She glanced up to ask Mr. Leslie, but he was already too distant and Mary was happily chatting away. She wondered if perhaps she’d lost her daughter to this stranger.
Mary had always dreamed of being a princess.
TWO
CAMERON LESLIE was known to be a wee bit quiet. A lad of simple needs, he didn’t want for much. But when he did find something he wanted, he generally got it.
At the moment he was wanting Clarice Bradford. Or his body was, at least. His head told him he couldn’t come to that conclusion following a five-minute conversation.
Heavens, he mused as he led Mary up the steps to his cousin’s chamber, in all his nineteen years he’d never met a lass like Clarice. Nay, not a lass—a woman, with her quiet dignity, her wholesome beauty, the depth in her large gray eyes. She was vastly different from the girls his age, though she couldn’t be more than a handful of years older. Vastly different and so much more.
Was it because she had a daughter? he wondered, squeezing the small hand he held. Mary giggled. She was a delight, and clearly adored by her mother.
Nay, Cam decided. He’d met plenty of young mothers—some younger than Mary’s—and none of them were like Clarice. She was special.
A pity his time here in England was so short. He wanted to get to know Clarice, but he had less than a week before he needed to head home to Scotland.
Deciding he would persuade her to spend some time with him anyway, he knocked on his cousin’s door and called through the sturdy oak to ask if she was ready.
When the door opened, his jaw dropped. “Cait?” Dressed for her wedding, she looked different from the girl he’d known since her birth. Unbound from its customary plaits, her dark blond hair, so much like his, hung straight and loose past her shoulders. She wore cosmetics and a sky-blue gown trimmed in silver lace. An English gown.
“Good heavens,” he said. “Cait, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling as she surveyed his own attire, a deep blue velvet suit that he’d borrowed from one of the groom’s brothers. He suspected Caithren thought he looked as English as she. She aimed a curious glance at the wee lassie who still held his fingers gripped tight. “And who is this?”
“Her name is Mary, and she and her mother are special guests. She, uh, attached herself to me.” Cam lifted his hand, and Mary’s hand came up with it. Though he gave a sheepish shrug, he felt warm and pleased. “She may be walking down the aisle with us.”
Caithren knelt, her silk skirts pooling around her. “Good day,” she said.
“Good day,” Mary returned in a small, polite voice. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady.”
“I’m not—” Cait started.
“You’ll be a lady within the hour,” Cam interrupted with a teasing smile. “You may as well get used to it.” He knew firsthand how difficult it was to adjust to a new station in life, having unexpectedly found himself to be a baronet after Caithren’s brother died last month. He blew out a breath. “I, on the other hand, will never get used to being a sir.”
“Aye, you will.” Cait stood and linked her arm though his. “Shall we go?”
Bagpipe music swelled when they reached the double front doors and stepped out into the sunshine. It was a glorious day to be wed, the quadrangle redolent with the scent of newly-cut grass, the sky blue as Cait’s gown and dotted with wee, puffy white clouds. Cam’s gaze swept the enormous castle’s crenelated walls and the ancient keep. Beyond the timeworn tower, the grass grew high and untamed.
“Gudeman’s croft,” Caithren murmured.
“What is that?” Mary asked.
Cam knelt down to her. “A place allowed to grow free as a shelter for brownies and fairies.”
“Oh.” Mary’s eyes opened wide. “Do you know stories of brownies and fairies?”
“Many. But they’ll have to wait for later.” Cam ruffled her unruly curls before he stood and faced Cait. “It’s really the old tilting yard. Colin told me they don’t groom it since it’s long been in disuse.”
“I knew that.” Her lips curved in a soft smile as she scanned her new home. “Can you believe this place, Cam?”
He met her hazel eyes. “You always were meant to live in a castle, sweet Cait.”
“Aye,” she said, no doubt thinking of her family’s tiny castle back in Scotland—Cameron’s castle now. “But who’d have ever guessed it would be such an enormous, historic one…and in England?”
“You’ll do fine.” Though they’d always been inseparable and he would miss her terribly, Cam knew she belonged here at Cainewood with the marquess she’d come to love. He leaned to kiss her forehead, then looked up. “There’s your man now.”
When her gaze flew to her intended, her face lit at the sight of him. Suddenly Cam ached for the security this tall, dark-haired fellow so clearly enjoyed—someone to love and a place that truly felt like his own.
A family.
Cam frowned. He’d never thought much about having a family before, though he’d always loved children and knew he wanted his own someday. What had brought on this unexpected longing?
Perhaps it was losing Cait. With his only close kin far away in England, Cam’s newly inherited castle would be empty. A family would fill it back up, with a companion to talk to and lively bairns underfoot—bairns who would grow up and help him make the Leslie estate into everything he and Cait had always dreamed it could be.
Clarice walked over to take Mary by the hand. “It’s time,” she said gently, and reluctantly the wee lass released her grip on Cam. The girl looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes lingering on him as the woman led her away.
“Her mother?” Cait guessed.
“Aye. Her name is Clarice Bradford. You’ll like her.” Cameron’s gaze followed
