“I never have,” Celia answered, her voice steely. “But I assure you, I'll not risk using you again.”
Celia stormed past the furious laird, but was stopped and whipped around by his fierce grip on her arm.
“You aren't going anywhere until I know who's paying you for your...services,” he sneered.
The violence of Colin's words stunned her, and Celia's face took a moment to register the impact of his insinuation. Then rage colored her face as it surged through her. Celia's free hand shot out, and she slapped him hard across the face.
“You pig!” she spat, tears streaming from her eyes. “And I thought you were different. I'm not for sale, and I'm no mercenary. And I did not abduct the prince for any ransom.”
Celia wrenched her arm from Colin's grip and started for the terrace. Before she reached the steps, though, Colin overtook her and spun her around to face him.
This time, however, Celia's knife flashed menacingly in the space between them and Colin quickly released her arm. Then, pretending to ignore the weapon, he looked directly into her tearstained face.
“If you're no mercenary, then who's behind this?” he asked, suddenly feeling unsure about what he'd done, about what he'd said. But she hadn't trusted him. Why? What was this game she was playing?
“Who's behind this? The earl of Huntly and every one of your damned nobles who's remained loyal to the Scottish Crown,” she snapped. Her body was shaking with anger.
It was Colin's turn to be stunned. Watching him, Celia wanted to run, to get away from his cold gray eyes. But her body would not move from the spot. Celia knew if she ran now, that would be the end. There would be no other time for explaining. The hate, the hurt, would replace everything else. She couldn't let that happen. She loved him.
“You mean, Huntly had you steal the prince from his mother the queen?” The magnitude of the action was difficult to fathom. Was this treason? Or was this patriotism?
“We didn't steal Kit, we saved him. Queen Margaret was planning to send him to England for a `proper education' in the hands of her brother, King Henry.”
Celia paused for a moment, looking into the face looming above her. It was not the same angry face she had confronted just a few moments earlier. She did not resist when Colin reached down and gently took the knife from her hand. Her body still shook with the anger and hurt that was running through her.
“You know what that means...proper education,” she continued. “He'd be imprisoned for his whole life...however long that might be. And I was being sent along to accompany him. Kit to prison. Me to Danvers.”
Celia stared straight ahead, a keen sense of loss tormenting her soul. Inwardly, she mourned. Colin's words rang in her ears. She'd betrayed him. He would not forgive.
Two gulls wheeled in the sun beyond the walls, diving at each other in a dance of airy circles.
Colin, too, stood steeped in misery. Why had he been such a fool? Why did he have to think the worst? After hearing of all her admirers, of her fame, of her independence as a woman, an insecurity had crept in, driving his thinking, his emotions. When he'd heard the news from Ambrose, he had made a snap judgment. He'd been searching for a reason why this beautiful woman had chosen him over all others. And then, foolishly, Ambrose's words had brought that reason to him. Aye, she'd just looked for his protection, his name, until her ends were served.
But how wrong he'd been. She was willing to gamble everything—her life, her happiness, her future—to secure the future of the Crown, to secure the future of Scotland. She was willing to die to save the life of a bairn men were bent on destroying.
Colin reached out and took her hand in his. She did not resist his touch.
“Celia,” he began gently. “Why didn't you trust me?”
“Colin, I have trusted you from the first day I met you. But I was not able to reveal the truth. I was under oath, but I knew that Kit was safe here. I just never thought they would find us here. I never intended for Runt or anyone else to be hurt.”
“You couldn't know that Danvers's spies were everywhere. And Runt will heal. But don't you think I should have known that the Crown Prince of Scotland was here in my home? Under my protection?”
“Colin, it wouldn't matter,” Celia replied, looking up into his concerned gray eyes. “I know you better than you think. If Kit were the last-born bairn of the lowliest peasant in Scotland, you would have protected him as a king...as your own.”
Colin smiled at Celia and wrapped her tightly into his arms.
“You do know me, Celia,” he said, gathering her even closer against him.
“Aye, Colin Campbell,” she responded. “And now I know another side of you, as well.”
“We never stop growing, love,” Colin said thoughtfully. “We never stop learning.”
“You were cruel to me, Colin,” Celia whispered, her face against his chest.
“You wouldn't confide in me,” he countered painfully, knowing that his words had really hurt her.
“That's true, and it crushed me inside, knowing that you'd see that as a betrayal of you,” she answered, her eyes again welling up at the thought of it all.
“It wasn't a betrayal,” Colin said, defending her against her own charges. “You had taken an oath to protect the Crown Prince. But I was so insecure about you. About your independence, even about Ambrose's attentions.”
“You aren't to blame for that,” Celia answered, looking up into his face. “It was I who created that insecurity by not confiding in you.”
“Nay,” Colin replied shortly, shaking his head in response. He gazed down at the woman in his arms. “In spite of all the advantages I've had in my life, I still have much to learn. Maybe because of those advantages. I get angry when things do not go as I think they should.”
“You mean you're spoiled?” Celia teased, smiling tentatively at him.
“Aye, my love,” Colin admitted slowly. “And I do not share very well.”
“But I thought the Campbells were the most sharing of the Scottish lairds,” she said, moving her hands from his chest and encircling his waist with them.
“I'm very possessive of what's mine,” he growled affectionately.
“Are you?” she asked in mock disbelief.
“Aye, Celia, you are one thing I will not share,” Colin said seriously. “Not now, not ever.”
“Do you still want me, Colin?” she asked, her eyes glistening in the noon sun.
“I've never stopped wanting you, Celia,” he answered. “I love you.”
“Colin, I love y—” she began, but did not finish as he stopped her mouth with a kiss.
They clung to one another, each cherishing the sudden knowledge that their love had taken them past an abyss that had threatened to swallow their happiness.
Resting his chin on the top of her head, Colin's gaze finally took in the garden before him. He had not even noticed the changes that Celia had wrought in a single morning.
Drawing his head back to comment to her about the huge brush pile, Colin realized that Celia's hair was tangled with brush. He smiled as he stepped back, examining her disheveled condition.
Celia's face was a blotchy smear of dirt, sweat, and tears. Taking her hands and spreading them to look at her dress, he saw that the evident scratches and dirt were proof of the hard work she'd put into the garden.
“You've been busy, this morning,” he said chuckling.
“Do you like it?” she asked, turning with a sweeping gesture of one hand. “It's just a start, but...”
“It's beautiful,” he said, hardly looking at the grounds. His eyes were appraising this woman, whose beauty was not one whit diminished by the effects of her labor. Her face was an open expression of one at peace with herself. Colin sensed that he was seeing the Celia who was, for the first time, free of the burdensome secret of her cares and worries. She was radiant.
Glancing around at him, she realized that he wasn't even looking at her work. Whirling on him, she planted her hands on her hips and glared affectionately.
“You're not even looking, Colin,” she scolded.
“Oh, aye. That I am,” he responded. “And I'm seeing just what I want to see.”
Celia's face became contemplative for a moment. Then, taking him by the hand, she led him to a newly cleared turf bench beneath the blossoms of the cherry tree.
“Colin, I want you to see me exactly as I am,” she said, holding his hand in her lap. “And I want you to know everything I know.”
Celia took a deep breath, thinking back over the past two years, wondering where to begin. She knew that there was so much he wanted to know about her. There was so much she had to tell.
Colin sat patiently, secure in this new level their relationship had reached.
“My life at court was a lonely life,” Celia said. “Before the incident that Ambrose spoke of this morning, I had been a member of Queen Margaret's household, but in name only. My relationship with the queen has never exactly been friendly. She made no secret of the fact that she didn't want me around her. She said often enough I should be married in England to the man her father had picked out...just as she had to be in Scotland with the man her father had chosen for her. For Margaret, marriages are arranged, and love is a romantic illusion.
“I was in her entourage, but the queen seemed powerless in matters regarding me, as if I were under the protection of the king himself. Her obvious dislike of me made me an outsider among the other women. Not even one of the queen's ladies cared to know me. But that, in a way, was a blessing because I was able to spend time studying with Father William or in disguise, training with Edmund's soldiers. But it was borrowed time, and I knew it. Every day I felt as though the future would come crashing down on me.