True Heart (33 page)

His manhood popped free.

Feeling blissfully alive, she said, “Oh, so that's what you were hiding.”

All pretense gone; he moved over her and, with a single thrust, made them one. She clutched him, called to him, and when he kissed her, he slipped his tongue into her mouth in a matching rhythm to the loving going on below.

The clock struck the half hour, but it could have been Sunday noon for all she cared. This man and his loving were her heart's desire. From the time she'd learned to collect memories, he'd been a keepsake, a treasure she intended to cherish. Time and circumstance had altered the path of their lives, but that was behind them. He'd set aside his mistress. Words had not been spoken, but it was as if he had said,
You have always been mine.

She'd tell him the truth, and then she'd propose marriage. An instant later, all thoughts of that betrothal fled, and her mind stayed fixed on the here and the now and the pleasure he gave her.

When the rapture came, she felt caught up, reshaped, and her mind flung to the wind. He felt it too, for at the peak of his passion, he called out her name and God's in the same breath.

Neither moved, but the pounding of their hearts harmonized with the tick, ticking of the clock. He held her, and as she inhaled his familiar scent and languished in his arms, she thought this the most memorable time in her life.

When the clock struck the half hour, he rolled to his side.

“Ouch!” He'd banged his head on a table.

“Let me see.” Ignoring her disheveled and wrinkled dress, she rose on her knees and examined his head. His thick hair cushioned her palms, and as she cupped his head, a knot rose beneath her fingers. “You've bumped yourself a good one, Cam.”

“I care not.” He buried his face in her bodice. “Curse me for a poor butcher,” he lamented. “I never made it past the loins.”

She chuckled. “I give you high marks for the parts you do know.”

He jiggled his brows. “Shall we retire to your room and repair that slight?”

The truth clamored to be said. “No.” She cleared her throat, sat back, and fussed with her skirt. “I have something to tell you, and I don't want to be distracted.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is.”

As he righted his clothing, he glanced at the clock.

“It won't take long,” she said, hoping that was true, for she feared her courage would flee.

Anticipation sharpened his gaze. “A brandy then?”

She nodded and waited for him to pour the drinks and return.

Handing her a glass, he held his up. “To you.”

The dull thud of crystal against crystal sounded loud in her ears. Where to begin? She sipped the heady wine. As it spread over her tongue, she found a starting place.

“Do you know that this is only my second time to drink brandy?”

As serious as she'd ever seen him, he gave a slight shake of his head and waited.

“The first time was the occasion of Captain Brown's unexpected visit to Poplar Knoll. He came to say that he'd spoken with you in Glasgow. Mrs. Parker-Jones sent Merriweather to the hamlet to fetch me.”

“The hamlet?”

Shame choked her. “Yes. That's where I lived.”

“I love you.” He reached for her.

She held up her hand. “I lied to you all the way 'round, Cam.”

Compassion softened his gaze.

“I wasn't the housekeeper. I worked in the fields because . . .” The name of her villain tasted too bitter on her tongue.

“Because?”

Let it go, her heart said. “Because . . .” The words stalled in her throat.

“Take a sip,” he encouraged.

She did, and the drink fortified her. “Because I tried to follow you to France. I planned to sneak aboard your ship, but—”

“But I'd already sailed to China.”

“I didn't know that was your destination at the time. I thought you were going to France.”

His smile was gentle, loving. “Sarah taught you French on the sly.”

“She told you that?”

“Of course. For years, we spoke of little else save our misfortune in losing you.”

She took strength from that love. “Let me go on. I must tell it all.”

“I'm listening, love.”

“When I learned you had sailed, I found another ship, captained by a man named—” Again, the named stalled on her tongue. She took a deep breath. “A man named Anthony MacGowan. He swore he was going to France. He said he knew you well and promised to take me to you.”

“But he didn't take you to France.”

Agony squeezed her chest. “No. He took me to Williamsburg and sold me to Mr. Moreland.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Again he reached for her.

Again she held him off. “Wait.” She must get on with it. “He called it an indenture and named the term ten years, but it doesn't change what they did to me.”

“I hate them,” Cameron swore through his teeth. “They are vile, and you were innocent.”

Let him think that if he wished. At ten, she'd been mature enough to make the decision that had cost her a decade of her life. She would not place the blame elsewhere. “All of that changed.”

“Oh, Virginia.” He held out a trembling hand.

She slipped her fingers in his. “There's more. You must let me say it. I never fell from a horse. I wasn't allowed near a horse. My memory is perfectly intact, always has been. I lied because I hadn't the courage to tell you the truth about my life there.”

“You thought to spare me and your family the guilt.”

“Yes, and to give myself enough time to fit in here. I didn't always have shoes, and I slept on a pallet of hay.” She gazed around the finely appointed room. “Life here is very grand.”

His hand grew damp in hers. “You worked hard?”

She nodded. “I tried escape once but lost courage after that.”

“Were you ever beaten?”

The frightened girl she'd once been now begged to be set free. “No, but other, more horrible things . . .”

“Have another sip of the brandy; 'twill ease the way.”

The third swallow of the fiery drink cleared her throat and bolstered her courage.

His eyes were pools of kindness. “Who hurt you?”

The dark times hung on the edge of her mind, but she pushed them back. Cameron was here, and a happy future awaited them. “The doctor. Mr. Moreland had taken a slave for his mistress, but when she died bearing him a stillborn child, Mrs. Moreland assumed he'd take me. She had allowed him a slave, but she forbid him to move me into the house. He hadn't even spared a glance at me since he bought me from MacGowan. She didn't believe him. To assure herself that he'd left me alone, she had the doctor come 'round every month and—and . . .”

“Let it out, love.”

“I didn't know at first what he was doing. I was four and ten at the time.”

“Damn. That's enough, Virginia. You needn't—”

“Yes, I must. I had to lie on a table. It was so cold. He always told me to spread my legs.” Quickly, she drank again. “He felt inside of me . . . for my maidenhead.”

The glass slid to the floor, and she covered her face with her hands. Shame curled her spine, and she drew up her legs.

He held her then and rocked her, crooning words of comfort. When she quieted, he said, “How long did it go on?”

“Until two years ago when they sold the plantation to Mr. Parker-Jones.”

“Bloody hell!” He squeezed her, as if in doing so he could drive out her demons.

But the horror was behind her. “That's why in Norfolk when we—”

“Made love?”

“Yes. That's why you thought I had been raped.” In a way, she had been raped, often. Even now, she remembered the long walk to the main house, the icy table in the buttery, the cold look in the doctor's eyes. The relief that lasted for one turn of the moon. The next month, the doctor was back again.

“I'm sorry I lied to you, Cam, but I was ashamed.”

“Oh, sweetheart. 'Tis in the past. We've only tomorrows ahead.”

She felt cleansed. For the first time in a decade, her soul was unburdened. “I'll never lie to you again.” Unfolding her hands, she help up her palms. “You have my word.”

He twined his fingers with hers. “Put it behind you, love. Try never to think of those times again.”

“I will as soon as I've told Papa and the others.”

He held her at arms length, and she saw tears in his eyes. She attempted a smile to cheer him, but she failed.

“Must you tell them, Virginia?”

That surprised her. A full confession had always been part of her plan. “Yes, I must.”

“Why? What good would it serve? They'll feel guilty if they know you were mistreated. As it stands, they are grateful to have you back, and they shoulder only the blame ignorance brings them.”

“But I've never lied to Papa.”

“Aye, you did. On many occasions we both lied to him.”

“But we were children, and the lies were small.”

Succinctly, he said, “And they hurt no one. Think of how Agnes will feel if she knows that you had no shoes.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I gave up hope and went on with my life. Your father also did. You'll crush him with a confession. He's happy now. Why bring back his suffering?”

She wanted to believe him. Cameron Cunningham had been her dearest friend since before she knew the meaning of the word. But old beliefs brought doubts. “I owe him the truth.”

Cameron searched for the words to convince her. Lachian MacKenzie had found vengeance. Virginia need never know that Anthony MacGowan would spend his days rotting in the hold of a Moorish galley. Thinking of that well-deserved fate, Cameron said, “What is the truth? That you love your father well?”

“Yes.”

“That you are glad to be back among those who love you?”

“Yes.”

“That's truth enough. Our life together awaits. You cannot return to your father's house. We'll be married. You'll bear our children here or aboard our ship or where ever we find ourselves.” He laid her hand over his heart. “Your place is here, with me, as we'd always planned.”

Her smile was tentative at first; but reason won out. “All right. But what if Anthony MacGowan tells the truth?”

“What if Anthony MacGowan is dead? Shall I ask Trimble to find out?”

“Oh, please.”

“I shall if you'll do something for me?”

She'd swim to France if it would ease the pain he didn't try to hide from her. “Anything.”

“You must do this, true heart.” He clutched her upper arms. “Please forgive me for giving up hope of finding you.”

“That's easy. I love you.” She moved into his arms and held on tight. “I have always loved you.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “And I you. 'Tis a pity we have to wait to wed until your father returns.”

“Where is the betrothal agreement?”

He didn't answer for so long she thought he hadn't heard her. At length, he said, “That is the last truth. Your father and I burned it.”

“Together?”

“Aye, we tapped a laird's keg and drank ourselves into a stupor. Drunk as Turks, we had a ceremony, although he recalls little of the night.”

“You've never reminded him of it?”

“Nay, he has suffered enough.”

“All of us have suffered.”

“Aye, but no more,” he said.

“I am at peace then.”

“Good.”

Without moving from the floor of Napier's library, they held each other, and a silent healing began.

Sometime later the peace was shattered by a knock at the door and the arrival of Constable Jenkins.

Cameron drilled Agnes with a curious gaze. When she winked, he breathed a sigh of relief. While Cameron had been in the library making love to Virginia, Agnes and Edward had engaged the vicar in a game of billiards. But Agnes had left them under the guise of soothing her fretful daughter. With the lad Notch for accomplice, Agnes had broken into the constable's office, stolen the hide, and destroyed the evidence.

Now she stepped forward. “Constable Sir Jenkins, are you acquainted with Father John? We've been playing billiards since after supper. When did you lose your evidence?”

Blustering, his chain of office crooked on his shoulders, he shook with anger. “Not above an hour ago.”

“None of us is to blame.”

All self-righteous servant of the law, Jenkins turned his hateful gaze on Cameron. “You're a thief, Cunningham. You stole that rabbit hide from my safe.”

“Me? I couldn't have.”

“Where were you?”

Virginia moved between them. “Cameron was with me, sir.” She paused, a blush flagging her cheeks. “We're betrothed, you know.”

Cameron had expected as much, and he loved her for it. “You've told him enough, love.”

With Virginia and the vicar to verify his alibi, Cameron could not be charged, and no other suspects were found. Without the key piece of evidence, Horace Redding was set free.

*  *  *

The next day, a cartoon appeared in the
Mercury.
In retaliation, Mary had depicted a dole-faced Constable Jenkins standing before a high court justice, his empty hands held out in supplication. MacKale was pictured off to the side, a smug look enhancing his striking features. A bewigged and stately justice glared down at poor Jenkins. The caption read,
“You've not seen hide nor hair of it?”

*  *  *

A month later, Quinten Brown's ship arrived in Glasgow Harbor with the duke and duchess of Ross aboard. When word reached Napier House, everyone clamored to meet the ship. A caravan of carriages rumbled down Harbor Road, Napier's spherical conveyance in the lead.

The moment Lachian stepped onto Scottish soil again, Lottie blurted the news that Virginia had taken up residence at Cunningham Gardens. Upon arrival at Napier House, Lachian ordered Cameron into the study. An hour later they emerged, both smiling.