The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (36 page)

The night was nearly over when he returned once more to his chambers.

He lay on his bed, but sleep eluded him.

Painful memories pierced his heart, memories of Kate’s sparkling brown eyes, her cheerful laughter, and the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled. Memories of the nights they had made passionate love, the feel of her soft skin and warm lips against his.

Rising to his feet, he paced before the window, his long fingers clutching the gray cloth of Kate’s bodice that he kept close to his heart.

The candle on the writing desk flickered.

Moving to stare at the parchment resting there, he lightly traced his finger over the accursed document accusing Kate of witchcraft. It was his last bond to her existence. He could not bring himself to destroy it. Not yet.

“Where are ye, Kate?” he whispered as he had countless times in the past few months. “Where are ye?”

He gripped the tattered bodice tighter and closed his eyes.

Ach, fate ever sought to torment him, but he would not give up. He would never stop seeking her.

And then slowly, a deep, abiding anger welled up inside him.

It grew stronger with each passing moment, until striking the desk with his fist, he raised his voice and cursed destiny itself, “No matter how hard ye try to wrest her away from me, I’ll only hold on tighter!”

As if in answer, the candle flickered in a sudden draft.

After a moment, he leaned forward and blew it out, preferring the complete darkness. It suited his mood.

Moving to the window, he threw open the shutters. The waning moon illuminated the rooftops of the surrounding town and glistened on the waters of the Firth of Forth far below. It would have been a peaceful scene if not for the suffering in his heart.

Wearily, he ran his hand over his face.

Each day was an endless torture, another day of woe. Would the torment ever end?

Again, the anger rose, stronger this time.

Ach, if he could, he would slap destiny in the face.

He began to pace like a caged animal when a new thought struck him.

Aye, he
could
slap destiny in the face. He could wed his Kate this very night.

The thought caught hold, giving him strength.

Striding across the chamber, he flung the door open, shouting to his men in the darkened antechamber, “Send for a priest at once!”

He’d marry her this very day.

And as an afterthought, he added, “Send for Princess Anabella straightway!”

Aye, he’d have his marriage witnessed as well, witnessed so never again could the king force him to wed another.

The sky had begun to lighten, signaling the arrival of the sun, and as he waited, the faint glow on the horizon flowered into an array of dazzling colors, heralding in the new day.

A shaft of sunlight fell upon the parchment on his desk, and Cameron found himself peering down at the wretched document once more. With a sudden flare of anger, he caught it up and viciously ripped it into shreds. Kicking the fire back into life, he watched with a measure of satisfaction as the feeble flames rose to consume it.

The priest arrived then, a man clad in brown woolen robes and with tonsured gray hair. He listened to Cameron with kind, green eyes before sitting at the desk to scribe a document proclaiming Kate Ferguson as Cameron’s wife, the Countess of Lennox.

The man’s quill was still sliding across the parchment when Princess Anabella arrived with Lady Elsa and Lady Nicoletta at her heels. The three women stared at him in outright alarm.

“What is the meaning of this?” the princess demanded harshly. “What ill has befallen us?”

With a stoic expression, Cameron replied, “I would have ye bear witness to my marriage.”

Princess Anabella blinked. She glanced about the chamber, clearly bewildered. “Marriage?”

“Aye, this day I wed Kate,” Cameron answered through the sudden knot rising in his throat.

There was a stilted silence.

Then the princess asked gruffly, “What madness is this?”

“Call it madness if ye will.” Cameron clenched his jaw. “But never will I wed another.”

His voice caught, and he fell silent.

The priest dipped his quill in the ink, the tip scratching loudly in the silence. And then, sprinkling the wet ink with sand, he rose to his feet and bowed to Cameron. “I am ready, my lord.”

“Then we will begin,” Cameron murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

“Wait, my lord!”

Cameron glanced back to see Lady Elsa nervously stepping forward.

With fluttering fingers, she dipped into a timid curtsey. “Allow me to stand as a proxy for Kate, I beg of you, my lord. My last words to her were … harsh and unkind.” Her lips trembled and, dropping her eyes, she added in a voice barely above a whisper, “And I would seek forgiveness for such cruelty.”

Cameron hesitated, but her eyes were sincere, and grimly nodding his permission, he knelt before the priest as Lady Elsa timorously joined him in a rustle of silk.

It did not take long. It was over in minutes. And then Lady Elsa rose to move away.

But Cameron remained as he was.

Aye, he’d wed his Kate. But would he ever hold her in his arms again?

Hot tears choked his throat as a wave of grief rose to overpower him.

A low sound of despair escaped his lips as he sagged against the edge of the desk. And then with a great, shuddering gasp of air, he began to weep. Violent, harsh sobs tore from his throat, racking his entire body.

Hushed, hurried voices sounded about him, but he paid them no heed and soon was alone. He wept as if his heart would break. Aye, his heart had broken. He could not live without her. He could not live without his Kate.

Finally, Cameron drew a long, ragged breath and fell silent with a sense of loss beyond tears.

And then he heard Lord Julian Gray’s familiar deep voice drawl, “Ach, but ye look ghastly, Cameron.” Julian approached and gave his shoulders a rough shake. “Rise up, ye fool!”

Cameron did not respond.

“Get ye on your feet, lad!” Julian groaned as he half prodded, half lifted him to stand upright before handing him a goblet of wine. “Drink this first. Ye’ll need it.”

Cameron stared at it woodenly.

“Drink it!” Julian jiggled the goblet a little, shoving it into his hands.

Cameron bolted it down in a single draught and then turned to leave when Julian blocked his way. With a grim look, Cameron murmured, “Step aside, Julian. What more do ye want from me?”

“I want ye to ride, Cameron,” Julian replied grimly, but there was a look of compassion in his gray eyes. “We leave at once. Ruan MacLeod has sore need of ye in Dunvegan. ‘Twill do your heart good to leave this accursed place. I swear I’ll find your Kate, lad.”

Cameron closed his eyes.

Ach, what evil cloud had descended upon Scotland that now it had even touched upon Ruan and Skye?

But Julian did not allow him to even think. Tossing a cloak over his shoulders, the young lord pulled Cameron out to where the horses were already saddled. And then they were galloping madly down the cobblestoned streets of Edinburgh.

Aye, Cameron thought dully, ‘twould do him good to leave this accursed place.

Julian set a furious pace, riding low on the neck of his horse as they galloped west until the Firth of Forth turned into a river. Taking a northerly road, they ran their horses over the swelling and falling moorlands, across fields of upland flowers, and through stands of birch growing on the shores of the narrow, winding lochs.

For days, they rested little and spoke even less, stopping only when the horses were in a lather, until they finally stood on the western shores where the waves shattered the cliffs hanging over the sea.

A boat took them to Skye then, sailing up the coast under an immeasurable expanse of blue sky as sea-birds drifted in the wind over their heads. And though it took hours, it seemed only minutes before they saw the Three Maidens, the three isolated pillars of rock standing in the sea just beyond the mighty cliffs that signaled they were close to Dunvegan. And shortly after, the familiar walls of Dunvegan Castle appeared, rising high on its green-and-purple islet, close to the wild shores of the sea loch.

They had no sooner arrived at the sea-gate than Cameron leapt from the boat, with Julian at his heels. And he had taken only a few steps up the stone passageway before Isobel hurried down to greet him.

“Cameron!” The woman’s eyes lit with pleasure. “I’ve missed your silver tongue, lad!” And then taking one look at his face, she gasped, “What has happened?”

Bowing politely over her hand, Cameron replied grimly, “I came the moment I received Ruan’s summons, Isobel. Is he well?”

Isobel frowned. “Summons? Ruan didna send for ye, lad! What are ye speaking of?”

Cameron held still.

And then Julian sauntered to his side and draped a casual arm about his shoulders. “Ach, perhaps I was a wee bit mistaken. But now that we are here, let’s at least greet the man, Cameron!”

Chapter Sixteen - Dunvegan

Kate hovered over the small writing desk in her tower room, biting the tip of her quill in frustration.

She eyed the letter she had been struggling with for several days and cringed.

Sir Arval would have been right disappointed in her.

Composing her own letter had proven to be much harder than she had thought. Blotches of ink splattered over the parchment, blotting out half of the words. Ach, she didn’t even recognize half of them herself anymore. The entire letter-writing effort had been a laborious and disappointing affair. She wished she had paid more heed to what the kind Frenchman had attempted to teach her at Craigmillar.

Sighing, she rose to her feet and opening the wooden chest next to the bed, carefully laid the parchment atop a fine plaid that Bree had given her the evening before. It was a fine garment, a symbol welcoming her into their clan, but she could not bring herself to wear it. Not yet.

She didn’t want to let Cameron go. Ach, why did the father of her bairn have to be an earl with royal ties? As if sensing her thoughts, the baby kicked. She smiled. Cameron’s bairn was a strong one, constantly kicking her through the night.

She heaved a wistful sigh.

If only Cameron truly were a thief, they could have wed and shared a humble home with their sweet bairn. She knew Lady Elsa was right; he could only wed a lady of high birth. But the very thought of that tore Kate’s heart asunder. How could she bear that?

There were moments when she wondered if the letter was better left unfinished.

Perhaps she was better off not knowing.

“Ach, Kate, it does ye no good stewing over matters ye canna control!” she wryly criticized herself, and with a sad smile, placed a protective hand over her expanding belly and left her tower room. Holding onto the rope that spanned the length of the stair, she carefully navigated down to encounter Bree walking her way.

The Lady of Dunvegan wore a blue, woolen gown with a brown and yellow plaid flung over her shoulders. Balancing her dark-haired son on her hip, she waved as the bairn giggled, and grabbing a fistful of her brown curls, began to yank.

“Roderick MacLeod! If you have your way, I swear I’ll be balder than your grandfather soon!” Bree frowned at her son, but her voice was rich with laughter. Extracting his chubby fingers from her hair, she sent Kate a look of amused exasperation.

Smiling, Kate reached forward to pinch the bairn’s cheek playfully.

Roderick giggled and clapped his hands.

“And where are you off to, Kate?” Bree lifted a suspicious brow. “I’ll not have you in the scullery scrubbing pots again!”

“Ach, but I’m not one to stay idle, my lady.” Kate’s eyes twinkled as she caught the bairn’s hands and waved them back and forth. Soon she’d have her own babe to play with. The thought made her throat constrict, and it was a moment before she could continue. “I’m fair restless. I canna sit still.”

“Then keep Merry company instead!” Bree suggested with a laugh.

Kate smiled, shaking her head in wonder. “I wish I could, but I fear I canna ride wild stallions on the moor nor shoot an arrow with such skill!”

“Yes, she’s quite an uncommon—” Bree began when Isobel and Afraig appeared at the end of the passageway.

With their hands on their hips, the two old women began to bicker, rolling their eyes and huffing.

Bree’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “It seems as if I’m needed, Kate. Ruan and I figured that today it would be time for another battle. They’ve been unusually friendly to each other the past four days.”

Kate suppressed a giggle. She’d already heard enough from Isobel to know that although the women engaged in continual spats, their respect for each other ran deep.

Bree was halfway down the corridor when she shot a warning over her shoulder. “And, I had better not find you in the scullery, Kate!”

Kate smiled. Both Bree and Ruan were beyond kind. Smoothing her skirts, she headed to the kitchens anyway.