To Marry a Scottish Laird by Lynsay Sands
"Nay, o' course no'," he assured her, and then grinned and admitted, "But I wouldn't help get ye there either."
Despite herself, Joan found herself smiling at his words, and then wincing as her split lip complained.
"Come now, tell me who the message is for," Cam coaxed. "The Sinclairs do no' ha'e many enemies. 'Tis more likely a friend and then I can repay yer kindness in saving me life and escort ye there . . . or at least part o' the way if they're too far out o' me way."
Joan peered at him silently. She was too proud to ask for help, but not so proud she wouldn't accept help were it offered. It would certainly make her journey less dangerous were she not alone. She debated briefly and then blew out her breath and just said it. "Laird and Lady MacKay."
Cam's lips split in a wide grin, and he reached out to thump her in the arm. "Ye're in luck, lad. The MacKays are friends to the Sinclairs. Good friends." He shook his head and then added, "Even better, they're our neighbors, so I can see ye all the way there on me way home."
Joan righted herself slowly. His friendly thump in the arm had nearly knocked her off the log. Managing a small smile that didn't pull too much at her healing lip, she nodded. "Thank you."
They ate in silence for a minute, and then Cam asked, "So no family 'sides yer mother?"
Joan shook her head and swallowed the meat she'd just taken a bite of. "Me father died ere I was born, me grandparents too, and I had no brothers or sisters." She glanced to him curiously. "You?"
"Both parents still alive, two brothers, one sister, and more aunts, uncles and cousins than you can shake a stick at," he said around the onion he'd just bitten into. He grimaced then and added, "I've family coming out me ears. More than anyone wants or needs."
Joan raised her eyebrows at that. She would have loved to be able to claim such a large family. But then she was alone. "You don't get on with your kin?"
"Oh aye," he assured her. " 'Tis just that me clan seems to think being blood means they can interfere in me life at every turn. 'Tis enough to make a man crazy at times."
Joan nodded with an understanding she didn't really have. She'd never had that problem.
"Actually, that interference is the only reason we met each other," Cam said suddenly, a wry smile curving his lips.
"How is that?" Joan asked.
"Me family thinks I should marry again," he added grimly.
"And you don't want to?" Joan guessed.
"Aye. I mean aye, ye're right and nay I do no' want to," he added and then shifted forward off the log so that he could sit on the ground and lean back against it. Eyes focused on the flames before them, he sighed and then said, "After me first wife . . ." He shook his head. "I do no' want to go through that again."
"Your first marriage was so bad?" Joan asked, trying to understand.
"Nay," he answered at once. "She was pretty and smart, a good woman, and marriage was no' so bad."
Joan raised her eyebrows. "Then why would you not want to marry again?"
Dissatisfaction crossed his face, and he stared so long into the fire that she began to think he wouldn't answer, but then he suddenly did. "We were married a year. 'Twas a good year. We got on well and it was a good match. But she got with child, and went into labor a year and a day after we married."
"She died in childbirth," Joan guessed, understanding immediately filling her.
"Aye," Cam murmured, his expression full of regret.
Joan nodded silently.
"She was so small, and the babe was big," he said grimly, and then added, "The midwife said the child was sideways."
"Did the midwife try to turn--"
"Aye," he interrupted. "She tried and tried, but said it would no' turn."
Joan didn't comment. What could she say? She had encountered the same thing herself a time or two. Usually she could shift the baby, but sometimes it was as if the baby was caught on something and--
"It took her three days to die," Cam said grimly. "For three days the whole castle listened to her scream as she fought to push our babe into the world. On the third day her screams were so weak . . . I kenned she was dyin'. My family tried to keep me out, but I forced me way into the room and . . ." He paled, his eyes closing. "There was so much blood."
Joan waited a minute and then asked, "The child?"
"We buried them together," he said heavily. They both stared into the fire now and then he straightened and said firmly. "I'll no' put another woman through that."
Joan didn't comment. She understood. Witnessing something like that . . . well, it had made her decide not to have children. She could understand his not wanting to watch another woman go through it as his first wife had.
"Me family are determined I should wed and give them the heirs they want though," he added with a grimace. "Me mother especially is determined and once the snow melted, started filling Sinclair with any unmarried or widowed female she can find that she thinks might tempt me. By spring's end I was tripping over women everywhere I turned. The woman was making me life a misery," he said with disgust and shook his head. "I finally had to head out and find a battle to fight jest to get a rest and that's where I've been all summer. Offering me services to those in need o' a good sword hand. Well, offering me sword and that o' a couple cousins who went with me."
"Where are your cousins now?" Joan asked.
"We started out together, but stopped in Nottingham for a meal. The tavern wench was a pretty little thing, and very friendly," he said with a grin. "I told me cousins to continue on without me and I'd follow later."
"I see," Joan said and almost winced when she heard the disapproval in her own voice. She was supposed to be a boy, after all, and a young boy would probably listen with eager glee rather than disapproval. But Cam only chuckled at her censure.
"Oh, come, lad. Ye'd have stopped too had she been wiggling her bosoms in yer face and dropping in yer lap to bounce about."
Joan managed a smile and merely said, "Aye, well, 'tis fortunate for me that she was so friendly and slowed your journey else I may not have survived my encounter with Toothless and his friends."
"Toothless?" Cam asked with confusion.
"The big man who was beating me when ye came upon us," she explained.
"Ah." Cam nodded, and then shrugged. "I did no' see his face. I hit him from behind."
"Oh, aye," she murmured, and stood to walk to the river and kneel at its edge to dip her hands in and remove the grease from the rabbit meat off her hands. When Cam joined her a heartbeat later, she asked, "Are your brothers younger than you?"
Cam glanced to her with surprise. "Aye. How did ye ken?"
She shrugged. "If they were older your parents would not fret so about heirs. As the eldest though, you inherit the land and title . . . so an heir becomes more important."
"Aye. Or I could leave it to one o' me brothers and their heirs," he pointed out, then straightened and shook his hands, removing the worst of the water as he complained, "I should no' be tired but I am."
"You're healing," she said quietly. "You'll tire easily over the next while."
"Aye, well, then I'd best sleep. We'll leave at dawn on the morrow."
Joan mumbled agreement and watched him walk back to the fire. He unwound his plaid as he went, wrapping it about himself like a blanket before lying down on his side, facing the fire. The sight made her wish she had a plaid of her own. It was the end of summer, warm during the day but cooler at night. It would have been nice to curl up in the heavy woolen cloth to sleep.
She straightened, giving her own hands a shake, but then grimaced. Now that her hands were clean, the filth on her skin from the wrists up was more noticeable . . . and tomorrow they would be traveling again and gathering even more dust and dirt off the trail. Her gaze slid to the water almost longingly. A quick dip would be lovely. The night air was cool enough that the river water had felt almost warm in comparison when she'd washed her hands. If she moved a little distance up the shore and was quick . . .
Cam shifted restlessly and opened his eyes to peer into the fire. He was tired, but now that he was lying down, he couldn't seem to fall asleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind appeared to be rolling over his conversation with Jonas. He liked the boy. He was smart, capable and brave enough to take on this mammoth task on his own and that had earned his respect. Cam did not give respect unless it was earned, and the boy had earned it.
Jonas had also proven himself in possession of honor. The lad could have just left him lying in the road. It certainly would have been a lot less trouble. He also could have stolen his horse and the heavy sack of coins Cam had earned during his summer of mercenary work. But while the saddle and sack had been removed from his mount, they had both been set neatly nearby, under a stack of underbrush to hide them from any would-be thieves.
It had taken Cam a good bit of hunting to find the items. He'd actually begun to fear the boy had sold the one and taken the other when he'd stumbled over them. Every last coin was still in the sack too. Cam had checked. A sack of coins like that must have been a great temptation. It was more than the boy would probably see in his entire life, but the lad was no thief. He was also a skilled healer. Cam could tell that by the fact that he still lived. He'd gingerly felt around on his back earlier and noted the size of his wound. That plus the amount of dried blood he'd found in his boots when he'd tried to don them told him as much. His plaid had been clean, but the boy hadn't thought to check inside his boots. Cam had set them to soak in the river with a couple of large rocks to hold them in place, hoping that would remove the dry blood.
That recollection had Cam sitting up. Gritting his teeth against the pain that shot up his back, he glanced toward the river, eyebrows rising when he saw that Jonas was no longer at the river's edge. The sudden worry that the boy might have fallen in had Cam getting abruptly to his feet. He had his plaid wrapped about his waist and was at the riverside in a trice. There was no sign of him there, but the river could have taken him downstream. The current wasn't strong, but there was a current.
Cursing, Cam began to follow the river, scanning the surface for the boy's floating body. He'd gone perhaps twenty feet when movement in the shadows ahead made him slow and squint his eyes to see better. Jonas stood ahead, at the water's edge. He was disrobing, obviously intending to bathe.
Cam paused and relaxed, glad he hadn't called out. The boy obviously wanted privacy for the task or he wouldn't have come so far downstream. Cam was about to turn and give him that privacy when the boy took his hat off, allowing long hair to come tumbling out. His eyebrows rose at that. Most peasants kept their hair short to keep it out of the way while working. It was also a sign of their status. Jonas having hair that tumbled down his back almost to the top of his braies was just a bit startling. But that wasn't the only surprise. The boy tugged his tunic off over his head, revealing bandages wrapped around his upper chest in a wide swath.
The sight made Cam clench his fists as Jonas began to unwind the wrapping. He hadn't realized how badly the boy had been hurt in the attack. Here he'd apparently taken a mammoth wound, and yet the lad was the one who had looked after him while he--
Cam's thoughts died abruptly as the last of the bandages fell away and two rather generous breasts popped into view. Shocked to the core, Cam merely stood there gaping like an idiot as he tried to accept what his eyes were telling him. Jonas, the fine young chap he liked and respected, was a girl. A fine figure of a girl too, he saw, as she dropped her braies and started into the water. She had a figure that--
Bloody hell!
Turning abruptly, Cam strode silently back the way he'd come, not stopping or even slowing until he reached the spot he'd been lying on earlier. Pulling the plaid up around his shoulders, he then lay down, pulled the plaid to cover his head and shoulders and then firmly closed his eyes. The moment he did, an image of Jonas stripping off his braies rose up against the back of his eyelids. Her, Cam corrected himself. She'd taken off her braies.
Dear God, Jonas was a Josephine . . . or perhaps a Joanna, or something along those lines. He had no idea what her real name was. Or how much to believe of the tale he'd been told. Was there really a message to be delivered? He suspected that was true. He'd seen the scroll himself. And lad or not, she was still delivering the message, though whether it had been a deathbed request or not wasn't certain.
On the other hand, Cam reminded himself, she hadn't stolen his gold or left him to die at the roadside, so he suspected he could trust her word and that the majority of the tale was the truth. Actually, it made a lot of sense for her to travel as a boy. Had she been dressed as a woman, he wouldn't have come upon her being robbed, but raped. Which was no doubt the reason for the disguise, he realized. It wasn't safe for a lass to travel alone.
A lass, he thought. Damn. Cam lay still for a moment, but then recovered enough from his shock to decide it made no difference. She had saved his life and tended him while he was ill and helpless. She deserved his aid in getting to her journey's end, more so now that he knew Jonas was a girl.
As for her secret, he wouldn't confront her about it, Cam decided. He still liked the lass. She was a brave bit of goods and smart and able. He would see her to MacKay and allow her to pretend to be a boy on the way there. But now he was curious to see what she looked like without all that bruising and swelling. Would he think her worth a tumble once healed?
Cam rolled his eyes at himself. She had earned his respect as a boy and should be given at least as much respect now that he knew she was a woman. That being the case, it mattered little what she looked like. He would see her safely to MacKay and then continue on to Sinclair without divulging that he knew her secret. Unless of course she came to trust him enough to tell him herself, he decided.
The situation resolved in his mind, Cam shifted to a more comfortable position and closed his eyes to attempt to sleep . . . and again couldn't find that elusive state. Now that he knew Jonas was a girl, he felt he should be standing guard while she bathed. Ensuring no one troubled her, that she didn't encounter difficulty and drown, and then to see her safely back to their camp.
Not revealing that he knew her secret was going to be difficult, Cam realized suddenly. He wouldn't have let her go traipsing off into the woods alone to hunt their supper had he known. Hell, now he was feeling guilty over it. As the man, he should have hunted down their dinner himself.
Oh aye, this was going to make the journey more difficult.
A rustling sound made him open his eyes and turn his head to look over his shoulder toward the river in time to see a small shape move into view. Jonas, or whatever her name was, was returning, he realized with relief. Relaxing into the cocoon his plaid offered, Cam closed his eyes to feign sleep and listened as the girl approached the fire. There was some rustling and movement and then silence.
Several moments of silence passed and then Cam opened his eyes to glance about. The female who had introduced herself as Jonas had picked a spot not far from his own and lay on her side, hands clasped and pillowing her cheek. Her eyes were open though and meeting his gaze, she nodded, murmured, "Good sleep," and then closed her eyes.
Cam stared at her face briefly, but she was so misshapen from her beating he couldn't tell what she would look like once healed. He also couldn't tell what color her hair might be. She wore her woolen cap pulled low in the front, covering even her brows. He continued to stare at her for a long time, simply watching the flames cast light and shadow over her swollen face, and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 3
"TELL ME ABOUT YOUR BROTHERS."
Cam raised his eyebrows at that question. They had been chatting about various and sundry since setting out that morning, their likes, dislikes and so on, but this was the first time the conversation had taken a more personal turn. Cam glanced briefly over his shoulder to where Jonas was mounted behind him on his hors
"Why?" he asked finally.
"Because I'm curious," she said and he felt her shrug where her front pressed against his back. "Besides, 'twill pass the time."
He supposed that was true, and mayhap it would distract him from his own somewhat ridiculous thoughts. He found his gaze continually dropping to where her hands were. She really had lovely hands, long slender fingers, pale, unmarked skin. If he'd taken note of those, he might not have been caught so off guard by the realization that she was female. They were definitely a woman's hands, and a woman who had not damaged them with hard labor. Being a healer, she didn't have the dry, work roughened skin and callused fingers of the average peasant. In fact, her hands could have passed for a lady's.
"What are their names?" Jo prompted and Cam forced his gaze away from her hands again.
"Aiden and Douglas," he answered, glancing over the path ahead.
"And they're both younger than you?"
"Aye. Douglas is three years me junior, he's the eldest of the two."
"And Aiden?" she asked.
"Seven years younger than Douglas. Still a lad, really, though he thinks he's a man at fifteen," Cam muttered dryly. "And like all youth he thinks he knows everything and is invincible."
"Of course he does," she said with amusement and then asked, "Were your brothers not sent to train in the homes of other nobles? I thought that was common amongst nobility."
"Aye, all of us were. Father insisted. But Mother couldn't bear us to be away long and so I was away for two years, Douglas was gone two and a half years and Aiden for three," Cam murmured.
"It got easier for her with each child," Jo noted.