Camdyn raised his gaze to her. “Lady Bernadine used to be like that an’ all, until she realized ye can only trust the word of a Scotsman. Englishmen never did her any good, nae even her own pa, though he came around in the end.”
“Ah, so she is the English lady you once knew?” She felt another wave of relief wash over her, for if Bernadine was the English woman, then she was already married and, therefore, no threat. Although, she did not know why she should feel threatened in the first place, when she refused to believe that she had affections for Camdyn.
Perhaps I am naïve in that, as well.
Camdyn chuckled. “Aye, that’s her. Got kidnapped by Laird Young after her pa insulted him, then fell in love with him while she were up at Castle Venruit. Her pa stole her back, Laird Young rescued her, then they got married and, after a couple more scrapes, they had their happy endin’. They love to tell that tale when they’re in their cups. I could recite it word for word, but I will nae bore ye.”
Victoria could not think of anything less boring, but she could see that he was hesitant to recount the tale, just as he had been reluctant to speak of those he had lost.
“Was there anyone else from home when you fought at Culloden Moor?” she pressed gently. “I have encountered several Scottish soldiers since then, though not all of them divulge whose side they were on, and I would like to reunite you if ever I happened across someone you knew.”
Camdyn shook his head. “All them what came with me from Venruit died along the path of our cause. After a decade, I were the only one left.” He dipped his chin to his broad chest. “And them what I considered friends all died on that moor. If they dinnae die, they’ll be in chains now, somewhere.”
“Some escaped,” she said firmly, casting him a pointed look.
“Aye, and I only did ‘cause I got flattened by a redcoat. They took me for a dead man, and had gone by the time I woke,” he explained, his voice bitter. “I got lucky. At least, that’s what people would tell me. But I dinnae ken if I’m lucky. I dinnae feel it.”
Victoria’s heart ached for him, knowing she only understood a morsel of what he had been through. She would have liked to know every detail, but she realized it would have been uncouth and unkind of her, to ask him more. Evidently, he had only managed to get away because he had been trapped beneath the body of another soldier. She could not imagine how someone could simply get up and carry on, after suffering through something like that.
“What will you do now, if you feel you cannot return home?” she asked instead.
He poured more whisky into his teacup, which presumably had no tea left inside its shallow bowl. “I dinnae ken, lass. I’ve got lodgins in town, but it is nae safe for someone like me to be out and about in Inverness. So, right now, I dinnae have any place to go.”
Victoria spotted her chance to offer him an opportunity, as Donnan Young had offered him an opportunity twenty years ago. “Then… might you consider staying here to help me with the house, and with my healing work? I could not have aided Mr. Dennehy with his dislocated shoulder without your strength.” She sweetened the pot a touch. “You could even continue your secretarial work, that you did for Laird Young, if you would like?”
He downed the last of his ‘tea’ and held her gaze. For several moments, he said nothing. “I’ll think about it,” he said, at last.
Even though it was not a promise, it meant one valuable thing… She had more time with him. And, for Victoria, that was enough for now.
Chapter 12
A few more days of making himself useful in Victoria’s healing endeavors turned into a fortnight for Camdyn. Since the afternoon where she had made her offer to him, he had not explicitly accepted it. And yet, he remained. After all, he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to occupy his time.
“Could you pass me some of the bottles for the willow-bark tonic?” Victoria asked. They had just finished with their last patient of the day—a laborer with a broken rib—and had sent him off with a poultice around the injury and a pouch of money so he would not have to work until it was better.
Camdyn reached for a cluster of empty bottles and carried them over to Victoria. “Here ye go.”
“Thank you.” She flashed him a cheerful smile and bent over the surface of a wide cabinet in the farthest corner of the room, where she stashed the larger jars of her homemade brews and medicines.
Lifting out a hefty jar of gray ceramic, with a black rim around the top, she decanted the willow-bark tonic into the smaller bottles. After a few seconds, she set the jar back down, panting furiously.
Lass, dinnae make them sounds.
His throat constricted, for if he closed his eyes, he could imagine her making those sounds in a different setting, possibly with a bed or some furs beneath them. He had tried not to think of her in an amorous capacity, and had striven to picture her as nothing more than a friend, but it became more difficult with every day that went by.
“Dinnae tire yerself, lass,” he said abruptly, stepping in to take the jar so he would not have to listen to those tantalizing pants anymore.
“There is more in there than I thought.” She wiped her brow with the back of her long sleeve, and cast him a grateful look.
He had expected her to move aside while he worked, but she did not. Instead, she stood directly beside him, barely more than a handspan away, and watched him as he had been watching her. His skin prickled in the most delicious way, as if he could feel her eyes upon his body, admiring him. He had noticed her looking at him that way when she thought she was being discreet, though it did nothing to help him stave off the desirous feelings he was having for her.
Ach, what are ye doin’ to me, lass?
He knew he should not be falling for her, and that he would be better off taking his meagre belongings and leaving, but every time she smiled, or laughed, or he remembered the way she had felt in his arms, that notion became more and more impossible. Despite being a physician, she had managed to infect him with longing for her company, and he did not know if there was a cure.
And though he knew it was dangerous, he was left with only one conclusion. He had to kiss her, and hold her in his arms again, or he would lose his mind all together.
Later that evening, Camdyn watched Victoria from the rear entrance of the house. Genevieve had retired to bed half an hour ago, and the servants were tending to their final duties. Victoria herself had said she was going to retreat to her bedchamber, but when Camdyn had peered from his own room’s window, he had spotted her shadow wandering in the garden and come back down to investigate.
She’ll catch her death.
An icy wind whipped up, shaking the bushes and whistling through the tree branches. He had a blanket draped over his arm, which he had brought from his bedchamber, after seeing her without a cloak in such bitter conditions.
Taking a breath, he stepped out into the darkened garden and walked slowly in her direction, so as not to spook her.
“Couldn’ae sleep, eh?” he announced his arrival for the same reason, his tone hushed.
Victoria whirled around in surprise. “Goodness, you gave me quite a scare!” A smile turned up the corners of her deeply bowed lips. “I thought you might be a vagabond, come to steal me away, into the night.”
“I saw ye from the window up there.” He pointed back over his shoulder. “Thought ye could use some warmin’ up before ye freeze yer daft self out here.”
Victoria shrugged. “I do not feel the cold anymore.”
“Aye, and I’d believe that if ye was nae shakin’ like a leaf.” He stepped closer and unfurled the folded blanket, draping it around her shoulders. He held on to the edges of the woolen fabric, his heart beating out a pounding tattoo in his chest, his breath quickening. Their bodies were barely a step apart, and she was looking up into his eyes with such… anticipation that he could not restrain the impulse any longer.
In a blur of heady desire, he grabbed her about the waist and pulled her into the shadows o
f a nearby apple tree, maneuvering her to the far side so they would not be seen from the house. With her back against the tree trunk, her breaths matched his rapid pace, her eyes wary but not reproachful.
One of his strong hands braced against the wood, while the other caught her face, cradling her cheek as his lips sought hers with an unbridled hunger. At first, she did not respond, his mouth like a tinderbox trying to strike a spark of returned ardor that would not light.
Kiss me back, lass.
He pressed against her, their bodies as flush as her spine to the tree. The tip of his tongue ran along the soft cushion of her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open, bit by bit.
A gasp escaped her throat as her hands suddenly wrapped around him, her fingernails digging into the muscle of his back as though he were driftwood in a turbulent sea, and if she did not grip tight, she might drown.
Aye, that’s it, lass.
He felt the change in her body as she pulled him so close that he could feel the ribbed lines of her whalebone corset. Her fingertips slid up his back, getting tangled in his loose shirt, as her lips finally began to move against his, dancing a fiery fling, their breaths hot on each other’s skin where the night was cold.
“Camdyn,” she murmured against his mouth, as her hands found his hair, her fingers running through his curls and tugging lightly, bringing his head down further so he could plunder her lips with more ferocity.
Ever the dutiful soldier, he encircled her waist with his arm and kissed her harder, pressing her to him until a blaze ignited in his loins. He knew she would be able to feel the swell of him through the fabric of her skirt, and knew it would take every ounce of willpower he possessed not to lift those rustling trains and have her wrap her legs about his waist, so he might sink into her inviting heat.
Instead, he kissed her as though he were making love to her mouth, slowing the pace to a sensual undulation, and moving away ever so slightly, to take a rasping breath of desire, before catching her lips once more, when she least expected it. She matched his speed, her gasps filling the silent night air, prompting him to quicken his pace again, as though he were heading toward the final throes of ecstasy.
He ravaged her lips, as she ravaged his, his tongue sliding skillfully and ravenously into her mouth whenever her lips parted to grant him entry. It did not seem to be something she was familiar with, as a quiet moan vibrated against his mouth, and her fingertips clawed him more desperately, clutching him as if she were shocked and thrilled in equal measure.
Tentatively, she echoed his passionate gesture, exploring his mouth with her tongue as though venturing into new territory. A small smile curved upon her lips. He felt the movement, inspiring a smile to grace his own as he moved his hips forward, so she would be in no doubt of the desire she had ignited in him.
“Oh, Camdyn,” she moaned, more loudly this time. Fearful that someone might hear, he pushed his lips more insistently against hers with wild abandon, not wanting this moment to be ended by curious servants, alerted by her gasps of pleasure, or Genevieve’s otherworldly hearing.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured, aware of the throbbing length beneath his kilt. He could only imagine how delicious it would be, to feel her oiled silk sinking down over him, taking him into her, and to hear just how loud her moans could grow if they were truly alone, and at liberty to do as they pleased. But he knew it could not happen here. Nor did he want it to, if he were entirely honest. This was different. She was different. He did not want to rush to that blissful conclusion, as he had done with past lovers, whom he had never seen again.
And so, he slowed his kiss right down, pulling back slightly with a last caress of his bottom lip against her mouth. Shivering with lust and the depth of his feelings for Victoria, his eyes met hers, both of them panting raggedly in the clandestine darkness of the apple tree.
“I hope ye dinnae mind me doin’ that?” He brought his hand to her narrowed waist, not wanting to break contact entirely. If he did, he worried he might awaken in his fancy bedchamber, to find that this had all been a fevered dream.
She shook her head slowly. “How could I possibly mind? I feel… more alive than I have done in years.” Her palms pressed to his broad chest. “Perhaps ever.”
“It’s just that ye were talkin’ about some vagabond stealin’ ye away into the night. It was nae far off.” He smiled, leaning forward to snatch another taste of her reddened, kiss-swollen lips.
“Had I known you would do that, I would have stood out here every evening in anticipation,” she replied huskily, tugging at his shirt. Rising up on tiptoe, she left a lingering kiss upon his neck, stirring up the passions again that had just begun to ebb.
He bit his lower lip, and sucked harsh, lusty air between his teeth. “Och lass, ye dinnae know what ye do to me. I cannae sit still for want of ye. I know ye dinnae see me starin’ at ye while ye’re at yer work, but yer patients have. Makes me feel like a lad who’s wandered into a barn and found the shepherd and his lass goin’ at it like rabbits behind the hay bales.”
She chuckled. “I confess, I have never heard that metaphor before, nor have I witnessed rabbits performing their mating rituals.”
“Aye, well me tongue’s crasser than yers, I ‘spose.” He grinned.
She peered up at him through long, dark lashes, her expression sultry. “There is nothing crass about your tongue, Camdyn. I have never experienced anything like… what you did.” She cast her gaze down, as though embarrassed by her admission.
“Then ye haven’ae been loved properly, lass,” he said, without hesitation. Even with the lovers from his past, he had ensured that they left his bed as satisfied as he was. Of course, he knew of men who treated coupling as a battle, with the woman on the opposing side—an entity to be plundered and triumphed over, instead of treated with attention and passion. An ally in the bed, not an enemy.
Her brow furrowed for a moment. “No, I daresay I have not.”
“I’d like to give ye me affection, if ye’d let me.” Camdyn tilted her chin up, resuming the connection of their gaze. “Nae in that way, with ye bein’ a fine lady an’ all, but in the… heart way. Och, I am nae makin’ any sense, am I? I am nae good with me words. What I’m tryin’ to say is—I’m fond of ye, Victoria. Fonder than I’ve ever been of anyone.”
“As I am, of you,” she confessed, her expression a mixture of worry and delight. “I have come to cherish your presence in this house and at my side, Camdyn. And though you say I have not noticed you looking at me, you must not have noticed me looking at you. I cannot help it, though I have tried.”
Camdyn paused. “Ye dinnae want to be fond of me?”
“That is not it, at all. My heart has already decided to be bound to you, and I am not ashamed of it.” She took a stilted breath. “But we cannot proceed as if we were an ordinary lady and a gentleman, courting for the first time. We have already gone beyond that,” she gave a shy chuckle, “but there is much to consider.”
Camdyn nodded. “Because ye’re a beautiful, widowed Sassenach and I’m a rebel Jacobite with nay cause to follow.” He did not say it harshly or churlishly. He was merely speaking the truth that they both knew. They would have to be careful with their feelings, if they continued to act on them.
“Something of that ilk, yes, though I would not care if you were French. It does not matter to me where you have come from, or what cause, or what King you serve. You are you. That is all I care for.” She smiled sadly. “However…”
“I hate that word,” Camdyn muttered.
She nodded. “Me, too. But the trouble is, I am still an English Lady—a Countess, more specifically—and there are specific rules that I must follow, as laid out by the peerage. I have broken a great many while living here in Scotland, but when it comes to a widow’s romantic relationships, there are rubrics with far greater consequences.”
She wants me, but she cannae have me. I want her, but I cannae have her. That’s what she’s sayin’.
He felt suddenly d
eflated as he stepped back from Victoria, reluctantly removing his hand from her waist. Before he kissed her, he had been more worried about her shunning his affection. Now that he had discovered that their feelings were mutual, it felt like a much harder kick in the gut that they could do nothing about it.
“Then, will ye be wantin’ me to find someplace else?” Camdyn asked, ready to leave if that was what she required. Anything to avoid causing her further pain or torment, because of him.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Goodness no! I would not have you abandon me for anything, Camdyn. I desire you to remain with me, here, and I do not wish for our feelings to change.” She hesitated. “I am only saying that we must be cautious with our… um… affections, lest they put us both in harm’s way from the external world of the English gentry.”
“Now that they won their war against us, I dinnae imagine they’ll come over the border again. All them Dukes and whatever are probably all back in their big houses, cheerin’ to their victory, with nay desire to come back up here,” Camdyn replied sagely. They would leave a few military men here and there, to ensure that a fresh rebellion did not emerge, but the gentlemen that Victoria spoke of were not the sort to linger.
Highlander's Fallen Angel : A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 10
