by Carmen Caine
Taking another deep breath, he rubbed his hands together briskly and glanced about the chamber.
Aye, he felt safe here. This was one place where danger could not reach him.
It was then that he noticed something on his writing desk.
Curious, he grabbed a torch from a nearby sconce and approached. But each step slowed as he recognized Kate’s gray, pearl-encrusted bodice pinned to his desk by the very blade that had pierced his now-scarred hand.
He swallowed.
With violently shaking hands, he pushed back the tattered cloth with a finger to see words scrawled upon a slip of parchment, words that—even unread—made his soul quake with fear.
He closed his eyes.
It was several long moments before he could open them again and force himself to read the words. Barely suppressing the scream rising to his white lips, he whispered them aloud: May God have mercy on your soul, for I shall not.
Epilogue
The smell of snow was in the air as Cameron wheeled his prancing charger around again to inspect his men for the fourth time.
“All is ready, my lord.” Sir Arval maneuvered his steed to block his path. “I do believe fifty men, three litters, and five midwives is quite enough to make journey. ‘Tis only sixty miles, my lord.”
Cameron’s dark lashes dropped in suspicion. “Did Kate send ye here?”
Sir Arval smiled, a little bashfully. “Yes, my lord. She swore she would walk to Inchmurrin herself if you didn’t permit us to finally leave. She’s readied the children and has sent for her winter boots—”
“Ach, there she is.” Cameron’s dark brows furrowed as Kate appeared at the gate of Edinburgh Castle, accompanied by two fur-bundled lassies and a maid carrying a third. They were the king’s children, the daughters he had acquired through his previous marriages, but of late, he had come to feel almost as if they were his own. Kate’s first action as countess had been to send for them, and the girls had fallen in love with her instantly.
Who couldn’t help but fall in love with the lass?
Even the queen was quite taken with Kate. Her majesty had wept at the news of their departure from court. And even though they had promised to return in the spring, she had sworn it would not be soon enough.
Catching sight of him, Kate waved, stubbornly lifted her chin, and boldly stepped forward.
He was at her side in an instant. “Kate, I’m not quite ready. Ye should wait by the fire a wee bit longer, my sweeting!” he said, removing his black, fur-trimmed cape to throw it over her fine green woolen one.
“Cameron, I’ll never see Inchmurrin at this pace!” She stamped her foot impatiently. “Our bairn will be born afore ye allow me to leave, and I’ve still a month to go!”
Bundled in two cloaks, she looked like a soft plump seal, but he knew better than to say it. With his lips curving into a private smile, he pulled his mantle about her closer, tucking it under her chin and protectively over her belly.
“Come, lassies.” Kate held her hands out to the young girls at her side. “Are ye ready to walk to Inchmurrin? ‘Tis not far.”
“Ach, Kate.” Cameron smiled, giving in. “If ye insist then, we’ll leave.”
Her brown eyes sparkled as she threw her arms about his neck, her dark hair spilling from under her hood. “I so very much insist that we leave this very moment, ye obstinate mule! My father has been waiting for me nigh on a fortnight now!”
Sliding his pair of soft leather gloves over her fingers, he lifted her into one of the litters before tossing the giggling lassies in next to her. And as the snow began to fall silently, gently coating the streets of Edinburgh, he began the journey to return home with Kate, to his ancestral lands.
The ride was a joyous and uneventful one. He led his men and the litters through snow-dusted moors, majestic glens, and dark green groves of pine until Ben Lomond rose in the distance and they stood on the bonny shores of Loch Lomond.
And as Inchmurrin stood tall and proud in the early winter dusk, gleaming on the southwest point of the isle, they stopped, and Kate leapt from the litter to pull him down from his charger. Then she covered his face with a wealth of kisses.
“Cameron, there canna be a bonnier place on this Earth,” she finally said with sparkling eyes. “And as soon as spring comes, I’ll have father teach us how to fish!”
* * *
It had been a pleasant, cozy day. It was the height of winter, and the winds were cold and bitter.
Kate sat before the fire with her quill scribbling endlessly over sheets of parchment as Lady Elsa sat at her side, stitching clothes for the bairn with her ever-busy fingers.
Cameron shook his head in amazement.
The two women were inseparable now.
He tried not to hover too much and did his best not to fret. Last week, he’d been concerned the bairn would arrive a wee bit too early. This week, he was certain the bairn was late.
As the evening shadows grew long, they made ready to sleep when Sir Arval arrived in a cold, swirling gust of wind.
“Ach, ‘tis such bitter weather! But I am so glad ye came, Sir Arval,” Kate cried out in a warm greeting, holding out her hands.
“Yes, it is a bone-chilling cold, my lady!” Sir Arval kissed her hand, drawing a beautifully scripted letter from a leather pouch slung over his shoulder. His lips spread into a wide smile. “Is this letter a jest, my lady?”
Kate’s dark eyes swept over the parchment with a frown of disappointment. “I thought ye would be so pleased at the improvement—”
“Then, you truly wrote this? Not another?” The man’s eyes beamed with pride.
Kate laughed as her father entered the room, leaning on the arm of Princess Anabella.
“Aye, my wee Kate wrote it,” the fisherman said, with only a slight slur to his words.
“Kate spends her entire day with a quill in her hand,” the princess added with a crisp nod of approval. “She’s quite stubborn, Sir Arval, but I am sure ye know that already. Have ye news of the queen?”
“Aye, your highness.” Sir Arval nodded. “She was delivered of a fine, healthy boy and the king has named him John Stewart.”
A silence descended upon the room, and Cameron turned away, recalling again how John, the Earl of Mar, had spent his last dying thoughts upon his brother James. Aye, it was an unspoken apology. The king would never have given his newborn son his brother’s name for any other reason.
Cameron clenched his fist.
It was not enough.
“I … think I should lie down a wee spell.” Kate’s uncertain voice broke the silence.
All eyes turned upon her at once.
“Is it time, lass?” came her father’s soft query. There was a smile upon his lips.
“Aye, father.” Kate began to laugh and then promptly sucked her breath in pain. “I do believe it is!”
They had planned for this moment well. The princess and Sir Arval descended upon Cameron at once, drawing him to his privy chamber, as Lady Elsa and the midwives ferreted Kate away.
Princess Anabella plied him with fine Rhennish wine while Sir Arval tempted him with platters of tarts and roasted partridge, but he would have none of it. He paced before the fire, sending a page for tidings every ten minutes until sweat poured from the lad’s face and another page would take his place.
“’Tis far too perilous!” Cameron slammed his fist in his palm for the tenth time. He struggled to control his fears, but memories of his previous wives’ experiences in childbirth ran rampant through his mind.
“Ach, Cameron, Kate is a strong woman.” The princess finally stood before him, cupping his face in her hands and giving him a grim shake. “Nay, Kate is a remarkable lass, lad. And I’ve no doubt in my mind that she’ll rise to become the most powerful woman in Scotland one day. Aye, I know when I’ve finally met my successor.”
The pride in her voice succeeded in distracting him for a moment, but only for a moment.
Kissing her hands, he drew
away and resumed his pacing and swearing. “No more bairns! She’ll have no more bairns. I’ll not live through this again!”
And then, against their bitter protests, he slipped up the stairs to poke his head into the bedchamber to see for himself how Kate was faring. She appeared tired, but between the labor pains, she sent him a warm smile and a cheerful wave that gave him strength.
He would have stayed longer, but the midwives threatened to have him locked in the dungeons if he did not return to his privy chamber. And so he waited, until the agony was unbearable and stole up the stairs to check on her once again.
On his last trip, he paused at the door to hear the lusty cry of a newborn babe and kicking it back, he saw his Kate squealing with laughter, clutching the bairn to her breast in joy as the long beams of the newly risen sun filtered through the windows to bathe both of them in a soft, morning glow.
“Cameron! Come and see your wee lassie!” Kate wrinkled her nose in the smile he loved so well.
Cautiously, he approached.
Kate glowed, her cheeks were rosy, and the bairn she cradled was pink and plump.
He closed his eyes, unable to believe they had avoided disaster. Never again would she do such a dangerous thing!
And then he heard the fateful words.
“Ach, Cameron, one bairn is simply not enough! Let’s have a dozen more!”
He gulped, and then his world began to spin.
The last thing he heard before darkness embraced him was, “Ach, his lordship is going to faint. Catch him!”
The End
Excerpt from “The Daring Heart”
Coming in 2012
The Daring Heart
Book Three
of the
Highland Heather and Hearts
Scottish Romance Series
Lord Julian Gray’s dark lashes flew open.
He became aware of the sharp blade pressed against his ribs the exact moment the door to his bedchamber crashed open.
‘Twas not the way he preferred to awake from a deep sleep.
The Italian assassin he had been trailing the past week stood framed in the door, observing him with the deadliest of expressions. He was a lean, dark-haired man possessing an air of refinement. His nose was long and thin, and he peered across the chamber at Julian with one hand holding a torch aloft and the other firmly clasped upon the hilt of his sword.
The bed jiggled a little as the blade in his ribs dug a little deeper into his flesh, and a woman’s husky voice whispered softly in his ear, “Play nice, if you wish to live.”
“Explain yourself, knave!” the assassin at the door roared at the same moment.
Julian’s gray eyes narrowed.
Under the covers, the blade slid along his chest, and he caught his breath.
Ach, but he could recognize his own blade anywhere.
The canny vixen had stolen his own dagger from under his pillow!
Startled, he cast a quick, side-length glance at his bedside assailant, and his lips parted in surprise.
Even in the flickering torchlight, he could see the lass was a feast for the senses! Honey-colored tresses cascaded over a creamy naked shoulder. Her lips were wide and full, her nose pointed at the tip, and her lashes fluttering over stunning hazel eyes.
She pressed the tip of the dagger deeper, dangerously close to piercing his flesh.
There was a rasp of steel as the assassin crossed the chamber and pulled out his sword, cursing, “I’ll have your head, knave!”
“It’s too late, Orazio!” The hazel-eyed lass threw herself over Julian’s bare chest. “We are wed, and the marriage has already been consummated!”
Julian choked.
His reward was a twist of the blade. This time, he was certain it drew blood.
Orazio drew a sharp breath. “Liselle! What have you done?”
“Did you find her?” a hauntingly familiar voice asked from the hallway outside.
Julian blinked in astonishment as Lady Nicoletta, lady-in-waiting to Princess Anabella of Scotland, appeared in the doorway, her full lips drawn in a tight, worried expression.
They stared at each other in shock.
“Lord Julian Gray!” Nicoletta was the first to regain control.
Julian licked his dry lips. “Nicoletta? What are ye doing in France?”
But Nicoletta was not listening to him. Running to the side of the bed, she placed her hands firmly upon her hips and glared at the lass still draped over Julian.
“Liselle, get out of that bed at once! Lord Gray is a man of the most disreputable ilk. You’ll have naught to do with him!”
Julian snorted in a wicked amusement, but after one look at Orazio, quickly changed it into a cough. Adopting an insulted manner, he began to protest, “Ach, ‘tis not true, Nicoletta! Ye’ve always misunderstood me!”
Orazio’s dark brow swept up in astonishment. “Do you know this man, Nicoletta?”
“Does it matter?” the lass next to Julian asked pointedly. “He is my husband. The deed is done!”
Nicoletta gasped, clutching her heart. “Husband?”
Julian opened his mouth to object but shut it quickly when the tip of the dagger poked him again.
“Julian, did you truly wed our sister?” Nicoletta asked in a strangled voice.
Julian caught his breath. The wee, malevolent beastie spilling his blood drop-by-drop was the sister of the deadliest and most famed Italian assassin? As was Lady Nicoletta?
He really had no choice.
The man glowering above him, weapon drawn, was intent only upon securing his sister’s honor. He could read it in his eyes.
“Aye!” Julian growled with a flash of annoyance.
The blade beneath the covers bit him deeper.
He clenched his jaw.
Ach, but he was going to discipline this wee terror the moment they were alone. Clearing his throat, he confirmed firmly, “Aye, I wed … Lady Liselle … last night.”
But Orazio’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously. “I would see both of your hands first, Liselle. And then let the man speak.”
With a smirk, Liselle arched her back and slowly lifted her hands out from under the covers. Dropping one hand to thread her fingers through Julian’s fair hair, she lightly skimmed the palm of the other over his naked chest. “We’ve been properly wed, haven’t we now?” she asked Julian in a low, husky voice.
Under the covers, a new blade needled his flesh.
Had the lass found his dirk as well? And was she using her knees?
Ach, but her skills were impressive.
At that, Julian paused, and for the first time in his life experienced a ripple of genuine interest. He subjected the mischievous lass to a second, deeper look. She had the most unusual eyes he had ever seen. They were green, flecked, and ringed with gold.
And the expression in them was charmingly malicious.
He stared at her in wonder.
How had she slipped into his tightly locked chamber-–avoided the traps he had set just the night before at each door and window? And how had she slipped into his bed and used his own dagger against him?
But most importantly, just what exactly had the wicked sprite embroiled him in?
About the Author
Like many of us on this planet, Carmen Caine/Madison Adler is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and barn. When she is not working as a software engineer, she is busy ferrying her kids to various appointments, writing lyrics for her husband's songs, taking care of the dog Tigger and his heart condition, attempting to tame her three insane cats, scratching her three Nigerian Dwarf Goats behind the horns or coddling her flock of thirty bizarre chickens from around the world.
Please follow me on Twitter at
twitter.com/CarmenRomances
or visit my facebook page at
facebook.com/Carmen.Caine
OTHER BOOKS
Madison
Adler/Carmen Caine writes fantasy under the name of Madison Adler and Medieval Romances under the name of Carmen Caine.
The "Glass Wall" is the first book of her new quirky paranormal series about ancient beings, Tulpas and different dimensions:
"The Glass Wall" ( Now Available )
"The Brotherhood of the Snake" ( Spring 2012 )
"The Inner Circle"
"The Egg"
Her Scottish Medieval series, "The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series" covers the span of years ranging from 1478-1488:
"The Kindling Heart" ( Now Available )
"The Bedeviled Heart" ( Now Available )
"The Daring Heart"
"The Loyal Heart"
