To Marry A Scottish Laird (7 page)

“Oh,” Joan said with surprise and smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“Aye. I thought so,” he said with amusement and urged his mount to move faster now that she was awake.

The inn they stopped at was a pretty little building that sat all by itself on the side of the road. There must be a village or town nearby, but Joan had no idea where it was. She couldn’t see any other buildings about. Cam left his horse with a stable boy who ran out to greet them, then ushered Joan inside. The door led into a good sized great room lined with rows of trestle tables and a stairwell leading upstairs where she was sure there would be bedchambers to rent. The great room was empty when they first entered, and Cam was seating Joan at one of the benches that ran the length of the table when a door at the back of the room opened and a big bellied man with a wide smile stepped out to join them.

“Good day, good day, sirs, and what can I get fer ye on this fine day?” the man said cheerfully as he bustled over to them.

“Ale fer myself,” Cam said.

“And fer the lad?” the man asked when he hesitated and glanced to Joan in question.

“The same,” she said, trying for a deeper voice than her own. It wasn’t until the man used the word boy that she recalled how she was dressed. Funny how she managed to forget about that around Cam.

“And would ye be wantin’ something to eat too?” the man asked happily. “Me wife has made a fine chicken stew and a bean pottage.”

“That’ll do,” Cam said when Joan nodded. “Two please.”

“Good good,” the man said rubbing his hands together. “Sit down, me laird, and I’ll let me wife ken to serve up two trenchers, then fetch the drinks.”

Nodding, Cam settled at the table. Once the man was out of earshot, he half-whispered, “I keep fergetting ye’re dressed as a boy. Truthfully, now that I ken ye’re a girl I’m amazed I ever believed otherwise, braies or no braies.”

Joan smiled faintly at the compliment and shrugged. “As me ma always said, people see what they expect to. See someone in braies, and most would automatically count me a boy.”

“Aye, I suppose so,” Cam murmured, but shook his head just the same, suggesting he still didn’t understand how everyone didn’t at once recognize her as a woman.

Their host returned with their drinks, followed closely by a curvaceous little woman carrying their food. The stew was delicious and hearty and after commenting on how good the meal was, they mostly ate in a companionable silence until Joan asked, “How long do you think ’twill take us to get to MacKay?”

Cam was silent for a moment, and then shrugged mildly. “A week and a half or two weeks.”

His answer made her eyebrows rise. She’d expected it to take that long walking. They were on horseback.

“With the two o’ us on his back, I do no’ want to make me horse go too quickly,” Cam explained and then grinned. “ ’Sides, why rush? I ha’e nothing to hurry home fer.” He paused and then asked, “Is there a rush on delivering the message? Was it to be there by a certain time?”

“Nay,” Joan admitted.

“Good.” He relaxed and smiled. “Then we shall take our time and enjoy the journey.”

Joan nodded and returned her attention to her food, but she knew he meant to enjoy the journey in more ways than one. She also knew she would enjoy it too, so didn’t mind. In fact, she was rather pleased to know she had another week and a half of his company, or maybe even two weeks.

“Have ye thought on what ye plan to do once ye’ve delivered the message?” Cam asked suddenly and Joan glanced to him blankly.

After a pause, she shook her head slowly. “Nay. Return home to Grimsby I suppose.”

“Grimsby, aye, ye said ye were from there,” Cam murmured, his gaze on his food.

Joan didn’t comment. She’d told him she had been born and raised in Grimsby during one of their earlier conversations.

“But ye’ve no family there, do ye?” he asked.

“Nay,” she admitted. “Me mother was the only family I had.”

He nodded, and then took a deep breath and said, “Ye’re a talented healer. ’Tis a valuable skill. Mayhap ye should consider settling at Sinclair and working there.”

Joan paused and lifted her head slowly to look at him, but he was peering at his food with a concentration that was completely unnecessary. Avoiding her gaze as he made the suggestion? Did that mean he wanted her to stay at Sinclair or not? Was he just making the offer because he felt bad for her? Or because he didn’t want this . . . whatever this was, to end?

Joan didn’t say anything to that. In truth, his suggestion had quite taken her by surprise. She hadn’t expected it. Joan hadn’t even considered that this relationship they had, whatever it was, might continue beyond this journey. And she wasn’t sure that it was a good thing if it did. She had no desire to be his mistress, so there was no future for whatever they were sharing just now.

“I’ll be right back,” Cam said suddenly and she glanced up to see him getting up from the table. Joan nodded and watched as he walked over to the tavern owner. Her curiosity rose when he put his head close to the other man’s to murmur in a voice she couldn’t hear. Joan actually caught herself straining to hear what he was saying, but it was impossible from this distance. Forcing herself to relax, she turned her attention to finishing the last of her meal and was just swallowing the last bite when Cam returned.

“If ye’re all done we should head out,” he said gently.

Nodding, Joan stood and started toward the door, but stiffened and glanced nervously around when he put his hand on her back to direct her. The tavern owner was nowhere in sight, however. She relaxed slowly and allowed him to usher her out.

“Wait here. I’ll fetch the horse,” Cam murmured as they stepped outside.

Joan nodded, and watched him cross the courtyard to the stables at the side of the building. He was quick about it, seeming barely to enter when he was coming back out, leading his mount. He hadn’t taken more than a couple steps though, when the tavern owner rushed up to him with a small sack in hand. Cam took the sack and turned to hook it to his saddle. He then reached into his saddlebag and retrieved something that he turned and gave the tavern owner. Judging by the man’s beaming smile, she’d guess it was probably coins and wondered what Cam had bought as she watched him nod at the man, before mounting and continuing over to collect her.

Joan took the hand he offered, and settled herself on the saddle behind him when he pulled her up. She didn’t ask why he’d placed her behind him. She already knew. The tavern owner was watching. She was supposed to be a boy; sleeping cuddled in his lap wasn’t the usual spot a peasant boy would ride with a laird. So she simply settled herself in a comfortable position and slipped her arms around his waist.

They rode until late afternoon before Cam found a spot for them to make camp. Another clearing, but this time without even a river nearby let alone a waterfall. It would do though, she supposed as Cam helped her off his mount.

“I’ll go hunt up some dinner,” she announced as Cam dismounted.

“No need,” he said at once, retrieving the three bags hooked to his saddle and setting them on the ground. “I bought some roasted mutton from the tavern keeper ere we left. We’re set fer sup tonight.”

So that’s what he’d bought, Joan thought with a smile. It would be nice not to have to look for their dinner for a night. Besides, mutton beat rabbit any day. Bending, she picked up the smaller bag she’d seen the tavern owner give Cam and quickly opened it to look inside, wondering if the tavern keeper had included bread or anything else with the meal. The first thing she saw was a smaller sack on top of the food. Eyebrows rising, she pulled it out and opened it as well, then tipped the contents onto her hand.

“What—?” she began with confusion and then glanced up with surprise when Cam was suddenly there taking the item from her.

“Ye weren’t supposed to see that,” he said with what sounded like embarrassment as he tucked the item back in its little bag.

“Pig intestine?” she asked with amusement.

“Sheep intestine,” Cam muttered and then sighed and said, “I ken ’tis a bit late, but I thought if we had no’ already got ye with child, then I should don the intestine and prevent—”

He paused when Jo covered his mouth with her hand. For a moment she didn’t speak. His thoughtfulness touched her. It showed at least some caring on his part. Although, to be fair to the man, he had been terribly solicitous of her nearly from the start.

“Thank you,” she said finally, taking her hand from his mouth. “But there’s no need for that. I have been chewing Devil’s plague seeds every day since our first time together.”

“Devil’s plague?” he asked with confusion.

“Some call it bird’s nest or wild carrot,” Joan said, but he still looked blank. Apparently, no one he knew had used the seed before, or didn’t tell him if they did. “It stops a man’s seed from planting and bearing fruit.”

“Oh,” he murmured eyebrows rising. “Yer mother . . . ?”

“One of many things she taught me,” Joan said quietly and then handed him the bag of food and slipped past him. “I’ll gather wood for a fire.”

“Wait,” Cam said suddenly, catching her arm before she could move away. When she paused and turned to him in question, she found him frowning. “It is no’ dangerous is it? I’ve heard o’ women taking things for such a purpose and dying, poisoned from the—”

“Nay. ’Tis safe,” she said reassuringly. “The women you’ve heard of probably took hemlock or some such thing, which will dislodge a babe but can kill the mother too. Devil’s plague won’t.”

“Oh . . . good.” He let his breath out on a sigh, and then held out the bag of food again and said, “Take a look and see what we have. I’ll fetch the wood.”

Joan automatically took the bag, but merely watched him walk away, wondering why the conversation had seemed to sober them both so much.

Fear had made Joan chew the seeds the day before. She hadn’t thought of them until she’d been preparing to leave him to set out on her own. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the fact that what they’d done could leave her with child until that point. Her concerns had been more about what had happened and why. She’d begun to fret and worry that she was just a convenience to him. That any female he’d found himself with would have received his attentions. Despite his claims that he liked her, she didn’t understand how he could want her with her face swollen and bruised.

Joan had forgotten that concern once he touched and kissed her, however. She couldn’t seem to think of anything but the sensations he caused in her when he did that. It was only afterward, when she was awake and he was sleeping that she’d admitted that she just couldn’t resist the man. One touch and she was lost. So it was better to travel alone and avoid the temptation he offered altogether. That was when other considerations had managed to surface in her mind . . . like the fact that she was now no longer untried. That hadn’t bothered Joan so much. She never planned to marry anyway so hadn’t worried about a future husband’s upset at her lack of purity. But the possibility of being with child had occurred to her then as well, and that
had
worried her. Actually, it had scared her silly, and Joan had immediately dug through her bag of medicinals for the wild carrot seeds she knew were in there.

Fortunately, she had a lot of them, hopefully enough to last out the rest of the journey, because she was quite sure she’d need them.

Chapter 7

J
OAN NESTLED CLOS
ER AGAINST
C
AM WITH
A
sleepy sigh and smiled when his hand immediately slid down her back, massaging her through the material of her tunic. The smile slipped away and she wrinkled her nose, though, when he pushed the plaid they were cocooned in down to their shoulders, exposing their heads and shoulders to the cool morning air.

“ ’Tis chilly,” she complained with a little shiver, trying to burrow closer.

“Aye. The nights are growing cooler. Summer is ending,” he added, not sounding pleased.

Joan smiled at the complaint in his voice and shrugged as she said philosophically, “Everything comes to an end.”

When Cam went still beneath her, she lifted her head to peer at him in question.

Cam stared back, his expression dismayed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He hesitated, shook his head, and then suddenly blurted, “Come to Sinclair with me after ye deliver yer message.”

Now it was Joan’s turn to go still. She stared back at him silently, her mind suddenly abuzz. He had mentioned the possibility of her working as a healer at Sinclair at the first tavern they’d stopped at in Scotland. But that had been two weeks ago now and he hadn’t mentioned it since . . . until now. Although, this time he hadn’t said anything about her working.

“As a healer or as your mistress?” she asked quietly.

“I do no’ care, I just ken I do no’ want this to end,” he said quietly, caressing her cheek with the fingers of one hand. “I need ye, Joan.”

She lowered her eyes unhappily, wondering what she’d hoped he would say in answer to her question. Had she hoped he’d ask her to come to Sinclair as his mistress? As a skilled healer who would be valued? Or as a wife?

In the end, though, it didn’t matter what she’d hoped for, Joan supposed. The truth was, the last two weeks had been the best of her life. They’d set out late, stopped early, traveled at a snail’s pace and had made love at every opportunity, turning a journey that could have been accomplished in three days at speed, into a two week orgy of pleasure. It hadn’t just been their lovemaking that had brought the pleasure; talking, laughing, bathing, walking and even eating had been pleasurable with this man. There had never been a time in Joan’s life when she’d laughed as much, or smiled so often. Her cheeks actually ached by day’s end from all the laughing and smiling they did on a daily basis. She couldn’t imagine a life more wonderful than one spent with this man.

But she couldn’t have him. She was a commoner, he a noble. The best she could hope for was to be his mistress, existing on the fringes of his life, waiting for him to come visit her and bring her to life. Joan would be miserable in that existence, and even more miserable when he tired of her and stopped visiting. Then she would suffer endlessly, watching him with other women. Perhaps he would even eventually give in to his parents’ pressure and marry again, having children, grandchildren . . . No. She simply couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t put herself through that.

Letting her breath out on a small sigh, Joan met his gaze and repeated what she’d said earlier. “Everything comes to an end, Cam.”

“Not this,” he said at once.

Joan hesitated, but then pushed herself up off him. Realizing the plaid had come with her leaving him in naught but his shirt, she untangled herself from it, intending to drop it back on him, but he was already on his feet.

Catching her arms he pulled her close and kissed her gently. He then rested his forehead on hers and whispered, “Not this, Joan. I do no’ want this to end.”

“But I do,” she said quietly and he jerked his head back as if she’d struck him. Joan almost apologized and explained that she didn’t mean that she really wanted it to end so much as she didn’t want it to continue and then end. Before she could, however, the sound of someone clearing their throat distracted them, and they both turned their heads toward the direction of the sound.

Joan stared blankly at the man standing on the edge of the small clearing they’d stopped in last night. As tall and wide as Cam, but dark-haired where he was fair and perhaps a couple decades older, the man eyed them with an expression that was part uncertain welcome and part discomfort.

“Laird MacKay,” Cam said, releasing Joan and turning to face the man. “ ’Tis a pleasure to see ye again.”

Joan’s eyes widened as she recognized the name of the man she’d traveled so far to see. This was the MacKay her mother had wanted her to deliver a message to.

“And fer me,” Ross MacKay said, though Joan couldn’t help noticing that his eyes danced away from them as he spoke the words.

Cam didn’t seem to notice, however, and asked, “What are ye doin’ wanderin’ yer woods at this hour?”

“The men on the wall reported seeing a fire in the night,” Ross said quietly. “So a couple men and meself set out this morning to see what was about.”

Joan glanced sharply to Cam. It had been mid-afternoon when he’d decided they should stop the day before. He must have wanted one more afternoon and evening with her, she realized, because they had to be very close to MacKay for the small fire they’d built the night before to be seen. Close enough that they hadn’t needed to stop at all. She supposed she should be angry that he hadn’t told her they were so close and continued on, but she wasn’t.

“Where are your men and horse?” Cam asked.

“We left the horses back a ways and searched on foot fer yer camp. I did no’ want to warn any enemies o’ our arrival. But when I saw ’twas ye and the lad here, I sent the men back to fetch our horses.”

The MacKay definitely looked uncomfortable as he gestured to Joan. It was his calling her lad that reminded her she was disguised as a boy. While Cam had removed his plaid to wrap around them both to sleep and was now wearing naught but a shirt that barely covered his naughty bits, she had pulled her clothes on before going to sleep to help fight the cold night, including her hat which her hair was stuffed up under. She understood the man’s discomfort now. He’d come upon them embracing, and sex between males was considered a mortal sin by the church, punishable by death.

Joan tugged her hat off, allowing her fair hair to spill down over her shoulders and back. Only then did Cam say, “Ross, this is Joan. She saved me life when I was stabbed by a bandit and tended me until I recovered. When I learned she was on her way to MacKay to deliver a message to yerself and yer lady wife, I offered to escort her safely here.”

“Oh, thank bloody hell fer that,” the MacKay breathed with relief, his stance relaxing. Shaking his head he admitted, “I was fretting o’er what to do. I ken damned right well one o’ me men would ha’e reported ye to the priest to save himself a couple hail Marys and then . . .” He shook his head, and strode forward, hand extended. “I’ll take the message and then leave ye two be. It looked as if I was interruptin’ something when I made me presence known.”

“Oh,” Joan glanced at his hand, but didn’t pull the scroll out of her shirt where it rested. Instead she said apologetically, “ ’Tis addressed to Lady MacKay. My mother said you were welcome to read it as well, but that I should ensure Lady MacKay read it first.”

“I shall see she gets it then,” the MacKay assured her, hand still out.

Joan hesitated, but then shook her head. “My mother was very specific that I deliver it into Lady MacKay’s hands myself.”

He started to frown at her refusal, but then surprise crossed his face as her words seemed to register. “Yer mother?”

“The message is from her mother. She was on her deathbed when she gave it to Joan,” Cam explained, and then added solemnly, “ ’Tis a deathbed request and ’tis sure I am Joan wants to follow her mother’s instructions to the letter and deliver it to yer wife in person.”

The MacKay frowned over that, and then pursed his lips and asked, “Who’s yer mother, lass?”

“Maggie Chartres,” Joan answered promptly.

“Maggie Chartres?” Ross repeated, and it was obvious he didn’t recognize the name.

“She was a healer,” Cam offered helpfully, but the man merely shook his head. It wasn’t ringing any bells for him.

“In Grimsby,” Joan added, hoping that might help, but the man shook his head again and then sighed.

“Well, ye’d best come back to the keep with us then and deliver it to Annabel and I together as requested,” he said solemnly, then glanced to Cam and teased, “Ye might want to put yer plaid on first, Campbell. The women’ll already be all atwitter over the way we found ye when the men start in gossiping about it. There’s no need to give ’em a show to further excite ’em.”

Cam scowled at the teasing and knelt to grab and shake out his plaid, then begin pleating it. He was nearly done when several men rode into the clearing with the MacKay’s horse. Joan was extremely glad she’d revealed herself as a girl when she saw the expressions on their faces. They’d obviously seen her and Cam embracing too and come to all the wrong conclusions. Their reactions to learning she was female varied from relief to lascivious grins.

Aware that she was blushing, Joan began to wring her cap in her hands and lowered her head to watch Cam work.

“Stop gawking and saddle Laird Sinclair’s horse fer him while he dresses,” the MacKay barked suddenly.

Joan gave a start at the harsh order, but nodded and turned to hurry across the clearing to where Cam had tied the horse’s reins to a tree, but the MacKay caught her arm as she passed, bringing her to a halt as he said kindly, “I was talking to me men, lass.”

“Oh,” she murmured, noting only then that two of the men had dismounted to rush to do their laird’s bidding. One grabbed the saddle and set about putting it on, while the other collected both Cam’s bag and her own and carried them over, waiting to hook them to the saddle.

“Maggie Chartres from Grimsby,” MacKay murmured suddenly, and Joan glanced to him hopefully. She was rather curious herself to know how her mother knew this powerful laird and his wife, but she could tell at once from his expression that the name still hadn’t sparked any memories. Meeting her gaze, the MacKay looked her over and asked, “Do ye favor her in looks?”

“I don’t think so,” Joan said apologetically.

“Are ye sure?” he asked, examining her features. “Ye put me in mind o’ someone.” He frowned. “ ’Tis wiggling at the back o’ me mind like a worm, but I can no’ put me finger on it yet.”

Joan frowned but said, “My mother had dark hair and green eyes rather than my fair hair and gray eyes, and no one ever said we looked alike. I think I must have taken my looks from my father.”

“Hrrmph,” The MacKay muttered and then glanced to Cam as he approached.

“Shall we?” Cam asked, taking Joan’s arm firmly in hand and pulling her away from the MacKay.

Ross MacKay arched an eyebrow at what could have been construed as a jealous action, but nodded and turned toward his horse. “Let’s away.”

“Aye,” Cam murmured and urged Joan to his horse. Once there, he mounted, and then leaned down to catch and lift her onto the beast before him. He was silent the entire time. That, combined with his stiffness, told her he was angry. She suspected it was about her saying that she did want this to end. Explaining what she’d meant when she’d said that probably would have eased his anger if not banished it altogether, but she didn’t do that. It seemed better to her for him to be angry. It would be easier on both of them. There would be no emotional parting now. He would probably drop her at the keep doors and leave for home at once. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t just handed her over to Ross and left already. Especially when she realized just how close they had camped to the MacKay castle. It seemed to her that hardly more than a couple moments passed before they were riding out of the woods into a valley that covered the last little distance to the castle wall.

Terribly aware of the silent gawking the MacKay warriors were doing, Joan was grateful for the short ride. It made her wish she’d had a chance to change before encountering them. Not that she had a dress to change into anymore, but their stares made her wish she did.

And despite the fact that Cam’s being angry would make their parting easier, Joan wished he wasn’t angry with her and that she could talk to him. While he had become her lover, they had started out friends when he’d thought her a boy, and she was suddenly very nervous about what might be in the message her mother had given her. A message she had insisted Joan deliver in person despite the risky journey that entailed. She ached to talk to him about it, but she couldn’t. To do that she had to explain her earlier comment and ease his anger, and if she did that . . .

Joan swallowed and glanced down at his hands on the reins. If she explained, he would surely know just how important he had come to be to her. He would know how tempted she was to stay with him, and he might very well use that against her. A kiss, a caress, and a few sweet words and she knew she would find it hard not to throw caution to the wind and go to Sinclair with him. It was something she was already struggling with. The only thing keeping her from it was her fear of the future, her fear that despite her precautions, his child might settle in her belly. And her fear of the inevitable day when he would tire of her and move on.

A sudden image came to her of standing in the cold and snow, a bairn in her arms, watching Cam kissing and caressing another woman behind a stables. It would break her heart to go through that, Joan knew. No, she assured herself, it was better to treat their relationship like an infected limb and simply cut it off now rather than wait for the rot to spread to the rest of the body. It was going to hurt either way, but this way at least she might save herself some pride and perhaps a little piece of her heart.

“Leave yer horse. The men’ll tend him,” the MacKay said as they reigned in before the keep stairs and dismounted.

Cam glanced around to nod at those words. He then turned, intending to lift Joan down, but she’d already slid off the beast by herself.

Could she not even bear for him to touch her now? He wondered bitterly as she hurried to follow Ross up the steps to the keep, neatly avoiding his taking her arm to escort her. It seemed now that he’d got her here safe and sound she was done with him. It made Cam wonder if her allowing him to bed her hadn’t simply been a means to secure his protection for her journey. Certainly, she’d made it clear that she had no desire to further their acquaintance.