Seducing the Spy (33 page)

“Nay, Meggie, you have a home. It’s here.” He touched his heart. “And here.” He raised his arms as if to encompass the room, the manor.

Meggie blinked back the tears.
Saints be praised! This crying has to end. First I cry because I grieve; now I cry from joy. What is left?

She hesitated. “I don’t know ...”

“You must remain at Doneval Manor where you will be safe.”

“Ye are most kind but...” The words stuck in her throat. If she finished her sentence, the tears would fall again. The pain of leaving Dochas was still fresh. The knowledge that she could never return to her beloved castle ravaged her heart.

“No more talk of leaving,” Cameron counseled. “You have only arrived, and I have much to show you.”

She nodded. “If ye insist, perhaps we could stay for a short visit. And then we shall see …”

“There are acres and acres of Doneval Manor to explore. It may take years to show it all to you. I have become a farmer with more cattle, sheep, and horses than a man can care for by himself.”

“And all along I thought ye to be a poor wandering bard. Now that ye are a marquis, ye may find my company lacking.”

The amber lights in his eyes danced. “Nay. Never. I dared not believe you would forgive me, never dared believe I would see you again. But now you are here...” His voice thickened and then trailed off as if overcome by emotion.

“Now I am here with ye,” Meggie repeated. And when he had been absent from her life, oh, how she had longed to see his teasing smile once again, the wee scar at the corner of his lip, to feel his strong arms about her.

“And now that you are here, I cannot let you go, Meggie.” His broad, beguiling smile gave wings to her heart. “Consider yourself my prisoner, Mistress Fitzgerald.”

Silenced by the wild flapping beat of her heart, Meggie could think of nothing better than to be Cameron’s prisoner. Not that she would let on. She lifted her chin. “Prisoner? The Scots and Irish have no quarrel between them.”

“Have you forgotten the drop of English blood that runs through my veins?”

“And have ye forgotten that a redheaded lass brings a man ill fortune?”

“Only if she leaves him,” he replied with a wry twist of his lips.

His mouth. She stared at his lips, neglecting to breathe, remembering how the touch of his wondrous lips ignited her desire, stirred a passion Meggie did not know she possessed until the bard. Nay, the marquis.

“Meggie? What are you thinking?”

“You... you are a marquis,” she pointed out shakily, unwilling to confess her strumpet thoughts. “I have no title.”

“Aye, but you do.”

Puzzled, she inclined her head. “What might that be?”

“Duchess. You are my Irish duchess,” he declared with a disarming grin.

Meggie had no defense against his great satisfied grin. She felt a wee giddy in the head. But she gathered her wits to speak seriously. “Nay, Cameron. There has been no Irish duchess for years.”

“’Tis a fact not widely known.”

She chuckled, amused by his sweet attempt to give her nobility. “Duchess? What made ye think of me in that way?”

He gave a hapless shrug. “I don’t know.”

But along with Cameron’s innocent gesture, Meggie detected a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Cameron?”

“It just came to me,” he said.

Meggie’s laughter bubbled up from her toes, loud and strong until it filled the small chamber. A duchess! She found the thought astonishing and greatly amusing.

Cameron laughed with her, but when their laughter died, he grew serious. He laced his hand through hers. “No one will dare question a duchess. And once we are married, you shall have a new title ... my lady.”

Married? The bard ... Cameron ... The Marquis of Doneval wished to marry her, to make her a genuine duchess some day. And Meggie just an Irish maiden with nothing but a mare and a foal to her name. Surely, she had misunderstood.

“Ye wish to ... to marry me?”

“Aye, Meggie.” His eyes locked on hers, plainly adoring.

Ripples of warm delight swept through her body. Swirling, tingling sensations touched and heightened her senses. The love reflected in Cameron’s eyes made her feel like a princess.

“Meggie, what say you? Will you marry me ... or return across the sea?”

“Let me think on it.” A girl should never be too eager.

* * * *

Meggie had only a few moments to rest and refresh in her chamber before supper. ‘Twas no easy feat to rest when her heart bounced like a ball and her feet floated way above the floor.

The bard who was a spy who was a marquis wished to marry Meggie! But he hadn’t said he loved her.

She needed to hear Cameron say he loved her.

“If he cannot say the words, I cannot marry him,” she told Seamus and Bernadette. She had brought her hounds with her, as well as the horses. ’Twas quite a menagerie aboard the ship and on their overland route. The dogs sat curled by the fire, their eyes following her every movement. But they did not stir.

“Have I worn ye out, my friends?”

Two tails wagged wearily.

Meggie stooped down to stroke their heads. “Perhaps we have come to the end of our journey.”

’Twas her grandfather’s idea to come to Doneval Manor. Cameron and all else who had met him in recent years knew the old man was addle-brained. Still, she had agreed to make the difficult voyage and was more than a wee bit thankful he had suggested it. Meggie knew she would rather spend her life with Cameron in Scotland than alone in Ulster. Forced to leave Dochas, there was but one other place to find her heart.

The Duke of Doneval also had taken a hand. He had given specific directions on how to make the journey to Scotland. Cameron’s father had included precise instructions on how and where to find Doneval Manor ... should she wish.

Under the dogged influence of her grandfather and the duke, Meggie had risked all. She had bid her father a sorrowful goodbye and only days later summoned every last bit of her courage to board the ship. After steeling herself, she then spent the entire crossing of the Irish Sea sick to her stomach and begging the saints for safe passage. The mere thought of a return crossing made her belly roil. She had made her choice. And now it was time to join the others for supper.

Meggie paused for one last word with Seamus and Bernadette. “Do not fret, my pets. At the proper moment, I shall inform Cameron that you are with me and you will run on the moors. A new life is beginning.”

And then she opened the door.

The wavering light of the flares brightened the cold corridor but hardly warmed it. A wintery chill rose up through the rushes strewn along the stone floor. Doneval Manor had no defense from the weather.

Cameron had been pacing impatiently outside Meggie’s door. When at last she appeared, his wait proved worth every step.

One look and the longing began. The smoldering heat in his loins as his heart slammed against his chest, again and again. His ravenous gaze raked her slender figure, lingering on the delicate hollow of her throat, the pert mounds of her breasts which rose in tantalizing fashion above the low, rounded neckline. He smiled at the goose bumps, yearned to warm her. If Cameron had his way, his lips would soon nestle in the sweet valley where the rose-and-crown ring rested.

Meggie looked as splendid as any duchess. She wore an embroidered silk overdress, a field of flowers in a melting shade of willow green. The skirts swished softly as she walked. A high lace rebate framed her elegant neck, and the gown’s long sleeves fell loosely to a graceful end at her wrists. The fiery locks that so captivated him were swept back and pinned beneath a lace caul. Apparently, she had substituted layers of petticoats for a farthingale. Her skirts were wide, and yet Cameron believed he might circle her delicate waist with one hand.

He thought Meggie appeared comfortable in her English finery, or at least resigned as he escorted her through the winding corridor to supper.

The small chamber set aside for family meals blazed with candlelight and flares. A fireplace the width of one wall roared with flames that managed to heat the room. Rich tapestries and heavy velvet draperies hung by the two windows which stretched from floor to ceiling.

The Duke of Doneval sat at the head of the table, engaged in conversation with Meggie’s grandfather, who sat to Donald’s left. Cameron held her chair opposite her grandfather.

Meggie held her head high as she entered the room at Cameron’s side. Light-headed with happiness, she prayed for this eve never to end.

The duke greeted her with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Eyes the same warm brown as his son’s. “Good eve, Mistress Meggie. I canna tell ye how pleased I am to have ye at my table.”

“My thanks for your kind invitation, Your Grace.”

“Your presence is long overdue.”

She smiled as a swell of true pleasure bubbled through her. The burr and roll of the kind duke’s accent had charmed Meggie from the moment she had met him.

Cameron addressed his father as he took his place at the opposite end of the table. “Father, I am most grateful to you for inviting Meggie and her grandfather to Scotland.”

“Aye. ’Twas a grand inspiration I had.”

“And Gerald Fitzgerald,” Cameron continued, “I am most grateful to you for convincing your ... spirited granddaughter to come to us.”

“’Tis the safest place for me Meggie to be,” the old man said. “I persuaded her father to let her come here until Ulster was safe or…”

“Or what, Grandfather?” While she knew he had influenced her father, she was not quite sure how and did not ask.

“Or let ye stay in Scotland if you wished.” The grizzled man attempted to level the wiry strands of his vertical hair, patting it down as he looked to the duke. “While the English don’t like ye almost as much as they don’t like us... they aren’t invadin’ ye.”

“Nay, not at the present,” the duke replied. “King James has been unrelenting in his pursuit of good relations with the queen. His efforts preserve us.”

“My father is too modest,” Cameron told Meggie, casting an affectionate glance Donald Cameron’s way. “He has served as the king’s emissary for many years. It is rumored that the queen will name King James as her successor. I would say that is a victory for my father.”

Gerald Fitzgerald nodded. “Aye, ye are to be commended.”

“Weel na, I hope ye will feel at home in my country.”

“Ah, but I’ll not be staying.” The white-haired warrior rubbed the wart on his nose. “I shall be needed at the battle of Ulster, ye know.”

“Grandfather, ye are too old to be fighting,” Meggie admonished him, as if he knew what he was saying.

“’Tis what I have done all me life.”

“And now ye should rest while the younger men do battle.”

The eldest man at the table was also the most stubborn. “Will ye mind takin’ care of me lass after I leave?” he asked Cameron.

“I look forward to looking after your lass.”

“Thought as much.”

Cameron regarded Meggie’s grandfather as the old man dug into his beef. “I have never been able to properly thank you for saving my life. Why did you save me, Gerald?”

Her witless old grandfather saved Cameron from Niall! This was the first she had heard!

“Because I knew ye were the man to look after me lass,” he said after swallowing. “Her da, good man that he is, will never be settlin’. He’ll always be fightin’. My Meggie’s waited long enough. ’Tis time to start a family of her own. In good time, Humphrey will seek her out. Why, Meggie’s da would cross the Atlantic to see his daughter.”

Merciful Mary!
Even after their long, hard journey, her grandfather sounded as lucid this eve as the good Scottish duke.

“But I
do
have English blood,” Cameron pointed out with a quirk of his lips. “A drop or two.”

“Ye have the heart of a Scotsman. That’s good enough for me.”

“You could not have known that when you saved me.”

“Aye, but I knew ye were different,” her grandfather allowed, “Should have known ’twas a Celt soul ye owned.”

“You helped Cameron escape?” Meggie asked, just to make certain she had understood.

“He did,” Cameron assured her.

Meggie’s heart swelled with love. “Grandfather, I owe ye everything, and I love ye with all my heart. You cannot leave me now. Who will care for ye?”

The duke lifted his goblet and joined her protest. “Gerald, stay and grow old with me. Who else should keep me company?”

The old man shook his white head.

“We shall trade battle stories,” Donald coaxed.

“I’m an old man whose only wish is to take my last breath on Irish soil.”

Cameron glanced at Meggie. He must have seen her fighting back tears, for he quickly turned to her grandfather. “You must stay for the wedding, Gerald.”

The Irishman chuckled. “Are ye plannin’ to marry, Bard?”

“With your permission, I should like to wed Meggie as soon as possible.”

Years of fighting and fury and loss slipped away from the folds of the old man’s face as Gerald Fitzgerald grinned at Cameron. Meggie couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her grandfather grin, or the last time she had seen his eyes so clear and bright.

“Now who’s the witless fellow?” he asked Cameron.

“Aye, even knowing I’ll be dancin’ to her tune for the rest of my life, I want Meggie as my wife. Will you give us your blessing?”

“Aye, me lad, aye.”

The men raised their goblets in a silent salute. Meggie watched as her grandfather, the duke, and Cameron exchanged broad smiles of triumph, as if they had been in league.

Meggie regarded them without a trace of a smile. “And what wedding would that be?” she asked.

Since last they met, Cameron had lost none of his old arrogance. He had not waited for her consent. He had assumed she would marry him. His father and her grandfather assumed Meggie would agree as well.

“Mine and yours,” Cameron said.

His lopsided smile warmed her through and through. Meggie feared she might have no defense for it. His gaze burned.

Saints above!
Unable to catch a full breath, her mouth went dry. She wished Cameron would not look at her that way. Her grandfather and the duke would certainly see the desire gleaming in his gaze. She grew moist. Her pulse thrummed at her wrist.