Consuming work would beget sore muscles which in turn might finally overcome the relentless ache that gripped his heart.
“Weel na, how much could an innkeeper’s boy know about farming?” Donald asked, slicing a chunk of cheese.
“I lived on a farm west of Dublin for a time,” Cameron hedged, unwilling to speak of his life at Dochas. Only thinking of the pleasure he had found there and what he had left behind caused his heart to constrict in a most painful manner. “I learned a bit about crops, sheep, and horses. Truth be told, I enjoyed what little help I could offer.”
Donald hiked a bushy brow. “You helped an Irish farmer?”
“If I had not, my identity as an English spy might have been discovered.”
The duke nodded. “I dinna know about spying,” he said and gave a hapless sigh. “But know too well about balls. Will you be accompanin’ me to Earl Wicklow’s ball this eve?”
The Earl of Wicklow served as the queen’s emissary in Ireland. He passed a great deal of his tune in Dublin presenting balls and entertainments for the English residents.
“Nay, I have never attended a ball. I should feel out of place.”
“Never attended a ball? Weel na, then ye must! Ye must learn how boring some can be and what ye may do to ensure a pleasant evening despite the endless posturing.”
Cameron shook his head. In his present state, he possessed no patience for pomp and posturing and certainly could not pretend to be merry. “Will you forgive me if I beg off?”
“And miss the bonny English lasses at the ball? Ye shall have yer choice of comely maidens; they attend these affairs in force.”
Cameron buttered a thick slab of bread. “My heart would not be in it.”
Donald cocked his head. Bushy brows raised, he studied Cameron. “No heart for the ladies? Weel na, do I hear a lad who’s lovesick?”
“Nay. Nay, I simply would rather... rest.”
“Rest!” The duke slammed a hand on the table and gave what sounded to be a guffaw. “A young man like you? Och! There’s time an’ more to rest when ye get old like me. If I dinna say so myself, Cameron, ye are a handsome lad. You shouldna have no trouble attracting a bonny lass. Ye can have any woman you desire.”
Save one.
“Not any woman,” he protested softly.
“Son, if ye waste your time bemoaning the loss of one lass, a handful of others will be spoken for before you know it.”
If only Cameron could take the loss of Meggie so lightly. If his father knew the woman who had bewitched him while he was otherwise occupied, the duke might understand. But he would never meet or know Meggie Fitzgerald. Donald Cameron would never see her astonishing eyes, as dazzlingly blue as precious sapphires held to the sun.
“I’m in no hurry for a woman,” Cameron told his father. “Especially now when there is so much for me to learn. A man never quite expects to suddenly discover that he is a marquis with myriad new obligations.”
The duke nodded thoughtfully. “Aye. And in that nest of obligations you’ll find ’tis important to provide an heir.”
Cameron groaned inwardly. “I just became a marquis. Must we rush?”
“I’m getting older,” his father said with a shrug, and a sad wag of his head. “If something should happen to me, you ken that I’ll rest easier knowing the new Duke of Doneval has a son.”
Determined to become a high-ranking officer from the time he had been a boy, Cameron had given no thought to any other life for years. He felt no interest or need to father a child until Meggie had mentioned the possibility. Since then, the idea had teased him. As a man who now had two fathers, he could learn the best from both and raise a strong and happy son.
“Aye,” he said. “I would like to have a family someday.”
With Meggie. Meggie possessed fine nurturing instincts. Cameron had the privilege of observing her with her silly hounds and magnificent horses. She would make a warm, loving mother. One who would hold her arms open wide and smother her children with kisses until they fell over laughing and giggling.
Donald lifted a goblet of ale. His eyes met Cameron’s, eyes alight with keen intelligence and ably demonstrated insight. “Then ye best be takin’ some action toward having a babe. I confess to being surprised that ye have not captured some fair lass by now.”
“Matters of the heart are difficult to fathom,” Cameron allowed, feeling a wretched roll of his stomach. “Women baffle me.”
“Ye lived with five sisters!”
“Which only has made understanding females all the more confusing.”
“Son, a sharp-witted woman is worth a bit of bewilderment now and again. Nothing in this world compares to the love of a woman. Having been blessed twice, first with Caragh and then with your mother, Anne. This is something I can pass on to ye without reservation.”
“Aye, nothing can compare to a sharp-witted woman,” Cameron agreed, lost to visions of a smiling Meggie.
“Mind my words. All the possessions in the world, a fine, full stable, the most elegant estate, and acres of rich farmland will never take the place of a good woman.”
Cameron’s longing for Meggie increased with each word the duke uttered. He had no quarrel with his father’s advice. “Aye.”
“Life is filled with hardships, as you well know. But having the good fortune to have a bonnie, spirited partner makes the hard times bearable and the good times a joy.”
Cameron flinched. Bonnie and spirited, that was Meggie. His heart felt as if it had been run through with a lance. “A joy,” he repeated numbly.
He could say no more.
“When we return to Scotland, I’ll find ye a fine Scottish lass.”
“Nay, Father.” Cameron lowered his head for a moment before meeting Donald’s steady brown gaze. “The woman I love is to wed another.”
The duke frowned. Seemingly deep in thought, he pursed his lips and stroked his trim, rusty-colored beard. “Weel na, as long as the lass is not yet wed, I dinna see why she cannot be yours. Certainly, if we put our heads together, we can come up with a scheme to win the lass.”
His father’s hope somehow worsened Cameron’s despair. “Nay. I fear the situation is impossible.”
“Have I mistaken the matter? I thought ye a fighter? My impression of you from the start has been of a young man who would go after what he wants.”
“This woman… Well, she hates me.”
“Nay!”
“Aye. She almost had me hanged.”
The duke scowled. “Have you considered that this lass may not be the one for you then?”
His soft understatement caused Cameron to give his father a wry, half smile. “Aye. And once we are in Scotland, I feel confident I shall be able to forget her.”
Donald leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes met Cameron’s in a way that forbid any answer but the truth. “Did you fall in love with an Irish lass?”
Cameron could not admit what he had done. How foolish to fall in love with an Irish woman, a wild, shameless, Irish duchess, at that. He averted his eyes.
“’The day after tomorrow, we shall be on Scottish soil. All that has happened in Ireland will be behind me.”
Fortunately, his father was sensitive enough to recognize Cameron’s discomfort. “Aye. We have not long left here.”
“What lies ahead will keep my mind from what I have left.”
“’Tis true,” his balding father agreed. “I ask only that ye reconsider and attend the earl’s ball with me this eve. Take pity on your old father. I shouldna be the only Cameron to suffer at Dublin Castle.”
Cameron grinned. During the fortnight that they had lived together in Dublin, he had come to admire his birth father and laugh often with him. Donald Cameron was a hearty man with a kind heart who loved life. While alone together, the affable duke had regaled Cameron with many stories. He had talked of his estate just north of Edinburgh, his diplomatic service, Cameron’s mother, and his sister, Kate.
His b
lood sister had just given birth to twins recently, making the duke a proud grandfather. Cameron looked forward to being an uncle. His family seemed destined to expand, and he looked forward to being a part of it.
To Cameron’s astonishment, during leisurely fireside discussions, he discovered that he shared many of the same traits with his father. The duke had passed on a keen sense of humor and curiosity to his son. He appeared as strong-willed and as self-reliant as Cameron.
For many years, Cameron had resisted relying on anyone but himself. And he had learned not long ago how foolish he had been. If Gerald Fitzgerald had not come to his rescue, if he had not relied upon the confused old man to lead him to safety, Cameron would be dead.
Instead, he was alive and forging a deep bond with his natural father. He looked forward to the pleasant hours of discovery they shared with each meal.
This meal had been no exception, overlooking the fact that Cameron had lost his appetite somewhere en route from Dochas to Dublin. Most nights he slept fitfully. Most nights he dreamed of Meggie.
But each day the duke showered him with great kindness and generosity. Cameron could not refuse the only request his father had made of him.
“I should hate to see you suffer alone, Father. I shall accompany you to the ball.”
Donald grinned. The twinkle returned to his warm brown eyes. “My thanks. Ye shall be justly rewarded.”
Chuckling, Cameron rose from the table. “We shall see. If you will excuse me, I think I shall take a breath of fresh air before it rains.”
“Did you also agree to attend the auction with me midday? I should like to add several more horses to our stables and the Irish are known to breed great steeds. Your Dochas is a fine example.”
Cameron could hardly say nay. His father’s charm and manipulative skills had been developed by years of serving as emissary between King James of Scotland and Queen Elizabeth. “I should be happy to accompany you to auction.”
Several hours later, beneath a threatening charcoal sky, Cameron and the duke arrived at the primitive auction site. Located on the outskirts of Dublin, not far from the docks, the open-air horse market consisted of a shed, platform, and several gated holding pens.
He thought they might as well have been in England for the goodly amount of Englishmen in attendance. The situation disturbed Cameron. But then, he remembered what Meggie had told him about the proceeds of the horse auctions going to arm the Irish. Both English and Irish gained what they wished from these auctions.
His father asked his opinion on most every mare, gelding, and foal which came up for bid until Donald at last reached his quota of six steeds. Both admirers of fine horseflesh, Cameron lingered with his father to watch the remainder of the auction.
He was caught off guard when a mare and foal he recognized were led into the pen beside the auctioneer’s platform. The bidding began, and to his horror, Cameron realized the foal known as Bard and his mother, Sorcha, were about to be sold.
“Father, I think we should have the foal.”
“Do ye? He is a handsome animal, but we have no need.”
“I shall purchase him myself.”
“If ye feel that strongly—”
“I do.”
Cameron could not believe Meggie had given up the Bard easily. She loved that colt. Her father had been due home. He must have required funds and insisted the foal be auctioned.
“Weel na, ye have more than enough funds to bid whatever ye like.”
“One hundred pounds!” Cameron shouted.
“One hundred two pounds,” came a reply from the crowd.
The devil!
“Three hundred pounds!”
“Three hundred five.” A booming voice made the counter bid.
Cameron grit out the bid between his teeth. “Three hundred fifty.”
“Do you believe the foal is worth that much?” his father asked in a whispered aside.
“Aye.” And more.
“Sold,” the auctioneer declared, “to the gentleman in front, for three hundred and fifty pounds.”
Cameron’s feeling of relief did not last long. Unable to see the colt that had been named for him separated from his mother, he bid for Sorcha as well. When he had won both horses, he looked around for their previous owner.
He would not know Humphrey Fitzgerald if he stumbled upon him. But perhaps Gerald or Niall had accompanied Meggie’s father to Dublin. Or ... Meggie herself?
His heart leapt at the thought.
Nay. She had told Cameron more than once she disliked Dublin and avoided visiting the city. He scrutinized the crowd for what might have been the tenth time but still saw no familiar faces.
“Weel na, son, you have a new colt and mare.”
“Aye.” But not for long. Cameron knew he must send the Bard back to Dochas. The colt belonged with Meggie.
* * * *
Meggie chose to travel with her father. Remaining at Dochas meant being with Niall and without her father once again, which would not serve. Humphrey had charged Niall with looking after both Dochas and her grandfather while he conducted business in Dublin.
Meggie had exchanged words with both Niall and her father about his decision.
She had approached Niall in the great hall the night before she and her father left Dochas. It was the first she had spoken to him since he’d hunted down Colm like a wild animal... fortunately to no avail.
Niall smiled as she approached. “Meggie, me heart. Have ye forgiven me at last?”
“Nay.” She raised her chin a notch. “I’m here to warn ye. While we’re away, do not be thinking Dochas will soon be yours.”
His mouth became a tight, pink line between his dark mustache and beard. “Why would I think such a thing?”
“I know not.” Meggie lowered her voice and met his eyes, as black as a swallow’s back. “I cannot marry ye, Niall.”
Niall’s brows knit together to form a fearsome frown. “What’s this?”
“I cannot lose Dochas.”
Meggie had lost her heart. She had lost the man she loved. She could not bear to lose anything else.
Niall’s chest puffed up in indignation. “Ye make it sound as if I only want to marry ye so that Dochas will be mine.”
“Is not that the way of it? I cannot recall you ever telling me that you loved me.”
“The bard was supposed to do that! He promised to write a poem for ye tellin’ ye how I felt.”
“Do not be blaming the bard. The words should have come from you.”
“But ’tis not easy to put my feelings into words.”
“My heart says nay, Niall. I do not wish to marry ye.”
“You’ll come to your senses,” he growled in stubborn denial.
With her eyes locked on his, Meggie shook her head. “Nay.”
“Your father will see that you come to your senses,” the one-eyed farmer bluffed.
“My father will not force me to marry against my will.”
“I will woo ye with my own words,” he vowed.
“I do not wish to be wooed by you.”
An expression of complete disbelief shadowed his face. “Meggie, what can I do? What can I say to make you change your mind?”
“Please, Niall, say no more. My mind is made up and cannot be changed. I wish you well.”
“You wish me well,” he repeated dully.
“Aye. And do not forget, Deirdre cares deeply for ye. Ye might spend some time with her while we are away. She’s a comely lass with a good heart.”
“She is not you.”
“Aye, she is much more biddable, which will be more to your fancy.”
Meggie kissed Niall lightly on the cheek. He could not be other than himself, and he was not a bad man. He just wasn’t the man for her. That man had long since disappeared.
After arriving in Dublin, Meggie wished she were back home in Dochas. Dublin was too noisy, too crowded, too close to the sea. Each breath of salt air served to remind her that her mothe
r and sister were lost at sea not far from here. The first thing she’d done was visit the docks where, in the memory of her loved ones, she had tossed roses upon the whitecaps.
Meggie preferred to stay in the small lodgings hired by Hugh O’Neill, but whenever she ventured out, she looked for Colm, hoping against all logic to catch a glimpse of him. She would have no peace until she knew he was safe. She scanned the faces at market and those she passed in the street. Although she knew of no reason for Colm to be in Dublin, the city teemed with more Englishmen than Irish. If he were seeking a safe haven, this was where he would find it. This was where he might be.
The hours passed slowly when her father and O’Neill were in meetings. During those lonely hours, without even her canine friends to entertain her, Meggie ate. Seeking to fill the emptiness, the void within her, she ate whatever was in sight. Still, she never felt full. And she was always tired from sleepless nights. Another malady she had acquired since the bard had fled.
Although she dreaded being among the English, Meggie had promised her father to attend this eve’s ball with him. She disliked dressing like an Englishwoman which was required when in Dublin. Wearing cumbersome ball attire only added to her distress. In order to spend even a few more hours with her father, Meggie had agreed. As visiting peace negotiators, Humphrey and O’Neill had been invited to the Earl of Wicklow’s ball. They could hardly refuse the invitation and still appear to be seeking peace.
Meggie found the small, damp house on the outskirts of Dublin particularly confining. Even more worrisome, the happiness she usually experienced in her father’s company eluded her. She spent most of her time staring from the window wondering: What if. What if Colm had truly been an Irish bard? What if he had taken her with him when he had fled Dochas?
It had just begun to rain when Meggie heard the signal. The two soft raps at her door followed by a silent beat and two more raps meant her father had come to see her. She quickly opened the door. Humphrey kissed her gently on the forehead and peered into her bare chamber.
“Meggie, should ye not be preparing for the ball?”
Seducing the Spy Page 22
