“I thought I would find ye here, Meggie.”
Although he had not disguised his displeasure at having the mare and foal returned, Meggie was thankful he had not spoiled her happiness by voicing his feelings.
She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “What brings ye after me?”
He lowered his head. And she knew. ‘Twas like a blow to her belly with a battering ram.
“’Tis time for me to leave.” He raised his gaze to hers. His blue eyes, so like hers, pled for understanding.
Meggie had spent a lifetime understanding. “Aye?”
Her grandfather inched up so that his shoulder brushed hers.
“There is need for a force to bring supplies into Ulster immediately,” her father told them.
“Must it be you?” she asked.
“Aye. The English are determined to seize our last stronghold. We must muster our arms and provisions quickly. We shall fight to our last breath to save Ulster County.”
“Oh, Da. ’Tis too dangerous. Have ye not done enough? Can ye not stay with me and grandfather?”
Meggie slipped her arm through her grandfather’s. Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he stop his son? Because he had lapsed, she thought wearily. He did not understand.
“Nay, I cannot stay, daughter. And neither can ye. Though it breaks me heart to say it, ’tis time for ye to leave Dochas, Meggie.”
“No!” she blurted.
“There will be more Englishmen out in the country as they prepare to invade Ulster,” her father said, softening his voice in an attempt to reason with her. “’Tis no longer safe to stay at Dochas. Niall will escort you and your grandfather to Ulster.”
“Nay!” Meggie cried again, her body one tight mass of icy anguish. Must she lose everything she loved? Even the roof over her head?
Her grandfather’s wispy brows met at the bridge of his nose. While she looked to him for help, he made a guttural sound, strange and unintelligible.
Meggie’s gaze returned to her father. His lips were pressed together in a pinched white line. “If ye do not slip into the county now, ye might never be able to do it. The English plan blockades.”
“Nay.” Meggie raised her chin in defiance. “Do not ask me to leave. Blockade or no, I cannot go. Grandfather, tell him.”
Her grandfather’s frown deepened into a scowl. He grunted.
She felt as if she were suffocating, unable to breathe in enough air. For the first time in memory, Meggie and her father stood apart from each other. Each unyielding. Divided. Her heart simply could not take more sorrow. She feared she might never see her father again, a man she hardly knew. Humphrey Fitzgerald had sworn to die rather than give up another square foot of land. If she lost her father in battle as she had dreaded most of her life, what good would come of her being in Ulster?
’Twas a nightmare that would never end.
Standing his ground, but softening his tone once more, her father, the rebel leader, beseeched her. “I’ll never ask ye to pick up roots again. I promise ye that, Meggie, me love. We can go no farther than Ulster. If we fail there, ‘tis the end.”
Meggie shook her head slowly. The numbness within her might have been caused by the cold, but she suspected otherwise. “Ask me anything but this, Father. I cannot... cannot leave Dochas.” She flung her arm out. “Look, we have just built a new stable.”
His eyes grew distant, his expression grim. Standing rigidly apart from her, Meggie’s father made no move to take her into his arms and comfort her, to neither cajole nor persuade her.
“Ye know I would give ye the world if I could, but I cannot give ye this. Dochas is no longer safe. Ye must go where I will not worry over ye. Prepare to leave by week’s end for Ulster.”
His command issued, he turned on his heel and stormed from the stable.
Meggie’s heart had slowed to a feather beat when she looked to her grandfather.
The old man wore an unreadable expression.
“What shall we do?”
Chapter Eighteen
Cameron spent the day supervising the construction of a new stable at his father’s country estate. He reasoned that the horse breeding and training process that he had witnessed at Dochas could be successful in Scotland as well. Working with the magnificent steeds also seemed to ease his sense of loss. The Irish horses he and the duke had purchased and brought with them from Ireland made Cameron somehow feel closer to Meggie. He especially treasured Dochas, the beautiful bay mare given to him by Gerald Fitzgerald.
Doneval Manor required a new stable in order to accommodate his new dream. Cameron’s days disappeared one into the other as he busied himself in the building. The same stable as he had designed for the wild Irish duchess at last began to take shape.
Too often, Cameron lost track of time. As on this day, by the time he left off and sought refuge in his private wing of the manor house, ‘twas a cold, bone-chilling night. Cameron strode into the low parlor chamber to warm himself by the fire. Later he would join his father for supper.
The small, comfortable parlor suited him. Flickering candles shed golden rays of light, enhancing the feeling of warmth. Dried sweet fennel sprinkled on the floor and collected in baskets provided a pleasing herbal aroma.
The Duke of Laird, favorably impressed by English town homes and manor houses, had seen to it that Doneval Manor boasted the same elegant refinements. Turkish carpets graced the stone floor; lull wainscoting covered the walls along with fine silk tapestries. Cameron could think of nothing he wished to change in this, his most private chamber. He retreated here to think, to dream, to remember.
Standing before the open hearth, he shifted his weight from foot to foot and briskly rubbed his hands together. His wound had completely healed. Cameron had never told anyone he’d been shot by the Irish enemy in the line of duty. He could not think of Meggie as the enemy. And he had no desire to win a commendation for being mistaken for a werewolf. Military life was behind him. This prince no longer had anything to prove.
Cameron dismissed the first rustle he heard as the sounds of a mouse. But what followed immobilized him. His name. Whispered, strained, and ghostlike,
“Cameron.”
While he did not believe in ghosts, he also did not believe anyone could get by the army of servants who kept Doneval Manor clean and polished. Any visitor would be announced.
Tension curled a stranglehold grip around his throat. Not wishing for his breathing to interfere with hearing even the faintest of sounds, Cameron held his breath.
His heart thumped.
Meggie and her Irish superstitions had brought him to this. The duchess believed in werewolves, faeries, and all sorts of netherworld creatures.
“Cameron.”
The devil. ’Tis the voice of the devil disguised. The devil has come for me.
“I have come... come to…”
Clenching his jaw, Cameron whipped around from the fireplace to confront whatever evil lurked in his chamber, of this world or another. The apparition stood motionless but six feet away from him, a dark, cloaked figure shrouded in shadow.
“Step forward into the light where I may see you,” he commanded.
The specter slowly, shakily moved forward.
God’s bones.
He hallucinated.
“Stop where you are.”
The figure stopped. Cameron’s heart seemed to stop as well. Was that a whiff of lavender he smelled?
In the light, the illusion bore an amazing resemblance to Meggie. She held her chin high and at a forward angle, like a majestic figurehead at the helm of a ship. But Meggie feared the sea. She would never board a ship, never make a crossing over the Irish Sea unless bound and kidnapped.
This could not be Meggie standing before him. ’Twas some sort of a cruel hoax.
“Who... Who are you?” he asked, not daring to believe it was the one he most longed for in life.
The apparition hiked a dark brow. “Ye don’t recognize me?” Her tone was both incredulous and outraged. “’Tis not been that long, Cameron Thatcher!”
“Meggie?” Cameron’s heart slammed against his ribs.
She grinned.
Unable to catch his breath, unable to believe his wild Irish duchess truly stood only a few feet away, he simply stared, gawking like a simpleton.
Her bright smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion.
“You look like Meggie,” he said. “You even sound like her. But... But you cannot be.”
She moved toward him.
It was all Cameron could do not to step back away from this heartless illusion. He’d feared his longing for Meggie might eventually lead to this: he had lost his mind.
“I have come to return your ring.” The cloaked figure held a small gold object dangling from a chain. His rose-and-crown ring. Summoning his wits, Cameron stepped forward for a closer look. Curls the fiery red of a brilliant sunrise peeked out from beneath her hood.
“Meggie,” he whispered, awestruck. “Is it truly you?”
A shy smile—quite unlike Meggie—played at the corners of her lips as she nodded. “Aye, Cameron.”
With a hammering heart and two quick strides, he covered the space between them. None but Meggie could hear the sigh, the groan of utter happiness, that Cameron released as he gathered the Irish vixen into his arms. Fearing she might evaporate in his arms ghostlike, he crushed her against him.
The hood of her cloak fell away, revealing Meggie’s glorious mane and ever-widening grin. Framing her face in his hands, he searched the misty blue pools of her eyes, searched for her spirit and soul. He even briefly considered counting her freckles to be certain the woman who gazed up at him was truly his Meggie.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “’Tis truly me.”
With a groan all the world could hear, he brought his mouth down on hers. Cameron kissed Meggie with a fierceness born of emotions too long held within him. As the familiar taste and lavender scent of her engulfed him, he knew not which raced faster, his heart or his pulse. He felt like a man who had not seen the sun in many years. Meggie was his sun, his stars, his light, his day and night. Every good and pure thing in his life revolved around his Irish lass. He could not get enough of her.
Reluctantly raising his lips from hers, he once again cupped her face between his hands. “I have missed ye, Meggie. Sorely missed ye,” he said in a soft, thick voice.
Unable to control himself, he reined kisses upon her eyelids, cheeks, her nose, and even her imperious chin. His hungry lips found her temples and tasted her wondrous silken curls.
And when he stopped for breath, she curled her arms around his neck. “I have missed ye, as well, Bard.”
His heart roared like some wild beast. Meggie had come to him. She had left her precious Dochas.
Clasping her hands in his, Cameron stepped back, the better to view her from head to toe. “My eyes cannot believe ye are standing before me. At first I thought I had conjured your image. I feared that I had imagined you because you’ve been so constant in my thoughts.”
Because I’ve wanted you so much.
Meggie seemed unable to stop smiling. “Ye will not send me on my way, then?”
“Nay, I will beg you to stay.”
Had she come merely to return his ring? No, she might have sent the band by courier if that was her only intent. Cameron held Meggie’s hands tightly as he led her to a cushioned bench.
Except for the crackling fire, a stillness fell over the chamber. At once awkward and necessary, the silence sealed their unspoken desire to be together, just be. Quietly.
But she wanted more than just to be with him.
Merciful Mary!
Meggie wished most ardently to be one with Cameron again. Her palms felt moist. He did not seem to notice. His eyes locked on hers, and she could not look away.
Her heart alternated from a wild flutter to a slow thud, similar to a loud, deep drum. The warmth she felt swirled within her in waves of thick, warm honey. She had not taken a full breath since an hour ago when she had been ushered into Cameron’s private chamber by the duke to wait for him.
“I have returned the Bard and his mother as well. I know ye paid full price and more for them.”
“But you favored the foal.”
“And... and this,” she interrupted. “Did ye forget my mission?” She unlatched the chain around her neck and held the ring up to his line of sight. “Knowing it’s the only object left to you by your mother, I could not keep such a priceless gift.”
“Meggie, you have come a long and dangerous distance --.”
She interrupted again. “I dared not entrust such a precious jewel to a courier.”
He took the ring from her, placed it in the palm of her hand, and closed his hand over hers. The warmth and gentleness of his offering sent sparks shooting through her body. She shivered with delight.
“You have made a voyage that I know was difficult for you,” he said. “You boarded a ship and sailed the Irish Sea.”
She could not help but smile; Meggie felt excessively proud of her triumph. “I begged the wee people, but they refused to transport me.”
“Surely you did not venture across the sea alone?”
“Nay. My grandfather is with me. We disembarked in Liverpool and made our way by coach to Edinburgh and on to Doneval Manor.”
“You must be exhausted.”
Meggie felt only excitement, only joy. To be with her love again was a dream come true. “Grandfather and I are on our way to Ulster.”
The striking bard reared back. “Ulster! You cannot reach Ulster by way of Donval Manor.” He gave her a crooked smile. And took her breath away. “’Tis a bit out of the way.”
“Aye?” she teased. “Out of the way?” She must not think of him as the bard any longer. Cameron was the Marquis of Doneval now. “You left me no choice.”
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“The duke sent a message along with the boy who delivered the Bard and Sorcha to Dochas. He told me where I might find you. Should I desire to find you.”
“Ahhh. I have yet another reason to be grateful to my father.”
“He is a good man.”
“Certainly you jest about journeying to Ulster,” Cameron said with a bemused twist of his lips.
“’Tis no jest.” Meggie lowered her eyes. “My father fears the English will soon march on Ulster. Dochas is no longer safe. I am without a home.”