Chapter 8

Cameron could barely sleep that night. A thousand things were going through his mind. He did not want the Lairdship, and he dreaded the moment when he would have to go back and accept it, since he thought that the Laird would think he had forced him to submit to his will. As well as that, he did not want to appear to be groveling and begging, but this was exactly how he felt. How else could the Laird see it? One day he had flatly refused, and the next day he was coming back like a dog with its tail between its legs begging for forgiveness. He knew that this was not the case, that he was doing it for Ava's sake, but it did not make him feel any better.

Next morning, when he rose from bed, he washed quickly, then debated as to what to wear. He would deliberately not put on the shirt, jacket and kilt he reserved for special occasions. Laird Ross Lewis had already decided to make him Laird, so he did not have to impress him, and if he had changed his mind after Cameron's refusal, well, he was no worse off than before.

Accordingly, he put on the ragged shirt and breeches he usually wore. The Laird would not have to look at him for very long anyway.

Cameron saddled Jimmy and urged him into a canter. The castle was about a mile away, but the road was good, and he arrived there in a very short time. Fortunately, the weather was good, with a white cloudy haze in the sky, but no sunlight. The enormous building was made of red sandstone and built on a low hill, and it looked more like a large mansion than a fortress.

Yet it was still an intimidating, imposing sight, with crenelated turrets and a huge, magnificent entrance consisting of a round arch and a robust metal portcullis. It was enough to intimidate anyone, and it had done so the first time Cameron entered, but not now. If he was to be master of all this after the Laird's death, he decided that he had better begin to act as he meant to go on. That meant cultivating an air of authority, but not in the bullying, arrogant way such as that of James Henderson, whom he held in great contempt.

He rode into the castle and stopped in the courtyard, and was surprised to see that everyone seemed to be expecting him. He frowned in puzzlement. A maidservant was summoned to take him to the Laird's study. He was about to receive a monumental gift, so why did he feel as if he was going to the gallows?

"He should be here soon," Ross Lewis said, as he sipped a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair. Suddenly he doubled over as stabbing pain in his chest assailed him, so agonizing that it made him double over for a moment, moaning. It only lasted for a moment, but as he recovered and sat up, he knew that the end was near. This had been the worst bout of pain he had yet experienced.

James, who had been sitting near the fire poring over a ledger, leapt to his feet as soon as he saw the Laird in difficulty. He was always careful to look solicitous and concerned, but now there was not much he could do apart from fetch him a glass of water, which he drank in sips.

"Are you alright, my friend?" he asked, frowning in apparent concern.

The Laird nodded wearily. "The pains are becoming worse," he said hoarsely. "I fear I do not have much longer to live."

James did not contradict him. Whatever his other faults, the Laird was not stupid, and hated to be patronised. He knew that Ross Lewis had to be carefully handled.

"Then we must see to the succession," James declared stoutly. "What will you do if this son of yours still refuses?"

"He will not." Ross's voice was firm. "The prize I am offering is too big. He did not strike me as a stupid man, James. As well as that, I saw a few character traits in him that matched my own, and that gives me hope that my estate will be in good hands."

"He has had no training - ever. Can he even read and write?" James asked. He knew that he was on shaky ground, for although Ross Lewis had never acknowledged Cameron, he had watched him from afar over the years. He was confident that he was intelligent enough to take on the momentous task ahead of him.

Ross looked at his steward closely. He had employed James twenty years previously when both of them were in their early thirties, and they had very quickly become friends. They were the classic attraction of opposites: James was studious, meticulous and even tempered, whereas Ross was strong-minded, stubborn, and apt to fits of rage. However, when it suited him he could be the sweetest, most charming character ever born. Occasionally however, when it suited him, he took back his role of master and imposed that of servant on James.

Today, Ross was becoming impatient. Although there had been no formal meeting with his son, he knew somehow that Cameron was coming. He was a man of the world, and considered himself a good student of human nature, and he had dangled something before his son that he considered too big to refuse. Nevertheless, although it was still morning he was becoming more and more impatient. He should have been here by now, surely? He doubted that Cameron would be stupid enough to come so late that he would have to travel by twilight or darkness. Rain clouds were closing in, and riding a mile or more in the mud could be dangerous especially at this time of year, the days were becoming shorter.

At that moment there was a knock at the door and a maidservant announced the arrival of his son, who stepped through the door bringing the scent of fresh air with him.

He met the Laird's eyes at once in a challenging stare, and Ross Lewis held it for a moment before looking away to pour himself a glass of wine. He poured two others and offered one to Cameron, who refused with a shake of his head.

"That is the second time you have refused my wine," the Laird observed tersely. "Is it not to your taste? It is a very fine one." He held the glass closer to Cameron, who refused it again with a shake of his head.

"I have never tasted wine." Cameron's voice was frigid. "I have only ever drunk ale, milk, or water."

"Then here is your chance to taste it," Ross Lewis offered. He reached out and put the glass in his son's hand, and Cameron realized that it had become a contest, a battle of wills.

Cameron put the drink down on the desk, but did not knock it over, as he had done the previous day. He simply would not touch it.

The Laird held his glass up. "Sláinte Mhath!" He was joined by James, but Cameron said nothing. "To your good health." Ross Lewis's blood was boiling with rage at the defiance of this so-called son of his, but his face showed nothing of what he felt inside. "I presume you have a reason to see me?"

Cameron nodded once then took a deep breath. "I have come to accept your offer," he answered dully. "I will be your heir."

There was a thunderous silence, during which Cameron felt his heart beating so hard that he was sure the others could hear it.

The Laird broke it first. "I knew you would see sense," he said, with a satisfied air. "The prize was too big to refuse."

Cameron felt a blaze of fury burn within him. "I am no' doing this for my own gain!" he roared.

The Laird looked at him with a face that was absolutely devoid of expression. "Then why are you doing it?"

"Because I am tired of workin' my fingers to the bone and still being hungry, an' there are people I want to help," Cameron growled. He knew he had said too much and was giving vent to his deepest, most pent-up frustrations, and Laird Lewis was probably laughing at him, but he could not hold his emotions in any longer. "Ye are only acknowledgin' me now. I don't care about that, but I cared about my mother, who had to work her fingers to the bone to support me without any help from you! I loved her. I despise you."

Cameron knew his face was red with rage, but he did not care. The words had been waiting to spew out of him for a long, long time. When he had finished, he turned around and made for the door. He had burned his boats, and the Laird would surely not want to give him the estate now!

"Where are you going?" the Laird asked. "Do you not want to find out about your estate?"

"I thought ye would change your mind about the estate." Suddenly Cameron felt a little foolish.

"I have not, and I will not," the Laird answered. "I need an heir, and you are the obvious choice. You are my son, and anyone can see it. You look like me, almost uncannily so."

"I look like my mother too," Cameron said, pointing to his eyes. "Why did ye send her away when she was with child? Was she just another tumble in the hay to you? How many other children like me do ye have?"

"None as far as I know," Ross Lewis said carelessly. He looked irritated suddenly, and said, "sit down. You are annoying me."

"Good! I like annoyin' ye!" Cameron retorted spitefully. "You did no' answer my question. Why did ye send my mother away?"

For the first time, to Cameron's astonishment, the Laird looked uncomfortable. "Because my wife found out about her and told me to, otherwise she said she would leave me and take my son with her. That is all I am prepared to say on the matter."

"You are a coward." Cameron's lip curled in disgust. "Like so many o' your class."

"And now, let me tell you what will happen next." The Laird began to speak as though he had not heard Cameron. "There is one condition to be met before I can declare you my heir." He sat back in his chair and crossed his hands over his stomach.

"What is the condition?" he asked. His voice was cautious. He sensed in his gut that something bad was about to happen.

"You must marry my steward's daughter, Davina," the Laird replied.

"Why?" Cameron's voice was high with disbelief. This was the most stupid thing he had ever heard.

"Because I am telling you to." The tone was flat and uncompromising. The Laird's dark grey eyes were flinty.

"No." The single word dropped like a stone from Cameron's mouth. He curled his left hand into a fist and thumped it on the table, and the Laird jumped back in fright. Then, for a moment Cameron and his father sat glaring at each other.

"Fine," the Laird said at last, shrugging. "You obviously do not want the estate, because if you do not marry Davina you will lose it."