True Heart (26 page)

“Take off that kerchief,” he said. “Let the wind have your hair.”

She did, holding the scarf into the breeze and watching it flutter. One thought rose in her mind: here they were, she and Cameron and the horizon in every direction.

When his lips touched her belly, the thought fled and she almost lost her grip on the cloth. His palms still kneading her breasts, he used his teeth to untie the drawstring at her waist. His warm breath teased her navel, and she shuddered with anticipation of what was to come.

Abandoning her breasts, he began to ease her breeches over her hips. With each tug on the garment, his lips moved farther down. By the time her thighs were revealed, he was kissing her in a way that set her knees to trembling. She grew dizzy and grasped his head for balance.

“Nay,” he said against her most private place. “I've got you.” To prove it, he squeezed her waist. “Now fly, Virginia.” That said, he devoured her so thoroughly, so erotically, so scandalously, she thought it surely must be a sin.

Beyond protestations, she flung out her arms, and as she let go of the kerchief, she cast every reservation to the wind.

She felt cleansed, so much so, that had he asked her to name the man who'd brought her to Virginia, she would have shouted Anthony MacGowan's name to the heavens. But it was Cameron's name that she called out over and over. She was still saying it when he spread her legs, rose, and, in one smooth motion, filled her.

He hadn't lied when he said she'd feel pain only that first time, for as he began to thrust and withdraw, she begged him for more.

“You're so eager,” he said between gasps for air.

In her mind, she fell out of the sky and plunged into ecstacy. On a groan of frustration, he quickened the pace of his thrusts and, heartbeats later, followed her. Flush with perspiration and the remains of their passion, she felt the wind cool her heated skin.

“Now our betrothal is doubly sealed.”

Now who was eager? He couldn't love her yet. He didn't truly know her. His feelings must stem from guilt or obligation. In time, he might love her for herself but not now, not until she told him the truth.

She cleared her throat. “Cameron, it's too quick to reinstate the betrothal. I need time, and don't ask me to choose between you and what I must have.” When her parents returned to Glasgow, she'd gather the entire family and explain to them why she lied. But first, she'd find a private place and tell Cameron the truth.

To her surprise and delight, he took the news in good spirit. “You're in luck, then, for I just happen to have an abundance of time where you are concerned. Patience is what I lack.”

“Perhaps a trip to London to distract you?”

He smacked his lips. “One delicious distraction is enough, thank you very much.”

*  *  *

A trip to London to explain the situation to Adrienne Cholmondeley proved unnecessary for Cameron.

Her carriage awaited them at Glasgow Harbor.

*  *  *

Standing at the rail, Virginia stared at the quay. She thought that short of a prince, the empty carriage must belong to Edward Napier. When asked, a workman on the wharf said the carriage had come to the dock every day at high tide for the last week.

As big as a room, lacquered in black with a golden shield on the doors, and drawn by eight magnificent grays, the carriage was the grandest she'd ever seen.

But then everything here was grand. The ships, the commerce, the constant comings and goings of free people. No slavers made port in Glasgow; Cameron had assured her that was so.

Cameron.
Her heart fluttered when she thought of the times they'd shared during the last three days. Just yesterday he'd cornered her near the upended ship's boat. He'd kissed her breathless, and when MacAdoo said a very loud hello to Agnes, Cameron had pulled Virginia beneath the boat. With her sister only steps away, Virginia had mounted Cameron and made love to him. He'd been wild, relentless; she'd felt wickedly wanton, and at the moment of his climax, she had covered his mouth with her own lest Agnes hear them.

The experience had changed Virginia, given her confidence, made her brave. Now her life would change again. Glasgow and her family awaited. Sarah, Mary, and Lottie and their families. Her younger sisters, Lily and Cora, and her brother, Kenneth. Rowena was away in Vienna. From the drawings in Mary's sketch book, Virginia had become familiar with all of their faces. She'd even come to know some of her nieces and nephews.

Agnes, garbed in a glorious red gown and plumed hat, joined her at the rail. Virginia wore her best gown, the modest pink that Cameron favored. Even so, standing beside Agnes, she felt like a wren in the shadow of an exotic bird. No melancholy accompanied the comparison, for one day soon, Virginia would make peace with herself and find her place in Scotland among the MacKenzies.

She nudged Agnes. “Is that your carriage or Lord Napier's?”

“No.”

“Then to whom does it belong?”

Agnes turned and let out an ear-piercing whistle, followed by a yelled, “Cameron!”

The ship went silent. Gulls squawked overhead and activity on the other vessels went on as normal, but the
Maiden Virginia
was as still as a tomb.

Below a door slammed, then the hollow stomping of boots sounded on the companionway steps. The hatch doors flew open, and Cameron burst onto the deck. Alarmed, his sleeves rolled up, a pistol in each hand, he paused and followed the line of Agnes's arm.

He uttered a curse, handed the pistols to MacAdoo, and bounded down the gangway. The driver spied him and climbed down. He gave Cameron a letter, which he stuffed into the sash of his tartan. They conversed briefly—Cameron calmly, the driver obviously confused. Hands on his hips, Cameron began a series of instructions, for the driver nodded, listened, then nodded again. That done, Cameron retraced his steps. The driver called out. Cameron stopped and waited while the man reached into the carriage and pulled out a basket overflowing with fruit. Cameron took it, waved the man off, and returned to the ship.

MacAdoo awaited him. Cameron handed off the basket and approached Virginia and Agnes.

Rolling his sleeves down, he said to Agnes, “I asked the driver to stop at Napier House and tell Edward that we have docked.”

Virginia knew that Glasgow proper was fourteen miles away. “We should have taken that carriage,” she said, “since the driver was going to Agnes's home anyway. We could have saved Lord Edward a trip.”

Agnes smoothed the fit of her black leather gloves. “That carriage is already taken.”

Spoken without inflection, the words and their meaning confused Virginia. “By whom?”

“Come, my ladies.” Cameron fastened the horn buttons at the cuffs of his sleeves. “I've paid the crew. Let us thank them with a toast.”

The smell of roses drifted to Virginia. Sniffing for direction, she discovered that the perfume was coming from Cameron. The corner of the letter peeked from beneath his tartan. A scented letter. A carriage that was taken. A basket of fruit.

A woman. But who and what place did she occupy in Cameron's life? From the crest on the carriage door, which Virginia couldn't make out, she knew the woman was of noble birth, not a mistress in the ordinary sense.

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

He had meant Virginia, she was certain of that. Or had he? She looked up and found Agnes staring at her. So was MacAdoo, but the instant Virginia's eyes met his, he glanced to Cameron. Scanning the others on deck, she found them all watching their captain.

Among the crew, Virginia had made a few friends. Most of the seamen were shy; none of them were sallow faced, as MacGowan's crew had been. To a man, this crew would not have countenanced what had been done to Virginia. These men were husbands, fathers, brothers . . . gentleman all.

And they watched Cameron with what could only be anticipation. For what?

Virginia didn't know, and before she could ponder it longer, Cameron led them below and commenced toasting the voyage. During the casual ceremony, Agnes stayed very close to Virginia. But the moment word came that the Napier carriage approached, Agnes put down her glass and raced to the deck.

Virginia followed but stopped in her tracks at what she saw.

Carriagelike only in that it rolled on very large wheels and was drawn by horses, be they only two, the round conveyance moved swiftly through the traffic in the crowded lane adjacent to the docks. Passersby gawked. Virginia marveled. The carriage didn't bounce or sway, teeter or lurch, but whipped around wagons and drays like a swift pinnace among lumbering battleships.

Perched on the driver's box that wasn't a box at all, but rather a cushioned shelf, were two boys. As they came closer, she recognized the younger from Mary's sketch book. He was Napier's son, thirteen-year-old Christopher.

The other lad, who was older and unfamiliar to Virginia, hauled back on the reins. The carriage rolled to a stop. A pair of doors on the side opened, and a man stepped out. His hair was pale auburn, and he wore a blacksmith's apron. He was Edward Napier; Virginia would have known him anywhere, even without Agnes jumping up and down beside her.

Raising an arm, he waved and called out, “Ho, the
Maiden Virginia
and Agnes.”

“Edward!” Agnes yelled back.

As he walked in a brisk, yet careful pace, he held his other hand over a bulge in the bib of his apron.

Agnes hugged Virginia, then took off down the gangway, her plumed hat fluttering as she ran. Agnes was faster, and she reached him before he made it to the quay. He looked down at her with such joy and love Virginia grew weepy. Holding Agnes at his side, he pulled back the bib on his leather apron to reveal a baby. Virginia's heart lurched; Agnes had left her newborn behind. Until now, she hadn't understood or truly appreciated the extent of Agnes's loyalty and unselfishness.

Loyalty and unselfishness, two qualities Virginia had once possessed.

Make amends, her conscience urged.

Once more, she vowed that she would. When her new life didn't seem like a garden maze fraught with thorns and dead-end paths, she'd clean the slate.

Agnes reached for the child, and to Virginia's surprise, Edward held her back and motioned toward the ship. Watching him, a nobleman respected by everyone in America, cradling his child with the ease and confidence of a midwife, Virginia thought Edward Napier the third best man in world.

A hand touched her arm. “That carriage is Napier's latest invention,” Cameron said. “ 'Tis twice as fast as the Edinburgh mail coach and uses only one-fourth as many horses.”

Her feelings were still in turmoil over that rosescented letter. Moments ago, during the celebration with the crew in Cameron's quarters, she had seen him slip the letter from his tartan and put it in his sea chest. He'd been discreet, but she'd been watching him.

Thinking of that, she tried to summon civility. She managed to say, “Who is the lad with Christopher?”

“You recognized Napier's elder son?”

“Yes, from Mary's drawings.”

“The other lad is one of Sarah's orphans. His name is Oliver Wallace, but we call him Notch.”

From Agnes, Virginia had heard of Notch; Sarah was sponsoring him at Glasgow University.

Cameron tightened his grip on her arm. “Shall we join them?”

Knowing full well that she shouldn't, that rummaging through another's possessions was wrong, Virginia couldn't help herself. Her heart was involved. She'd given herself to Cameron Cunningham, and she had to know if she'd blundered.

She smiled up at him and pulled her arm from his grasp. “There's something I've forgotten. I'll be right back.”

He frowned, and fearing he'd follow, she shook a finger at him. “If you leave without me, I'll never forgive you.”

Cameron relaxed as he watched Virginia go below; she hadn't noticed the letter from Adrienne; he'd hidden it in his tartan, and Agnes had avoided Virginia's question about the owner of the carriage. With a careful maneuvering, he'd get Adrienne out of Glasgow and his life quickly—before Virginia became the wiser. Odd that he'd changed his mind about that. At first, he'd planned to tell Virginia about his mistress, because he believed she'd understand. But considering their shared passion during the last three days, he'd reconsidered. Better that he avoid the subject or, at the least, broach it after the fact.

He'd go with Virginia to Napier House, get her settled in. Then he'd go home and deal with Adrienne.

“Cunningham!” Napier called out. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted.” Cameron glanced at the hatch and wondered what was keeping Virginia. He considered going after her but thought better about it. Or did guilt hold him back? Before he could ponder it longer, she returned to the deck, her MacKenzie tartan draped over her arm, the cat's basket in her hand. Why she'd gone back for those things in particular he did not know, but one thing was certain. Having them gave her confidence, for she held her head high and her steps were smooth and sure.