"Payton is in the practice field and I believe his sisters were going out to the courtyard behind the kitchens to see if the apples are ready for picking. They've a mind to ha'e Cook make them apple tarts."
"Ah," Cam said with a faint smile as he settled on the bench beside Joan so that she sat between him and Ross. It was then he noted the bulge of the scroll she had kept tucked in her tunic through most of the journey. The only time she'd removed it since his suggestion that she keep it there was when she wasn't wearing the tunic. They'd always been careful to roll it in the cloth though to keep it safe then . . . well, there had been a time or two when they'd been a little too distracted to bother, he acknowledged, and for a moment he was awash in memories of those times when passion had overwhelmed them both.
At least, Cam had thought at the time that they were both overwhelmed by passion, but now he wondered if Joan had truly felt anything at all, or if she'd been feigning enjoyment to please him and gain his aid. For Cam, their passion had been all consuming and addictive. He not only wanted it to continue, he felt as if he needed it, as if he wouldn't be truly alive without her nearby. She, apparently, didn't feel the same way, he thought grimly, and then glanced around at the sound of the kitchen door squeaking open. Annabel was returning with two servants on her heels; one carried a pitcher and tankards, and the other bore a tray with pastries on it.
"Here we are," Annabel said brightly as she reached the table and settled on the bench beside her husband.
Cam smiled at the woman. He'd known Lady Annabel most of his life. She was at least four decades old, but had aged well. Still, she had aged in the twenty years since he'd first met her as a boy. Her always curvy figure had grown a little rounder, her dark hair was now dusted lightly with gray, and her pretty face held the traces of laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Despite that, he thought she was a beautiful woman, but then he knew her to be kind and caring and perhaps that colored his perceptions.
His gaze slid next to Joan and he let his eyes travel over her face. She had healed during the journey. The swelling was long gone and only the faintest hint of bruising now remained. What was left was a woman as beautiful to him as Lady Annabel. When he had seen her, Joan's eyes had been so swollen they had appeared slits. Now they were large and wide open, revealing that they were a beautiful blue gray color. The cut on her nose had healed but left a small scar that would fade with age, but it was small, barely noticeable to him, and the cut to her lip had healed as well, leaving a similar faint line. Her mouth was beautiful just the same, well formed and full enough that did he not know better, Cam would have thought they were still a little swollen.
"So," Ross said once the servants had finished setting food and drink before them and headed back toward the kitchens. "Joan has a message fer ye."
"For me?" Lady Annabel asked with amazement. "Who would send me a message?"
"Her mother," Ross answered. "Maggie Chartres."
Annabel frowned, but then shook her head and said, "I do not know that name."
Ross nodded as if he'd expected as much and then turned to glance at Joan expectantly. "The message?"
"Oh," Joan murmured suddenly and stood up.
"Is something amiss?" Ross asked, eyebrows rising.
"Nay, I just . . ." Joan flushed, her hand rising to cup the scroll through her shirt. She then grimaced, shook her head, stepped over the bench and moved a couple feet away.
"She kept it on her person to keep it safe durin' the journey," Cam explained quietly when Laird and Lady MacKay stared after Joan with curiosity. "When I came upon her on the road, bandits were trying to steal her bag with the message in it, so I suggested she tuck it in her tunic instead."
"Ah," Lady Annabel murmured with understanding while her husband merely nodded and relaxed.
Cam glanced back to Joan then, noting that she had the scroll out, but was just standing there staring at it. After a hesitation, he stood and moved over to join her. "Is something amiss?"
Joan glanced up, a startled look on her face, almost as if she'd forgotten he was there, Cam thought. But after a moment she shook her head. "Nay. I just . . . my mother . . ."
She ducked her head to hide the tears that suddenly swam into her eyes and Cam almost sighed to himself. He was angry and hurt just now, but couldn't stand by and watch her suffer without trying to comfort her. Mouth tightening, he pulled her against his chest to pat her back awkwardly. " 'Tis all right."
"I don't know why I'm getting all weepy," Joan sniffled against his chest.
"Ye've carried that message since yer mother's death," he pointed out. " 'Tis yer last connection to her. O' course ye'll feel sad giving it up."
"Aye," Joan muttered, raising a hand to dash at the tears on her face. He was right of course, this was the last connection she had to her mother, and she was experiencing some grief at having to give it up. But it was more than that. Delivering this message had been her sole purpose since her mother's death. Once she handed it over, that duty would be done. She would no longer have a purpose and Joan had no idea where she would go when she left here. Friar Wendell had made it plain she was not needed in Grimsby. She had no home to go to. No family to take her in. And on top of all that, handing over this message truly meant the end of her link with Cam too. He had promised to see her safely here and he had. He could leave anytime. In fact, she was still surprised that he hadn't already left. But once she handed over the scroll that would surely be the end of everything between them.
All of that combined made her want to just sit down and weep. Instead, Joan took a deep breath, wiped the tears from her face again and straightened her shoulders. Lifting her face, she nodded solemnly at Cam. "Thank you. For everything."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then abruptly snapped it shut, nodded stiffly and gestured for her to lead the way back to the table.
Joan hesitated, wanting to say something, anything to ease his stiff expression and make him at least smile, if not laugh. But she suspected the only thing that would accomplish that was to agree to go to Sinclair with him and she couldn't do that. She just couldn't, so sighing, she nodded and turned to walk back to the table.
"Thank you," Annabel murmured, taking the scroll when Joan stopped behind her and held it out.
Joan merely nodded and moved back to reclaim her seat beside Laird MacKay. The moment she was seated, Cam settled beside her. She noted that he turned to watch Lady Annabel open the scroll then. Laird MacKay was watching his wife curiously as well. Joan just picked up her drink and took a sip. She was curious too as to what was in the message, but didn't expect to find out. Her own mother had refused to tell her. Why would Lady Annabel?
A gasp from Lady Annabel made Joan set her drink back and glance to the woman.
"What is it?" Ross asked, concern drawing his brows together.
"Maggie Chartres was a healer in Bedfordshire. She served the village and Elstow Abbey. She knew my sister, Kate," Annabel murmured, her eyes still moving swiftly over the words written on the scroll.
"Hmm," Ross muttered, not seeming happy at this news. He then turned to Joan almost accusingly. "Ye said ye were from Grimsby. Ye made no mention o' Bedfordshire or Elstow Abbey."
"We lived in Grimsby all my life," Joan said helplessly. "And my mother never made mention of Bedfordshire or Elstow Abbey."
Ross scowled, but glanced back to his wife as she whispered, "Oh no."
"What's about?" he asked at once, and looked braced for anything.
"Kate died twenty years ago," Annabel whispered, still reading.
Much to Joan's surprise, Laird MacKay actually looked relieved at this news and said, "Well at least we'll no' ha'e to worry about her coming here to cause trouble again."
When Joan instinctively glanced wide-eyed to Cam, he tipped his head to hers and murmured, "She robbed them and tried to kill Lady Annabel when she and Ross were first married."
Joan gaped at this news, but then glanced sharply to Lady Annabel whe
n she gasped again.
"What?" Laird MacKay asked sharply and the man was clenching his hands as if fighting the urge to snatch the message from his wife and read it for himself.
"She was with child when she got to the abbey. Grant's child," Annabel said, still reading. "She died on the birthing bed."
Ross MacKay stiffened and then turned slowly to stare at Joan, an odd expression on his face.
She shifted uncomfortably under his stare, unsure of the reason for it.
"The abbess wrote to Mother and Father at the time to let them know, but they responded that the only daughter they had was me. Kate was dead to them and they were not going to be saddled with the burden of her child," Annabel continued grimly, anger flashing across her face.
"Bastards," Ross breathed, still staring at Joan.
"Maggie suggested the abbess write to me to tell me of Kate's death and the baby, but the abbess refused," Lady Annabel said, sounding horrified as she continued narrating. "She said we had paid for Kate to be taken away and would hardly be interested in her daughter. She also said that while the abbey had been given a dower to take in Kate, she did not feel any responsibility toward Kate's offspring and had no intention of raising her."
"Old bitch," Ross muttered, still staring at Joan.
"So she gave her to Maggie to take away," Annabel continued as she read. "And Maggie . . ."
Joan tore her gaze from Laird MacKay's strange stare and glanced curiously to his wife when she paused. Lady MacKay continued reading for a moment and then lowered the scroll and lifted her head to peer straight at her.
It was Laird MacKay who guessed, "And Maggie named the babe Joan and raised her as her own."
Chapter 8
"WHAT?" JOAN ACTUALLY LAUGHED AT THE SUGGESTION, a short nervous laugh, but a laugh just the same. The idea was just so ridiculous. She shook her head. "Nay. I am Maggie Chartres's daughter, not this Kate person's," she assured him.
"Ye remember I said ye put me in mind o' someone, do ye no'?" Laird MacKay asked quietly. "Well, I kenned who, the minute me wife mentioned Kate was with child when she got to the abbey. Ye're the spitting image o' yer mother."
Joan shook her head in denial, and then glanced up with a start when Annabel was suddenly behind her.
"My husband is right. You are a mirror image of Kate," the woman said solemnly.
Still shaking her head, Joan stood to avoid having to crane her head so far around and took a step back from the woman. "My mother was Maggie Chartres. She raised me."
"Aye, Maggie raised you and loved you as a daughter, but you were born from my sister," Annabel said quietly. "You are Kate's daughter with her husband Grant. My niece."
"Nay," Joan insisted, backing away another step as if distance would make her denial true. "She would have told me."
"She did not wish to see you hurt," Annabel said softly. "My parents had rejected you and she feared we would as well. She ended her letter saying that she had never planned to tell you, ever, but when she realized she was dying and that you would be left alone in this world, she decided to send you to us with this message. She asked that if we felt as my parents did and had no interest in claiming you, to please simply send you on your way so that you would never know that you were not wanted."
Joan simply stared at her blankly, her mind struggling to accept what she was being told. Her mother wasn't her mother? She was the child of Lady MacKay's sister, Kate? A woman who had apparently tried to kill the kind woman before her. Joan turned abruptly away to head for the keep doors. "I should go. I've delivered the message and should let you be now."
"Nay," Annabel protested, catching her hand and stopping her. "You cannot go."
Joan turned back and peered at her with bewilderment. "Why? If it's true that your sister was my mother, you can't want me here. Cam said she tried to kill you."
When Annabel turned to scowl at Cam at this news, he grimaced apologetically. "Sorry. I did no' ken she was her daughter when I said it."
Annabel sighed and then turned back to Joan and squeezed her hands gently. "That was a very long time ago, Joan, and your mother was just . . ." she hesitated briefly and then finished, "confused."
Ross snorted, but stood abruptly when his wife glared at him and moved to join them.
"I would no' say yer mother was confused exactly, but me wife's right, it was a long time ago. And it does no' matter anyway. We do no' hold ye responsible fer yer mother's actions. Ye're our niece. Family . . . and ye're welcome here."
"See." Annabel beamed at her husband, her smile just as wide when she turned to Joan. Squeezing her hands, she announced, "You will stay here. Your cousins will be so pleased to meet you and--" She paused abruptly, eyes widening. "Oh dear. We should see you bathed and changed before they--" Halting again, she turned to her husband, mouth opening.
"I'll ha'e the maids bring up the bath," Ross said before she could say anything.
"Thank you, husband." Annabel leaned up to kiss his cheek. Taking Joan's arm then, she began to usher her toward the stairs, adding, "Have them bring it to the empty room. Joan can have it for her own."
"Ye'd best put her in Kenna's room fer now," Ross countered. "Cam will be in the empty room."
"Oh." Annabel paused to turn back and Joan did as well, as surprised at this news as the older woman proved to be when she said, "I am sorry, Cam. I did not realize you were staying."
"I had no' realized either when I first arrived," Cam said quietly.
"Oh, I see," Lady Annabel said, but her expression made it clear she didn't understand. Neither did Joan. She really had thought he'd leave now and this was the last thing she'd expected. Well, no, not the last thing, she acknowledged. The last thing she could have expected was learning that her mother wasn't her mother and she was a niece to the MacKays.
Her mind still grappling with this knowledge, Joan let her worries about what Cam was or wasn't doing slip away for now and listened as Lady Annabel announced that she was about the same size as her daughter Annella and could borrow one of the girl's gowns until they could make her some of her own. And while she couldn't sleep in the empty room until Cam left, she could move into it then and it would be hers.
Family, expensive gowns, her very own room . . . it was enough to make a girl dizzy, at least a girl who had grown up in a hut that was simply one room with a fire in the corner, a rickety old table, two chairs and space to lay out pallets for herself and her mother at night. A hut that had stopped being her home when her mother, her last surviving family as far as she'd known, had died. Until moments ago Joan had been without family, possessing nothing but the clothes on her back and the herbs in her bag, and now . . .
She shook her head with bewilderment, overwhelmed by the changes taking place so swiftly in her life.
Cam watched Joan until she disappeared into one of the rooms on the upper landing with Lady Annabel, and then turned slowly to find Ross watching him.
"Ye ken why ye're staying?" the older man asked.
"Aye," Cam said simply.
Laird MacKay cocked his head and eyed him with interest. "Ye're no' going to protest that ye did no' ken she was me niece so should no' bear the consequences?"
"Nay," he answered and shrugged. "That matters little. She is yer niece. I took her innocence, and I shall marry her."
Ross relaxed and gestured to the trestle table. "Sit down and drink yer ale. I've no doubt ye need it about now. I'll jest order the bath fer Joan and warn the cook to prepare a feast and then join ye. I could do with an ale or ten after today's revelations meself." Shaking his head, he turned away and headed for the kitchens muttering, "Kate had a daughter. I hope to hell she's nothing like her."
Cam winced at those words, then moved to sit at the trestle table again. He didn't pick up his mug right away though. He was feeling a little peculiar at the moment and just sat waiting for his world to right itself. Cam had known the moment Ross guessed that Maggie Chartres had kept Kate's child, named her Joan, and rai
sed her as her own that he was right. He'd also known in that moment that he'd have to marry the lass. As he'd said, she was the MacKay's niece. He'd taken her innocence. Ergo, honor demanded he marry her. It was that simple.
What wasn't so simple was how he felt about that.
In truth, Cam wasn't at all sure how he felt. He supposed he should be happy. He had wanted to keep Joan with him and their having to marry certainly ensured that would happen. On the other hand, she'd rejected his request that she come to Sinclair with him, and hadn't just refused, but when he'd said he didn't want what they had to end, she had responded with, "But I do." Though Cam was loathe to admit it, more than his pride had been hurt by those words. Yet now they were to marry.
And how would she feel about that? he wondered. Cam suspected Joan didn't yet realize the plans her uncle had for them. She'd seemed so overwhelmed by everything she'd learned that he doubted it would occur to her that they would be expected to marry until someone told her. It left him wondering how she would react.
She might be pleased, he acknowledged. He was a wealthy man, the heir to a very powerful Scottish laird. Her life would be much different from now on. She would go from being a poor peasant to having riches, servants, and eventually, several castles . . .
Aye, she might be more willing to suffer his presence with all that on offer. Unfortunately, Cam wanted her to want him, not the wealth and comfort he could give her. However, neither of them had a choice now.
"OH MY," LADY ANNABEL BREATHED AS SHE stood back to look at her.
Joan peered at her uncertainly. She'd been bathed, perfumed and dressed, and had sat still while her hair was brushed dry and pinned up on top of her head in a fashion that was bloody uncomfortable. She only hoped it looked better than it felt because it felt like torture and it had all seemed to take forever. She didn't know how Lady Annabel could stand all the fuss let alone having her hair like this.
"You look so like your mother," Lady Annabel said softly.
Joan shifted uncomfortably. Lady Annabel meant her sister, Kate, but while they could insist that woman was her mother, in her mind, Joan would always be the daughter of Maggie Chartres.
"I think you may be a little lovelier though," Annabel said thoughtfully. "Perhaps 'tis because you have a natural kindness she lacked."