Samantha James (24 page)

His body would heal. This Cameron did not doubt. Ah, but what of the rending in his soul? Never had he been so torn! Yes, he thought with blistering irony, he’d taken Meredith’s body. Given her his seed that even now flourished in her womb. Everything within him cried out in stark bitterness. But would he ever have her trust? Her heart?

Yet Egan was his greatest friend. He would not hesitate to put his life in Egan’s hands. No, he could not put aside his friend’s judgment so easily. Egan believed that Meredith had sought to see him dead…And she had sought to escape him. So many times she had pleaded for her freedom.
His death was one way to assure it.

“Say nothing of this to anyone,” he ordered. “I will find out the truth for myself.”

“But Cameron—”

Cameron turned his head aside. “Leave me,” he said dully. “Leave me.”

It was through Glenda that Meredith learned of Cameron’s condition. He had survived, but it would be several days before he regained his strength. And it was Glenda who reluctantly disclosed that Cameron had been poisoned.

A splinter of shock resounded all through her. “What! But who would do such a thing?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Glenda would not meet her eyes. And in that instant, Meredith knew…

“He believes I am guilty?”

“He is a fool,” Glenda said quickly. “His illness has addled his reasoning.”

A crippling anguish went through her. Meredith swallowed it and raised tear-glazed eyes to her friend. “What of you, Glenda? Do you believe I poisoned him?”

“Once I might have. But not now. Take heart, Meredith.” She reached out and hugged Meredith’s shaking shoulders. “Take heart and believe that all will be well, as Cameron must surely come to believe in your innocence.”

They wept in each other’s arms.

By morning Meredith was dry of eye…and full of outrage.

The bolt scraped noisily. The door swung open.

She did not turn from her place near the window. Thinking it was the servant with her morning meal,
she called, “Please take it away. I am not hungry.”

There was the sound of the tray slipping onto the table. “You must eat, lass, for I would see my son alive and healthy and well.”

Meredith froze. Oh, but her thoughts were suddenly not nearly as composed as she wished them! The sight of him nearly brought her to her knees. For the space of a heartbeat anger flagged. His nearness called to her. She longed to launch herself against him, to comfort him, for his features reflected his ordeal. He was paler than he should have been, his lean frame thinner. The smudges beneath his eyes made them darker than usual.

But then she remembered. He had no need of her. How could he, when after all this time he could believe she had sought to murder him?

Determinedly she straightened her spine. Deliberately she looked beyond his shoulder. “What? Do you come alone? Why, I wonder that you dare! Do you not fear for your life now that you are alone with me?”

His smile was tight. “Malice does not become you, Meredith.”

“And what does? The murder of my husband?”

He widened his stance ever so slightly. Powerful arms crossed against his chest. There was an arrogant lift of one dark brow. “I do not know, wife. Suppose you tell me. Was it the wine, I wonder? Or the honeyed cakes? You partook of neither.”

Meredith compressed her lips. “I have naught to tell you,” she stated haughtily.

“You have naught to tell me—and everything to deny?”

“That is true,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Who laid the blame on me? Egan?”

His eyes rested long and hard upon her. He said nothing.

Meredith made a sound of mingled anger and frustration. “He hates me. He has always hated me and you know it. Mayhap he is the one who did it—and sought to blame me!”

All at once there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “There is no one who would wish me dead here,” he stated flatly. “This is Dunthorpe—my home. So watch what you say, lass, for I trust Egan with my life. I always have and always will.”

“And you trust me with nothing!”

“That is not true, sweet. I trusted you with my heart!”

His heart? She could no more banish the relentless hurt that ripped at her insides than she could the love that surged unbidden in her heart. A part of her longed to clutch at him, to beg him to believe in her, to confess that she loved him too much ever to harm him. But pride kept the words locked fast within her.

No, she could never confide her love, not to this cold-eyed stranger before her. In all the months she had been here, naught had changed.

The breath she drew was sharp and painful. “You trust me with nothing!” she charged bitterly. “You swore you would protect me. Yet you defend Egan and condemn me. You forever hold me guilty because of who I am—the daughter of the Red Angus. After all this time, you cannot see beyond that, nor do you wish to! You wrong me in this, Cameron, for by all that is holy, I did nothing to harm you!”

Something flickered across his features, something she couldn’t decipher. He stretched out a hand. “Meredith—”

She slapped it away. “Do not touch me, Cameron.
Just leave me be. Leave me be!” She would have said more, but all at once there was a tight drawing across her lower back. There had been a nagging ache in her back when she’d risen this morning; but this was different. Vaguely she wondered if it was the bairn.

Her hand went to the small of her back. Nay, it was but a cramp, she decided, her fingers seeking the knot. Yet her slight grimace must have given her away.

He swore. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is it your time?”

Her lips compressed. “Nay,” she said shortly, for she was still bitingly angry with him. “It cannot be. ’Tis my back, not my belly.”

Cameron was not so certain. Her expression had been most odd, and he would take no chances. He bolted through the door and into the hall in search of Glenda.

By the time the pair returned, a second and yet a third twinge had occurred.

Glenda’s cheeks were flushed crimson with exertion. “Meredith! Cameron says the bairn comes.”

“The bairn…” Her lips turned down as she grumbled. “How the devil would he know? How many children has he given birth to, I ask?”

“Quickly, Cameron. Take her to the bed!”

She might as well have been a buzzing fly in the midst of an uproar, for all they listened to her. She drew herself upright.

“Now see here, the both of you! Even if it were my time, which it is not, I am fully capable of walking that meager distance on my own—”

Her protest went unheeded. Her feet were swept, out from beneath her and she felt herself borne high in the air. He whirled. His head swiveled in the direction of the narrow bed in the corner. Though she did not
know it, in but a heartbeat his decision was made.

He strode from the chamber and down the stairs. Glenda snatched up her skirts and hurried behind them.

Meredith clutched at him. “Cameron! Where the blazes do you think you’re going? Take your hands off me!”

His gait was as unwavering as his tone. “I think not, sweet. This bairn will be born in my bed—the bed where my father and I and my brothers were born.”

Meredith’s jaw clamped shut. She glared at his profile, the arrogant tilt of his jaw. She was sorely tempted to argue, yet what was the use? Before his will, her own was forfeit. Ah, but if she could have delivered this child on the stairs he now descended, she would have, if only to spite him! Indeed, she was not yet convinced the babe was about to make his appearance—or rather,
her
appearance, she decided defiantly.

In his chamber he lowered her carefully in the center of the bed. A maid had scurried in, and Glenda was already briskly issuing out orders.

“We will need a fresh gown for Meredith, and clean linen for the bed. And swaddling for the bairn…”

Meredith was about to snap that there was no hurry, when suddenly a cramping band of iron stole around to the front of her belly, so intense she gasped.

She was no longer tempted to argue that this babe would not be born today. When the pain eased, she saw that Cameron had drawn up a chair near the side of the bed.

“You cannot mean to stay!”

“Your memory fails you, lass. Do you not remem
ber I promised I would remain here with you?”

“I do not hold you to it. You may leave,” she informed him imperiously, for she was still inclined to be less than lenient toward him.

He laid his hand on her belly. “I cannot,” he said simply. “I will be here when my son is born.”

Meredith pushed at his hand, longing to screech at the top of her lungs. Faith, but he was infuriating! She gritted her teeth. “You will
not
be here when my daughter is born!”

“If you wish me to leave, then you will have to remove me yourself.”

Meredith’s eyes darkened. “I do not want you here,” she said with a low, choked sound, “not when you think me so vile that I would poison you. Look to your own that might betray you, but do not look to me, for I did not do it!”

Cameron cursed beneath his breath. “Speak of it no more!” he commanded. “Save your strength, for you may need it later.”

Little did he know…

She was stripped to her underdress. Though Glenda assured them both a first birth could take many hours, it was not long before the pains grew sharper. Meredith caught her breath, releasing a long sigh of relief when they eased. Just when she thought that it was not so bad—that the pains were not so unbearable, that childbirth could be endured and was not the ordeal she feared—her womb was gripped by a ferocious cramp that seized the whole of her belly. She bit back a cry, for above all, she was determined to be strong. And so she held back, clenching her muscles, holding her breath until the spasms ebbed.

But they came so close now. Harder and stronger than ever.

Glenda clucked with exasperation. “Meredith, do not hold back so! It only makes it harder. Why, I screamed so loudly I was surely heard in the next valley.”

Meredith sank back against the pillow. “I will not,” she gasped. “I…am weak in all else. I will not…be weak in this.”

“The devil, I say! Meredith, cease such prattle! You are strong and full of pride and courageous as—as any Highland warrior!”

Cameron’s voice reached her. Her eyelids drifted open. Through a haze of torment she saw him. For all the fierceness of his gaze, his fingers were incredibly tender as he pushed aside the damp strands curling across her forehead.

“Why are you still here?” Dimly she heard herself.

His lips curved in a faint smile. “Ah, lass, but you’ve not yet given me my son.”

Her eyes flashed. “My daughter!” she flared.

He bent and kissed the mutinous pout of her lips. “That’s the spirit, sweet.”

She gritted her teeth. “’Tis just like you! Were you in my place, you would not be so amused.”

“Were I in your place, I would not be so brave as you!”

She glared at him, or tried to. Yet curiously, she was heartened by his words—and aye, though she would never admit it, by his steadfast presence. He bathed the sweat from her brow and clasped her hands within his. Through a haze she heard his low masculine murmurs of encouragement.

The darkness of night crept within the chamber. Fat candles cast flickering shadows on the walls. Glenda, bless her sweet, gentle soul, sought to assure her, telling her that it would not be long now…yet still the
pains came unendingly. Frightfully strong, and now along with the pain came an immense pressure from within. As the contraction ebbed, she sank back, shaking and wet.

At the foot of the bed Glenda had raised her smock above her knees. “Oh, Meredith! The bairn is almost here. When next you feel the pain, love, you must push.”

The world was dull and hazy, her mind filled with fog. She longed to cry out her despair, but she didn’t have the strength. She was so immeasurably weary, and she could stand no more.

“Meredith!” a sharp male voice rapped out sharply. “Do you hear, lass? You must take my hands and push.”

She blinked, bringing into focus dark, forbidding features that hovered above her.

She gave a tiny, stricken cry. “Why are you angry? You are always angry with me. Ah, how foolish of me. ’Tis because I am a Munro.”

Her eyes were glazed, her lips swollen and bloodied from biting back her cries. Her hair streamed across the pillow, the fiery skeins a wild, matted tangle. Seeing her thus, so limp and exhausted, Cameron’s insides knotted.

He bent and framed her face with his hands. “You are my wife, Meredith, my wife, and I hold you dear above all else.” The breath he drew was deep and ragged. “And as God is my witness, I love you.”

A tearing pain clawed through her. Her nails dug into Cameron’s palms. Certain she was being torn apart, she cast back her head and cried out her anguish.

The babe slid from her into Glenda’s waiting hands.

“A wee laddie!” Glenda gave a joyous half-sob.
“Meredith, you have a fine, healthy son!”

Meredith turned her head. Swaddling trailed from Glenda’s hands. She caught a glimpse of a tiny red body, a dark, slick head. She heard a thin, mewling cry and it spun through her mind that she should have known—that Cameron would ever have his way. A tremulous smile graced her lips, for it was the greatest joy she had ever known, for she had a son…
a son
.

Blackness engulfed her.

Cameron was only half-aware as he got to his feet, not entirely steady. Numbly he realized it was over. Yet it didn’t seem real until a beaming maid pressed a tiny bundle into his arms. He stood awkwardly, afraid to move, to breathe, for this bairn was the tiniest creature he’d ever seen in his life.

A solemn little face regarded him in turn. He beheld pink, rosy cheeks. Dark brows arched over blue, opaque eyes. A cap of hair he guessed was as black as his own…The babe screwed up his eyes and mouth and let out a wail.

Cameron started. His laugh was rusty. A son, he thought in amazement. This is my son. Pride swelled his chest till he thought he would burst.

“Meredith,” he said aloud, “we have a son!”

But Meredith did not answer. Footsteps echoed on the floor. Figures rushed by him.