Highland Knight (14 page)

“She roused enough to complain sensibly?”

“Oh, aye, and some harsh words she had for the ones who would set her down in a cold bath.” Anne laughed as she took Gillyanne’s hand in hers. “The lass has an interesting way with a curse.”

“Of course, she was feverish,” Gillyanne said as Anne tugged her out of the tent. “One doesnae heed what a person beset by a fever has to say, does one? Nay, that would be verra foolish.”

Cameron watched the girl follow Anne out of the tent. He resisted the urge to give her tiny backside a sharp slap. When that lass finally became a woman, she was going to cause some poor man a great deal of trouble, he decided, almost wishing he would be around to see it. That, he suspected, would never happen. Despite the fact that he intended to make Sir Payton Murray marry his sister, Cameron doubted he would ever be welcomed as a member of the family.

As soon as he finished the meal Donald brought him, Cameron washed up. Wearing only his loincloth, he stared longingly at the bed. He had unpacked his fine feather mattress for Avery to rest on. Anne had spread an oiled cloth beneath Avery to protect the mattress from the damp caused by constantly bathing her fevered body. There was plenty of room for him to lie down on the soft bed, yet he had to wonder how long he would be allowed to sleep this time. Since Avery had fallen ill, he had managed only to snatch short rests, his sleep often disturbed by her bouts of delirium. But short rests were better than no sleep at all, he finally decided, and crawled into bed beside her.

He settled himself on his side facing her and curled his arm around her waist. She was almost too hot to sleep near comfortably, but he wanted to be sure he would feel it if she tried to get out of bed. Looking her over, he noticed that she was starting to take on the sharp edges of someone who was not getting enough food. The occasional broths poured down her throat were not enough to replace what was being used up by her battle
with the fever.

“Ye willnae die, Avery,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek.

Just once, he decided, it would not hurt to give in to some of the feelings tearing him apart inside, especially his fear that she could die. Even though he did not—could not—plan to keep her at his side, he wanted to be able to think of her as alive and happy. True, he did not want to think of her happy with another man, but it might be pleasant now and again to think of her content with her family. He could not bear to think of the vibrant, clever woman he had come to know turned cold and silent by death. It just did not seem right or fair that Avery should die before she had had the time to really live.

“Nay, loving, ye cannae let this cursed fever win. I need to ken that ye are alive somewhere, laughing, arguing, and spitting insults at some fool who deserves a few. E’en kenning that some rogue may hold ye, wed ye, and give ye bairns to love would be easier to bear than thinking of all your fire doused forever and set deep in the cold clay. So live, Avery Murray, if only to make my life a misery.”

Cameron touched a kiss to her fever-dried lips, then settled his head back down on his pillow and closed his eyes. He needed some sleep almost as badly as Avery did, but he had to force himself to relax enough to succumb to its pull. There was a large part of him that feared that, while he slept, Avery would slip away.

A dampness against his skin pulled Cameron from his sleep. He grimaced, afraid he was about to discover that Avery had wet the bed; then he realized that dampness came from her skin. His heart pounding with hope, he sat up and lit the candles set on the chest next to the bed. Cameron was not really surprised to see his hand shaking as he reached out to place his hand on her forehead. He closed his eyes against the strength of the emotion that surged through him when he found her cool to the touch—cool and covered in sweat.

He scrambled out of the bed, donned his plaid, and went to get Gillyanne and Anne. The two slept but a few feet away from his tent so that they could be fetched quickly if needed. Cameron was pleased to discover that they were easy to wake and immediately alert. He was not pleased, however, to be forced to wait outside his own tent while they tended to Avery.

“Ye can come in now,” Anne called out just as Cameron was preparing to march into his tent and see what they were doing.

“How kind of ye to invite me,” he snapped as he entered the tent.

“Wheesht, ye wake up in a foul temper, dinnae ye?” Gillyanne murmured as she tucked a blanket around a soundly, peacefully sleeping Avery.

“’Tis chill out there.” Cameron looked at Anne. “Has her fever truly broken, then?”

“Aye. She woke long enough to take some broth and medicine,” Anne replied. “We have cleaned her and put on a warm, dry nightdress. She should sleep through the rest of the night. The worst is over, I am certain of it. Food and rest is all she will need now—plenty of both to give her back the strength she has lost.”

Once the two women were gone, Cameron shrugged off his plaid, snuffed the candles, and crawled back into bed. He pulled Avery into his arms, savoring the coolness of her body. She did need some fattening up, but despite her loss of weight, she felt perfect in his arms. She felt beautiful. Beautifully alive. He kissed her shoulder.

“Cameron?”

“Nay, ’tis Leargan,” he murmured as he kissed her ear, unable to fully suppress the joy he felt over her recovery.

“Oh, aye? Odd. I hadnae thought ye would be as hairy as Cameron,” Avery drawled.

“I am nay hairy.” Cameron gave into the compelling urge to hug her lightly, pleased by her sarcasm—that sign that her spirit was already returning.

“Of course not.” She sighed. “I have been sick, havenae I?”

“Ye have been fighting a fever for three long days, lass, but it appears that ye have won the fight.”

“Oh. Weel, that is good to hear, but if I have been abed for three days, I suspect we havenae traveled verra far.”

“Nay, and we will probably set right here for a few more days, until Anne says that ye willnae suffer from a journey.”

“And so we have lost the race against DeVeau.”

“Dinnae fret o’er that, loving.”

“Easier said than done.”

Cameron kissed the side of her neck. “Rest Avery. That is what ye need now. Rest and food. We can discuss that swine later, when ye are strong again. We watch for him and we ken that he may be waiting for us when we reach the port. ’Tis all that need be done now. So sleep.”

“I should like to argue with you, but I fear I am much too tired.” She yawned, then snuggled closer to him.

“I will be ready to argue with you when ye are stronger,” he said, smiling when she responded with a sleepy giggle.

As he felt her relax in his arms, he wondered if he was confronting the problem of Avery and his errant feelings for her in the wrong way. She made him feel good, dangerous though that was. Perhaps he should just enjoy their time together and cease fighting her allure. After almost losing her to the fever, wasting what little time they might have left together trapped in a morass of doubt and wrestling with his own fears seemed foolish. Cameron decided he would give the matter some serious consideration—as soon as he had had a good night’s sleep.

Avery smiled faintly as she watched Cameron wash up before getting dressed. This would be the last full day they spent in camp. She had already cost them a week between suffering the fever and then struggling to regain the strength needed to travel. There was a devious, desperate part of her that was tempted to feign a lingering weakness, even a small relapse, but she strongly repressed it. It would do her no real good, however, and could, in fact, severely hurt her cause if Cameron caught her at it.

All malingering would gain her was more boredom as she was kept confined to her bed, more distasteful potions to swallow, and even less time spent with Cameron. As if that were possible, she thought crossly as she sat up a little straighter against the plumped-up pillows. He left early in the morning and slipped into bed very late at night. She was lucky if he peeked into the tent once or twice during the day. Despite the hardness she could feel pressed against her backside as they slept, she could not completely stop herself from worrying that, at some time during the celibacy imposed by her illness, Cameron had lost interest in her.

When he stepped up to the bed to pick up the shirt Donald had laid out for him, her gaze settled on his taut stomach. She smiled faintly as she saw the little star-shaped birthmark below his navel, only partially hidden by the light dusting of hair there. Every time she saw it, she wanted to kiss it.

It was a surprisingly familiar urge, Avery suddenly realized, which made no sense at all. She did not make a habit of kissing men’s bellies. She gasped as, suddenly, a clear memory of kissing a little boy’s belly came to mind. As distinctly as if it was happening at that very moment, instead of over a year ago, she could see herself laughing, see the little boy squirming and giggling as she noisily kissed the little star-shaped birthmark on his round little belly. A dark little boy with rich, black hair, mysterious black eyes, and dark skin. Little Alan, she thought as she stared at Cameron. Cameron was little Alan as a grown man. The way Cameron started to frown at her told Avery that some of her shock must be showing on her face, and she struggled to calm herself down.

“Are ye alright, Avery?” Cameron asked as he felt her forehead. “Ye look a little pale and unsettled.”

“’Tis naught,” she said. “Could ye send Gillyanne to me?”

“Ah, of course.”

A little embarrassed when she realized he thought she needed someone to help her see to her personal needs, Avery nonetheless took advantage of his conclusions. She stared down at her hands until she heard him leave; for once she was far too upset to feel piqued over the lack of any kiss or touch in farewell. Even as she slumped back against her pillows and began to curse heartily, Gillyanne hurried into the tent.

“Do ye need some help?” Gillyanne asked.

“Nay.” Avery got out of bed, waving aside her cousin’s attempts to assist her. “Just give me a moment to see to my morning’s ablutions and then we must talk.”

Gillyanne sat down on the bed as Avery went behind the blanket that had been strung up to provide her with a privacy screen. “Ye look a little pale. Are ye sure ye arenae sickening again?”

“Verra sure. I have just had a wee bit of a shock.”

Avery was just scrambling back into bed when Donald arrived with her morning meal. To her dismay, the youth was feeling talkative and stayed as she ate her food. By
the time he left, Avery was nearly squirming with her need to talk to Gillyanne.

“Now ye are looking a wee bit flushed,” Gillyanne said, reaching out to feel Avery’s face.

Muttering a curse, Avery pushed her hand aside. “I am flushed because I am beginning to get irritated. I have had a shock, Gillyanne. I think I have just discovered something verra important, but I need to ask ye a few questions first. Do ye recall wee Alan, the bairn Elspeth and Cormac found and have taken in?”

“Oh, aye, that poor wee lad. Tis so hard to believe that anyone could just set a child out in the wood to die. Every time I think about it, I want to weep. He was blessed, though, for our Elspeth was sent to care for him.”

“And he is verra dark, isnae he.”

“Aye. Verra dark. Black hair, black eyes, dark skin.” As Gillyanne spoke, her eyes slowly widened. “Nay.”

“And Alan has an odd wee marking, doesnae he?”

Gillyanne nodded warily. “A wee star set low on his little belly.”

“Curse it!” Avery flopped back against her pillows. “I do believe I have found wee Alan’s father.”

“Cameron?” Gillyanne whispered, and she gasped when Avery nodded. “Are ye sure?”

Ignoring the way Gillyanne blushed, Avery explained how she had reached her startling conclusion. “Do ye think ye can recall exactly what Alan’s wee mark looked like?”

“Of course. Most birth spots are just that—spots or blotches. ’Tis rare to see one that actually looks like something. If Cameron’s is the same, I will ken it. Ye want me to look at Cameron’s belly?”

“I dinnae ken what I want.”

“He should be told, Avery. He would want to be told.”

“But what of Elspeth, Cormac, and young Christopher? They love that bairn. By now Alan is old enough to be thinking they are his family.”

“’Tis sad, but they also ken that he isnae theirs. They ken that he has a father somewhere.” Gillyanne sighed and shook her head. “’Twill cause pain, right enough, but e’en they would say that Cameron should be told, that he has the right to ken about Alan. I am certain of it and I think ye are, too.”

Although she dearly wished to argue that, Avery knew Gillyanne was right. “Weel, go see if the fool is still in the camp and bring him here. I best do this ere I lose my courage.”

“Dinnae ye think Cameron will want the lad?”

“Aye, he will want his son. What troubles me is that I am about to tell him that there was obviously one lie, one dark betrayal, he didnae learn about.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Aye, quite. This news will re-stir all of that old bitterness and mistrust. All I can do is pray that I have softened his attitude enough so that ’twill only be a temporary relapse.”

When Gillyanne left, Avery poured herself some wine, hoping that a drink or two would give her some much-needed courage. She could almost wish that Gillyanne would not be able to find Cameron. It did not surprise her, however, when they both entered the
tent only a few moments later. Avery decided morosely that it was probably best to get the matter settled.

“Go ahead, Gillyanne,” she ordered her cousin as she poured Cameron a goblet of wine and Gillyanne began to tug up his shirt.

“Here, now, what are ye about?” Cameron demanded, yanking his shirt back down.

The look of shock on Cameron’s face and the hint of a blush in his cheeks were almost enough to make Avery smile. “Such modesty. I just want Gillyanne to look at your birthmark.”

“The lass shouldnae be gazing upon a mon’s belly.”

“Sweet Mary,” muttered Gillyanne as she tried to pry his hand off his shirt. “I have been traveling with an army. And, although your men are surprisingly modest for soldiers, I have seen near every belly in this group. I also have more male cousins and brothers than most lasses could abide. I willnae swoon. Let me look.”

“Cameron,” Avery said, “please, can ye just trust me for a moment? ’Tis important that Gillyanne have a look at it.” She handed him the drink as he sighed and released his grip on his shirt.

“There, ye didnae need to be so shy,” said Gillyanne as she lifted up his shirt. “’Tis a handsome belly.”

“Brazen wench,” Cameron muttered, but he smiled faintly and sipped at his wine.

When Gillyanne just stared at Cameron’s stomach, saying nothing, Avery finished off her wine and asked, “Is it the same?”

“The verra same.” Gillyanne finally replied, “right down to the odd bluish color of it.”

Gillyanne and Avery stared at each other for a moment, then looked at Cameron. He began to feel uneasy as he fixed his shirt. Their expressions were an odd mixture of trepidation and sadness. Cameron was suddenly sure that they had something they had to tell him, and they knew he was not going to take it well. He finished off his wine and held his goblet out for more. It did not help him in his efforts to calm himself when Avery refilled his goblet and then her own. Avery did not normally drink much, and she had just finished one full goblet of wine. The news had to be very bad indeed if she felt the need for so much false fortification.

“Whatever ye are about to say isnae going to make me happy, is it?” He sighed when they both shook their heads. “Best spit it out, then.”

“I must start this by asking ye a few questions first,” Avery said, sipping her wine to soothe a sudden dryness in her throat. “There are just one or two wee things to verify ere we are sure we are right. Did ye e’er ken a Mistress Anne Seaton before ye left Scotland?” The cold, hard look of anger that settled on his face was really all the answer Avery needed.

“Aye. She was my leman for a while ere I came to France.”

“A long while before or shortly before ye left?”

Avery briefly hoped he would say it was a very long time before. Alan was a beautiful little boy, and she knew Cameron would be a good father to him. She just did not want to have to tell Cameron that he had been the victim of a far greater betrayal than the one dealt his pride. The whole tale was far uglier than that of a woman denying a man his son, and she knew it would re-stir every bad feeling he had concerning women. She did not deserve to suffer for that woman’s crimes, but she had no doubt that she would.

“Shortly,” he replied. “I left her when I found her abed with another mon, and left for France within the month.”

“And this Anne Seaton lived in a wee village on the road to where the king ofttimes holds his court?”

“Aye. I bought the whore a wee cottage just outside of the village. What is all this about, Avery?”

“Please, Cameron, a little more patience.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, for she did not really want to hear the answer to her next question; but she knew it was important. “Ye said ye visited her and found her with another mon? So ye didnae bed her, then?”

“I had just ended a wee visit with her, bedded her that verra morning, then left for court. I forgot something at the cottage and returned to get it. The fool she was lying with must have been just waiting to see me ride away.”

“Did ye take care when ye bedded her?” Gillyanne asked.

Cameron’s shock over the young girl’s blunt question came and went quickly as a chill snaked down his spine. As far as he knew, there was only one good reason to ask if he had taken care when he had last bedded the woman. He looked at their solemn faces as he prayed that what he was thinking was wrong, but he found no reassurance there.

“Nay,” he snapped. “She told me she was barren.”

“She wasnae barren, Cameron,” Avery said quietly. “She had a son. A wee lad with black hair, black eyes, dark skin, and a wee birthmark shaped like a star very low on his little belly.” Avery was surprised that Gillyanne could study Cameron so calmly for the anger inthe man was making her decidedly uneasy. “That last bedding was obviously a potent one.”

“How do ye ken all of this? How do ye e’en ken who Anne Seaton is?”

“I dinnae ken her, have only just heard the tale. ’Tis my cousin Elspeth who learned all about the woman, although no one kenned who had fathered the bairn. It seems the only ones in the village who e’er saw ye clearly were Anne, the laird ye bought the cottage from, and the poor, terrified fool ye found in her bed. My cousin was captured by Sir Colin MacRae and held captive in that cottage for a wee while.”

“Anne’s cousin, a verra distant one, but a highborn relation she liked to boast of to prove that she was better than the others in the village.” He shook his head. “I think she believed that touch of highborn blood would actually make me consider marrying her. Do ye think she holds the lad thinking to make me wed her for his sake? I wouldnae have thought her so foolish, yet she is vain.”

“Cameron, she is dead.” She saw no sign of pain in his look—simply shock, then a touch of confusion. “She was hanged, then burned after being decried a witch. Elspeth believes it was done more because she bedded one too many husbands and was brazenly arrogant about the sin. Although she was nay a witch, it was soon learned that she weel deserved her punishment. In the back garden were found the bodies of two men and three wee bairns. It seems that, if she couldnae rid her body of the bairn, she simply murdered it when it was born.”

“Sweet Jesu,” Cameron whispered, sickened by the thought that he had been intimate with such a woman. “My bairn?”

“She let him live, although no one can say how long she would have continued to do so. She thought ye would return to her. Oh, she was verra angry with you. In revenge,
she neither christened nor named the lad, thinking that, if he died, she could taunt ye with the fact that your son had died unblessed and unshriven. She said as much to the priest.” Avery wondered just when all that anger she felt building inside Cameron would break free of the bonds he fought to keep on it

“The vicious bitch.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Avery. “There is more.”

Avery nodded and was comforted when Gillyanne clasped her hand, silently offering her strength as an added support. “This rest has naught to do with Anne Seaton, though her actions were to blame in a way. After she was executed, the villagers set your lad in the wood, left him alone and exposed, left him to die.” She was not surprised when he paled, for it was a chilling tale. “Elspeth and Cormac found him. They have taken him into their home, christened him, and named him Alan.”

“Then I will ask for him, too, when I trade ye and Gillyanne for your brother.”

That cold reminder that she was little more than a pawn in his plans made Avery want to weep, but she fought to stay calm. Pride kept her from wanting him to guess how easily he could hurt her. There was also Alan to consider. She had to try and make Cameron understand that he could not simply claim the child, collect him like some forgotten cloak left behind at a try sting place. He had to be made to see that Alan was too young to be abruptly snatched from the only family he had ever known.