by Caroline Lee
He’d arrived in the village near An Torr that morning on foot to attract less attention. It had changed so much in the fifteen years he’d been gone, and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated that fact or not.
On one hand, it made it easier to deal with the memories to think of this place as different…but on the other, he’d been holding onto his resentment for a long while, and having the place change so much was a bit deflating.
Wandering among the people, he felt like a stranger. He only recognized two people—Gorn, the smith, who seemed just as strong as the day Cameron had left, and Auld Peg, the blind fishwife. But neither they, nor anyone else, gave him a second glance. He’d kept his mantle pulled over his hair and his gaze down as he’d bought the cheese for today’s bait.
And now he could sit and breathe and think about what he’d learned.
It seemed that Lachlan was a good laird, and wasn’t that interesting?
“Who are ye?”
The petulant voice had him twisting around so fast, he almost fell from his perch. Throwing out a hand to brace himself, he gripped the pole in his other and glared at the wee sprite who stood on the shore with her hands on her hips.
“Shh! Ye’ll scare the fish.”
The lassie rolled her eyes and stomped her foot. “They’re my fish, and ye’re in my favorite fishing spot.”
Cam didn’t bother to hide the way his eyebrows rose at her declaration, and he realized she had a pole gripped in one hand. “Ye’ve come here to fish then?”
She took a deep breath as she rolled her eyes. “Owen says Da says I can fish from the shore as much as I like, and he kens I’m here, and if I don’ come back by mid-afternoon, he’ll tell my nurse Ella I’ve been naughty, and then I’ll get my arse paddled, but I don’t think I will, even though Ella is a bore and doesnae think a lady ought to fish.”
Nurse? Lady? Cam cocked his head at her, studying her pale hair and eyes. “Should ladies fish?”
The lassie shrugged. “If no’, then I donae want to be a lady.”
Cam’s lips tugged upward at the honest answer. “Well, I like this spot fine, but ye can share it with me.”
“Ye can share it with me, I suppose.” She peered through the leaves at his perch. “Do ye think the tree will hold us both?”
His smile grew. “I’m auld, no’ fat. Do ye think ye could manage the climb, being a lady and all?”
The curse she muttered was anything but ladylike, and he chuckled under his breath as she hiked up her skirts and scrambled up the angled tree trunk, her pole and bundle tucked into the crook of her arm.
When she reached his spot, he helped her step carefully over him, and watched with a hooded gaze as she settled herself against the next branch.
Contrary to her fear, the tree didn’t dip any farther toward the water.
While he pretended to be interested in the trout—which her arrival definitely had scared off—he watched her as she prepared her line. He noticed her pale blonde hair and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. While she concentrated, her tongue poked out from between her lips.
She was a beauty, alright, and full of fire. Cam didn’t have much experience with children—even the ones who’d found their way to the Red Hand had lost their innocence long ago—but decided he didn’t mind this one so much.
“What are ye using?” she asked, nodding to where his cork bobbed serenely on the surface, the branches forming a little haven of calm among the waves.
“For bait?” He kept his voice low. “Cheese. Learned that trick a long time ago.”
“Cheese?” She snorted as she baited her hook. “Everyone kens trout love worms the best. My grandmother says the fish I catch are almost as plump as the ones my uncle caught, and I use worms.”
Cam nodded solemnly. “Sounds like high praise, but I don’ like catching worms.”
With a practiced flick, she tossed her line into the water beside his, then turned a pitying expression his way. “I understand. No’ everyone is as brave as me.” Before he could smile at her assumption, she leaned forward and dropped her voice, as if imparting a secret. “The trick is to get the cook to pull them out of his garden when he’s out cutting herbs and drop them in Simone’s worm barrel. That’s me. I’m Simone.”
Her eyes were gray.
She was still leaning toward him, staring intently, waiting for a response…and Cam’s mouth had gone dry.
Her eyes were gray, and she was a lady. She had a nurse and a cook and had a bucket for her worms in the garden.
A horrible suspicion began to unfold in his mind.
Finally, he cleared his throat and dragged his gaze back to the water below. “Pleased to meet ye, Simone. I’m Cam.”
“That’s a nice name. Do ye have a clan? Ye’re dressed like an Englishman—no plaid.”
He cut his eyes toward her once more, intrigued by her energy and friendliness, despite himself. “Do ye ken much about Englishmen?” he asked, side-stepping the question.
“My Uncle James died at Loudon Hill fighting the English bastards,” she said cheerfully, joggling her pole as she shifted forward to peer into the water. “Do ye think the trout will come back?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes the best part of fishing isnae catching the fish, but sitting and enjoying the peace and quiet.”
“Quiet?” Snorting derisively, she leaned back once more. “Ye’re obviously no’ as good a fisher as I am. The best part of fishing is catching the fish. And making Grandmother pleased with me.”
The way she added that last part, Cam didn’t have any trouble imagining what this grandmother of hers must be like. Cold and hard to please.
Like Mother.
The suspicion was jumping up and down right now, waving eagerly to get his attention. He sighed, accepting he would have to ask.
“Who’s yer parents, Simone?”
Her smile blossomed as her chin jerked up. “Da is Laird Fraser now,” she said proudly. “He says he wasnae supposed to be, but he’ll do the best damn job he can. Only he told me I’m no’ supposed to remember he said the word damn.”
Lachlan’s daughter.
Cam swallowed, not sure why having his suspicions confirmed did such odd things to his insides. He was pleased his brother had started a family, especially since he seemed to not be following in their father or Hamish’s footsteps.
But the way Cam’s stomach knotted, he wondered if he was…jealous?
Lachlan was only a few years older than him and had been a good older brother. He’d been too old to be targeted by Hamish, but had been kind to Cam—Cameron—when they were lads.
When Cam had run, he hadn’t thought of Lachlan any more than he’d thought of James or Mother or Hamish. Oh, he’d heard when Father had died, and Hamish had become laird. He’d said a little prayer for the Frasers then. And although he’d kept himself and the Red Hand out of the war against the English, he’d known when James had fallen, as well as when Hamish had died in that “accident” and Lachlan had taken over.
Aye, Cam’s information network had kept him apprised of most of the goings-on at An Torr, but he hadn’t really thought of these people as the family he’d once had.
Who now had family of their own, apparently.
He cleared his throat. “And yer mother?”
Simone blew a raspberry as she turned her attention back to her pole. “I donae ken her. She left when I was naught but a wee babe because she didnae love me enough.”
What a horrible thing to teach a bairn!
“Ye mean she died?”
“Nay,” she said, with a shake of her head. “She went back to her da, who married her off to some other unlucky bastard, Da says. Only I’m no’ supposed to remember the word bastard either. But it’s a fun word, is it no’? That’s what I am, ye ken.”
“A bastard?” Cam murmured, his lips twitching.
“Aye,” she said cheerfully, shifting forward to peer into the water once more. “Da wasnae married to my moth
er, but he’s going to be married soon. Mellie’s a nice lady—she took me fishing and saved my life, ye ken—and I’m glad she’ll be my mother. Look! There’s a fat one!”
Her finger jabbed toward the shadows, but Cam didn’t bother following her gaze. He was too busy picking through that muddle of information she’d managed to offload in one breath.
Mellie must be the lass who’d been at Lachlan’s side last week in the battle. The one who Rhys and Johnnie and the rest of them were supposed to murder.
Cam had lived the last fifteen years as a thief, and he had a slightly different view of right and wrong than he supposed his brother might. When he’d seen the commotion in that Scone square, he might’ve passed by, assuming the brawl was none of his business…until he realized who the assailants were.
The remnants of the Red Hand men he’d brought with him to Scone to hunt down Court.
And when he overheard Lachlan accuse those honorless bastards of taking money to kill a lass—the curvy, golden-haired beauty who’d been wielding a knife beside him—then Cam knew he couldn’t not get involved.
And a good thing he had, or his own brother might not have survived, and Mellie would surely be long dead at the hands of his men. But instead, they were now both safe in Scone, with Lachlan recovering from his wound. Cam had ensured every single Red Hand member left in Scone was dead.
“Don’ ye want to hear about how Mellie saved my life?”
Jerking his attention away from the ripples below, Cam eyed the lassie—his niece. She obviously didn’t understand the appeal of silence while fishing, but he couldn’t be irritated. She was a breath of fresh air to someone like him.
“Aye, tell me.”
And so Simone launched into a convoluted tale of a storm, and the trout she’d caught, and how Mellie had rowed them to shore and found them shelter. Cam nodded and hummed whenever Simone paused to draw breath—which wasn’t often—but her ramblings allowed his mind to wander.
Simone clearly loved Lachlan, and from what he’d seen last week, Mellie did as well. She’d not only protected his brother’s back with her own blade, but he’d seen genuine anguish on her face when she saw his wound. The way she’d clutched him to her told Cam she was devoted to Lachlan.
And Cam was surprised to realize what that said about his brother. Lachlan must be a good man to inspire such love. And he only had to walk through An Torr this morning to understand the Fraser was a good laird as well; one who cared about his people’s peace and prosperity.
The Frasers of Lovat deserved that.
And after the life Lachlan must’ve had at An Torr after Cam left, he surely deserved some happiness and love, and Cam was glad he’d gotten it.
One thought led to another, and when Simone finished her story—although it was hard to tell sometimes—he nudged the conversation where he wanted it to go.
“And yer grandmother?” he asked casually, as he reached out and snagged his line, tugging it upward to check on the bait. “What did she say about yer adventure?”
“Bollocks!”
Cam started, but the lassie’s curse didn’t seem directed at his question, because she suddenly began pulling in her line.
“Look!” she cried, jerking her chin down, “something took my bait!”
Cam thought it more likely the poor worm had gotten waterlogged and floated off, because the fish were hiding so deep after her loud description of her experience.
But Cam just hummed politely and began to untie his line, deciding he was done for the day.
While bent over her hook, trying to jam another worm on with her small fingers, Simone answered his question. “Grandmother wasnae here during the storm. Gillepatric—that’s Da’s advisor, only he’s Grandmother’s friend more than Da’s—took her to Scone ‘cause she wanted to go visiting. Da said we don’ have to tell her.”
Finished, she straightened, peering at her hook and bait critically.
Gillepatric.
Cam remembered one of his father’s advisors by that name, but naught else about the man. But last week, during that battle in the square, Johnnie had said they’d been paid by a Gillepatric Fraser.
Why in damnation would Lachlan’s advisor want his future wife dead?
Well, Simone wouldn’t know, but there was plenty more he could learn from her.
“So yer grandmother wouldnae approve, eh?” Cam prompted casually.
The lassie made a rude noise in the back of her throat and tossed the hook and line into the water. “Grandmother doesnae approve of anything I do. Except she likes the fish I catch, I guess—almost as good as my Uncle Cameron’s, she says. Da says I cannae call her a mean witch, but sometimes she is.”
His hands curling into fists around his line, Cam nodded in sympathy.
Mother had always been…difficult. She’d lived in her own little world, and Cam had always wondered if she was half-mad. Mayhap ‘twas the only way to survive being married to a brute like Michael Fraser for so long. She’d treated her sons reasonably well—Cam, as her youngest, had always seemed her favorite—but she’d been blind to their faults.
Like Cam’s tendency to bend the rules to suit his desires. Or James’ habit of hitting lasses. Or Hamish’s choice of sexual partner, willing or no’.
And when Cam had worked up the bollocks to tell his parents about Hamish’s depravity, they hadn’t believed him. Mother had told him her son couldn’t do something like that and had sent Cam to bed without supper.
He’d started making plans that very night to leave.
Aye, he wasn’t surprised to learn Mother was still difficult.
So why was he just a little disappointed he wasn’t going to be able to see her on his return to An Torr?
He dropped his line into his lap and scrubbed his hand across his face.
God’s Teeth, but emotions were odd!
“Simone?” The call came from the distance. “Simone! Where in damnation are ye, lassie?”
Simone jerked upright, her feet scrambling beneath her to get purchase, while she swung her head toward the call.
Instinctive, Cam reached out to steady her. “Whoa—”
He was too late.
With a little shriek and arms flailing, she toppled off the trunk into the loch.
Muttering a curse, Cam dropped his homemade pole and line into the water and lurched forward. The water was shallow enough she had already popped up to the surface by the time he wrapped his legs around the tree, braced his shoulders, and reached his free hand down toward her.
Her hair was plastered to her, a wet curtain in her face. But she looked up when he called, “Here, lassie,” and grinned.
And as her hand locked around his forearm, and he anchored himself to pull her up once more, he was grinning as well.
In only a few heartbeats, she was straddling the tree trunk in front of him, sopping wet and peering down at the water below. “I lost my pole.”
“I did too.” He shrugged. “But ye made enough commotion with the splashing around, there’s likely nae fish left.”
Using both of her hands to push her water-logged hair out of her face, she grinned up at him. “Aye, I scared ‘em all out to the monster. She’ll thank me for lunch!”
Cam rolled his eyes as he shifted his weight back along the trunk for safety. “Ye’ve heard those auld stories of the monster?”
“Aye!” she chirped enthusiastically. “Grandmother told me all about her. Said she’d feed me to the monster if I didnae eat my vegetables, but I donae like vegetables as much as brown bread and pies.”
“Me too,” muttered Cam as he reached the wider point of the tree and was able to tuck his feet under him to stand.
She wasn’t far behind. “Ye like pies better than vegetables? Or yer grandmother told ye she’d have the monster punish ye too?”
“Both.” Except it hadn’t been his grandmother. And threatening to feed him to the monster wasn’t the worst Mother had done.
He twisted, offering hi
s hand to her as she picked her way along the trunk, holding one of the upright branches with one crooked elbow.
“Who was calling ye?” he asked.
As if on cue, her name came from the distance once more. “Simone? Are ye fishing again?”
“Aye!” she called back, letting go of the branch to cup her hand around her mouth. “In my spot!”
Hiding his grin at her enthusiasm, and the way she toddled precariously without any thought to her safety, Cam reached for her. He grabbed her under her arms and held her away from him as he picked his way along the trunk to the shoreline.
“I’ll no’ get ye too wet,” Simone told him, giggling along the way.
“Ye’ll get me plenty wet, ye wee water sprite.”
When they reached land, she cocked her head to one side. “If I’m a water sprite, I want to ride the monster.”
They’d reached safety, but still he held her. “Aye, lassie, ye could do that. Yer da would miss ye though.”
Her solemn nod was accompanied with a too-piercing gray gaze. “I like ye, Cam.”
“I like ye too,” he admitted in a hoarse whisper.
God’s Teeth, why was it so hard to make himself put her down?
Because she reminded him of Tessa and all the other lassies he’d helped over the years?
Or just one in particular?
Court had been Simone’s age when she’d been sold to the Red Hand, and Cam had taken her under his protection. And whether she knew it or not, she was still under his protection, at least until he could ensure himself she was safe.
Had the lass with Lachlan—Mellie, he reminded himself—been the one to whisper in his ear before Lachlan had knocked him unconscious?
If so, mayhap this wee niece of his was the answer to finding Court.
“Simone!”
The call came from much closer, a man’s voice, sounding angry.
Dropping the wet lassie, Cam whirled to place himself between her and the threat and eyeing the tree where he’d propped his sword before the fishing excursion. As the man came closer, he remembered where he was, and whispered a quiet curse as he tugged his mantle up to hide his face in its shadows.
But apparently, he needn’t have bothered, because Simone darted out from around him to meet the newcomer.
