Samantha James (17 page)

“Why do we come here?”

His jaw tightened. He made no answer, but deliberately stepped around her.

“Please, tell me! Do you mean to…”—her voice quavered—“to leave me there?”

He dragged the pouch from Fortune’s back and slung it over his shoulder, then turned back for her. “We’ve a need to be alone”—his eyes glinted—“you and I.”

“Alone,” she cried. “There?” She pointed toward the island.

“Aye,” he said tautly.

While Meredith digested the full import of that word, Finn gathered Fortune’s reins. He tethered the black steed to his own, then galloped off.

The silence of awareness descended, thick and heavy. Meredith knew then what Cameron intended. She had gone too far…and the realization came far too late! Sweet Mother Mary! She had incurred his wrath and now it would be her undoing, for she was certain his desire would be appeased once and for all.

One look at his glittering eyes told the tale only too well.

There was no time for further speculation. He caught her hand and pointed to the raft. It was primitively fashioned—rough-hewn logs lashed together with strips of hide.

He spoke but one word. “Sit,” he commanded.

Meredith’s heart lurched. Would they make the crossing in this feeble craft?

Indeed they did. In Meredith’s fear-numbed mind, the journey took forever. Cameron stood near the edge, a long pole in his hands as he guided them ever nearer the island. Raw terror clutched at her insides. Her heart lurched along with the bobbing swell of the raft, for the waters of the cove were choppy and churning. Foam lathered around the rocks that jutted like ragged teeth on the shoreline of the isle. Yet somehow they found their way between, to a tiny strip of beach, where they landed.

Once they were ashore, she caught sight of a small cottage atop the hill that had not been visible from the mainland. Apparently Cameron was well aware of its existence, for he caught hold of her elbow and directed their steps in the direction of the cottage. She nearly retorted that there was no need—there was nowhere she could go that he would not find her.

Aye, she acknowledged bitterly, for was that not what he intended?

The cottage was built of stone, stocky and small. It took a moment before her eyes adjusted to the hazy light. Cameron had no such trouble—he appeared familiar with his surroundings. He strode straight to the table beneath the far window and lit a stubby candle. As the wavering light filled the room, Meredith glanced around. It vaguely registered that the cottage was surprisingly well provisioned, as if in waiting. A pile of logs lay stacked near the massive stone fireplace. On the far wall was a wide bed, the covers neatly tucked and folded. Meredith stood awkwardly in the center of the room while Cameron laid the fire in the grate. Her legs wobbled, for this was surely the longest day of her life.

And it was not yet over.

At last he straightened. Her exhaustion was forgotten. Meredith couldn’t help it—her gaze leaped helplessly to his.

His eyes burned like pale torches of silver in the firelight. The very air around him seemed charged and roaring, like the earlier thunder that rolled across the earth.

Slowly he walked around her—a predator circling its prey, she thought hazily. Ah, and now that they were here, it seemed he suffered no shortage of speech.

“Why did you flee, Meredith?”

Beneath his unbending gaze, her own faltered.

“Where the devil did you think you were going?” His features were etched in mocking reproof. “Let me guess. Anywhere, as long as it was away from me.”

The very flames of hell seemed alive in his eyes, and all at once she could not bear it. She sought to duck her head, but he would not allow it. His fingers on the point of her chin, he wrenched her regard to his.

“Tell me, Meredith. Where would you have gone? Back to your father—back to the Red Angus?”

Her lips pressed together. She shook her head.

“Where, then?”

“Back to Connyridge,” she said, her voice very low.

“To the priory! Why?”

Meredith swallowed. He prodded and probed, like the prick of a knife. Why could he never leave her be?

The tip of a callused finger ran down her throat. “Merry,” he said mockingly. “My sweet Merry…will you not tell me?”

Merry…my sweet Merry
. In that instant, her blood surely froze in her veins. For
he
had called her that…

She knocked his arm away almost violently. “My name is not Merry! Do not call me that!”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed. She had turned utterly white, and her expression was half-wild, half-panicked. He swore to himself. There was something afoot here, and by God, he would know it once and for all.

“Then tell me what I would know,” he said smoothly. “I did not misconstrue your concern for your father’s safety. Why would you not return to Castle Munro and see for yourself that he is alive and well?”

If anything, her expression grew even wilder. Her lashes fell, swiftly veiling her expression. “No,” he said tightly, “do not look away!”

“Then leave me be!” Where before her outburst had been one of anger, now it was a pitiful plea.

He dropped his hands to her shoulders and gave her a little shake.

“Dammit, Meredith, tell me! Why would you not return to Castle Munro?”

She spoke with fervor, straight from the heart. “I will never return there.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am afraid…I am afraid!”

“Afraid!” Cameron was stunned. He could think of no reason why she should be afraid…yet why had she paled when he’d called her Merry? “What, Meredith? What are you afraid of?”

She shuddered. “Of him. I am afraid of him!”

“Who, Meredith? Who?”

He felt the breath she drew—it was deep and ragged. “I do not know…don’t you see…
I do not know
!”

Her eyes clung to his. The fear he glimpsed in their depths sent an eerie prickling down his spine. He grasped her hand—her fingers were icy cold.

He couldn’t quell the sensation that this had something—everything!—to do with her fear of men…of him!

Drawing her to the bed, he pulled her down beside him. “God in heaven,” he said in a strange-sounding voice. “What happened to you, lass?
What happened
?”

Meredith sighed, a sound pulled from deep inside. What did it matter if he knew? she thought dully. He knew almost everything about her—her most innermost thoughts, it often seemed!

Her voice was halting and low. “I was sixteen when it happened. One night, a man crept into my chamber. When I awoke, a hand covered my mouth. He tied my wrists and gagged me.” Her voice began to wobble. “Th-there was an empty bedchamber in the tower. It was there that he took me, for there was no one to hear there…no one to see.”

It did not end there. Indeed, it only began.

“He stripped my clothes from me. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong—too big! He struck me.
He held a knife to my throat and told me he would kill me if I cried out.”

Unbidden, his mind sped back, back to the night she lay ill with fever. What was it she’d said? He pulled the words from deep in his mind.

My gown…Why do you do this? Nay, do not touch me…nay, not there! ’Tis wrong
! Later she had moaned, ’
Tis so dark. I cannot see…I cannot see…Who are you? Who are you
?

Cameron inhaled sharply. He cursed himself roundly. She’d unwittingly revealed it to him that night she’d been sick. Christ, he should have realized! He’d thought it was a dream, that it was him she was fighting, but instead her fevered mind had revived the memory and carried her back to that night.

She began to shiver. He reached for her, but she slipped from his grasp and moved to the center of the room. Her arms came around herself, as if to ward off a chill.

“I was naked…
he
was naked. He touched me…he touched me everywhere…in unspeakable ways. His hands were rough. Hard. They were everywhere, even”—her voice caught—“even inside me. He—he made me touch him! His rod…” Her mouth grew tremulous. “And then he…”

An awful tightness crowded Cameron’s chest. He knew what she was going to say, even before she said it, and everything inside him raged against it. Her words wrenched at his insides.

Yet by the time she was finished, he was filled with a rage blacker than any he had ever known. This man—this
viper
—had stolen her virtue. Ripped her innocence from her and replaced it with terror. Had the bastard been before him now, he’d have torn him apart limb by limb with the utmost satisfaction.

“Remember you once said I possessed not the courage to take my own life?”

He frowned. “I do not recall—”

“You did. You did!” Her voice went toneless. “A part of me wanted to die. Yet I was afraid of God’s wrath—afraid of dying—afraid I would burn in hell for what I had done—”

“Nay! You did nothing, Meredith!” His protest was swift and vehement. “It was not you, it was him!”

“In time, I knew that. In my heart, I knew that God would forgive me. But I could never forgive myself for being so weak. I was so afraid—of him! That it would happen again and again. I felt so dirty—so ashamed!”

“You did not see him? You know not who it was?”

Her gaze lowered. She shook her head. “It was too dark. I saw only shadows…I remembered the horrible things he did, the way he whispered ‘Merry, my sweet Merry.’”

“That’s why you left, isn’t it? Why you went to the priory? Because of what he did.”

“Aye.” She struggled to speak. “I could not stay at Castle Munro. I was afraid to leave my room, afraid of every man I saw. I wondered…was he the one? I—I could not stay! I could not!”

Cameron rose. He moved to her, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. He wanted desperately to touch her, to draw her into his arms and offer what comfort he could, yet he sensed she was not yet ready. His soul grew black. Indeed, he thought darkly, would she ever be ready?

“Your father,” he said suddenly. “Does he know what happened that night?”

Her eyes avoided his. “Nay. I could not tell him such things—I could not tell anyone!”

And yet she had just told Cameron. Did she even realize what she had shared, what trust she yielded? A faint bitterness seeped inside him. It would seem not.

“My father knew something was wrong. He asked me to tell him, but I never could. I know that you would say differently, but there is no man more kind and tender than my father. I begged him to send me to the priory—I knew he wouldn’t refuse. I hated myself, for though he said nary a word, I knew I disappointed him so! I felt that I had failed him as a daughter. I knew he would have me marry in time, and the thought filled me with revulsion. The thought of the marriage bed…” Her eyes darkened. “I could not do it! Besides, I knew no man would want me—tainted as I was.”

Her gaze slid away. “When we arrived at Connyridge, my heart was in turmoil. ’Twas the hardest thing I had ever done, but I asked that he not visit me, for I knew I might be tempted to leave, yet how could I ever return to Castle Munro?” Her voice plunged to a whisper. “I gazed upon him, and all I could think was that…this was the last time I would see him, the last time. I felt…as if someone had reached inside my heart and twisted it!” Tears stood high and bright in her eyes. “It was the same for him—I could see it in his eyes! I hurt him—I hurt him terribly! And when I think of him, all I can see is him weeping…as he did that day.”

By the time she finished, her voice was raw. Cameron had gone very still. Did he love his daughter so very much, then, the Red Angus? For a fleeting instant, Cameron could not reconcile her remembrance
of her father with the butchery he’d witnessed on the field where his family had been slain. But no…
no
. He steeled himself against it. He bled inside for Meredith, for what she had endured…but he could never bleed for the Red Angus.

A painful silence erupted, for Cameron could not find the words to console her. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he raised a hand to her shoulder.

She jerked at his touch.

His hand fell to his side. His mouth twisted. Always she shunned him. Always. Ah, but he’d forgotten she wanted naught from him…naught but her freedom.

“Go to sleep, Meredith.”

Slowly she raised her head. “Cameron—”

“You heard me, lass. Just—go to sleep!”

His voice came out harsher than he had intended. In the instant before she whirled, she looked utterly stricken, her eyes huge and glazed over with tears. He despised himself, but he could not help it, for her denial had bruised the very center of his being.

With his jaw clenched hard, he strode from the cottage without a word.

Raising his face to the star-flung midnight skies, he let the moist night air rush over him. It cooled his skin, but did naught to cool the fever that raged deep inside.

For days now he’d longed to know what lay behind Meredith’s fear of him…Now he did, and Christ! but he almost wished he did not!

Guilt blotted his soul. She’d been spirited away in the midst of the night…much as he had done the night he’d taken her from Connyridge. The wounds her assailant had wielded were on the inside—scars that had yet to heal. Mayhap they never would. That was why she had fled to the convent, why she had
remained…why she was determined to return.

Yet, knowing this, hearing her recount her ordeal with tremulous voice and floundering courage, he wanted her. Now, as much as ever.
More
, if the truth be told. Yet how could he take her, knowing what he did?

Little did he realize she was in much the same dilemma. Her bed gown had been inside the pouch Cameron had brought—she’d changed into it and slipped into bed. She fervently wished she hadn’t told him of that terrible night, yet he’d given her no choice! All the while she spoke, she glimpsed no condemnation, yet why had he dismissed her so curtly? She knew he hadn’t left her. Somehow she knew he was near. She cringed inside. What did he think of her? Had he left because he could not stand to look at her? Did he think she was a whore? A pang squeezed her heart. She couldn’t bear the thought!

She felt…bereft. It was so lonely, here in this bed without him. She missed him—missed him desperately. She missed his warmth, the solid strength of his arms about her back, the steady throb of his heart beneath her cheek. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she rose and moved to the door. It creaked when she opened it.

For one paralyzing instant she didn’t see him. An icy fear ripped through her. Then she saw his form, powerful and tall. He stood not three paces distant, staring out at the moon-drenched darkness. She shifted uncertainly on her bare feet, then spoke his name.

“Cameron.”

He remained where he was, his back to her. “Aye?”

She wet her lips. “Will you not come to bed?”

She saw the way his shoulders stiffened. “Nay.”

“Cameron, please…I cannot sleep…without you beside me.” The tiny confession was torn from her. Her heart surely dwelled in her throat. Saints above, she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

Slowly he turned. She longed for him to come to her, to kiss her until nothing else mattered. Silence yawned, dark and endless as the seas.

“Cameron, please…will you not come inside?”

Two steps brought him directly before her. Still he did not touch her. His features were a mask that shielded his thoughts like a plate of armor. His mouth was ominously thin.

“You must sleep alone this night.”

He sounded so hard! His guarded wariness made her long to weep. Her breath caught in her throat. “Why, Cameron? Why?”

Something blazed in his eyes, something that made her pulse pound madly. Then: “You crucify me.”

She had to strain to catch the words, yet his tone was taut and utterly fierce.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I know not what you mean.”

His laugh was mirthless. “Believe me, Meredith, you do not want to know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“You would have me lay beside you and not bed you. We share a bed”—his gaze impaled her—“but that is all we share. To lay with you. To kiss you. To taste your mouth, but no more. To touch you, yet
not
touch you…You crucify me,” he said again.

The words were stark and shattering. The depth of his intensity made her feel all shaky and fluttery inside. Her mouth had gone dry as the deserts of the East.

“I know why you went to Connyridge—I know why you sought to return. You would hide from the world, that no man would see you, that no man will desire you. But you hide from yourself as well. You do not belong in the nunnery. You were meant to have children, a babe at your breast.”

Meredith had gone utterly still. In one sweep he laid bare her greatest secret…her most fervent yearning.

She ducked her head. Her eyes closed. Her hands upraised, she clenched her fists upon her breasts.

“A babe,” she heard herself whisper. “Your son.”

“If God so wills it, then it will be.”

Her eyes opened, a reflection of her anguish. “That is all you want from me—a son!”

His heart thundered. No man would want her, she had said. But she was wrong.

“It’s just as you once said—I could have a son of any woman. But it’s you I want, Meredith.
You
.”

That one word sped straight to her heart. Warm, wet tears rose and overflowed, trickling down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away, for heart and mind and body were hopelessly entangled.

“I am…impure. Soiled by the hands of another man. I am not a maid! How can you want me? How?”

The broken cry was wrenched from deep inside. Hearing it, Cameron felt his heart squeeze.

Slowly he raised his hands to frame her face. With his thumbs he smoothed the winged grace of her brows. “You are not impure,” he chastised roughly. “You are not tainted! Aye, your maidenhead may be no more, but you are a maid as pure and innocent as any I have ever known. How can I want you, you ask?” His head lowered, so that their lips barely
brushed. “Sweet heaven”—he said against her mouth…into it—“how can I not?”

He kissed her then, kissed her with unbridled longing, with all the pent-up desire buried deep in his heart, letting her taste the fierceness of his hunger. With one arm he caught her up against him. In some far distant corner, he thought she would stop him. She did not.

For she
could
not.

She was cold—cold to the depth of her bones, and he alone possessed the power to warm her. Only he could stoke the fires within her. She had told him of that long-ago night. She’d entrusted to him that which she had never told another. And with the feel of his mouth warm and hard upon hers, the tight knot of fear inside her melted away. Though she did not understand it, in that moment it seemed only right that she should yield this, body and soul…

They were both trembling when at last he released her mouth.

Her heart beat high into her throat. Her fingers curled and uncurled in the front of his tunic. “Cameron,” she said faintly. “You said you would free me, if—if I gave you a son.” She couldn’t disguise the ragged edge to her voice.

His gaze sharpened. “Aye.”

Misty blue eyes lifted to his. The muscles in her throat worked almost convulsively. “And will you release me? You will keep your word?”

“I will,” he said slowly.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

“Then give me your seed. Give me your son.”