Samantha James (25 page)

“Please God, not now. We cannot lose her now!”

He looked up and saw Glenda on the bed, kneading Meredith’s belly. A frantic looking maid was shoving a wad of cloth between her thighs. Almost before that was done, the edges were stained crimson…

Glenda chose that moment to glance up. He caught her eyes and held them. Hers were dark and shimmered with tears. He glimpsed her frantic fear.

“There’s too much blood,” Glenda cried. “There’s too much blood and I cannot stop it!”

He passed the babe into someone’s arms. Meredith’s pallor struck him like a blow to the middle; her face was an ashen gray. A chill ran down his spine.

Fear clamped down upon him. He reached for her hand. Her fingers dangled limply. “Meredith,” he breathed, and then it was a ragged cry. “
Meredith
!”

Glenda dashed a tear from her cheek. “Cameron, please leave us! You can do no good here.”

There was a hand at his elbow, tugging and pulling. “Aye, ’tis for your wife’s good, my lord. ’Tis women’s work we do here, and we do it best alone.”

The door was slammed as he left. How long he stood there, he knew not.

He couldn’t erase the choking fear inside. Guilt seared his soul. Christ, he’d done precisely what Egan had predicted. His loins had ruled and not his heart. He had demanded a son of her. He’d wanted her—and he’d taken her. He’d seen her delivered into his greedy arms…into her worst nightmare, for she had not wanted him. She’d wanted no man! Yet he would ever have his way…And now he had his son.

And it might well cost him his wife…it might cost Meredith her life!

His mind blurred. He moved without conscious thought, guided by instinct alone. He found himself in the chapel, alone within its lofty walls.

He swallowed. Something had drawn him here, something beyond his power to control. This was the one place he had not come when his father and brothers had been murdered. He’d screamed and cursed the very heavens, for he’d felt so abandoned and forsaken. So very, very angry that so much had been taken from him. Yet now…

He sank to his knees and prayed.

Not for his own forgiveness, but for Meredith. His life. His love. For without her, his own meant nothing.

Some far distant corner of his being was still amazed…Whoever would have thought it could be? A MacKay and a Munro…

It was in the early hours, as dawn’s first light cleansed the night’s gloom, when he retraced his steps to his chamber. Vaguely he noticed Glenda in the corner, rocking the babe, yet his eyes were only for his wife.

She lay so still that for an instant his heart leaped. She was so very pale, pale as the sheet drawn over her breast. Her eyes were closed, the sweep of her lashes thick and dark against the whiteness of her cheeks.

Raw emotion scored his very heart. His lungs burned so that he could not breathe. Christ’s mercy, surely she was not
dead
.

In a heartbeat he was kneeling beside her. A hoarse sound escaped—the sound of her name.

At first he thought he was dreaming. Her eyelids fluttered open. Cool fingertips came to rest upon his unshaven cheek.

“We have a son, Cameron.” Her voice was so faint he had to strain to hear. But she was smiling, the merest wisp of a smile that pierced his heart. “We have a son.”

With a jagged cry, he wrapped his arms around her, bowed his head to her breast, and wept.

She had a son
.

Depleted of strength as she was, joy lit Meredith’s heart. It was sometime later that she woke to the low murmur of voices in the room.

“…I’m sure we can find a wet nurse.”

Somehow the words penetrated the haze surrounding her. She gasped as she realized what they were about. Tears sprang to Meredith’s eyes as she tried to sit up and failed. Yet her protest was surprisingly strong and decisive.

“Nay,” she cried. “Nay!”

Two stunned pairs of eyes turned her way.

It was Cameron who spoke. “Meredith, there is no need to burden yourself—”

“Burden myself! I am his mother!”

Cameron and Glenda exchanged glances. “She can easily lay on her side and nurse him.”

That was precisely what she did, for she was too depleted of strength to sit up. The next few days passed in a haze. She woke only to nourish her child and eat.

A week passed before she was allowed—or able—to leave her bed. Her limbs felt like porridge and she swayed dizzily once she was on her feet, but her first
insistence was on a bath. With Glenda’s and Miriam’s assistance, she eased into the round wooden tub that sat before the fire. Miriam changed the bed linens, while Glenda helped her wash her hair. Though the effort taxed her sorely, it felt good to be up and about.

She was no sooner tucked back into bed than a mournful wail rose from the cradle in the corner. Eagerly she held out her arms. With pillows propped behind Meredith’s back so she could sit, Glenda laid her son in the crook of her arm. Rather awkwardly, she slipped her bed gown from her shoulder and bared her breast. The babe rooted frantically, then latched on almost ferociously to her nipple. His greediness made both her and Glenda laugh.

A flood tide of love rushed through her. He was perfect, she thought, tracing the arch of one dark brow. A fine dark fuzz covered his scalp—his coloring was undoubtedly Cameron’s. He was a handsome little lad, as handsome as his father, she decided proudly.

Her heart abrim, she cradled his head in her palm. “Angel,” she crooned adoringly, “my sweetest little angel.”

“Ah, but I fear we cannot call him ‘angel,’ else he will be the laughingstock of the Highlands.” A thread of laughter laced that deep male voice.

Meredith glanced up to find. Cameron in the doorway. Her heart lurched. Tall and bronzed and commanding, he strode within the chamber, so strikingly masculine a tremor resounded all through her.

By the time he sat upon the bed, Glenda had slipped from the chamber. The door eased shut with a quiet creak; they were alone.

All at once Meredith was quiveringly aware of his nearness; he sat so close, an iron-hard thigh rode
gently against her own. His gaze roved searchingly over her features.

“You look much improved,” he said softly.

Meredith blushed, feeling rather naked and exposed, with her gown fallen completely down her shoulder. Yet she was suddenly very glad that she had bathed and combed her hair, which now lay in a fiery curtain about her shoulders, the ends faintly damp and curling.

“I am,” she murmured, wanting to lower her gaze but unable to tear it from his.

His regard seemed to deepen. Many times throughout this past week she had sensed his presence, heard the deeply resonant chords of his voice. Many a time she’d felt the brush of faintly callused fingertips upon her brow, for she would have known his touch anywhere. And she could have sworn warm lips dwelled fleetingly upon her own. Or did she but dream it?

Still another vague, elusive remembrance snatched at the fringes of her mind.
You are my wife, Meredith, my wife, and I hold you dear above all else. And as God is my witness, I love you
.

Something painful squeezed inside her chest. Had he really said that? Or was it but the foolish, fanciful meanderings of a memory hazed in pain?

If only she knew. If only she dared ask. If only she dared
hope
…

His gaze fell to their son, still suckling avidly. He laid his hand on the soft down of the babe’s head. For a heart-stopping instant his fingers lay perilously near the naked flesh of her breast. The heartfelt simplicity of that gesture made her heart bleed afresh, yet Meredith was determined not to cry.

He ran a finger down the bairn’s cheek. The babe’s mouth stopped working. Tiny, fuzzy brows drew to
gether over his wee nose, as if in puzzlement. They both laughed, though hers was rather shaky, as the child resumed his meal.

“It’s time this lad had a name, don’t you think?”

“Aye,” she agreed, hoping he wouldn’t hear the slight catch in the word.

“It should be something on which we both agree.”

“Aye,” she said again.

He appeared as hesitant as she. “I was thinking…mayhap Brodie Alexander. I’ve always had a fondness for the name ‘Brodie.’ And Alexander was one of my forebears.”

“Brodie Alexander,” she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. “Do you know, I—I like it very much. And he looks like he should be named Brodie Alexander, don’t you think?”

“I do indeed.” His gaze resided briefly on her lips, smiling now in pleasure. Cameron nearly groaned. God, she was sweet! Her cheeks were flushed the becoming pink of a newly bloomed rose, her eyes a pure, serene blue. His gaze moved hungrily down the slender column of her throat. The naked slope of her shoulder tempted him mightily. He yearned to run his fingers over her skin, knowing he would find it smooth and warm and as soft as fleece. Her breast was creamy and full, and her nipple was damp and glistening as she moved the babe to the other breast. Though he sensed her shyness about nursing before him, she made no effort to withdraw from either his nearness or his scrutiny.

And Meredith was indeed nervous beneath his unwavering regard. “If you mean to send me away, Cameron, I warn you I will not allow you to take my babe from me.” Her arm tightened around the child. Where the announcement came from, she knew not.
But now that she had made it, she would not back down.

A brow shot high. A smile tugged at his lips. Ah, but she was a far cry from the wide-eyed, trembling maid he’d kidnapped those many months ago, he decided with amusement. Yet even then she’d defied him, frightened as she was…She was so brave, so full of courage, yet he suspected she knew it not.

In the next instant, his smile was gone. “I have no intention of sending you anywhere. You are his mother and he needs you. But I will not give him up, either.” He paused. “Therefore, we must make this marriage work.”

“How? There is much between us. My clan and your distrust.”

An odd expression flitted across his features. He said nothing.

The breath she drew was deep and ragged. She was certain the tightness in her throat would surely strangle her. With trembling fingers she lifted the gleaming silver crucifix from where it hung about her neck and held it toward him. Tears glistened along her lashes, tears that darkened her eyes to sapphire. “I swear, upon this cross, that I did not poison you. I did not—I
do
not—seek to see you dead. I cannot prove my innocence. I can only claim it—and hope that you believe me.”

Their eyes collided, hers pleading, his wholly unreadable. The tension was drawn out endlessly. Just when she thought her heart would surely break, his hand came up. Holding her gaze, with his thumb he blotted the single tear that slid down her cheek.

“And if I say that I believe you, will you cease these tears?”

Her heart caught. She was almost afraid to believe
what he was saying, just as afraid not to…“I will.” Her vow came out a low, broken whisper.

Something flashed in the bright silver of his eyes, something she could have sworn was tenderness. He leaned close, so close the heat of his breath mingled with her own.

“Then dry your eyes, lass, for this should be a time of joy, not tears.”

The low vibrancy of his tone made her ache inside. Did he but seek to appease her? She longed to throw her arms around him and press herself tight against his heart, but encumbered as she was with Brodie, she could not.

His gaze dropped to her lips. For one heart-rending moment, she thought he would kiss her, and oh! how she wanted him to. She yearned for it with every fiber of her being. But, alas, he did not. And then the moment was gone, for somehow Brodie’s mouth had slipped from her nipple. He howled fiercely at this loss, and his clamor made them both laugh shakily.

It was several days later, when Meredith was finally able to rise from her bed, that Cameron introduced their son to his clansmen. The residents of Dunthorpe gathered in the great hall, filling it to overflowing; they spilled through the wide oaken doors and onto the stairs that led down into the bailey. Men lifted their bairns to their shoulders as all strained to catch a glimpse of their chieftain and his newborn son.

Cameron stood upon the dais with Brodie in his arms. An expectant silence rippled across the crowd. He stepped forward.

He lifted the babe high in both arms. “My son,” he called, “Brodie Alexander of the Clan MacKay.”

At precisely that instant, Brodie wiggled. He let out
a demanding cry, surprisingly strong for so wee a form.

A roar started to go up, but Cameron was not yet finished. He beckoned for quiet, then turned ever so slightly to where Meredith sat, observing all with a slight smile.

He extended a hand to her.

Meredith caught her breath. Numbly she rose to her feet.

His fingers closed around her own, warm and strong. For a fleeting instant, their eyes met and held. “And my wife”—he raised their joined hands high—“the woman who gave him to me.”

The cheers that filled the hall were deafening. Unexpected tears rose in Meredith’s eyes. She couldn’t help but recall the day she had ridden through the gates of Dunthorpe, a prisoner of the man who was now her husband. Never in all her days had she thought she would hear his people cheering her.

But they were no longer just his people. They were hers as well…

Touched though she was, she couldn’t help but think of her father. There had been no news of the Red Angus for a long time now. Had his heartache eased? For his sake, she prayed it was so. Though she longed to send word that she was well—that he had a grandson—she knew Cameron would never allow it.

And yet in that moment, with their joined hands linked before his people, she felt very close to him.

Ah, if only such closeness could have continued…

Yes, both Meredith and Cameron took immense pride in their son. The arrival of the chieftain’s son brought cheer and gladness within the lofty walls of
Dunthorpe. Gifts and fond wishes abounded for their newly born son.

Yet in the weeks that followed, husband and wife were alone but seldom. During those rare times when they were, an air of uncertain restraint marked their encounters.

Meredith worried anew. Was Cameron still convinced she had poisoned him? Perhaps he’d eaten something that had been tainted. A part of her scoffed that someone here at Dunthorpe would deliberately seek to poison him. Still, he was the only one who had sickened. It was odd, most odd. Too, it chilled her to know that Egan was convinced she was to blame. For a time the stoic Highlander’s manner had softened. But once more his gaze and manner were chill, his eyes as cold as the mists that hovered on the mountaintops. She longed to cry out her innocence to him, yet she did not, for he was so very fierce! It occurred to her yet again that perhaps Egan was the one who sought to blame her, for she well knew his hatred for the Munros equaled that of his chieftain’s. Could
he
have poisoned Cameron? Yet that made no sense, either…

She and Cameron had not slept together in the same chamber—in the same bed—since the night before he had sickened. Instead, he had moved his belongings to the chamber directly below hers. A month passed, then another and another. It frustrated her no end, for their relationship might have as well been that of brother and sister. Since Brodie was born, he had yet to kiss her, to hold her tight within his binding embrace. They did not touch, not even the merest brush of his fingers upon hers! She chanced to catch the weight of his eyes upon her one day after supper—for an instant her pulse quickened. A tempest of long
ing swirled inside her. But it was for naught, for alas, he did not return her smile, not even in part. Indeed, his features were shuttered. She could read nothing of his thoughts, for it was as if there were a shield of iron between them. He appeared stark and remote and more distant than ever! Abruptly he turned away. Her heart twisted in mute despair, for the hurt was almost more than she could bear. She fled to the sanctuary of her chamber, her lungs burning as she fought back a sob.

He’d said they must make their marriage work, but had he changed his mind? Could it be that the moment she had feared would come had indeed arrived? Had motherhood doused his desire for her? She took pains with her appearance, wearing her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders the way he had always liked. Glenda had remarked on how quickly she had regained her figure after the birth. Though her breasts were fuller from nursing Brodie, her hips and waist were as slim as ever. Yet the love she craved was nowhere to be found.

A bittersweet pang rent her breast. Aye, she’d quickly regained her figure, the bloom of health in her cheeks. But inside she wilted with every day that passed and Cameron gave no sign that he would return to their bed…to
his
bed. Her body had mended…but would her heart? He loved their son, and for that she was heartily glad. Ah, but if only he loved his son’s mother!

She did not know that Cameron’s guilt was like a blight upon his soul. In those awful hours when Meredith’s life had rested in God’s hands, he had come to realize he loved her above all else. That he had ever accused her of trying to kill him was a remembrance that filled him with deep, scalding shame. For
months his hatred of her clan had blinded him. She could never be so devious. His foolish stubbornness had stopped him from seeing her as she really was—the most caring, giving woman he had ever known. There was a calm strength about her now, a mature serenity that made him love her all the more.