Free Seducing the Spy by Sandra Madden Page A

brows folded into a frown. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do ye think the wound has impaired your power to fancy?”
    He hung his head. “It may be so.”
    “I did not mean to do it,” she cried in a raspy tone, clapping a hand across her mouth in genuine horror.
    Cameron felt no bigger than a flea on a featherbed.
    “Do not fret. I shall make an effort this eve to... to compose.”
    Her head bobbed encouragement. “I know ye will.”
    For the first time in his life, Cameron wished he were, indeed, a poet.
    * * * *
    The traditional hill walking was done early the following morning, and by mid-day the mead and whiskey flowed freely. Lughnasa celebrations began at first light and lasted until late in the evening.
    During festivities such as this, the Irish in Meggie shone. Although she did not drink, she loved the music and dance and laughter. Between festivities, her Irish heart looked for a cause to celebrate.
    She especially enjoyed Lughnasa, for it marked the time of year when the young lambs and calves in the fields were weaned and the corn was ripe and ready for picking. It was a joyous time when stores for the winter were certain. There would be enough for all to eat.
    Meggie’s delight in Lughnasa was slightly dampened by the knowledge that Colm would soon move on unless she could find a reason for him to stay.
    If she truly had damaged his ability to compose poetry, she would never forgive herself. She admired the bard, not only for his dark, somewhat brooding good looks, but for his courage as well. He had displayed true bravery when he had come to Meggie’s rescue. When he had been barely strong enough to stand, Colm had fought off the drunken Barra.
    She never would admit as much, but there were times when Meggie feared being alone, times when the responsibility for the castle and all the inhabitants of Dochas overwhelmed her. She realized the day might come when defending herself from a drunken Irishman or marauding Englishman might prove impossible. A day when there would be no bard to protect her.
    Like any other young woman, Meggie longed for a loving husband and family. With her father absent for long periods, and her grandfather’s mind losing its ability to reason and remember, she felt wretchedly alone. A solitary soul among many.
    Even in the midst of this merry celebration on a summer’s day bright and clear, Meggie knew a sense of detachment as she greeted the guests. She moved in a world apart from the rest. Incomplete, out of place and time, she likened herself to a single yellow gorse blooming in a meadow of rich green clover.
    As the afternoon passed into early eve, the torches were lit to brighten Dochas’s great hall. Flickering shadows of the dancers were cast upon the rough stone walls. The long tables, some still laden with remains of the feast, had been shoved back to make room for dancing.
    Meggie first danced with her grandfather to a tune played by whistle and harp. The old man’s milky eyes twinkled with the pleasure of believing he danced in his ancestral Cork castle, celebrating the defeat of the English. Preferring that her shuffling partner enjoy his happiness, she did not attempt to correct him.
    While she kicked up her heels, Meggie kept a look out for Colm. When at last she saw him descending the staircase, her heart fluttered like a blackbird taking wing. Although the bard leaned on his walking stick, his steps appeared stronger. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his dark tunic.
    Beneath the tunic, Meggie knew from vivid memory, his trews fit snugly to his narrow hips and muscled thighs. One muscled thigh. The other sore and aching.
    But the poet did not reveal his pain. He made his way with confidence. The arrogance of his towering form and the enigmatic smile that played about the corners of his mouth made all other men dim in comparison.
    ’Twas as if bright moonlight shone only on one man. Colm. He stood out above all the men gathered in the hall, not