True Heart (2 page)

“We are cerebral creatures, even in our stitchery.”

They'd plowed this conversational field often over the years. “Cerebral.” He pretended to ponder it as he stared at the message on the pillow. The sentiment of the words filled him with pride. “For a thinker you're doing some very earthy things with your other hand.”

“Then I'll allow you a moment to gather your priorities.”

“Gather holds great appeal.” Which is what he did to her skirts, exposing her legs and moving his hand up her thigh. He found bare skin. “No little silks? You're bold, Juliet.”

She fairly preened. “The last time you lured me into the stables you took my underclothing and wouldn't give it back. Agnes made a show of returning the garment to me on the occasion of the vicar's next visit. Virginia spilled her tea and soiled her best gown.”

Two months to the day after Kenneth had been born, Lachian had enticed his wife into the loft. They'd spent the day loving, laughing, and napping in their pursuit of happiness. She was the sun to his day. The moon to his night. The joy to his soul. The love in his heart.

He worked his hand higher. “We were also interrupted that day.”

The interruption had come when she'd asked him to give her another child. He'd refused. She'd respected his wishes.

“ 'Twas a rough argument 'tween us.” She mimicked his Scottish speech, but beneath the mockery lay regret, for she'd carried his children with ease and birthed them with joy. Five babes of her own had not been enough for his Juliet. Counting his illegitimate daughters, nine children were plenty for Lachian.

“You're wonderful,” he said.

“I thought I was the moon to your night.”

“Aye, you are.”

“The rain in your spring?”

“And the skip in my step.”

She pretended to pout but spoiled it by chuckling. “The thorn in your side?”

He blurted, “The bane of this loving if you laugh like that again.”

She giggled low in her belly, more dangerous than full-out laughter. Still in the throes of mirth, she said, “Do you recall the morning I seduced you in Smithson's wood house?”

Lachian did. “Hothouse better describes it. Actually I was remembering the time you tied me to the bed at Kinbairn Castle.”

“You made a delicious captive except for that one request you refused me.”

Had she been cunning, Juliet could have gotten herself with child that day, for she had ruled their passion. “I prevailed.”

“A winning day for both of us, but—” Something caught her attention. “Look.” She pointed to the ceiling.

Craning his neck, Lachian saw a piece of parchment secured to the rafter with an arrow. Printed on parchment in Sarah's familiar handwriting were the words We love you, Mama.

Fatherly love filled him. Knowing he'd bring Juliet here, the lassies had left the pillow so he could see the affectionate words. Mary, the best archer of the four, had secured the note in a spot where Juliet couldn't miss the loving words. Even though she wasn't their mother, they thought of her that way. But the positioning of the messages left no doubt that the girls knew Lachian and Juliet would be making love in the loft today.

On that lusty thought, he burrowed beneath her skirts and feasted on her sweetest spot.

Too soon she tugged on his hair. “Please, love.”

He growled softly, triggering the first tremor in her surrender to passion. The beauty of her unfettered response moved him to his soul. But when she quieted, he eased up and over her, wedging himself into the cradle of her loins. His own need raging, he entered her, but not quickly or deeply enough, for she lifted her hips and locked her legs around him.

Lust almost overwhelmed him. “Say you're wearing one of those sponges.” The sponges were the second most dependable way to control the size of their family.

Her slow smile struck fear in his heart. She wasn't wearing the sponge. If she moved so much as a muscle below the waist, he'd spill his seed, weighting the odds that she'd conceive again.

With his eyes he told her no.

Juliet's smile turned to resignation, and she mouthed the words, “No ill feelings, love.” He didn't need to hear the sound of the words; he'd heard them many times in the last three years. She waited until he'd mastered his passion. Then she reached into her bodice and retrieved a small corked bottle. With a flick of her thumb, she sent the cap sailing into the hay. The smell of lilac-scented water teased his nose.

To tease her, he pulled the wet sponge from the bottle. “Excuse me for a moment.” He put the sponge between his teeth, leered at her, and again burrowed beneath her skirts.

Primed, sleek, and ready, she awaited him. In his most inventive move to date, he inserted the sponge, then brought her to completion a second time.

“I want you now,” she said between labored breaths.

Obliging her came easy to Lachian. Just when he'd joined their bodies again and began to love her in earnest, voices sounded below.

“You must let me go with you,” said a very disgruntled Virginia MacKenzie.

Lachian groaned. Juliet slapped a hand over his mouth.

He knew to whom Virginia was speaking: her betrothed, Cameron Cunningham. Hoping they wouldn't stay long, Lachian returned his attention to Juliet.

*  *  *

Praying for patience, Cameron followed Virginia into the last stall. “You cannot go with me.”

She stopped and folded her arms. “Why not?”

The greatest adventure of his life awaited Cameron. For the first time he would command the family ship, the
Highland Dream
himself. With MacAdoo Dundas as his first mate and Briggs McCord as his mentor, Cameron would sail to China. Years from now, after he and Virginia were married, he'd sail around the world with her. For now, reason seemed prudent. “Your father will not let you go.”

“He needn't know until we are under way. I'll leave him a note.”

“Well, then, it wouldn't be proper.”

“Proper?” Her dark blue eyes glittered with temper, and her pretty complexion flushed with anger. She pointed to the sapphire and pearl ring he'd given her earlier in the day. “We're betrothed. That should be reason enough. Papa knows you will not ravish me. I haven't even gotten my menses yet.”

From another female the remark would have sparked outrage, but Cameron had known Virginia MacKenzie since the day of her christening ten years ago. His ears still ached when he remembered how long and loudly she'd cried. He'd been eight years old at the time. He'd fostered here at Rosshaven. He'd learned husbandry from Lachian MacKenzie, the best man o' the Highlands. The announcement earlier today of Virginia's betrothal to Cameron had been a formality. Their marriage, five years hence, would mark the happiest day of his life. She was his special friend, his conscience. Once, she'd saved his life; a dozen times, she'd saved his pride. Their parents heartily approved, for the union would unite the families.

He told her a lie and the least hurtful refusal. “You cannot go with me to France.” He was actually sailing for China. She'd learn that truth from her father on the morrow.

“Lottie says you're going for manly pleasures, but she will not tell me what that means.”

“Lottie's making mischief.” Lottie MacKenzie was one of the duke's first family of children. In 1761, Lachian MacKenzie had gone to London to convince the Hanoverian king to give back the lands and titles Lachian's father had forfeited after the Jacobite rebellion of '45. Less than a year later, Lachian had returned with the ducal coronet of Ross and four illegitimate daughters: Lottie, Sarah, Mary, and Agnes. A year younger than Cameron, the girls had each been sired on a different woman. They had been born within weeks of each other. The duke of Ross had raised his daughters himself. He'd also spoiled them.

Cameron had learned that lesson the hard way. “Pay Lottie no mind.”

A blush of uncertainty stained Virginia's cheeks. “You haven't noticed my new dress. Don't you like it?”

Cameron had heard that coy tone often. “Aye, but I don't like you mimicking Agnes's wily ways.”

“What ever do you mean?”

With three sirens and a scholar for mentors, Virginia had always seemed older than her age. But Cameron knew her better than anyone. In the company of her family, she behaved as a proper daughter and role model for her younger siblings, Lily, Rowena, Cora, and Kenneth. When alone with Cameron, the adventurous Virginia came to life.

He used a method that had worked successfully in the past. “I'll bring you back a surprise.”

“I want no more surprises. I have a trunk full of trinkets, pretty cloths, and flowery perfumes. You took me to Glasgow last year.”

“My parents sailed with us.”

“I want to go to France.”

“Not this time, Virginia.”

“But everything's formal now, and I've made us a symbol of our own.” From the fancy wrist bag that matched her blue satin dress, she produced a white silk scarf. “See?”

Fashioned after the ancient clan brooches, the design stitched on the cloth featured a ring of stylistic hearts with an arrow running through.

“The arrow is from the badge of your mother's people, Clan Cameron. The hearts are in honor of our friendship and love, which will be timeless.” No flush of embarrassment accompanied the declaration. “It took me ever so long to think it up and a week of nights here in the stables to stitch it. 'Tis a secret. I wanted you to see it before everyone else. I've saved all of my money. In France, I'll have it set in gold or silver.”

Cameron voiced his first thought. “ 'Tis feminine for a man to wear hearts.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “That's a wretched thing to say. I've made it just for us and our children.”

Immediately defensive, Cameron stood his ground but murmured, “Oh, I'm sorry then. I was surprised is all.”

“Then don't disappoint me again. Take me with you.”

“Nay.”

Now desperate, she looked around the stables, as if a better argument hid there. She found it. “Go without and I'll let Jimmy Anderson kiss me.”

Cameron's temper flared. Virginia MacKenzie was his; no other man would have her. “Do and you'll be sorry.” He could have kissed her, but she was too young yet; intimacy between them would come later.

“I'll cancel the betrothal if you leave me here.”

His pride stinging, Cameron tucked the scarf into his sleeve and headed for the door. “Cancel it if you wish. I only agreed to please my parents.”

“Liar! You said that to hurt me because you're a coward.”

She spoke the truth, but if he didn't make an exit now, she'd probably talk him into taking her and in the doing gain the substantial wrath of her father. “You cannot come with me, and your father is only part of the reason.”

Virginia gave up the fight. Cam didn't mean those hurtful words; he just wanted another manly adventure. But she was tired of hearing his tales of visits to exotic ports of call. She wanted to see them for herself with him. He was always flitting off to France or to the Baltic. But this time was different; the precious sapphire ring on her finger stood as proof of that. She would not be left behind.

In preparation, she'd convinced Sarah to teach her French. Lottie had tutored her on etiquette. Agnes had explained French currency. Mary had given her an appreciation of the artisans of France. She'd make Cameron proud, and she'd help him sail his ship.

As she watched her best friend leave the stables, Virginia didn't need to argue the point. By the time Cam's ship sailed tomorrow, she'd be tucked securely in the hold of the
Highland Dream.
Or perhaps she'd stowaway in the crow's nest. She liked to play up there.

Papa would be very angry, but with Lottie's wedding approaching, he wouldn't come after Virginia. Not if she were with Cameron.

Glasgow Harbor

1789

Cameron swung a canvas bag onto his shoulder and stepped onto the quay in Glasgow Harbor. No one awaited him, only an elegant residence with loyal servants. When compared to his youthful expectations, his life was empty, and the realization saddened him.

Pain no longer accompanied memories of Virginia. Only a deep sense of loss. Hours after his departure on that first trip to China almost ten years ago, Virginia had disappeared without a trace. Thinking she might have sailed with Cameron, her father had sent a ship after the
Highland Dream.
Upon learning of her disappearance, Cameron had wanted to turn back and look for her, but the duke of Ross had forbidden him to cancel the costly voyage. The duke had been certain that he could find his missing daughter.

They'd failed of course, and Cameron had learned to live with a soul full of regret.

“I'll wager a quid Agnes has another son,” said his companion, MacAdoo, speaking of Lachian MacKenzie's firstborn daughter, who had married the earl of Cathcart five years before.