Samantha James (12 page)

Meredith had not shivered in ecstasy—she had shuddered in fear. She did not clutch him to her breast, lips moist and upraised and panting for his kiss…Instead she had pushed him away!

A fierce inner battle raged within him. He was sorely tempted to do exactly what she suggested—search out another woman. Moire sprang immediately to his mind. Moire, with the dark, gleaming eyes and moist, beckoning lips. Aye, he thought. He needed a woman with full hips and ripe, earthy nature, not a prim, saintly madonna like Meredith!

Yet such an encounter would not serve to banish the burning in his soul, the ache in his loins.

He didn’t want to remember, yet he could not forget the feel of her in his arms—so small and delicate, her bones so fragile. Nor could he forget her air of pleading vulnerability…

This night had not produced the outcome he’d sought. He’d expected to be sprawled at her side this very moment, her head pillowed on his chest, his body sated and exhausted.

His jaw tensed. In one swallow he drained his wine, grimly resolute as he crawled into his solitary bed. It was just as he’d stated. This night was almost gone, but there would be others. Her resistance but made him burn for her all the more. The time would come. He would have her in his arms again, not quaking in fear, but trembling with need.

For Cameron was determined. He would have his son. No matter what it took…no matter how long.

Golden sunshine woke Meredith the next morning. Sleep had not come until nearly dawn. She’d spent hours last night listening to the rain beat against the walls, the eerie howling of the wind around the tower, until at last she’d slept in sheer exhaustion. It would have been easy to remain where she was, to turn over and seek refuge in sleep anew, for what had she to look forward to? A day entombed in this tiny chamber?

Perhaps it was the sunshine. After yesterday’s storm, it was an unexpected surprise. But she had no desire to laze abed, for she was tired of being afraid. Nay, she decided, she would not waste away in melancholy pity.

Courage, she told herself. Courage and faith. The latter would not fail her, for she could not allow herself to believe that God would desert her. Indeed, Cameron had left her alone last evening.
He
was the one who had retreated. Was that not reason to be encouraged? As for the other…well, if she could not
be
courageous, at least she could aspire to it.

She’d just flung back the covers when the door opened. A young girl entered. “Good day, milady. I’ve food to break your fast.”

Meredith thanked her and took the tray from her. There was a generous chunk of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a slice of cold venison. At the sight, hunger gnawed at her belly. Quickly she sat. Her appetite had been nil last evening, but such was not the case now. She ate every morsel, surprised at how hungry she was. She’d just finished dressing and combing her hair when another knock sounded.

“Enter,” she called.

The door opened. Egan stepped within.

“Good morning to you, Egan,” she greeted him calmly.

Cool blue eyes flickered. He looked a trifle surprised. “Good morning,” he said gruffly. “My lord has asked me to show you about.”

Fair, slender brows shot high. “So he’s decided not to keep me confined in the tower! And you’ve been given the unlucky task of being my keeper. Tell me, have you displeased him? Fallen into disfavor, that he should give you such an onerous chore?”

Egan drew himself up to his full, lean height. “Nay, lady! I am one of his most trusted men—and also his greatest friend!”

Meredith nodded. “I see. You’re being rewarded instead with my company. Well, then, I shall strive to be pleasant. And please do try to keep me out of trouble. I shudder to think what would happen if we both incurred his wrath.”

Egan was taken aback by the faint light in her eyes. Did she tease him? Or mock him? Either way, she displayed far more spirit than he’d dreamed she possessed! He would have to be wary of her, he decided—and so would Cameron.

They passed through the great hall on the way to the bailey. As he led her through, a sudden pall fell
over the group that had been talking around the table. Egan stole a glance at his charge, feeling oddly embarrassed for her. Yet if she took notice, she displayed no outward sign of it. Her features were unsmiling but composed, the angle of her chin high.

Outside in the bailey, he cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should show you the outbuildings—”

There was a gentle touch on his sleeve. “I’d be pleased if you’d show me the chapel first,” she said quietly. “Have I missed morning Mass?”

Egan shook his head. “There is no morning Mass. There’s a priest—Father William—but he only passes through here every few months or so.”

“There’s no priest in residence?” Her expression was one of utter shock.

“Mayhap it is
every
month,” he amended quickly, and then was vastly annoyed at himself. Why the devil was he feeling so guilty? It was hardly his fault there was no priest in residence; Dunthorpe was deep in the wild country of the Highlands.

“No matter. Will you please show me the chapel?”

“Aye.” He turned and led her past the alehouse and granary, to the farthest corner of the bailey. It was quiet and peaceful here. Ivy climbed the rough face of the stones, clear to the lancet windows set high above in the north wall. The door was open; she stepped within. Egan started to follow her.

She turned. “If you don’t mind,” she said quietly, “I should like to be alone for my prayers.”

Egan hesitated. “I cannot,” he said at last.

Something flickered across her features. “Very well,” she murmured.

For some reason he didn’t understand, Egan felt compelled to explain. “I’m sorry,” he began, “but—”

“There is no need, Egan”—her smile was fleeting—“I understand that you, too, are only doing as you are bidden.”

He watched as she turned and glided down the aisle to the front of the church. Kneeling before the altar, she made the sign of the cross, bowed her head low, and clasped her hands together before her.

Egan felt like a worm. He shouldn’t have felt badly, yet he did. Cameron’s orders had been strict—he was to watch her at all times. He stood awkwardly in the rear of the nave, branding himself the intruder despite the fact that he was doing his duty. What the devil was wrong, that he should feel remorse? She was a Munro, he told himself. The Clan MacKay’s most hated enemy.

Odd, but she looked to be the most pitiful foe he’d ever hoped to defeat.

Not only that, he felt uncomfortably out of place here in the kirk. When was the last time he’d gone to Mass? Faith, but he couldn’t even remember! The minutes crept by, and still she did not rise. Egan stared at her small figure. Were her misdeeds truly so many that she must pray so long and so hard for forgiveness? His knees would ache and creak and protest most heartily were he to remain kneeling for so long—he doubted he could have done it, even had he been of a mind to!

He was mightily relieved when at last she rose—and none the worse for it. She glided back to him as effortlessly as she’d left him.

From there he escorted her around the bailey, pointing out the bakehouse and brewhouse, granary, stables, and barracks. Near the stables, she paused, gazing back toward the keep as the wind swirled her skirts and lifted her hair.

She smoothed it from her cheek. A frown had appeared between the smoothness of her brows. “Egan,” she murmured, “who is that woman there on the stairs? The young one with the long dark hair?”

The woman had stared at her with open boldness just an instant before. Meredith waited curiously. Egan had turned to follow the direction of her eyes.

“That is Moire. She is the eldest daughter of Moreland, the castle steward.”

Even as Egan spoke, Cameron appeared in the wide doorway at the top of the stairs, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. The woman Moire had spied him as well. With undisguised eagerness she ran up the stairs, levered herself upward with her hands on his forearms, and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. Even from here, Meredith could see their laughter…

There was a strange tightening in her belly. “It would appear she knows Cameron quite well.” Not until she heard her voice did she realize she spoke aloud.

“Aye.” Egan shrugged. “Indeed, before Ronald died, there were those who said Moire and Cameron would soon marry.”

Marry! Meredith was stunned. How, then, had he dared to approach her and demand that she bear his son!

“Egan,” she said slowly, “I know of Glenda, Niall’s wife…his widow.” She spoke hurriedly, lest she lose her nerve. “But what of his other brothers? Were any of them wed?”

He shook his head. “Burke and Bryan were to wed Anne and Miriam after harvest. They are there.” He pointed to two fair-haired women who strode toward the bakehouse.

Meredith was sick at heart. Was there to be no end to her shame? “So there were no children,” she said aloud. “Seven sons…and no children.”

“None but the babe borne by Glenda.” Egan regarded her with a sharp-featured reserve. “The wee laddie died just after he was born.”

Meredith’s heart ached. Poor Glenda…to have lost both husband and son.

And then there was Cameron, who had lost so many more—but nay, she did not want to think of him.

“If you do not mind,” she said wearily, “I should like to return to my chamber.” The world had gone suddenly dark and dreary. As if to torment her further, their path took them directly before Glenda, who stood wiping her hands with her apron. Meredith’s heart leaped. She didn’t know what to say or do, but no matter. Though Glenda brushed directly by her, she spared neither glance nor greeting.

Meredith spent the remainder of the day in her chamber. Finn arrived in the afternoon to see if she wished to walk. Meredith declined.

A long time later she stood at the window. Evening sunbeams streaked through a gauzy blanket of clouds to light the mountaintops below with a pale purple haze. She heard the echo of footsteps long before the slip of the bolt from its berth. Thinking it was someone with the evening meal, she remained where she was, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

The prickle of tiny hairs on the nape of her neck warned her she was wrong.

She turned to find Cameron a scant sword’s length away from her, his hands behind his back as he regarded her. He wore a kilt and a loose white tunic that somehow made him appear broader and taller
than ever. The very air seemed to hum and sizzle with the power of his presence—forceful and vital, so very tall and bold as the marauder he was!

Her pulse suddenly beat a rapid tattoo, yet she was determined he would not know the effect he had on her. Raising her chin, she bestowed upon him what she hoped was a gaze of cool and utter disdain.

“Finn tells me you refused to come out this afternoon.”

“What do you expect? I am in the midst of the lion’s den.”

Her tongue was as tart as ever, Cameron noted dryly. In truth, he was secretly relieved that she displayed no outward sign that she’d spent the night weeping or cowering in dread. He’d been half-afraid he might have frightened her forever…

“Besides,” she went on, “I was out with Egan this morning. Indeed, I wondered what he’d done, that you chose to punish him so.”

Cameron frowned, rather puzzled.

“Come, now. We both know Egan would just as soon cut my throat as play the gallant escort. But it appears you command his loyalty.”

Cameron raised a brow. It was on the tip of his tongue to admit Egan thought him a fool for allowing her to live, yet such would scarcely reassure her.

“Loyalty is a valuable commodity among one’s clansmen. So is trust. I trust Egan implicitly with my life; therefore, I entrust yours to him.”

“I may have spent the last few years in a nunnery, shut away from the world, but I am not the fool you think me. Egan is not with me to protect me from harm—he is there as my jailer. And aye, we both know my life holds little value.”

“Ah, now, there’s where you’re wrong, lass. As the
woman who will bear my son, your life is as valuable to me as my own.”

Her eyes flared at this, but Cameron gave her no chance to argue. “However, I do not wish to bicker with you over Egan’s role. Instead I brought you something.” His hands came out from behind his back; within each one a soft leather slipper was suspended. “I made a trade for these,” he said lightly. “Now you must make a trade.”

He hadn’t missed the way her face lit up when first she spied them, but the smile he sought was not to appear. Instead her eyes darkened.

“That is no trade!” she cried softly. “I know what you expect of me.”

Cameron scowled. He’d seen her this morn with Egan, barefoot as a child but far more dignified. His conscience had smitten him, for he realized he’d been remiss in not asking Glenda to see to this aspect of her clothing as well. “It seems to me I’ve been most generous. Why, the very gown on your back—”

“Belongs to your brother’s wife,” she accused. “I know you bade her bring it to me, and you did it a-purpose.”

“Aye, I did, for the other was not fit to be worn! And now you would condemn me!”

“Because I know you did not do it out of the goodness of your heart! You went to Glenda to—to shame me, that I would ever be reminded that my clansmen took the life of her husband!”

“I went to Glenda since she is much the same size as you!”

She remained adamant. “The slippers are naught but a bribe to make me lay with you!” Despite her bravado, she couldn’t quite hide her longing. “Nay,” she said stiffly, “I cannot take them!”

“You,” he stated bluntly, “are remarkably stubborn. Tell me, then. What will you do with the gowns? Give them back, too, and run about naked?” His eyes warmed. “I vow such a sight would please many a man here—including me!”

Meredith did not share his sudden good humor. He had her there, and she knew it. Mutely she glared at him.

He sighed. “All right, I admit my deception. A kiss, Meredith. I ask but a kiss, and to demonstrate my good faith, I will wait until later. For now, supper awaits below and you will accompany me.” With that announcement he tossed her first one slipper and then the other. Meredith fumed silently, for he left no room for refusal. Bending low, she quickly donned the slippers. Though she would never have admitted it to him, they felt heavenly on her feet.

Yet with every step that took them closer to the great hall, the knot in her belly wound tighter. Surely enough, the great hall was humming with bodies and activity. A long procession of servants carried great platters of food from the kitchen. The scent of roasted meat and yeasty breads filled the air.

Meredith would have much preferred to dine in her chamber alone. The hall was filled with booming voices and boisterous male laughter. The fact that there were so many about—and strangers yet—lent her no ease. Her steps unconsciously slowed, but alas, he did not allow it!

A hand splayed wide at her back, Cameron guided her toward a high-backed chair at the table directly before the massive stone hearth. He took the seat beside her. At the far end were Glenda and several other women; she was spared but a cursory glance. More than anything, Meredith longed to sink through the
floor and perish beneath the earth. Finn and Egan were there as well. Finn’s shaggy brows shot high in surprise. He glanced quickly at Cameron, who wore an easy smile. Egan’s reaction was far less discerning, his expression unreadable.

If anyone was startled by her presence at his side, they did not speak of it aloud. The lull in the conversation when she sat was mercifully brief; it was readily apparent those present would take their cue from their leader. Though no one displayed any outward hostility, neither was there a hint of friendliness. Decidedly ill at ease, Meredith was certainly not wont to draw attention to herself. Cameron kept her cup filled with wine and offered her meat from his trencher. Every so often she sensed his regard on her profile, though he said little, merely inquired about her preferences. Irrational though it was, Meredith welcomed his presence at her side. She gleaned both courage and the strangest sense of protectiveness from it.