Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga (15 page)

Him
meaning Cameron. She straightened her spine, dabbed at the blood dripping from her lip, and glared at him. “That’s no’ true!”

“I was here all night, Fiona.” Seamus’s voice was calm and deadly, and Fiona’s heart sank. She could have been indignant over his intrusion into her room, but he’d only see through that. Just as she was about continue to protest her innocence, he held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t bother lyin’ to me, Fi. Ye never came back after ye left camp last night. Now tell me again where ye were. Tell me ye weren’t with him.”

“How many times must I tell you? I was working. Telling fortunes in my tent. You saw me there. Then I went to a saloon, and some of the lads there paid me to read their palms. They were deep in their cups and I thought I might be able to get some money out of them. For you.”

The grip he had on her shoulders tightened to the point of pain, and he pressed his body against hers. “What do ye have to show fer it, then?”

“I . . .” She cast about for a ready excuse, something he might believe. She thought about the black bag she had in the wardrobe, where she kept her wigs. In it, she had her stash of “extras” as she called it—the money she kept hidden from Seamus. Dread spiraled in her chest. Taking a breath to steady her heart, she said, “The bag in the closet. There’s some money in there.”

Seamus tore open the doors and ripped open the bag. He dumped the contents on her bed—wigs, makeup, fake jewelry, and pulled out several pouches of silver and a money clip.

“This is what ye have?”

“Yes.”

“When you bring it in?”

“It was late,” she said. “Stuck it in the closet and went right back out again. Dinna even see you in here. Like I said, I was working.”

Narrowed eyes studied her. Seamus’s gaze shifted from her bed to her face and back again. “It’s not a bad take, Fi.”

“I thought you might be pleased.”

“Is there anything else yer hiding?”

Her thoughts turned immediately to the solid weight of Cameron’s ring in her pocket. Seamus stalked up to her, crowding her body with his, and she knew he had plans to search her, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with the ring. It was hers, and it was Cameron’s, and the thought of Seamus possessing something so precious turned her stomach.

Greedy hands touched her body, lingered too long on her breasts, and found their way into her pockets. His smile was malicious as he took Cameron’s heirloom from her pocket.

“What ha’ we here, Fi?”

I am so sorry, Cameron.

“I heard a rumor about the ring you were
havering
on about the other night. Followed it. ‘Tis where I was all night.”

Seamus arched a disbelieving eyebrow at her. “Did ye now?”

Her breath came short and fast, and anxious tears pricked the insides of her eyelids. “Aye.”

The anger in Seamus’s eyes shifted just a little, replaced by wary interest. He turned the ring over in his hand and studied the gemstone in the center. “Tell me a story, Fi.”

Bitterness lanced her heart, and she silently cursed herself. Cameron deserved so much better than her. The future she’d seen in his cards didn’t include her—she knew that now.

“I heard some of the miners in The Bucket o’ Blood talking about a ring they’d stolen off some dandy. So, after I told their fortunes, I came back. Worked the leader the whole night and once he passed out, I relieved him of his prize.” The lies spilled from her lips easily, without thought.

After all, this was who she was when she wasn’t with Cameron. A liar and a thief. She’d do well to remember that.

“And ye didn’t think to give this to me when ye first came in?”

“Look at the thing, Seamus,” she snarled. “‘Tis beautiful, is it no’? I wanted to hold it for a little while longer.”

“It is beautiful,” he acknowledged, and his anger seemed to diminish. Greed was something Seamus understood and could forgive. Her heart seized, the heavy weight of remorse almost too much to bear. “Ye think this big stone is a diamond?”

She shrugged, but she was certain it was. Cameron had never said, but in a ring that old, the gemstone couldn’t possibly be anything else. “Of course no’. What kind of fool would bring a diamond that size to a place like this?”

Seamus chuckled. “A rich fool, that’s who.” He tucked the ring into the pocket of his vest and tweaked her chin. “Ye did good, Fi. Get yer things together. We’re leaving.”

Fear found a place in her heart. “What?”

“This place is tapped out. It’s time for us to move on. Get yer things together and meet me at the wagons. Ye ha’ an hour.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Fiona wrapped her arms around her body, sat on the bed, and wept.

The papers were signed, the money transferred, the claim officially sold. This should be the happiest day in his life.

So why did he feel so out of sorts?

While he waited for Fiona, he nursed his whiskey. He’d been sitting at the bar ever since his meeting had ended, considering all the things Fiona had told him over the last few days.

The cards, and the thing about choice.

Her ridiculous idea that, somehow, all of his work wasn’t about his land. After all, the thought of buying his grandfather’s land back from Jacob Smith had been what had driven him over the last five years. Five long years of blood, sweat, and toil, doing a job he hated. How could he be motivated by anything else?

The idea was preposterous.

Yet the more he was with Fiona, the more he thought about his brother and his family. Mary and the kids. His niece and his two young nephews. Duncan, in his last letter, said Samuel, the youngest, was the spitting image of Cameron, all the way down to the personality. Though barely out of infancy, Duncan had spoken of Samuel as a spitfire and a daredevil, and in his letters, his words had sounded . . . fond.

Cameron wanted to know his brother’s children. He wanted to spend time with his brother and rekindle the friendship they’d lost. He wanted children who would grow up around Duncan’s children, boys with fiery red hair and a dark-haired girl, like her mother. None of those things would happen if he reclaimed their land in Virginia. He’d be too far from his brother in Ohio to visit with any regularity, too far to really know his brother’s children or to have them know him.

Perhaps he didn’t want the land in Virginia so badly, after all. Maybe what he wanted was a dark-eyed gypsy girl and land near his brother. His history wasn’t nearly as important as the future he envisioned for himself. And for Fiona.

Fiona.

Pain shot through his chest as he thought of her, with her dark hair and eyes, her pale features. But the question was, could he learn to trust a woman who’d stolen his family legacy from his pocket and offered him so little in return? Was he able to risk his heart on a
gypsy
?

Glancing around, he noticed how busy the saloon was for a midweek afternoon. For the last two weeks, most of the miners would go to the makeshift gypsy tents to have their fortunes told, to dance and to drink. Yet as the day began to edge toward night, and the day-shift workers got off from work, The Globe got busier and busier, as the boisterous miners came to drink and gamble away their earnings.

The barkeep came strolling up, wiping a glass with a dishtowel. “Can I get you anything else?”

Cameron set his money on the bar and shook his head. “No, thank you.” He glanced around. “You’re busier tonight than I expected.”

The barkeep barked a laugh. “Yeah, we are. Must have something to do with the gypsies leaving town. I say, good riddance to bad rubbish. About time they left. They stole all the business from the honest folk.”

Dread spiraled through Cameron and his heart raced. His breath caught. “They’ve left?”

The barkeep nodded. “Yeah, this morning. Didn’t you hear? The whole caravan just packed up their tents and left.”

“All of them?” Surely Fiona would have found him and at least said goodbye. She would have told him if she had known they were planning on leaving. Wouldn’t she?

“Yup.”

Without a second glance, Cameron dashed out the door after her.

Fiona’s body swayed as Seamus maneuvered the wagon over the rocky and rutted road. They’d left hours before, headed down the road toward Carson City. Since their departure, she’d been largely silent as she struggled to hold back the tears. She thought the pain would fade as they made their way down the mountain, as the miles stretched between them, but instead, she found that distance made the pain grow stronger, until it was an ache in her chest so intense she could scarcely draw breath.

She missed Cameron. It was as simple and as complicated as that. She missed him with every breath in her body, even though she knew she didn’t deserve him. Somehow, she’d managed to fall hopelessly in love with a man she’d only known for a few days, a man who said he didn’t believe in love, and one who hadn’t made her any promises.

The first drops of rain began to fall, a gentle tapping on the canvas skein of the wagon, the sky weeping where she couldn’t, and even that seemed unfair.

Her thoughts wandered back to Cameron.

She’d figured last night would be their only night together. Still, she’d hoped to say goodbye to him, not leave like a thief in the night—though she supposed that was what she was. She glanced at Seamus’s slim back and thought of Cameron’s broad one, remembering the gentleness in his touch that had masked the strength and the power of his arms.

His face, open and honest, flashed behind her lids. He deserved so much better than her.

And she deserved so much better than this.

If she left, Seamus would give her nothing. No money, no food. Everything she had belonged to him. Not even the clothes on her back belonged to her, if Seamus decided to keep them. She’d stayed for as long as she had because she was just a gypsy. No skills, save thieving and fortune-telling. Nothing to call her own since Seamus had taken it all this afternoon.

But she didn’t want this life any more.

She took a seat next to Seamus, who was driving the wagon. He glanced in her direction briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “Startin’ to rain, Fi. Get back inside.”

“If you doona mind, Seamus, I’d like to stay with you.”

He nodded, and they rode together in silence for several minutes. Lightning streaked across the sky, the wind lashed dust against her face, and in the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Ye got somethin’ on yer mind?” he asked. “Otherwise, ye’ll want to get back inside. This storm’s fixin’ to be a bad one.”

“Aye, Seamus, I do.”

“Speak, then.”

Fiona twisted her hands in her lap, her heart hammering in her chest. This wasn’t how she wanted to do this, but she hadn’t been given much of a choice. This was her chance. If she didn’t take it now, she never would.

“I want out.” As she said the words, her stomach twisted into a knot so fierce she feared she might retch.

He laughed, a cruel, hollow sound. “Sure ye do.”

She struggled to steel her resolve. “I mean it.” Her voice was quiet and determined. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Seamus appraised her briefly before turning his attention to the road in front of him. “What’re ye gonna do? Ye got no skills, and ye can’t think I’ll give ye money to set ye up. Brother’s widow or no, ye want out of this band, ye go with nothin’.”

“I know the rules,” she whispered.

“And ye still wanna go?”

“Aye.”

“No clothes. No money. No nothin’. A cup of water would be too good for ye. Think on that.” His voice was mild, but his jaw was set and hard. Anger raged behind his expression.

And Fiona recognized the truth when she heard it.

She twisted her skirt in her hands and tears began to fall.

“What are ye gonna do, Fi?”

She thought about her bag back in the back of the wagon. “Can I take my clothes, Seamus?”

Shaking his head, Seamus gave her a bitter laugh. “Oh, no, Fi. Yer not gettin’ off easy. Ye want out, ye take the hard way. I’m done with bein’ nice to ye. Ye can stay, and ye stay with me. Ye can leave, and ye on yer own. Be a smart lass.”

She sat in silence, her body swaying as the wagon rumbled over the rough road. The rain began to fall, harder now, and she wiped the water angrily from her eyes, but at least it obscured the tears. Seamus never had to know how much this moment pained her. He’d only delight in it if he did.

She only knew this kind of life. While it might not be what she wanted, she knew nothing else. She
had
nothing else. And there was no guarantee Cameron would accept her back if she left. He probably shouldn’t accept her back, if she was honest with herself.

If he didn’t, she’d be forced to work in the bawdy houses.

She must have been silent for too long because Seamus laughed again. Patting her on the leg in a manner that was entirely too familiar, he said, “There’s a good lass. No get in the back of the wagon, where ye belong.”

She squared her shoulders. “No.”

Fury wreathed his features. “What did ye just say to me, woman?” His voice was quiet and laced with malice.

“I said no.” Desperation and fear soared beneath her breast, her heart thundering like the hooves of galloping horses. She had never thought letting go of this life would be so hard, but then, she never thought she’d be doing it alone and penniless, either. “I need out, Seamus.”

Reining in the horses, Seamus turned on her. When he stood, he towered over her, but she didn’t dare stand. “After all that I’ve done for ye? Ha’ ye lost yer mind?”

Taking a deep breath, she did what was either the bravest or the most foolish thing she’d ever done and would ever do—she made a choice, and changed her path.

“Yes.”

Seamus struck her with the back of his hand again, the crack reverberating in her ears, and light exploded behind her eyelids. For long moments, she heard nothing but a high-pitched ringing as blood began pouring from her nose. He prodded at her as if she were cattle. “Get off my wagon!” he shrieked.

When she didn’t move, couldn’t move, he grabbed her by her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled into him before he shoved her away roughly. He hit her again, and though she clutched at him desperately, she fell from the wagon, landing hard on her backside. The look of brutal pleasure that creased his features both stung and strengthened her and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

Her wrists and back ached, but she stayed where she was. She felt the eyes of the others on her. She served as their warning—do not cross Seamus, or wind up like Fiona. Alone in the desert with nothing. In the rain. He’d tell them all tonight when he finally allowed them to make camp that he’d left her there with no money and no food. That she’d wind up in a bawdy house, nothing but a whore, the only people even the gypsies looked down upon.

Let him.

The hatred in Seamus’s eyes took her breath away as he picked up the reins again. The rain came down in thick sheets, creating rivulets in the dust around her. She wept. For her, for her band, for what might have been had she not left her parents’ band all those years ago.

The wagons’ wheels groaned as the caravan lurched over the broken, rocky road. As they drove past, some of her fellow gypsies gazed at her with pity, others with outright malice. None offered her any aid and none voiced their sympathy, if any of them had any.

The moment Seamus knocked her off the wagon, she had ceased to exist for them. She was nothing, less than a dog, less than the rocks under the wheels of their wagons.

The last wagon shambled by. Cold, wet, and covered in mud, Fiona began the long, lonely walk up to Virginia City.