Seducing the Spy (8 page)

“When they are broken and trained, do ye sell them to our proud Irish rebels?”

“Sometimes.” A sly grin spread across her wondrous lips. Lips that tempted him increasingly. “But mostly I take them to Dublin and sell them to the English. My father uses the profits to outfit his men.”

It was all Cameron could do to mask his outrage. The redhead vixen hoodwinked his country! He rubbed his forehead, calming himself. “If I am to understand correctly, the English are supporting the Irish effort against them.”

“Aye.” She giggled.

She giggled!

“Clever.” Diabolical.

Cameron forced a smile.

Secret, unbridled delight sparkled in Meggie’s eyes as they met his. Her mischievous grin held Cameron mesmerized like a callow boy struck by the first freckle-faced beauty to look his way. Frowning at his lapse, Cameron warned himself against the temptation he found in her eyes, her smile... her enchanting freckles. The Duchess of Dochas posed more danger to him than Barra and his men.

“We profit well by selling the horses for far more than the cost to raise them,” she added with a wink.

A wink!

“Makes me proud to be an Irishman, it does.” Although Cameron had told the lie many times, in this instance he almost choked on the words.

“When ye feel able to ride, say the word, and ye will have the best mount,” Meggie promised.

“I would like that.”

She grabbed hold of the fence, her upturned face just inches from his. He thought no more about the outrageous horse deception. All Cameron could think was that if he tipped his head just a few inches, his lips would be on Meggie’s. His gaze locked on her lips.

“Will ye be joining us for Lughnasa on the morrow?” Meggie asked.

Cameron knew that the Irish, steeped in folklore and superstition as they were, celebrated the start of August and the advent of harvest with the Festival of the Celtic god Lugh.

“Ye will not be required to dance.” She cast a blinding smile straight at his heart.

A smile that could divert a man from his purpose. Cameron tore his gaze away to study the fence post. “Will Barra and his rogues be attending your celebration?”

“Aye, but Barra has not had more than a drop to drink since his foolishness.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “He does not trust himself.”

“Understandable.” Cameron gave a curt nod of his head in acknowledgment. He would prefer Barra gone.

But he saw no way to decline Meggie’s invitation to celebrate Lughnasa without arousing her ire or suspicion ... or both.

“What say ye?” she pressed.

Her hopeful expression caused a twinge in his chest, a gut-wrenching roll of his stomach. Meggie had been sorely wounded by betrayal before. Cameron had not the heart to betray her, too. But he must. His duty was to spy.

“I would not miss Dochas’s celebration,” he said.

“And will ye compose and recite a poem especially for the day? Ye must, ye know. It will be expected, and I shall accompany ye on my harp.”

“Ye play the harp?”

“Aye. Like an angel from heaven.” With a smile as wide as Galway Bay, Meggie Fitzgerald winked at him once again.

The wench was shameless.

“You wish me to recite an ode to Lugh?”

“Do you know such?”

“Nay.” None of the poems Cameron had memorized addressed the great god or any aspect of the festival.

She pursed her lips, a gesture he had noted previously, as a prelude to thought on her part. “Then, ye’d best be creating a special poem,” she said after a moment’s reflection. “Especially for Dochas.”

Under normal circumstances, it took Cameron days to compose a simple message. He found expressing his thoughts difficult, whether on paper or in conversation. If the lieutenant originally selected for this mission had not been killed by lightning, Cameron would not have had the opportunity to be here now. Quite simply there was no one else with his degree of education willing to risk his life as a spy.

How was he to create a poem overnight? But if he did not, the quick-minded Meggie Fitzgerald would know him as a fraud.

He met her eyes, bluebell eyes alight with anticipation.

The devil take me here and now!

Cameron cleared his throat. “I have a confession to make.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Aye?”

“The thoughts that spring to mind have not been the same as before ye ... before I was wounded. I cannot seem to summon the muse as I used to do.”

Meggie’s finely arched brows folded into a frown. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do ye think the wound has impaired your power to fancy?”

He hung his head. “It may be so.”

“I did not mean to do it,” she cried in a raspy tone, clapping a hand across her mouth in genuine horror.

Cameron felt no bigger than a flea on a featherbed.

“Do not fret. I shall make an effort this eve to... to compose.”

Her head bobbed encouragement. “I know ye will.”

For the first time in his life, Cameron wished he were, indeed, a poet.

* * * *

The traditional hill walking was done early the following morning, and by mid-day the mead and whiskey flowed freely. Lughnasa celebrations began at first light and lasted until late in the evening.

During festivities such as this, the Irish in Meggie shone. Although she did not drink, she loved the music and dance and laughter. Between festivities, her Irish heart looked for a cause to celebrate.

She especially enjoyed Lughnasa, for it marked the time of year when the young lambs and calves in the fields were weaned and the corn was ripe and ready for picking. It was a joyous time when stores for the winter were certain. There would be enough for all to eat.

Meggie’s delight in Lughnasa was slightly dampened by the knowledge that Colm would soon move on unless she could find a reason for him to stay.

If she truly had damaged his ability to compose poetry, she would never forgive herself. She admired the bard, not only for his dark, somewhat brooding good looks, but for his courage as well. He had displayed true bravery when he had come to Meggie’s rescue. When he had been barely strong enough to stand, Colm had fought off the drunken Barra.

She never would admit as much, but there were times when Meggie feared being alone, times when the responsibility for the castle and all the inhabitants of Dochas overwhelmed her. She realized the day might come when defending herself from a drunken Irishman or marauding Englishman might prove impossible. A day when there would be no bard to protect her.

Like any other young woman, Meggie longed for a loving husband and family. With her father absent for long periods, and her grandfather’s mind losing its ability to reason and remember, she felt wretchedly alone. A solitary soul among many.

Even in the midst of this merry celebration on a summer’s day bright and clear, Meggie knew a sense of detachment as she greeted the guests. She moved in a world apart from the rest. Incomplete, out of place and time, she likened herself to a single yellow gorse blooming in a meadow of rich green clover.

As the afternoon passed into early eve, the torches were lit to brighten Dochas’s great hall. Flickering shadows of the dancers were cast upon the rough stone walls. The long tables, some still laden with remains of the feast, had been shoved back to make room for dancing.

Meggie first danced with her grandfather to a tune played by whistle and harp. The old man’s milky eyes twinkled with the pleasure of believing he danced in his ancestral Cork castle, celebrating the defeat of the English. Preferring that her shuffling partner enjoy his happiness, she did not attempt to correct him.

While she kicked up her heels, Meggie kept a look out for Colm. When at last she saw him descending the staircase, her heart fluttered like a blackbird taking wing. Although the bard leaned on his walking stick, his steps appeared stronger. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his dark tunic.

Beneath the tunic, Meggie knew from vivid memory, his trews fit snugly to his narrow hips and muscled thighs. One muscled thigh. The other sore and aching.

But the poet did not reveal his pain. He made his way with confidence. The arrogance of his towering form and the enigmatic smile that played about the corners of his mouth made all other men dim in comparison.

’Twas as if bright moonlight shone only on one man. Colm. He stood out above all the men gathered in the hall, not only in height. A simmering virility curled about him like seductive smoke. The smoky essence of him clouded her mind and wrapped around Meggie, gently warming her, setting her heart to a furious beat.

As soon as the dance ended, she led her grandfather to the bench where Deirdre waited. The dark-haired, orphaned girl was like a sister to Meggie. Not long after settling at Dochas, Meggie had taken Deirdre in, offering work, shelter, and love to the shy, quiet sixteen-year-old lass. In time, she had come to rely on Deirdre. Now she did not know what she would do without her. “Will ye watch the old man for a moment?”

As always, Deirdre answered readily. “Aye.”

An inexplicable excitement bubbled through Meggie as she left her grandfather and Deirdre to seek out the bard. She took deep breaths in hopes of easing the tumbling of her stomach and the trembling of her hands.

Colm perched on the edge of a table, studiously observing the crowd. Meggie’s heart bounced in admiration. She allowed herself a moment before she greeted him with a smile. “Welcome to our Lughnasa celebration, Bard.”

“Good eve, Mistress Fitzgerald. Ye look... well.” In fact, Meggie had taken great pains with her appearance, unusual for her. The sapphire velvet fabric of her gown fell in soft folds around her hips, and the deep, round curve of her chemise revealed a peek of cleavage ... all that she owned - a peek.

Meggie had brushed her hair until it shone and then tied back the tumbling red curls with a ribbon in the same jeweled blue shade as her gown.

“Well?” she teased. “I look well? Is that the only compliment that comes to a poet’s tongue?”

“Ye are the most impertinent lass.” His brows met in a brief frown, followed by a grin.

Merciful Mary! A grin that set her knees to knocking.

Meggie had never seen Colm grin full-out before, holding nothing back. She never guessed at what her reaction might be. Now she knew. Entranced. Unable to move. At any moment, perhaps with her next breath, and right here in the great hall, Meggie feared she would make a goose of herself and fall at his feet. Was there such a thing as bard worship?

Meggie thought not. She sucked up a deep, steadying breath.

“I seek only to provoke your muse.”

Colm’s deep, brown eyes met hers. “If anyone can inspire my muse, it will be you.”

For a moment, Meggie, once again, lost the ability to breathe. Did he mean—? Could he be implying—?

Nay. Most unlikely.

“Is it true?” she ventured. “Have ye lost your muse?”

“’Tis a temporary loss, I feel certain.”

“Ye have not been able to compose an ode for Lughnasa?”

He heaved a great sigh. “Nay, I regret to say.”

Meggie felt like a murderess. In all likelihood, it was she who had killed his muse with the firing of her musket. “Perhaps after some time listening to the music and watching the dancers, a verse shall come to ye,” she suggested.

“We can only hope,” he replied drolly.

If Colm lost his gift and she was to blame, there was only one thing to be done. Meggie must provide a home for him in Dochas. He would be the castle bard for all to enjoy, a bit buggered perhaps, but nonetheless a poet for Dochas. Given time, his muse might even return.

“Do ye like to dance?” she asked.

“When I am able.”

“If it were not for me – -”

“Do not tease yourself.”

His kindness did not change the fact. Meggie had caused the bard great pain and suffering ever since he had arrived. There must be a way to make it up to him.

“I wish the remainder of your stay at Dochas to be pleasant. Ye have experienced enough distress.”

“Do ye still believe me to be a werewolf?” he asked.

Meggie found herself fascinated by the sharp pinpoints of golden light glimmering in his eyes.

“Nay. I have yet to see your eyes turn red, nor hair to sprout on your knuckles.”

The twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. His eyes softened, inviting Meggie to dip into pools of warm honey. “I am only a man,” he said.

As if she did not know!

“I pose no danger to you, Meggie.”

Ah, but of that she was not so certain. The handsome poet posed a very real danger. A danger to the heart she had guarded so well since it was shattered by Declan’s perfidy, by his death.

“May I fetch ye some whiskey or mead?”

“Neither. I am content to observe the merriment. A proper bard must absorb the feelings of those around him in order to compose and recite what he has seen.”

“Do ye know what someone is feeling by the look of them?” she asked.

He nodded solemnly. “Aye. By the look in their eyes.”

Meggie experienced a sinking sensation. Would he recognize her attraction for him? Could he see it in her eyes? She closed them.

“When I can see the eyes,” he added.

Henceforth, Meggie decided she would save her innermost thoughts for private moments.

She opened her eyes but fixed her gaze on harmless objects, his hands. His golden ring gleamed brightly as he clasped his hands together.

“Otherwise? When you cannot look into a woman’s eyes, how do you discover her feelings?”

“I look into her heart.”

Warily, Meggie raised her eyes to the bard’s. “I do not believe you,” she said softly. “No one can read what is in another’s heart.”

He hiked a brow. His mouth turned up in a crooked smile as his gaze came to rest on hers. He issued a silent challenge, a dare.

Her heart spun in place.

“Meggie!”

The booming call came from across the great hall. Meggie knew the voice at once.

Niall O’Donnell had arrived.

Chapter Five

Before Cameron’s watchful eyes, Meggie’s smile faded, replaced by an uncertain quirk of her lips. He sensed a feeling of vague distress on her part. A distress that stirred his concern.