Lucky for him, the scum was out of reach.
“You didn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “And truth be told, I would happily ruin my boots to hold you again.” He moved closer. “May I kiss you again, Clarice?”
She bit her lip, for all the world looking like she didn’t believe him.
He wouldn’t press her, not now when she looked so cold and miserable. Moving to the other bench, he sighed and picked up the oars. With strokes made powerful by frustration, the boat was soon slicing through the water toward the docks.
“Tell me, Clarice,” he asked presently, “if you cannot swim, why weren’t you frightened when you fell?”
Her words were long in coming, and when they finally did, it was with a kind of wonder, as though she surprised herself with her answer. “I knew you would come after me,” she said simply.
Progress, he decided. It would have to do for now.
EIGHT
“I’M THINKING . . .” The horse in the stall before him flicked its tail, and Cameron forced his mind back to the discussion. “I’m thinking if I cross our Highland ponies with some of this stock, then—”
“Why’re you hanging around here, Cam?” Caithren grinned and took her cousin’s hand, pulling him out of Cainewood’s stables. “It’s obvious your head is somewhere else.”
“I wanted to study English breeding methods.” He followed her along the path back to the castle. “And the estate manager’s theories pertaining to crops—why, there are all sorts of newfangled ideas that bear exploring, as long as I’ve taken the time to remain here in England until—”
“Cam.” Caithren paused on the trodden grass that led through a meadow sprinkled with yellow buttercups, her smile all too knowing. “You don’t want to talk about crops.”
“Nay?” Cameron sneezed, then rubbed a finger under his nose. “Do you know, then, who around here might be considered the expert on sheep—”
“You’re not wanting to talk about sheep, either.”
He remained mute, cocking one sandy brow.
“You’ve been distracted all afternoon,” she declared. He’d never been able to hide much from Cait. “Would you rather be somewhere else?”
“Nay. Nay, of course not.” He almost reached to tug one of her plaits—an old gesture of affection between them—before remembering she now wore her hair loose to please her husband. He crossed his arms instead. “How is married life treating you, Cait?”
“So far I like it.” She turned and started ambling over the drawbridge, her straight hair fluttering in her wake. “Very much,” she called back, laughter in her voice.
Following her, his boots sounded loud on the timeworn wood. “I’m going to miss you.” They’d been there for each other, always. “I can hardly imagine returning to Leslie alone.”
“You need someone to share it with.” Exactly what he’d been thinking, but he could all but hear the wheels turning in her head. And they weren’t running the same direction his did. “There is always Lady Nessa.”
“She wouldn’t have me when I was plain Cameron Leslie—”
“But now you’re the laird, Cam.” Caithren stopped beneath the barbican and turned to him.
“Exactly.” He blinked at her in the shadows. “Whatever feelings I had for Nessa died when she laughed at the thought of ever marrying me. She is sleekit, but cold underneath, aye? I won’t be going back to her now.”
His gaze drifted up to the massive portcullis overhead. The iron-banded gate would kill him instantly should it fall. Indeed, he would prefer such a fate to life with Lady Nessa.
“And the village lasses?” She grinned and started walking again, backward this time, avidly watching his face. “I can think of more than a couple who are anything but cold. You’ve shared a kiss or two with some of them, aye?”
He reached for her shoulders and spun her to face away. “I won’t be saying.” He heard Caithren’s hoot of laughter. “But there’s none of them I can picture spending my life with, regardless.” He trailed her into the quadrangle and up the winding stairs of the old keep, all the while picturing spending his life with a certain someone who waited in a small white cottage. “I want somebody like Clarice—I mean, Mrs. Bradford.”
His statement seemed to vibrate through the ancient stones, and his cousin’s feet faltered on the steps. “You mean you want Clarice herself, don’t you?” He could hear the smile in her voice as she climbed. “Don’t trouble yourself to argue—I saw you two together at my wedding. Does it not bother you that she’s been married before?”
“If I were thinking of having her, nay, it wouldn’t bother me.” They passed beneath an archway and onto a long stretch of wall walk that circumnavigated much of the castle. “She didn’t have an easy time of that marriage, Cait. Not that I’m planning to take her home with me, you understand, but it’s the truth I’ve found myself wondering if maybe I could make her happy. And Mary. She’s a precious lass, and she’s had a hard life.”
It was quiet up on the wall, and the view stretched for miles, lush and green. “You shouldn’t marry someone to right past wrongs,” Cait said softly. “Or even to make her happy. You should marry for your own reasons. If marriage is what you’re thinking you want, you need selfish reasons, if I may say so.”
“I have my own reasons. But they don’t matter, since Cl—Mrs. Bradford—won’t consider my suit. Not that I’ve been trying to court her. That would be daft, would it not? I’m leaving in four days.” He crossed to the side facing the castle. “She thinks she’s too old for me.”
Though Caithren remained on the other side, he could feel her gaze on his back. “What do you think, Cam?”
“I think she’s lovely and sweet, and a strong person who isn’t afraid of hard work. Life at Leslie isn’t easy, as you well know. It’s no Cainewood.” He gestured to the
