by Tracy Brogan
“WELCOME TO DEMPSEY, my lady,” said the yellow-haired priest. “I’m Father Darius. I’ve come to escort you to dinner. Lord Myles regrets he cannot do so himself, but I’m afraid the earl’s fever has returned.”
Fiona didn’t like priests. Father Bettney from Sinclair Hall had the disposition of a badger and always made her skin crawl as if ants were upon it. But this one seemed pleasant enough, with pale freckles and an earnest manner. He smiled and offered his arm.
She had little choice but to take it. She could not spend the rest of her days lingering in this bedchamber. And truth be told, as unappealing as dining with dozens upon dozens of Campbells would be, she was getting restless. She’d spent the afternoon alone after Myles left. She thought briefly to venture out on her own, but decided against it when she heard men’s voices streaming in from the courtyard.
“Thank you, Father. Will my husband be joining us for dinner?”
“I don’t believe so. He and his mother are sitting with the earl. But I’ll keep you company. And Lady Vivienne and Lady Alyssa will join us too. You can tell us all about your life at Sinclair Hall.”
As they walked along the corridor, passing a dozen Campbell portraits, Father Darius told her bits about each ancestor. Their history was rich, and Fiona had not realized how entwined their clan was with the Stewart monarchy. At last turning a corner, they came upon a narrow staircase, leading down and ending with a door.
The priest paused. “Are you ready to meet the rest of your new kin?”
No, she was not. Though she’d met a handful of Campbells, and most had been cordial, who knew what the rest might be like? Beyond this door would be the knights she’d put at risk, and their resentful wives. Or worse than that, the widows she’d helped create. But Vivienne would be there, and though Fiona was still not certain of the woman’s motivations, at least she’d sit by her and not leave her to the wolves. And perhaps Darby would be there as well. That notion brightened her mood, for she missed her little champion.
Fiona nodded once. “Yes, Father.”
“That’s a good lass. I’m sure you’ll find a most gracious welcome. Though, keep in mind, they are worried for their laird. Tensions are running a bit high, and the mood is somber.”
He pulled open the door, and she stepped through into the most magnificent hall imaginable. It was huge, with blue-and-green banners bearing the Campbell crest hanging from every truss. At the far end of the hall hung another flag, larger than any of the others and displayed in the place of greatest honor. It was embroidered with the king’s emblem—a crowned lion and a unicorn—for Dempsey was a Stewart holding, with Cedric Campbell serving as master of the royal household.
Underneath that magnificent flag was a raised dais, where the family would sit to dine, and throughout the hall were other tables, each covered in crisp white cloth and laden with silver plates and platters of food. Musicians sat behind a screen, playing loudly enough to be heard but not so much as to be disruptive, while servants moved about, efficient in their tasks.
Fiona marveled at the scene. ’Twas so unlike the hall at home, where everything had a dingy pallor and a rustic feel. Exiled to the far north by the king as the Sinclairs had been, she’d known little in the way of creature comforts. And once her mother was gone, Hugh Sinclair’s only focus had been training his sons for revenge, not nurturing his daughters or providing a welcome hearth and home.
One could get used to being a Campbell if this was how they lived. Her mouth watered as the smell of pheasant and roasted boar wafted past, but she twitched her nose against it. ’Twas seduction of another sort. The fine dresses and the food and the big downy beds. And the kisses. All of this mingled into a potion meant to make her forget who she was. She’d eat the food, yes. And she’d enjoy it, too. But no delicious meal or velvet gown would bring her mother back. ’Twas Cedric Campbell who’d thrust her family into such dire straits, first by pitting the king against them and then by ripping her mother from this earth. She’d do well to remind herself of that.
Father Darius led her to the dais, where, as she’d suspected, Vivienne awaited with a ready smile. Darby was next to her, his unruly hair combed smooth.
“How was your afternoon, Fiona?” Vivienne asked, raising one inquisitive brow.
Judging from Vivienne’s expression, the woman assumed she’d spent some time in Myles’s arms. Fiona could not halt the heated blush.
“Fine,” she mumbled.
“Any revelations about...proper fabric and such?”
Fiona cast a glance at the priest, but he seemed more interested in surveying the hall. Looking back to Vivienne, she answered, “None whatsoever.”
“Ah, more’s the pity.”
Fiona took her seat, and soon Alyssa joined them, looking pale and weary.
Darius helped her to a chair. “How fares your father, child?” he asked.
“Still the same. The fever lingers, though the surgeon poured boiling oil over his injuries before applying the hot irons. He fears infection.”
The puddle of tears in the young girl’s eyes squeezed Fiona’s heart. How very much like her own sister she was, sweet and shy and fragile. Though a Campbell, Fiona knew she would never hold this girl accountable for the sins of her father.
Vivienne reached over and caressed Alyssa’s arm. “He’s strong as an ox, sweeting. He’ll be well before you know it.”
Alyssa nodded, but the tears spilled out. “Mother would not let me stay. But I’ve as much right to sit with him as anyone.”
“Of course you do. She thinks only to protect you. It isn’t good for you to see him when he’s not himself. But after dinner, we’ll go to chapel, you and I, and we’ll pray for him. Yes?” She tapped her hand against Alyssa’s.
The girl nodded again and offered a tremulous smile at her aunt. “Thank you, Vivi. I should like that very much.”
Vivienne turned to Fiona. “Of course, you are welcome to join us as well, if you’ve a mind to.”
Sit in the chapel and pray for the swift recovery of Cedric Campbell? She’d sooner kiss the devil’s backside. But she’d not say as much. These two had been kind and might prove to be the only friends she’d ever have.
“I should like to see the chapel,” Fiona said. What harm could it do after all? She had plenty to pray for. No need to point out that her prayers and theirs would clash like swords in God’s ear.
The hour was late when Fiona returned to her chamber and found Ruby dozing in a chair.
Fiona shut the door with a whump, and the maid sat upright, fluttering her chubby hands about her face.
“Oh, heavens, m’lady. Ye gave me a start. I was resting my eyes.” Ruby wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up.
“’Tis all right, Ruby. Has my husband been here?”
Ruby shook her head, her cap flopping askew. “No, m’lady. But the seamstress brought you two nightdresses and some other things. I put them away.”
What type of nightdress? “Would you show them to me?”
“Yes, m’lady.” Ruby bobbed her head and stepped away, only to return moments later with her plump arms filled with frothy fabric. Nerves of relief popped in Fiona’s chest, for there was one plain linen sheath. Beneath it was another of the translucent material. She touched the latter like a bubble that might vanish at her touch. It was soft, with an almost sparkly sheen. Around the neck was a band of tiny pearls. How the seamstress had produced such a lovely garment in so short a time was a mystery. The woman must have nimble fingers, indeed. Too bad Fiona would never wear the thing.
“I’ll wear the plain one,” she said.
Ruby tsk-tsked under her breath, an affront that Fiona chose to ignore.
Donning the nightdress, Fiona turned to her reflection in the looking glass, and frustration, like sand in scallop, grit against her teeth. This shift may be plain and demure, but it was revealing nonetheless. And what would her husband do when he came to the room this night?
; Ask for my kisses and you shall have one thousand. The notion made her limbs tremble and her belly hot. Surely, she had no use for kisses. Kisses would not bring her mother back, nor return Fiona home to Margaret’s side. All his kisses did was confuse her, and she must do all she could to keep her faculties about her.
Still, it was growing harder and harder to despise him.
Cedric’s fever returned with the vengeance of Cain, and all they could do once more was wait and pray. For hours, Myles and his mother sat near his father’s bedside, taking turns mopping his damp brow with a cool cloth. Father Darius knelt near the foot of the bed, his hands worrying a rosary and his lips moving in silent prayer. The surgeon stood near an open window, conferring with his astrologers, looking for a sign to cure what ailed their laird.
Vivienne came in long after supper and wrapped an arm around Marietta. “How is he?”
Marietta wiped her own brow. “Worse. The side wound festers, and he’s mad with fever.”
“We prayed for him, Mari—Alyssa and I. I’m certain the Lord has heard us.”
“Hearing a prayer and granting it are two very different things.”
“Have you seen my wife?” Myles asked Vivienne.
“Fiona was with us in the chapel but has since gone to retire,” Vivienne answered.
Myles nodded. “Thank you, Vivi. Now will you take Mother to her room and see she gets some rest? I’ll sit here with the earl until morning.”
“I’ll stay as well,” his mother argued.
“Father will be vexed with me if he awakens to find I’ve let you wear yourself out, Mother. Go get some sleep. If he worsens or improves, I’ll send someone to tell you.”
She started to speak, but he cut her off. “It’s not a suggestion, Mother. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Vivi held out her hand, and his mother took it. Together, the women left the chamber. Myles turned away and sighed with some relief. For the past hour or more, his father had been mumbling. Mostly incoherent, but certain names had caught his ear. Names he did not want his mother burdened with. Aislinn Sinclair being one of them.
It was seven years past when word of her murder traveled down from the North and reached Dempsey Castle. Myles had been just sixteen then and recalled the weeks following were dark and fraught with calamity as clans took sides. Some chose to believe Hugh Sinclair’s lies that the earl had done the evil deed. But just as many stood up with the Campbells, knowing Hugh for his spite and malice, and declared the earl was nowhere near the place and had no cause to bring her harm.
His father had said little on the matter, then or now, and refused to all who asked him to explain how his brooch had come to be in the possession of the Sinclairs. Still, Myles knew well enough his mother had heard the name that spilled forth from his father’s fevered lips. He saw her own lips press together in a taut line and watched the tear slip silently down her cheek.
Though he longed to, he would never ask her what she knew of Aislinn Sinclair or her thoughts on what the woman meant to his father. He would not be so cruel. When his father awoke from this distress, he would press him and finally get some answers.
’Twas near midnight two full days later when Myles finally stumbled to his chamber, eager to sleep in his own bed. His father’s fever had broken, and Cedric appeared to be on the mend. And at long last, his father had confided to Myles a wild story from his time at court, an elaborate tale about the midnight rescue of Scotland’s boy king and of a passionate affair with Aislinn Sinclair.
Myles pushed the door open, and as expected, Fiona was cozily ensconced between his bedsheets. This time she’d seen fit to climb beneath the covers and, in another merciful gesture, had braided her tresses into one thick plait. He did not need her curls tickling his nose. He wanted badly enough to take his pleasure in her, but not this evening. Not when he was so tired he could barely hold open his eyes and had not the patience to woo her.
He stripped, fast and efficient, and slipped in next to her, praying his exhaustion would extend to every part of his anatomy.
It didn’t.
Knowing she was there, within his grasp, relaxed and unguarded, brought his manhood to full attention. Traitorous cock. The thing had no loyalty to his brain and thought only of its own satisfaction. It cared not at all about the fatigue in his limbs or that his skull pounded with a headache days in the making. It also cared little of the foolish promise he had made to his wife.
You must ask me for my kisses.
Where had that plea come from? ’Twas a faulty gesture, one made in haste that he regretted the instant it fell from his lips that afternoon a few days past. For of course she would not ask. Her pride would not allow it.
He could reach out, he supposed. Lord knew his randy manhood tapping against his thigh would not relent. And yet, there was his own pride to consider. She behaved as if marriage to him had brought her low, when in fact it was an honor. She should be proud to be a Campbell bride. Proud and willing.
And so he must sway her to that way of thinking yet. He’d start by telling her about his most recent and revealing conversation with his father. The truth would not erase the wounds left by years of feuding between their clans, but it might make a difference. It would be a fresh start, a new foundation on which to build this marriage. A wave of relief and renewed fatigue washed over him.
Yes, that was the answer. Tomorrow, he’d tell Fiona how Cedric had loved her mother, that they’d met in the glen that day and he’d given her the brooch as a gift, the token of a promise. And most of all, he’d tell her that when Cedric had left Aislinn’s side, she’d been joyous and well, and very much alive.
CHAPTER 20
“ARE YOU CALLING my mother a faithless whore?”
Myles ran one hand across his bewhiskered jaw and fisted the other in frustration. Christ Almighty! The girl had no sense at all, no sense to see the grander scheme of what he was saying.
“She loved him, Fiona. As he loved her. ’Tis why they were together in the glen that day. My father admitted as much to me, though he doesn’t want my mother or anyone else made the wiser, so you must not speak of this.”
His wife’s eyes flashed, the color high upon her cheeks. She was dressed in a gown of deep green, but her hair hung loose, for he’d sent Ruby from the room before she could style it.
They were in his chamber, husband and wife breakfasting together in an awkward silence, until at last he told her of his father’s fevered confession.
“You must think me the most gullible of fools,” Fiona spat. “My mother held nothing but contempt in her heart for any Campbell.”
“Did she say as much?” he asked.
“What?”
“Did she tell you such a thing? Or were those words put in your mind after the fact? You were just a child when she was killed.”
Fiona stood and began to pace. “I was ten, but I saw the brooch with my own eyes. ’Twas pierced straight through her skin, Myles. My memory is accurate.” She dashed away a single tear as if it stung her face.
He thought she’d find relief at his words, but everything he said only raised her ire and her agitation.
He lowered his voice. “I was shocked to hear the details of their liaison too, but think on this, Fiona. It makes sense if you will listen. For years, our parents were friends at court, allied close enough to unite our clans by betrothing you to me. All was well between us. But when your father betrayed the king and helped Archibald Douglas hold him captive, my family became an enemy to yours. Still, that doesn’t mean your mother despised us.”
“So, my mother was a whore and my father a traitor? How highly you regard my parents.”
He rose fast from his chair. “As highly as you regard mine. I’m not inventing these details! These are the facts. Can you deny your father sided with Douglas and opposed King James?”
She slapped away another tear. “I deny only the absurdity of your accusations. My father chose the losing side, but that doesn’t make him a t
raitor. Nor was my mother duplicitous and unfaithful. You admit your father was the last to see her alive, yet I’m to believe he did her no harm? If not him, then who?”
’Twas the question he dreaded, for only one logical answer could be given. Who indeed would have greater cause to murder Aislinn Sinclair than her cuckolded husband?
Myles bit back his response, but the implication hung in the air like an executioner’s ax.
He watched her thoughts unscramble as she pieced together the puzzle with her own deductions, and saw the light dawn in her eyes. But her expression turned just as quickly to disbelief. She shook with emotion.
“You think it was my father? How dare you!”
Myles felt sympathy for his wife. This was a horrid accusation, but surely she could see it made more sense than his own father being the villain. What reason would the earl have for doing such a thing? Even if he had not loved her, he’d have no cause to despise her.
Patience was essential to his mission, but also in short supply. “I know what manner of man your father was, Fiona. Can you deny he possessed a violent temper? And great malice toward the Campbells? Perhaps it was an accident when she died and he took advantage to blame us.”
She sank back down into the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. “Would you leave me?” Her voice rasped. “Please?”
He wanted to stay and press his cause, but her arms crossed in front of her like a bar across the door. He had no stomach for talking in circles, and perhaps some time to brood might soften the bitter frown upon her face. With a sigh, he moved toward the door.
“I’ll be with my father this morning, but I’ll send Vivi to keep you company.” His aunt seemed to have a way with her. Perhaps she could help his wife see reason. The notion nearly tripped him.
In his wildest dreams, he had not imagined he’d be turning to his mischievous aunt for help.
The gentle thud of the door as Myles left sounded at odds with the slamming of Fiona’s heart. Her mother and Cedric? Lovers? What heinous lies! The very suggestion was as preposterous as it was insulting. This was just another Campbell ploy—and poorly played, at that. Myles thought to convince her she was wrong about his father by accusing her own? Absurd! Even if Cedric had loved her mother in his own twisted way, it was jealousy that made him brand her as his own. And never, never would she believe her mother had loved him in return.
