The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (5 page)

He gave a laugh, if she could call it that. There was little mirth in the sound.

She watched him curiously, wondering what heartache he was hiding and if it were over some lass. That thought took hold, and she found it impossible to resist prying further, “Surely, ye have some reason to live a better life, or womenfolk who care if ye lose your head?” Foolishly, she wanted his answer to be no.

The line of his head and shoulders tensed, and his tone sounded reserved. “Are ye asking if I’ve a lass waiting for me somewhere, Kate?”

She blushed that he had seen to the heart of her question, but she was scarce one to shy away. “I would think a man like ye would have a lass safely tucked away in each town ye pass through,” she replied pertly.

She expected him to laugh, but he answered quietly, “I’ve no one waiting for me anywhere, and I’ll keep it that way, Kate. I was not jesting when I told ye that I’m cursed.”

Finding that response far more intriguing than any other could have been, Kate leaned forward in the cart. “Ach, now, have ye turned to thievery for the lack of another soul caring for ye? ‘Tis a poor choice! A braw man like ye could even sail the seas! Surely, anything would be better than finding a noose about your neck if ye be caught wearing such stolen finery as ye have on your back right now!”

Cameron set the cart down carefully and faced her. The moon was bright enough that she could easily see that his dark eyes gleamed with mirth. “Are ye trying to save my wicked soul?”

“I’m not sure that ye can be saved,” she teased, impulsively tapping the crease in his chin with her finger.

His hand lifted instinctively, as if to brush her away. It was a gesture of someone unused to being touched.

Kate found her heart tugging even more. While never wealthy, she had always lived in a family filled with an abundance of love and laughter. “In faith, Cameron, but ye seem to be a poor, lonely soul,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

“Nay, not so much,” he replied distantly, drawing back. With a shrug, he took the cart back up and continued down the hill.

She tried several more attempts at conversation, but he remained silent, and she lapsed into silence herself until they finally arrived at the almshouse.

The bright moon illuminated the long, low building in a flood of light. Once, it had been a fine charity under the care of monks, but some years ago, a resurgence of the plague had slain them all. Now, the almshouse struggled to handle the destitute, the ill, and the elderly within its walls. The roof was in poor repair, and there was little to eat.

Setting the cart down, Cameron swung Kate down with an easy arm, but he was distracted, his dark eyes locked upon the almshouse in dismay.

“Aye, ‘tis right glad I’ll be to sleep elsewhere this night.” Kate shook Cameron’s cloak from her shoulders, folded it neatly, and handed it back to him. “Though my heart hurts for those I’ll be leaving behind.”

Cameron lifted a querying brow.

“Come!” Kate crooked a finger and beckoned him to follow.

Stepping through the low doorway, she led him into the dark interior and familiar rank stench, watching as he ducked his head and followed. In the corner of the room, a single candle flickered on the windowsill, revealing dark forms huddled on the floor around it.

Allowing a moment for her eyes to adjust, Kate picked her way over the sea of coughing, hacking, and snoring forms to the adjoining room.

“Is that ye, Kate?” a weak voice asked from the shadows.

A rat squeaked nearby.

“Aye, father!” Kate replied brightly. “I’ve come to take ye away now, as I swore I would!”

“Ach, lass, what foolishness is this?” Her father’s voice shook.

Stepping over several sleeping figures, Kate knelt next to him. “I’ve a room at Maura’s now, and I’ve a cart here to take ye there.”

Her father struggled to sit up, and she hurriedly slipped her arm under his thin shoulders, helping him to rise. The moonlight streamed through the cracks in the roof, lighting his face.

He had once been a strong, hearty man. His shoulders had been broad and his hands steady. A fisherman by trade, he had often taken his young daughters with him in his tiny boat. Kate could still remember the countless, pleasurable hours fishing with her father and younger sister, gliding over the shiny loch that reflected the blue sky and white clouds like a mirror. It seemed a lifetime ago before the fever had struck them all, taking the life of her mother and sister, leaving her father weak and blind, but Kate untouched. She still didn’t understand it.

“Who is that with ye, my sweet bairn?” Her father shifted his head to the side.

Shaking off her sad thoughts, Kate gripped his hands tightly. “’Tis an angel sent to help us. His name is Cameron.”

“Hardly an angel,” Cameron disagreed softly from behind her. “But I am at your service, sir.”

“The Saints be praised!” Her father’s voice trembled with unshed tears. “Then, ye spoke true?” He began to cough, covering his mouth with the back of his arm.

“Can ye stand?” Kate asked when his coughing fit subsided. “Ye’ll have to walk to the cart, father.”

He tried, but he was far too weak. Kate was on the verge of tears herself to see this once proud, strong man reduced to such a state, but she had little time to indulge in sadness. Pursing her lips, she frowned and forced a strong voice. “Ye’ll have to stand. I canna carry ye…”

“Step aside, lass,” Cameron’s deep voice ordered kindly.

In one swift movement, Cameron scooped her frail father up in his strong arms and threaded his way through the sleeping forms on the floor to the door.

Hurriedly, Kate scrambled to collect their possessions. They didn’t have much, only a few bits of ribbon, her mother’s hairbrush, and a candlestick to evoke the cherished memories of their former life. By the time she had finished tying the bundle and hurried out of the almshouse, Cameron had finished tucking his fine cloak about her father’s feeble form.

“Are ye ready, Kate?” Cameron looked down upon her with unreadable dark eyes.

Clutching her precious bundle close, she nodded, and giving the almshouse a long, last look, straightened her shoulders and marched up the street with Cameron pushing her father closely behind.

The journey back to Maura’s cottage was a silent one, each comfortable with their own thoughts. Maura’s stone cottage looked inviting, even in the moonlight. Several fruit trees flowered on one side of the tiny stone building, while an herb bed graced the other. It was untended, still tangled with the dry brown weeds of the year before, but Kate already had plans to make it ready for planting on the morrow. Soon, the hedges, trees and the brown herb bed would be bursting with life. She felt it was a sign. Perhaps she and her father were finally emerging from their ill luck and on the verge of a new life.

The cottage was dark, signaling Maura had not yet returned. Strangely relieved, Kate lifted the latch and pushed the door open as Cameron once again gathered her father in his strong arms and carried him over the threshold.

Kate proudly led them to the back room. A small window allowed enough moonlight to filter through to show the straw pallet on the floor, a three-legged stool, several woolen blankets, and a small hearth. Aye, the room was tiny, but it was free of fleas and rats, and smelled only of spring, not the rank odor of the almshouse.

As Cameron gently set her father down on the pallet, Kate slipped into the main room for coals and peat, returning to coax a fire on the hearth. In moments, meager flames licked the peat, and Kate sat back on her heels with a contented sigh.

“Ye did well, my wee one.” Her father laughed weakly from behind her.

Turning, she found him comfortably settled, clutching the top of the woolen blankets with his swollen knuckles. Sweat rolled off his brow. He was still clearly unwell.

“Ye shouldna worry so, lassie.” He nodded his head in her direction. “I may be blind, but I can still see ye worry too much, my wee bairn.”

Kate’s lips split into a smile. Her father knew her well.

“And, Cameron, bless ye, lad.” Her father dipped his chin to where Cameron leaned against the wall. “Ye’ve been a godsend this day. How can I ever repay ye, lad?”

“I’ve done naught that requires it, sir.” Cameron shook his head.

As they began to murmur, Kate returned to Maura’s room to borrow a kettle and a handful of oats. She’d repay her in the morning, but her father needed to eat now. Placing the kettle on the hook over the fire, she bent to kiss him on the forehead.

“I’ve the cart to return to the Fletcher now, and I’m not of the mind to make enemies with the man’s wife,” she said. “By the time I return, the gruel will be ready.”

“I’ll take the cart back for ye, lass, if ye lead the way.” Cameron stepped forward. With a slight bow to her father, he bid his farewell. “’Twas an honor to meet ye, sir.”

And then she stood, once again, in the moonlight as Cameron lifted the cart. For a moment, she was oddly shy. But only for a moment. She was not the retiring sort, and the air of intrigue about the man was fascinating. As they set off to the Fletcher’s, she shook her head. “In faith, Cameron, but I wouldna be pleased to find ye dangling from a tree, ye’ve been far too kind this day.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “I swear I’ll not allow myself to be hanged.”

“There’s honest work to be had in Stirling,” she continued. “And even more in Edinburgh.”

“I’m afraid I must stay in Stirling, at present,” Cameron replied with a bitter lift of his brow.

“Ach, well, that is good then,” she said. Skipping to keep up with his long stride, she couldn’t resist prying. “So, ‘tis revenge that brings ye here, then?”

He gave a slight humph and murmured in a restrained tone, “If only it were that simple.”

“Oh?” Her eyes lit with interest.

“Nay, I’ll not unburden my sorrows on ye, lass.” His voice was gentle. “Ye clearly have enough.”

His voice was so soft and kind that Kate caught her breath. Staring straight ahead, she found herself saying, “My father was a brawny sailor once, sailing the seas until he met my mother. She was so afraid to lose him that she forced him to turn to fishing, and a fine fisherman he was! He often took us with him to the lochs ...” She blinked back tears, stubbornly refusing to shed them.

“Us?” Cameron asked quietly.

“Aye, my mother and my wee sister, Joan,” Kate replied gruffly. “’Twas the fever that took them both and stole my father’s strength and eyes. I’m the only one who didna take ill.” She clenched her fists and forced herself to continue. Perhaps it would be easier to forget if she said the words instead of keeping them locked in her heart. “We had to leave … we lost everything and the villagers didna take kindly to the fact that I wasna taken ill like the rest. They swore ‘twas the devil’s work.”

“Fools!” Cameron growled in a low voice.

His response made Kate smile. “Aye, but there is some perverse amusement to be had.” Her smile broadened. “We fled because they accused me of witchery, simply because I didna fall ill. And here I’ve earned our keep by selling charms as I find I’m still named a witch, but ‘tis a respectful title here.”

He didn’t share her amusement. “While the highlands may still hold witches in high esteem, lass, matters are shifting in the lowlands. I’d not let others name ye as such.”

“Ach, now, I’ve hopes to find other work.” Kate blithely shrugged her shoulders and pointed to the Fletcher’s house. “Just set the cart down here, and ye’ll be free of me, sir!”

She watched him roll the cart to its place under the pear tree, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He would go now, and she would probably never see the man again.

He strode back to tower over her, and silence fell between them.

Finally, she dipped a curtsey. “I canna thank ye properly for all that ye have done for me this day.”

“There is no need, lass.” He bowed in reply. It was an elegant, courtly bow.

Giving into impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and pulled his head down. She meant to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek, but he turned his head at the last moment and covered her lips with his.

His kiss was soft and tender, sending a shiver down her spine. She was lost in the sensation of it until the light touch of his hand cupping her jaw jolted her to her senses. Abruptly, she tore her lips from his.

He drew back warily, but with a glint of humor in his eye, he asked, “Are ye going to slap me again?”

Ignoring the pink tingeing her cheeks, she rolled her eyes. “I shouldna have anything to do with the likes of ye!” She placed her hands on her hips. “I’m an upright, hard-working lass who knows better than to keep company with outlaws!”

“I’ve no dishonorable intentions …” he began with a wry expression.

But she was no longer listening to his words. His lips were extraordinarily fascinating, finely chiseled, begging to be touched. And, oh, the dash in the middle of his chin cried out for her fingertips. Unwilling to think, lest she lose her courage, she gave into her desire and burying her fingers in the cloth of his cloak gathered about his throat, roughly pulled him close and kissed him fiercely.

He melded his mouth to hers at once in a wildly passionate, deep, and feverish way. Emotions she had never known to exist exploded through her, and this time, he was the one to wrench away, breathing hard.