The apparition hiked a dark brow. “Ye don’t recognize me?” Her tone was both incredulous and outraged. “’Tis not been that long, Cameron Thatcher!”
“Meggie?” Cameron’s heart slammed against his ribs.
She grinned.
Unable to catch his breath, unable to believe his wild Irish duchess truly stood only a few feet away, he simply stared, gawking like a simpleton.
Her bright smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion.
“You look like Meggie,” he said. “You even sound like her. But... But you cannot be.”
She moved toward him.
It was all Cameron could do not to step back away from this heartless illusion. He’d feared his longing for Meggie might eventually lead to this: he had lost his mind.
“I have come to return your ring.” The cloaked figure held a small gold object dangling from a chain. His rose-and-crown ring. Summoning his wits, Cameron stepped forward for a closer look. Curls the fiery red of a brilliant sunrise peeked out from beneath her hood.
“Meggie,” he whispered, awestruck. “Is it truly you?”
A shy smile—quite unlike Meggie—played at the corners of her lips as she nodded. “Aye, Cameron.”
With a hammering heart and two quick strides, he covered the space between them. None but Meggie could hear the sigh, the groan of utter happiness, that Cameron released as he gathered the Irish vixen into his arms. Fearing she might evaporate in his arms ghostlike, he crushed her against him.
The hood of her cloak fell away, revealing Meggie’s glorious mane and ever-widening grin. Framing her face in his hands, he searched the misty blue pools of her eyes, searched for her spirit and soul. He even briefly considered counting her freckles to be certain the woman who gazed up at him was truly his Meggie.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “’Tis truly me.”
With a groan all the world could hear, he brought his mouth down on hers. Cameron kissed Meggie with a fierceness born of emotions too long held within him. As the familiar taste and lavender scent of her engulfed him, he knew not which raced faster, his heart or his pulse. He felt like a man who had not seen the sun in many years. Meggie was his sun, his stars, his light, his day and night. Every good and pure thing in his life revolved around his Irish lass. He could not get enough of her.
Reluctantly raising his lips from hers, he once again cupped her face between his hands. “I have missed ye, Meggie. Sorely missed ye,” he said in a soft, thick voice.
Unable to control himself, he reined kisses upon her eyelids, cheeks, her nose, and even her imperious chin. His hungry lips found her temples and tasted her wondrous silken curls.
And when he stopped for breath, she curled her arms around his neck. “I have missed ye, as well, Bard.”
His heart roared like some wild beast. Meggie had come to him. She had left her precious Dochas.
Clasping her hands in his, Cameron stepped back, the better to view her from head to toe. “My eyes cannot believe ye are standing before me. At first I thought I had conjured your image. I feared that I had imagined you because you’ve been so constant in my thoughts.”
Because I’ve wanted you so much.
Meggie seemed unable to stop smiling. “Ye will not send me on my way, then?”
“Nay, I will beg you to stay.”
Had she come merely to return his ring? No, she might have sent the band by courier if that was her only intent. Cameron held Meggie’s hands tightly as he led her to a cushioned bench.
Except for the crackling fire, a stillness fell over the chamber. At once awkward and necessary, the silence sealed their unspoken desire to be together, just be. Quietly.
But she wanted more than just to be with him.
Merciful Mary! Meggie wished most ardently to be one with Cameron again. Her palms felt moist. He did not seem to notice. His eyes locked on hers, and she could not look away.
Her heart alternated from a wild flutter to a slow thud, similar to a loud, deep drum. The warmth she felt swirled within her in waves of thick, warm honey. She had not taken a full breath since an hour ago when she had been ushered into Cameron’s private chamber by the duke to wait for him.
“I have returned the Bard and his mother as well. I know ye paid full price and more for them.”
“But you favored the foal.”
“And... and this,” she interrupted. “Did ye forget my mission?” She unlatched the chain around her neck and held the ring up to his line of sight. “Knowing it’s the only object left to you by your mother, I could not keep such a priceless gift.”
“Meggie, you have come a long and dangerous distance --.”
She interrupted again. “I dared not entrust such a precious jewel to a courier.”
He took the ring from her, placed it in the palm of her hand, and closed his hand over hers. The warmth and gentleness of his offering sent sparks shooting through her body. She shivered with delight.
“You have made a voyage that I know was difficult for you,” he said. “You boarded a ship and sailed the Irish Sea.”
She could not help but smile; Meggie felt excessively proud of her triumph. “I begged the wee people, but they refused to transport me.”
“Surely you did not venture across the sea alone?”
“Nay. My grandfather is with me. We disembarked in Liverpool and made our way by coach to Edinburgh and on to Doneval Manor.”
“You must be exhausted.”
Meggie felt only excitement, only joy. To be with her love again was a dream come true. “Grandfather and I are on our way to Ulster.”
The striking bard reared back. “Ulster! You cannot reach Ulster by way of Donval Manor.” He gave her a crooked smile. And took her breath away. “’Tis a bit out of the way.”
“Aye?” she teased. “Out of the way?” She must not think of him as the bard any longer. Cameron was the Marquis of Doneval now. “You left me no choice.”
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“The duke sent a message along with the boy who delivered the Bard and Sorcha to Dochas. He told me where I might find you. Should I desire to find you.”
“Ahhh. I have yet another reason to be grateful to my father.”
“He is a good man.”
“Certainly you jest about journeying to Ulster,” Cameron said with a bemused twist of his lips.
“’Tis no jest.” Meggie lowered her eyes. “My father fears the English will soon march on Ulster. Dochas is no longer safe. I am without a home.”
“Nay, Meggie, you have a home. It’s here.” He touched his heart. “And here.” He raised his arms as if to encompass the room, the manor.
Meggie blinked back the tears. Saints be praised! This crying has to end. First I cry because I grieve; now I cry from joy. What is left?
She hesitated. “I don’t know ...”
“You must remain at Doneval Manor where you will be safe.”
“Ye are most kind but...” The words stuck in her throat. If she finished her sentence, the tears would fall again. The pain of leaving Dochas was still fresh. The knowledge that she could never return to her beloved castle ravaged her heart.
“No more talk of leaving,” Cameron counseled. “You have only arrived, and I have much to show you.”
She nodded. “If ye insist, perhaps we could stay for a short visit. And then we shall see …”
“There are acres and acres of Doneval Manor to explore. It may take years to show it all to you. I have become a farmer with more cattle, sheep, and horses than a man can care for by himself.”
“And all along I thought ye to be a poor wandering bard. Now that ye are a marquis, ye may find my company lacking.”
The amber lights in his eyes danced. “Nay. Never. I dared not believe you would forgive me, never dared believe I would see you again. But now you are here...” His voice thickened and then trailed off as if overcome by emotion.
“Now I am here with ye,” Meggie repeated. And when he had bee
n absent from her life, oh, how she had longed to see his teasing smile once again, the wee scar at the corner of his lip, to feel his strong arms about her.
“And now that you are here, I cannot let you go, Meggie.” His broad, beguiling smile gave wings to her heart. “Consider yourself my prisoner, Mistress Fitzgerald.”
Silenced by the wild flapping beat of her heart, Meggie could think of nothing better than to be Cameron’s prisoner. Not that she would let on. She lifted her chin. “Prisoner? The Scots and Irish have no quarrel between them.”
“Have you forgotten the drop of English blood that runs through my veins?”
“And have ye forgotten that a redheaded lass brings a man ill fortune?”
“Only if she leaves him,” he replied with a wry twist of his lips.
His mouth. She stared at his lips, neglecting to breathe, remembering how the touch of his wondrous lips ignited her desire, stirred a passion Meggie did not know she possessed until the bard. Nay, the marquis.
“Meggie? What are you thinking?”
“You... you are a marquis,” she pointed out shakily, unwilling to confess her strumpet thoughts. “I have no title.”
“Aye, but you do.”
Puzzled, she inclined her head. “What might that be?”
“Duchess. You are my Irish duchess,” he declared with a disarming grin.
Meggie had no defense against his great satisfied grin. She felt a wee giddy in the head. But she gathered her wits to speak seriously. “Nay, Cameron. There has been no Irish duchess for years.”
“’Tis a fact not widely known.”
She chuckled, amused by his sweet attempt to give her nobility. “Duchess? What made ye think of me in that way?”
He gave a hapless shrug. “I don’t know.”
But along with Cameron’s innocent gesture, Meggie detected a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“Cameron?”
“It just came to me,” he said.
Meggie’s laughter bubbled up from her toes, loud and strong until it filled the small chamber. A duchess! She found the thought astonishing and greatly amusing.
Cameron laughed with her, but when their laughter died, he grew serious. He laced his hand through hers. “No one will dare question a duchess. And once we are married, you shall have a new title ... my lady.”
Married? The bard ... Cameron ... The Marquis of Doneval wished to marry her, to make her a genuine duchess some day. And Meggie just an Irish maiden with nothing but a mare and a foal to her name. Surely, she had misunderstood.
“Ye wish to ... to marry me?”
“Aye, Meggie.” His eyes locked on hers, plainly adoring.
Ripples of warm delight swept through her body. Swirling, tingling sensations touched and heightened her senses. The love reflected in Cameron’s eyes made her feel like a princess.
“Meggie, what say you? Will you marry me ... or return across the sea?”
“Let me think on it.” A girl should never be too eager.
* * * *
Meggie had only a few moments to rest and refresh in her chamber before supper. ‘Twas no easy feat to rest when her heart bounced like a ball and her feet floated way above the floor.
The bard who was a spy who was a marquis wished to marry Meggie! But he hadn’t said he loved her.
She needed to hear Cameron say he loved her.
“If he cannot say the words, I cannot marry him,” she told Seamus and Bernadette. She had brought her hounds with her, as well as the horses. ’Twas quite a menagerie aboard the ship and on their overland route. The dogs sat curled by the fire, their eyes following her every movement. But they did not stir.
“Have I worn ye out, my friends?”
Two tails wagged wearily.
Meggie stooped down to stroke their heads. “Perhaps we have come to the end of our journey.”
’Twas her grandfather’s idea to come to Doneval Manor. Cameron and all else who had met him in recent years knew the old man was addle-brained. Still, she had agreed to make the difficult voyage and was more than a wee bit thankful he had suggested it. Meggie knew she would rather spend her life with Cameron in Scotland than alone in Ulster. Forced to leave Dochas, there was but one other place to find her heart.
The Duke of Doneval also had taken a hand. He had given specific directions on how to make the journey to Scotland. Cameron’s father had included precise instructions on how and where to find Doneval Manor ... should she wish.
Under the dogged influence of her grandfather and the duke, Meggie had risked all. She had bid her father a sorrowful goodbye and only days later summoned every last bit of her courage to board the ship. After steeling herself, she then spent the entire crossing of the Irish Sea sick to her stomach and begging the saints for safe passage. The mere thought of a return crossing made her belly roil. She had made her choice. And now it was time to join the others for supper.
Meggie paused for one last word with Seamus and Bernadette. “Do not fret, my pets. At the proper moment, I shall inform Cameron that you are with me and you will run on the moors. A new life is beginning.”
And then she opened the door.
The wavering light of the flares brightened the cold corridor but hardly warmed it. A wintery chill rose up through the rushes strewn along the stone floor. Doneval Manor had no defense from the weather.
Cameron had been pacing impatiently outside Meggie’s door. When at last she appeared, his wait proved worth every step.
One look and the longing began. The smoldering heat in his loins as his heart slammed against his chest, again and again. His ravenous gaze raked her slender figure, lingering on the delicate hollow of her throat, the pert mounds of her breasts which rose in tantalizing fashion above the low, rounded neckline. He smiled at the goose bumps, yearned to warm her. If Cameron had his way, his lips would soon nestle in the sweet valley where the rose-and-crown ring rested.
Meggie looked as splendid as any duchess. She wore an embroidered silk overdress, a field of flowers in a melting shade of willow green. The skirts swished softly as she walked. A high lace rebate framed her elegant neck, and the gown’s long sleeves fell loosely to a graceful end at her wrists. The fiery locks that so captivated him were swept back and pinned beneath a lace caul. Apparently, she had substituted layers of petticoats for a farthingale. Her skirts were wide, and yet Cameron believed he might circle her delicate waist with one hand.
He thought Meggie appeared comfortable in her English finery, or at least resigned as he escorted her through the winding corridor to supper.
The small chamber set aside for family meals blazed with candlelight and flares. A fireplace the width of one wall roared with flames that managed to heat the room. Rich tapestries and heavy velvet draperies hung by the two windows which stretched from floor to ceiling.
The Duke of Doneval sat at the head of the table, engaged in conversation with Meggie’s grandfather, who sat to Donald’s left. Cameron held her chair opposite her grandfather.
Meggie held her head high as she entered the room at Cameron’s side. Light-headed with happiness, she prayed for this eve never to end.
The duke greeted her with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Eyes the same warm brown as his son’s. “Good eve, Mistress Meggie. I canna tell ye how pleased I am to have ye at my table.”
“My thanks for your kind invitation, Your Grace.”
“Your presence is long overdue.”
She smiled as a swell of true pleasure bubbled through her. The burr and roll of the kind duke’s accent had charmed Meggie from the moment she had met him.
Cameron addressed his father as he took his place at the opposite end of the table. “Father, I am most grateful to you for inviting Meggie and her grandfather to Scotland.”
“Aye. ’Twas a grand inspiration I had.”
“And Gerald Fitzgerald,” Cameron continued, “I am most grateful to you for convincing your ... spirited granddaughter to come to us.”
&n
bsp; “’Tis the safest place for me Meggie to be,” the old man said. “I persuaded her father to let her come here until Ulster was safe or…”
“Or what, Grandfather?” While she knew he had influenced her father, she was not quite sure how and did not ask.
“Or let ye stay in Scotland if you wished.” The grizzled man attempted to level the wiry strands of his vertical hair, patting it down as he looked to the duke. “While the English don’t like ye almost as much as they don’t like us... they aren’t invadin’ ye.”
“Nay, not at the present,” the duke replied. “King James has been unrelenting in his pursuit of good relations with the queen. His efforts preserve us.”
“My father is too modest,” Cameron told Meggie, casting an affectionate glance Donald Cameron’s way. “He has served as the king’s emissary for many years. It is rumored that the queen will name King James as her successor. I would say that is a victory for my father.”
Gerald Fitzgerald nodded. “Aye, ye are to be commended.”
“Weel na, I hope ye will feel at home in my country.”
“Ah, but I’ll not be staying.” The white-haired warrior rubbed the wart on his nose. “I shall be needed at the battle of Ulster, ye know.”
“Grandfather, ye are too old to be fighting,” Meggie admonished him, as if he knew what he was saying.
“’Tis what I have done all me life.”
“And now ye should rest while the younger men do battle.”
The eldest man at the table was also the most stubborn. “Will ye mind takin’ care of me lass after I leave?” he asked Cameron.
“I look forward to looking after your lass.”
“Thought as much.”
Cameron regarded Meggie’s grandfather as the old man dug into his beef. “I have never been able to properly thank you for saving my life. Why did you save me, Gerald?”
Her witless old grandfather saved Cameron from Niall! This was the first she had heard!
“Because I knew ye were the man to look after me lass,” he said after swallowing. “Her da, good man that he is, will never be settlin’. He’ll always be fightin’. My Meggie’s waited long enough. ’Tis time to start a family of her own. In good time, Humphrey will seek her out. Why, Meggie’s da would cross the Atlantic to see his daughter.”
Seducing the Spy Page 26
