describe the sound coming out of his tent. That voice, the strength of it, the perfection of the tone, and the rich emotional power of it, made it something far more than singing. He could fully understand how it held his people enthralled. Cameron felt the same sense of utter wonder.
The song was a fairly common one. A French ballad of an ill-fated love, it was something Cameron had always scorned as little more than minstrels’ babbling. He could not scorn it now. In fact, he could all too easily understand why Wee Rob was weeping and why no one taunted the big man for doing so.
Just as the song ended, a hand was thrust out through the tent flaps. It waved about a few times before being yanked back inside. Leargan and Cameron were nearly knocked down as everyone who had been standing in front of the tent suddenly turned and hurried away. Despite the confusion, Cameron managed to grab hold of Donald.
“Who was that singing?” he demanded of the boy.
“Gillyanne,” Donald replied.
“That voice came out of wee Gilly?” Leargan asked, making no effort to hide his complete astonishment.
“Aye. I dinnae ken where she hides it. It always makes Wee Rob weep.”
“Why have I ne’er heard her before?” Cameron asked.
“Because she has only done it since Avery got ill and only when ye are away from camp. Anne says it calms Avery, but wee Gilly is shy. So, Anne told her we wouldnae trouble her about the singing or be asking her to do more. Anne made us all promise we would ignore it, but I dinnae think she realized the beauty of it. So we just pretend to
ignore it.”
“Ah, and so ’twas Anne’s hand I saw poked out of my tent. She was telling ye that the lass was done and ’twas time for ye to move along.” When Donald nodded and cast a nervous look toward the tent, Cameron almost smiled. “Go on, then, laddie. Go fetch me some food and water to wash in. I will be in my tent.”
The moment Donald was gone, Leargan said, “Do ye think the wee lass kens what she sounds like?”
“Probably not,” replied Cameron. “Gillyanne probably kens that she can sing weel, but I suspect she doesnae ken why it should make grown men cry. ’Tis hard to explain, so all flattery undoubtedly sounds like little more than polite compliments.”
“True. Weel, I had best slip away so that I, too, can act as if I have nay just heard an angel sing.”
Cameron smiled briefly, then strode into his tent just as Gillyanne was preparing to leave. She blushed slightly when she saw him, and Cameron knew she suspected he had heard her sing. He found it a little astonishing that someone with such a gift should be so shy about it.
“How is Avery?” he asked. “Did the cold bath help her?” He stepped close to the bed and brushed his fingers over Avery’s cheeks. “She feels a wee bit cooler.”
“Aye,” agreed Anne. “If it shows itself to be a true help, we may do it again e’en though the lass didnae like it at all.”