Samantha James (15 page)

“Why is it red?”

There was a painful catch in the region of her heart. “I expect ’tis because my father’s hair is red.”

Aileen twirled it around her finger. “’Tis so soft,” she said wistfully, “and so long.” She emitted a sigh. “I wish mine were as long.”

Meredith laid a hand on her mop of dark curls. “It will grow,” she predicted softly. “You have only to wait a wee bit longer.”

“I dinna think so.” Aileen shook her head adamantly. “Mama says I was bald as me da when I was a babe.”

Meredith longed to reach out and hug the lass, but she didn’t want to frighten her off. She bent her head low. “Let me tell you a secret, Aileen. I, too, was bald when I was first born. My mother often told me so when I was a bairn like you.”

“Where is yer mother?”

Meredith smiled faintly. “She died when I was young.” She couldn’t help but think of Cameron and his brothers. Since coming to Dunthorpe, she’d learned that their mother had died just three winters past. Thomas, she reflected, had been even younger than she—Meredith—had been…

“And your da? Is he dead, too?”

Meredith’s heart twisted. He might as well be dead…dead as she was to him. “Nay, sweetings. But he is a long way from here.”

Chubby fingers sifted through the trailing ends of her tresses. Aileen grasped two hunks and crossed one over the other. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. Her little rosebud mouth pursed. Small brows drew ferociously over her tiny upturned nose.

Meredith chuckled. “Are you trying to plait my hair, Aileen?”

“Aye, but I cannot.”

She sounded so forlorn that Meredith bit back a laugh. Gently she eased the strands from the child’s grasp. “Here, lass, let me show you. I know it seems odd, but you must have three lengths…”

It took some time, but at last Aileen managed to create a loosely woven plait.

Aileen grinned up at her. “I did it!” she crowed.

“Aye, lass, you did—and you did it very well! Now, if only we had something to hold it.” Even as she spoke, the small plait began to unravel. Aileen looked ready to cry. Quickly Meredith laid a hand on her head, seeking to reassure her.

A shadow fell over them. Both woman and child glanced up at the same time. Meredith’s heart seemed to trip over itself. It was Cameron who towered over them. Her first instinct was to slide an arm around the girl. But the child, small though she was, displayed no fear at this big, brawny man. Before Meredith could even move, Aileen hopped down, then nearly threw herself up and into his arms.

“Cameron!”

Before Meredith’s stunned regard, he lifted her high and planted a rather sloppy-sounding kiss on her cheek. This elicited a high-pitched giggle from
Aileen. Then, bold as you please, he dropped down beside her. Meredith froze. The bench was not particularly wide nor long; with him beside her, they filled it. Indeed, she could not ease over even a hair, else she’d have slipped off! Aileen appeared quite content to sit on his knee.

She peered up at Meredith. “Do you know Leith?”

Meredith licked her lips, conscious of the searing heat of the hard, hairy thigh stretched out beside her own. “Nay, Aileen, I do not.”

“Leith is my brother. He was out near the ponds this morn and caught a toad. And do ye know what he did?”

She shook her head.

“He kissed it!”

Meredith blinked. “The toad?”

“Aye, he kissed the toad! Leith kissed the toad!”

A faint smile tugged at Meredith’s lips. “Ah,” she said gravely. “I, too, have kissed a toad—and found it quite disgusting.” Even as she spoke, she cast a meaningful glance at Cameron from the corner of her eye.

Aileen’s eyes rounded. “Did he bite?”

Meredith couldn’t resist a laugh as she shook her head. She was totally unmindful of the way Cameron’s gaze had fallen to her lips.

A slow smile crept across his lips. “The lady says nay. But mayhap,” he injected, a sly light dancing in the murky depths of his eyes, “the lady should be more careful, for mayhap the next time the toad
will
bite.”

Meredith was not about to be bested. “Then the toad had best beware,” she said archly, “lest I decide to bite back!”

To her surprise, he threw back his head and
laughed, a full-blown laugh that caught her wholly off guard. Tiny lines radiated out from his eyes. His teeth were white and strong. For one mind-splitting instant, it was as if the iron-hearted warrior who had captured her did not exist.

He rose, setting Aileen gently on her feet. “Ladies, I bid you good day.” With that he strode away.

Aileen turned to her. “Do ye think he likes me?”

Meredith’s lips twitched. “I think he likes you very much indeed.”

The child beamed and clapped her hands together. “Someday,” she announced, “when I am older, I will marry him.”

No doubt by then he will be married to Moire. Meredith couldn’t withhold the thought that sprang to mind. Her heart squeezed oddly. Yet she said nothing, for she could not bear to squelch the little girl’s dreams so cruelly.

After her prayers the next day, Meredith resumed her place upon the bench. It wasn’t long before Aileen appeared. With her was her brother, her elder by a scant year or so. The following day, several more came with her. Meredith welcomed their presence, for they did not regard her with frigid condemnation—it seemed the children were the only ones who harbored no animosity toward her. She entertained them with stories from the Scriptures, stories she’d heard when she was but a child at her father’s knee. She spoke of Adam and Eve, of Cain and Abel, of the Great Flood and Noah’s ark.

It was as the children began to gather around her one day that she noticed several women standing near the corner of the chapel. Among them was Glenda. One of the women planted her fists on ample hips and glared in blatant disapproval. Meredith turned her
head and pretended not to notice, yet the woman’s voice carried clearly.

“If none of ye will put a stop to this,” she declared loudly, “I will! Did ye hear her yesterday? She told of the serpent in the Garden. Aye, and she should know, for she is the serpent here!”

There was a burst of laughter from all but Glenda.

It was she who answered sternly, “Leave her be, Meghan. She but teaches the wee ones of the Lord and His ways. Father William visits but seldom and has little time to spend with them. What, I ask, is the harm in that?”

“Och, and who is she to proclaim the Lord’s ways?” Meghan sniffed. “You forget she is daughter to the Red Angus!”

“And you forget,” Glenda said sharply, “were she not here, she would already be a nun. Who better to teach them?”

Meredith was stunned. What was this, that Glenda would defend her? She sat at the table with her nearly every night. Though it pained her to acknowledge it, Meredith was well aware her presence was tolerated, certainly not wanted! The knowledge was like a knife in her heart, for she sensed that if she were not a Munro, they might have been friends…But Glenda had no eye to spare her, neither a greeting nor even a nod. Always she looked away…always.

Meghan protested no more. To Meredith’s vast relief, those children who usually gathered around were present the next day. In truth, her existence would have been nigh unbearable were it not for the time spent daily with these bairns.

Somehow she had to find a way to thank Glenda.

The opportunity came sooner than she expected.
She rounded the corner of the bakehouse, only to nearly run head-on into another body.

It was Glenda. Her head came up, and she stopped short. They stood face-to-face, eye to eye, one startled, the other distinctly wary. Quickly Meredith spoke before the other woman could flee.

“Glenda, I must thank you for…for what you said the other morn to Meghan…about my being with the children. I truly mean no distress to anyone, and being with them…well, to be frank, it gladdens my heart.”

Glenda’s brown eyes flickered. “There is no need to thank me,” she stated coolly. “I but spoke the truth.” Picking up her skirts, she would have stepped around her, but Meredith extended a hand.

“Glenda, wait! I know how you feel about me—who I am—but still I wish to tell you…how sorry I am about Niall! Please,” she implored, “can we not talk?”

For the longest time Glenda said nothing. Yet when at last she did, her eyes were as tormented as surely Meredith’s own must be. “You cannot change who you are,” she said, her voice very low. “I cannot change who I am. Neither of us can change what happened. What else is there to say?”

There was much that could be said, Meredith longed to cry. Yet Glenda would not listen. No one would. Perhaps she was right after all, she thought with a pang. Glenda would forever be Niall’s widow, and Meredith would forever be the outcast, daughter of the Red Angus. Her heart cried out, for these days had been among the most arduous in her life.

She dreaded the days to come, for she feared they would be no less difficult.

Her step heavy, she started across the bailey. She
hadn’t gone far when a little girl appeared before her. She was a wee one, and, from the look of her, one who was just now learning to walk. Even as the thought ran through Meredith’s brain, the girl teetered and sprawled upon her hands and knees. Immediately she began to wail. Meredith glanced around, but the child’s mother was not there to rescue her.

Two steps took her to the child. She picked her up and hugged her against her breast, savoring the warmth of her small body. She murmured soothingly, she knew not what. The child’s sobs ceased. The wee lass drew back and gazed at her with huge blue eyes. Meredith’s heart squeezed. For a fleeting heartbeat, she wondered what it would be like to hold her own wee one snug and tight, against her very heart…

Something struck the middle of her back. “Leave ’er be!” shouted a young male voice.

Meredith turned, one arm instinctively coming up to shield the little girl. Her stunned gaze beheld two lads of twelve or so a short distance away. The child began to whimper once more.

“Put ’er down, I say!”

This came from the lad who’d just scooped another stone from the ground—it bounced against her shoulder.

Another stone whizzed by, barely missing her temple. A face flashed in her vision—it belonged to a woman, one she recognized as one of the laundress’s helpers.

“My bairn,” she cried. “Give me my bairn!” Before Meredith could say a word, the woman snatched the whimpering child from her and ducked away. Meredith was stung to the core by the venom in her eyes.

Suddenly Cameron strode into view, his features as grimly forbidding as she had ever seen them. With
both hands, he seized the boys by the collars of their tunics.

“What the devil goes on here?” he demanded.

“We only meant to teach her a lesson,” cried one of the lads.

“We meant no harm!” whined the other, contrite now that he’d been caught by his chieftain.

“You meant no harm?” Cameron’s expression was as black as the skies at midnight. “That is not what I saw! And you could have hit the wee bairn, so do not tell me you meant no harm!”

“But she is a Munro!” the first piped up anew.

A sudden silence had fallen over the bailey. Nearly all those present had stopped to watch the scene played out before them.

The silence had claimed Cameron’s notice as well. The sweep of his hard gray gaze encompassed all. His voice rang out clear and strong over those gathered. “I say this not only to you lads, but to all those here. The Munros are the Clan MacKay’s fiercest enemies, but we will not make war on women and children, on those who cannot defend themselves! If you cannot abide by that, then you may leave here and now.”

One by one, his people turned back to their work. The smithy’s hammer pounded a dull rhythm on the forge once more. The squall of a pig filled the air. The chandler wiped his hands on a cloth and resumed his task. With a scowl, Cameron released the boys. They scrambled away as fast as their legs would carry them.

He turned then, and looked at her. “Come,” he said. It was not a request. It was a demand, pure and simple, Meredith noted bitterly. It was there in the thrust of his jaw, in the way he stood before her, legs braced slightly apart, his features as hard as marble. Oh, no doubt he would blame her for the fracas!

Suddenly it was all too much: Glenda’s rebuff. The woman’s glaring distrust. The boys’ rancor. Tears struggled to the surface. With a strangled cry she shoved aside the hand that reached for her and ran toward the keep.

Swearing beneath his breath, Cameron swiveled. A hand on his shoulder forestalled him—it was Egan.

“She did nothing. The bairn fell and she picked her up. Then the lads—”

“I know,” Cameron broke in tersely. “I saw.”

His stride sure and swift, he followed her into the keep. He could hear the echo of her footsteps as she ran up the tower stairs.

The door to his chamber was closed. Cameron shoved it open, only to stop short on the threshold. Meredith was on the floor before the hearth, rocking back and forth.

He stared. Her shoulders were heaving. She was crying, he realized, though she made not a sound.

She’d heard him. She twisted around, one small hand swiping at the wetness on her cheeks. “Can you not leave me be for once? Must you forever plague me?”

The soft curve of her mouth was tremulous. Tears bled through to her voice; they stabbed at him like the point of a knife. He had stolen her, threatened her—through all she’d remained bravely courageous, yet it was this which had finally defeated her. She vexed him as no other woman ever had. He found himself torn as never before. She made him long to protect her from any and everything, even as she tried his patience as no other ever had.

His steps carried him across the floor, until he stood directly above her. “Come,” was all he said. “Come,” but this time there was gentleness in his tone.

“Nay!” It was a cry torn from deep inside her. She lurched upward, only to find herself caught up against him. She was trapped as ever before, ever and always.

Something broke inside her. She went wild then. With fists raised high aloft, she pounded against his chest. “I hate this place!” she screamed. “I hate being here. Most of all I hate
you
!”