I will.
Those two words entered his mind before he had a chance to examine them. But as soon as the thought came, it rang out as true.
He had admitted to himself long ago that he found Charlotte attractive. She was charming and endearing and had quickly slid under his skin. He enjoyed her company, her friendship. But now he was realizing just how easy it would be to love her.
Cameron stumbled over a tree root as he stumbled to find a way to respond to her confession without giving her the one that had just come to mind. He settled on sharing his own past.
“I can understand that. My father had nay love for me either. I never understood how a parent could loathe their children so much, but he had a knack for it.”
He paused under the weight of her eyes. He was tempted to do something reckless like bend down and kiss her. But they weren’t married yet and things were still so complicated between them. He wouldn’t do that to her. So he twisted his head around and kept talking.
“My father was nae concerned with his lineage as much as he was gathering all the power he could.” He was sharing more than he should, more than Alastair would advise him was wise. But Charlotte already knew the worst of his secrets. A few more couldn’t hurt. And if he stopped talking, he wasn’t sure what he would be prone to do, so he carried on. “I have two younger siblings—a brother and a sister. But they both were taken from my life when we were all verra young. I doubt they even remember me.”
“That must have been a verra lonely childhood,” she told him empathetically.
Normally, he would have balked at any hint of pity or sympathy, but he knew her reaction was genuine. So he only nodded.
“Aye. My father was convinced that it would be another man from his line that would one day overthrow him and steal everything he had spent his entire life trying to build. Rather than risk that, he merely did away with the line. He eliminated the threat.”
“W-what do ye mean?” she stammered, though he knew it was from not wanting to accept the truth rather than a lack of understanding.
He sighed, the heaviness of his father’s crimes weighing on his shoulders.
“I mean that there are nay more males in my family. I have nay uncles or cousins left. There is nae line to speak of.”
She shuddered and without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed her hand. It was his own tainted history they were talking about, but she reacted like he had just given her news that shook her to her core. Perhaps he had. Perhaps the thought of him coming from such a man had her rethinking this whole situation, their agreement, all of it. He needed to touch her, needed to feel her hand in his to tell himself that she hadn’t run off yet. She was still walking beside him and she made no effort to pull her hand out of his.
For a moment, he didn’t think about his father or his long lost siblings. He didn’t consider how horribly things could go if someone ever discovered the truth about his parentage. All he could think about was how soft her skin was wrapped in his hand. It was a stark contrast to the rough, calloused skin covering his own palm. Her hand was so small and dainty that his fingers swallowed it up, though it still felt like it fit perfectly inside of his. He gave her a tight squeeze, marveling at the comfort he could get from such a simple touch. The marvel turned to full fledged shock when she squeezed back.
“So yer father did nae ken about ye?” she asked, her voice mimicking the same softness he had given her earlier.
“Sort of. He kent that he had a son. But he did nae ken that I was alive and living in the village just beyond his castle.”
“What of yer mother?”
It was his turn to sigh. Any mention of her brought back a flood of memories all tainted with the bright red stain of her blood pouring out of her neck.
“She died when I was young, before my siblings were taken. In some ways we are verra much alike, Charlotte. She was the only one to tell me she loved me and to prove it. She was the brightest, warmest light I have ever kent.”
Charlotte took a fraction of a step closer to him until her skirts threatened to brush against his legs. The smell of roses mingled with the pine, making it hard for him to focus on anything but her. She kept her grip on his hand and glanced up with a small smile.
“Tell me about her.”
It was a simple enough request, but Cameron found he had an utter lack for words. No one had ever asked about his mother. No one had ever cared to know what happened to her, let alone what she was like. Alastair had been there the day Laird Knox slaughtered her. It was the one thing Cameron had never dared to bring up to his advisor. He doubted he could handle the truth of the matter. But now that Charlotte was asking, Cameron wanted to talk about his mother. He wanted to share those precious few memories with her. So he did.
“She had bonny, thick brown hair that curled around her face. And she would sing but only on bread makin’ days. Nay matter the weather, she always had a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table. Most of the time they were wee more than weeds, but they brightened up an otherwise drab hut. She rocked us all to sleep every night with the same lullaby and made all of our clothes. I never remember bein’ hungry or cold nay matter how hard things got. She always managed to find a way to see that we were all cared for.”
“She sounds like the most wonderful mother,” Charlotte whispered, her eyes full of unshed tears.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Aye, she was.”
They didn’t speak again for a long while. Their earlier urgency to escape the castle and spend the day together had faded as their thoughts drifted to their own childhoods. He never knew how much he could have in common with another person, how much he could feel the ache she carried in her heart as she spoke of her family. It was the same ache that wrapped around his chest and stole the air from his lungs, she was just better at hiding it.
He hated that there were still secrets between them. Though she knew more about him than anyone else in the world, it still wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to tell her just why his claim to the Lairdship was so frail and where those pesking breathing attacks came from. He wanted to tell her all his favorite foods and show her that he could make anything out of a piece of leather or iron. He wanted to show her his world.
“What do ye say we sneak off to the village for the afternoon?”
Her head spun around to stare at him, her mouth slightly agape, though he could see the wonderment in her eyes.
