True Heart (24 page)

“You will. Have you remembered anything else?”

“Yes. I remembered that you owe me twenty pounds.”

What an interesting occasion to recall; it had been a merry time and one of the last they'd shared. “Then you remember the wager?”

“Yes.”

She'd been nine, he seventeen. She had declared that she could gain entry into a gaming club he had just joined. She'd been reckless with jealousy over it; he'd been outraged as only a cocky youth could be.

“You knew I would dress as a boy and try to get in.”

Leaning back, he checked the stars and made a minor correction at the helm. “I didn't think you'd enlist MacAdoo's help and come as the prince of . . . I cannot remember the place.”

She trailed her hand over the railing, a fond smile curling her lips. “Valtavia.”

“An invented place.”

“The doorman believed me, and the patrons bought me brandy.”

“Moncrief offered you his mistress.”

“That's when I took my leave . . . without your twenty pound forfeit.”

“A pleasant recollection, nay?”

“Most assuredly.”

He took one hand off the wheel and stepped back. “Do you remember piloting the ship?”

As a girl, she'd stood on a box before him. He'd taught her the names of constellations and the phases of the moon. No longer that lanky lad, he stood at the helm of his ship like a king ruling all he surveyed.

Determined to have a cordial exchange, she stepped in front of him and grasped the wheel.

He tapped the compass, which he used only in poor weather. “Keep her north by northeast.”

“I will.”

“We shared a pallet on this very deck. Have you remembered that?”

Getting this close to him was a mistake. “Cameron, we are strangers.”

“Your memories of us together are fond?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I think we should make a new memory.”

He spun her around and, with a hand around her waist, pulled her against his chest. Before she could draw breath, he kissed her. They swayed in perfect harmony to the movement of the deck. She should break the kiss, stop the seduction, but she'd spent too many lonely nights reliving his embrace and remembering the absolute peace she felt in his arms.

To her surprise, he broke the kiss. “We'll consider that our first kiss.”

She didn't know whether to laugh or scoff.

“Are you mocking me?” he demanded.

“Are you expecting me to go along with that ridiculous farce?”

“By all means.”

He'd use those means, any means, and although she wanted his love more than she could say, she would not yield to him again. She told him the truth. “You have me at the disadvantage.”

Against her cheek, he said, “Having you at all was once a dream to me.”

If she didn't keep her wits, he'd steal her last independent thought.

“Before you disappeared, I took you for granted, tragically so.”

“We parted badly?”

“I was rude and callous.”

She'd been demanding and selfish. Peevish and wilting. Why, then, did he shoulder the blame when she had been at fault? Because he recalled their lovemaking without guilt.

“Nothing will ever hurt you again, Virginia.”

He couldn't know that she'd suffered a hundred heartbreaks before reaching Poplar Knoll. Once there, when the cruelties began, she'd begged for the very protection he freely offered. She curled her arms around him. Muscles rippled beneath her fingers as they swayed in rhythm with the movement of the deck.

“You'll be old and haughty before danger again finds you.”

Much more of his tender persuasion, and she'd forget her last scruple and fall into his arms. “Haughty?”

“Phrased in nobler terms, I'm sure.”

The honesty intimacy in the exchange was new. In her experience people didn't show so much of themselves, but those in bondage had little, save their private thoughts, to call their own. It was another advantage of being free, and she grasped it. “By then, you'll be a master at verbal persuasion.”

“I'll have to be, now won't I?”

He might have patted her head, so coddled did she feel. She leaned back and looked up at him. The ocean breeze rippled against her back, but the warmth of the man infused her. Tall and strong, he loomed before her, obliterating visions of the youth he'd been and recalling memories of their loving. His eyes were closed; yet he held the wheel steady and steered into the wind. His lazy grin did dangerous things to her resolve.

To break the spell, she said, “Are we on course?”

He gave her a broad smile and moved closer. “Perfectly.”

No artifice there, only outright seduction. She laughed.

He sniffed the air, and his smile faded. “Hold on.” With both hands, he gripped the wheel. His legs stiffened. “Haul out the main.” Although he spoke softly, the command in his voice was unmistakable.

Holding tightly to him, she glanced over her shoulder. A pair of shadows skittered up the mast. Amid a flapping of canvas, the ship lurched to port. The instant the sails caught the wind, the ship seemed to take flight.

“What is it?”

“Slavers off the starboard bow.”

She saw them then, three lumbering shapes illuminated by green lanterns. From the healer, Saffronia, she'd heard the stories of the “death lights” as the lanterns were called. The poor souls, on their way to the living hell of captivity.

“Take the wheel, Virginia.”

Eyes misting with sorrowful tears, she said a prayer for the prisoners on board and did as he asked. The wood was warm from his touch. The added sail gave the ship great power, and it took all of her strength and concentration to hold the course. Cameron's arms enveloped her, holding her as if he'd never let go.

“Will you trade that twenty-pound debt for a trip to France? I did promise to take you there.”

France. Oh, how she'd wanted to see that place. “Shall we go now?”

“With Agnes for companion? Nay, she hates the French, and they were overjoyed to see the last of her.”

To the crewmen, he yelled, “Trim the main.” To Virginia, he said, “What makes you smile?”

Surely he couldn't read her thoughts. “Something popped into my head.”

“What?”

“Hamish, Margaret, and Catherine.” Names they had picked out for the children they would eventually have.

“Hum.” Leaning close, he whispered in her ear. “Hamish sounds rather old-fashioned today.”

The crewmen hauled in the sails, and the wind died down. The ship slowed. She adjusted their course and gave herself poor marks as a sailor; her instincts were correct, but her technique was sloppy. “We were fanciful children. Much has happened since then. I'm not that girl.”

“Oh, aye, you are. You show it everyday.”

“How?”

“The expression in your eyes when you look at me. The way you look . . . your appearance.”

“I don't at all look the same.”

“I would have known you in a crowd of beautiful strangers.”

“Tobacco feathers,” she scoffed.

“ 'Tis true. I also remember your bad habits.”

“Name one.”

“Turn around.”

She did, and when she looked into his eyes, he said, “You talk too much.”

He kissed her again, and the commanding tone of the kiss shocked her to her soul. Finding herself yielding to it surprised her more. She should shun his embrace for now, but she couldn't force her heart to slow or her body to still. He compelled her desire, called to the woman and taunted her with the need to be his.

“Now, isn't that more enjoyable than talking?”

“It's an unfair question. If I say yes, you could take it to mean that talking to you is boring.”

“Never would I think you meant that.”

“You're very sure of yourself.”

“If you answer no, how shall I see it? As a lie?”

“No, as clever repartee.”

Against her breast, she felt laughter rumble through him. “Agnes put words into your mouth,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “I think I should toss her over the side.”

“Her husband might take offense at that.”

“For my part, I take offense at discussing Agnes at a time like this.”

“What shall we talk about?”

“I'd rather kiss you than talk.”

*  *  *

Virginia's routine changed the next morning. Only rain and exhaustion drove her below deck. As Cameron looked on, she cleverly questioned her sister about events of the last ten years.

She glided over the deck and tramped up and down the companionway stairs like a frisky doe in a field of clover. She squealed with delight when a school of dolphins frolicked around the ship for the better part of the morning. She was disappointed the next day when they weren't there.

She sat entranced as MacAdoo played the bagpipes. She even sang along when he played the tune “Loch Lomond.”

At times Cameron almost forgot that she'd spent a decade in servitude; inexperience more than naîveté fueled her enjoyment of the smallest thing: a passing fleet of Dutch merchantmen, a swift pinnace flying the pennons of the duke of Orleans. Giving credit to Agnes and the stories she told, Virginia pretended to remember events of the past.

Not until they were three days out of Scotland did he succeed in getting her alone.

At the meridian, his regular time to arise, Cameron emerged from the companionway. Shirtless, he wore a leather vest and seaman's breeches. His hair was damp, his face freshly shaven, and he looked rested in spite of getting to sleep at dawn. As he walked toward her, Virginia noticed a contradiction about him. He swung his arms and hummed a tune, seemingly carefree. But the expression, the set of his jaw, and the dead serious look in his eyes bespoke determination. A man on a mission, she thought. A barefoot man.

“Did you forget your shoes?” she asked.

He stopped, turned out his feet, and wiggled his toes. “I won't need them.”

Waving to MacAdoo, who piloted the ship during the day, Cameron said, “Wallace is at his tubs. He'll be bringing the laundry up to dry it.”

MacAdoo called up to the lookout in the crow's nest. “Laundry coming up.”

The man tucked his spyglass into his belt, slung his boots over his shoulder, and, like a squirrel in an oak, scurried down the main mast.

Beside Virginia, Agnes murmured, “Our captain is certainly decisive today.”

Cameron moved about the deck, giving orders and examining every sail and spar. Virginia said, “Must have been his bath.”

Agnes whistled. “He's wickedly handsome in this mood.”

Cameron and Agnes had spent months together on this ship. Both were openly proud of their friendship. Virginia couldn't resist saying, “More handsome than Edward Napier?”

Love transformed her features. “Edward is . . .”

“Is what?”

She sighed like a lovestruck girl. “Edward is . . . perfect for me. I look at him and my stomach turns to porridge.”

Virginia knew the feeling well; she felt it every time she thought about Cameron. When he approached, Agnes nudged Virginia, and in unison, they saluted.

He returned it. “Smartly done, ladies.” He glanced at Agnes, then quickly back. “What have you done to your hair?”

She shook her head. “I cut it.”

“Why? What will Napier say?”

She rolled her eyes. “I grew tired of envying Virginia her shorter hair, and Napier will say I look lovely.”

Cameron mussed her hair, then moved to the water barrels to check the level inside. “Of course Napier will.”

The gesture was typical of Agnes's kind nature. No one would look askance at Virginia's unconventional style without insulting Agnes. Once, when Lottie had twisted her ankle and limped, Agnes had hobbled right along with her. But Virginia had not suffered an accident. Shorter hair had been a necessity in her life, for both cleanliness and comfort in the fields. Perhaps now she'd grow it very long, as it had been before bondage.

Cameron clapped his hands and announced. “Cook says we must eat the rest of the chickens tonight.” Looking from Agnes to Virginia, he asked. “Who volunteers to pluck?”

Virginia glanced at Agnes, who fidgeted with indecision. “We've also had a bath this morning,” she grumbled. “So you do it, Cameron.”

He chuckled. “I claim captain's privilege.”

Agnes sighed. “Must one of us pluck those poor creatures? And don't say 'tis woman's work. You've never had a woman among your crew, and I haven't dressed out a fowl in years.”

Bored from the morning's inaction, Virginia said, “I'll do it.”

Cameron stretched. The leather vest rode high, exposing his naked stomach above the ordinary seaman's pants he wore. But the garment was anything but ordinary on him. He must have had them tailored to suit his long frame, for they fit just shy of snugly from the drawstring waist, over his lean hips, to his knees. There they flared to the hem, same as Virginia's and those of the other crew.