“This woman… Well, she hates me.”
“Nay!”
“Aye. She almost had me hanged.”
The duke scowled. “Have you considered that this lass may not be the one for you then?”
His soft understatement caused Cameron to give his father a wry, half smile. “Aye. And once we are in Scotland, I feel confident I shall be able to forget her.”
Donald leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes met Cameron’s in a way that forbid any answer but the truth. “Did you fall in love with an Irish lass?”
Cameron could not admit what he had done. How foolish to fall in love with an Irish woman, a wild, shameless, Irish duchess, at that. He averted his eyes.
“’The day after tomorrow, we shall be on Scottish soil. All that has happened in Ireland will be behind me.”
Fortunately, his father was sensitive enough to recognize Cameron’s discomfort. “Aye. We have not long left here.”
“What lies ahead will keep my mind from what I have left.”
“’Tis true,” his balding father agreed. “I ask only that ye reconsider and attend the earl’s ball with me this eve. Take pity on your old father. I shouldna be the only Cameron to suffer at Dublin Castle.”
Cameron grinned. During the fortnight that they had lived together in Dublin, he had come to admire his birth father and laugh often with him. Donald Cameron was a hearty man with a kind heart who loved life. While alone together, the affable duke had regaled Cameron with many stories. He had talked of his estate just north of Edinburgh, his diplomatic service, Cameron’s mother, and his sister, Kate.
His blood sister had just given birth to twins recently, making the duke a proud grandfather. Cameron looked forward to being an uncle. His family seemed destined to expand, and he looked forward to being a part of it.
To Cameron’s astonishment, during leisurely fireside discussions, he discovered that he shared many of the same traits with his father. The duke had passed on a keen sense of humor and curiosity to his son. He appeared as strong-willed and as self-reliant as Cameron.
For many years, Cameron had resisted relying on anyone but himself. And he had learned not long ago how foolish he had been. If Gerald Fitzgerald had not come to his rescue, if he had not relied upon the confused old man to lead him to safety, Cameron would be dead.
Instead, he was alive and forging a deep bond with his natural father. He looked forward to the pleasant hours of discovery they shared with each meal.
This meal had been no exception, overlooking the fact that Cameron had lost his appetite somewhere en route from Dochas to Dublin. Most nights he slept fitfully. Most nights he dreamed of Meggie.
But each day the duke showered him with great kindness and generosity. Cameron could not refuse the only request his father had made of him.
“I should hate to see you suffer alone, Father. I shall accompany you to the ball.”
Donald grinned. The twinkle returned to his warm brown eyes. “My thanks. Ye shall be justly rewarded.”
Chuckling, Cameron rose from the table. “We shall see. If you will excuse me, I think I shall take a breath of fresh air before it rains.”
“Did you also agree to attend the auction with me midday? I should like to add several more horses to our stables and the Irish are known to breed great steeds. Your Dochas is a fine example.”
Cameron could hardly say nay. His father’s charm and manipulative skills had been developed by years of serving as emissary between King James of Scotland and Queen Elizabeth. “I should be happy to accompany you to auction.”
Several hours later, beneath a threatening charcoal sky, Cameron and the duke arrived at the primitive auction site. Located on the outskirts of Dublin, not far from the docks, the open-air horse market consisted of a shed, platform, and several gated holding pens.
He thought they might as well have been in England for the goodly amount of Englishmen in attendance. The situation disturbed Cameron. But then, he remembered what Meggie had told him about the proceeds of the horse auctions going to arm the Irish. Both English and Irish gained what they wished from these auctions.
His father asked his opinion on most every mare, gelding, and foal which came up for bid until Donald at last reached his quota of six steeds. Both admirers of fine horseflesh, Cameron lingered with his father to watch the remainder of the auction.
He was caught off guard when a mare and foal he recognized were led into the pen beside the auctioneer’s platform. The bidding began, and to his horror, Cameron realized the foal known as Bard and his mother, Sorcha, were about to be sold.
“Father, I think we should have the foal.”
“Do ye? He is a handsome animal, but we have no need.”
“I shall purchase him myself.”
“If ye feel that strongly—”
“I do.”
Cameron could not believe Meggie had given up the Bard easily. She loved that colt. Her father had been due home. He must have required funds and insisted the foal be auctioned.
“Weel na, ye have more than enough funds to bid whatever ye like.”
“One hundred pounds!” Cameron shouted.
“One hundred two pounds,” came a reply from the crowd.
The devil!
“Three hundred pounds!”
“Three hundred five.” A booming voice made the counter bid.
Cameron grit out the bid between his teeth. “Three hundred fifty.”
“Do you believe the foal is worth that much?” his father asked in a whispered aside.
“Aye.”
And more.
“Sold,” the auctioneer declared, “to the gentleman in front, for three hundred and fifty pounds.”
Cameron’s feeling of relief did not last long. Unable to see the colt that had been named for him separated from his mother, he bid for Sorcha as well. When he had won both horses, he looked around for their previous owner.
He would not know Humphrey Fitzgerald if he stumbled upon him. But perhaps Gerald or Niall had accompanied Meggie’s father to Dublin. Or ... Meggie herself?
His heart leapt at the thought.
Nay. She had told Cameron more than once she disliked Dublin and avoided visiting the city. He scrutinized the crowd for what might have been the tenth time but still saw no familiar faces.
“Weel na, son, you have a new colt and mare.”
“Aye.” But not for long. Cameron knew he must send the Bard back to Dochas. The colt belonged with Meggie.
* * * *
Meggie chose to travel with her father. Remaining at Dochas meant being with Niall and without her father once again, which would not serve. Humphrey had charged Niall with looking after both Dochas and her grandfather while he conducted business in Dublin.
Meggie had exchanged words with both Niall and her father about his decision.
She had approached Niall in the great hall the night before she and her father left Dochas. It was the first she had spoken to him since he’d hunted down Colm like a wild animal... fortunately to no avail.
Niall smiled as she approached. “Meggie, me heart. Have ye forgiven me at last?”
“Nay.” She raised her chin a notch. “I’m here to warn ye. While we’re away, do not be thinking Dochas will soon be yours.”
His mouth became a tight, pink line between his dark mustache and beard. “Why would I think such a thing?”
“I know not.” Meggie lowered her voice and met his eyes, as black as a swallow’s back. “I cannot marry ye, Niall.”
Niall’s brows knit together to form a fearsome frown. “What’s this?”
“I cannot lose Dochas.”
Meggie had lost her heart. She had lost the man she loved. She could not bear to lose anything else.
Niall’s chest puffed up in indignation. “Ye make it sound as if I only want to marry ye so that Dochas will be mine.”
“Is not that the way of it? I cannot recall you ever telling me that you loved me.”
“The bard was supposed to do that! He promised to write a poem for ye tellin’ ye how I felt.”
“Do not be blaming the bard. The words should have come from you.”
“But ’tis not easy to put my feelings into words.”
“My heart says nay, Niall. I do not wish to marry ye.”
“You’ll come to your senses,” he growled in stubborn denial.
With her eyes locked on his, Meggie shook her head. “Nay.”
“Your father will see that you come to your senses,” the one-eyed farmer bluffed.
“My father will not force me to marry against my will.”
“I will woo ye with my own words,” he vowed.
“I do not wish to be wooed by you.”
An expression of complete disbelief shadowed his face. “Meggie, what can I do? What can I say to make you change your mind?”
“Please, Niall, say no more. My mind is made up and cannot be changed. I wish you well.”
“You wish me well,” he repeated dully.
“Aye. And do not forget, Deirdre cares deeply for ye. Ye might spend some time with her while we are away. She’s a comely lass with a good heart.”
“She is not you.”
“Aye, she is much more biddable, which will be more to your fancy.”
Meggie kissed Niall lightly on the cheek. He could not be other than himself, and he was not a bad man. He just wasn’t the man for her. That man had long since disappeared.
After arriving in Dublin, Meggie wished she were back home in Dochas. Dublin was too noisy, too crowded, too close to the sea. Each breath of salt air served to remind her that her mother and sister were lost at sea not far from here. The first thing she’d done was visit the docks where, in the memory of her loved ones, she had tossed roses upon the whitecaps.
Meggie preferred to stay in the small lodgings hired by Hugh O’Neill, but whenever she ventured out, she looked for Colm, hoping against all logic to catch a glimpse of him. She would have no peace until she knew he was safe. She scanned the faces at market and those she passed in the street. Although she knew of no reason for Colm to be in Dublin, the city teemed with more Englishmen than Irish. If he were seeking a safe haven, this was where he would find it. This was where he might be.
The hours passed slowly when her father and O’Neill were in meetings. During those lonely hours, without even her canine friends to entertain her, Meggie ate. Seeking to fill the emptiness, the void within her, she ate whatever was in sight. Still, she never felt full. And she was always tired from sleepless nights. Another malady she had acquired since the bard had fled.
Although she dreaded being among the English, Meggie had promised her father to attend this eve’s ball with him. She disliked dressing like an Englishwoman which was required when in Dublin. Wearing cumbersome ball attire only added to her distress. In order to spend even a few more hours with her father, Meggie had agreed. As visiting peace negotiators, Humphrey and O’Neill had been invited to the Earl of Wicklow’s ball. They could hardly refuse the invitation and still appear to be seeking peace.
Meggie found the small, damp house on the outskirts of Dublin particularly confining. Even more worrisome, the happiness she usually experienced in her father’s company eluded her. She spent most of her time staring from the window wondering: What if. What if Colm had truly been an Irish bard? What if he had taken her with him when he had fled Dochas?
It had just begun to rain when Meggie heard the signal. The two soft raps at her door followed by a silent beat and two more raps meant her father had come to see her. She quickly opened the door. Humphrey kissed her gently on the forehead and peered into her bare chamber.
“Meggie, should ye not be preparing for the ball?”
“Aye, Da.” She stood aside to let him pass. A lion of a man, his hair and mantle fanned out behind him as he paced.
Humphrey Fitzgerald was a man who could not be still.
“’Tis a shame that Niall cannot be here to escort ye.”
“Nay” she said. “I would rather be with you.”
He stopped in mid-step and gave her a droll smile. “Your da is not well liked in Dublin. Ye may be shunned at the ball as well.”
Meggie lifted her head. “To be shunned by the English means little to me.”
Her father’s piercing blue eyes narrowed on her. “Have you and Niall had a lovers’ spat?”
“Nay.” Meggie went to him and took his big, warm hands in hers. “Da, I do not love Niall. I would rather live in a nunnery than wed O’Donnell.”
“Aye?” He jerked back in surprise. “A nunnery? No lovers’ quarrel this.”
“Grandfather believes Niall loves Dochas, not me.”
“Your grandfather - -”
“Is not as crazy as he appears,” she interrupted quickly. “And I am certain he is right about Niall.”
“Meggie, if ye do not wish to marry Niall, I shall not force such a thing. But I must know that ye’re safe, and I worry about ye alone at Dochas.”
She turned from him to the rain-spattered window-pane. “We’ve spoken of this before.”
Her father followed to stand beside her. “And we shall speak of it until ye’re safely wed to a good husband who’ll protect and care for ye.”
Meggie leaned her head on his broad shoulders. “Do not fret over me. Only think how many years I have taken care of myself and Dochas.”
“Aye, but things are different,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. “I do not mean to plague you daughter, but the English are determined to take Ulster. We are convinced. Dochas could be in danger very soon.”
“We shall face the danger if the time should come,” she promised, pulling out of his embrace. “But if I do not prepare for the ball soon, we shall be late.”
“Aye.” He strode to the door and stopped, looking over his shoulder at her. “Perhaps ye will meet the man of your heart tonight. There will be Irishmen as well as English. Ye never know. The heart is oft taken by surprise.”
She well knew. Her heart still reeled from surprise.
“We shall see,” Meggie said in a tone that held no possibility.
How could she admit to losing her heart to an English spy? A man who might face her father in battle one day? Icy chills skittered through her. The two men she loved most in the world fought for opposite sides.
Chapter Sixteen
Cameron and the Duke of Doneval emerged from the hired coach to stand at the steps of Dublin Castle. From a distance, the fortress was shrouded in the chilly evening mist. Close at hand, it rose before them in glittering grandeur. Ablaze with light from the gravel path to the highest parapets, the English headquarters appeared at once intimidating and magical.