by Mary Wine
“She made me do it… I have no place without her…” Alice muttered. One of the others hissed at her, but Alice continued to babble. “She threatened to turn me out if I—if we did nae help her. I had to… my father will nae have me back!”
“Get them out of here!” Quinton roared.
“No, get me out of this solar!” Deirdre shouted at him before anyone had the chance to move. “I cannae stomach this place another moment.”
Deirdre didn’t care if her tone lacked respect. She couldn’t breathe and started for the door before Quinton had the chance to respond. She grabbed a handful of her robes so she might run and ducked around the men in the room. Quinton cursed but couldn’t follow her, because of his larger size.
She made it down two flights of stairs before she heard him on her heels.
“I need fresh air, Quinton.”
He hooked a hand around her arm and jerked her to a halt. “I only demand ye slow down so that bitch does nae gain what she wanted by having ye break yer neck when ye stumble.”
She trembled, the look in his eyes setting off ripples of emotion that refused to be controlled. He slid one hand along her cheek, tenderness shining in his eyes.
“I love ye.”
Her heart leaped, but Deirdre forced herself to be reasonable.
“Ye do nae have to say that. I’d rather ye be honest with me, Quinton. I’ll no’ leave ye, for I do love ye, and I cannae turn me back on ye.”
He snarled at her and clamped his arms around her, but his body quivered.
“I swear I love ye, and I’m the biggest fool for having to learn it by looking into the eyes of a woman who only used those words to gain what I might give her.” His voice was ragged, and she froze as she watched unshed tears turning them glassy. Hope flared up inside her so bright, it was impossible to stop.
“I swear to God it made me want to fall on me knees at yer feet in gratitude for the love ye offer me without a care for anything ye might gain.”
“I do love ye, Quinton, but I know it is no’ common in men… to love…” Her voice trembled, but she maintained her stance, refusing to lower her eyes. Let him see what she was.
He smoothed his hand over her face. “I love ye.” This time, each word was solid and hard. “I swear to God I’m confused by it and frustrated, but there is no denying it’s true. Ye are my counterpart, Deirdre, and I finally understand what those damn poets mean by the word ‘soul mate.’”
She smiled, too full of joy to do anything else. “I think I’m with child.”
His face registered his astonishment, and then rage flickered in his eyes.
“We’re getting married.”
Arrogant and demanding, his tone was one she knew well. It was the truth that loving him didn’t change the fact that she still found the man vexing.
“It’s my choice, and that was nae a question, so do nae think I’ll be standing for ye telling me what to do, Quinton Cameron.”
He rolled his eyes and snarled a phrase in Gaelic that she doubted was polite. “Ye will, hellion. I swear to all that’s holy that we will wed before the harvest moon fades.”
She propped her hands on her hips, relief surging through her because there was something comforting in arguing with him. But Amber caught up with her, as did several of his men, so she settled for shooting him a firm look that earned her a glint of promise from his eyes.
She was suddenly ridiculously happy. A sense of rightness settled over her, and she knew without a doubt that it came from the man she was glaring at.
But she didn’t smile at him. After all, he was the one who kept calling her hellion.
***
Her belly was growing.
Deirdre lay in bed, her head pillowed on Quinton’s arms as he lay beside her and gently stroked their growing child.
“How could ye no’ know?”
She made a low sound of frustration and slapped his shoulder. “I’ve no’ been with child before.”
He lifted his head so that their eyes met. “I thought women were sick in the first few months.”
She laid her hands on her belly and felt the unmistakable bulge of her womb. It was still amazing to realize that she’d been so unaware of the changes in her body.
“I thought it was just the tension of being a prisoner. My belly was unsettled, but I dismissed it.”
He frowned at the mention of her time away from him. “We’re getting married, Deirdre.”
“Ye have still no’ asked me to wed ye.”
“I’m an earl, madam, and laird of the Cameron…”
She lifted her knee until it was against his erect member. “And I told ye before, Quinton Cameron, and whatever else ye be, I am no’ a whore, so do nae expect any of that to sway me thinking.”
“True enough. Ye are me lover, and I enjoy that full well. I suppose tomorrow is soon enough for us to argue again, but I plan to win next time.”
He contemplated her for a moment but lay down without saying anything else. Suspicion tingled through her, but she was too warm and blissful lying against him to think about things any longer. She fell asleep with the sound of his breathing against her ear.
***
Cyric Sinclair was waiting for her when she descended to the ground floor the next morning. It was obvious he’d been standing there to meet her because Quinton had left the chamber only moments before she did.
But the Sinclair laird was still waiting at the base of the stairs. Deirdre lowered herself.
“I’m sorry, Laird Sinclair. I did no’ know ye were waiting to see me.”
“It’s barely past dawn, Lady Deirdre. No apology is necessary except the one I’m wanting to give ye. Me men should have stopped Mary Ross from leaving Castle Sinclair. I have never trusted her.”
“Ye had no way of knowing she’d do such a horrible thing.”
Cyric Sinclair’s expression hardened. He had dark eyes but light-colored hair. He’d shaved his beard away, confirming just how quickly he’d been on Mary’s trail.
“I suspected she was plotting evil, but my father was laird, and I could nae accuse his wife openly. It brings me no pleasure to be able to prove my position now.”
“I understand.”
And she wished she might offer more words of comfort, for it was clear the man was bitterly angry. He nodded before turning to leave, and his men followed their laird.
“He looked furious, Lady Deirdre,” Amber muttered when she joined Deirdre.
“Aye, but it’s directed at himself.”
And little wonder, but Deirdre was too happy to commiserate with the man. She smiled at Amber, and the Cameron girl smiled back.
“When are ye wedding the laird, lady?”
Deirdre frowned. “I am no’ marrying him until he asks me.”
Amber looked confused, as did the other girls who joined them. Deirdre lifted her chin high.
“But he’s the laird…”
“No’ my laird. To me, he’s me lover, and a lover must ask for what he wants.”
Amber frowned, but Deirdre laughed.
He loved her.
She had everything that she desired. She looked at the confusion on her ladies’ faces. “Come now, Amber. We’ve a day to see to, and I will deal with yer laird once the sun sets. Ye would nae want me to bore him with complicity?”
There were knowing laughs and bright smiles in response.
***
Deirdre was looking out of the window of her study about a week later when two arms wrapped around her. She jumped but laughed when she smelled the scent of Quinton’s skin.
He nuzzled her neck while his hands gently settled on top of her belly.
“Daydreaming, are ye? What should I do about that, do ye think?”
Deirdre angled her neck so that he might press a kiss against it. “Encourage me in my whimsical ways. After all, I am yer lover.”
“I would have ye be more, Deirdre.”
His voice grew deeper and more serious. She laid
her hands on top of his.
“Maybe I want to prove my love to ye by refusing yer title.”
“Ye’ve proved it, Deirdre. I realize why I thought my heart was dead; it was because I was always looking into the eyes of women who viewed me as nothing but a fancy possession to get their greedy hands on. It was nae my heart that was dead—it was theirs.”
“I love ye, Quinton—just the man.”
“And the earl?”
Deirdre clicked her tongue. “I’m learning to have patience with him.”
He laughed at her, tossing his head back so the sound echoed off the ceiling.
“I’m relieved to hear ye say that, lass… truly I am.”
The bells on the walls began to ring. Quinton maintained his hold on her as she looked toward the gate to see who was arriving.
“Who’s here?”
Quinton turned her around and pressed a hard kiss against her lips. His blue eyes were full of love, but there was also the unmistakable hint of victory in his grin.
“Yer father is here… hellion.” He smothered her retort beneath a hard kiss that left no doubt in her mind that he had planned to crush her resistance and was proud of his achievement.
“We’re having a wedding, and ye’re the bride.”
“Oh… ye arrogant beast! Ye had no right to summon me father.”
He stepped back, still grinning at her, but one of his dark eyebrows rose. “Admit it, hellion. Ye’ve been bested. I love many things about ye, and one of them is yer sense of honor. Ye’ll wed me by yer father’s command, and that’s a fact.”
Her temper sizzled even as happiness spread through her. She did enjoy pitting her wits against the man’s, maybe more than he did.
“That might be so, Laird Cameron, but I’ll birth ye a daughter because I decide to, and that is a fact.”
He chuckled before offering her a polished bow.
“I can hardly wait… hellion. Wear yer silk finery.”
“I will nae! It is nae mine, so I will nae wear it.”
He laughed at her but gripped her wrist and pulled her after him. They descended the stairs and went through the stone hallways until they reached the yard. Robert Chattan rode forward with his retainers close at his back. She smiled and felt tears sting her eyes when he looked at her. There was an unmistakable look of happiness in his eyes. He slid from his horse and took the stairs two at a time. She expected him to greet Quinton, but her father came directly to her and wrapped his arms around her.
“Sweet Christ! I’ve lost half me hair since Kaie wrote me with the news that ye had gone missing from the abbey. Thank God ye’re well.”
He released her and studied her from the top of her head to her feet before nodding and looking toward Quinton.
“Now what’s this I hear about me daughter carrying yer child?”
Quinton rolled his eyes. “Aye, she is, and I’m wanting to wed her—”
Her father sent a hard blow toward Quinton’s jaw. It connected because Quinton wasn’t expecting it. Deirdre smothered a smile behind her hand as her father winked at her.
Quinton growled and rubbed his jaw.
“Now look here, Cameron. Ye obviously have nae been trying hard enough, and it’s a good thing I’m here to sort this mess out. Ye young folks cannae get anything accomplished without help.”
Quinton glared at her. “Ye’re just like yer father.
“Thank ye,” Robert Chattan replied before he looped an arm across Quinton’s shoulders. “No’ that it has nae caused me a load of worry…”
Deirdre watched them disappear into the tower. She should have been irritated that they were off to discuss her future, but the sight of the Chattan retainers being welcomed by the Cameron ones was too good for her to find anything to quibble about. Merriment filled the faces of those extending their hands in welcome.
It was a fine sight to be sure, made so much better by the feeling of love warming her heart.
***
Deirdre Chattan married her lover.
She stood in the church inside the walls of Drumdeer Castle wearing the fine silk clothing that Joan Beaufort had given her. Quinton had convinced her that it was her rightful payment for helping the queen escape. Her father smiled behind her, and she felt his respect for her once again.
Fate was kind, indeed, far wiser and kinder than Deirdre had ever asked it to be. In fact, she was grateful for the times that fate had turned a deaf ear to her pleas, for they had brought her to the side of her soul mate.
And knowing Quinton Cameron’s love was worth every tear she’d shed along the road that had led her to his side.
He pulled her close as the priest offered the final words of their marriage blessing.
“Are ye ready for the kiss of peace, lass?”
“Ye’d be bored unto death within an hour if I accepted it and became docile as the church expects.”
He grinned before claiming her mouth in a kiss that shocked the priest. Deirdre kissed him back with every bit of heat that she felt burning inside her. The assembled witnesses began to cheer, and the priest made the sign of the cross over them with a shaking hand.
But the holy man grinned, for after all, it was a good day when the laird married. A fine day indeed.
***
“What’s keeping ye from supper now, wife?”
Deirdre looked up, startled to hear her husband of a single week inside her study. Quinton wasn’t growling at her but raised one of his dark eyebrows. She set the quill down and smiled at him.
“In all the excitement, I never penned a letter to the queen.”
Deirdre blew over the ink before folding the paper.
“Do ye regret no’ taking a place in her household?”
Deirdre lifted a candle and used its flame to melt sealing wax onto the center of the letter. She pressed the seal of the Countess of Liddell into it before it cooled. Satisfaction filled her as she looked at her seal, the symbol of what she had chosen to be.
“I see ye are seeking compliments tonight…” She stood and went to her husband, leaving the letter on the desk. It was her past and could be sent after she kissed her husband. She reached for him, smoothing her hands along the sides of his face.
“Knowing ye wrote that letter is compliment enough, for it tells me ye are happy here.”
He closed his arms around her.
“I am loved here.”
“That’s right… hellion.”
About the Author
Mary Wine is a multipublished author in romantic suspense, fantasy, and Western romance. Now her interest in historical reenactment and costuming has inspired her to turn her pen to historical romance. She lives with her husband and sons in Southern California, where the whole family enjoys participating in historical reenactment.
