The Laird’s Vow #2
Uncle Charles, however, only cared about access to France, and that was by boat, not road.
Cameron stared at the devastation. He’d have to return the way he’d come, and leave by the westerly border. Hours more travel and they’d still be on the estate.
“Give it up, Cam.” His cousin Donald touched his arm. “We’ve no choice but to turn back now. It’ll be dark before we even get home.”
“I’ll no’ go home wi’ my tail between my legs,” Cameron muttered, though in truth he could see no other alternative. “And I’ll not leave the estate in my uncle’s hands a day longer than I must.”
“There’s naught you can do wi’ the bridge in that state, though, is there?” Donald said reasonably. “Ye canna cross it, ye must go back.”
“Dammit, I can see that!” Thwarted and furious, Cameron glared at the bridge.
Hearing laughter behind him, he turned to see his cousin Jimmy swigging whisky and chuckling at the spectacle of the boy still trying to drag his wretched sheep from the bog.
The large, ungainly animal was plunging deeper into the bog, struggling desperately, as if the lad were trying to drown it instead of saving it.
From where Cameron stood, the sheep was winning.
Both lad and beast were black mud to the eyebrows.
And on the far side of the struggle the remaining small lamb was sinking fast.
“Make yourself useful, will ye Jimmy? Give the lad a hand.”
“And get my new boots filled with black mud?” Jimmy snorted. “Not likely.”
Cameron glanced at Donald, who shrugged and made no move. The lad fell for the third time. The tiny lamb struggled to keep its head above the muddy water.
Cameron swore, swung off his horse and waded in. He scooped the lamb out first and set it on its feet beside its twin. Then he hauled the boy out, shoving him close to the bank. “Jimmy! Pull him out.”
Jimmy dismounted, gingerly took the boy’s dirty hands and dragged him on to the solid causeway. Cameron waded back in and tried to fetch the mother sheep. The stupid thing bucked and fought, and in seconds Cameron himself was black with bog mud.
His cousins watched from the bank, passing the flask back and forth, making bets and roaring with laughter.
But Cameron was strong and big and angry. He wrapped his arms around the sheep’s middle and heaved, almost throwing the filthy beast on to the bank, causing his cousins to leap back like ladies to avoid the mud. The sheep shook itself, bleated and trotted indignantly away, followed by the lambs.
Cameron’s cousins were laughing fit to burst. He’d fix them. “Help me out.” He held out his hands, but they laughed and backed away.
“We’re no so far gone we’d fall for that old trick,” Jimmy chuckled.
“Canny bastards,” Cameron muttered as climbed out of the bog, black mud dripping from him. “And if there’s no whisky left in that flask, I swear I’ll throw you in anyway.”
Laughing, Jimmy tossed him the flask. Cameron was about to drain it when he saw how the shepherd lad was shivering in the cold. He thrust it towards the boy, saying, “Here, you need this more than me.”
The boy accepted it with a surprised expression and took a quick swig. He shuddered violently as the whisky went down, but managed to gasp out his thanks.
“So, boy,” Cameron said. “What’s your name?”
His cousins guffawed. The shepherd boy gave a quick grin, a cheeky white slash in a muddy face.
“Jeannie Macleay, sir, and thank you for getting the sheep out o’ the mud, even if you did panic the beasts in the first place.
My uncle would’ve kilt me if I’d lost her.
” She tried to wipe the mud off her face with her sleeve and only smeared it more.
“Jeannie?” Cameron stared. The coat she wore was a man’s coat, too big for her, rolled up at the sleeves and hanging down almost to her ankles, but though it was hard to tell because of the mud, there was a skirt beneath it.
The boots she wore were a man’s boots, too big, surely for her feet and the hat crammed on her head was a man’s hat.
“Are ye married, Jeannie?” Jimmy asked, suddenly intent.
She frowned. “No,” she said cautiously.
“And where were ye born?”
“Stop that!” Cameron snapped, realizing what his cousin was up to.
Jimmy gave him an innocent look. “No harm in asking.”
“Drop it, Jimmy,” Cameron told his cousin. He was not going to marry some ragamuffin he’d just dragged out of a bog.
“She’s the first one you’ve seen,” Jimmy insisted.
“The first what?” the girl demanded.
“He couldna take her anyway,” Donald argued. “She’s just a wee thing, no’ a grown woman.”
“Take me where? Nobody’s taking me anywhere.”
“Stow it you two, the whole idea’s ridiculous,” Cameron said. His cousins took no notice. There was a bet on and the contents of the flask were obviously well absorbed.
“How old are you, Jeannie lass?” Jimmy asked.
“Nineteen,” Jeannie Macleay said, eying each man suspiciously. “But I said, nobody’s taking me anywhere.” She began to edge away.
Jimmy grabbed her by the arm, careless now of any mud, intent only on his wager. “And where were you born, Jeannie, me dear?”
“I’m no’ your dear.” She yanked her arm from his grip and hurried away, flinging over her shoulder, “And not that it’s any of your business, but I was born on the island of Lewis.”
At her words, Jimmy let out a whoop of triumph and punched his brother in the shoulder. “Lewis! She’s eligible! You owe me a monkey, Donald!”
“The bet’s not won until the deed is done,” Donald insisted. “Cameron’s yet to wed her.”
“He will, he will,” Jimmy crowed.
Donald snorted. “It’s a crazy notion, and Cameron’s no the crazy one here.”
Jimmy shook his head. “He gave his word, man, and Cameron never goes back on his word.”
The girl followed her sheep, putting as much distance between herself and the men as she could, running swiftly despite the clumsy, man-sized boots. Cameron watched her thoughtfully.
When he’d made his rash statement he had no thought of wedding anyone except a lady born. This bog sprite shepherdess was totally unsuitable.
But he’d never broken his word before. Rashness gave way to serious thought; there might be wives to be had in Inverness – ladies – but how long would it take to get one to wed him? And how much would his uncle squander in the meantime?
Jimmy grabbed him by the shoulder. “Well, Cammie, will ye wed her or no? There’s a bet on.”
Cameron swore softly under his breath. The girl was young, unmarried and born outside the estate.
What difference would it make anyway who he wed?
Women were for running the house and birthing babes and any female could do that.
Getting control of his inheritance was what counted.
Besides, the little he knew of ladies born was that they were a lot of trouble.
They expected a man to dance attendance on them, whereas a lass like this, country bred and down-to-earth …
She floundered in the mud. Very down-to-earth.
“Aye, I’ll wed her,” he declared.
“Aha—” Jimmy began, then let out a yell. “She’s getting away. Don’t worry, Cam, I’ll get her back for ye.” And without warning he jumped on his horse and galloped after the girl.
“Och, the mad fool,” Donald began. “Whatever will she think—”
Cameron leapt on his horse and set off after Jimmy.
The girl, seeing Jimmy bearing down on her, screamed defiance at him and ran faster. Jimmy let out a whoop, as if he was running down a hind.
“Leave her be, Jimmy,” Cameron roared.
But Jimmy was almost on the girl and oblivious. With a bloodcurdling yell he scooped her up and tossed her over his saddle. She fought and struggled but Jimmy just laughed and smacked her on the backside as he wheeled his horse around and cantered back to Cameron with a triumphant grin.
“I fetched her for ye – yeeeowww!” He broke off with a yell of pain. He stared down at the girl in shock. “She bit me! The wee vixen bit me!”
The wee vixen moved to bite his leg again and Jimmy hastily shoved her off his horse. She dropped lightly to the ground and glanced warily around, preparing to run again.
“There’s no need to be afeared,” Cameron said hastily. He dismounted and took a few slow steps towards her, holding his hands up pacifically, saying in a soothing voice, “Nobody here will harm you. My cousin is a wee bit enthusiastic, that’s all—”
“He’s drunk,” the girl said, backing away.
“Maybe, but he meant well,” Cameron told her.
She snorted. “Meant well? To kidnap me in broad daylight?”
“Nobody’s going to kidnap you,” Cameron assured her softly and moved closer. She backed away and glanced at the bog, as if weighing her chances of escaping across it.
“Ye daft wee besom, he wants tae marry you,” Jimmy said, still rubbing his leg.
She snorted. “He’s drunker than I thought.”
It was now or never, Cameron thought. He cleared his throat. “It’s true,” he said. It came out as a croak.
She made a gesture of disgust. “You’re drunk, too.”
“I’m not. I’m offering you marriage.” There it was out. He was officially crazy. But at least he’d get control of his inheritance.
Away on the moors a curlew called, a mournful, other-wordly cry. The wind blew across the bog, carrying the scent of heather and dank, rotting mud.
The girl scrutinized his face, then turned to look at each of his cousins. “Marriage?” she said eventually. “You’re proposing marriage to me? To me?”
Cameron nodded. “Aye.”
In her dirty, mud-streaked face, her blue eyes gleamed bright with suspicion. “Why?”
Cameron shrugged. “I must marry someone. Why not you?” It was ridiculous when said aloud, but with the eyes of his cousins on him, he wasn’t going to back down. He’d never broken his word yet.
But he might not have to. The girl could still refuse. He waited.
Down the road the girl’s sheepdog barked. A sheep baaed in response. “You’re tetched in the head,” she told him. “You canna mean such a thing. Why, you never set eyes on me before today.”
“It sounds mad, I know, but it’s an honest offer I’m making ye,” Cameron told her.