The Thistle and the Rose Read online

  “You do love me,” he growled, pausing to look intimately into the ebon depths of her eyes.

  “Aye, Colin. I love you.”

  Celia wanted to melt into him completely. To lie within the protective shelter of his arms. To be loved by him. She rested her forehead against his full lips.

  “Celia, look at me,” Colin began. She lifted her gaze to take in his serious expression. “Celia, I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to marry me.”

  Celia was paralyzed by the words that she'd never expected to hear. Emotions surged within her. A joyful shudder wracked her frame as she gazed into the face that had become a whole world for her.

  He loved her. Because of that he wanted to join their lives, a union of bodies, of souls, of futures. Tears suddenly welled into her eyes, overflowing in streams of joy that rolled unchecked down her face.

  “Oh, Colin.” She wept, smiling through her tears.

  Colin brought her face to his, kissing the salty tracks and pressing her eyelids closed with his smooth lips. He gathered her tightly in his arms, as Celia buried her face in the hollow of his neck.

  “Before you came here, I was like that shoreline beyond the wall,” he began. “My life was rough, unrefined—but solid, supportive of the life above. When you came, it was like the shimmering sea that dashes up against those rock walls, surprising, exciting, powerful—but somehow rhythmic, thoughtful, and secure. Yours is a shaping force, sure, defining and yet nurturing.”

  Colin felt her soft frame resting snugly against him as she listened.

  “Celia, I love everything about you. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, something was branded on my heart, on my soul. I still recall that vision in the moonlit room, so wild and mystical, so beautiful and so utterly fearless. The way you looked at me, the fires glowing in your eyes.”

  Celia looked up at him, smiling, remembering the scornful way she'd appraised him while all along thinking that he was like a huge, raven-haired Adonis sent down to her.

  “And I thought you were ready to put me out that first night,” she said, her voice brimming with laughter. “Admit it. You were.”

  “Would I put out an angel?”

  “You didn't look at me as if I were an angel, Colin Campbell.”

  “I was surprised to see you without your wings and your halo.”

  “If you're going to speak flippantly about heavenly beings, then you'd better watch out for bolts of lightning.”

  “The sky is a beautiful shade of blue, Celia,” Colin said, looking up at the azure color marked only by the few white patches that were scudding by. “But if you're concerned about the weather, we can go up to my room and finish this discussion.”

  Celia inwardly thrilled at the thought, but shook her head with a smile.

  “I thought you were having a busy day.”

  “As a matter of fact, my day came to a complete halt the moment I stepped into this garden.”

  “I'm distracting you from what you should be doing,” she said, trying to edge off his lap.

  “Would you come down to the village with me?” Colin asked, restraining her for a moment.

  “Wouldn't I be in the way?”

  “Probably,” he said with a smile. “Just where I want you. And speaking of wanting you...”

  “Aye?” she responded primly, coyly pretending not to understand.

  “Tonight,” Colin continued suggestively.

  “Tonight?” Celia blushed.

  “Tonight we'll announce our intentions to the clan at dinner.”

  “Colin, not at dinner. First, I...need to...” Celia stumbled over the words she could not say. There was still Kit. Dunbar's words echoed in her head. And suddenly, thoughts of all the things she lacked came rushing in on her. She couldn't help but wonder if Colin was proposing to her now because of what he had heard. To protect her from the butcher Danvers. Aye, she knew that he loved her...but marriage? Was he just trying to do what he thought best for her?

  “Celia, I've waited a long time for you,” Colin said softly. “I can wait another day.”

  She reached up to him and kissed his mouth with a fiery passion. Colin answered with his own burning desire. Their passions rekindled in the heat of their embrace, and their feelings for each other poured out in the mingling communion of the kiss.

  Colin abruptly pulled away, his eyes riveted on hers.

  “Do you want to wait until our wedding night?” Colin whispered in a hoarse growl. He had to ask, while he still had the discipline to honor her wishes. And he didn't know how much more of this pleasurable torture he could take. The wedding would be today, if he had his way.

  Celia looked up at him. Every part of her body ached with the need for his touch. She forced herself to try to think this through, to be sensible. But her mind and her body told her only one thing. Celia shook her head slowly.

  “When?”

  “Very soon,” she whispered.

  Colin closed his eyes at her words and opened them again immediately.

  “It's going to be very difficult to let you out of my sight, you know.”

  Colin wasn't going to let Celia out of his sight, but neither was Dunbar. Father William had been a bit concerned when Celia, Ellen, and Kit had disappeared during the morning, and Edmund's apparent lack of concern made him even more nervous. When Celia had finally appeared in the South Hall beside the black haired giant, the priest's suspicions blossomed.

  So when Celia said she was going down into the village with the young warrior, Father William had volunteered to chaperon.

  “Chaperon!” Celia blurted out in disbelief. “Father, you aren't serious.”

  “Aye,” the priest retorted. “I think—”

  “It's a fine idea,” Colin interrupted, finishing the priest's sentence.

  Celia and Father William both turned incredulous eyes on the figure looming above them.

  “It'll give us a chance to get to know one another better.” Colin shrugged, continuing with a slight smile at Celia. “And we do not want anyone thinking there's anything improper going on up here, now, do we?”

  Celia blushed in spite of herself, and quickly turned her face toward Agnes, who was hurrying toward them across the hall.

  “Celia, my dear,” she began, coming directly to her and taking hold of Celia's two hands. She looked up at the area where Celia's wounds were. “Has your head started throbbing at all?”

  “No, Agnes,” the young woman answered. “I'm fine today. Honestly.”

  “Are you sure you're not a little light-headed?” Colin added in a serious tone.

  “She's never been light-headed in her entire life,” the little priest snapped pugnaciously.

  “Now, you two!” Agnes scolded dismissively. “You really shouldn't overdo it today, child. You need to rest a bit. You do not want to miss any of the excitement later.”

  “That's true,” Colin said, taking hold of Celia's elbow.

  Celia turned away, trying to ignore his remark, trying to hide the color in her face. She already felt light-headed, as Colin put it, about all that had just occurred and about all that was to come. And his remarks had succeeded in making her inner feelings rush with full color into her face, a face that she tried so desperately to keep calm and reserved. “What excitement, Agnes?”

  “Why, Colin didn't tell you?” Agnes responded. “The men are working right now down at the harbor fitting the new cannons into our ships. Hugh says they'll be trying them out before sunset.”

  “I'd like to see that,” Celia said. “And I promise, Agnes. If I begin to tire, I'll come back and rest.”

  “All right, dear,” she acquiesced with a smile of motherly concern before turning sternly to Colin. “But you watch out for her, and do a better job of it than you did at that disgusting...place...of Argyll's.”

  Colin’s raised eyebrows at Agnes’s admonition was all he had time to muster.

  “I’m glad someone around here shows good sense,” Father William grum
bled.

  “Then I simply will not let her out of my sight,” asserted Colin happily.

  With a last half smile at Celia, Agnes turned to the small crowd of servants who were awaiting her directions by the door of the hall.

  “It's a mistake teaching girls anything beyond what they need to know to be good wives and mothers,” Dunbar pontificated in response to Colin's description of his plans for the village school.

  Taken aback, Celia looked at the priest wide-eyed, having heard on a number of occasions Father William argue the exact opposite of what he was now saying. Smiling inwardly, she guessed what he was doing and what his motives were. He was testing Colin, and she was the reason.

  Together, the three were nearing the village, and Bear was weaving a path before them. Colin had been walking at a considerable pace, until he began to talk about the changes in the village and about the school. Then his pace slowed as he spoke, and Celia and Father William were able to walk comfortably beside him in the afternoon sun.

  “A mistake educating girls?” Colin repeated, puzzled at first by the priest's words. “Father, you are an educated man. I assume that you did a bit of tutoring at court.”

  “Aye, lad,” Dunbar replied. “I even tutored the Alexander, the king's son, before he went off to Rotterdam to study under Erasmus.”

  “Did you ever tutor any girls at the court?” Colin continued, giving Celia's arm a light squeeze. He knew full well that the priest had taught Celia.

  “Aye, a few girls,” Dunbar answered warily.

  “Then what did you teach these girls?” Colin persisted. “What makes up a good education for those future `wives and mothers'?”

  “This is a foolish discussion,” Dunbar said pompously—and vaguely. “Traditional things.”

  Celia turned directly toward the priest, her face showing her amusement at his outrageous comments.

  “Oh, I see,” Colin said. “These girls came to you to learn how to run a household.”

  “Certainly not,” Dunbar retorted. “These were children of quality. I taught them to read—in English and in French. And I taught them religion.”

  “Nothing else, Father?”

  Celia thought about all the things she had learned from Father William: how to be pigheaded to the extreme, how to curse more creatively than any of her father's sailors could, and how to be supremely aloof when it came to the shallow, young men at court.

  “A few other things, I suppose,” the priest answered. “Why, what else should they be taught?”

  “No Latin or Greek?” Colin asked.

  Aye, Celia reminisced. Father William had drilled her in Latin, Greek, and Gaelic, as well as French, until she could speak, read, and write fluently in any of them.

  “What do girls need Latin or Greek for?” Dunbar asked uneasily. “The romances that girls can read...and they should be carefully controlled...are in French. But too much reading can lead a young woman into dangerous yearnings.”

  “Yearnings? Come, Father, no mathematics? Nor logic?” Colin continued, not letting the priest off the hook. “No philosophy of the ancients? No history?”

  Aye, all those, too. Reading Boethius had taught Celia to accept that even the most boring of lessons must have a purpose.

  “What use would a girl have for all this?” Father William blurted out. “I'm telling you, lad. Tradition has declared that these subjects can ruin a girl's morals—make her think she's as intellectually capable as a man.”

  “Can't a woman be as intellectually capable as a man?” Colin asked.

  Celia shot the priest a threatening look.

  “Perhaps,” Dunbar responded, ignoring her glare. “But what will she gain by it? There's still her future to consider.”

  “Future? How?”

  “By becoming undesirable as a wife. No husband would accept that in a wife.”

  Celia had already heard this from Father William. Now she wanted to hear Colin's response.

  “I have to disagree. I think you have a misconception about what men need in their wives.”

  “Do I, lad? Then why don't you correct me on that.”

  Colin looked at Celia as he chose his words.

  “Men need their wives to be soul mates,” he said softly, never shifting his gaze from Celia's face. “They need them to share their lives as well as their beds. To bear their dreams as well as their children.”

  This young heir is certainly a charmer, Dunbar thought, noting the exchange of tender glances. And the things he says certainly show promise.

  “Then why would a woman need an education for that?”

  “For the same reason that a man needs an education,” Colin answered, turning his attention back to the curmudgeonly cleric. “We all need the languages that give us access to Socrates, Plato, Horace, Virgil, and even Ovid. We all need the history and the logic and the mathematics that give us a sense of where we come from and who we are. These are the elements of education that produce knowledge of our human worth, that produce self-respect.”

  The three had reached the harbor's edge, and Dunbar stepped in front of the other two, placing his hand on Colin's arm. He had to admit, Edmund had been right about Colin Campbell. This is a man whose values are not of the common order. This is a man whose vision extends beyond the end of his own table. This is a man whose intelligence seems to match his obvious strength. If there be any man worthy of Celia, this could be the man.

  “Wouldn't you be intimidated by that,” the priest questioned. “By a wife who has as much intelligence, as much learning, as much discipline as any man?”

  Colin now understood clearly that Father William's baiting comments had all been leading to this. The warrior looked down at this combative priest and knew why Celia cared so much for him. He was clearly devoted to protecting her.

  “Nay,” Colin answered, gazing steadily into the little man's steel blue eyes. “She's the woman whom I've been waiting for.”

  Colin reached down and took Celia's hand in his, holding it tightly against his side.

  “Then I suppose I do not need to tell you, lad,” Dunbar concluded. “Women like that are very hard to come by.”

  “That's true,” Colin responded, looking at the woman beside him. “You do not need to tell me.”

  Father William reached down and clasped their entwined hands in his.

  “Well, Celia, this journey's not over yet, but we've certainly come a long way since leaving Linlithgow Castle.”

  “Lady Celia,” Ellen whispered through the adjoining doorway. “May I come in?”

  “Of course, Ellen,” answered Celia from the window where she stood watching the four Campbell ships sailing along the shoreline in the glowing sunset. Colin had told her that they would be firing the guns at the craggy bluffs south of the castle. She could see the castle's inhabitants gathered on the curtain wall overlooking the sea.

  Ellen's fair-skinned face was somewhat paler, Celia thought, noting that as the woman stopped in the middle of the room, she was wringing her hands. Clearly, something was bothering her.

  “What's the matter, Ellen?” Celia asked gently, taking her companion by the hand and leading her to the chairs beside the window.

  “I was wondering...I didn't know...” Ellen paused, stumbling over her words. Embarrassed, she avoided Celia's eyes and stared steadily at her lap. “M'lady, will we be staying much longer at Kildalton?”

  “Why, Ellen?” Celia asked quickly. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Nay, m'lady,” Ellen answered, looking up instantly. “Just the opposite.”

  Celia smiled into the face of the young widow as the meaning of Ellen's consternation sank in.

  “Would this have anything to do with Runt, Ellen?” she asked softly.

  “I do not want you to think I'm going to fail in the oath that I've taken, m'lady...”

  “So it is Runt,” Celia interrupted with a smile.

  “Aye, Lady Celia,” Ellen admitted, lowering her eyes again. “Since w
e came here, he's been watching over us, and we’ve spent time together. Then he was hurt.”

  “But all is well now,” Celia said gently. “We should be thankful that he's feeling better, Ellen.”

  “Aye, m'lady, I was so worried about him,” Ellen gushed. “No man ever took a sword wound for me the way he did. He truly cares for me, m’lady.”

  “Has he made his intentions known to you?”

  “Aye, he asked me this afternoon,” Ellen whispered. The delight of the thought lit her face.

  “What was your answer to him?” Celia asked gently, taking Ellen's ice cold hands in her own.

  “I told him that I couldn't answer him,” she responded, her disappointment apparent in her eyes.

  “Do you love him, Ellen?”

  The young woman answered slowly. “Aye, m'lady. I never thought that I'd be able to love again after my bairn died. But caring for Kit each day, feeling the wee one's need for me. And then, being here at Kildalton...the object of Runt's attentions...Lady Celia, I do have a life again. It's almost like I've found a home for the first time. Here, in a place I'd never been before.”

  Celia leaned forward out of her chair and hugged Ellen. She knew exactly what Ellen was feeling.

  “Ellen, I promise you. If Runt is the man you've set your heart on, I'll see to it that you are able to be with him. I do not know what the future holds for us. I do not know how long we'll be staying. But I'll make sure that you do not lose this chance for happiness.”

  Celia had not finished her words when Ellen began to cry. The two women stood and held each other tightly, and Celia felt her own tears well up and overflow.

  Celia had been anxious, fretful, waiting for the sounds of Colin's return.

  She was sitting before the fireplace in the near darkness of her room, listening to the crackle of the dying embers of her fire and the occasional sounds from the South Hall. There was the edge of a chill in the room that the fire could not dispel for Celia. Tucking her bare feet under her, she gathered the white robe closer about her, lost in the glowing coals of the fading fire.

  After Colin had walked Celia and Father William up from the village, he'd returned to the ships in the harbor to direct the final preparations. Lord Hugh and Alec and Edmund were all aboard the vessels when they sailed down the coastline, and all of them, including Colin, were still on the water when Celia, Ellen, Kit, and Father William had joined Agnes in the South Hall.