Highland Surrender (20 page)

“You think it was
my
father? How dare you!”

Myles felt sympathy for his wife. This was a horrid accusation, but surely she could see it made more sense than his own father being the villain. What reason would the earl have for doing such a thing? Even if he had not loved her, he’d have no cause to despise her.

Patience was essential to his mission, but also in short supply. “I know what manner of man your father was, Fiona. Can you deny he possessed a violent temper? And great malice toward the Campbells? Perhaps it was an accident when she died and he took advantage to blame us.”

She sank back down into the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. “Would you leave me?” Her voice rasped. “Please?”

He wanted to stay and press his cause, but her arms crossed in front of her like a bar across the door. He had no stomach for talking in circles, and perhaps some time to brood might soften the bitter frown upon her face. With a sigh, he moved toward the door.

“I’ll be with my father this morning, but I’ll send Vivi to keep you company.” His aunt seemed to have a way with her. Perhaps she could help his wife see reason. The notion nearly tripped him.

In his wildest dreams, he had not imagined he’d be turning to his mischievous aunt for help.

The gentle thud of the door as Myles left sounded at odds with the slamming of Fiona’s heart. Her mother and Cedric? Lovers? What heinous lies! The very suggestion was as preposterous
as it was insulting. This was just another Campbell ploy—and poorly played, at that. Myles thought to convince her she was wrong about his father by accusing her own? Absurd! Even if Cedric had loved her mother in his own twisted way, it was jealousy that made him brand her as his own. And never, never would she believe her mother had loved him in return.

Perhaps she had not loved her own husband either, for Hugh Sinclair was a hard man, stern and unyielding. Prone to melancholy and too much drink, but life was harsh in the North, and he’d been humiliated by his loss of position and lands at the hand of King James.

But Myles was mistaken if he thought her father capable of such a crime. She’d not believe a word of it. Perhaps it had been an accident, yes. But at the hands of Cedric Campbell. If anything, he’d killed her when she resisted his advances. ’Twas more likely than Fiona’s father losing such control.

She stood and paced about the room, trying to recall her mother’s words until her very head ached. She could not recall a time her mother had spoken harshly about the Campbells, but neither had she defended them. The memories were so hazy: glimpses of a smiling face with deep-blue eyes, the sound of warm laughter, the smell of her mother’s hair. All had faded in the seven years, but the pain of missing her had not.

CHAPTER 21

M
YLES FOUND HIMSELF
at his aunt’s solar and rapped upon the door.

Darby opened it, grinning wide to show a new space in his smile.

“Myles, look, I’ve lost a tooth.” He rolled the tiny thing between his fingers.

“So you have.” Myles smiled down at the lad. “You’d best go bury it before a witch finds it and casts a spell on you.”

Darby looked to his mother.

Vivienne nodded, looking up from her needlework. “Bury it in the garden, and you’re sure to grow big and strong. Run along now and let me speak with Myles.”

Fast as a flint spark, the boy was gone.

Vivienne set her stitching upon her lap and rubbed the back of her neck. “Thank goodness for your company. This work is tedious and I’ve no talent for it.”

Myles crossed the room and sat down in the cushioned chair next to her. Like his mother’s chamber, this one was decorated in pale hues of lilac and pink. Women must prefer that to the red and gold of masculine decor, though he could not imagine
Fiona in such a soft setting, nor spending her hours at so mild a pastime.

He pulled the cloth from Vivienne’s lap to examine her uneven stitches. “You do not exaggerate. This is sloppy craftsmanship.”

She frowned with no heat and snatched back the cloth, stuffing it into a handbasket near her feet. “I should like to see you sitting in one spot for hours upon end, poking your finger with a needle until you bleed.”

He smiled. “Well, there’s the problem, then. The needle is meant to go into the cloth, not your finger.”

She blinked at him several times in rapid succession. “Jesters must tremble in fear at the magnificence of your humor.”

He stretched with false posturing. “All men tremble at my magnificence. And the ladies too.”

Vivienne smiled at this and clapped her hands together. “Splendid news, nephew. So all goes well with your bride, then?”

The air of teasing was punched from his lungs, and he felt his face fall. He’d hoped to warm up to this topic, not surge in with no element of care. But there was no avoiding it now. She’d asked, as if she sensed Fiona was the reason for his visit. His aunt had the uncanny sense of an owl.

“No, not well. Little I do or say pleases her.”

Vivienne laughed. “She seems charming to me. It must be you who is the problem.”

“You see a different side of her.”

Vivienne tilted her head. “Give the girl some time, Myles. She’s sacrificed much, and none of this is of her choosing. But if you back a cat into a corner, it will hiss and run away. You cannot force her.”

“I haven’t forced her in any way. ’Tis just the opposite, in fact. I’ve hardly touched her since our wedding night.” Lord have
mercy, he hadn’t meant to share as much. It certainly was no business of Vivi’s. Now he’d never hear the end of it.

“Hardly touched her? What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” What good were the cushions on this chair? They felt hard as mallets. He pulled one from behind his back and fluffed it to no avail.

Vivienne chuckled. “Oh, Myles, you poor little dear. You’ve finally met a woman able to resist your enviable charms, and you fall daunted before the challenge. Where is your courage?”

“I have courage aplenty. You know she slashed me, don’t you?”

“I heard from Tavish it was a very tiny knife.”

He punched the cushion once more, then threw it to the floor. “Whose side are you on?” His voice held no heat.

Vivienne folded both hands over her heart, innocent as an angel. “I am on the side of love.”

A snort burned in his nose. “Love? By God, woman! You aim Cupid’s arrow too high. I would settle for cordial, but Fiona and I have reached an impasse, and I fear neither of us will budge.”

His aunt let loose a laugh. “You’ve been married now how many days? A week? And of those days, your nights have been spent either on the road or with your father. Honestly, it’s not like you to give up so easily.”

“I haven’t given up. I’m just not certain how to proceed with one as irrational as Fiona.”

“Why do men accuse women of being irrational simply because they don’t understand us? It’s unjust.”

She was not helping. “I’ve treated my wife more than fairly, Vivi. ’Tis she who’s run away, attacked me, and called me a liar. I fail to see how any of this is my fault.”

Vivienne patted his arm. “It’s not your fault, darling. And don’t despair. With a little coaxing, she will fall in love with
you. I’m sure of it. And you’ll be a better man for having worked for it.”

He bristled slightly at her words. “I’m a good man now.”

Her smile was teasingly indulgent. “Of course. You’re a splendid man, brave and strong and chivalrous. You are also brusque and, if I might say so, a little arrogant.”

“Arrogant? Now, that’s unfair. I cannot defend myself and still proclaim humility.”

“No, you cannot.” She shook her head and laughed again. “Didn’t Tavish once call you a haughty pup with more wag than tail?”

“Not since I bested him with a sword.” He sat forward in the chair. He should have known she’d be a useless ally, pointing out his flaws instead of telling him how to defeat Fiona’s. “So, what would you suggest I do?” He could not keep the dryness from his voice.

Vivienne rearranged her silk skirts. “Be nice to her.”

Myles paused, waiting for an elaboration that never came.

“That’s it? That’s your sage advice? Be nice to her?”

“Yes. And be patient. The easiest course is often the best. Once she learns how kind you are, she’ll come around to the truth. You cannot force her to change her opinions, but give her time to see the error of her judgments. And until she does...just be nice.”

More lopsided women’s logic. “I’ve already been nice,” he snapped.

Vivienne sat up, her posture rigid. “By using tones such as that? I saw how you bungled things with her in your chamber, shooing the rest of us out like we were flies. Is that how you want your wife to see you treating women?”

“I was shooing you out so I could be alone with her.”

Vivienne sighed with feigned impatience. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Myles. Have you never caught a fish?”

What possible bearing could that have on this matter?
He should leave now and break with this conversation. “Of course I have.”

“And did you take the bait and fling it at the fish’s head? No, of course not. You dipped your line into the water with a tempting morsel tied to the end, perhaps something shiny and intriguing. And then you waited and let the fish come to you. A woman is no different. Let her come to you, and she’ll be caught. But lose your patience, and you’ll have to start all over again.”

This was why women were not allowed on the battlefield. Such unorthodox tactics.

There was some sense to what she said, perhaps, but his patience and Fiona seemed always at odds with each other. Nonetheless, it was worth the smallest effort, for he had no greater alternatives. He picked up the lumpy cushion from the floor and tucked it back behind him. “I shall endeavor to be nice.”

“Excellent. Your natural charm is sure to win her over. In the meantime, you might show her around a bit. She’s seen little of Dempsey. Now that Cedric is feeling better, perhaps you could show her the gardens or take her to the village. And perhaps take Alyssa along. That should cheer Fiona.”

The village. Yes, that might work. He had business there to settle, and she could go along. With his father incapacitated, it fell to him to see that all was well with their tenants. He could take her this very afternoon.

He stood, feeling more optimistic than he had upon his entrance, and set about making plans to woo his wife.

CHAPTER 22

T
HEY RODE OUT
past the immense guard towers, over the old stone bridge, and into the lush green countryside. Fiona followed on a mild palfrey as her husband guided his destrier northward, away from the village and toward the rugged shoreline of Loch Fyne. The sun was high in the sky, sending rays of warmth their way, and no swollen clouds threatened to dampen their excursion. God, who seemed forever inclined to rain on Fiona, kept a serving of sunshine reserved for His most favored Campbells.

Alyssa rode next to Fiona on a spirited, high-stepping mare. The lass kept up a constant stream of happy chatter, and Fiona was glad for the company of Myles’s sister. Her presence was a welcome buffer and saved Fiona from having to converse with Myles directly.

The horses nickered and pranced as if the balmy day brought them joy as well. Fiona, Myles, and his sister ambled over the hillocks, spotting hares and deer, and an occasional crofter’s cottage, until they reached one edge of Loch Fyne. They stopped a moment to admire its beauty and the dark water rippling against the rocky shore. Fiona turned her face up to the sky. The breeze was soft and sweet, with no hint of the brine often present on
the winds near her home. It was a lovely day, and even Myles’s constant presence and his frequent looks in her direction could not spoil that.

He’d said nothing more of Cedric’s supposed confession. In fact, his manner was pure charm, as if a cross word had never passed between them. He’d been solicitous when they were still in the bailey, helping Fiona mount her horse. He had adjusted her stirrups with great care and let his hand linger on her ankle. She’d watched emotions play across his face for the space of one heartbeat and then another. She thought he had meant to run his hand up her calf right there in the yard. But his fingers had stayed put, and his smile was enigmatic when he’d glanced up at her. Now he merely rode along, that same relaxed look upon his features as he pointed out aspects of the landscape for Fiona and told her bit about their history.