Seducing the Spy (34 page)

With supreme effort she tilted her chin. “You... You take much for granted.”

Cameron gave her an enigmatic smile. A slight quirk of his lips. Before her riveted gaze, his eyes darkened with desire. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

Meggie could not draw a steady breath.

Merciful Mary, has anyone ever made love on a dining table before?
She could clear the table in an instant. She would lie upon it and open her arms. Nay. Perhaps the floor ... if only the old men would leave!

But the duke leaned back in his chair. Smiling broadly, he showed no inclination to leave. He raised a fine silver goblet.

“Shall we drink a toast to Cameron and Meggie?”

The old man quickly raised his goblet. “Aye.”

“I have not agreed to marry,” she objected.

Donald Cameron frowned at his son. “Aye? An oversight to be sure.”

Cameron pushed back his chair and stood. He turned Meggie around in her chair and then went down on his knee before her.

Her heart stopped beating; her lungs ceased taking in air. Her grandfather and the duke no longer existed. Meggie and Cameron were alone in the room, alone in their love.

“Meggie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I love you with all of my heart. I’ve not been a whole man since we parted. There has not been a moment when I haven’t thought of you, wanted you. I have been like the moon adrift in a starless sky,” he declared, his warm brown eyes shining with love. “If you will be my wife, I shall worship and protect you until the day that I die. And then I shall watch over you from heaven’s gates.”

Moved to tears, which she attempted to blink back, Meggie could only dip her head. Could a genuine bard have made a better proposal?

The duke and her grandfather broke into applause, reminding her that they were in the chamber. Cameron swept her from the chair and into his arms. He lifted Meggie off the floor and kissed her soundly. Which was just as well, as she could not have stood alone on her wobbly knees.

When the handsome marquis raised his mouth from hers, Meggie dissolved in laughter; a torrent of happiness poured from deep within. She knew pure and utter ecstasy.

* * * *

Cameron waited until he felt certain all were asleep in Doneval Manor before he made his move. Leaving his chamber in a stealthy fashion, he carefully and quietly made his way to the floor below. Meggie had been installed in the finest chamber, directly below his.

He rapped softly on the door. No answer.

As loudly as he dared, Cameron rapped again. Still, no answer or sound from within.

Next, he tried the door. It did not open. Bolted from the opposite side.

The devil. Had Meggie no idea I would come to her?

“Meggie ...,” he called, sotto voce. “Meggie.”

Still, no answer. Exhausted from her journey, she may have fallen into a particularly sound sleep. But he had seen the fire in her eyes. He recognized her desire, knew she would welcome him.

The ache in him deepened to a throbbing, unrelenting heat.

Cameron could think of only one other means to gain entrance to Meggie’s chamber. He would steal through her window.

For such a feat he required more clothing than he wore. Dressed as he was in only a long, fine lawn linen shirt, Cameron quickly retreated to his chamber. He snatched up the garments he had just discarded. He had one foot in his trousers when he heard the whisper at the door.

“Cameron, are ye there?”

“Meggie?”

“Aye.”

He hurried to open the door.

Meggie greeted him with a clearly seductive smile. “I have come to ye.”

His heart careened within a chest suddenly too tight and small. And then he saw them. Her two hairy wolfhounds flanked Meggie like ghostly, panting guards.

“Seamus? Bernadette?”

“Did I forget to mention my hounds were with me?” she asked.

“No matter,” he murmured, mesmerized once again by her beauty. Cameron beheld a vision in a white silk chemise that revealed each soft, lush curve of Meggie’s body. The smoldering in his loins sparked with fiery intensity. He inhaled a ragged breath.

“I waited in my chamber,” she said. “But ye never came.”

“You did not hear me.”

“I might have dozed. ’Twas a tiring journey today.”

Cameron pulled her inside, pulled her into his arms. Kissed her fiercely, deeply, longingly. Never raising his mouth from hers, Cameron pushed the door closed with his foot.

The scent of her filled him as if he were rolling in fresh warm fields of lavender. Cameron savored the spicy-sweet taste of Meggie, as tantalizing as nectar to the gods. His palms skimmed over her body: the creamy mounds of her breasts, the flat satin of her stomach, the soft fullness of her hips.

Afire with a desire he could not control, Cameron swept Meggie up into his arms and carried her to his bed. There, in the soft featherbed, he sank down beside her. At once her hands splayed against his chest; her lips nibbled at his neck, nuzzled his ears.

Cameron groaned. In the grip of a passion pure and strong, he yearned to be within Meggie, to release his love so long stored. And then he felt her hand drift, drifting. Fingertips trailing along his belly and down to his manhood.

The devil, I’ve died and gone to the angels in heaven.

Merciful Mary!

Epilogue

July 1603

There was great cause for celebration in the summer of 1603. The Scottish king, James VI, had been proclaimed King of England, Scotland, and Ireland. And Meggie had given birth to her third son, an even more important event for the large and unusual clan gathered at Laird Manor.

George and Bess Thatcher and all of Cameron’s Thatcher family sisters planned to stay at the manor for the entire month of July. Three of the girls were married and had brought their husbands and children.

Cameron’s blood sister Kate arrived with her husband, the Earl of Stamford, and their twins, John and Donald Wydville. Kate and Meggie had become fast friends and sisters of the heart. Kate meant to stay the full summer to help Meggie with her new son.

Of course, Meggie had help. Not long after her marriage to Cameron, she had sent for Deirdre with his blessings. Tad, who had delivered the foal and mare to Dochas, soon followed Deirdre and married her.

Meggie could not be happier. And was still astonished that the daughter of an Irish rebel was married to a prince of the realm with only a handful of loved ones who knew. Cameron had told her about his royal blood before they wed. Somehow, she hadn’t been surprised.

Alone in their chamber, she and Cameron admired all seven pounds of their new infant boy.

“’Tis the most beautiful babe in the world,” Meggie declared as she gazed down at the bundle in her arms.

“You said the same about Donald and Gerald before him,” Cameron reminded her.

“Aye. ’Tis true. All three of our sons are handsome lads.”

“What shall we call our new babe?” he asked. “Have you considered my suggestion of Liam?”

“Gerald, Donald and Liam.” Meggie repeated the names with great satisfaction. “Aye. But perhaps there should be a Cameron.”

“We shall consider my name for the next babe.” Her husband regarded her with the reverence other men might reserve for a tapestry made of gold. Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her and the new babe. “You have made me a happy man and a proud father.”

She angled her chin and flashed a saucy grin. “You mean I have made up for my rather... inglorious error at the start of our acquaintance.”

“Aye, my love.”

Meggie glanced to the cradle in the corner. The cradle carved by her grandfather. He had given Meggie the treasure when she had married Cameron five years ago.

“I have made ye something I hope ye will make good use of,” he had said. “Would ye pass it on to your children and theirs with a tale or two of yer old grandfather?”

“Ye know I will,” she had replied. “Ye know as long as I live ye will always be in my heart.”

She missed her grandfather. He had passed away shortly after his return to Ireland. Like Meggie, he had not managed the journey to Ulster. But after making certain of her happiness, the wily old man had died on Irish soil as he wished. Ah, yes. Meggie had come to the conclusion that her grandfather’s mind had never been beclouded. ’Twas all a ruse.

Her father sent regular messages declaring his intention of visiting Laird Manor one day. Perhaps now that a Scottish king ruled, Humphrey might truly see his way clear to making a voyage to Scotland.

Although Meggie occasionally pined for Dochas and Ireland, her husband’s devotion, the duke’s kindness, and a large loving family filled her heart. Since the day she joined Cameron in Scotland, Meggie had never felt alone. She had only one wish.

“Cameron, ye will not know all the joys of fatherhood unless we have a wee daughter.”

Hiking an eyebrow, he reared back. “What are you saying? Our new son is barely a week old.”

“I would like a daughter, my love.”

Cameron rose up, a slight frown teasing his brow. “Meggie, think of it. I am surrounded by women. I have six sisters and a wife. The duke, Stamford, and I are far outnumbered. We can play only so much golf during these family gatherings.”

“Still, a daughter would make our family complete,” she said with a hint of a sigh.

After a brief silence, he folded his arms across his chest and gave her a crooked smile. “Have I ever refused you anything?”

Meggie beamed. “Nay.”

“Ah, but I have.” He gave a hapless wag of his head. “Do you remember when you thought me a bard and asked me to write a poem for you?”

“Aye. But had I known the way of it, I should not have asked. I certainly haven’t been waiting for ye to compose a poem.”

“Your request boded ill for the success of my masquerade, to put it mildly.”

He walked to the window and looked below where the children romped with his sister Kate and their cousins.

“Do you see the boys?” she asked.

He nodded. “They are happily chasing butterflies with their cousins. Terrifying the butterflies I am certain.”

Meggie chuckled before asking, “And Bernadette and Seamus?”

“They watch over the children as usual. Two big white hairy animals. Though I have grown to love them,” he hastened to add.

Saints above!
’Twas the only lie he had told her since the big one and this he oft repeated.

“I knew you would in time,” she said aloud.

Cameron left the window to sit in the chair beside her bed. “Meggie, I have written you a poem.” He took her free hand in his. “’Tis the only request you’ve made of me that I have been unable to fulfill... until now.”

Hot tears welled behind Meggie’s eyes.

He cleared his throat and shot her a sheepish smile.

“Dream of angels with heavenly eyes ...

Think of rainbows circling the skies ...

Believe in laughter and light...

Imagine all that is pure and bright

in one enchanted soul...

Then ye will know my love, my Meggie,

The woman I have loved from the start.

The wondrous Irish duchess who stole

A prince’s heart.”

For a moment Meggie could not speak past the sweet lump in her throat. Her tall, magnificent husband was but a blur before her because of the tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Cameron. ’Tis more lovely than any Irish bard could have written. I am the most blessed woman in all the world.”

“And I have found my muse. She is you.”

Copyright © 2002 by Sandra Madden

Originally published by Zebra [0821772511]

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

     http://www.BelgraveHouse.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.