Tamas Fergusson didn’t have much of a reaction to Charlie’s introduction. He looked angry, but then, that’s how Charlie remembered him always looking.
“Charlotte Cunningham,” he said, remembering her. “What makes ye think yer sister is at Tarrick Hall?”
“Is she?” Charlie asked him, lifting her brow. She wasn’t about to tell him what her idiot of a brother had done. If the Fergussons didn’t know Hendry had killed one of their tenants, she didn’t want to tell them and have them come riding into Pinwherry to exact revenge—if they didn’t already have Elsie. Besides, they were wasting time. “My sister suffers the ailment of asthma. She may need butterbur. If you have her—”
He scowled as if a bug had just flown down his throat. “The Fergussons dinna kidnap lasses.” He turned his frosty gaze to his nephew. “Ye came fer butterbur last time ye were here. Have ye been livin’ with the Cunninghams, then?”
Patrick’s heart reverberated through him, making him feel ill. There was nowhere to run from the betrayal tainting his uncle’s angry gaze. Just as there was nowhere to run from Charlie’s. Was this what trying to do the right thing cost a man? Honor was as bad as love.
Still, he was done running. “Aye, Uncle, I have. I should have told ye, but—”
“He keeps many secrets,” Charlie interrupted, casting him a scathing look.
He offered a repentant nod. “I’ll explain it all later, Uncle Tamas. Is Elsie at Tarrick Hall?”
Tamas shrugged his plaid-draped shoulders. “I dinna know. I havena been to the house all day.” He turned on his heel and started for the house. “Come, we shall find oot, and then ye can tell us what the hell ye’re doin’ with them.”
Charlie’s belly sank. Their hatred for her family was still strong, and why shouldn’t it be? Hendry had killed their youngest. Was she walking into a trap? Would Patrick’s uncles try to kidnap her too? Would Patrick let them?
No. She wasn’t a coward. If Elsie was at Tarrick Hall, Charlie would get her back or die trying.
Keeping her misgivings to herself, she followed Tamas to the house.
They were met at the door by Annie Fergusson, Kendrick’s mother. Charlie bit her tongue to keep from weeping at the sight of her, the memories of her laughing with Charlie’s mother and her teasing Charlie about marrying her son. She’d changed more in five years than Charlie would have expected. Her hair was still a beautiful shade of vermillion, but her wide, bright eyes had lost their luster.
Suddenly, Charlie felt ill. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to see the terrible hatred in their eyes when they laid them on her. She’d loved these people once, thought of them as family.
She wanted to look away from Annie’s gaze as she studied Charlie upon her horse. Her smile faltered only for a moment, but then returned, warmer than before.
“Charlie, how nice to see you again.”
Tamas mumbled something unintelligible and then stepped into the house.
“Mrs. Fergusson,” Charlie said softly after she dismounted. What should she say? Should she fall to her knees and beg forgiveness for what happened? “You’re verra kind.”
“What brings you here, my dear? And with Patrick?” Annie slanted her gaze at her nephew, then back to her.
“We’re—” Charlie stopped speaking when Cameron Fergusson appeared at the doorway and took his place beside his wife. She choked back a sob when she saw him and prayed her tears wouldn’t fall. This was the man who had killed her mother, not the father she remembered with clear green, soulful eyes and a gentle smile. He’d aged but he still wore the same handsome face as Kendrick. He didn’t smile but he didn’t scowl at her as his brother had. No, his expression was more like Charlie’s, filled with guilt and sorrow.
“Miss Cunningham,” he greeted her quietly, “please come inside.”
He stepped aside to let her and his wife enter then waited for Patrick and greeted him on the way in.
Memories of being here before flooded Charlie’s thoughts. Tarrick Hall was nothing like Cunningham House. Spacious and brightly lit with wood and candle chandeliers, colorful tapestries hanging on the walls, and enormous, ornately carved hearths, Tarrick Hall was a warm, inviting home, sprinkled with the delicate laughter of ladies and the raucous banter of mighty men.
She was led to the great hall and a long, polished wood table, joined a moment later by the Fergusson family.
It was intimidating being in the presence of the men who’d killed so many to avenge their youngest. Charlie had watched them from the stairs that day, lifting their bloody swords and raining down terror on anyone in their path. She’d seen what men were capable of, and though she understood their rage, she never wanted to be around it again. But with the exception of Tamas, the men welcomed her with courtly bows and warm smiles. Whisky was served in small wooden cups, which the men downed in a single gulp.
As much as Charlie knew that this could be what was needed to end the hostility between the clans, she’d come here for her sister. She was about to speak up, when Patrick did it for her.
“Uncle Cameron, Miss Cunningham’s sister has disappeared.”
“Aye, Tamas mentioned it,” his uncle said, settling his regretful gaze on her. “I’m verra sorry, but what does that have to do with us?”
“We were hoping you might know where she is,” Charlie told him.
His gaze rolled off her and onto his brother Tamas. “Does this have something to do with Hendry Cunningham killing Ennis Ogilvy last night?”
Tamas shrugged. “If it does, I know nothin’ of it.”
Charlie’s stomach knotted. Then they knew about their dead tenant.
“My brother is a fool!” she blurted, her fears springing back to life. “He will get us all killed!”
“Nay,” Tamas answered. “No’ all of ye.”
“Certainly not your sister,” Cameron assured her. “No one here would bring her harm, I assure you. They would answer to me, and they don’t want to have to do that. Your sister is not here.”
Charlie wanted to believe him, but then where was Elsie? Was she hurt? Losing breath? She couldn’t stay but as she was about to rise from her chair to leave and continue searching, another, younger man stepped into the hall after just having entered the house.
He was handsome, tall and broad shouldered, with dark copper hair and summer-green eyes. The smile he wore faded when he saw Charlie.
“Shaw,” Cameron called out to his oldest son. “Come greet Miss Cunningham. You remember her, aye?”
Kendrick’s eldest brother, Charlie recalled. He’d always been kind to her and Elsie. In fact, Elsie had fancied him and…A thought occurred to her. Could he be the man whom Elsie had been sneaking out to see?
“’Tis good to see ye again, Shaw.” Patrick stood from his seat and offered Shaw a cup and a friendly grin. “We just arrived. We didna see ye on the road. From which direction did ye come?”
Charlie understood Patrick’s query and noted with pride in him how astute he truly was.
“From…ehm…” His gaze flicked to his father then back to Patrick. “I was visiting a friend.”
Fortunately for Charlie, Shaw wasn’t nearly half as skillful at deceit as his cousin. She wasn’t the only one who took note that there was something he didn’t want them to know.
“Oh?” his father asked, raising a brow. “Who were you visiting?”
After a moment of silence, his uncle John spoke. “You haven’t, by chance, seen Elsie Cunningham in your travels, have you? She’s gone missing.”
“And the Cunninghams here,” Tamas Fergusson cut her a glance, “believe we had something to do with it.”
They ruthlessly broke him down in three single steps. Charlie was thankful.
“We did. I did,” Shaw confessed. “I was with her.”
The hall went silent. Charlie could hear her heart thumping. If Elsie had been with him, then she was likely safe.
“Where is she now?” Charlie asked him.
“Home.” He looked into her eyes and she could see his heart there. He cared for Elsie. “I brought her home. Fergive me fer causing ye to worry.”
She nodded. How long had they been meeting? Charlie smiled thinking she was so clever sneaking off in the night to visit the village and neighboring pubs—when Elsie had been doing the same thing to meet a young man, and no one suspected it, not even Duff.
“That’s why ye always fought us on whether or not to go to Pinwherry and finish what we started,” Tamas accused.
Charlie’s smile softened on Shaw, silently thanking him for that.
“Shaw.” His father stood from his chair. His mother cast her a worried look. “How serious is this. What have you done?”
Shaw paled but straightened his shoulders and met his father’s gaze. “’Tis serious, Father. I love her.”
Charlie closed her eyes, half elated for her sister. The other half mourning the life they’d planned, the life Patrick MacGregor had made her doubt she wanted.
Tamas shouted an expletive. John quieted him.
“Are you telling me,” Cameron continued, “that you’ve been secretly courting a Cunningham and kept it from me?”
“I didn’t want you to think I had betrayed you. I know what they took from you.”
“And from you,” his father reminded him, keeping his temper in check. “From all of us. I will not lose another son to Allan Cunningham’s treachery.” He turned to Charlie and his gaze softened for a moment before hardening again. “Your father is a treacherous man. Tell your sister it is over.”
“I will not,” she said staring up at him, not caring who he was. “Let your son break her heart. I will not do it.”
He looked about to speak when Annie stepped in front of her husband. “Has Allan Cunningham also taken your good manners, Cam? And in front of Tristan’s son?”
He looked over Charlie’s shoulder at Patrick and then lowered his gaze.
“All of you,” Annie turned on the rest of them. “Charlotte Cunningham is here as our guest. She had nothing to do with Kendrick’s death, and I won’t have her insulted in my home.”
Like chastised puppies they looked away or lowered their heads.
Kendrick had adored his mother, and so had Charlie. She still did.
But she refused when Annie invited her to stay for supper. They still had at least four hours of daylight left and after her encounter with thieves earlier, she’d prefer not to travel so far in the dark. Besides the Fergussons had family matters to discuss and Charlie wasn’t part of their family.
After a sincere apology from Cameron Fergusson at the door and an embrace with Annie, Charlie left Tarrick Hall with Patrick.
“D’ye think Elsie loves him?” Patrick asked her as they rode.
“Aye. I worry to think how she’ll take it.” She blinked the mist from her eyes. “But I will help her get through it.”
“I know.”
She made the mistake of looking up into his verdant gaze. Oh, she could see every color of autumn glinting in his whiskers. His decadent lips curling into a smile while she admired him.
She had to keep a clear head. He’d lied to her. He was kin to her family’s greatest enemy. The hatred still festered on both sides. His uncle had proven it. His family at Camlochlin would hate her too.
“You think you know all about me, don’t you.”
He grinned, making her heart flip. “I know what’s important. That ye’re a kindhearted, compassionate lass who can fell a man with her smile or her stone. I know ye make me want to be a better man.”
She had no argument for that so she kicked her flanks and took off. Better not to consider forgiving him when there were so many reasons they could never be together.
They rode toward Pinwherry in silence. When Patrick veered from the road and entered the woods, Charlie followed, calling to him. “Why are we going this way?”
“’Tis a shortcut.”
He led them through the filtered sunlight of a forest alive with the chatter of birds, buzzing insects, and critters dashing into the summer bramble.
Charlie had never been in the forest. If she had to travel to a pub, she avoided the trees. This place was magical. She wanted to leap from her saddle and traipse on her bare feet like a woodland nymph, basking in her freedom—freedom Patrick always provided.
Soon, the trees began to thin out, finally leading them to a place Charlie often dreamed of.
Rarely cultivated, the muirs were overgrown and wild, tangled bushes of blackberry and currant lined most of the perimeter. Rabbits rested within the thick stalks, hidden from predators in the lush heather. Charlie took a moment to marvel at the lavender carpet spread out before her, aglow in splashes of sunlight and dragonflies.
When Patrick slowed his horse and dismounted, she wanted to run free. What were they doing here? What would she do if…
“Let’s walk a wee bit, aye?” He held his hand up to help her dismount.
She accepted and landed on her feet. “And discuss your secrets?”
His brow rose, along with one corner of his mouth. “If ye like.”
She nodded and walked beside him.
“Where would ye like to begin?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what difference any answer would make. You tell me that you care for me, but how do I know you’re not deceiving me again?”
He thought about his reply for a moment and then turned to her. “Before m’ uncle came upon us, ye said the rest of what I’d told ye didna matter. But ’tis the only thing that does matter. I know it must come as a shock fer ye to hear me speak such words. Imagine what is goin’ on in m’ head. All I want is to be with ye.” He smiled and shook his head as if what he’d just said was the most preposterous thing ever to come out of his mouth. “Ye’re all I think aboot,” he said, seeming to forget why he was smiling. His gaze intensified, colors changing in the golden light, breaking through her every defense. “Ye drive m’ every ambition, Charlie. I dinna know how it happened. There was me, and now there is only ye.”
Her knees threatened to give out beneath her. She believed him and it hit her like a wave, pulling her under. Patrick was telling her the truth. He was losing his heart to her.
“I’m no’ here to betray ye, or yer kin,” he told her. “I want to help end this feud. Dinna doubt me in that.”
If he could end it, they could be together. Elsie and Shaw could have the life they wanted. “I won’t,” she answered on a billowy sigh.
He made her insides burn. No other man would. She did her best to conceal the dreamy grin she wanted to offer him. Patrick was going to change her future, one way or another, whether he stayed or left without her.
What did winning his heart mean for Charlie? Would he take her to Camlochlin? Take her as his wife? But she couldn’t leave the villagers yet. Too many still needed her. Duff would be leaving too. There would be no one here to protect them from her father and Hendry.
She didn’t want to live her life pining over him if he left. But there were still things she needed to know.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” she asked, looking out over the muirs while they walked. “I understand that my own warning stopped you from revealing you were a Fergusson.” She turned to him. “But you knew what your being a Fergusson meant—about the feud, about Kendrick, about everything. You should have told me. You should have told Duff you were his cousin. Neither one of us would have turned you over to my father. And so what if we did? What could he do to you?”
“Yer faither didna matter to me,” he answered. “Ye did. I didna want to be yer enemy, or to be driven from yer home. I was mad. I still am. The longer I waited to tell ye the truth, the more difficult it became, and then when I found oot aboot Kendrick, I knew I’d lose ye if ye discovered m’ secrets.”
“I see,” she said while her stomach knotted and her blood felt hot in her veins. Why did his explanations pull at her heart and make her forget everything else?
“Ye have a reason no’ to believe me, but m’ words to ye now are true. I will prove them to ye. Will ye let me?”
He reached for her hand and she took it, loving the intimacy of it. “Aye, I’ll let you.”
They walked to a tall stand of heather, where Charlie dropped his hand and fell into the lush flora. She smiled up at Patrick with heather tickling her cheeks. She loved being here. She loved Patrick for bringing her.
“Is there heather at Camlochlin?” she asked him.
He nodded and sank down next her. “’Tis everywhere, outside the castle and inside. Every wife has bundles of it arranged on her night table, save one, who prefers orchids.”
“Every wife?” Charlie turned toward him and leaned up on her elbow. “Tell me why? Who picks the heather?”
“Their husbands,” he told her, lying beside her in the same position. “M’ grandfather started pickin’ it fer m’ grandmother when he brought her to Camlochlin as a symbol of his love fer her. Other husbands began doin’ it, and soon every lad was taught the art.”
“Art?”
“Aye, heather is verra difficult to gather. The flowers are delicate and the shoots are strong. Pull with a rough hand and ye lose the flowers, with too much hesitancy and the roots will not budge. M’ grandsire is said no’ to have ever lost a petal.”
“’Tis all verra romantic.”
“They think so.”
“You don’t?”
“What’s so romantic aboot flowers?”
“Nothing. The romance is in the picking. Didn’t you learn anything living among such men?”
He reached for her cheek and ran his knuckles over it. “I learned that ’tis possible fer a man’s heart to belong to one woman.”
She tossed him a playful smirk. “And you quickly rejected that notion.”
“I did,” he laughed, then slipped his hand around her nape and drew her mouth closer. “Until I met ye.”
Was it all true? Charlie hoped it was as Patrick pressed his lips to hers. Did she drive his ambitions? Oh, but if it were true…if it were true she would forgive him anything—promise him anything.
She’d already jumped over the precipice to be with him. It was time she started trusting him.
Abandoning her doubts, she pushed off her elbow and coiled her arms around his neck. He withdrew only to kiss her lips again before he devoured her. Oh, but he knew how to kiss. His mouth caressed hers, molded to her, angling to take her more deeply. He traced her with his tongue and nibbled her with his teeth.
She made no objection when they sank into the heather locked in passion’s embrace. She wanted him in her arms. She wanted his heart and everything that came with it.
She withdrew and looked up into his eyes. “Are you going to take me to Camlochlin?”
“Aye, lass.” He smiled at her and dragged the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “If ye still want to go.”
“I do,” she told him on a whispered breath. She didn’t care where he took her as long as he stayed with her.
He undressed her slowly, baring her skin to the late afternoon sun and heather-scented breeze…and his kisses. Modest in the light of day, she tried to cover herself with her arms, but he gently pulled them away, taking in the vision of her with something akin to worship in his gaze.
It emboldened her to lean up and pull him out of his shirt. When he helped her rid him of his breeches and boots, she kissed him running her palms over the hard planes of his back, thrilled and apprehensive that they were naked under the sun. She didn’t worry that they would be seen. No one from the village came to the muirs.
They were alone, the only two people in the world, and the world was theirs.