UNDERSTANDING AND MISUNDERSTANDING
Camden felt numb. He stood in the courtyard, looked out over the flagstones, and wondered why he felt as if the world could crack and disappear before him and he would scarce notice.
I can't leave now.
He wanted to scream at the envoy from his father, to shake the man until his teeth rattled. Why now? And why North? Why could he not stay here?
“If I form part of the defense of the castle, I can stay here.”
His home was here now. Not in the north. Not with his father and his endless demands.
“My lord?”
He sighed and turned a baleful gaze on the footman who appeared behind him.
“Yes? What is it?” he snapped.
The man went a shade paler. “Lord Camden? You're...you're asked for in the great hall.”
Camden drew in a long, shuddering breath. Closed his eyes a moment. He had no desire whatsoever to have to give a speech now, to rally the men of Buccleigh. To say goodbye.
He sighed. “I'll come directly.”
As the man scurried off, Camden felt a strong wish for someone to just shoot him from the woodlands beyond the gate. It would seem an improvement.
My wife hates me. My father considers me dispensable. My new family treats me with cautious distaste. Why am I here?
Huffing out a hurt sigh, he headed toward the great hall. He waited a moment or two to compose himself. He would doubtless face the household staff, maybe the guardsmen too. The duke and his lady. He would have to prepare himself. He let out a long, shuddering breath, closed his eyes and reached for the last reserves of his strength.
I'm ready.
He headed into the hall. It was empty, save for one person.
“Rubina?”
He stared. In the shadow caused by a long shaft of light from the high clerestory window, she was almost hidden. Her hair, half-concealed beneath a chiffon veil, blazed out, his sole indication of her presence. She was wearing a pale dress of white linen. She turned to face him.
“Camden,” she said.
Her voice was strained and when he looked into her face he was fairly sure she looked like she'd been crying. She must be sorrowing still about all that went before this, about her sudden and abrupt troth-plight to a man she now feared. It was just not possible she was crying because of him.
“Rubina,” he whispered. He raised a hand and, without thinking about it, stroked her hair. She closed her eyes. He stepped closer and enfolded her in his arms.
He looked into her eyes and suddenly realized what he was doing. Stepped back, tense.
“My lady,” he whispered. “You called me?”
She frowned up at him. This close he could see that there were indeed tears balanced on her lashes. He wished he could do something – wipe them away. His finger was poised above her cheek before he moved his hand.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I...” she turned away, her long dress making a soft whisper of sound. “I heard you would go.”
Camden swallowed hard. He felt his own hands reach for the sleeves of his tunic. A nervous gesture. He forced himself to let them be loose at his sides.
“Yes,” he whispered.
She looked up and blinked rapidly. “I...I wished to see you before you leave,” she said tightly. “To wish you all blessings and speed.”
He felt his throat tense with sorrow. His hand lifted and fell to his side. What to do? How could he take his leave of a woman who in all likelihood hated the sight of him?
“Thank you, milady,” he said in a small, courteous voice. He could hear the rasp of it and cleared his throat, not wanting her to know how close he, too, was to tears.
“I...” she stepped forward. “I wish you to be safe. I made you this.”
Camden stared as she reached into her kirtle, drew something out. A cloth. She shook it out. It was a white silk cloth, a favor such as knights wore in the joust. This one was emblazoned with neat stitching, the design quickly but expertly done, showing a stag.
“The sigil of my house,” he breathed.
She nodded. “The stag will watch over you in battle,” she said tightly.
Camden felt his throat work and found himself staring out of the window. He was not going to let her see how it affected him. He would not burden her with his tears.
“Thank you, milady,” he whispered. His voice was a thread of sound.
She passed it to him and he took it. He looked at the stitches showing the stag of his house, encircled with oak leaves. It looked out at him defiantly. The stitches were tiny and expert, the design unmistakable. He hadn't even known she knew what his clan sign was.
“I can't let you go without something,” she said tightly.
“I do not go without something,” he said. He took the cloth and put it in his doublet, near his heart. “I...I carry memories of you everywhere I go,” he said.
She blinked and sobbed.
In an instant, his arms were round her. He held her to his chest, enfolding her in his arms. He felt her arms come round him and knew that he could not have been happier. He held her close.
She looked up at him and her lips, damp with tears, parted a little. He leaned forward and tenderly he let his tongue explore her mouth. She allowed his exploration, her lips parting sweetly to admit him. He wrapped his arms round her more tightly, crushing her to his chest. She sighed and leaned on him and suddenly it was very hard indeed not to feel the straining arousal that forced itself upon him. His manhood was stiff and he was sure that she could feel it against her.
“My lady,” he murmured. He leaned backwards sharply. His hands were still on her shoulders and she still looked into his eyes. He let out a long sigh and tried to fight the urge to kiss her lips again. Instead, gently, he leaned forward and kissed her hair.
She held him tight, crushing him to her chest. “Go safely,” she murmured.
He held her close, stroking her hair. “Oh, Rubina,” he murmured. He had no idea what else to say. She leaned against him and made a small, soft sound in her throat, a little sigh.
Her body was soft and warm in his arms and he held her close, stroking her soft, silky hair. He could feel the curve of her breasts and the sweet inward bend of her waist and the proud swell of her hips. He wanted her so badly that he wished he could lift her in his tightly- -clenched arms and carry her up to the bed. Take off her clothes slowly. Make love to her.
It would be making love with her. I love her.
He bit his lip. He wanted to tell her. However, as yet, he had no idea how she felt for him. He leaned back and looked into her eyes, softly.
“Rubina,” he whispered. “I...thank you. Stay well.”
She bit her lip. Her eyes were huge. She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I will. You too. Go safely. Blessings on you.”
She pressed her hand over his and then, blinking rapidly, swallowed hard. Turned away. The only sound in the hall was the soft whisper-light touch of her slippers on the flagstone of the flooring as she walked, quickly and silently, away.
Camden turned away and stayed where he was. The numbness had grown and changed inside him. No longer did he feel like the world could collapse round his ears. He felt instead like his throat was numbed, fastened tight around all the words he wanted to say.
I miss you. I love you. You are my joy and each day without you is as dark as a night without a star.
He swallowed hard. He couldn't tell her those things. They had to remain inside him. Not just because he thought she was indifferent – the tapestry he held was proof against that – but because of how he was about to risk so much. If he died on the battlefield, he would prefer to think she was still, for the most part, unattached.
She will find someone else to love, to care about. She will make new acquaintances, find new loves untainted by the memories we shared.
He swallowed hard. All things considered, that would be the best thing that could happen to her. She deserved another chance at life, to find someone better. She would not mourn a husband who was never a husband in truth.
It was better this way.
Heaving a sigh, he walked out into the courtyard. It was cold out there, the sky cloaked in gray cloud. A fitful wind lifted his cloak and let it fall. He walked resolutely to the armory.
Once there, he stopped, knowing that he was crying and unable to stop it. He bit his lip, angry with himself. How could he risk the armorer or someone else seeing him weep?
He sniffed impatiently and reached for a kerchief. His hand passed across his doublet, where the soft new familiarity of the tapestry lay against his heart.
Eyes blinded with tears, he drew it out and looked at it. The stag reared up as it did on the design in the hallway at his home, and contemplated him.
He swore angrily and rolled it up again, crushing it into the doublet against his chest. He would not look at it. Would not see it. Would not think of it.
“It's better this way.”
“Hey?” Seamus, the old armorer, almost deaf, called out. “What're you needing, my lord Camden?”
Camden sighed. The armorer at the castle was one of the few people who he'd gotten to know. The other guards all knew him on sight, but the armorer and he had exchanged words before. Camden knew him well enough to know his deafness and the total indifference he had to rank.
“I want to have my dagger sharpened,” he explained.
The man grinned. “Your what?”
“Dagger!” Camden yelled back.
“Fine. Don't shout. I'll do that.”
As he watched the man's retreating back, Camden felt a bleak acceptance settle on him. He was going to obey the summons.
My son. I have received news of a most urgent nature. I request your immediate return hence. You and your companion are needed here in defense of the border. Your father.
“Defense indeed,” he sighed. He and Sean would be better served to join the guards at Edinburgh. He knew enough to know the first attacks would strike there. Not in the north.
“Hey?” the armorer yelled, returning with a whetstone and a cloth. “What's that?”
Camden sighed. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing!”
“Oh! Needn't yell. Needn't yell. The things people do say.”
Camden closed his eyes and reached for the fast disintegrating scraps of his patience. He was the heir to this place, as Rubina's husband. He would have to care for Buccleigh castle one day, with its courtyard and stables, its armory and guardsmen and farmers. It was a staggering responsibility. All the worse for a man who had been raised believing he would inherit a single fortress that owned a few acres of farmland.
“All of that means nothing,” he murmured to himself, accepting the dagger, sharp and shining, from the busy armorer. “I would give it up.”
“A pleasure, sir,” the armorer said, mistaking his words. “And all safety for the fighting, sir.”
“My thanks.”
Camden thrust the dagger into the scabbard and went back across the courtyard, lost in thought. The whole castle, with its vast, thick stonework, its squat, imposing turrets, its thick doors – it was all worthless compared to being able to say three words to the woman he loved.
I love you.
“Why didn't I say it?”
He should have taken the chance while he had it. Though they slept in the same chamber, he did not wish to wake her before he slipped out tomorrow morning, early. Tonight?
Tonight she will likely sleep before I do.
He felt his body ache with longing as he contemplated the sweet agony of sleeping beside Rubina. He would have to fight the urge to flip over and cover her with kisses, crush her to his chest, let his body tell her of the love he felt, the longing.
He crossed the courtyard hastily. Saw Sean in the doorway. His face was pale.
“Camden? My...”
“Later, Sean,” Camden said. “Please? Later.”
His friend nodded wordlessly and stepped aside, letting him pass quickly.
In the castle, he headed up to the solar, looking for Rubina. She wasn't there. Her companion was.
“My lady?”
“Yes? You are looking for your wife?”
“Yes, Lady Marguerite,” he said, recalling her name anxiously. “Where is she?”
“She went riding, milord.”
“What? Alone?” Camden stared at her. He realized he was staring and blushed, bright red. He looked away quickly.
She nodded. “Oh, not in the woodlands, milord. Just on the field. She always went there, even as a girl.”
“How long will she be gone?” he asked, feeling himself panic. He was a fool! He needed to say it now! Before it was too late.
Her friend shrugged. “Mayhap three hours? Mayhap four? She can stay out the whole day when she's a mind to.”
“She'll be back for dinner?”
“She surely will be,” Marguerite nodded.
Camden kept himself busy on the practice ground until dinner. He sparred with Sean and his savagery on the field was such that Sean left looking dazed and hurt. Camden regretted that, but what could he do? There was a fire in him that would not be extinguished.
He went to dinner. She wasn't there.
After an hour of waiting, listening to her parents talk about the servants and the castle and their day, he pushed back his chair.
“My lord? My lady? Forgive me. But...is my wife returned?”
Lady Amabel looked at Lord Rufus, a small frown on black brows.
“Is she out?”
“She was riding earlier,” her father said easily. “I saw her return from the turret. I believe she was sewing a while. She is certainly in the castle. Perhaps already abed?”
Camden clenched his hands under the table and made himself breathe slowly and heavily, focusing on the breath, calming himself. If she was asleep he might never get to see her. Never get to tell her how much he cared!
Arrogant, prideful fool! He wanted to kick himself, to scream the words at his own reflection. If not for his desire to appear strong, not to burden her with his weakness, as he had thought, not to risk her censure, he would have told her everything, would have gotten those words out of his lips.
Now they might last long beyond the time he did, expiring on his lips, forever unsaid. Haunting him.
“Forgive me, my lord. My lady.” He bowed. “I am tired. I will ride early tomorrow. Pray excuse me.”
They both looked at him and nodded. “Indeed,” his lordship said quietly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
He headed briskly upstairs toward the bedchamber. Blood racing, heart thumping. Loins aching.
In the fire's red light, he saw her. She was curled up on her side, her long hair a cloak about her shoulders. Her one hand held the edging of the coverlet to her face. She was breathing slow and even. She was fast asleep.
He leaned back on the door, feeling miserable. Looking down at her, he felt his heart ache. She was so sweet, so innocent. Her red lips glowed in the firelight, three shades at least darker than her hair. Her breath rose and fell, her pale skin glowing in the light.
He sighed.
“I love you, Rubina,” he murmured under his breath. “I love you so much it hurts.”
She was asleep, though, and didn't stir. He went to the corner where there was a chair concealed in shadow, where he'd undressed the night before. He left his clothes there folded, shook out a nightshirt and shrugged it on, then slipped into the cool bed beside her.
He listened to her breathing until he thought he could bear it no longer and then fell into a heavy, refreshing sleep.