by Carmen Caine
The next time Kate awoke, it was to the sound of Isobel’s voice.
Rising as quickly as she could, Kate ran into the next room to behold the short, round, gray-haired woman wearing a plaid and stretching her hands out to her with an expression of joy. “Ach, my wee Kate! The sight of ye makes my old heart sing!”
Throwing herself into Isobel’s arms, Kate buried her head on her shoulders, wishing desperately that she could weep, but the tears stubbornly refused to come.
“Ach, my dear lassie.” Isobel stroked her hair. “What brings ye here like this? And your father? Where is John?”
Kate shuddered and forced herself to whisper, “He’s … gone, Aunt Isobel.”
Isobel caught her breath and hugged her fiercely. “Say ‘tis not so! How did it happen?”
But Kate could not reply. Threading her fingers in her aunt’s plaid, she shook her head instead.
“Then think no more on it now, my wee lassie! Think no more,” Isobel murmured into her hair.
Heaving a long sigh, Kate simply remained there, beginning to feel safe for the first time in weeks.
And then a tall, muscular man ducked his head and entered the cottage. His dark hair was thick, shoulder length and bound by a strip of leather. And his brown eyes were alive with a passion that strangely reminded her of Cameron.
Slowly, Kate drew back and stared.
Following her gaze, Isobel smiled at the man fondly. “And this is my Ruan, lass, the Laird of Dunvegan. Ye’ve heard me speak of him oft enough. Ach, my Ruan could charm otters from the sea.”
Ruan laughed. It was a deep, warm sound as he leaned down to plant a fond kiss on Isobel’s forehead before nodding kindly at Kate.
Isobel had often spoken of Ruan MacLeod. Having raised the man from birth, Kate knew that she loved him as her own flesh and blood, and from the expression in his eyes as he peered down at the woman, it was clear he felt the same way.
Kate dropped into a quick curtsey, but he stepped forward and caught her arm with a smile. “I’ve heard Isobel pine after ye oft enough, Kate, and ‘tis right glad I am to finally have ye here with us. Think of me as your brother.”
Kate forced her lips to smile, but it was more of a grimace than anything else.
And then Isobel’s eyes dipped, and her face creased with pleasure. “Ach, ye’ve a bairn, lass! ‘Tis wondrous news! And what of your husband?”
Kate bowed her head.
There was a slight, stilted silence before she replied in a shamed whisper, “I am not wed, Aunt Isobel. I can only ask for forgiveness and beg ye to help us both.”
Defensively, she clutched her belly.
Ruan did not miss her gesture, and there was an understanding in his dark eyes as he replied in a deep, easy voice, “Lass, ‘tis welcome ye are to Dunvegan, both ye and your bairn, and ye can stay as long as ye please. I’ll warrant my own wee son will be right glad of another playfellow, or will, when he is old enough.”
Crushing her close, Isobel kissed the top of her head. “Ye needn’t speak of it now, my sweet lassie. Just know ye are home and welcome. The both of ye!”
Turning away, she greeted Flora and stood about exchanging bits of news for a time before farewells were said and Kate gratefully kissed Flora’s lined cheek, promising one day to return.
And then Ruan led Kate out of the cottage to where three shaggy mountain horses grazed on the green grass. They were massive, shaggy beasts, stamping their feet and Kate hesitantly approached one.
It was vastly different from the horses she had ridden at Craigmillar. The thought brought memories of Sir Arval and her lips twisted downwards, but still there were no tears.
“Allow me to help ye, Kate,” Ruan offered, lifting her gently into the saddle to place the reins in her hands before assisting Isobel with the same.
Pushing back the hood of her cloak, Kate closed her eyes and let the sun and wind caress her face. Why couldn’t she weep? Her heart was heavy with pain, a pain almost unbearable, but still the tears refused to flow.
And then Ruan lifted his hand in farewell and they were moving. As he guided them north at a slow pace, Kate found herself once again struck with his resemblance to Cameron.
A lump rose in her throat.
Why couldn’t she weep, even for Cameron?
With a gloomy sigh of despair, she forced her eyes to the scenery unfolding around her.
They rode along the tops of bushy heath-edged cliffs that swept down to the restless sea and through green, narrow glens. Ahead in the distance rose flat-topped mountains shrouded in mist as moor-birds flew above them with keening cries.
The sun was warm and the day pleasant, and they had just stopped under an edge of rock where the water fell into a deep, amber-colored pool to water their horses when Ruan snorted. His dark brows burrowed into a frown.
“Ach, the wee hellion willna listen to me, Isobel!” He scowled, pointing to a fast-moving rider dashing their way at breakneck speed. “By the Saints, I swear she’ll put me in an early grave! I’ve told her countless times that stallion is nae fit for riding!”
Isobel’s withered face creased with laughter. “Your pain has only begun, lad. If I know our wee Merry, she’ll teach your son her wild ways, and then ye’ll see what true suffering is.”
“I willna survive!” Ruan groaned.
In moments, the black stallion reined beside them, rearing mightily on his haunches and shaking his wild mane as a tall, slender lass brought him under control with a quick word and an exhilarating laugh.
From the dark eyes sparkling with mischief and the black braid twisting down her back, Kate recognized her at once to be Ruan’s sister, Merry.
After quick introductions, they resumed their journey with Ruan taking his sister to task, but she blithely ignored him, leaving their company often to race the stallion wildly along the moors. But it was with a proud gleam that Ruan viewed her, shaking his head and cursing under his breath with approval more than anything else.
They made their path over the moors, through thick curtains of moss and ferns and alongside burns rushing through deep crevices. The land was wild, rugged, and as the afternoon waned, the mist, light, and shadows played across the hills and surrounding moorlands, deepening the sense of mystery brooding around them.
They passed through several villages with thatch-roofed cottages hugging the black, jagged rocky cliffs, and the sun was halfway down the sky when the rugged outlines of Dunvegan rose before them. Separated from the shore by a narrow ravine, the waters of the sea loch lapped at the base of the moss-covered rocks of the island upon which the keep and its ancient tower stood.
“The only way in is through the sea-gate, lass.” Ruan informed her in a deep voice, lifting her down from the mountain horse with an easy arm. “And then ye’ll be home.”
Kate’s throat constricted. Home. She eyed the castle before her, wondering if she would ever feel a sense of home again.
A lad in a boat rowed them to the sea-gate, opening directly onto the water, and Ruan leapt out, assisting them all out of the vessel before guiding them up a long, narrow stair cut deep in the rocks leading to the castle.
They were met by his lady, Bree, a shy, soft-spoken woman with a mass of unruly brown curls, and large, kind green eyes.
Ruan’s face lit as he stooped to kiss her cheek and murmur into her hair.
And then Bree turned to Kate and held out her hands. “You are most welcome here, Kate. You look in sore need of rest. Let me show you to your room at once!”
“Thank ye kindly, my lady,” Kate whispered and dipped into a curtsey.
“Please call me Bree!” Bree laughed, her green eyes filled with warmth. “I confess that I still cringe every time I hear the word ‘lady’.”
Ruan’s deep baritone laughed as he swept his wife into a close embrace, and then with a smile he stepped away. “I must see to Afraig and my wee son.”
“Ye best warn the old woman that I am coming soon.” Isobel frowned at the men
tion of Afraig. “But first I’ll see to my wee Kate.”
Both Bree and Isobel led Kate up a narrow, winding stair to a small, pleasant tower room with a window looking out to the sea.
“This room will be yours, Kate.” Bree smiled, looking around fondly. “’Twas mine when I first arrived here.”
“And dinna fret so much, Kate.” Isobel squeezed her gently on the shoulder. “Ye clearly have seen too much sorrow this past year, but ye are home now, and ye’ll see that soon enough. I’ll bring ye some tea and a bite to eat, and then ye can take a wee rest.”
They left her alone then, and a familiar dullness descended on Kate as she moved slowly to peer out of the window. A small fishing boat sailed on the horizon, summoning memories of her father at once and a sharp stab of pain.
But then Isobel returned with a soothing tea of chamomile and honey along with a wooden bowl of oatmeal and smoked fish. Sniffing the nutty fragrance, Kate’s stomach heaved in a riotous wave of nausea. She blanched, and turned her face away.
“Ach, ‘tis a wee lassie ye carry, Kate,” Isobel cackled, rubbing her hands together. “’Tis the lassies that turn your stomach more.”
Kate forced a wan smile.
The gray-haired woman watched her a moment before surrounding her in a warm hug once again. “Take rest, my wee one. There will be plenty of time for talk later.”
Alone again, Kate returned to the window. And as the sounds of pipes began to play, she closed her eyes, rested her head against the wooden shutters, and simply let the forlorn melody wash over her.
Soon, she would think of Cameron.
But not quite yet.
The next day passed and then another. She grew stronger and more alert with each passing moment, and she desperately wanted to weep, to relieve her heart of its heavy burden. But still her tears did not fall.
Bree stubbornly refused to permit her to work and suggested that Kate keep her company instead, but though Kate found the lady kind and gentle, she found it difficult to speak and instead spent her time wandering near the castle.
On the third day, Merry joined her on the moors; silently keeping her company as they slowly rambled through the purple heather, trailed along the rushing amber-colored burns, and breathed deeply of the bog-myrtle perfuming the air.
A week had passed when one afternoon Merry held out her hand. With a lively gleam in her dark eyes, she said, “I’ve something to show ye, Kate. ‘Tis a bit of a walk. Do ye feel well enough to try?”
When Kate nodded, the slender lass led her down a narrow path through a meadow of purple vetch as high as their heads, and down to a rock-strewn beach pebbled with shells. Gulls rode the winds above them, and she could hear the barking of seal lions basking on an islet of black rocks a short distance away. Nearby, a cliff rose, riddled with crannies bearing the nests of rock-pigeons.
As dark clouds gathered on the horizon, Merry turned to her with an inviting smile. “Scream with me, Kate.”
Kate frowned and repeated, “Scream?”
“Aye.” Merry nodded, turning to look out over the sea. “There were times this past year that I could not sleep after Ruan rescued me from Fearghus. A faceless, nameless fear would come in the night, and I would wake up screaming. But it has all but gone since Ruan walked these beaches with me, teaching me to scream here instead. I still come here to scream in the wind, but not so often anymore.” Turning back to Kate, her eyes took on a devilish gleam. “Ye’ll have to scream, Kate. I’ll not show ye the way home until ye do.”
Kate frowned, but Merry was stubborn. Seizing her hand, the tall lass began to scream into the wind.
Kate watched her a moment, and then a wave of dark feelings rose in her soul. Not knowing exactly why, she opened her lips and joined in, at first softer but growing louder and stronger with each passing moment.
As the sea dashed furiously against the rocks on the beach, Kate screamed, endlessly shrieking until her voice was hoarse, and then hot tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Sobbing, she screamed, falling to the beach on her knees. Clutching her swelling belly, she screamed and wept the flood of tears she had been unable to shed even for her mother and wee sister, Joan. And then she felt Ruan’s strong arms lifting her, gently placing her on the back of a shaggy, mountain pony.
A short time later, she found herself huddled close to the fire in Dunvegan’s main hall, lulled into a calm silence by the dancing flames. She was exhausted, yet filled with more peace than she had felt in ages.
“Are ye feeling better, lass?”
Kate rose clumsily to her feet, but the Laird of Dunvegan stayed her with a kindly smile. “Ach, Kate. Be at peace.”
Drawing up a chair, Ruan sat down with a brotherly smile. But his dark eyes were alert and sharp as he said, “If ye’ve need of my avenging arm, lass, speak and I’ll see it done.”
She knew he referred to her bairn, and she felt a ripple of gratefulness toward the man.
Ach, she missed Cameron with her entire soul.
Her breath caught in a pang of longing, and for the first time, she let herself think of the man. How she wanted to see his dark eyes once more, touch his chiseled lips, and trail her finger along the dash in the middle of his chin.
Did he think her dead? Ach, did he even know that she carried his bairn? Her heart cried out. There was nothing she wouldn’t give to feel his arms encircle her once more.
“There’s naught I wouldn’t do for ye, lass, and not a lad I wouldn’t take to task on your behalf.” Ruan’s deep voice broke into her thoughts.
Kate sighed, staring into the flames, and murmured, “‘Tis not such a matter, my lord.” Thinking of those wondrous nights with Cameron, she confessed in a whisper, “‘Twas a … thief, an outlaw that … I love still with my entire heart, my lord. But it canna be.”
“Give me the man’s name, and I’ll see what can be done,” Ruan insisted gently. “Not every sin is unforgiveable, lass. I would know what caused this man to turn to such a life. Perhaps it can be changed.”
Kate grimaced and shook her head. Ach, the Laird of Dunvegan had an easy charm and a disarming smile. She had revealed too much. There was no hope in it. Cameron could only wed a lady. He was an earl and she, only a fisherman’s daughter.
Unable to speak, she merely shook her head again.
“Then we’ll speak another time, Kate,” Ruan said after a bit, reaching down to pat her shoulder in a fatherly way. “’Tis time for the evening meal. Come, join us.”
With tear-swollen eyes, she joined them at the table, enticed by the welcoming scent of fresh barley bread. And after managing a few bites of a satisfying soup of cod, turnips, and cabbage, she retired to her tower room.
It had begun to rain.
Leaning her head against the window, she took peace in the soothing sound and let her thoughts dwell on Cameron. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he taking comfort in the embrace of another woman? The thought was an uncomfortable one.
She frowned, but it bothered her more with each passing moment.
And then, she felt her old sense of self begin to return.
A wave of determination rose to consume her.
How could she live if she didn’t see the man again?
What was she doing? Why was she pining and staring out of the window? Nothing would come from lack of action. She should hie herself away and hunt him down.
And then she recalled Lady Elsa’s words, informing her that he deserved a well-bred lady at his side, one of his own class and not a commoner.
She clenched her hands.
She’d not let another woman kiss his chiseled lips or trace the dash on the middle of his chin. She’d rather be his mistress than nothing at all. Aye, perhaps she truly was a craven, fallen woman, but she loved him, enough to live even a life of perpetual shame.
The bairn in her belly shifted, and she made up her mind all at once.
He, at least, deserved to know his bairn existed. ‘Twas only fair.
Feeling mo
re alive than she had in some time, she threw back the door to her chamber and went in search of parchment, blessing Sir Arval for teaching her how to write at least a few words—enough so that she was sure she could at least let Cameron know where she was.
Chapter Fifteen - The Wedding
Cameron stood in the center of Kate’s cell. It was empty, save for the rat rustling the sour straw in the corner.
“Heaven save us!” one of the guards gasped, crossing himself frantically. “The lass truly was a witch! Satan himself must have ferreted her away—”
Lifting the corner of his lip in contempt, Cameron felled the man senseless with a blow to the head.
The remaining guard nervously licked his lips. “Perhaps she’s been taken back to the scribe, my lord,” the man offered helpfully. “I’ll lead the way right quickly!”
But Kate was not there.
He searched the entire prison but found only a sheet of parchment accusing her of practicing witchcraft against the king. Holding the document aloft, he read the name of the witness aloud.
“Maura.”
Cameron’s heart sank. Ach, he would ever curse the day that he had rescued the woman! Because of her, Mar was dead and Kate, gone missing. He refused to think that she might be dead.
Crumpling the parchment in his long fingers, he drew his dirk in a single, swift motion and strode down the corridor to where Thomas Cochrane waited outside under his men’s safekeeping. Kicking the door back, he intended to confront the man at once, but a crowd had suddenly gathered around the Mercat Cross, and Thomas and his men were nowhere to be seen.
And then, a familiar voice hailed him. “Cameron!”
Turning, Cameron spied King James astride his black charger a short distance away with Thomas Cochrane at his side, sitting on a dappled gray gelding. The pleased and proud expression on the man’s long face announcing he was once again under the protection of the king.
