Meggie knew her father was not a handsome man in the true sense, but she loved each aspect of him. His broad, hooked nose and the angry scar that zagged across his cheek to be lost beneath a full red beard were dear to Meggie. His rust-colored hair, sprinkled with frosty strands of white, fell past his shoulders in a thick, coarse mass. Although long in the back, no hair grew on the shiny crown of his head.
“Meggie, me love, me love. Let me look at ye.”
He set her back from him. His loving gaze skimmed the length of her with obvious pride. “Ye grow more beautiful every day. Ye’re lookin’ just like your dear mother.”
She threw her arms around him again. “Oh, Da, I’ve missed you so much.”
As she clung to her father, Niall strode from the castle. “Welcome home, Humphrey.”
“My thanks, Niall,” he said, gently detaching Meggie’s hold on him. “Are ye at Dochas especially to greet me? Or for some other reason?” His eyes twinkled as they rested on Meggie.
Meggie bit her tongue. In due time, she would confess her feelings to her father. She had no intention of marrying the one-eyed former warrior.
Niall’s somber countenance put an end to her father’s twinkle. “Humphrey, I came to rescue Meggie from the clutches of an English spy. He lived here in yer castle, right here in Dochas. Yer daughter might have been killed.”
“Pish!”
Folding his arms across his chest, her father turned to Meggie. “What say ye, daughter?”
“Pish! Once more.” Oh, how she resented Niall’s intrusion. She had precious little time with her father. To waste time with silly explanations irked Meggie. “A wandering bard came by - -”
“An English spy,” Niall interrupted.
A curse on every black hair on your head!
After silently cursing him, Meggie ignored Niall, giving her father a sweet smile. “Thinking the bard might be a werewolf hiding in the copse, I shot him. He stayed at Dochas while he healed. ’Twas not as if he asked me to shoot and shelter him!”
“The English cur bewitched her!” Niall shouted, pointing a finger at Meggie.
“What could a spy possibly learn at Dochas?” she asked her father.
“What say ye, Niall?”
“What I have to say I shall say in private to ye.”
“Come, Father.” Meggie looped her hand in the crook of his arm and very nearly dragged her father away from Niall. “This is no way to begin a rest at home. Your chamber is prepared. I shall have Cook serve your favorite mutton, and this eve I shall play the harp to soothe ye.”
“Hear me out, Humphrey.”
“On the morrow, Niall.”
Meggie did not look back as she steered her father toward the great hall. “I have so much to tell you, Da. And so much I want to hear from you.”
“Meggie. I cannot stay long at Dochas.”
“Nay! Say it is not so.” Meggie could feel hot tears gathering behind her eyes and feared she might begin to cry again.
Her father’s bright, azure eyes held regret as they met hers. He spoke softly, apologetically. “I must meet Hugh O’Neill in Dublin before the new moon.”
“Nay.”
“There is more, my lass.”
How can there be? Will my loneliness and heartbreak never end?
“We must sell all of our horses in Dublin. Funds are sorely needed for weapons. We must defend Ulster.”
Meggie sucked in her breath. Nay. Nay. She had grown tired of the fighting, the long absences. She simply could not part with the foal called Bard. But she would for her father.
“And we have meetings with the English,” her father added.
“Can the English not wait just this once, Da?”
“Nay. But we shall not be denied our time together, Meggie, me love. Ye shall come to Dublin with me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cameron resigned his commission within days of discovering his birthright. He had won promotion to captain and had no heart for further contest with the Irish. If Humphrey Fitzgerald should be harmed by anything he might be held responsible for, directly or indirectly, Cameron could never forgive himself. He would rather sleep in trees for the rest of his life than cause Meggie any further grief. Moreover, no one could fault him for wishing to return to Scotland with his father and begin a new life.
Nobility, even the Scottish nobility, lived in a far different world from what Cameron had known as he quickly discovered. From the moment he moved into the duke’s comfortable house, the changes began.
His trews, tunic, and mantle were immediately discarded. Cameron found himself being fitted and clothed in elegant English fashions worthy of his new title, the Marquis of Doneval. He wore padded breeches and satin doublets adorned with lace cuffs. Velvet canions and fringed garters replaced his simple Irish trews. After weeks wearing drab Irish garments, he felt quite the fop. Cameron took comfort in the duke’s assurances that once they returned to Doneval Manor, he might once again dress as plainly as he wished. The duke favored kilts, himself, but since he spent much of his time at the English court when away from his home, he had adopted English dress. He’d urged Cameron to do the same.
At the outset, Donald Cameron made certain that his son possessed his own resources. The generous duke presented him with more English sovereigns than Cameron thought to see in a lifetime.
“This will stake you until we return to Scotland,” the duke told him, handing Cameron a thick velvet pouch. “But if you should need more, you need only ask. Once back home, I shall settle upon you,” he paused, and with twinkling eyes grinned broadly. “A princely sum.”
Seemingly overnight, Cameron had become a wealthy man and gained a title. But not that of “prince.” To think blue, princely blood ran through his veins seemed the highest absurdity. He felt little different now than he had as a boy cleaning the Buckthorn inn’s stables.
As a prince without power, Cameron welcomed becoming the Marquis of Doneval. Having no interest in the English throne, he was content being recognized as the child of a Scottish duke and Donald’s deceased wife, Caragh. One wee - as Meggie would say - little lie seemed a small price to pay for his freedom. Cameron’s sister Kate had chosen to do the same. It made no sense to risk threatening the elderly queen. Elizabeth might still take exception to any distant relative making a claim to the throne.
If pressed, Cameron would have to admit the future never looked more exciting, that life had never been better... except for missing Meggie. The prince had been brought to his knees by the Duchess of Dochas.
After an eve of gambling with his father, he had slept late. The duke wished to teach him the pitfalls of the sport; instead, Cameron succeeded in winning several sovereigns and enjoyed himself immensely.
Rather belatedly on this morn, he joined the duke in the small first-floor chamber where they dined. Owing to the autumn chill in the air and a gloomy gray sky, a fire danced in the small fireplace, and a multitude of candles had been lit to brighten the room.
“Good day, Father.”
Cameron said the word more easily now than he had at the beginning. Father. He knew no other fellow who could boast having two fathers, both of whom were extraordinary men. Cameron attempted to console himself with the thought that while he had lost Meggie, he had gained a father. But realizing himself selfish in the extreme, he longed for Meggie as well.
“Did you rest well, son?”
“Never have I slept this late in the day,” Cameron confessed, stifling a yawn. “I am beginning to feel quite the wastrel.”
The duke chuckled. “When we return home, you’ll not have time for such pleasures as we enjoy now. I promise you. Although I shall be teachin’ you how to golf, there is work to be done. Improvements I’m certain you’ll wish to make.”
“I look forward to new tasks.”
Laboring on the land would take Cameron’s mind off Meggie, off of losing Meggie, of never seeing Meggie’s freckled face again, of never hearing Meggie’s boisterous laugh again.
Consuming work would beget sore muscles which in turn might finally overcome the relentless ache that gripped his heart.
“Weel na, how much could an innkeeper’s boy know about farming?” Donald asked, slicing a chunk of cheese.
“I lived on a farm west of Dublin for a time,” Cameron hedged, unwilling to speak of his life at Dochas. Only thinking of the pleasure he had found there and what he had left behind caused his heart to constrict in a most painful manner. “I learned a bit about crops, sheep, and horses. Truth be told, I enjoyed what little help I could offer.”
Donald hiked a bushy brow. “You helped an Irish farmer?”
“If I had not, my identity as an English spy might have been discovered.”
The duke nodded. “I dinna know about spying,” he said and gave a hapless sigh. “But know too well about balls. Will you be accompanin’ me to Earl Wicklow’s ball this eve?”
The Earl of Wicklow served as the queen’s emissary in Ireland. He passed a great deal of his tune in Dublin presenting balls and entertainments for the English residents.
“Nay, I have never attended a ball. I should feel out of place.”
“Never attended a ball? Weel na, then ye must! Ye must learn how boring some can be and what ye may do to ensure a pleasant evening despite the endless posturing.”
Cameron shook his head. In his present state, he possessed no patience for pomp and posturing and certainly could not pretend to be merry. “Will you forgive me if I beg off?”
“And miss the bonny English lasses at the ball? Ye shall have yer choice of comely maidens; they attend these affairs in force.”
Cameron buttered a thick slab of bread. “My heart would not be in it.”
Donald cocked his head. Bushy brows raised, he studied Cameron. “No heart for the ladies? Weel na, do I hear a lad who’s lovesick?”
“Nay. Nay, I simply would rather... rest.”
“Rest!” The duke slammed a hand on the table and gave what sounded to be a guffaw. “A young man like you? Och! There’s time an’ more to rest when ye get old like me. If I dinna say so myself, Cameron, ye are a handsome lad. You shouldna have no trouble attracting a bonny lass. Ye can have any woman you desire.”
Save one.
“Not any woman,” he protested softly.
“Son, if ye waste your time bemoaning the loss of one lass, a handful of others will be spoken for before you know it.”
If only Cameron could take the loss of Meggie so lightly. If his father knew the woman who had bewitched him while he was otherwise occupied, the duke might understand. But he would never meet or know Meggie Fitzgerald. Donald Cameron would never see her astonishing eyes, as dazzlingly blue as precious sapphires held to the sun.
“I’m in no hurry for a woman,” Cameron told his father. “Especially now when there is so much for me to learn. A man never quite expects to suddenly discover that he is a marquis with myriad new obligations.”
The duke nodded thoughtfully. “Aye. And in that nest of obligations you’ll find ’tis important to provide an heir.”
Cameron groaned inwardly. “I just became a marquis. Must we rush?”
“I’m getting older,” his father said with a shrug, and a sad wag of his head. “If something should happen to me, you ken that I’ll rest easier knowing the new Duke of Doneval has a son.”
Determined to become a high-ranking officer from the time he had been a boy, Cameron had given no thought to any other life for years. He felt no interest or need to father a child until Meggie had mentioned the possibility. Since then, the idea had teased him. As a man who now had two fathers, he could learn the best from both and raise a strong and happy son.
“Aye,” he said. “I would like to have a family someday.”
With Meggie. Meggie possessed fine nurturing instincts. Cameron had the privilege of observing her with her silly hounds and magnificent horses. She would make a warm, loving mother. One who would hold her arms open wide and smother her children with kisses until they fell over laughing and giggling.
Donald lifted a goblet of ale. His eyes met Cameron’s, eyes alight with keen intelligence and ably demonstrated insight. “Then ye best be takin’ some action toward having a babe. I confess to being surprised that ye have not captured some fair lass by now.”
“Matters of the heart are difficult to fathom,” Cameron allowed, feeling a wretched roll of his stomach. “Women baffle me.”
“Ye lived with five sisters!”
“Which only has made understanding females all the more confusing.”
“Son, a sharp-witted woman is worth a bit of bewilderment now and again. Nothing in this world compares to the love of a woman. Having been blessed twice, first with Caragh and then with your mother, Anne. This is something I can pass on to ye without reservation.”
“Aye, nothing can compare to a sharp-witted woman,” Cameron agreed, lost to visions of a smiling Meggie.
“Mind my words. All the possessions in the world, a fine, full stable, the most elegant estate, and acres of rich farmland will never take the place of a good woman.”
Cameron’s longing for Meggie increased with each word the duke uttered. He had no quarrel with his father’s advice. “Aye.”
“Life is filled with hardships, as you well know. But having the good fortune to have a bonnie, spirited partner makes the hard times bearable and the good times a joy.”
Cameron flinched. Bonnie and spirited, that was Meggie. His heart felt as if it had been run through with a lance. “A joy,” he repeated numbly.
He could say no more.
“When we return to Scotland, I’ll find ye a fine Scottish lass.”
“Nay, Father.” Cameron lowered his head for a moment before meeting Donald’s steady brown gaze. “The woman I love is to wed another.”
The duke frowned. Seemingly deep in thought, he pursed his lips and stroked his trim, rusty-colored beard. “Weel na, as long as the lass is not yet wed, I dinna see why she cannot be yours. Certainly, if we put our heads together, we can come up with a scheme to win the lass.”
His father’s hope somehow worsened Cameron’s despair. “Nay. I fear the situation is impossible.”
“Have I mistaken the matter? I thought ye a fighter? My impression of you from the start has been of a young man who would go after what he wants.”