In her last letter to him, his mother had begged him to find Duncan and forgive him for his choices. He’d done the one, but never really done the other. Maybe because he’d never really forgiven himself for his part in their fractured relationship.
Fiona cocked her head and studied him. “What happened nine years ago?”
Cameron’s heart tumbled and raged inside his chest. He didn’t want to talk about Duncan, or everything that had passed between them on that day so long ago. Yet even though he intended to turn the topic, the truth instead escaped his lips. “We argued. He wanted us to fight on the same side in the war. He wanted us to protect our land together. I wanted to fight for freedom. We’d never had slaves, and I didn’t understand why Duncan would choose to fight for the Confederacy. He said I didn't understand the value of the land or our heritage. I accused him of not caring about the plight of fellow human beings. I said worse things than that. We were both wrong.”
He’d never told anyone that. Not his brother, not his brothers-in-arms, not his mother in any of the letters he’d written to her before she’d died.
“So what happened when you saw him?”
He set his jaw and admitted, “He gave me half the money and the family ring. For luck, he said. You know, the ring I lost, just like I lost everything else.”
She stiffened. “That's a bit harsh, don’t you think?” She shifted away from him. “Sounds like your brother forgave you.”
Cameron nodded slowly, less an agreement than an acknowledgement of her words. “In his letters, he said there was nothing to forgive.”
She unlaced her fingers and placed her hand upon his knee, giving it a gentle, companionable squeeze. “Then maybe you’ve lost less than you think.”
He stood to escape her touch. “What do you know about it?” he demanded, his voice as jagged as broken rock.
Surprise lit her features. She stood and faced him. Her dark eyes scanned his face, dropped to his balled fists, and returned to his face. “You want to know what I know?” she asked. “I know that when forgiveness is freely given, it should be taken. I know what it’s like to have no one in this world. I know what it’s like to abandon the only people who ever meant anything to you, and I know what it’s like to no’ be able to go back. That’s what I know.”
She met his gaze, the challenge evident in the words, carefully chosen and forcefully spoken.
“You have the members of your band,” he countered.
She shook her head and briefly looked away. “I doona have anyone. I wanted to leave my parents’ band to join my husband’s. My father told me no’ to do it, that Ross couldn’t be trusted, and we had words. I left. But unlike you, I canno’ go back. I canno’ tell him he was right. I canno’ ask him to forgive me, because he will no’, and he should no’. I doona even know if he’s still alive.” Misery laced words softly spoken, and Cameron’s heart yielded, as it had yielded the first moment he’d seen her.
“You could maybe write to them.”
“If I could write, or if any of them could read, I surely would, no’ that it would do any good,” she snapped. “But it won’t. Your people are still alive. You can make amends. The brother I had is lost forever. I canno’ ask him to forgive me, and Lord knows my father won’t. He probably shouldn’t, either.” Her voice wavered, and the silvery light of moon glittered in eyes heavy with the weight of unshed tears.
His chest tightened and he reached for her hand, but she shook him off. “What happened, Fiona?”
Drawing a hand across her face, she said, “I wanted to run away with Ross. Da sent Kenneth to fetch me, and Ross killed him.” She sniffed once, and gave him a truncated shake of her head. Her lips pursed, her jaw clenched, and her fingers twisted and curled in the fabric of her skirt. But it wasn’t her angry words that tightened his chest, it was the despair and disappointment in her expression. “I think I’d like to go back now.”
He didn’t understand her world, but she surely seemed to understand his. He’d spent the last several years mourning all he had lost, without appreciating the advantages he’d been given and everything he still had. Approaching her, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I am so sorry, Fiona.”
“Of course you are,” she returned bitterly, shaking him off.
He cupped her face in his hands and she surprised him by allowing it. “Listen, Fiona, I meant no insult.”
The mirthless smile she gave him twisted in his gut. “‘Tis fine,” she said. “Just take me back now.”
“Fiona . . .”
Disappointment settled in her eyes, and he hated that he had put it there. “We’re no’ the same, Mr. Mackay. I think it’s time you took me back to the hotel.”
Just like that, she thought to dismiss him. “You don’t think so?” he asked. “Because I think we’re not so different, you and I.”
“You have roots and a clan. I have no one, and mayhap I prefer it that way. ‘Tis easier than losing them later on.” Naked pain flashed across her features before her expression settled into an inscrutable mask. “Tell me, what do a gypsy woman and a treasured son and brother have in common? I’ll rob you blind and put a hex on you just as soon as look at you. I am what I am, Mr. Mackay, and there’s no changing me. If there’s nothing more, you should take me back to the hotel.”
“Fiona . . .” He saw the protest rising to her lips before that single word even left his mouth.
So he did the only thing he could think of to silence her. He leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips were soft, and she tasted faintly like honey and spring flowers. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she melted into him, allowing him to plunder the heat of her mouth, gliding deep.
She was bright and wild and irresistible. He should turn from her now, before things became complicated, because a part of him was sure that if he turned his back for even a second, she’d make good on her threat and rob him blind.
He didn’t, because she had already stolen the only thing he had worth having.
Loosening the pins from her hair and tossing them into the dirt, he released her curls from the tight knot at the nape of her neck. Threaded his fingers into her hair, like he’d wanted to the night he’d met her in the dancehall.
She placed her hands on his chest and stepped back. “Cameron.”
His heart sang at the sound of his name on her lips. He opened his eyes and regarded her for a moment. Her face was flushed, her lips slick and swollen from his kisses, her eyes lidded with passion, and the mere sight was enough to unman him. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, her skin as soft as rose petals beneath his fingers.
“Don’t go.” His heart clenched when a tear escaped from beneath her thick, dark lashes. “Stay with me.” He tilted her head back and kissed her again.
Fiona’s heart broke and was made whole all in the same instant. He should have let her go. She should have made him.
There were a lot of things she should have done that she wouldn’t do.
He didn’t understand her. He was a good man who came from a decent family, and who had people to go back to. The future ahead of him was bright and full of prosperity and promise—she’d seen it. She was nothing but gypsy who’d abandoned her band when she was little more than a child. A woman responsible for the death of her brother, who hoped for neither salvation nor forgiveness.
There was nothing for her, here or anywhere else. But when he touched her, none of that mattered, their differences melting away.
Her wandering heart wanted a home.
So she let him kiss her. She allowed the passion swimming between them. She gave herself permission to take what he offered and to forget the fact the one thing he truly wanted was not beating in her chest but resting in her pocket.
He took her hand and threa
ded his fingers through hers. Gesturing in the direction of his shack, he repeated, “Stay with me?”
Before her lay an open door and a choice. She glanced back in the direction of Midnight, the path she ought to take—the one she would take if she had any sense. If she took those few steps into his shack, she’d likely leave her heart there. If she went back now, she could avoid the heartache.
He stroked her hand and stepped closer to her. Not demanding, as her husband and Seamus would have done. Asking. As if what she wanted mattered to him.
The horse nickered and tossed his head. The action caught her attention and held it as she marveled at the majestic beast. The animal possessed a certain wildness that stood in stark contrast to the gentleness she sensed in Cameron, yet it was that gentleness that tamed him without breaking his spirit.
She must have hesitated for a moment too long because Cameron gave her a quick kiss, and said, “It’s all right. I’ll take you home.”
Home. As if she even knew what that was. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, her hands shaking so badly she had to fist them to keep them steady. As he moved past her, she said, “Cameron.” He turned to her, and she would have been blind to miss the hope in his eyes. He waited for her to speak, silent, and she said, “I think I’d like to stay a little longer.”
She accepted the hand he extended to her and went with him inside.
Chapter 6
The door closed behind her. Fear and desire mingled beneath Fiona’s breast and her heart stuttered as the unfamiliar sensation coursed through her and settled in her limbs. Despite all she’d done and all she would continue to do, she’d always been fearless. It was the one thing about her Seamus respected.
Maybe she’d not had so much to lose before.
Instead of coming for her immediately, as her husband would have done, Cameron simply released her hand, lit the lamp, and placed it on a table next to his bed. The shack was little more than four walls, a sink, and a stove. A table and chair sat on one end of the room and a neatly made bed on the other. Cameron seemed to swallow all the space, filling every corner, until she was overwhelmed by his presence.
He turned to her, took off his coat, and his lips curled into a warm, sweet smile. Standing in his vest and his plain, white shirt, he looked even broader and more muscular, the vest stretched tight over his midsection. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on him, no hint of a paunch, and the mere sight of him temporarily stole her breath from her lungs.
“Would you like something to eat? Maybe something to drink?”
Startled, she brought her eyes to his face. She hadn’t expected an offer of food and drink. She’d expected a quick tumble before she returned to the city. She was about to refuse him when her stomach rumbled, and she said, “That would be nice.”
He grabbed a loaf of bread from a cupboard above the sink. “I don’t have much. Some bread, some dried meat, and a little cheese.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Fiona was surprised her words weren’t a lie.
He handed her a plate and set the kettle on the stove to heat. “I’m sorry I don’t have many places to sit. I don’t often have company.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or ever. It’s always just been me.”
He gestured for her to sit in the chair. She accepted, and he took a seat on his bed.
She took a bite. “So, you don’t bring your women here?”
He shrugged, but his gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “No. You would be the first.” He moved over to the stove, poured some water from a pitcher. “Would you like some coffee?”
She grinned at both his offer and his abrupt shift in topic. “Sure.”
He busied himself with the kettle and was silent as he did so. A old, worn tartan lay across the table, neatly folded, and Fiona fingered the faded green and blue fabric. The cloth was so old she was surprised it didn't fall apart beneath her hands.
“This is lovely.”
Cameron glanced over his shoulder. “My brother's wife sent it a few weeks ago. It's the family tartan.”
“How old is it?”
“I don't know. Old. My great-grandfather brought it over here when he was kicked off his land during the Clearances. At least a hundred years old, by my reckoning. Probably older than that.”
Fiona's heart twisted. It was another thing they had and common, she and Cameron Mackay. Her family had been evicted from their land during the Clearances, though the good Lord knew her family hadn't made anything of themselves like Cameron's family had. Instead, for generations, they'd wandered the hills of Scotland and, later, America, entertaining and thieving to make their way.
That was Fiona's legacy, a history so similar to his, but with a path quite divergent.
His eyes caught hers, and he grinned. He would never know that the smiles made her heart soar while at the same time festering in her gut, as she acknowledged the ugly truth standing between them.
They could never be anything more than this night.
She’d stolen his legacy, his link to his family. Even if she hadn’t, she was still a gypsy. She might toy with the idea of leaving the band in whatever city came next, but didn’t hold out hope she’d be able to do it. Twice already, Seamus had found the money she’d secreted away and taken it. Though she might not like the life she led, she knew nothing else. She had no other skills, save thieving and fortune-telling. Her father had always praised his daughter’s wandering heart, saying she was a true Tinker, never content to stay in one place for long.
That is, until her wandering heart had led her astray.
But she refused to think about that now.
Cameron handed her a battered tin cup, and as he did so, his fingers brushed against hers and lingered for too long, his touch a lightning bolt that seared her soul and numbed her mind. The effect was even more potent because it was unintentional.
He cleared his throat and stepped away, and she knew he’d felt it, too. He wasn’t the only one in the room who was electric.
Fiona put the cup on the table, then took his work-roughened hand and placed it on her waist. “Cameron.”
He stepped forward, enveloping her in his embrace. Holding her close, he said roughly, “Fiona.”
He didn’t kiss her. He simply stood there, encircling her with his arms, and gazing at her with devotion in his hazel eyes. Her heart slammed against her ribs as the walls she’d carefully constructed began to crack. She ran her hand up his chest, up his neck, and into the wavy red hair just barely reaching his collar. Beneath her fingers, his heartbeat raged, a galloping pace matching her own.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and she knew he believed it.
You, too, she thought, biting back the words. No need to ruin their time together with words that would only hurt the both of them. So instead of answering, she went up on her toes and laid a kiss upon his mouth.
Cameron growled low in his throat, heat spiraling between them as he crushed his lips against hers. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and when she opened her mouth to accept him, his tongue carried the hint of mint she had begun to associate with him. Passion uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, a delicious ache that left her gasping and wanting more.
Deft fingers unbuttoned her high-collared blouse, skimming over the tops of her breasts as he pushed the fabric from her shoulders and she pressed into him. Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she removed his vest and with trembling fingers began unbuttoning his shirt. After the first few buttons, she exposed his undershirt and placed a kiss upon the bare flesh she found there.
He cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her forehead. “We have all night, sweet,” he whispered.
All night. She shivered at the promise in his voice. No quick tumble and a return to her hotel, where she would sleep alone in her cold and empty bed. All night. With him.
>
“No.” She swallowed against a throat as dry as desert sand. “I can’t stay.”
His expression shifted, anger creasing the corners of the mouth that could kiss her senseless and leave her wanting. But he said nothing. His hazel eyes scanned her face, his hands patient, as if he had all the time in the world. Maybe he actually believed that they did.
She knew better.
Her legs went weak and began to shake. The ferocity of the passion she felt for him overrode her good sense. To have this night was worth more than her broken heart. To feel beautiful, to be loved by a man so undeniably good as Cameron Mackay, even if only for a single night, would give her memories to treasure through the long, lonely nights that would follow.
But it wasn’t worth Cameron’s life, if Seamus found them. They had a few hours—she could allow nothing more.
Intent on again insisting that their time be cut short, she lifted her chin. But his strong, callused fingers tripped down the length of her neck and traced her collarbone, a touch so achingly tender, she fought to suppress the moan springing to her lips. Instead, desire clung to the strangled sound that escaped.
His eyes darkened with lust, and he settled his mouth on hers.
The kiss was soft, not demanding or forceful, though passion raged behind it. Her eyes drifted shut. She’d never been kissed like that before. Unhurried, undemanding, as if Cameron didn’t need to claim her or mark her as his. Maybe because he already knew he had her. Maybe because he thought they had all the time in the world to make her burn for him.
He gently stroked her tongue with his, pressing into the moist heat of her mouth only to withdraw and begin again. Her nipples puckered at the thought of a night with him, hours spent exploring one another’s bodies, of running her hands along his chest, of kissing until neither one of them could stand.
Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga Page 13
