True Heart (32 page)

Virginia's thoughts grew jumbled. “What if Redding wants to go to France?”

Cameron grinned. “Then you must learn to say
bonjour.”

The urge to laugh brightened her soul. “Ireland?”

“Ireland?” Lottie chirped, a pinched expression on her face. “No one goes there. The food is more distasteful than Mary's husband.”

Chuckling, Agnes said, “I hope he does not chose Spain for his place of sanctuary.”

Lottie twitched her nose. “The Spaniards never bathe.”

The playful chatter, combined with Cameron's strong presence, brought a normalcy to the occasion. But another dire consequence occurred to Virginia. “That's it too. If Redding is not exonerated of the charges, he will lose his freedom.”

“Virginia.” At the urgency in Cameron's voice, her gaze snapped to his. “Only in America does freedom truly reign.”

Confused, she studied him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because 'tis true. So long as there's land aplenty to be had in America, people will choose their own destiny. This island is tied to the past. Claims were laid on every furlong, every rock and tree, centuries before the
Mayflower
sailed.”

Virginia hadn't thought of that. “But Glasgow is Redding's home.”

“Truly?” he challenged. “After a time in jail, I think he'll be happy to see the last of Scotland.”

“True,” said Edward. “Redding confided to me that he was eager to return to Philadelphia.”

“Are you sure?”

“Think about it.”

*  *  *

For days, Virginia thought about little else. Her sisters tried to distract her; Edward even suspended his rules and invited her to view his laboratory.

Cameron visited Redding every morning, replenishing the supply of necessities and bringing new culinary delights from the Napier kitchen. Although Cameron objected, he'd taken her remaining money, eighty-two pounds and bribed the guards. The evenings he spent with Virginia at Napier House.

Afternoons were devoted to visits from the local gentry. Virginia excused herself during those times and wrote letters to Rowena; to Cameron's sister, Sibeal; to Merriweather and Mrs. Parker-Jones. She wrote to Horace Redding every day. In the first exchange, she'd apologized, and he had forgiven her. Not until he was free would she forgive herself.

Were it not for the danger to Redding clouding the happy atmosphere, Virginia felt as if she'd never been away from Cameron and her siblings. Familiar routines developed. Mornings with the children, all of whom vied for Auntie Virginia's attention. They shared stories about her as a child, stories told to them by her siblings and by Uncle Cameron. In their childish innocence, they admitted the general opinion that Virginia was with the angels. In a family portrait, Mary had even painted Virginia as an angel. Only Agnes had believed, but she felt responsible for Virginia's disappearance.

The barrister, Aaron MacKale, an apple-cheeked gentleman, arrived from nearby Carlisle with a staff of assistants. Cameron offered them the use of Cunningham Gardens, and Edward arranged for a dozen students from Glasgow University to aid MacKale.

A flurry of petitions and writs were exchanged. MacKale made no promises: The evidence was solid; the situation looked grim.

Virginia despaired.

Only Cameron brought her solace. He tried to ease her trepidation. At times she thought he could look into her mind and see the humiliation she'd suffered. He always understood the special place she kept in her heart for Redding. When she lost hope of righting the wrong she'd done to her mentor, Cameron told her in strict confidence about Redding's newest work, a secret piece on the fairness of American justice versus the oppression of the British courts. He planned to publish the essay under the title “Writings of an American Robbed of Freedom of Speech.”

Every evening for a fortnight, meetings were held in the dining room of Napier House. They planned and schemed, theorized and sympathized.

On the fifteenth day, a friend of Agnes's, a man named Haskett Trimble, delivered the news that Lachian MacKenzie was on his way home.

“What delayed him?” Agnes demanded. “Was there trouble? Is he ill? Has something happened to Juliet?”

Trimble said, “They are hale and hearty. His grace postponed his departure from Boston to await the arrival of an old friend.” Looking pointedly at Cameron, he added, “A Moorish sea captain named Ali Kahn.”

To Virginia's surprise, Cameron made a fist and triumphantly thrust up his arm. To Napier's dismay, Cameron smashed the chandelier as he said, “Sweet revenge.”

Papa was coming home. The time to tell the truth was rapidly approaching. Upon Redding's release or her father's arrival, whichever came first, Virginia would bear her soul.

*  *  *

Later in the week Trimble returned with word from Italy. Cameron's sister, Sibeal, had borne her count a son. The happy grandparents, Myles and Suisan, would not return for another month. Trimble handed Virginia a stack of letters, two of which were from her brother, Kenneth, and her sister Cora, who had traveled with the Cunninghams. Virginia prayed that by the time they returned, Redding would be free.

*  *  *

A new round of activity began when Mary arrived, her children and husband in tow. Disproving Papa's belief that the sword always prevailed over the pen, Mary took up a quill and, in a series of cartoons, made a mockery of Sir Constable Jenkins and the Glasgow courts.

Too tied to tradition, the
Courant
refused to print Mary's work. Seeing its chance to profit from the situation, the
Glasgow Mercury
not only printed the drawings, but paid Mary a stipend. Her husband, an influential member of the House of Lords, advised MacKale. But Constable Jenkins, a Glaswegian from birth, had publicly taken a stand. He would not reduce the charges against Redding.

After a joyous reunion with Mary, Virginia saw little of her artistic sister, but that had always been Mary's way when inspiration captured her.

A week later, Virginia and Edward each received a summons to court. Others at the reception had also been served. Three days hence, they must appear before the magistrate. What if Virginia were asked about the hide, about her past?

Cameron protested the summons. Edward tried to make light of it. Agnes fumed. Virginia trembled in fear of the court. Once she'd taken an oath, she must answer any question truthfully. Her time in bondage had been a private tragedy, and she balked at publicly speaking of the details of her life there. She must either lie or admit to strangers what she hadn't found the courage to confess to Cameron and her family.

On the evening before the trial, Agnes surprised everyone with a change of heart. She brushed off the importance of the summons and, with Notch as her helper, took the children to the May Fair. They returned with a guest—the vicar—who stayed for dinner.

*  *  *

Later that night, while the clergyman and the others played billiards, Virginia excused herself. In the library, an open and unread copy of
Humphry Clinker
in her lap, she fought hard to keep the melancholy away. During her indenture, she had grappled with the decision of what to do when her bondage ended. One day she convinced herself to stay in America, to move north and make a life there. On another day, she planned to rush home to her family. But the moment she'd drawn the hearts and arrow on the kegs, the decision was made.

She had feared risking a longer indenture on the slim hope that she'd be rescued, but had she not given Cameron the means to find her, she would not have known his love. Even now, in the safety of Napier's library, that realization tormented her.

“Whatever you are thinking, banish it from your mind.” He leaned against the bookcase nearest the door, his arms folded over his chest, determination in his gaze.

As soon as she caught her breath, she closed the book. “I was thinking that popular fiction is much overrated.”

He strolled toward her, resplendent in riding breeches and a brown velvet jacket. “Like resolve?”

Her heart took flight. “My last resolve vanished when you romanced me in the crow's nest.”

Chuckling wickedly, he knelt beside her chair and reached for the book. Rather than take it from her, he traced the shape, the tip of his finger drawing a rectangle on her lap. Even beneath the layers of petticoats and skirt, her skin tingled and her senses grew keen. The look in his eyes turned positively dreamy.

The standing clock struck the first of ten chimes. By the fourth clanging, Cameron took her in his arms; at the seventh peal, he was kissing her deeply. The sound of the last chime hung in the air, same as her senses dangled on the passion he inspired. In his arms, she floated above life and its troubles. Bliss captured her, and all she could think of was this man, her Cam, and the moment.

“I've missed you.” He spoke against her mouth, and she felt rather than heard the words.

The yearning she'd spent weeks suppressing returned and, with it, a need for him that was both wild and tender at once. But she'd made a vow to herself. Weeks ago, when word of Redding's arrest had reached them, she'd vowed that before she and Cameron again succumbed to passion, she'd tell him the truth.

The moment was at hand.

Virginia broke the kiss. “I have something to tell you, Cam.” Catching his gaze and looking into his soul, she willed him to understand. “I have many things to tell you.”

He studied her. At length, he shook his head. “Not tonight, Virginia.” He took her hands and gave her a crooked smile. “We haven't had a moment to ourselves, and tonight is . . .”

“Is what?”

His gaze moved from the book to the clock. “Forget Redding. Forget your family. Tonight is for us. I want you like a newly wedded butcher wants his bride.”

The coward in her grasped the reprieve. With that relief, her sense of humor returned. Inspired by his cockiness, she said, “In God's scheme, what makes you so different from a butcher?”

Her answer pleased him, for his eyes crinkled with mirth. “Nothing except you and the happiness you bring to me. Truth to tell, a butcher comes better prepared to love a woman.”

On that bit of nonsense, she laughed. “I will not be baited.”

Lamplight and innocence wreathed his face. “Baiting is the work of a fisherman. I aspire to butchery.”

“How does one aspire to butchery?”

He jumped up and bolted the door, but his gait was lazy, determined, when he came back to her. Considering the tight fit of his buff-colored breeches, she knew what he had on his mind.

To bedevil him, she stared at his loins and said, “That's an interesting placket.”

With a flair, he threw off his coat. “So kind of you to say so. Now where were we?”

“The elementals of butchery, I believe.”

“Ah, yes. First, a good man o' the meat must learn the product of his craft.” He sat on the floor, lifted her left foot, and removed her new slipper. Moving his hand up her leg, he stopped below her knee. “Here we have the calf, a well-turned one to be sure.”

Laughter bubbled up inside her. “I've always heard it called the shank.”

“See? We left the colonies alone for too long. No serious tradesman would ever name this graceful limb a shank.” He feigned revulsion. “Dreadful word.”

“In the field of butchery, what name do you give a stocking?”

Deviltry had him in its throes. “A stunning accoutrement.”

She closed her eyes to savor the joy.

“So you do not wish to see the demonstration? Very well.” He grasped her hips and eased her down in the chair. Tossing up her skirt and petticoats, he flipped them over her face. Then he spread her legs.

She gasped, blind to all but the feel of his hands.

“Hesitance is not allowed, Virginia. If I'm to serve out a butcher's apprenticeship, you must cooperate.”

She knew he was teasing, trying to distract her. With her family and the vicar two rooms away, he couldn't possibly mean to love her here. “You have me on my haunches. How much more cooperative can I be?”

“We'll see, won't we, my clever lass?” Using both hands, he caressed her thighs. “Here we have the rounds, a favorite of English monarchs.”

“What of the preferences of the Stewarts?”

“Ah, the Scots are much more discriminating.” He touched her intimately. “We favor the loins but have a special preference for this tender morsel.”

She sucked in a breath and couldn't keep her hips from rising to meet him. He encouraged her, murmuring sweet promises of what was to come. He worked her gently at first, and when she was primed and begging, he pulled her to the floor.

Through a storm of passion, reality surfaced. “What if someone comes looking for us?”

“No one will.” Not stopping to undress himself, he opened the packet of his breeches.