In the Bed of a Duke (5 page)

“It has,” Phillip answered, slowing his step. Miss Cameron slowed hers also.

And a truce, however unacknowledged, existed between them. One Phillip credited himself with negotiating although not even the Spanish ambassador had ever made him work so hard.

This time, when he turned back in the opposite direction, she followed—but not without a dramatic sigh of resignation. They were both accustomed to being in charge, and he counted it a victory that she gave him this small trust.

They walked a ways in silence. Phillip thought
of her, of her stubbornness and her pride. Finally, he could no longer contain his curiosity. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “You didn’t have to, and you’d be a more welcome guest at Nathraichean than you would be now.”

She pulled her hair forward, her fingers quickly weaving into a long braid that she let hang loose. “Have you ever seen a man beaten? I have. A gang like that beat my brother-in-law Alex until he was close to death. Your sex goes a bit mad in large groups like that. You can’t be trusted to use reason. I couldn’t stand by and let it happen again.”

“You are talking about Haddon, aren’t you?” he said.
The man Miranda had jilted him over.
“Some men deserve their beatings.”

“Not Alex.” She knew what he was thinking. “They
belong
together,” she reminded him quietly. “They would have been together years ago when they were younger. However, my father hated Indians, especially the Shawnee. You know Alex is a half-breed?”

After his curt nod, she said, “He came to ask Father for Miranda’s hand. Alex is truly more white than Indian. His father was an English officer. He’d been raised with privilege. He understood how to ask for Miranda properly. However, all Father could see was the part of him that was Shawnee. He and three of his friends beat Alex to
the point where I feared they’d killed him. I helped Miranda cut him down from the tree where they’d tied him.”

“Perhaps your father had just cause,” Phillip said, not wanting to empathize at all.

“He did. The Shawnee killed my mother and my baby brother Ben.” She said this as a statement of fact, completely devoid of emotion.

Phillip stopped, shocked. “That
is
a good reason,” he answered. “I’m surprised Miranda doesn’t share it.”

A shadow passed in Miss Cameron’s eyes. He sensed she wondered the same…but would never admit such. Her stubborn chin lifted. In a voice laced with pride, she said, “And be like you and your clan and carry a grudge for two hundred years?” She shook her head. “
Men
are ridiculous.”

“
Some
are. I have no grudge with anyone—”

“Except me,” she swiftly reminded him.

This woman never knew when to leave well enough alone. He swallowed his sharp retort, not wanting to give her any more fodder against him—and failed. “Tell me, then,” he challenged. “What is your secret? How can you put aside the deaths of those close to you so easily?” Elizabeth’s death haunted him, and he had no one to blame, save God…and he’d blamed Him for years. “How can you accept anyone connected with your family’s killers?”

“Because life goes on,” she said flatly. “Because, sad as it is, death is a part of life. Especially on the frontier. The Shawnees in that war party were not Alex. To hold him responsible would be the same as equating you to Klem and Fergus. Did you not inform me moments ago that you were not like them?”

She was right.

“Well put,” he murmured.

“And I know about blaming oneself,” she continued. “Father did that for years. He’d left us that morning to go with some trappers to look at furs they had to offer. He’d seen the Shawnee but had thought it was a hunting party.” Her hands balled into fists as she walked. “We hadn’t even known the Shawnee had gone on the warpath. Often something could happen miles away, and then war would spread before anyone could warn us. I was away from the trading post collecting kindling with Constance when Miranda came running to us in the woods. She’d seen them murder Mother in the garden. The three of us girls buried ourselves under a pile of leaves beside a fallen tree trunk. The braves came searching for us. They looked
in
the trunk but didn’t anticipate us hiding
outside
of it. We held each other’s hands all night long. I’ve never been so frightened and, with Mother gone, I had to make the decisions.”

At last, Phillip understood. The bonds between the Cameron girls were stronger than those of ordinary siblings. Would he and his twin experience this same need to unite together?

“But we survived,” she said firmly. “The three of us have held together over the years, and we shall continue to survive.”

In that one moment, Phillip felt such a desire to believe his twin was alive. He didn’t want Nanny Frye’s letter to be a hoax. He refused to believe it could be. “I still don’t know if I could marry someone from those who killed a family member,” he said. He would not forgive MacKenna if he’d stolen his brother. He’d kill him.

“I don’t know if I could either,” Miss Cameron confessed. She noticed her fists were clenched and spread her fingers as if wanting to release the tension in them. She didn’t look at Phillip as she said, “It has caused a great deal of conflict in Miranda. It was the reason she sent Alex away all those years ago. She couldn’t choose between him and her family.” She stopped, facing him. “That’s why, Your Grace,
I
made the choice for her the night of your betrothal ball. My intention wasn’t to humiliate you. I just couldn’t bear the thought of Miranda’s giving up someone she loved, someone she was meant to be with for us. Not a second time. Her happiness is very important to me.”

“I didn’t want her unhappy either,” he agreed. “But could we not have had the discussion in private? Did half of London have to be a witness?”

“That wasn’t good,” she admitted. “My only defense is that if I hadn’t spoken up, she would never have told you herself. Once the betrothal had been announced, neither of you could, or
would
, have backed out.”

She was right.

“Perhaps,” she continued thoughtfully, “the reason you are so angry—”

“I’m not angry,” he assured, and he wasn’t. Not any longer.

“You had to be,” she pressed. “Especially if your heart was involved. Miranda had assured me it wasn’t—?”

“It wasn’t,” he interjected. “But my pride was. There,” he said, “complete and brutal honesty. It feels good. I haven’t had the opportunity to practice it that much in London.”

“And there is no one to witness it?” she said, her voice light.

“There’s you, Miss Cameron. There is you.”

She studied him a moment, her intelligent eyes alive with speculation.

“But don’t,” he warned her, “push your luck. I only have so much candor to spare in a day.”

His admonishment startled a surprise laugh
out of her, and he was transfixed at what a smile could do to her. No one had a more glorious smile than Charlotte Cameron.

And the idea that it was he who brought it to her lips pleased him greatly. More greatly than it should.

She started walking.

He could only follow.

They came out of the woods into another field. Here the land was rolling pastures. The clouds had parted to reveal a full moon that gave off a light almost as bright as day.

Phillip noticed a three-sided hayrick with a thatched roof on the other side of the field. He started toward it. Here was shelter for the night.

Miss Cameron skipped a step to stay even with his since Homer was eager to reach the hayrick.

“So, what
are
you doing in Scotland?” she asked Phillip. “Especially since you are apparently risking your life to be here.”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” he said, brushing the question aside. The grass was short but very thick. His boots were soaked. Her kid slippers could not be better. He reached for her hand to help her over a muddy gully time had eroded in the field.

She jumped it, almost landing in his arms. She pulled away immediately without looking at
him. “Several times,” she agreed. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Because I don’t wish to,” he reminded her.

Exhibiting a remarkable tenacity, she pressed, “Is it because of the feud?”

“After almost two hundred years?” Phillip shook his head. “Please, Miss Cameron, give me some credit. I have few thoughts about Scotland. My family considers itself English.”

“But you have Scottish roots?”

Phillip stopped, realizing she would pursue her line of questioning until she had answers or discovered the truth—and he had no desire for her to know about his twin Justin. It would be best if he gave her something to occupy her nimble mind. “We held land up here at one time,” he said with undisguised irritation, “but my father sold it—and at a good price, too. Perhaps that is what has them all foaming at the mouth.”

Miss Cameron wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. “Has anyone ever attacked you before about this feud?”

“No,” he answered and then hesitated, realizing that her questions were some he should have asked himself before he’d taken off hell-bent for leather upon receiving Nanny Frye’s letter. It
didn’t
make sense—and yet, his brother may have been kidnapped over it. “I knew of the feud as
family lore from both my grandfather and father. My father knew the present laird. They went to school together.”

“They were friends?” she asked, as if startled by the information.

“What did the laird say?” he answered, curious to her response.

Miss Cameron didn’t like having the questions turned upon herself. In the silence, Homer tried to drop his head and graze. Phillip tugged at his lead, a silent command for the disgruntled horse to be still. The movement gave her an opportunity to dodge his question. “He’s hungry. We should let him rest for the night.”

“Oh, no, Miss Cameron. You will not evade me, not after hounding me most of the night with your questions. What did the laird say? I’m assuming I was mentioned.”

This time, she didn’t dither. “Laird MacKenna didn’t mention your father, but he did refer to you as his enemy. His first words to me were that we shared a common enemy—you.”

“And he searched you out for that reason,” Phillip said, stating a fact. Nor did he believe it could be coincidence that Laird MacKenna’s interest in Miss Cameron would coincide with his receiving Nanny Frye’s letter.

Phillip wanted to pull out the letter and study
it for new clues or hidden meanings but knew he must wait until he had a moment alone—

“So what did your father say about Laird MacKenna?” Miss Cameron pressed, interrupting his thoughts. “Did he consider them friends?”

“Not hardly,” Phillip confessed with a snort. “When my father told me the story of the feud, he prefaced it by saying the MacKennas are a strange lot. At one time, they traveled in the same circles.”

“Could something have happened then?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Phillip said, allowing his voice to echo the exasperation he was feeling. “Perhaps. Maybe. Certainly it is possible Father could have insulted the man. In fact, it would be probable. My father could be quite ruthless when he had a mind to be.”

“Like his son?” she murmured.

Phillip narrowed his gaze at her. “No one has accused me of such to my face,” he said, in a tone that had never failed to make any man freeze in fear.

It had no such effect on Miss Cameron.

She stood in the moonlight, her eyes shiny with intelligence, her back straight, and her head high. “Just because they don’t say it to your face, Your Grace, doesn’t mean it isn’t said…or holds a ring of truth.”

Damn, but he liked her courage!

In spite of himself, he had to smile. “Well done, Miss Cameron. Well done.”

Now it was her turn to be surprised. Her brows came together. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile before. Does that mean there is a truce between us?”

He let his smile widen before assuring her, “Absolutely not.” Tugging Homer’s lead, he began walking toward the hayrick.

Behind him, she said, “You’d best beware then, Colster. I am a fierce enemy.”

Phillip almost laughed aloud at that statement. He turned, still walking, and said, “I hope so, Miss Cameron.”

She didn’t take offense. In fact, she gave a rueful smile and started following. “You’re incorrigible. Perhaps I should believe the things they say about you.”

“Your drivers and their friends are still back the other way. You could ask them,” he said turning, the two of them falling into step together.

Miss Cameron gave a mock shiver of disgust. “No, I made my choice when I shot one of them. Better the devil you know.” She said this last with such a cheerful attitude, Phillip did laugh. He couldn’t help himself, and she grinned back at him as if she’d accomplished a miracle.

It bothered him a bit to be thought so sour.
Fortunately, they’d reached the hayrick, and he was happy to change the subject. “We are finally in luck. This looks good enough for the night.” The hayrick was full of freshly mowed hay. He took off his greatcoat and spread it on hay. “Stay here while I scout out the area.”

For once, she didn’t argue but sank gratefully down onto his coat.

“And you, my friend Homer,” Phillip said to the horse, who was excited to see so much fresh fodder, “you will graze over here.” He led Homer over to a pasture and away from such a bounty of fodder. Removing his neckcloth, he used it to hobble the horse. Homer seemed content to give up his claim on the hay in return for a pasture of grass.

Phillip circled the area around the hayrick. Not far away was a line of trees and a running stream. He returned to tell Miss Cameron of his find. “I’ll lead you to it, and you can have a moment alone,” he offered delicately.

“You don’t need to,” she told him. “I can find it.”

“I would feel better if you had an escort,” he said.

“And I need a moment of privacy,” she informed with a note of finality.

For a brief second, he thought of challenging her, but then realized exactly how tired she was. The braid she’d put in earlier was completely undone and, with her hair loose around her
shoulders, she looked younger…but as determined as ever.