True Heart (18 page)

“I have, with embarrassing results. Won't you please tell me?”

“You must understand. He is as a son to me. His mother, Suisan, wiped my brow and encouraged me through each of my travails. He watched you when I grew big with your sisters Lily and Rowena. When your papa ordered me to stay off my feet, Cameron visited me every day. He built me a lap loom and showed me how to weave to pass the time. I am sorry, but that must come from Cameron. Remember, both of your lives have changed.”

Perhaps he'd outgrown his love for Virginia. Then why was he so protective of her, and if love did not inspire his kisses, was that enough?

“Enough about that handsome Cunningham. Agnes tells me you wish to go to Glasgow rather than come home with us to Tain. I'd like to know why.”

*  *  *

A short time later, Juliet's and Lachian's trunks arrived. Mama went to supervise the unpacking. Virginia donned her tartan shawl and went downstairs. She felt light-headed with joy over the simple event of going to the market. She saw Cameron and her father in a corner of the tavern, but they were too deep in conversation to notice her departure.

Outside, her feet barely touched the boardwalk. She was alone, free. She could decide for herself the smallest of things—which direction to walk in, what to purchase. She could look people in the eye. No one would question her or look on her with pity.

The late-afternoon sunshine cast long shadows on the rutted lane. A haywagon rumbled past, and the boardwalk was crowded with all kinds of people. Seamen on shore leave tipped their hats as they passed. An elderly gentleman moved aside to give her the clean edge of the lane. Well-dressed matrons maneuvered their panniered skirts through storefronts, and children crowded around a carnival hawker who walked on stilts and tossed tin pennies.

The sound of conversations buzzed in Virginia's ears and reminded her of Sunday mornings in the slave hamlet.

The first regret blindsided her. She'd never see Merriweather again. Georgieboy could be sold to the neighbor, Mr. Pendergrast. Virginia would be spared the pain of watching him, chained and dragged away from his family.

“Thank you, God,” she murmured on a trembling breath. “Thank you for answering my prayers.”

In the mercer's shop, she bought ribbons, soap, embroidery thread, and two plain sleeping gowns.

“Two pounds, three,” said the clerk as she wrapped the items and tied the bundle with string.

Virginia counted out the coins. The clerk's eager expression made her smile and wonder. “Is the price fair?”

“Of course, my lady.”

A second clerk hissed, “She's the MacKenzie they come to fetch.”

“So? If that's true, she's got a long purse.”

Was Virginia being cheated because of who she was? Did everyone know? She cringed at the thought of strangers gossiping about her. She also realized that quality clothes didn't matter; she might as well be dressed in book muslin again.

Regardless, she would not let it spoil her first adventure by herself.

“Her hair's too short for quality folks,” the clerk said to her partner. To Virginia, she said, “Have the lice, did you?”

Virginia couldn't work in the fields with waistlength hair. The notion was laughable. Only house servants and sluggards who lived with lice had long hair, and Virginia couldn't abide filth.

Ignoring the remark seemed best. “Have you silver hair pins?”

“Got wood ones and combs too. You'll need the heavy ones.”

She brought out a box with dozens of hair ornaments. Given so many choices, Virginia grew confused. She chose several, plus a brush, comb, and hand mirror. The mirror was a luxury, but she wanted it.

“Sure you won't be needin' something for the lice?”

Virginia considered what Agnes or her mother would do in the situation. Perform a kindness, surely. So, she counted out four pence and put the coins on the counter. “Here's tuppence for each of you.”

The clerk withered in shame but still took the money. Her cohort stood tall. “Anyone speaks poorly of you, my lady, and they'll answer to my brother. He's a blacksmith.”

“Good day to you then.” Clutching the parcel, she returned to the excitement of the land.

“Virginia!”

Half a block away, she saw Cameron in a crowd, one arm raised to get her attention. Her heart fluttered at the sound of her name.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

He looked like a fire ready to spark. She wouldn't be the one to ignite it. “Following your advice. Why do you look ready to cosh someone?”

He took notice of his hands, balled into fists. Frowning, he propped them on his hips. “You shouldn't have gone out alone.”

From the bottom of her heart, she said, “I'm not ten years old any more.”

His expression turned possessive. “I know. If you do not discover my honest attributes before we get home to Scotland, I'll lose you to a horde of eligible dukes.”

Confused and happy at once, she responded in kind. “Who told you that?”

“ 'Twas an auspicious message of sorts.”

She thought of their trips to the children's circus in Tain. “A fortune teller?”

“Actually, 'twas a message I found in a bottle floating in the sea.”

She could tease with him on this subject. “Which sea?”

His expression turned comical. “May as well have been the Dead Sea for all the good it did me.” He held out his arm. “May I accompany you?”

Yes, yes, her heart cried. Never in her adult life had anyone asked her permission, but in a thousand maidenly dreams, Cam had. She hooked her arm in his.

“Mother thinks I should consider marrying Lindsay's heir.”

“If you wish to talk about other men, I shall go back to the tavern and drink myself below the table.”

“Will you carry my package?”

“I'll carry you if you tire.”

She couldn't stifle a gasp.

“Or if you'd just like to be carried.”

“I'd like to have a conversation with you without being outraged at every turn.”

“I'm on my Sunday-best behavior. How are you feeling?”

Now was not the time for honesty; she must put her plan into action. “I'm fine, except—I don't know where I belong.”

“Then I pray that is the first thing you recall.”

Virginia braced herself, for the game of remembering events of the past must begin. “I'm sorry to say it was not.”

“Was?” He stopped and probed her with a curious gaze. “What have you remembered?”

They'd created a jam in the foot traffic. An alcove between the milner and the jam shop offered a measure of privacy. Tugging his arm, she moved there.

“Well?”

She stared at his fancy neckcloth. “I remembered that you used to spit in my palm.”

“Truly?” He sounded relieved. Chuckling, he put his hand over his heart. “I promise never to do it again.”

She had expected him to hug her, to celebrate the moment. A longing for his affection had driven her to chose something about him for the first remembrance of her forgotten past.

“Must I sign a pact to convince you?”

Virginia shelved her disappointment. She hoped to return to the happy girl she'd been, but she was forced to concede that today was not the day.

Looking up at him, she squinted, even though they stood in shade. “Agnes was right about you.”

“Ha! Agnes has never been correct about me.”

“Even when she said you were a hero to the Scottish people?”

“My mother did the work. I only presented the request to Parliament.”

From Agnes she'd learned that the text of his speech had been sent to the king, who had considered knighting Cameron. “A man so modest would never spit in a girl's palm.”

He glanced up and followed the flight of a pigeon. Narrowing his eyes, he smiled. “What would you like for supper?”

“A companion who does not divert the conversation.”

His expression warmed. “Diversions can be pleasant.”

He said one thing and meant something else. A French term described it, but the words, taught by Sarah, had faded from Virginia's vocabulary. Not much use for the old tongue at Poplar Knoll. Bothered by the loss, she asked him for the words.

“Double entendre?”

“That's it.” She soaked up the knowledge.

His hand found her wrist. Her fingers reached for his. When they were joined, he said, “What else have you remembered, other than pranks I played?”

“That my father is the best man o' the Highlands.”

He nodded in greeting to an elderly couple and smugly said, “You heard Captain Brown say that.”

She clung to the simple joy she felt at acknowledging strangers out of respect. “Careful or I'll think you don't want me to remember.”

“You'll think I—?” He shook himself and his mood grew chilly. “Now would that be a Christian deed.”

His sarcasm puzzled her, and she grew defensive. “You're meaning is . . . ?”

“I thought the past would return to you in a snap of the fingers.”

An interesting answer, but it asked more questions. “No, the past comes back to me in bits and snatches.”

“What compels it? A sound or a color or a feeling?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I kissed you, did it summon a memory?”

He spoke casually; yet his attention was firmly fixed on her. “Yes, kissing you reminded me that I should know better.”

“Why? I'm the man you promised to marry. I'm the man who shared your every heartache, toothache, and bellyache.”

Maintaining the facade exhausted her. “Please, you must think of me as a stranger.”

“I could sooner hack off my right hand and toss it into the sea.”

The sheer honesty shamed her; at the touch of his lips on hers, she had seen a glimpse of the girl she'd been. Had she embraced the image too vigorously? “I don't know what to say, Cameron.”

“Cam,” he insisted. “You always called me Cam.”

A clever conversational nudge, she had to admit. “I'm certain the past will come back to me, Cam.”

“How can I help?”

“You already have, and Agnes has promised to aid me.”

“Believing her is a mistake.”

He'd said that before. Agnes proclaimed them as close as brother and sister. The search for Virginia had forged their friendship. “Even when she told me you asked to be named godfather to her new daughter?”

As if he were asking after the fit of her shoes, he said, “Care to share the duties with me?”

She almost tripped on her own feet; it was customary for husband and wife to fill the roles. “You're bold.”

“I was hoping for a yes rather than a character judgment.”

The hot edge to his tone sparked her defiance. “I'd
care
to consider it.”

He stopped at a fruit stand. “Then you haven't recalled the truly important things about us?” That poignancy spoken, he innocently said, “Apple? Or something else? Have whatever you like.”

He wouldn't get away with that. “Agnes was correct. Troll perfectly suits you.”

He winked and eyed the apples.

Leaving him to his deviltry, she let her gaze wander over the exotic bounty before her. Early melons, coconuts, oranges, and three shades of berries overflowed their baskets. Ordinary plums were considered a delicacy at Poplar Knoll. She eyed the candied figs. Her mouth watered, and she tried to remember how long since she'd been given a choice at mealtime. Had she ever tasted a coconut? She couldn't remember, yet she knew the word and recognized the nut. It was a true memory loss and annoying. Not only would she have to work at feigning knowledge of the past, she had to work to remember other things.

“Are you ignoring me? I've bored you.”

So befuddled was she by his easy charm, she lost the gist of the conversation. “What were we discussing?”

He laughed. “Our appetites.”

“Are you mocking me?”

As innocent as a spring lamb, he said, “By asking if you've made up your mind what to eat?” He indicated the baskets of fruit.

The vendor thumped an apple, then began polishing it on his apron. Cameron held up his hand, and the man tossed the fruit.

The sound of him biting into the crisp fruit made her stomach growl. But she couldn't make up her mind.

Cameron nudged her. He held the apple in his teeth and with his hands, picked up three coconuts. Leaning down, the apple in his mouth, he spoke to her with his eyes. “Take the apple,” he said without words.

She reached for it with her hand. He backed away. “Coward.”

Emboldened, she moved to him and sank her teeth into the unblemished side of the apple. A teasing light gleamed in his eyes. Or was it something serious?

After the trouble she'd had with a simple term like
double entendre,
how could she be expected to discern anything as complex as his thoughts?

He winked and let go of the apple. For an instant in time she felt adrift, felt herself waver. Inside she teetered on the edge of the very emotion she wanted from him: love. But without trust and honesty, affection had no foundation on which to grow.

“A coconut for your thoughts.” That said, he began to juggle the nuts.

She recalled the May Fair where he'd learned to juggle. He'd paid a gypsy to teach him.

“Come, Virginia, what are you thinking?”

“I had it in mind to ask if you were flirting with me.”

His hands faltered. The wickedness of their youth made her say, “You're bungling the juggle.”

The silliness of the exchange captured them both, and they giggled as they had a thousand times. It was the kind of spontaneous laughter that had drawn reprimands from their parents and jealousy from their siblings. He caught wayward coconuts, kept one, and asked the vendor for a knife. He pitched the nut into the air and with a downward slash of the machete, whacked the fruit in two. Milk splattered to the ground.