True Heart (10 page)

“Do you?”

She couldn't let him get away with that. “That's an unfair question. I cannot answer today for a pact made when I was ten.” She also couldn't tell him that she'd given up hope. He was Cam. Her Cam. She couldn't tell him that either.

“We needn't belabor it now. I just wanted to tell you myself before Agnes blurted it out and embarrassed you.”

Embarrass her? How? “You're certain she will speak of it?”

“She'll wage a bloody war to see that the decision is yours. She proved that when Mary refused to wed Robert Spencer even though she carried his child.”

Poor Mary. Mary, the artist who could paint a flower so real you expected it to smell. Mary, who forgot time and worked day and night when inspiration came upon her. Agnes had always made excuses and defended Mary. But why would he speak of Agnes's opinion of Virginia's betrothal unless the contract stood? Her dowry had been substantial, she recalled, papers and books had been signed, but the particulars were long forgotten.

“I gave you a ring.”

Anthony MacGowan had kept it as a souvenir.

“I must have lost it. I'm sorry.” Gathering gumption, she said, “Then you have not wed?”

“No.”

She felt relieved but confused. “Because of the betrothal?”

He leaned back and studied the stars.

Instinctively she knew that at some point he'd broken the promise of the contract with her. After a fashion she'd done the same, or at least the result had been the same. In one respect, life for Virginia had stopped on the morning of her fifteenth birthday. It should have been the day she spoke her wedding vows to Cam; instead she'd huddled in the springhouse at Poplar Knoll and made a promise to herself. So long as she lived in bondage she would not think of the future. From that day forward, she planned nothing beyond the moment her indenture would end.

When he remained quiet, Virginia realized her mistake. She'd asked an artless question and gotten the answer she deserved. But she still had her pride and her freedom and the world awaited her. It should have been enough for one who had required little in the way of personal gratification. With sad acceptance, she now understood that dashed hopes and broken dreams were not solely the province of the enslaved. Cam had suffered too.

To end the uncomfortable moment, she pretended nonchalance. “I'm not so naive to think you've been pining the loss of a ten-year-old who stitched girlish symbols and expected you to wear them.”

He frowned. “How did you know that I refused to wear it?”

Be bold,
she told herself. “Did you? You don't seem the prideful sort.”

He smiled, his teeth a white slash in the dark. “You were always naive, Virginia.”

He did seem more worldwise than she, and why not? But she had skillfully avoided trapping herself. “Have you turned roguish?”

“Oh, nay. The gentry have sole rights to that.”

He had no title; his mother's people had lost everything in the last Jacobite rebellion. By an act of Parliament, the descendants of the Lochiel Camerons were forever stripped of their nobility. His father was an English sea captain. “Are your parents living?”

“Aye, my father won a seat in the Commons. My mother loathes London but endures the session for him. I have one sister, Sibeal, who is two years younger than you. She met an Italian at court and married him. They live in Venice.”

Sibeal and his parents prospered. “That's wonderful, Cam.”

“Only you, of the MacKenzies, addressed me that way—Cam.”

She'd almost given herself away again. She must be more careful, but she'd blundered without thinking. He'd always been Cam to her. “Mayhap it's a good sign, but I've had no great revelation of the past if that's why you are smiling.”

His grin broadened. “I was smiling at the
way
you talk—all soft vowels and Virginia drawl.”

Even her speech was different, but that would also change. She was learning new things every day.

“When Lottie hears you talk, she will threaten a swoon. Then she'll summon a tutor at your father's expense.”

“I thought Agnes was the more loyal Scot.”

“She is, in all matters except you.” His voice softened. “She blamed herself for what happened to you that day.”

“She does?”

“Aye, she gave you a penny and sent you away so she could meet a beau.”

The diversion had allowed Virginia to look for Cameron's ship. When she'd learned that he had already sailed, she grew frantic. Moments later she made the biggest blunder of her life.

“You don't remember any of that day?”

She'd spent years trying to forget her folly. “No. Does everyone else in the family blame her?” An unfair burden in any circumstances.

“Nay, but it's driven a wedge between her and your father. They can come to peace with it now. We'll all have that to be thankful for.”

An unfortunate turn of events, for Agnes had worshiped Papa. “What else has occurred as a result of my . . . absence?”

“Nothing else that I can recall or reveal in mixed company.” When she chuckled, he went on. “Have you questions of me? Where you lived? The things we used to do.”

Failing to ask those questions was another mistake on her part. Learning her past would be foremost to one without a memory. But the expression in his eyes and the feel of his hand on her neck distracted her. “Yes. Tell me.”

“You were born at Rosshaven Castle in the northern city of Tain. Your birthday is May 17, 1769. Your father has another estate in the Highlands. 'Tis Kinbairn, and we often summered there. Lachian does not sit in the House of Lords. He abhors London, but he governs his dukedom fairly and it prospers.

“You were a bright child and well behaved until you got your first horse. You grew independent after that.”

“I did?”

“Aye, you took your responsibilities seriously, and you boasted that you would one day breed the finest horses in Scotland.”

“Sounds rather pompous of me.”

“You were confident.” He touched the newspaper. “ 'Tis good you kept up your education. Your family values that.”

Were it in Virginia's power, she'd make certain they never learned how hard she'd worked to keep and build upon the small knowledge she'd acquired by the age of ten. Leaving Poplar Knoll was vital if she expected to succeed.

“When and to where will we sail?”

“To Glasgow first, but I had hoped to stay until your father arrives. Unless 'twill inconvenience the Parker-Joneses.”

Even though Mrs. Parker-Jones had ordered the house staff and the slaves to keep quiet about Virginia, someone could let the truth slip. And there was Rafferty.

Now that Cameron had come for her, she must convince him to make a hasty departure. “I should like to see Scotland.” Even Norfolk held great appeal to her now.

“Are you unhappy here?”

“No.”

“Good. We all feared that you had been enslaved and held against your will. I'm relieved that you haven't lived in bondage to more than the loss of your memory.” He shivered. “How degrading that would be.”

His revulsion bolstered her courage. “Everyone here is treated well.”

“Brown said the old owner was cruel, but he must have gotten that wrong, too, for he insisted that Moreland sold the plantation. Mrs. Parker-Jones said Moreland had died.”

What else could Virginia say but, “Captain Brown meant well I'm sure.” Quickly, she changed the subject. “Why do you suppose I drew the design?”

“You do not know its significance, do you?”

She wasn't supposed to. “Tell me.”

“My mother is Scottish—of Clan Cameron. I was named for them. My father is English and has no coat of arms. The MacKenzies have a long history and tradition, but you wanted a hallmark for us and our children. So you combined the arrow from the Cameron badge with your own symbol, the heart of love.”

“I was a romantic?” Looking at Cameron Cunningham and feeling his warmth, she could easily become one again.

“Aye, the hearts prove that.” He took her hand. “Virginia . . . we parted badly. 'Twas my doing. I was rash and selfish.”

Here was the guilt she dreaded. She gave his hand a little squeeze. “You found me. Let us call it even and return to Scotland.” The longer they remained, the greater the risk of discovery. As if to remind her of her change in circumstances, the stays pinched that one tender spot beneath her breasts.

“If that is where you wish to go.”

“Where else would I go?”

“Anywhere you like. I'll take you myself.”

The intimacy in his words startled her until she looked up. He wanted to kiss her, and curse her for a tawdry wench, she wanted him to. But desire was another emotion she must battle. “You have a question in your eyes.”

He seemed to shake himself. “Why are there no poplars at Poplar Knoll?”

To cover her disappointment, she laughed. “When the Morelands refused him firewood for his troops, General Arnold felled the trees.”

“Arnold. Aye.” Despite his agreement, he sounded distracted. “Tell me about the Revolution. What was your life like then?”

Save rationing and handed-down clothing, those in bondage had not been affected. Through the newspaper, she'd kept abreast of the war. “No battles were fought here, but soldiers often tramped through.”

“It doesn't speak well of soldiers or the men of Virginia.”

“The men of Virginia were elsewhere. Would you have them forsake the cause of freedom?”

“You're passionate about it.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Her heritage was Scottish, but she could not maintain that for more reasons than pride.

“I meant to say that I thought someone would have snatched up a beautiful woman like you.”

It was a poor choice of words but a logical statement that demanded a reasonable reply. “I always knew I would remember my past, and I feared my family might have been villains or worse.” She congratulated herself on a fine turn of the conversation. “How could I present a husband to a band of thieves or knaves?”

“Or to me?” A lifting of one brow accompanied the gentle challenge. He meant to himself in the sense that he was her betrothed.

“What would you have done had that occurred?”

“Had you presented a husband to me, your betrothed?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I would have been cordial before I called him out.”

“What if I loved him?”

His smile was quick, rakish. “Never would that occur, so rid yourself of that notion. As to your family being knaves or thieves, your father is the best man o' the Highlands, and your mother is a goodly soul. The MacKenzies are loyal to their own. Agnes stands as proof of that. They'll rejoice, hold a ball in honor of your return, and, if Lottie has her way, you'll be presented at court.”

Virginia couldn't go to court, not when she didn't know a viscount from an underbutler. Even if a person of noble birth had visited Poplar Knoll during the last ten years, Virginia would not have been introduced. She'd left the grounds only once on an ill-fated raft. Only rarely did she leave the hamlet and then only for the fields. If she tried now to mingle in proper society, she'd make a fool of herself. She'd probably knock over tables if she attempted to wear the panniered skirts popular today. And she'd embarrass her family. She'd refuse and have them think her stubborn before she'd risk it. “I'll decide when and if I go to court.”

Rather than be surprised by her reaction, he nodded. “You'll have to stand up for yourself or Lottie will manage your life.”

How oddly wonderful to hear him speak so casually about Lottie. “The rest will come.”

“Aye.”

She didn't know she'd spoken aloud.

“Pity you cannot recall the name of the demon who brought you here.”

She'd mulled that over often since learning of Cameron's imminent arrival. By trying to step back into her old life and sparing her family more heartache, she forfeited gaining revenge on Anthony MacGowan. In return for a judgment against him, she must tell the truth to the world outside Poplar Knoll. She couldn't. Never could she admit that bathing had been a luxury and toilettes a flight of fancy.

She grew melancholy. To hide her feelings, she played the coward and pretended to yawn.

“I've tired you.”

Would he think her frail? A day of backbreaking work in the field exhausted her; polite conversation with the enchanting Cameron Cunningham inspired her. Tired? She could dance a jig down the rutted road to Richmond.

She sat straighter. “Not at all. I'd like to see your ship.”

“The easiest of requests to grant.” He rose and pulled her to her feet. “Wait,” he said. “You barely spoke at dinner, and I still know little about you. Tell me about your life here.”

“Another time.”

His assessing look discomfited her. “If I agree now, will you expect me to—”

“I expect you to be a gentleman.”

“There is also a time for that.”

Arm in arm they strolled down the path to the dock. High in the sky, a quarter moon provided little light, but Virginia knew the way. Glowing lanterns placed at the stern, the bow, and the topmast formed a triangle of signal lights.

At one time in her life, he'd held her hand to steady her coltish steps. They'd lost so much, missed the opportunity to share so many small maturities, like the moment she'd understood the roundness of the earth by watching the path of the sun. The occasion when she'd truly understood the depths of man's cruelty to his own. The second in time when the truth of conception and birth had become clear. But to share those experiences now, she would have to reveal the loneliness that had accompanied them.

As soon as she stepped on deck, her spirits soared. Before Cam had mastered command of the ship, his father had often taken them sailing. One summer they'd sailed around the Orkney Islands. In her queenly way, Lottie had declared the
Highland Dream,
as the ship had been called then, their personal water conveyance.