by Julia London
“What are we to do?” Mr. Babcock asked.
Jamie glanced back at them, wondering the same thing. And he was wondering something else—who exactly had Daria been speaking to when she declared she didn’t want see you?
Because she’d been looking right at him.
DARIA COULD SCARCELY relate the entire nightmare to Charity between her gasps of outrage and pain and her occasional pounce on the pillows to pound out her fury. “All is lost,” she said. “All is lost!”
“All is not lost,” Charity tried, but it was clear she didn’t believe it. She paced as much as Daria, her brow furrowed. “He must be brought to justice. My father hanged because the earl accused him of thievery, when he himself was the thief! He has ruined too many lives, and I will not stand by whilst he lives in leisure in Scotland!”
“And my parents—my parents—have abetted him!” Daria cried angrily.
She was in the midst of a harangue about the duplicity of her own flesh and blood when Bethia slipped into the room. Daria was in such a state that she very nearly paced right over the wisp of a girl. “Bethia! What in blazes are you doing?” she exclaimed impatiently.
“The laird sent me. He would have you come and see after your parents,” she said. “He does no’ wish to entertain them.”
“No.”
“He has accepted a ransom from them, Daria. It would not do to sup with them and talk about the bloody weather!” Charity snapped. Her nerves were obviously as frayed as Daria’s.
“I can’t speak to them yet,” Daria said. “I simply cannot bear to look at them.” A clap of thunder just overhead startled all three women; Daria stalked to the window and peered out. The skies had opened and were pouring down on Dundavie.
“Bloody hell, we’re trapped,” Charity muttered.
“What shall I tell the laird, then?” Bethia asked.
“Tell him . . .” Daria closed her eyes. Tell him I am so terribly sorry. Tell him I wish he’d never met me. Tell him I wish I had never come to Scotland, for I will spend the rest of my life missing him. She turned to Bethia, her gaze beseeching. “Please, I need time. Divert him—tell him something, anything.”
“He’ll only send me back again,” Bethia said with a shrug.
Daria wanted to throttle the girl. She was the most obstinate female she had ever met—
“Aye, I’ll think of something,” Bethia said.
“Thank you,” Daria said. “Thank you so much, Bethia.”
Daria grabbed Charity’s hand as Bethia went out. “Help me. Help me think what to do.”
“There is only one thing you can do,” Charity said. “You must go to your parents and force them to tell the truth. It is the only way my family will ever have justice.”
“That would mean . . . that would mean returning to England with them.”
“Is there any other way?” Charity demanded angrily. “Do you know how many lives the earl has ruined? And continues to ruin, clearly! By your own admission, your grandmother has been made mad by him. Do you not want to see her avenged?”
“Even if it means turning on my parents?”
“You are not turning on them, Daria. You are the only one who can help them now.”
Tears began to burn in the back of Daria’s throat. She did not want to return to England.
“It’s maddening, I understand,” Charity said earnestly. “You must think you will never be in society, but that is not true. You’ll always be welcome at Tiber Park—”
“That’s not what saddens me, Charity. It’s Jamie.”
“The laird? Oh, poor Daria.”
“You don’t need to persuade me to leave, if that’s what you think. I could no more burden him with who I am now than I could you. I am a bastard child with criminal connections,” she said bitterly.
“Just like Catherine,” Charity responded, referring to her daughter.
“Charity, I didn’t mean—”
“But it’s true,” Charity said curtly.
Daria thought of Charity’s daughter, that sunny little girl, her future so hazy because of the circumstances of her birth. And that finally opened the spigot of her tears. She’d finally found the excitement she’d sought, the taste of living beyond the ivy-covered walls of her home. She’d finally found the man who sparked her imagination, who had captivated her on first sight.
And in one afternoon, she’d lost the only love she’d ever really known, lost her name, her parents, and her future.
Charity wrapped her arms around Daria, weeping, too. They held tightly to each other for a long moment until Daria sucked in her breath and lifted her head. “No more,” she said. “There is too much to be done.”
“Perhaps,” Charity said, wiping the tears delicately from beneath her eyes, “perhaps your parents don’t need you so?”
“What are you saying?” Daria cried. “You’ve said the very opposite for two days.”
“Yes, I know what I’ve said.” She winced as if the memory pained her. “Do you know how I have envied you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You are the darling of society, Daria, the one everyone wants at their table. When I first came to Tiber Park, I was envious of you. No one wanted me, not with a bastard daughter. And that’s why I have urged you to go home, Daria. I thought perhaps you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.” She shook her head, and closed her eyes a moment.
“I endured a family tragedy which colored everything. Everything! My brother and I lived in squalor. I was forced to learn about the ugly side of life at a very young age. It made me a very lonely woman, Daria. I can’t tell you what I would have given to have had love in my life—any love, if only that of a friend. I wanted desperately what you have found here at Dundavie, and yet, I’ve advised you against it. What sort of friend am I?”
“The very best of friends,” Daria said tearfully. “You were right all along, Charity. I could never fit in here. I don’t belong with these people. And my parents’ deception, the ordeal they have put my grandmother through? I could not dishonor Jamie so.”
Charity sighed. But she did not agree that Daria was right.
Twenty-seven
JAMIE COULD NOT make sense of what had happened. He couldn’t grasp what had put up a stone wall between him and Daria so suddenly. He’d come back for her. He’d risked all for her. And now, he couldn’t even see her.
Robbie told him some of what had happened at the cottage. There had been a heated argument, and Daria had fled from her grandmother. He told Jamie how ragged the old woman had looked, her decline evident since the last time they’d seen her.
It was Mackenzie who told him what Mrs. Moss had said, having learned it from Charity. Mackenzie told him that long ago, Charity’s father had stood accused of having stolen priceless jewels from Lady Ashwood, and had hanged for it. Years later, it was discovered he’d died an innocent man, that Lord Ashwood had made it appear as if the jewels had been stolen. And he’d allowed the woodcarver to be accused and hanged for the crime. The earl had disappeared, presumed to have drowned in a swollen river—but the secret the old woman had been keeping was that he was very much alive, living in an abandoned Scottish fort.
Jamie ordered four men to go and bring the earl to Dundavie at once.
But he still did not understand why Daria would not see him.
He brooded, pacing before the hearth in his study.
He brooded until Geordie entered the study with his slate, which he put under Jamie’s nose. What?
Jamie didn’t want to try to explain his heart—he could scarcely understand it himself. He shook his head. “It’s quite complicated, aye?”
With a dark frown, Geordie erased his slate and wrote, Mut. Na dum.
Jamie sighed. “No, you are no’ dumb. All right, then, brother. I have fallen in love. But no’ with Isabella Brodie.”
Geordie’s brows lifted and he gestured for Jamie to go on. So Jamie told him what he was feeling for Daria. That he’d refused the Bro
dies’ latest offer. That he expected to be squeezed mightily between the Brodies and the Murchisons.
Geordie nodded. He wrote, Good.
That surprised Jamie. “Good? Have you heard a word?”
Geordie nodded.
Jamie studied his brother. “You like her, then?”
Geordie smiled. I, he wrote. And then another word that Jamie thought was Gaelic for “spirited,” although it was impossible to be certain. He also wrote Sasnak.
“Sassenach, aye, that she is,” Jamie said, and shrugged helplessly.
Geordie erased the slate. Good for Dundavie.
Remarkably, the words were as clear as if Geordie had spoken them. Jamie smiled. “Thank you. I needed to hear a bit of support.”
Geordie nodded, then frowned. Hast, he wrote.
“Haste?” Jamie shook his head. “I am paralyzed as long as she remains locked away from me.”
Geordie grabbed his elbow and pulled him to the window. Jamie looked out to see his footmen loading bags and a trunk on the back of Mackenzie’s coach in the rain.
She was leaving him. No, no! Jamie whirled around from the window and dashed from his study, Geordie at his side.
He reached the foyer just as Mackenzie stepped inside.
“What are you doing?” Jamie demanded.
Mackenzie’s demeanor changed slightly, and he squared off in front of Jamie. “The ransom has been paid, aye? We are leaving.”
“And who would we be then?” Jamie demanded.
“If you are referring to Miss Babcock, she has spoken with her parents and they want to leave at once.”
“No,” Jamie said.
“Aye,” Mackenzie said calmly. “As I said, the ransom has been paid.”
Jamie had waited long enough, and he intended to demand answers. But when he turned for the stairs he saw Daria slowly coming down, her parents and Miss Scott behind her. She was dressed in a heavy cloak, her step leaden and her face drawn.
“What is this?” he demanded of her, gesturing to the door. “What are you about, lass?”
She looked at him with dark, lifeless eyes. “What it seems. I’m to England.”
“Daria—”
“Now that the ransom has been paid, I am free to go, am I not?”
He would not deny that; he had given his word. “What of your grandmamma, then?” he demanded a bit frantically.
“Captain Mackenzie is sending his men—”
“The hell he is.” Jamie looked at Geordie, who knew instantly what he needed and quietly walked out the door to the bailey. “No one is going anywhere, as it happens,” Jamie said. “I hold all of you for ransom.”
Daria gasped. “You can’t do that!”
“No, you canna,” Mackenzie said, his voice deadly calm.
“No? I am laird here; I can do as I please. Do you intend to stop me?” he asked Mackenzie, just as calmly.
Mackenzie braced his legs apart. “If I must.”
“Assuming you can, which I doubt, you’ll have to stop them, too,” Jamie said, nodding at the Campbell men who were filing in behind Geordie.
Mackenzie’s face darkened. “You are making a grave mistake, Laird.”
“Aye, well, I’m no’ alone.” Jamie looked up at Daria. “Come here, Miss Babcock. We must speak—”
“No,” she said. “We are leaving, Laird. You must honor your word.” Her mother put her hand on Daria’s shoulder, but Daria angrily shook it off. “You said that I was free when the ransom was paid; you promised. And if you don’t honor your word, if you betray me . . .” She choked back a sob.
“If I donna honor my word, what?” he challenged her, stepping up onto the stairs. “What will you do?”
“I will lose all hope.” She whirled about, pushing past her parents and Miss Scott and retreating up the stairs.
Jamie looked at Geordie. “No one leaves. No’ until Miss Babcock and I have resolved a thing or two.” He started up the stairs.
“What do you intend to do, Laird Campbell? Force her to your will?” Miss Scott asked as he moved past her.
Jamie paused to look her directly in the eye. “If necessary, that is precisely what I mean to do.”
A smile spread across Miss Scott’s face. “Best of luck, then,” she said softly, and stepped back.
“Mr. Campbell, please,” Jamie heard Daria’s mother say, but it was too late. He was running up the stairs, his mind made up.
THE DOOR TO her suite banged open with such force that it hit the wall. Daria whirled around with a start; she opened her mouth to protest, but Jamie didn’t give her an opportunity. He strode across the room, grabbed her face between his hands, and kissed her. Hard. He kissed her until her body softened, until he could feel the tension seeping out of her.
He softened his kiss, then slowly lifted his head. “You meant to board that coach and leave without a word? Bloody hell, leannan, what do you mean to do to me?” he asked softly.
She sighed wearily and dropped her head against his shoulder. How could she possibly explain it? “What I mean to do is spare you the dishonor that will soon be associated with my name.”
“You’ll have to be a wee bit clearer than that.”
A tear slipped from her eye. “I learned something quite horrible today. I am . . . I am a bastard,” she whispered.
Jamie stared at her, his brows sinking with his confusion.
“Mamie told me the truth at last,” she said, and reluctantly, tearfully, related the full story.
Jamie listened, his expression reflecting the horror of her words. She knew it was the worst sort of news for her. And for him.
She waited for the inevitable, for him to say he needed time to think—or perhaps he would be more blunt than that.
“Daria,” he said, and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the weight of the words if she looked at him.
“Daria, I donna care,” he said softly.
Daria opened her eyes. “You’re mad not to care.”
“Aye, well I know it. But I donna care. I love you, leannan. It doesna matter to me.”
She quickly pressed her fingers against his mouth. “Of course it matters. Your clan—”
He jerked her hand from his mouth. “My clan will accept it or they will no’. And if they donna, they may answer to Geordie as their laird.”
Her breath caught. “You don’t mean that,” she pleaded. “You have the opportunity to marry a lovely Scottish—”
“God in heaven, lass, listen to what I say!” He slid his hand to the nape of her neck. “Today I told Isabella I’d no’ marry her. I told her I loved someone else. God as my witness, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I’m no’ losing you. I donna care if you were born of faeries, or are English, or have a barmy grandmother—you’re mine.”
She gaped at him in shock. “You didn’t! You couldn’t! Isabella Brodie is a perfect match for you, Jamie. Don’t be a fool—I am so damaged.”
“I’ll marry you here and now to prove it.”
“Jamie . . . how can you give up all for me?”
“Donna make it sound like a fairy tale, Daria. I tried no’ to love you—God knows I tried, but I failed miserably. I’ve been plagued with wanting you since I first saw you.”
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, her heart filling with happiness, with hope.
“You said that you thought I could bear anything, aye? Well I canna bear losing you.”
She grabbed his head in her hands. “I love you, too. Fiercely. Completely.”
He wrapped his arms tightly around her and lifted her up to kiss her deeply. Then he picked her up into his arms, walked to the door, and kicked it shut. He went to her bed, falling with her onto it. His hair fell over his brow as he searched her face, his hand lightly caressing it. Then his fingers slipped down to the neckline of her gown. “Aye, lass, I do love you,” he said again, and his knee slipped between her legs as his mouth found her ear. “I didna demand enough ransom for you, I think.”
&nbs
p; “I love you,” she whispered and smiled up at him.
Jamie growled his appreciation and moved down her body to her breast, mouthing it through her gown while his free hand found the hem. He slid up her body, rough skin over smooth, setting her skin on fire where he touched her. There was no need for words—their touch was born of bottled-up desire and ravenous need for one another.
Daria was surprised by her willingness to explore him. She felt brave and courageous as she pulled his shirt over his head and put her mouth to his chest. He groaned, then quickly undid the buttons of her gown, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside before standing up and removing his trousers. He was beautifully built, as she knew, his body tall and erect in all aspects.
He gazed down at her and shook his head. “How is it possible for one woman to be so irresistibly enticing,” he said roughly, and came over her again. He took her breast into his mouth, sucking and nipping. He explored her with his hand, his fingers finding every crevice, sinking deep into them. Daria could scarcely draw a breath when he rolled her over onto her stomach and kissed her hips, biting playfully at her flesh.
But then he rolled her onto her back again and slipped in between her legs, his cock brushing against her sex. Daria was wild with desire, and she smiled up at him as she pushed his hair from his face.
She cared about nothing but Jamie. She wanted to love him, to be loved by him, to know this exquisite moment in his arms.
When he whispered “Tha gaol agam ort” in her ear and thrust into her, Daria felt nothing but lightness. As her body adjusted to his, she marveled at how a man and woman could fit together so completely, how a man could move so seductively inside her, tantalizing her with the breadth and the depths to which he smoothly stroked, and she was amazed at how bottomless was the intimacy in this act between lovers.
Now that she understood what it meant to belong to someone, she couldn’t imagine belonging to anyone else but Jamie Campbell. Ever.
Her body seemed to inherently know how to respond to him; her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, her knees squeezing around him. Jamie groaned as he moved deeper inside her, and he slipped his hand between them, stroking her folds as he stroked inside of her, stroking and stroking until Daria felt the tidal wave crashing through her, drawing from her toes and exploding deep within her. Jamie covered her cry of ecstasy with his mouth and quickened his strokes. She heard his moan in his chest, felt his strangled cry as he found his release. It was hot and potent; he filled her completely. And then he collapsed beside her, gathered her tenderly in his arms, and kissed the top of her head.
