Samantha James (22 page)

A black brow slashed upward. “Indeed,” he drawled. “What have I done to warrant my sister-in-law’s displeasure?”

“You know far better than I what you have done,” Glenda retorted, “but ’tis Meredith who pays the price.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Glenda,” he said coolly, “you have never been one to meddle in another’s affairs. I pray you, do not meddle in mine.”

“You are right. ’Tis not my way.”

He inclined his head. “Excellent,” he murmured. “I shall be on my way, then—”

Deliberately she placed herself in his path. “Yet I fear I must make an exception. Have you noticed how melancholy Meredith is of late?”

His heart leaped. Was that a good sign? Perhaps she had reconsidered her stance, he reflected in satisfaction. Yet in the very next instant, he was abruptly anxious. Or was it because of the bairn? Christ, was she ill? What if all was not well?

He was sorely inclined to reply that he could hardly know she was melancholy when she refused to speak to him, to even look at him! Mayhap ’twould be best to listen to what Glenda had to say. Thus armed, he disguised his alarm.

“Melancholy? I cannot imagine why.”

Glenda glared at him. “Nay, I suppose you cannot. Shall I tell you why?”

“I suspect you will anyway.” His smile was grim.

“Meredith has said nothing to me of late,” she in
formed him curtly. “But I know she is saddened because she will soon bear a bairn, and she is unwed.” Glenda spared him nothing. “I know of no one more deeply devout than Meredith, lest it be Father William. Aye, she will soon bear a bairn, and this goes against all she has ever believed in, her very faith. I cannot imagine the shame she feels, especially since she once planned to take the veil.”

A pang shot through him. Somehow Cameron had never thought of it quite like that. “What, then? Would you have me marry her? Glenda, she is a Munro, daughter of the Red Angus!”

“That did not stop you from taking her to your bed!”

A sliver of guilt nagged at his gut. He had no answer for that.

“Tell me, Cameron. Will you deny the bairn is yours?”

“Nay!” His protest was vehement. “The child is mine, and I claim it as mine!”

Glenda spoke with quiet intensity. “Then I would have you think on this. Unless you marry her, this child will not be born to the Clan MacKay.” She paused. “Unless you marry her, this child will be a Munro.”

She left him alone to ponder.

And ponder he did. He rode hard, to the very top of the mountain pass high above Dunthorpe. There he paused, gazing at the vast panorama spread out before him in noble majesty. All around, peaks jutted high in stark grandeur, cloaked in swirling mist. Far below, the valley bowed low. The hills undulated gently as far as he could see. All was still and silent. ’Twas as if the very world held its breath.

Immense pride swelled his chest. These were
MacKay lands.
His
lands. Lands that would someday be his son’s lands, for somehow Cameron knew, with all that he possessed, that his child would be a son.

Yet all at once he was caught in the rampage of a wind that blew fierce and cold. His mind was caught in the same tumult.

To marry a Munro, daughter of his father’s murderer…sweet Jesus, would his father ever forgive him? Yet if he did not…

Would his son
?

His plaid twisting madly behind his shoulders, he closed his eyes. All he could see was her…
Meredith
. Meredith, with the red-gold hair and eyes as blue as the skies of heaven. Meredith, small and delicate, gently rounding now with the weight of his son.

The merest smile tugged at his lips. Meek she thought she was, but in truth Cameron had never known a woman of such valor. He thought of how she slept nestled tight against his side, one small hand curled trustingly in the middle of his chest. In truth, he was amazed she had ever yielded! Nay, he thought, she had not surrendered—she had battled him every step of the way. It had been no easy task to bring her into his arms—and his bed. Indeed, his craving for her had only sharpened. No matter how many times he took her, it was never enough.

It would never be enough, he realized, for she brought to him a fulfillment greater than any he had ever known. Oh, he’d told himself what he felt was lust. But it had never been lust. What he felt was far deeper even than desire. Somehow she had seeped into his very bones…Aye, he’d stolen her away from Connyridge…and lost his very heart and soul in the bargain!

Yet he could not deny he’d brought Meredith to
Dunthorpe against her will. He’d snatched her fate from her. A voice in his head reminded him that he’d not known of her vulnerability, of the terror that had driven her to Connyridge. Still another taunted that even when he’d known, his course had not been swayed. He’d planted his child in her, and aye, she was right—she was given no say in the matter. He thought of how she must feel, all hope extinguished…

He rode back to Dunthorpe at a breakneck pace, as if he were beset by demons—as indeed, he was—the demons of his conscience! It was late by the time he arrived. The great hall was deserted but for a few of his men who lingered at their ale.

Grabbing a candle from a spike upon the wall, Cameron strode with unwavering intent toward the north tower stairs.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and stepped within the chamber. It was dark, he noted. Meredith was already in bed. The light from the candle caught her in its wavering glow as she sat up.

“Cameron?” She pushed thick, wavy tresses from her face to peer at him sleepily.

He set the candle aside. Three steps brought him to the bedside. A deep breath, and the burden that seared his being the entire journey home was no more.

“Marry me,” he said baldly. “Marry me.”

Meredith’s heart stood still.

She stared at him, convinced she must have conjured him up from the depths of her dreams. The world seemed to teeter and dip, then abruptly righted itself.

This was real.
He
was real, standing before her in the flesh. Anguish wrenched at her insides, for this should have been everything she wanted…it should have been
all
she wanted.

She clutched the covers to her breast and gave a tiny shake of her head. “Why?” she said, her voice very low. “Why would you do this?”

His gaze bored into hers. “I am this bairn’s father. We must,” was all he said.

The bairn. Ah, but she should have known! Anguish rent her soul, yet she was suddenly so angry she was shaking with it.

She straightened her shoulders, her demeanor regal despite the fact that she was clad only in her bed gown. “The night you took me from the priory, you said that were you in need of a woman, ’twould not be me. Well, I tell you this, Cameron of the Clan MacKay. Were I in need of a husband ’twould not be you!”

His jaw locked hard. “Lady,” he growled, “you
are
in need of a husband. And here is the proof!” Deliberately he pushed aside the covers and laid his hands on the curve of her belly, splaying his fingers wide.

Meredith pushed them away and sprang from the bed. “I will not marry you, for I am but the instrument of your revenge! ’Tis just as I once said—I am your prize of vengeance!”

“That is not true—”

“If it is not, then let my father know that I yet live!”

Cameron’s eyes flickered. He said not a word, yet there was no need—his stony expression said it all.

Meredith gave a jagged cry. “You see, you cannot. You
will
not! And I will not marry you!”

There would be no reasoning with her. He could see it in the wildness of her eyes. He swore vilely. By God, he would not beg!

“Say what you will,” he told her tightly, “but this does not end here.”

“And I say it does! You made me come here. You made me your prisoner. You shamed me. Humiliated me. You put your bairn in my belly, but you cannot make me do this! I would not marry you if you had a priest before me in this very chamber!”

The words dropped into the air with the weight of a boulder. For never-ending seconds he stared at her. Another time and she might have retreated from the surge of anger that rushed into the frigid gray depths of his eyes. The sizzle of his gaze nearly scorched her.

Somehow she possessed the courage to stand her ground. Just when she could stand the taut silence no longer, he spun around. For the second time that day
he departed without a word, his spine as rigid as his shoulders.

The world seemed to blacken all around her. Meredith sank to a heap on the floor. Her legs would no longer hold her. “Cameron!” she choked out. “
Cameron
!”

Cameron did not hear. Indeed, Cameron did not return that night. Or even on the next…

Desolation such as she had never known rent her apart. In her heart Meredith could not believe what she had done. Marriage to Cameron…was she mad? Dispossessed of her wits? She had refused the very thing that should have been the answer to her prayers.

She spent the next sennight in a daze. She could not speak of what had transpired between them, not even to Glenda. Nor did Glenda know where he had gone. It occurred to Meredith that perhaps Egan did. But she was afraid to query the hard-faced warrior, for he gazed at her with as much dark suspicion as ever.

She knew Cameron would be back. But when…
when
? And saints beware, what would happen when he did? She told herself over and over that she didn’t care when he returned—or even if he did…

But her heart knew. Her heart gave the lie to the torment in her soul. As the days stretched one into another, she fretted and stewed. Was he safe? Had he come to some grievous harm? Had her clansmen seized him? Did he even now lie cold in the ground, his heart as still and lifeless as his father’s and brothers’?

He was in her every prayer, her every thought.

A full fortnight later, there were shouts in the bailey early one afternoon. Tired, for she’d not been sleeping well of late, Meredith had just lain down for a brief
nap. With a sigh, she finally arose and peered outside. Figures scurried to and fro across the bailey, but she saw nothing unusual. Her head had just lowered to the pillow once more when Glenda burst inside. Excitement glowed in her wide golden eyes.

“He is back!” Glenda announced.

Meredith propped herself on an elbow. One slender brow rose aslant. She feigned a calm she was far from feeling. “Who is back?”

“Och, you know very well who! ’Tis Cameron!” Glenda had already snatched the cover from Meredith’s shoulders. “Quickly now, Meredith, you must rise, for he wishes to see you. He awaits you in the hall!”

Meredith was sorely of a mind to retort that if he wished to see her, he should come to her. But there was something about Glenda’s manner that stopped her. The other woman’s expression was both harried and excited. When she asked her sharply what was amiss, Glenda shook her head adamantly.

“Naught is amiss,” was all she would say. Glenda seized her hands and pulled her up. “Here, I will help you.”

Meredith was puzzled, for though Glenda commanded she hurry, she insisted Meredith change her wrinkled gown into one of forest green lamb’s wool. The gown was finely woven and soft, and as Glenda noted, complemented the rich fire of her hair.

“I fail to see why it matters what I wear. There is none that hides the shape of me.” Grumbling as Glenda twitched the skirt into place, Meredith bemoaned her ripening shape. “I fear I am growing plump as a ripe pear.”

“You are expecting a child,” Glenda said briskly. “No one expects that you remain slender as a reed. Now come, let me brush your hair.”

Glenda brushed her hair to a glossy satin. When Meredith would have wound it into a fat plait over one shoulder, Glenda stopped her.

“Nay, do not bind it! It looks lovely as it is, flowing down your back.”

There was a pinch in her heart. Meredith couldn’t help but recall that Cameron preferred it just so, loose and tumbling free.

At last Glenda pronounced her ready. Though her heart had bounded high with the news of Cameron’s return, Meredith couldn’t help but recall their last bitter exchange. All at once she was scarcely eager for this meeting—especially when the two of them would not be alone.

She descended the stairs with Glenda, filled with trepidation. To her consternation, the hall was packed with his people. Yet she had no trouble singling out Cameron. His profile strikingly rugged, he stood near the high table, clad in plaid and kilt, towering over all others.

She was suddenly quivering inside. Were it not for Glenda tugging at her sleeve, she would never have found the strength to cross to him.

Just then he spied her. He inclined his head slightly. “Meredith,” he greeted coolly. “At last.”

Ah, but she both envied and resented him, for he was clearly at his ease. Before she could say a word, he turned and beckoned to someone near the hearth.

The man stepped to Cameron’s side. Small and frail-looking, his eyes were gentle as he gave her a smile. He was completely bald, his head round and shiny. He was garbed in dark vestments. Meredith stared numbly. Merciful angels, this could only be…

“This is Father William,” Cameron stated smoothly. “I brought him here to marry us.”

Meredith’s heart knocked wildly in her chest. Ah, but he was as imperious as ever! He did not ask or plead or sweetly cajole, but did the deed as it pleased him!

He gripped icy cold hands in his. “Well, lass? ’Tis my son that rounds your belly. I’ve a priest here before you in this very chamber. So what do you say? Will this day see us wed?”

It was a challenge—a challenge akin to the one she’d thrown at him before they last parted. What was it she’d said?
I would not marry you if you had a priest before me in this very chamber
. His expression was solemn, his mouth unsmiling. Yet mingled within those silvery depths was a wholly unexpected tenderness.

She felt like weeping. He was neither humble nor ashamed, but as audacious as ever. Yet it made him the man he was.

The man she loved.

She could not speak for the lump lodged high in her throat. She knew not what to say. She knew not what to do, for it was just like him to bring her before his people—before the priest!—for no doubt he was convinced she would not refuse him again!

She could not…yet neither could she say yea.

She faltered, blinking back tears. Through a watery haze, her gaze slid beyond the broadness of his shoulders to Glenda, whose eyes were as moist as her own. Glenda gave a slight nod.

Her lips parted. Her eyes lifted to Cameron’s. “I must confess,” was all she could say. “I must confess!”

For one mind-bending instant, a dark cloud seemed to flit across his features. Then he gave a slight nod and stepped back.

It was Father William who led her from the hall and into the chapel. There in the cramped closeness of the confessional, it all poured out. Her days at Connyridge, how she’d agonized over taking the veil. How Cameron had stolen her from the priory. Her eventual capitulation to his ardent embrace.

Hidden behind the screen, Father William nodded. Shaggy brows shot high as he listened to her tale. He was surprised at Cameron’s actions toward the lass, though he reminded himself of all Cameron had lost. In truth, though he was a priest, he could see why Cameron had been tempted. He was not blind to her beauty—and he sensed her inherent grace and goodness.

“None of us on this earth is free of sin,” he said slowly when at last she finished.

Closing her eyes, Meredith dipped her head low while he pronounced her penance. The burden carried on her shoulders was far lighter than when they entered the chapel. And yet…

“Father, please!” she said, her voice very low. “You must help me. I said I would not marry him, yet now that he is here with you”—she floundered—“I want to, and yet I am so afraid!”

Father William’s voice was very gentle. “You love him, don’t you, lass?”

Meredith swallowed. “Aye,” she said painfully.

“I fear the choice is yours, lass, for I will not—I cannot—marry you if you are unwilling, regardless of what Cameron may demand of either of us. I must have your mutual consent. I will say only this. I do not condone what Cameron has done, for ’tis my belief this feud has gone on far too long.” He paused. “You must look within yourself, lass. ’Tis a choice only you can make. Or perhaps you should look for guidance from a heavenly power far greater than my own.”

Her heart said marry him. Her heart said someday he might grow to love her. Despair wrenched at her. Why couldn’t it be today? a voice screamed from within. Why not now?

She clasped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. She prayed as never before.

She and Father William left the chapel for the hall but moments later.

With every second she was gone from sight, Cameron chafed. What the devil kept her? His scowl was as black as his thoughts. Reluctantly he reminded himself that while he had always considered the confessional an unpleasant duty that must be attended as little as possible, a woman of Meredith’s faith would hardly view it the same. Her sins could hardly be so many as to keep her so long! He thought of what Glenda had told him.
She will soon bear a bairn, and this goes against all she has ever believed in, her very faith
. But that was not her fault, for it was he who had led her down this very path!

As the minutes crept by, it whirred through his mind that perhaps she’d enlisted Father William’s aid in helping her escape! How he stopped himself from charging into the chapel after the pair and invading the sanctity of the confessional, he would never know.

Indeed, just as he was about to, she and Father William reappeared. His heart leaped, for he had gambled greatly by bringing Father William here. Yet he knew it was the right thing to do, the
only
thing to do, and Meredith would see it, too, once they were wed…wouldn’t she? He cursed long and hard, then damned himself as he remembered Father William’s presence. He could read nothing in Meredith’s expression, neither anger nor a taunting refusal. Instead she kept her eyes downcast as she made her way toward him.

Her footsteps carried her directly before him. He held his breath as she slowly raised her head. Cameron beheld her, her eyes as breathtakingly blue as the skies on a warm sunny day—for once it was he who envied her composure, for uncertainty marched like a marauding army inside his breast. Displaying a presumption he truly did not experience, he extended his hand, palm up. For one awful moment she did not move…His heart lurched.

Their fingertips barely brushed. With a faint blush, she laid her fingers within his.

Some nameless, powerful emotion flooded his entire being. His hand curled around hers; tucking it into his elbow, he turned to Father William.

To Meredith it was all a daze. Her head swam dizzily, until she heard Father William proclaim them man and wife.

Only then did reality surface. The ceremony was over. She was Cameron’s wife—his wife! Their child would not be born a bastard. Even as the thought raced through her mind, hard arms snared her close. Meredith drew a startled breath and then his mouth captured hers. He kissed her for all to see, a surprisingly intimate kiss given their audience.

When it was over Meredith sought to glare in mild reproof, but she could not, for she was too elated. She could not withhold the smile that crept to her lips, nor did she want to. Holding their hands high, Cameron turned toward the crowd gathered around and said simply, “My lady.”

For an instant, all was hushed and quiet. Then someone behind them began to clap. A cheer went up, and then there were shouts and laughter all around.

But there were two who did not join in the roar of approval. Meredith saw Moire stalk from the hall, red
lips curled in disgust. And Egan stood near the far wall, his visage grim, his mouth a taut, straight line. But even that was not enough to dim her joy.