Laird of Ballanclaire (24 page)

She was Kameron’s mistress.

“Bah! These men! They have no refinement. No elegance. No civility. No Spaniard would make interest so apparent. Why, if we were in my native Castillion, you would see much more emphasis on courtly gestures and subtle glances.”

“What men?”

“What men? All of them!” Lucilla clucked her tongue before putting both hands on her hips. “They see a beautiful woman and they cannot keep their tongues in their mouths, or their eyes to themselves.”

“When?”

“Do not tell me you have not noticed. I have seen them, and I have said nothing, but it is hard for me. I see them all the time. Everywhere you go, and every time you leave the cabin. I try to keep you inside as much as I can, and still they gawk when they see you. They are pigs. These Scotsmen!”

“The men . . . gawk?” Constant stumbled on the word.

“Not just gawk—they leer, they ogle. It is deplorable! No Spaniard would be caught doing so. They are much more subtle if they see a woman they desire.”

“But why would they do such a thing?”

Lucilla stopped her tirade and stared at Constant. “Because you are on deck. That is why.”

“Me?”

“Of course, you. They certainly are not acting that way over Lucilla. I assure you.”

“The men . . . desire . . .
me
? But why?”

Constant was imagining this. She had to be. She was having an insane conversation in a wildly swaying room, slivers of gaslight sliding back and forth, with a woman who couldn’t know what she was saying.

Lucilla huffed out a breath of disgust. “You never look in a mirror. I have waited upon you and served you, and never once have I seen you look at yourself. You avoid it.”

“I already know what I look like,” Constant answered.

“You know what you used to look like. I think you will be surprised. You have not the first idea of how to be vain. It is a welcome thing, and yet unbelievable at the same time.”

“You can’t be saying these things to me. I am foolish to listen.”

“You are very beautiful, mistress. More so now than when you first arrived, and that was impressive. Your skin has become alabaster smooth. You have been blessed with glorious hair that has streaks colored like the darkest of red sunsets through it. You have very blue eyes, and dark lashes that require nothing to enhance them, and let us not forget the most obvious. You have a womanly shape that is beyond compare. I have served other ladies, but never one so fair. That is why the men stare and gawk and ogle and fall over their own tongues.”

Constant stared. “I am those things?”

Lucilla tossed up her hands and then pointed at the mirror above the ewer. “If you can walk to it, look for yourself. I still have much work to do.”

She opened the armoire and bent down to pull a trunk out. Constant watched as it looked like every dress she owned was pulled out of the armoire, folded, and settled into the trunk.

“What . . . are you doing?” she asked.

“Preparing for the storm. I have my orders.”

“You have to pack everything for the storm?”

“You will be lucky if I do not have to strap you to your bed. Speaking of which, you might as well begin preparing for such. There won’t be further lessons tonight. I have been told.”

“Strap me to my bed?”

“Haven’t you felt the waves? Heard the wind and the rain? It is getting difficult to talk in here, the sound is so loud.”

“But why would my things need to be packed?”

Lucilla shrugged. “I do not know the why of such things. I only do as I’m told. I received my orders. They are strange, but I don’t question them. You could have, if you wished to.”

“When was this?”

“You look when you are on deck, but you see nothing and hear less. The thin one told me of it. Every hand that is capable is required on deck tonight. Anyone without business outside their cabin must stay inside. Stepping out may mean being swept overboard and into the sea. I have been through these storms. They are not pleasant. There. I have finished. If you will stand, I will unhook—”

Lucilla’s words were cut off when the door was wrenched open and slammed against the wall, then sprang back into the man who stood there, a seemingly ceaseless stream of water running onto the floor. Her maid screamed. Constant didn’t have access to that much air. She gasped. It was the most she was capable of in the corset.

“Constant? Come here.”

“But, Kameron—”

“Dismiss your maid, and come here. Now. I am beyond argument.”

She didn’t doubt it. In the slivers of illumination cast from her lamp, she could see his chest rising and falling with exertion, his jaw was clenched, and he was angry. Constant shivered.

“You know they won’t let us—”

“They? What
they
? I have just evaded a hundred
theys.
I’ve swallowed my fill of ocean and single-handedly rowed myself to the wrong ship twice. You are my wife, and I’ve tired of being held prisoner in my own life! Dismiss your maid and come here. I am not saying another damned word.”

Constant turned to Lucilla. The maid was looking at Kameron with the same openmouthed expression all women probably had when they first saw him.

“Lucilla?” She had to say it twice to get the maid’s attention and the second time was sharper. “Lucilla!”

“Mistress?”

“You may leave now. I will not require your services until morn.”

“But, mistress—”

“You dare argue with me?”

“This man—”

“This man is my husband.”

That got her a wide-eyed stare. Constant waited for the information to sink in.

“This giant . . . he is Lord Ballanclaire?”

“
Sí
,” Constant replied.

“The duke’s heir?”

Constant nodded.

“Oh my. Oh dear. They did not tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“That he was this immense, nor so . . . so masculine. Nor so handsome. My goodness, no wonder you have been so sad. The man is beautiful. No. That word is not sufficient. He has the countenance of an angel. But he does not look so angelic now, does he? He looks and acts more like a Spaniard, what with breaking doors down to get to his lady and looking as if he actually swam over to do so. I am very impressed.”

“Constant? What are you saying? Why has na’ she left?” Kameron interrupted them.

Constant looked across at him. He obviously did not understand Spanish. “We haven’t gotten that far, Kam. She is still amazed, I’m afraid.”

“At what?”

“You. She is in raptures over your handsomeness, your size, and the forcefulness of your appearance.”

“Oh, for the love of God!”

Constant snorted in amusement as Kam actually looked away. She couldn’t see his expression because of the haphazard lighting, but she guessed that he was embarrassed.

“I do not know what you say, but he does not look the type to argue,
señora
. You’d best save your breath. You will need it, I think. I have orders about this, but I can give you one hour. I will return then. I will tell no one.”

“One hour?” Constant repeated. “But it is near eve, a massive storm is brewing, and we’ve no lessons. Surely you can give us more than one hour. Please?”

Lucilla looked from one to the other. Kam had lowered his jaw and sucked in on his cheeks as he watched them with hooded eyes. Every time the light snaked to where he stood, feet planted apart to keep his balance and hands on his hips, Constant felt the shivers again. She barely kept from wrapping her arms about herself.

“Very well,
señora
. I will give you two hours. I cannot do more, I am afraid. I have orders. I would not waste time, either. He does not look the patient type. He is also soaked through and needs that clothing removed. Once you have taken it from him, knock on my door. I will see it wrung out and hung. It will not be dry, but that is the best I can do.”

Constant’s face was flaming.

“Now what is she saying?”

“She wants your clothing.”

Kam’s head shot up. “What?”

Constant chuckled. “She will see it hung out and dried. She won’t tell anyone of your presence here.” She didn’t say anything about the two hours.

“Remind me to double her salary when I’m duke,” he replied. “She’s worth every shilling. What is it now? I certainly hope you haven’t agreed to see me stripped out of them while she waits.”

“Oh no. That pleasure is all mine. Lucilla?”

She turned to the woman and spoke in Spanish again. There was a door to another chamber where the maid slept. Constant waited until the door closed before turning the key. She left the key in the lock, to make it difficult for Lucilla to see through the keyhole, if she were so inclined.

“Well?” Kam demanded.

Constant turned and looked across the crazily swaying room at where he still stood in the doorway. “Well, what?”

“You were given an order to come here. I’m still waiting.”

“Oh.”

Constant started walking, stopping after each step to regain her balance as the ship tilted. The light was swaying from one side to the other, showing first where Kameron stood, then the bed. Then Kameron. Then the bed. Over and over, like a pendulum of desire, want, and promise.

Kameron wasn’t standing still. Every time the light touched him, he’d moved. First to shut and bolt the door, then to unfasten the large cloak that covered him and drop it at his feet. A dark glitter of moisture trailed from it in a zigzag fashion with each roll of the ship.

He slid the buttons of his doublet as she neared, never taking his eyes from hers. The floor was still weaving and roiling beneath her, but she was more sure-footed and steadier the closer she got to him. In the dark his eyes looked like shimmering black agates, surrounded by more shadowed black. His last button was undone. Constant stood less than a yard from him as he pulled his arms from the sleeveless outer garment, dropping it onto the cloak at his feet. He wore a wide-sleeved, broadcloth shirt beneath it. The material was plastered to his body, defining every bit of him. Constant stared and had to consciously command herself to gather one breath, and then another.

Kameron began unbuttoning his cuffs. Constant moved closer, reaching out for him. She gasped when he caught her hands and brought them to his lips, holding them with cold hands that shuddered along with the rest of his body.

“You’re freezing cold,” she told him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

He raised both brows, softening the black shadows around his eyes, and then he grinned. “We’re in the Atlantic Ocean, love. The water resembles ice. I should ken. I was out in it.”

“You shouldn’t have risked so much. You shouldn’t be here. We’ll be punished again. I should make you go.”

“You doona’ want me to stay?”

“I—I—” Her voice stopped. How was she to answer that?

“If you’re going to lie, my love, let me remind you to first remember rule number one.”

It was Constant’s turn to shake. She tried to tell herself it was due to the temperature of his lips as he spoke the words against her knuckles. But his hands were warming the longer she held on to him, and his shivers seemed to be easing. She knew it wasn’t anything to do with any chill.

“I like your new clothing, love. Puts everything on display. I’m na’ sure that will be a good idea in polite company, however. In fact, I’m certain of it. Your gowns will be sewn from thick velvet in the future . . . double layered. Remind me of that, will you?”

“What?”

“Either you’re cold, or you’re just as needy as I am. Tell me you’re cold. I’d be interested in hearing that prevarication.”

Constant wasn’t remotely cold. She knew what he was talking about now, especially as the light showed exactly where he was looking every time it reached his face. The corset pushed everything out where it was eye-catching as well as unseemly. She’d complained and reddened just about every time she was strapped into it. Those times were as nothing to how her face flamed now. In fact, her entire body was on fire.

“Kameron,” she whispered.

He shut his eyes when he heard it, feathered a breath across her fingertips, and released her. Then he opened his eyes, a stray beam of lamplight illuminating the golden brown before it moved away.

Constant felt the reaction clear to where her ankles and feet were strapped mercilessly into pointy-toed boots. Then the shivers were climbing, stealing up her spine and causing a riot of gooseflesh at the back of her neck.

“Doona’ move, love. Just stand there and watch.”

“Why?”

“You really need a reason?”

That wasn’t exactly an answer. Constant dropped her hands to her sides as Kameron went back to unfastening a cuff. She couldn’t prevent her glance from roving to where he’d released one sleeve and then lifted the other arm. The sodden material showed every nuance of him as he moved. She sucked in her lower lip as she watched him.

Then he was unfastening his shirt, stopping to peel the opening wider with every released button. Constant found her breath catching with every motion. Kameron had the strangest expression as he pulled the bottom of his shirt from beneath his belt.

Constant released her lower lip with a sucking sound. She watched as a shudder ran through him. The final button was undone, and he stopped. Constant kept her eyes on his, although she could see the V-shaped opening he’d created, allowing her a glimpse of that rippled, muscled belly and chest every time the light allowed. It was almost torturous to try to ignore it, she decided.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked softly.

She nodded.

“Will you answer truthfully?”

“You will know . . . if I don’t, I think,” she answered. The only voice she had left was the breathless whisper. It wasn’t the corset’s fault this time. It was Kameron.

“In the loft, when you shaved me . . .”

He was talking as he twisted the shirttails, and the high-pitched ringing in her ears was making it difficult to hear. Constant blinked, swallowed, and forced herself to listen to what he was asking.

“. . . why did you do it?”

“I had to get the tar off,” she replied.

It was probably a smile curving his lips, but he was doing his best to keep it from showing. Constant’s brows drew together.

“You didn’t have to shave my chest. True?”

She caught her cry as he moved his fingers to rub them down the opening he’d created, making certain she knew what he spoke of.

“I—” Her voice stopped.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Uh . . . I . . . You’re very impressive, Kameron.”

“And?”

“And . . . I wanted to be able . . . to see all of it.”

It was definitely a smile, as white glinted off his teeth.

“In that event, you’re forgiven,” he replied, and split the fabric apart.

He peeled the wet shirt off and tossed the garment atop the pile at his feet. He was covered with mounds of muscle, valleys of shadow-molded strength, and not a bit of hair hid any of it. There were also two raw-looking spots on either side of his chest, just below his armpits. Constant’s eyes widened as she saw them.

“What . . . have they done to you?” she asked.

“Oh, those? Just a little reminder of my place in life.”

“Your place?”

“I’m a prisoner, love, just as you are. I gave my word I’d come for you. I dinna’ stay away of my own free will. I had to be forced. I have a bit of trouble staying in my room. These marks are from the bonds to keep me there.”

“They hurt you? Oh, Kameron.”

Constant felt the tears hovering near the surface. She’d known he shouldn’t be here, although every part of her balked at the thought that he might leave. He was going to earn far worse treatment if he was caught.

“You’re na’ about to cry, are you? Please. I dinna’ risk a drowning in saltwater to reach your side and watch you cry. Besides, I’ve been through worse. You ken. You were there.”

“I know, but . . . I can’t believe it. You’re the lord and master, aren’t you?”

“Oh, rest assured, I will be. I think they’re verra aware of that. That explains their largesse to me.”

“This is largesse?” she repeated.

“They lined my straps with padded silk. It does na’ change much. Straps are straps.”

“You shouldn’t be here. I won’t see you punished again. Please go. Now.”

“You truly want me to?”

Constant tried to lie. She forced her eyes not to look him over, and not to guess at the parts of him he’d yet to display, and not to shiver with the remembered ecstasy of being clasped against him.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You’re a lousy liar, love. Always were.”

He stepped into the space in front of her, kicking his discarded clothing aside. Constant lifted her hands, put her palms against hard sinew and chilled flesh, and fell into the embrace. She couldn’t help it.

The tears wouldn’t stay away as he enfolded her in his arms. She shuddered with suppressing the weeping, pressing her forehead into the center of his chest, below his throat. She could hear his heart beating, and held her breath to listen.

“Oh, Constant, love. We should try to forgive them. We really should.”

“Never.”

“But they doona’ ken how it is. I canna’ fault them. Orders are orders and I doona’ have the capacity to make them understand, although I do try. I’m fair certain Blair and MacVale tire of hearing it every time I open my mouth.”

“Know how what is?”

“A love such as you and I share. True love. The kind poets write sonnets of, minstrels of old lamented over, and men gladly go to their deaths for. That’s what we have. There are nae straps that can hold it at bay, either. There is naught that would. Life is na’ worth living if I have to do it apart from you. They doona’ understand because they’ve never felt it. I pity them, actually.”

“Oh, Kam . . . eron.”

Constant almost got his name out before the emotion overtook her, leaving her sobbing against him. Through it all, Kameron held her, swaying with each roll of the ship, his hands at first holding her sides, then caressing her all over until he stopped at the board at her back.