Border Lord (38 page)

"But everything's formal now, and I've made us a symbol of our own. See?" From her fancy wrist bag, she produced a silk scarf.

Fashioned after the ancient clan brooches, the design on the cloth featured a circle with stylistic hearts and an arrow running through.

"The arrow is for your mother's people, Clan Cameron. The hearts are in honor of our friendship and love, which will be timeless. It took me ever so long to think it up and a week of nights here in the stable to stitch it. 'Tis a secret. I wanted you to see it before everyone else."

Cameron voiced his first thought. "'Tis feminine for a man to wear."

Her eyes filled with tears. "That's a wretched thing to say."

Immediately defensive, Cameron stood his ground. "I'm sorry. I was surprised is all."

"Then don't disappoint me again. Take me with you. I'll cancel the betrothal if you do not."

His pride stinging, Cameron tucked the scarf into his sleeve and headed for the door. "Cancel it if you wish. I only agreed to please my parents."

Virginia gave up the fight. He couldn't mean those hurtful words, and by the time his ship sailed tomorrow, she'd be tucked securely in the hold.

Nine years, eleven months, and thirteen days later, Cameron swung the canvas bag onto his shoulder and stepped on the quay in Glasgow Harbor. Pain no longer accompanied memories of Virginia. Only a deep sense of loss. Since her disappearance, he'd learned to live with an empty soul. The image of the clan brooch Virginia had designed years ago rose in his mind, as vivid as the day he'd first seen the delicate hearts with an arrow running through.

Cameron stopped in his tracks and blinked. The picture became real. Before him loomed a wall of hogsheads. Burned into the wood of each of the barrels was the symbol created almost a decade ago by Virginia MacKenzie.

His heart pounded, and the ale he'd drunk with his crew just moments ago turned sour in his belly. No one else had seen the hallmark. Virginia said it had been her secret gift in honor of their betrothal. By candlelight, she'd embroidered the scarf for him. After her disappearance, when Cameron had relayed to her father the details of that last meeting in the stables at Rosshaven, the duke of Ross confessed that he'd never seen Virginia's hallmark.

Cameron had thought never to see it again.

He put down his burden and peered closer at the design. With only a slight variance, a common heraldic crown over the top, the symbol was the same.

From the ashes of certainty, a spark of hope flickered to life. Virginia could be alive. The thought staggered him.

Mouth dry, hands shaking, he leaned against the stack of tobacco casks. Past disappointments warned caution. But what were the odds of another person combining the arrow of Clan Cameron, his mother's Highland family, with hearts of love? No coincidence appeared before him; Virginia was alive and this drawing was her cry for help.

Stuffing one of the hogsheads under his arm, he located Quinten Brown, captain of the merchantman.

"From where did this hallmark come?"

Brown swept off his three-cornered hat and tucked it under his arm. "Why would you be asking, Cunningham? Ain't the brandy trade enough for you?"

In his place, Cameron would also be protective of his livelihood; any businessman would. To allay the man's worry and loosen his tongue, Cameron fished a sack of coins from his waistcoat. "I've seen this design, and it's very important to me. I've no intention of heeling in on your trade."

Satisfied, Brown pocketed the gold. '"Course you ain't. I'll tell you what I know o' the matter. The cooper at Poplar Knoll always favored the plain crown—even after the colonies was lost to us." He traced the design. "This girlish mark, the hearts 'n' arrow, on their barrels. I ain't seen it afore."

"Then how do you know this tobacco came from there?"

"The new mistress herself come aboard to pay her respects to me." Rocking back on the heels of his bucket-top boots, the seaman clutched his lapels. "Her husband, Mr. Parker-Jones, bought the plantation more'n a year ago. I tell you true, Cunningham, the slaves 'n' servants o' that place are praising God. The old owner and his wife were devils and more."

In his search for Virginia, Cameron had scoured every port in the British Isles, the Baltic, Europe, and even the slave markets of Byzantine. He'd searched Boston, the cities of Chesapeake Bay, and even the Spanish-held New Orleans. "Where is this plantation?"

"Poplar Knoll? The tidewaters of Virginia."

Cameron had sailed those waters, but not in years. With his father serving in the House of Commons, Cameron now favored the shorter European trade routes. "On the York River?"

"No. The James, just west of Charles City."

"The south or the north shore?"

"South, if I'm remembered of it. Fine dock with lovey doves carved into the moorings. Yes, south side."

At the least, the person who'd crafted this hallmark had some knowledge of Virginia. If she were on an isolated plantation, that would explain why he hadn't found her. The lost war with the colonies had limited shipping traffic, and little news traveled out of tidewater Virginia.

Anticipation thrumming through him, he thanked the captain and made his way to Napier House, home of Virginia's sister, Agnes. Now the countess of Cathcart, Agnes was the only family member who still believed that Virginia was alive.

Dear God, he prayed, let it be so.

Poplar Knoll Plantation

Tidewater Virginia

Planting would be upon them soon. From dawn's first light until sunset or rain forced them to stop, they'd hunker in the fields. Virginia shifted on the bench, her back aching at the thought. In the corner of the weaving shed, the strongest of the slaves dismantled the looms used to weave book muslin, the fabric of necessity for slaves and bond servants. Everyone, even the pregnant females worked in the fields until harvest. At first frost, the looms would come out again.

Life would continue for another year. But three harvests hence Virginia's indenture would end. The old bitterness stirred, but she stifled it. She'd tried escape once, nine years ago. For penalty five years had been added to her servitude. Freedom would come. Three years from now, she'd have money in her purse, new shoes and a traveling coat, and passage to Williamsburg. From there—

"Duchess!"

Virginia started. Merriweather, the smartly dressed butler from the home house strolled toward her.

"Wash your hands and face, Duchess. Mrs. Parker-Jones wants to see you."

No one addressed Virginia as Virginia. They hadn't believed her story about who she was and how she'd come to the colonies. When she'd proclaimed herself the daughter of the duke of Ross, they'd laughed and named her Duchess. She'd been a frightened child of ten.

Merriweather cleared his throat. "You've done nothing wrong. The mistress hastened me to say so."

Virginia smiled and put aside the hat band she was tooling. She'd spoken only once to Mrs. Parker-Jones since the woman and her husband had purchased Poplar Knoll two years ago. Did this summons also involve the design Virginia had secretly branded into the hogsheads? Hopefully not, for she'd come away from the meeting with a small victory and an apology. She'd been assured the matter was ended.

Encouraged, she went to the table and washed her face in the bucket of clean water. Then she untied her apron and took the brush from her basket.

As they left the shed and made their way through the servants' hamlet, she brushed her hair and tied it at her nape.

"She'll not be seeing you in the front parlor, your grace."

No rancor hardened his words, and Virginia chuckled. She might be a bond servant, but never had she been a sloven.

She was ushered into the back parlor, where Mrs. Parker-Jones was reading the Bible. Putting the book aside, she waved the butler out the door. "Close it on your way out, if you please, Merriweather."

Although she'd never been in this room, Virginia refused to gape at the fine furnishings. She'd seen better at Rosshaven.

"Tell me about yourself." Mrs. Parker-Jones indicated a chair. "How did you come to servitude?"

Caution settled over Virginia, and she stood beside the chair. "Three years remain on my indenture, Ma'am. I want no trouble."

"I want the truth. Are you Virginia MacKenzie, daughter of the sixth duke of Ross?"

Something in the tone of her voice alarmed Virginia, that and her knowledge of the specifics of Papa's title. She gripped the back of the chair. "Who wants to know?"

"Cameron Cunningham."

Images of her youth swam before Virginia. Then she saw nothing at all.

Look for

True Heart

Wherever Paperback Books Are Sold

Mid-December

ARNETTE LAMB'S signature style—fast-paced, witty, and deeply sensual—has won her raves from critics, booksellers and readers, as well as the coveted
Romantic Times
award for Best New Historical Romance Author. Her wonderfully exciting romances have all been bestsellers: from her sizzling 1991 debut with
Highland Rogue;
to her magnificent
Maiden of Inverness;
to her most recent success, "
Hark! The Herald
," a sparkling romance in the heartwarming collection titled
A Holiday of Love
, which put her on the
New York Times
bestseller list. Due to the huge fan response to
Highland Rogue
, brings us
Betrayed
, the first enthralling novel in the trilogy that features Lachlan MacKenzie's daughters.

A native of Houston, Arnette lives there with her husband, Ron. She loves to hear from readers; you can write to her care of Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas. New York. NY 10020.