True Heart (25 page)

Agnes groaned. “Will you stop preening, Cameron.”

“What's amiss, Agnes? Do you pine for Napier?”

“I
lament
over vainglorious rogues.”

Virginia was drawn into the friendly banter. “Tell all, Cam. Are you a rogue?”

He glanced over his shoulder, where the purser pitched dripping laundry to a man in the rigging, who hung the sheets out to dry.

In anticipation of his answer, Agnes folded her arms in taskmaster fashion.

Affability hung in the air around him. “In MacKenzie terms, I am a rank amateur.”

“Hoots!” Agnes laughed, and Virginia did too.

Lachian MacKenzie's reputation was legend. As a girl, she hadn't grasped the meaning of the implications except to know that women liked her father. As an adult, she understood that before his marriage to her mother, her father had attracted the attention of many women. His rugged good looks and easy charm were only part of his appeal. He loved his children, and all women loved him for that.

Agnes bumped shoulders with Virginia. “Did I not speak the truth about Cameron?”

Since leaving Norfolk, this casual banter was part of their day. Virginia easily joined in. “Was he never the gallant?”

“Oh, aye,” she said, “He once rescued me from a disreputable establishment.”

Love for both of them swelled inside Virginia. “Where?”

They told her a story more entertaining than any fireside tale. An opium den masquerading as a cutler's shop. A surly clerk who took liberties. An outlawed border Scot turned pirate who ruled an island of colorful rejects and pulled off a daring rescue. A ransom Cameron had yet been called upon to pay.

“After her training in China,” Cameron said, “only fools or better fighters put themselves against Agnes MacKenzie.”

“You must make him take you there someday. No matter what happens—” As if she'd said more than she should, Agnes halted and looked at Cameron, her expression apologetic.

What had she said and regretted?
No matter what happens.
No matter what happens when? No matter what? Suspicious, Virginia met his gaze and looked for answers. To her dismay, objectivity fled, and she saw a man more dear than her father: Cam, the valiant knight who rescued her from bondage.

“Forget me.” Agnes flapped her arms. “I'm not a part of this traveling party.”

Cameron closed the distance between them, his legs limber, his gait easy. “As I recall, we chatted at length just before dawn.”

Virginia surmised that whatever had gone between them, Agnes had come out the loser. But how? Then Virginia figured out why. “Cameron knows something about you—a scandal—and he's holding it over your head, isn't he?”

Agnes's silence was a small answer.

“Tell me, Cam,” Virginia insisted. “What mischief has Agnes done?”

He squatted before them, his confident gaze rested on Agnes. “Shall I tell her?”

The real Agnes surfaced. Her complexion flushed red with anger. “You can tell the king, just don't tell Mary.”

As sisters, they'd taught Virginia to prank and bedevil, to forgive and forget. Agnes had always been the leader, but Mary could connive the best.

“You must tell me. I'm completely trustworthy.”

“Agnes anticipated her wedding vows.”

“No.” Virginia thought of the man behind the machines that modernized the world, the man who put happiness in Agnes's heart. “Edward Napier seduced you.”

A completely disgruntled Agnes shot to her feet.

Cameron howled with laughter.

As she passed him, Agnes shoved his shoulder, sending him for a tumble. Quick and agile, he sprang to his feet, crouched low, his palms open, his hands held stiffly in a defensive position. “Care to try that again, countess?”

Tried patience glittered in Agnes's eyes. “You'll be sorry, Cameron.”

“Will I?”

She sighed and took up the challenge, giving Virginia her first glimpse of weaponless fighting. They squared off, circling like poorly matched adversaries, for Cameron dwarfed Agnes.

Then she spun on one leg, the other snapping like a whip to kick him in the chest. In a blur of motion, he grasped her foot and flipped her over his shoulder. Blond hair flying, she came to rest on her back, Cameron's knee bracing her body, his elbow poised above her neck.

Thinking he'd hurt her, Virginia jumped up. “Let her go, Cam.”

Agnes's eyes bulged in surprise, and she grasped his arm. “Where did you learn that?”

“From Auntie Loo's cousin.” Cameron sprang to his feet and extended his arm.

Agnes took his hand and stood. Righting her clothing, she said, “I don't think I like that. Nay, I don't like it a wee bit, but—”

“There's more where that came from.” As cocky as a rooster with a new hen, he towered over her.

She marched off, wearing her pride like a mantle.

“Agnes,” he called after her, “we'll finish it properly.”

Halting, she turned. Grudgingly, she placed her hands on her knees and bowed to him.

He returned the gesture, then waved her off. “Now go and pluck the chickens.”

Cameron came back to Virginia. “We'll make port any day now. Would you like to climb to the crow's nest?”

She'd roamed the ship from stem to stern, but she had yet to climb the mast. In her youth, the crow's nest had been her favorite place aboard ship, but she wasn't supposed to know that. “How can you tell how close we are to port?” She waved her arms in a circle. “It all looks the same to me.”

He pondered the question. “I suppose instinct best describes it. And there are currents. They run like rivers in the ocean.”

She recalled a conversation between him and Quinten Brown during the journey from Poplar Knoll to Norfolk. “Like the Hampton Roads, which aren't roads at all but water?”

His gaze captured her. “Bright lass. In the tidewaters, the currents are smooth and steady. Here, they are swift and powerful.”

“Can you see them?”

“Sometimes.” He held out his hand. “Climb up with me, and we'll look for one.”

He pulled her up with ease, then called for the spyglass. Tucking it into the waist of his breeches, he led her to midship. She preceded him up the mast. They passed crewmen, who were too busy with the laundry to spare a glance. Work in the fields kept her body strong and nimble, and she wasn't even winded when she reached the top.

The crow's nest, larger than a water barrel, seemed smaller than she remembered, but she'd been a child the last time she'd stood up here.

Cameron stepped in beside her. “There.” He pointed to a spot off starboard.

In the midst of the ocean swells, she noticed a slight difference in the pattern of the waves. It did look like a river. “Where does it lead?”

“Eventually to the continent of Australia—New Holland 'tis sometimes called.”

The penal colony. England's current dumping ground for criminals, seditionists, and those accused of treason. Virginia's stomach soured at the throught. “What's that current's name? Is it famous?”

His arm brushed hers. “You name it.”

She considered every nautical term she'd heard during the voyage. “Neptune's Trickle.”

He scuffed her head, which was covered by a kerchief. “Well done. Now 'tis famous.”

She almost laughed at his gallantry. What had come over him this morning? “Save your charm.”

“For who?” He turned, his hip grazing hers. “My betrothed?”

In the narrow space, their bodies constantly touched, but it seemed to Virginia that his elbows brushed her breasts too often and lingered overlong. “As if you've spent the decade chaste.”

From below, MacAdoo yelled, “Laundry's afloat.”

A ghost of a smile lifted Cameron's lips. “Shall we debate man's primal need for a faithful mate?”

He looked ready to debate Thomas Paine and win; Virginia retreated. “No. It's very selfish and unfair.”

“ 'Tis a manly thing.” He rubbed the edge of her kerchief between his thumb and forefinger.

The fresh scent of his bathing soap mingled with the tangy salt air. Virginia's mouth watered. “How many women have you had?”

“If you wish to know how many women have engaged my affections, I can truthfully say one.”

Even in the face of that compliment, she refused to demur. “If I ask you to name the others?”

His smile turned rueful. “I will decline to answer.”

Martinet perfectly described him. “I didn't really expect one.”

“You brought it up to make trouble between us, because you are confused by your feelings for me.”

Meaning the opposite, she said, “You know me so well.”

If a look could speak, his expression said,
Better than you think.

He wouldn't get away with that. “Better trouble between us than ruin.”

“That's vague, Virginia. Say what's on your mind.”

For weeks, she'd thought about that evening. Awake in her bunk, she'd relived those glorious moments of loving. But the imagining always ended the same. “I can still see Mama's face. I shamed her.”

“Nay.” A peculiar rumble deepened his voice and his knee brushed hers. “She loves you well.”

“I was naked in your arms.”

He sighed and lifted his gaze to the sky. “I remember it well.”

Flattered and embarrassed at once, Virginia looked out to sea.

“Juliet was your father's lover before they married.”

According to Papa, Mama was the most honorable woman in Scotland. Virginia huffed. “No.”

“Aye.” Cameron pulled out the spyglass, and his arm touched her breast. “Ask them. Now that you're older they will tell you. I assure you, your mother wasn't shamed at what she saw. She was sad because she doesn't want to lose you so quickly to me.”

A likely view of the situation for him. “Then why not take me to Boston with them?”

He braced his feet apart, bringing his leg in contact with hers, and raised the glass to his eye. “Perhaps she thought you were
engaged
by choice.”

Engaged? A benign term for the passion that had passed between then. “You
did
come to my room intending to seduce me. Don't you dare deny it. I just made it easy for you.”

In a smooth motion, he scanned the horizon, his chest rubbing against her. “I'm very glad you wanted me, but I have one, small complaint . . .”

“Complaint?” Aghast, her pride reeling, she squared her shoulders, hitting his arm and almost making him drop the spyglass.

“Yes.” He leaned into her, tipping her back over the rim of the nest. “You've been keeping secrets from me.

Virginia grew apprehensive. “I have?” What did he know?

He pressed his thighs and his hips against hers. He didn't bother to hide his desire, rather he lifted his brows, pointedly drawing her attention to his arousal. “You didn't think I would see the truth, did you?”

Perched high enough in the air to make an ordinary fellow dizzy, she felt completely secure. And absolutely free. Joy filled her, and she gave up the fight to resist him. “Please don't tell Agnes.”

“Why not?” He undulated against her. “She'll understand.”

Under the circumstances, only honesty would do. “I'm not ready, Cam. They aren't either. They should get to know me before judging me a wanton.”

“They are fair people, and they love you.”

She wouldn't be swayed. “I need more time with them.”

He turned on the full force of his charm. “And with me?”

Yearning filled her. “I do not recall being dragged up the mast.”

His gaze roamed over her face, her neck, and her breasts. “You came willingly with me.”

“Oh, very well, yes, I did, but I have one complaint.”

Her declaration pleased him. “Complaint?”

“And a bargain. You're too charming by half. If you'll belay some of it, I'll admit to being susceptible to some of it.”

He pressed closer. “Only that?”

Her boldness had limits. She grew defensive. “I didn't sail the Atlantic looking for you.”

“But you would have come to me”—he leaned full against her until her back arched over the edge of the nest, and he touched his lips to hers—“the moment your memory returned.”

Conscious thought fled. He'd brought her to the top of the world. Now he wanted to take her to heaven. She couldn't summon a protest.

He was so close she could count his eyelashes. “Someone will see us.”

He tipped his head and glanced over the side. “No. Look at the deck.”

She peered over the side and relaxed. The laundry had been cleverly hung out to dry in such a way that blocked the view of the next from the deck.

“Now look at me.”

She did, and the affection glittering in his eyes robbed her of the strength to resist him. But she wouldn't go meekly into his arms. “It does not give you leave to rule my life.”

He threw back his head and spread his arms wide in surrender. “Then I give you leave to rule mine.”

“For how long?”

Watching her, he opened his mouth to say something serious but changed his mind. Grinning, he said, “An hour or so, I should imagine.”

Flushed with embarrassment at both his bold words and what they were about to do, she couldn't resist tickling him.

“Nay, nay.” He struggled as he always had.

“You wiggle like a hooked worm.”

He grasped her wrists to stop the torment. “You remembered one of our finer moments.”

That earned her a languid kiss more sweet than seductive. Just when her thoughts turned to dreamy imaginings, he knelt at her feet and trapped her legs between his. Looking up at her, he slipped his hands under her shirt and splayed his hands over her breasts.

She sucked in a breath. He closed his eyes and smiled as he caressed her.