Highland Knight (16 page)

Then, almost as if to ease his troubled soul, Gillyanne’s remarkable voice cut through the air. He grinned when everything suddenly went still. Cameron mused that he would not be surprised if even the scavenging dogs had suddenly sat down to listen. He just hoped that his men were now accustomed enough to be able to ignore Gillyanne and go about their work, although he doubted anyone could ever listen to that voice with only a casual interest. There was just something about it that reached deep inside a person and grabbed hold.

As he kept Gillyanne’s little troop in sight and watched for any more of Sir Charles’s men who might need their eyes closed, Cameron began to make his way toward the ship. He had caught the occasional sight of his people boarding the ship and could only pray that they were all aboard by the time he and the “pilgrims” arrived. When he caught sight of a shadowy form inching closer, he tensed, then relaxed with a sigh when he recognized Leargan.

“Nearly everyone is on board,” Leargan reported. “They will begin to load the horses in a minute. That wee lass has everyone’s attention fixed firmly upon her. ’Tis as if they are all bewitched. E’en the bastard ye ache to kill,” he added with a nod toward the inn.

Cameron followed the direction of his cousin’s gaze and silently cursed. Sir Charles did look spellbound, but the way the man’s attention was fixed so intently upon Gillyanne and her group made Cameron nervous. He could not feel completely certain that Sir Charles would not recognize any of them. There was also the chance that Sir Charles might simply decide he wanted Gillyanne, wanted to possess that beautiful voice for his own personal enjoyment.

Avery stood beside the burly captain, who leaned on the ship’s railing, sighing with pleasure as he listened to Gillyanne sing. Everything seemed to be going very well, but Avery was not sure she should trust in her own sense of safety. Her uncanny ability to sense approaching danger had not been completely reliable lately. She suspected that the emotional turmoil she was in was the cause. When Gillyanne paused in her singing, Avery smiled at the captain, who was wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“My cousin sings like an angel, doesnae she?” Avery said, patting his arm. “Her father, Sir Eric Murray, laird of Dubhlinn, is so verra proud of her.”

“Sir Eric Murray? He is kin to the MacMillans of Bealachan, isnae he?”

“Aye, their nephew. They have given my cousin a wee piece of land as a dowry so fond of her are they.”

“I am a distant cousin, ye ken.”

Since his name was MacMillan, Avery had already suspected the possibility of a connection, but she feigned surprise. “Weel, it does ease my mind to learn that we will be guided across the waters by a kinsmon.” She sighed and shook her head. “I just hope my cousin can make it aboard safely.”

“Why shouldnae she? Is she in some danger?”

“I cannae be sure, but the mon who seeks to use me for his own gains may weel try to grab her in my stead. He may e’en think to rob Scotland of that beautiful voice and hold it captive for his own selfish enjoyment.”

“Thieving French,” Captain MacMillan muttered, and he signaled to his men.

It was hard, but Avery bit back a smile when the sailors all armed themselves. Cameron’s men already stood by the ship’s railing armed with bows and arrows. Now they would have the added strength of over a dozen hardened sailors. The captain had been sympathetic enough to allow them to sail with him and not turn them over to DeVeau, but now she had given him reason enough to fight for them, too.

She watched as Cameron and his men arrived. The others slipped aboard while Cameron and Leargan helped Anne and the others get the cart and the horses onto the ship. Gillyanne stood on the dock, singing sweetly while Ranald blessed the sea and the vessel. Avery was just starting to relax when suddenly, Sir Charles and four other men came up behind Gillyanne. Before Ranald could stop him, Sir Charles grabbed Gillyanne and held a knife to her throat. Ranald faced them, sword drawn, but there was nothing he could do. Cameron and Leargan stood at the base of the ship’s loading ramp, swords raised, but equally as helpless.

“Did ye think I would be long fooled by this game, Lady Avery?” called Sir Charles.

“Aye,” Avery replied with a calm she did not feel. “Just how did ye guess?”

“Sir Renford here,” he nodded to the man on his right, “suddenly recognized the girl. A man often recalls well a woman he hungered for but did not have the chance to possess. Now, I suggest you bring your sweet self down here if you ever wish to hear this little bird warble another tune.”

When Avery moved as if to obey that command she was halted by Wee Rob, who stepped up behind her, grabbed her by both arms, and kept her pinned against the railings. Cameron never took his gaze from Sir Charles as he signaled to his men. Avery looked from one side of her to the other to see Cameron’s men with their bows drawn, the arrows aimed steadily at Sir Charles. All the sailors also had their weapons raised—some with
bows, others with swords or cudgels. Even Sir Charles, in all his cold arrogance, had to see that he would be dead the moment he drew one drop of blood from Gillyanne. Avery prayed that he was not insane enough to think that he could somehow escape, or worse, that he might decide to take Gillyanne down with him in some twisted act of revenge. She stood tense and afraid in Wee Rob’s hold as Sir Charles’s companions talked to him.

“Let the girl go, DeVeau,” Cameron said in French. “There is no winning this game.”

“My men…” began Sir Charles as he slowly took the knife away from Gillyanne’s throat.

“Most of them are dead or tied up. I doubt you can muster any more than the four fools now cowering behind you.”

“I am not fond of losing,” said Sir Charles, but he shoved Gillyanne toward Ranald, who picked the girl up under one arm and ran for the ship. Sir Charles then bowed toward Avery. “Until we meet again.”

“I do believe I have seen enough of France,” Avery replied; then, released from Wee Rob’s grip, she hurried to greet Gillyanne.

Cameron stood at the railing, watching Sir Charles as the ship pulled away from the dock. “That was a verra close call.”

“Aye,” agreed Leargan, standing at his side. “Fortunately, Sir Charles loves himself more dearly than he loves to win.” Leargan glanced toward Avery and Gillyanne, deep in conversation with the captain. “Did ye ken that yon captain is a kinsmon of wee Gillyanne’s?”

“Not until a few minutes ago.” Cameron tightened his grip upon the railing as the ship began to gain speed. “Do ye think the lasses will try to get him to help them escape from us?”

Leargan also held the railing tightly as his face began to turn a greenish-grey. “I suspect it has occurred to them, but ’twill also occur to them that someone could get hurt, and they willnae wish that to happen.”

Feeling himself break out into a cold, uncomfortable sweat, and knowing that he probably looked as bad as Leargan, Cameron laughed shakily. “I dinnae think we would be able to put up much of a fight, do ye?”

His cousin’s only reply was an agonized groan, and a heartbeat later, Cameron heard himself echo it.

“Ah, weel, I can see that this journey isnae going to be the romantic interlude I had hoped for.”

Cameron started to turn over and look at Avery, only to frown when he could not. “My wrists are lashed to the railing.”

“Aye.” Avery knelt down next to Cameron, thinking that she had never seen a man look quite so miserably ill. “Wee Rob was afraid ye might fall into the sea right along with the contents of your belly.”

“Leargan?” Cameron looked from side to side but could not see his cousin.

“Anne and Gillyanne have already untied him and taken him to a bed.”

“How can that help him? The beds move.”

“True, but we have a potion that will help. We have made a lot of it, for near half your men fell ill.”

He looked at her, noticed that she looked no more than attractively windblown and sun-kissed, and deeply resented it. “Have ye been taking this potion?”

“Nay.” She brushed the sweat-matted hair from his pale forehead and decided that he needed a wash as well as another dosing.

“Of course not,” he grumbled. “Why should I be surprised that Murray lasses are all accomplished sailors?”

Avery started to untie his wrists. “Actually, Gillyanne and I havenae sailed much at all. Just on the trip o’er to France.”

“Ye arenae making me feel any kindlier toward ye.”

“Tsk, and after Wee Rob and I worked so hard to get those doses down your wretched throat.”

Cameron could faintly recall someone pouring some evil tasting brew into him; then he realized that he was actually sensible for the first time since the ship had set sail. “Just how long have I been lashed to this railing?”

“’Tis near the end of the second day,” she replied as she put her arm around his waist and helped him stand up.

He frowned down at the top of her head as she half dragged him toward her cabin. “Ye shouldnae get so close. I probably stink.”

“Ye do that, but ’tis why I have had a bath prepared for ye in my cabin.”

“Dinnae I have my own cabin?”

“Nay. There are only a few and the captain gave them to the women, although they are somewhat crowded with sick men now.” She struggled to hold him steady with one arm as she unlatched the door to her tiny cabin. “Now ye will be crowding mine.”

Cameron wanted to protest that, but he was feeling too ill to argue about anything. He stood unsteadily as she handed him a goblet of some herbal concoction and then began to take off his clothes. This arrangement was going to ruin his plan to keep his distance from her. Then he decided he was probably too sick to be entrapped by his own passions, and he relaxed.

The potion tasted horrible, but he finished it and gratefully accepted the wine Avery gave him to cleanse the taste of it from his mouth. As he sank down into the hot bathwater with a sigh of pleasure, he realized he had not felt his stomach clench in quite a while. Vile-tasting though it was, the potion obviously helped.

“I think your potion is working,” he said as she washed his hair.

“It usually does after the fourth dosing,” she replied as she tilted his head back and, with a pitcher full of clean water, carefully rinsed the soap from his hair. “Ye have just downed your sixth.”

“’Tis so foul of taste, I am surprised it doesnae make me even sicker.”

Avery laughed softly as she scrubbed his back. Leaving him on deck for two days had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. He had been so wretchedly ill, she had ached with her inability to do any more than force her potion down his throat and wait for it to begin its work. Now, however, she could see some advantage to having the worst of it pass before bringing him into the cabin. He now had a clean, fresh-smelling place in which to regain his strength.

And, she thought with an inner smile as she washed his feet and legs, he was somewhat at her mercy at the moment. She had decided that Gillyanne was right. It was foolish to allow him to keep a distance between them. If nothing else, she could not allow him to steal away what little time she had left to gather a few memories in his arms. If he still sent her away after they reached Cairn-moor, he would be stealing most of the joy from her future. She would not let him steal the joys and pleasures of the present as well. The definite signs of arousal he revealed as she finished bathing him told her that he still desired her and that it was time he ceased to hide from the passion they could share.

“I think I have recovered enough to dry myself,” Cameron said as he stepped out of the bath.

Avery handed him the drying cloth and went to answer the knock at the door. Two men came in, set a tray of food down on a small table at the far end of the little cabin, then dragged the tub away. By the time they were gone, Cameron was dressed in the robe she had set out for him and was sitting at the table, eyeing the food a little warily.

“Ye can eat something,” she said as she went to a large basin filled with hot water and began to take off her gown. “It willnae hurt, though I would go slowly. Your innards are undoubtedly a little tender.”

“Undoubtedly,” he whispered, his voice a little choked as her chemise fell around her feet followed by her braies.

He chewed on a thick slab of bread as he watched her wash herself. The sight of her slim, lovely back had him aching for her. Clearly, he was much improved, he thought, as he took a deep drink of wine that did nothing to cool his blood.

She was acting as if they were still lovers, he realized, frowning. That made no sense, for he had almost completely ignored her for a week. She should have seen nothing less than a cold, clear rejection. Of course, the way his errant body had reacted to her bathing him gave the lie to his pose of disinterest. Perhaps, he mused, he needed to tell her very bluntly that the affair was over.

Cameron stared at her as she joined him at the table dressed only in her robe, her thick, dark-golden hair tumbling wildly over her slim shoulders. She smiled sweetly at him. For reasons of her own, she was apparently going to treat his actions of the past week as nothing more than a sulk, a bad mood. As they ate, he continued to watch her, feeling arousal tighten his body, and an anticipation of the sweetness he could find in her arms setting all his nerves to tingling. The more he watched her, the more his passion rose and the more he began to think himself an idiot to give up what she so freely offered until it became absolutely necessary.

“What game are ye playing now, lass?” he finally asked, made wary by her good
humor after she had suffered the sharp end of his bad mood for days.

“Game?” A very asked as she crossed her legs. She made no move to adjust her robe when it fell open to expose her legs all the way up to the middle of her thigh. “Why do ye think I play some game?”

Tearing his gaze from her slim legs and trying to forget the urge to lick them from toe to hip and back down again, he gave her a mildly disgusted look. “Because, after the way I have acted this last week, a lass with your spirit ought to be wanting to bash me o’er the head. Instead, ye cure my illness, clean me up, feed me, smile at me, and tempt me.”

“Ye were being ill tempered for a purpose, were ye? I thought ye were just brooding.”

“I wasnae brooding.”

“Oh? What do ye call it, then?”

“I was just reminding myself of the treacherous nature of women.” He was not surprised to see anger sharpen her gaze.

“One could be unkind and point out that if one deals only with whores and adulteresses, one is a fool to expect honor and truth.”

“A good, sharp hit, lass.”

“Thank ye.”

He realized that her words did not anger him because he had already reached the same decision himself. The thought that she might think him a fool, even only in passing, pinched quite sharply, but he shrugged it aside. Men and women had been made fools over each other far too often. Cameron took comfort in the fact that he had at least learned from past failures.

“They were nay all whores and adulteresses,” he felt compelled to tell her. “One was the lass I was betrothed to, a lass of high birth and, supposedly, a chaste body and sweet nature.”

“Ye were married?” Avery wondered why, when she could shrug off the thought of lovers from his past with relative ease, she should find the thought of his betrothal or marriage so deeply upsetting.

“Nay, only betrothed. She seemed accepting of the marriage. A fortnight ere we were to be wed, she came to stay at Cairnmoor with her mother, her servants, and a few of her kinsmen, including a distant cousin named Jordan.”

“And?” she prompted when he fell silent and scowled into his goblet of wine. “They were lovers, her and this Jordan?”

“Oh, aye, and he was no cousin, either. Nay, he was the son of an old, bitter enemy of my father’s. The two of them planned to use the wedding celebration to slip his men into my keep and take it from me. My family, most of my men, and of course, myself, the poor besotted groom, were to be killed. They had already slipped a half dozen of his men into my home and begun their dark work. Six of my people were missing ere I noticed something was wrong. Later we found their bodies weighted with stone at the bottom of the moat.”

And ye blame yourself for each one of those deaths
, she thought, wishing she could take his guilt away. “How did ye find out what they were planning?”

“I went to her bedchamber, saw Jordan slipping inside, and set my ear against the door.”

She winced. “And discovered those who say eavesdroppers nay hear any good about themselves were right?”

He smiled faintly. “True. I heard their plans and the fates of my missing people. I also heard that my bride was verra pleased it would all be accomplished ere she actually had to wed or bed me. She was terrified that this dark, scowling devil might actually touch her fair skin ere he was killed.”

“Ouch. I suppose she preferred fair-haired, bonny young knights who cut the throats of the ones who welcome them into their homes.” She was pleased to see him grin at her sarcasm. “’Tis sometimes difficult to see beneath the smiles and sweet words. The flattery feels so nice, one likes to believe in it. At least when I learned how easy it is to see what isnae there, I didnae have to worry about saving my clan as weel as my pride. What did ye do?”

“Shut the gates, gathered up the traitors, and, when his people arrived, hanged the lot from my battlements. His people left.”

It was harsh, but she knew he had given them a far more merciful death than many another would have. “E’en your betrothed?”

“Nay. I put the fear of the devil in her and her womenfolk and sent them home.” He studied her closely for a moment, then abruptly asked, “Who lied to ye, then, lass?”

“Oh, just a lad. Just before I went to France, my parents took me to court. I think they hoped 1 would find a mate there. Let us just say that I didnae have the laddies tripping o’er each other to kiss my slippers. There was one lad, however, who showed me a marked interest and, ne’er having been wooed and flattered before, I will confess that I was moved by it. I heard some talk of his being one to seduce and abandon a lass, a rogue who spent more time rolling about in a lass’s arms than in doing any work at all.” She shrugged. “I told myself that all young lads indulge themselves in such ways ere they settle down with a wife.”

Cameron knew how this tale would end and had to resist the urge to tell her not to finish it. He knew his tastes were not odd in any way, so he could not understand how other men failed to see her beauty, to see the promise of a rich, passionate fire in her lithe body. It did not really surprise him to feel an urge to find the young man she was speaking of and beat him soundly. After the incident with Sir Charles, he had come to accept that he felt very protective of Avery.

“That wasnae the way with this lad?” he asked.

“It may be, but I wasnae the lass who would be stopping his wandering ways. He wasnae verra discreet, was carrying on with a wedded lass e’en while he wooed me. I chanced upon them trysting in the garden. She expressed some jealousy o’er his attentions to me. It was soon revealed that his attentions to this too-thin lass with the strange eyes were due to the beauty of her dower.” She smiled when he winced faintly. “I decided that what I wanted was not to be found at court.”

“And, of course, he was fair and verra bonny.”

She laughed softly. “He had black hair, skin as fair as milk, and blue eyes. I discovered that fair skin bruises most lividly,” she murmured. “The lady’s husband asked me if I had seen her when I returned to the great hall from the garden.”

“Wicked lass.” He toasted her with a brief lift of his goblet.

“Aye, though ’twas wrong to let my wretched pride lead me. The husband might weel have killed them both. The lad took a dangerous beating as it was, for he was
neither tall nor strong.”

“Odd. The lasses usually favor the tall and the strong.”

“Ah, but from what I heard said that day, he had something else to interest the lady. His lover said he had a verra big—”

“Avery,” he warned, giving her a repressive look even though he felt like laughing.

“Dinnae fear. I didnae take a look to confirm her claim.”

“How weel-behaved of you. Ye arenae too thin, lass, and those eyes of yours may be an odd color, but they are beautiful.”

“Thank ye, kind sir,” she said. Her voice was light and playful, but a faint blush stung her cheeks. “And I find I have a true weakness for braw, dark knights.” She winked at him.

He set down his goblet and held out his hand. It made him feel dangerously good when she put her hand in his. With a sigh that was a mixture of pleasure and resignation over his weakness for her, he tugged her down onto his lap.

“Ye are feeling better, are ye?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly when he began to stroke her legs.

“Aye, much better,” he replied as he licked the pulse point on her neck.

“Nay more brooding?”

Leaning back, he sighed and shook his head. “Nay. Ye cannae expect a mon to take it weel when ye tell him that someone hid his child from him, didnae e’en christen or name the poor wee lad.”

Avery supposed that was Cameron’s attempt at an explanation for how he had been acting, and probably the closest to an apology she would get from him. “Nay. It was cruel. And crueler still for those people to set a bairn out in the wood to die.”