“Have you sent your messages off?” she asked lazily, dozing off with the last word.
“Aye,” Colin replied, stroking the side of her sleeping face. “But I didn't come here to talk about that.”
“Hmm?” she responded, not quite able to force her eyes open.
“I came to talk about you and me.”
Pausing between each word, Celia murmured without waking, “You? Me? Love me? I love you.”
Colin gripped her hands firmly in his. He knew these words came from her heart. And her angelic face reflected the comfortable security she must be feeling beside him.
“Celia,” he said softly.
“Hmmm?”
“I love you.”
“Hmmm.” The satisfaction in her sigh told Colin all he wanted to know. All his life, Colin had had opportunities for marriage. Young, sometimes infantile, daughters of Lowland lairds, Highland chiefs, even French noblemen. For the most part, they were women who offered the homely training of wife and possible mother. These were good things, Colin knew, but they were not enough for him. He wanted a friend, a lover, a companion, with intelligence that she was not afraid to exercise. He wanted an equal who would share in and add to the dreams he had for his people and his land.
As he sat thinking of these things, he knew that he'd begun to doubt that such a woman existed...until now. Looking down at her, Colin knew that if he'd ever expected to find such a woman, he never imagined she'd be the beauty who was lying before him.
From the first moment he saw her, Celia had kept him off balance, had even knocked him flat at times. It was not Alec who had been upended, it was Colin. Alec might have felt her sword at his throat, but it was Colin who felt her passion, her desire, her love, pierce his heart.
Colin sat in the fading firelight for a while, thinking of the course of a life that had brought him to this moment, to this woman. Suddenly he couldn't imagine changing any step of the way that had led him here. Suddenly he couldn't imagine a future without her.
This was the woman he had searched for. He would never let her go.
“I've been waiting for you for a long time,” Colin whispered to the sleeping Celia, caressing her hair, her smooth face. He leaned over and kissed her lightly.
His words were soft, but they were clear.
“Marry me.”
Chapter 11
It is an unholy marriage of demons. These shifty-eyed Scots have arrived with their haggard-faced earl, and we see him with Danvers. With this disreputable lot, we are thousands strong now, an army on the hunt, and the countryside is our prey. The word is that this land that we scour and pillage, loot, and burn belongs to this Scot, Argyll. But still the killing goes on. And as I watch Danvers, he watches with a sneer as Argyll turns his face.
We make our choices...we choose our demons.
“Well, I'm glad you're not thinking of marrying, Celia,” Dunbar said. “After all, you're over twenty, and way past the age of being molded into a good wife.”
“Good wife? Molded?” Celia exploded. “First of all, do not start in with your old-fashioned views about how a married woman must act. Second, I've just said that I've no intention of marrying Colin. I didn't come to Kildalton to find a husband, and although a woman couldn't find a better man than Colin Campbell, I haven't forgotten why we are here. And lastly, he hasn't asked me and probably will not.”
Celia stood at the window in her room, feeling the warm morning sunlight caressing her shoulders. Edmund and Father William had been at her door early, carrying her breakfast and wanting to talk. She had been so overpowered with sleep the night before that now Celia wondered if Agnes had given her something to make her rest. She only had a vague recollection of Colin coming in and sitting beside her, but it could have been a dream.
“That's a fine thing for a priest,” Edmund shot at Dunbar. “A member of the clergy recommending that young people live in sin.”
“I'm neither recommending sinful ways,” Father William glowered, “nor am I speaking about young people.”
“Then I believe I'm entering into dotage at an early age,” Edmund returned. “What are you talking ab—”
“I'm talking about your niece, you old fool,” the priest responded hotly. “But you probably are getting senile, with all the blows to the head that you've taken in your career.”
“If you're talking about Celia, I think she'd make someone a fine wife.”
“I've known her since she was fourteen years old,” Dunbar interrupted. “And I know her to be braver than half the young men who survived Flodden, and more intelligent than the other half. Do you mean to stand there and say that any self-respecting laird left in Scotland will accept a wife who's his superior in every way? Impossible.”
“You do not know Colin Campbell, priest,” Edmund stated emphatically.
“Nay, but I know that the Campbells are one of the wealthiest clans in Scotland. His mother was of royal blood...French, I know...but still royal. When Colin gets around to choosing a wife, it'll be someone of his own social level.”
“She is of his social level,” Edmund exploded. “She might not have a fortune at hand to give him, but she is descended from kings. She is descended from the Bruce himself. She is—“
“Excuse me,” Celia cut in, not really wanting to hear all these things. “But were we not discussing Kit's situation?”
“There is nothing more to discuss about Kit's situation,” the priest responded. He still felt worked up over Celia's relationship with the young Campbell heir. He'd been Celia's confessor and tutor. He'd watched her agile mind bloom into a garden of ideas and intellectual interests. Dunbar loved this young woman as if she were his own daughter. He would not stand by silently to see her hurt by some short term fancy on the part of the powerful Colin Campbell. It was just a good thing that he was here now, in time to head off Edmund's blind foolishness regarding Celia and Colin. After all, she had seen plenty of the goings-on at court, but she was still an innocent in matters of her own heart.
“Aye, there is, Father William,” Celia scolded gently. “But when it comes to me, you two act like a couple of overly protective mother ducks, squabbling over a single little hatchling.”
Celia knew just how much these two men loved her, but right now, they all had to concentrate on Kit.
“All right,” the priest conceded grudgingly. “But not much to discuss. I've agreed to stay right here until Edmund's message reaches Huntly, but there's no reason for us to reveal Kit's identity to the Campbells.”
When Colin and Lord Hugh had sent their message the previous evening to Huntly and the other nobles now gathered at Stirling, Father William and Edmund had sent a message, as well. Colin had cast an inquisitive glance at the two when they had approached him, but he did not question them.
“Are you saying that you do not trust the Campbells?” Edmund asked.
“I do not distrust them,” Dunbar replied. “But why should we answer a question that hasn't been asked?”
This was difficult for Celia to argue. How could she explain her need to confide in Colin, to share with him all the matters that were pressing on her? If he knew Kit's identity, surely he would help the boy recover what was rightfully his. She knew deep in her heart that she should tell him, but she would honor Father William's judgment. She would wait until Colin asked, but she could not let her feelings go unsaid.
“Colin can be trusted, Father,” Celia said, taking the priest's hand. “I'll stake my life and my vow on it.”
As Celia, Ellen, and Kit started down the wide steps to the Great hall, Celia realized that the homeless refugees were no longer in residence there. In fact, the dogs had reclaimed their places about the hall. By the time they'd reached the ground floor, the black canine form of Bear was awaiting them, his long tail wagging. Celia smiled at the beast, taking his great head in her hands.
“Celia!” Lord Hugh called, changing direction as he spotted the women and the bairn. He had been going outside to supervise the ongoing defensive preparations, but that could all wait. He gestured for the men who were attending him to continue on outside. “How's your head this morning, lass?”
“Agnes has just the right touch, Lord Hugh,” she responded with a bright smile. “I nearly slept this beautiful morning away.”
The grizzled warlord stopped before them, pinching Ellen's cheek and putting a sausage-like finger into Kit's little fist.
“Did you eat anything?” he said, turning again to Celia and taking her arm. “I'm always hungry after a good fight, and I'm sure we can rustle up something for you to eat in the South Hall.”
“Aye, m'lord.” Celia laughed. “I ate. We just thought we'd go out into the courtyard and enjoy this sun while we have it.”
“Trust me, child, you do not want to go out there,” Hugh said, stopping in his tracks. “I was out there earlier, and Colin has the whole place in an uproar. You'd think that low life Argyll was knocking on our front gate.”
“Oh,” Celia said. “I suppose we shouldn't get in the way.”
Hugh thought a moment, then brightened abruptly.
“I've an idea, lassie.” Hugh smiled, directing Celia toward the far side of the hall. “There's a part of this castle I haven't seen in nearly twenty-five years, but I think it's time I—”