Judith E French (22 page)

It was all she could do to keep from crying. When Cameron had told her in England two years ago that he was her real father, she’d been angry and hurt. Now all the bitterness was gone, and what remained was her own desire for a father. “I can try,” she managed.

“I’ve treated you badly.” Cameron had admitted. “Maybe I can make up for it in the future.

“Anne.”

Her father’s voice brought her back to the present, and she smiled at him. A black groom was leading the chestnut mare in a circle at a trot. The animal’s darker-colored mane and tail had been brushed and combed to a high shine. Her ears were erect, her eyes wide and intelligent.

“What do you think?” Cameron asked. “Will she throw magnificent foals?”

Anne nodded. “She’s beautiful.”

Cameron gave instructions to the groom, and he and Ross joined her. “I want you to see the orchard I’m starting on the far side of the slaves’ quarters,” her father said. “Apples and cherries. I’ve gotten some really nice stock from a friend, Mistress O’Hara. You’ll be meeting her tomorrow night at the birthday ball I’m throwing for Charles Calvert, our Royal Governor. He’s been away on government business—that’s why you haven’t met him already.” He grinned boyishly. “You’ll love Kati O’Hara—she’s a widow, but she runs her own plantation. She grows the best tobacco for miles around.”

“Kati, is it?” Ross teased. “Methinks your father willna be a widower long.”

“Nay,” Cameron protested. “Kati and I are just friends. I’ve been a married man most of my life. I intend to spend the rest single.”

“Do ye believe him, Anne?” Ross asked.

“I’ll reserve my opinion until after I’ve seen Mistress O’Hara.”

 

The following night, Anne made her entrance at the governor’s birthday ball on her father’s arm. She swept down the wide staircase at Gentleman’s Folly wearing an exquisite borrowed gown of pink satin and Irish lace. The bodice of the dress dipped fashionably low, making a perfect frame for Anne’s golden amulet.

Cameron paused on the bottom step. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman here tonight,” he said proudly.

“It’s Leah’s gown,” Anne replied.

“Nay, lass,” Ross rumbled behind them. “It be the woman in the dress.”

Brandon had been unable to return for his father-in-law’s party, but he’d sent orders that Anne and Ross were to make free with any clothing they could find in the house, and he’d hired Annapolis’s finest mantua maker to do any necessary alterations.

Ross’s coat was powder-blue velvet over a matching vest and white shirt. The craggy planes of his tanned face were accented by the frothy white stock at his throat, and Anne’s heart skipped a beat every time she looked at him. His doeskin breeches fitted over his muscular thighs without a wrinkle, and his black leather shoes bore crystal rosettes.

“Your sister’s husband be a bit of a fop, wouldn’t ye say?” Ross whispered to Anne, when Cameron finally left off introducing them to his friends and went to greet a newly arriving guest. “I feel like a badger in a trap. A man’s legs were meant to breathe.”

Anne chuckled. “I like your legs in breeches,” she murmured behind her fan as she nodded to a bewigged matron.

“Take ye for a feather-heeled jade,” he exclaimed. “Do ye say ye dinna like my kilt?”

“I didn’t say that at all.” She tapped him playfully with the ivory fan. “Be good, Ross. You promised me you’d be on your best behavior.” Excitement bubbled up inside her as the first strains of music drifted from the great hall. Already a few couples had begun to gather there. “Oh,” she whispered. “The musicians are playing a country dance. Do you know how to dance, Ross?”

“Aye,” he confided, “I can. But these dances be too tame. What say I get them to play a Highland fling or . . .” His black eyes sparkled with mischief. “Or maybe a Shawnee stomp.”

“Don’t you dare,” she began. Anne was saved from further teasing by Cameron and the lady he was escorting toward them. “Look,” she whispered. “It’s Father, and unless I miss my guess, that is his dear friend, Mistress O’Hara.”

Kati O’Hara smiled and offered her hands to Anne. She was tall and well-rounded with dark auburn hair and green eyes—a pretty, freckled woman half Cameron’s age. “I’m Kati,” she said. “Cameron hasn’t stopped talking about you since you arrived in Annapolis. Any friend of his . . .” She arched a dark eyebrow meaningfully. “Welcome to Maryland, Anne. I do hope we’ll be friends.”

Anne squeezed Kati’s hands. “I think we will,” she answered. “This is my husband, Ross Campbell, Master of Strathmar.” To her surprise, Ross took one of the plump redhead’s gloved hands and lifted it to his lips.

“Mistress O’Hara,” he said.

Kati gave Ross a long look and laughed—a deep, merry sound. “I can see why you grabbed this one,” she said to Anne. “What I’d be knowin’ is—does he have any brothers?”

“Enough of that talk, me foine girl,” Cameron teased with a feigned Irish accent. “Would ye care to dance, Mistress O’Hara? I think that is a Sir Roger de Coverley starting now.”

“Aye, that I would,” she agreed. “Is that an invitation—or merely an inquiry?”

“Ye see what I’m forced to put up with?” Cameron tucked his arm firmly through Kati’s and led her toward the music.

Anne tapped the floor with the toe of her satin slipper. “Ross . . .”

“Ye want to dance too?”

She nodded hopefully.

“I’d rather take ye upstairs and find a dark room.”

Her throat constricted.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Anne Campbell. I want to rip that dress off you and make hot, wet love to you.” His fingers scorched her skin as he made small circles on the underside of her forearm. “I want you now,” he said huskily.

Anne spread her fan and raised it to cover her face, trying to hide the blush she could feel spreading across her cheeks. The thought of doing just what Ross suggested was exciting, and a bubbling sensation ran up and down her spine.

“Well, woman? What say ye?” Ross leaned close and brushed her lips with his own. “Shall we have our own celebration?”

“Later.” It was hard to breathe with his eyes on her . . . with him standing so close he was crushing the hoops under her gown.

“Later,” he repeated sensually. Then he winked at her. “Fie on ye. ’Tis a typical woman’s answer.” He sighed dramatically. “Then, I suppose if we canna make love, then we must dance. M’lady?” He bowed gracefully and offered her his hand.

Anne curtsied and took it.

For nearly an hour, they danced every set. The room grew so warm that servants threw open the windows to let in the night breeze and brought chilled sherbets for all the guests. As the music swirled around them, Anne laughed and enjoyed every step. Twice she danced with her father, and Ross danced with Mistress O’Hara. Cameron was an excellent partner, but Ross was amazing. Country reel or stately minuet, he never hesitated, never missed a graceful bow or turn.

Anne’s heart was full to overflowing. Whenever their fingers touched, her pulse quickened. He’s my husband, and we’ve never danced together before, she thought. Just that once . . . when we were with the gypsies. But she’d hated him then and feared him too—so that time didn’t count.

When the musicians stopped to rest, Ross pulled her close. “We can still find a place to hide,” he whispered in her ear. She laughed.

The tinkling notes of a harpsichord were coming from the parlor across the hall. “Ladies, gentlemen,” Cameron said loudly. “You must all come into the next room. Mistress O’Hara has consented to play for us first. If you remember what I told you last year, you’re all expected to sing, or dance, or recite. Any cowards will pay a forfeit—said forfeit to be decided by”—he flashed a grin at Anne—“the Lady Anne.”

The brightly gowned ladies and their escorts assembled around the harpsichord. Kati introduced Anne and Ross to several guests they hadn’t met earlier, then began to play the delicate instrument again.

“This is your last chance,” Ross murmured, nuzzling Anne’s neck. “I’ll hold them off while you run.”

She covered her lips with her fan and suppressed a giggle. “Be good,” she reminded him.

“Lord Dunnkell,” someone called. “Governor Calvert and his party have arrived.”

“Excuse me,” Cameron said. “I must greet his Excellency. Carry on.” He took Anne’s hand. “Come with me, my dear. I want you to meet our governor. He’s quite an interesting man.”

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to Ross.

Cameron led her from the room. “Are you enjoying yourself, Anne?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, “it’s a wonderful party. Your friends are all—” She suddenly froze and stared at the man standing by the door in the hall parlor—the man she’d never expected to see again. Bile rose in her throat. “No!” She gasped. “Not you, here . . . it can’t be.”

Cameron didn’t notice. He stepped forward and offered his hand to the governor. “Your Excellency,” he said. “We’re so happy to—”

“That’s her—” Murrane cried, shoving past Governor Calvert and jabbing a thick, scarred finger directly at Anne. “Seize that woman! She’s my wife.”

“N
o!” Anne cried. “That’s a lie! He’s not my husband.” Murrane lunged toward her. She whirled and dashed into the great hall where the musicians were preparing to begin playing again.

Her father stepped into Murrane’s path. “What do you—” Murrane’s fist slammed into Cameron’s jaw and Cameron went down. Murrane ran after Anne and caught her shoulder. Screaming, she tore free from his grasp.

For an instant, he stared down at the handful of pink satin in his hand, then his hooded eyes gleamed as he leered at her exposed bosom. “Enough of this,” he growled. “Where do you intend to run now, you faithless slut?”

Sheer terror gave her courage. Ignoring her ripped dress, she ran between an elegantly dressed tobacco planter and his wife to the polished Irish hunt table standing along the far wall of the room and seized a silver punch cup. With unerring accuracy, she hurled it at Murrane’s head. “Don’t come near me, you bastard. I’ll kill you if you come near me!”

Murrane gasped as the cup struck him squarely above his right eye and drew blood. “You’ll die for that, bitch,” he muttered.

“Who are you?” the planter demanded, thrusting himself forward. “How dare you come—” Murrane turned a black look of contempt and unvoiced threat on him, and the planter pulled his wife away. “This is not our affair . . .” he mumbled.

Anne threw a second cup—it bounced off his chin. “Not if I get you first!” she shouted. “Ross! Help me!” Murrane’s twisted expression mocked her. She shuddered with revulsion, her mouth tasted of ashes. If he touches me I’ll vomit, she thought, backing against the table.

Murrane charged her. The planter’s wife screamed.

“No!” Anne cried. Grabbing the long-handled sterling dipper, she smashed it against his forehead.

Stunned, he staggered back. Anne ducked under his arm and ran back toward the hall parlor, holding her ruined dress up over her breasts. As she crossed the threshold, she saw a soldier’s body flying through the air. The blue-coated figure hit the staircase, slid down, and sprawled unconscious at the foot of the steps.

Two more of the governor’s guards hung on to Ross’s arms. Men and women were shouting and craning their necks to see into the hall. A ship’s officer in a red coat stood protectively in front of the governor with drawn sword. Her father sat in the middle of the floor with a dazed expression on his face, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Cease this at once!” Governor Calvert roared.

Ross twisted, and dropped to one knee, coming up so fast that his movements were little more than a blur. There was a crack as he slammed the guards’ heads together, then he had Anne by the arm and half lifted, half shoved her to the staircase. Suddenly all she could see was the taut wall made by the back of Ross’s torn coat, and a glimpse of steel. Somehow, Ross was holding one of the soldier’s swords as he backed up the steps with Anne behind him.

“Hist, now,” Ross cautioned. “Dinna come too close if ye wish to see the light of morning.” He was breathing hard and his burr was so thick Anne could hardly understand his words. Candlelight reflected off Ross’s naked rapier as he moved it slowly back and forth.

“You see, Calvert!” There was no mistaking Murrane’s grating voice. “Here is your honest citizen. He’s a criminal with a price on his head.”

“Put down your weapon, Strathmar,” the governor commanded. “I have soldiers outside. You can’t escape.”

“’Tis a bonny night to try,” Ross answered lightly.

“Fitzhugh Murrane is a lying, murdering bastard!” Anne cried. “He’s not my husband! He never was!”

The soldier at the bottom of the steps groaned and opened his eyes. He got up on his hands and knees and crawled toward his fallen sword. Murrane was quicker. He grabbed the weapon and advanced on Ross.

“Is this how you colonials uphold the king’s justice?” Murrane shouted. “To let an outlaw make fools of the Royal Governor and his escort?”

“Back,” Ross hissed to Anne. “Give me room.”

“Enough.” Cameron was on his feet. He shouted to someone in the doorway. That man threw a loaded pistol to Cameron, and he leveled it point blank at Murrane’s chest. “Put down your sword. There’ll be no more violence in my home. We can settle this like men—not beasts. Do you agree, your Excellency?”

“I’ll not put myself at his mercy,” Murrane snarled. “Tell Campbell to surrender.”

Cameron’s voice grew soft and dangerous. “Hold your tongue, sir,” he said coldly to Murrane. “You are the one who came into my home and struck me down without reason. Ye are the stranger making accusations ye cannot prove.”

“All of you! Surrender your weapons at once,” the governor ordered. “I have a dozen soldiers outside to enforce my peace.”

Cameron glanced at Ross. “What his Excellency says is true. You must put down your sword as well. Further violence will only prejudice the case against you and put Lady Anne’s life in danger.”

“I’ll not give her over to this hellhound,” Ross replied heatedly. “Anne is my wife—not his. All he’ll have of mine is six inches of steel through his black heart.”

“Surrender, Master Strathmar,” Governor Calvert declared, “or be shot. I give you my word that the lady will be held in protective custody until the right of this matter is discovered.”

“You can’t arrest me,” Anne protested hotly. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I am a longtime friend of Lady Langstone, Lady Anne’s mother,” Cameron said, ignoring Anne’s outburst. “With your permission, Governor, I will take responsibility for her safety.”

“No!” Murrane growled. “She’s mine. I have the marriage contract. Anne is my legal wife. Regardless of her immoral conduct, I’ll take her back.”

Anne’s gray eyes darkened to slate, and she trembled with anger. “I don’t need anyone to take responsibility for me, and I’d sooner hang than go ten steps with that foul dogsbody,” she said. “I am of legal age and sound mind. Do you think me such a fool that I don’t know my own husband?”

Governor Calvert smoothed the wrinkles from his plum-colored coat. “Lord Dunnkell is well known to us. The Lady Anne may remain here at Gentleman’s Folly during the investigation.” The governor pursed his lips. “Providing, of course, that you can assure us, sir, that there will be some respectable lady to chaperone—”

“I am a married woman,” Anne insisted. “I need no—”

“I will be happy to assist Lord Dunnkell,” Kati O’Hara interrupted. “If that’s all right with you?” She glanced at Cameron. He nodded. “I will stay here with Lady Anne, or she is welcome in my home.”

“I said—” Anne began.

“Quiet, woman,” Ross snapped.

“Remember to whom you’re speaking,” Cameron reminded Anne sharply. “Governor Calvert’s word is law here.”

“That’s settled,” Governor Calvert said. “Lord Murrane, Strathmar, put down your weapons.” He pointed to Ross. “You are under arrest, sir, for breaking the peace. You will be held in the jail until I’ve reached a decision on the right of this affair.” He frowned. “Clearly, Lady Anne seems to have two husbands. We may be far from England here, but we are English citizens, and we do live by English law.”

“She is my wife,” Murrane muttered stubbornly as he lowered his sword.

“Lying pig!” Anne spat.

“Strathmar.” The governor’s voice rang with authority.

“Please,” Anne implored Ross. “I don’t want you shot. You must do as the governor says.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “For ye, Anne,” he said. He half turned and offered her his weapon, hilt first. “The only one I’ve ever surrendered to.”

“That’s better,” Cameron said. He returned the pistol to its owner. “Now we can—Look out!”

Anne screamed as Murrane lunged forward and drove his sword into Ross’s midsection. Instantly, Cameron was on Murrane, knocking the weapon from his hand as soon as Murrane withdrew his bloody sword.

Ross’s face turned the color of whey as he slumped back, clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers. Anne dropped the sword, and it slid down the steps. “Daddy was right,” Ross managed. “He said never . . . never give up . . .” He gritted his teeth against the pain.

Two planters pinned a struggling Murrane to the floor. Cameron rose and grabbed Ross as he slumped forward, only half conscious.

“Ross . . .” Anne cried. The room was spinning around her. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, and waves of nausea swept over her. “Damn you,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

Cameron lowered Ross to the floor, and Anne lost sight of him as men gathered around. She gripped the banister and tried to keep from fainting. Curious faces stared at her, and women pointed.

“Two husbands—did you hear the governor?” a woman’s shrill voice quipped.

“The deceitful jade. Look at her,” said another.

A firm arm locked around her waist. “Let me take you upstairs,” Kati O’Hara said.

“No,” Anne protested. “I must know how—”

“He’ll be all right,” Kati said. “It’s a flesh wound. Men can lose a lot of blood without dying—believe me, I know.” She tugged at Anne. “Come. It’s better if we don’t provide a—”

“I won’t leave him,” Anne said stubbornly.

“Your father will look after him,” Kati said quietly. Anne’s eyes widened. “Yes, I know who you are. Cameron told me. Come, you’ll be safe here.”

“I don’t want to be safe!” Anne argued. “I want to be with Ross. He needs—”

Cameron stood up and came partway up the stairs. He threw her a compassionate look. “Go with Kati,” he said to Anne. “I’ll see that Ross is seen by a physician. The wound isn’t fatal.”

Anne shook her head. Tears clouded her vision, and she was certain that if she let go of the banister, she’d be unable to stand. “You’re lying to me,” she said. “He’s dying, isn’t he?”

Cameron shook his head. “Nay, lass, he won’t die of this.” He motioned to Kati and turned back to direct the men around Ross. “Handle him gently. He’s sore wounded—he’s not a sack of oats.”

“Come,” Kati urged. “It’s best if we go.”

Reluctantly, Anne let Kati take her upstairs to a bedchamber. An anxious maid followed close on their heels.

Once the three women were in the room, Kati settled Anne onto the bed and waved to the servant. “Bring cold water and a cloth for Lady Anne’s head—and a glass of brandy.”

“I don’t want anything to drink,” Anne murmured. “It’s not fair. Why was Ross arrested and not Murrane? Murrane is—”

“The brandy’s for me,” Kati said, “and apparently this Murrane is a very wealthy and powerful man. Therefore his Excellency put Ross under arrest.” She stroked Anne’s hair soothingly. “It means nothing. Governor Calvert is a fair man. Ross will be heard.”

Anne buried her face in her hands. “He has to be. They can’t—” She felt suddenly nauseous again. “
I . . . I
think I’m going to be sick,” she admitted.

“There, there,” Kati soothed, unfastening the laces of Anne’s torn gown. “Let’s get this dress off you.” She removed the gown, then loosened Anne’s corset so that she could breathe easier, and pulled a coverlet up over her. “Trust Cameron,” she said. “He will let nothing happen to your husband.”

“He already has,” Anne said fiercely. “He let him be run through with a sword. If Ross dies . . . If he dies, I’ll kill Murrane myself.”

Kati chuckled. “Your father didn’t tell me you were such a fiery little hothead. A sweet lady, he said.”

The maid brought water and the glass of brandy. Kati downed the liquor in three swallows. Anne breathed deeply, trying to gain control of her protesting stomach. The black girl gave Anne some of the cool water, and she took it sip by sip.

“That’s it,” Kati said, “relax. Jassi,” she said to the maid, “bolt the door, please. Bolt it and sit in front of it. We need no prying eyes or ears from curious neighbors.”

“Murrane isn’t my husband,” Anne said. Waves of nausea were still making her light-headed. She clenched her fists so hard that her nails cut into her palms, and she shut her eyes.

“Thank God for that,” Kati proclaimed, “for poorer husband material I’ve seldom seen.” She rubbed Anne’s forehead. “You’ve no need for such carrying on in your condition—it’s bad for the baby.”

Anne’s eyes snapped open. “What? I’m not with child.”

“No?” Kati’s voice couldn’t conceal her amusement. “You could have fooled me.” She laid a palm on Anne’s belly. “You’re sick to your stomach, aren’t you? And I’ll wager your breasts are tender.”

“Yes,” Anne admitted. “I’m nauseous, but this is evening—not morning. Women in the family way have morning sickness.”

Kati scoffed. “Where have you been living your life, girl—in a sealed jar? You’ve the look of one bearing to me. Unless you and that great braw of a man have been living like holy saints.” She cut her eyes at Anne. “I didn’t think so. I know I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Anne’s heartbeat quickened as a ray of hope pierced her utter desolation. Could it be true? Was she going to have Ross’s child? “I can’t be,” she said, meeting Kati’ s honest green-eyed gaze with her own. “I haven’t missed my flow.”

“Mmm,” Kati mused. “You certainly look . . . Has it been different . . . less?”

“Yes, it has, but—”

“I’ve heard of women who bleed for a few months. You’ve been through a lot from what your father says. Best you take it easy if you want to carry this babe to term.”

“Ross is my husband,” Anne said with a note of desperation in her voice. “If I am . . . if I am with child, it’s his. I won’t go anywhere with Murrane—I don’t care what your governor says. I’d rather be dead.”

Kati went to the window. “They’re bringing a carriage around for Strathmar. There’s a physician in the town. They must be taking him there.” Kati motioned to the maid. “Jassi, your master is going with Lady Anne’s husband.”

“Which one, Miss Kati?”

“Strathmar.” Kati suppressed a smile. “Her only husband. I want you to go downstairs and speak to the musicians. Can you do that?”