“Aye, Father,” Colin replied, watching as the priest's temper was about to boil over. “This is William Dunbar.”
“Then welcome to Kildalton Castle,” Hugh thundered warmly, taking the shaken cleric by the shoulders.
“Thank you for your well-spoken words of welcome, m'lord,” Father William responded, eyeing the huge laird warily. “I can see that the Campbell name will no doubt find immortality in the works of some poor poet.”
“Are you suggesting, priest,” Hugh said threateningly, but with sidelong wink at Celia, “that we're to be your next victims?”
“Aye, m'lord,” Dunbar smiled matter-of-factly.
“Very well,” Hugh said, clapping the priest on the back. “Then we'll have a lively Easter celebration after all. Welcome to our home.”
Climbing out of one of the small boats that carried them to the dock, Celia was nearly overwhelmed by the men wishing to help her. She was growing more exhausted by the moment, and her head was again throbbing painfully, but she wearily set her mind to the task of climbing the stone-paved road through the village to the castle.
Seeing the crowds that had filled the dockside and the Marketcross, she was thinking how different things could be now for the people who lived in the shadow of Argyll's castle. Their lives would be so much better if Argyll would stay away and leave them in peace.
The question of him returning could be resolved very shortly, she thought. He clearly doesn't know Danvers very well. Argyll had planned to force Celia to marry him. Danvers is insane. If that marriage had ever taken place, the earl would have been as good as dead. If Danvers ever gets wind of his plan, he could end up dead anyway.
As thoughts of the evil Danvers started pounding in her brain, her head began to swim, and Celia put out her hand to steady herself on Edmund's arm.
The next thing she knew, Celia was cradled in Colin's arms, and she could see the walls of Kildalton Castle looming ahead of them. He was carrying her without any effort at all. Edmund, Hugh, and the others were fluttering around them, cackling like old hens. She could see concern etched in their faces. But they all seemed relieved at the sight of her regaining consciousness.
“Colin, put me down,” she demanded, struggling weakly against him. “I can walk perfectly well myself.”
“Is that so?” he said soothingly, holding her tighter against his broad chest. “It must have been someone else who fainted in the Marketcross, then.”
“I really didn't faint,” she said, knowing that she really had. “I just needed to get my land legs, that's all.”
“Oh, land legs.” Colin laughed. “And then, I suppose, you just thought you'd take a short nap.”
“That's right,” she responded, snuggling against his shoulder. “And I feel perfectly well rested now. So you can put me down.”
“Nay.”
“Why not?” Celia asked, raising her head and looking into his eyes.
“Because I'm enjoying this,” Colin responded. “Put your head back down.”
“Why?”
“Because this is the first moment I've had alone with you since we left Argyll. Because I....Stop asking so many questions.” He glared threateningly.
Celia lifted her arms up around his neck and nestled her face against his skin. “Please put me down,” she cooed.
“Forget it,” Colin replied, smiling. “The next time you put your feet on the ground will be tomorrow morning.”
“You just think you can bully me because I took a few hits in the head,” she whispered lazily.
“Bullying you?” Colin laughed softly. “Now that's an idea worth considering.”
“You wouldn't dare,” she flared, raising her head again and looking into his face.
“I would, too,” he said, smiling.
“You would what?” This was getting confusing.
“Bully you into picking up where we left off this morning,” Colin whispered softly, nuzzling her face with his own.
“Colin, shush!” she whispered forcefully, taking hold of his jaw with her hand.
Celia raised herself in Colin's arms and glanced around, mildly fearful that someone might have heard his words. But the others had fallen back a few paces, and no one seemed to be in hearing range. Also, the darkness of the night had separated them somewhat from the rest of the group.
As Celia's face returned to Colin, his mouth descended on hers so quickly that she never had a chance to object. He just wanted a taste, but her reaction to his simple kiss drove him wild with desire. Her hands gripped the back of his neck pulling his head down lower as her mouth reached up more fully under his. Celia's mouth opened under the pressure from Colin's searching tongue. They kissed, deeply, intimately, then they both pulled back. They each knew they had to stop.
“I do not have to bully you,” he whispered, gripping her hard against his chest as they walked across the drawbridge into the castle courtyard. “All I have to do is kiss you.”
“I do like the way you kiss me,” Celia murmured, nestling her head back down on Colin's shoulder. She could feel her heartbeat matching his.
“You'll like the rest, too, my love,” he whispered, resting his chin lightly on her bandaged head.
Agnes must have been standing watch for the group, because they hadn't even reached the front stairs when she dashed out to them. If Celia had thought that the men fussed a lot over her injury, she hadn't seen anything yet. Agnes had Colin take Celia straight up to her room, while all along the way scolding him for his selfishness in taking the young woman along on the Argyll trip, exposing her to all that danger. When Celia tried to interrupt in Colin's defense, he just stopped her with a wink and a smile.
Agnes pushed open the door to Celia's room, and Colin carried her directly to her bed and deposited her there.
But as soon as she was placed on the bed, Celia looked over at the open door into Kit's and Ellen's room. Immediately she rolled off the bed and disappeared into the darkened chamber.
Ellen was sitting in the only chair in the room, and Kit was asleep at her breast. Her eyes glowed with happiness at seeing Celia, but looked with concern at the wrapping around her head. Celia went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, caressing Kit's hair and cheek lightly with her free hand.
“How is he doing?” Celia whispered.
“He's as strong as ever,” Ellen replied softly. “I was just going to put him in his cradle.”
Celia took the baby out of Ellen's arms and placed him over her shoulder. She had really missed him, in spite of all the excitement. She laid him gently in the cradle and covered him with the soft blanket. Quietly she smiled at Ellen and tiptoed to the door.
Ellen followed her into the other room, leaving the door open on the sleeping Kit.
“M'lady,” she said, startled at the bloody condition of the bandages around Celia's head. She had not seen them clearly in the darkness of the baby's room. “Are you all right?”
“Of course she is,” Colin responded, leaning solidly against the hearth. “She was just looking for a way to avoid walking up from the village.”
“Now, Colin,” Agnes scolded. “If you aren't going to be nice to her—”
“Nice?” Colin argued, never taking his eyes off Celia. “I've just carried her up from the harbor. And she squirmed like a fish for more than half of the way.”
“Out you go,” Agnes ordered, pushing the giant warrior toward the door.
“I'm going under protest, Celia, but I'll be back,” Colin said over Agnes's head, as she shoved him right out into the hallway.
“Men! Really!” Agnes exclaimed, returning with a smile on her face. “Although it does sound as if you and Colin got some time to speak with each other. Well, never mind. Ellen, help Celia get out of those filthy clothes. I've got a nice hot bath ready for you, my dear. And while you're soaking, I'll look at your wounds.”
Celia sat up in the bed. Agnes had, indeed, prepared a bath for her in front of a roaring fire. But that was not all. While Celi
a had been away, Agnes had moved furniture into the room: a table covered with beautifully embroidered linen and a bowl of assorted fruits to go with the dinner that was laid out for her, several large chairs with silk-covered pillows, and a second large clothing chest. The chest stood with the other by the wall to Ellen's room, and they were both open, revealing an array of clothes that Agnes had selected for her.
Celia also noted with amusement that none of the new furniture in any way blocked the panel.
“Agnes,” she said warmly. “This room is beautiful. It feels like home.”
“I'd so hoped that you would like it.”
“Like it? I adore it,” Celia said. “But, Agnes, please do not make such a fuss over me. I'd really much rather be a help to you somehow.”
“Celia, that's what I knew you'd say,” Agnes responded with open delight. “My dear, it's high time you did make yourself at home. And if you feel up to it tomorrow, we'll start.”
Celia looked at Ellen for a hint of what was happening, but Ellen simply blushed and looked away.
“No more talk,” Agnes commanded, “until you get into this bathwater.”
With Ellen's help, Celia stripped out of her wet clothes in a moment and stepped into the tub. The scent of jasmine greeted her, and she melted into the warm liquid as Agnes carefully unwrapped the bandages from her head. Agnes gently soaked the dried blood from Celia's hair using a separate bowl of liquid that smelled strongly of herbs. The older woman looked very closely at the wound at the back of Celia's head as she cleaned it. She carefully pulled Celia's hair back, inspecting the sizable lump that was half hidden in the tangle of auburn curls.
“It looks like those blows on the head weren't intended to kill you, but those bruises on your neck certainly show lethal intentions on somebody's part.”
“Aye,” Celia responded. “An Englishman, and a rough one at that.”
“Well, I hope somebody killed the bastard.”
“Colin did.”
“Aye, that doesn't surprise me at all,” Agnes said. “Colin's always been a bit protective of those he cares about.”
As Celia drifted off in the warm bath, she thought of Agnes's words. Colin had been so open in showing his affection—his attraction to her—in front of everyone. Celia remembered Father William's shocked expression when they'd been at Argyll. He had been so surprised to see them so taken with each other.
She could see that she would have to talk to him about Colin. Father William had always been highly critical of potential suitors for Celia. He believed that the suitable match for her had not yet been born...did not exist. And all these years, she had somehow agreed with him. But now it was all different. Colin was different.
Agnes carefully combed out Celia's clean hair and, when the young woman was ready, helped her into a fresh nightshift and robe. Celia could smell the delicate lavender aroma in the clothes and felt incredibly warm in the glow of attention that Agnes was bestowing on her. She ate a little of the food and wine that had been laid out for her, and watched as Agnes directed the servants as they carried out the tub and wet linens.
Ellen had returned to Kit when Agnes sat Celia down to her supper. Celia paused before beginning to eat.
“Agnes, there’s something you should know,” Celia began slowly. “And I want to be the one to tell you.”
“What is it, my dear?” she answered with concern.
“I am not who I’ve been pretending to be. My real name is Celia Muir, not Lady Caithness. You see, traveling through the Highlands with Kit, we’ve needed to protect ourselves because Lord Danvers, the English commander, is after me. The intention was that by assuming the Caithness identity, we would attract less attention. But I do not want to keep up that pretense any longer. I’m sorry we deceived you.”
“My dear, you do not have anything to be sorry about,” Agnes said warmly. “These are troubled times, and a woman has to protect herself and the ones she loves any way she can. We all care for you because of the kind of person you are, not because of any name.”
“But there is more to it than just that, Agnes,” Celia said. “Danvers is evil, he’s a butcher, and I’ve brought that evil into your lives.”
She paused, searching for the right words.
“I was to be his wife, Agnes. Not by my own choice, but by the command of a king.”
Agnes put her hand on Celia’s.
“What kind of king would command a woman to marry such a demon?” she said softly. “We do not honor such commands out here.”
Agnes put her arm around Celia and hugged her affectionately.
“You’ve been through so much already in your young life, child. Do not take the troubles of the world on your shoulders. It’s time to leave those bad memories in the past. It’s time to look to the future.”
Celia felt the tears well up in her eyes at the older woman’s unquestioning acceptance and understanding.
“Agnes...” she began.
“Enough of that, Celia,” Agnes interrupted. “You’re here now, and we’re glad for that. Now tell me about your adventures at Argyll’s castle.”
Celia filled her in on most of what occurred there, and she felt the discomfort of the earlier admission wash away as they spoke. She found herself dwelling at length on Colin's heroic response when her life had been in jeopardy. And Agnes noted with inner delight that the young woman returned again and again to Colin in her narration.
But soon Agnes began to dominate the conversation, telling stories of Colin's youth and young manhood to an enraptured Celia. Agnes had been a mother to him, and her pride in Colin was maternal.
Celia thought about what Colin might have been like as a child. He was so much a man now—tall, muscular, weathered—that it was difficult to picture. And yet, sometimes he'd get that boyish look.
“It's too bad his mother didn't get a chance to see him grow into what he is now,” Agnes continued, as if reading Celia's mind. “She'd be so proud of what he's become.”
Agnes's eyes misted over a bit, and Celia reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Do you miss her very much?” Celia asked.
“Less and less since you've arrived,” Agnes replied, giving Celia's hand a return squeeze before releasing it. “Although, when Colin was growing, I often missed her dreadfully.”
“It must have been very difficult for you.”
“There were times in the beginning when I was ready to go back to France,” Agnes said with a laugh. “Hugh can be a difficult man, you know.”
“Is this a case of `like father, like son'?” Celia grinned.
“Probably so,” Agnes laughed. “But really, my dear, Colin has so much of his mother in him.”
“She must have been a wonderful woman.”
“Constance was a fine woman,” Agnes began. “She had a very sharp mind, and she was a thoughtful and generous friend.”
“I'm sure she must have felt the same about you,” Celia replied.
As they talked, Agnes realized that it had been a long, long while since she had felt so comfortable talking with another woman. Perhaps since Colin's mother had passed away. She had been Agnes's friend, but this had a feeling of friendship and something more. Agnes felt a bond forming with Celia that she had only felt with Colin. As she sat with the young woman, Agnes knew in her heart why everyone at Kildalton was so drawn to Celia. From all she had heard and all she had seen, she knew this young woman's heart was pure and accepting, strong and courageous, open and giving. Constance Campbell would have loved to have her as a daughter.
Agnes was tucking her into bed when Celia laid her hand on Agnes's arm.
“Agnes, I want to ask you something woman to woman,” she began, hesitating as she struggled with the words. “Why hasn't Colin married?”
“He was waiting for someone like you, Celia.”
“Seriously,” Celia persisted, blushing at her own lack of subtlety. “Certainly he must have been the object of more than a few young women's fancies.�
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“And more than a few fathers’ fancies,” Agnes responded. Many a laird had seen Colin Campbell as a way to move his own family up socially and financially. Agnes had seen many a pretty young thing thrown in Colin's path. She could still feel pride in how Colin had always managed to thwart the fathers' attempts while still preserving the young women's reputations and futures. “The Campbell fortune and position have always been a temptation for some, but Colin has always waited for love.”
Agnes smiled benignly down on Celia and squeezed her hand gently before leaving the room.
But Celia felt a pain in her heart. A gnawing, empty sadness that undermined in an instant all of the happiness that had been growing there. Suddenly all of the exhausting trials of the day seemed to crush her with weariness.
She had nothing to offer Colin Campbell but love.
How could she even think for a moment that Colin would want her in marriage? Truthfully, he'd never even mentioned it, and Celia had never given him any hint that marriage was what she wanted.
But Celia loved Colin. She loved him with a fervor that burned in her veins. She loved him more than her own life, and he was the only man she had ever wanted. She knew that she would give her body and soul to him for as long as he wanted her, for as long as they had left.
There was something else, though. Celia knew her love for Colin could be construed by others as something less than the passion it truly was. But for Celia, the love she felt for him was too strong, too pure. She could not allow that love to be tainted by anyone's suspicion of it being anything as despicable as opportunism. She was no fortune-seeker. No, she would stay with him as long as she could, but Celia would never allow herself to hope for marriage to Colin.
Celia drifted into a deep, sound, dreamless sleep just moments after Agnes left. When Colin knocked softly at her door, she barely lifted her head from her pillow.
“Who is it?” she called quietly.
Colin pushed the door open and peered into the darkness.
“Have you given up bolting your door?” he whispered.
“Come in, Colin,” she said, laying her head back down.
The Thistle and the Rose Page 21
