Chapter 9
For an instant, Cameron allowed himself to swear, loudly and vocally, as he gazed at the ripples spreading out from the spot where June had just vanished.
Then he wasted no further time.
In one swift motion, he shed his coat and kicked off his shoes. Without hesitation, he dove headfirst into the cool lakewater, cutting through the surface with a powerful stroke of his arms.
Beneath the water, the world was a blur of shadows. At first sunlight streamed in, illuminating his path. But soon the light faded and the water around him became murky and dim. His vision was obscured as he dove deeper, fighting against the weight of his body and the resistance of the water.
He began to feel the sense of dread most people feel when they enter a closed-in, suffocating, dark space. But returning to the surface without June? Utterly unthinkable.
It had felt as if a knife had pierced him when she fell from the boat. With every passing second that he did not find her, the knife twisted, becoming more and more excruciating.
He had just enough time to imagine his failure, to imagine returning to the manor for help dredging the lake for her lifeless body, when he spotted it.
A flicker of white.
With a surge of strength, he propelled towards her. She was sinking slowly, suspended in the water like a delicate white blossom. His hands closed around her waist as he pulled her close.
He swam upwards and broke through the surface of the water and into the open air with a gasp of relief.
There. The rowboat was not far off. Clutching June”s limp body to his chest, he kicked towards it with powerful strokes of his legs, fighting against the weight of their bodies which threatened to drag him down and under the pull of the water.
Reaching the rowboat at last, he heaved her up and over the side as gently as he could before hauling himself aboard.
She lay there, still and pale, her lips slightly parted. As cold and pale as the dead.
He stared at her for a moment, heart pounding with fear.
Then he pushed fear aside and kneeling beside her, brushed the damp tendrils of gold hair from her face, and hoisted her up and into his arms, tilting her head to the side so some of the water she had swallowed could trickle out.
There was no rise and fall to her chest.
Holding his breath, he pressed his ear to her heart, straining to hear even the faintest whisper of a heartbeat.
Nothing.
Cameron wracked his mind. Once, a few years back, he had attended a medical lecture once while visiting a friend in Edinburgh. The physician had spoken of using various instruments to re-inflate the lungs in cases of drowning or suffocation. Horns, bellows, air-filled bladders.
But Cameron had nothing like that.
He had only the fishing gear, the boat... and himself.
He looked down at June”s pale, lifeless form and steeled himself.
It was not conventional perhaps, but in the face of death, convention could go straight to hell.
He held her nostrils shut as the lecturing physician had instructed and then pressed his lips to her mouth, blowing hard. Once, twice, three times.
Was it his imagination or had he felt the faintest flutter beneath his fingers? A spark of hope grew within him.
He continued his ministrations. For another few agonizing moments, there was no sign that his efforts were having any effect.
Then, just as he was about to cease, he felt a shudder run through her body and a gasp of air escaped her lips. He pulled his mouth back just in time as June gave a great, shuddering sputter and began to cough up water.
With an exclamation of relief, Cameron watched as the color slowly began to return to her cheeks.
As gently as he could, he leaned her against the side of the rowboat, drew up the anchor and began to row as quickly as possible for the nearby shore.
She had been pulled back from the brink of death, but one look at her was all it took to see that she was still hovering on the threshold. Her cheeks showed a bit of pink but she was still unnaturally pale and her entire form shook as she reclined, dazed and silent, on the floor of the boat.
They reached the shore and in an instant, Cameron was leaping from the rowboat and pulling it high onto the pebbled beach. When that was done, he lifted June carefully up and out of the boat. Gently, he lay her on a soft patch of grass along the shore in the heat of the sun.
As he’d lifted her, he had noticed she was light. Lighter than she had been ten years ago. Most married men and women, he had found, became stouter with married life. Not so with June. Married life did not appear to agree with her, in more ways than one.
Cameron considered what to do next. It was generally believed most wise to strip a recently drowned person of all of their clothes, wrap them in blankets, and lay them in front of a roaring fire, all whilst rubbing their body, especially their back, belly, and breast. Cloths sprinkled with brandy or another volatile spirit were also to be placed on the person to give more heat.
Well, Cameron had no blankets and no cloths. And while the manor obviously had ample fireplaces, it was a great deal further away.
The sun was beating down on him now. He thought the heat would be good for June. Perhaps even as good as a roaring fire.
He sat down beside her in the grass. Her eyes were closed. He suspected she had fainted.
The white gown she wore was bedraggled now. It had peeled completely off one of her shoulders… revealing green and purple bruises that showed starkly against her pale flesh.
Feeling his entire body tense up at the sight of her injuries, he scanned lower. Further down her chest, he saw the tips of red welts, as if she had been lashed with a stick or a cane. Or a man’s leather belt.
If he had been at all cold from his dip in the lake, he was steaming with heat now.
Only June and her helplessness prevented him from rushing off and doing something reckless.
He forced himself to look away, knowing she would not have wanted him to see what he had seen. Gently slipping a hand beneath her back and lifting her a little, he wrapped his coat around her.
He sat like that for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Now, according to medical opinion, he should be rubbing her and ensuring she was warming up. But doing so would have involved touching her and touching her… Well, it would warm more than just June up.
Still, if it was what the lass needed for her health.
Taking a deep breath, Cameron leaned over and stroked his hands along June’s arms.
Her eyes popped open.
A vivid blue, those eyes. Like the heavens above.
“Oh, yer awake now, are ye?” The words came out a little accusing. He tried to temper his tone. “Ye fell into the lake. Do ye recall it?”
“I don’t think I shall ever forget it,” she murmured, pushing herself up with a wince to prop herself on her elbows.
He was still leaning over her, he realized, his face very close to hers. He sat back quickly and fished in one of his pockets. Ah, it was still there. Undoubtedly no worse for wear.
He pulled out a silver flask, unscrewed the lid, and held it out to her. “Ye should drink something. There’s no fire but this’ll warm ye.”
She reached out a hand and he saw it was still trembling. With a sigh of impatience, he slipped an arm around her again and sat her up. She leaned against him gratefully.
He felt a prickle of unease. Her body was soft and pliant. And more, it was familiar. She felt good pressed against him. Good and right.
He raised the flask to her lips and let her sip.
She coughed and sputtered as she took her first swallow. “Disgusting. What in God’s name is that, Cameron?”
She had used his Christian name he noted, a tingle running through him at the sound. No more of this “Your Grace”’ing.
“Highland moonshine,” he said, with a grin. “A tenant gave it to me.”
“As a gift or a curse?” she asked and he laughed aloud.
“Good to see ye feeling better, lass.”
“The moonshine is to thank, no doubt,” she said seriously, making him laugh again.
“Aye, I’ll reckon it is. I’ll have to tell my tenant that when I return.”
“Tell him the stuff is so powerful it can bring the dead back to life.” He flinched to hear her speak of it so lightly, but knew it was the shock. So she didn’t remember his lips on hers, breathing the breath of life back into her. Perhaps that was for the best.
“Do your tenants often give you gifts?” June asked curiously.
“Oh, aye, especially on rent day.”
“I suppose it helps to keep the favor of one’s laird,” she ventured.
He nodded. “There’s that, aye. And because ‘tis tradition. The laird gives gifts, too, ye ken.” He scratched his chin. “Well, customarily the laird’s lady gives them.”
“But you have no lady,” June pointed out softly.
“I dinna, nay. ‘Tis my lifelong sorrow.” He had meant the words to be jesting but as soon as they left his lips they seemed to hang in the air between them. He wished he could take them back, but it was too late.
“And mine,” June said, before he could say anything to try to clear the air. “Oh, Cameron, you have no idea.”
There were tears in her eyes, he noticed, and he felt the prick of futile wrath again.
“I saw them,” he said bluntly. “The marks of what he did to ye.” He gestured to her shoulders. She had tugged the coat more closely around her shoulders, hiding the bruises, but he had not forgotten them. He never would. “I told ye that ye were to tell me should the man touch ye in that way again.”
“Oh, Cameron,” she murmured and his heart fairly broke. “How could I? You ask too much.”
He struggled to control himself. None of this was her fault. It was only natural she should be afraid Cameron would only make things worse. “I ask too much? When he beats ye?”
He watched her take a deep breath. “At least it is only me whom he hurts right now.”
He felt angry. At her. “Aye, and that’s somehow supposed to make it better? It’s all right if he beats ye? Some men beat their wives to death, June.”
She paled and he felt grimly satisfied.
“Ye hadna thought of that then? But it happens. Every bloody day. I dinna wish to ever read of that happening to ye and I mean to make sure I dinna.”
“You can’t,” she said instantly. “You can’t do anything. What if he hurts you? I couldn’t stand it. Oh, Cameron, I couldn’t stand that. It would be worse than anything John does to me.”
He froze. “Is that what yer worried about?” He shook his head and tried his best to hide a smile. “Dinna fash. That willna happen.”
“No? Why not?”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, in case you didna already notice, lass, I’m near twice yer Englishman’s size, for one. And for two, I doubt the man knows a thing about fighting men–even one his own size. ‘Tis my experience that men who beat their wives…” He watched her flinch at the harsh words. “That men who beat their wives do so because they wish to prey on someone weaker than themselves.”
“Even so. John is a deadly shot.”
“I’m not so bad with a pistol meeself.” Cameron shrugged. “Not that it has to come to that.”
But secretly, he had already decided he didn’t care if it did. Though swords would be better. And fists would be better still. Aye, what he wouldn’t do to take his fists to John Fairchild.
“Perhaps I might have another sip of that moonshine,” June said, her voice small. “I believe I need it.”
He passed the flask over to her then glanced up at the blazing sun. “Ye need some water in ye, too.” He scrambled to his feet and fetched a flask from the basket in the boat.
When he returned, June was shucking his coat from her shoulders. She had pulled up the sleeves of her wet dress, hiding the bruises.
He stood still for a moment, looking down at her. Now that she had removed the coat, the wet white gown left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It clung to all the lush curves of her body, revealing every hill, every peak. Her breasts were luscious beneath the damp fabric. Small curving mounds topped with ripe pebbled nipples.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, and he realized he had been staring longer than he’d intended.
“You,” he said simply.
“And?” She tilted her head like a curious bird. “What about me?”
“Well, yer soaked to the skin, lassie,” he said frankly, deciding not to bother to dissemble. After all, his cock was stiff already so why not? “That gown hides nothing. From yer pink pebbled nipples–” She let out a squeak and picked up the coat again quickly. “–to the curling dark hair of your nether regions.”
“You can’t possibly see that,” she said indignantly. Still, she glanced down at herself self-consciously and pulled the coat lower.
“Mayhaps I canna. But I recall it all easily,” he said with a roguish grin. “All in all, the picture is one of sheer perfection.”
Perhaps it was the moonshine talking but he let himself dare to go a step further.
“Ye asked what I was thinking and in my mind I was thinking of just what I’d like to do to ye. Peel off yer gown and suckle on yer wet breasts. Push my hard cock inside of ye–” He was delighted to hear her gasp. Was it with indignation or simply mere shock? “–and make ye cry out in bliss, as ye lie against the green grass with sunlight dappling your skin, wet and bare beneath me, moaning aloud again and again as I give you pleasure.”
She hadn’t stopped him yet so he on he went. “Then, I’d lower myself down between your thighs and place my mouth…”
“Enough, Cameron. Please, enough.” She was holding up a hand. She did not look angry. Her expression was, if anything, one of fatigue.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound repentant. “That wasna appropriate.”
“Certainly not. But that wasn’t why I asked you to stop.”
“It wasna?”
“No, of course not.” She sighed and, putting a hand to her forehead, pushed some strands of fine golden hair away. “We’re far past that. You’ve seen every inch of me, after all. And I you.”
“I seem to recall it,” he admitted. He would never forget the sight of eighteen-year-old June lying naked in a field.
“No, that isn’t why you must stop,” she went on. “It’s because if you continue, I won’t be able to bear it.”
His heart skipped a beat.
“I know you said you came here for revenge. Well, perhaps you’re taking the best revenge possible without even knowing it,” she said slowly. “For surely you must know that I want nothing better than for you to do everything you’ve just described.” She shook her head. “But to do so would be wrong. We both know that.”
He stared at her. “Ye still want me?”
“Want you?” She gave a bitter laugh and turned her head to look out across the lake. “I suppose we’re far past pretense. If you’re really here to simply hurt me, I have no more safeguards. My walls are down, Cameron. Hurt me if you wish to.”
“I have nay wish to hurt ye, lass,” he said, his voice fairly cracking with emotion. “‘Tis easy enough to see ye’ve been hurt enough. And by the one who should be keeping ye safe.”
“Yes, well.” She blew a strand of hair off her face. “Life doesn’t go as one hopes. We both know that. As for wanting you? I’ve never stopped. My heart is yours, Cameron. It will always be yours. For a while, I convinced myself I could somehow stop loving you. Heaven knows I tried. But seeing you again, here…” Her voice broke and she paused. “That moment in the gazebo. Knowing you were alive and well and always had been. Something in me that I thought was dead sparked to life.”
He said nothing. But he understood. He had felt it, too. A glimmer. A spark. Call it what you will.
Hope.
“I still can’t believe you never married,” she said softly, shaking her head and looking at him. “Perhaps now that we’ve seen each other and you’ve heard my side of things it will bring you some peace. I know what the column said. That you’re a…a rake.” Her expression was briefly wretched. She blinked her eyes quickly. “But maybe now you’ll be able to find the right woman. For your sake, I will hope so, Cameron. I truly wish you to be happy. If one of us can find some measure of happiness in this life, it will bring me real joy.”
Something twisted in his heart. “I doubt it,” he said, with directness. “There’s only one woman for me, I’m afraid. And she’s wed to another.”
They looked at one another then, drinking their fill.
The summer day slowly ticked by.
“Very well,” June whispered finally. “One kiss. May we not have that much? One kiss.”