"Nay, o' course no'," he assured her, and then grinned and admitted, "But I wouldn't help get ye there either."
Despite herself, Joan found herself smiling at his words, and then wincing as her split lip complained.
"Come now, tell me who the message is for," Cam coaxed. "The Sinclairs do no' ha'e many enemies. 'Tis more likely a friend and then I can repay yer kindness in saving me life and escort ye there . . . or at least part o' the way if they're too far out o' me way."
Joan peered at him silently. She was too proud to ask for help, but not so proud she wouldn't accept help were it offered. It would certainly make her journey less dangerous were she not alone. She debated briefly and then blew out her breath and just said it. "Laird and Lady MacKay."
Cam's lips split in a wide grin, and he reached out to thump her in the arm. "Ye're in luck, lad. The MacKays are friends to the Sinclairs. Good friends." He shook his head and then added, "Even better, they're our neighbors, so I can see ye all the way there on me way home."
Joan righted herself slowly. His friendly thump in the arm had nearly knocked her off the log. Managing a small smile that didn't pull too much at her healing lip, she nodded. "Thank you."
They ate in silence for a minute, and then Cam asked, "So no family 'sides yer mother?"
Joan shook her head and swallowed the meat she'd just taken a bite of. "Me father died ere I was born, me grandparents too, and I had no brothers or sisters." She glanced to him curiously. "You?"
"Both parents still alive, two brothers, one sister, and more aunts, uncles and cousins than you can shake a stick at," he said around the onion he'd just bitten into. He grimaced then and added, "I've family coming out me ears. More than anyone wants or needs."
Joan raised her eyebrows at that. She would have loved to be able to claim such a large family. But then she was alone. "You don't get on with your kin?"
"Oh aye," he assured her. " 'Tis just that me clan seems to think being blood means they can interfere in me life at every turn. 'Tis enough to make a man crazy at times."
Joan nodded with an understanding she didn't really have. She'd never had that problem.
"Actually, that interference is the only reason we met each other," Cam said suddenly, a wry smile curving his lips.
"How is that?" Joan asked.
"Me family thinks I should marry again," he added grimly.
"And you don't want to?" Joan guessed.
"Aye. I mean aye, ye're right and nay I do no' want to," he added and then shifted forward off the log so that he could sit on the ground and lean back against it. Eyes focused on the flames before them, he sighed and then said, "After me first wife . . ." He shook his head. "I do no' want to go through that again."
"Your first marriage was so bad?" Joan asked, trying to understand.
"Nay," he answered at once. "She was pretty and smart, a good woman, and marriage was no' so bad."
Joan raised her eyebrows. "Then why would you not want to marry again?"
Dissatisfaction crossed his face, and he stared so long into the fire that she began to think he wouldn't answer, but then he suddenly did. "We were married a year. 'Twas a good year. We got on well and it was a good match. But she got with child, and went into labor a year and a day after we married."
"She died in childbirth," Joan guessed, understanding immediately filling her.
"Aye," Cam murmured, his expression full of regret.
Joan nodded silently.
"She was so small, and the babe was big," he said grimly, and then added, "The midwife said the child was sideways."
"Did the midwife try to turn--"
"Aye," he interrupted. "She tried and tried, but said it would no' turn."
Joan didn't comment. What could she say? She had encountered the same thing herself a time or two. Usually she could shift the baby, but sometimes it was as if the baby was caught on something and--
"It took her three days to die," Cam said grimly. "For three days the whole castle listened to her scream as she fought to push our babe into the world. On the third day her screams were so weak . . . I kenned she was dyin'. My family tried to keep me out, but I forced me way into the room and . . ." He paled, his eyes closing. "There was so much blood."
Joan waited a minute and then asked, "The child?"
"We buried them together," he said heavily. They both stared into the fire now and then he straightened and said firmly. "I'll no' put another woman through that."
Joan didn't comment. She understood. Witnessing something like that . . . well, it had made her decide not to have children. She could understand his not wanting to watch another woman go through it as his first wife had.
"Me family are determined I should wed and give them the heirs they want though," he added with a grimace. "Me mother especially is determined and once the snow melted, started filling Sinclair with any unmarried or widowed female she can find that she thinks might tempt me. By spring's end I was tripping over women everywhere I turned. The woman was making me life a misery," he said with disgust and shook his head. "I finally had to head out and find a battle to fight jest to get a rest and that's where I've been all summer. Offering me services to those in need o' a good sword hand. Well, offering me sword and that o' a couple cousins who went with me."
"Where are your cousins now?" Joan asked.
"We started out together, but stopped in Nottingham for a meal. The tavern wench was a pretty little thing, and very friendly," he said with a grin. "I told me cousins to continue on without me and I'd follow later."
"I see," Joan said and almost winced when she heard the disapproval in her own voice. She was supposed to be a boy, after all, and a young boy would probably listen with eager glee rather than disapproval. But Cam only chuckled at her censure.
"Oh, come, lad. Ye'd have stopped too had she been wiggling her bosoms in yer face and dropping in yer lap to bounce about."
Joan managed a smile and merely said, "Aye, well, 'tis fortunate for me that she was so friendly and slowed your journey else I may not have survived my encounter with Toothless and his friends."
"Toothless?" Cam asked with confusion.
"The big man who was beating me when ye came upon us," she explained.
"Ah." Cam nodded, and then shrugged. "I did no' see his face. I hit him from behind."
"Oh, aye," she murmured, and stood to walk to the river and kneel at its edge to dip her hands in and remove the grease from the rabbit meat off her hands. When Cam joined her a heartbeat later, she asked, "Are your brothers younger than you?"
Cam glanced to her with surprise. "Aye. How did ye ken?"
She shrugged. "If they were older your parents would not fret so about heirs. As the eldest though, you inherit the land and title . . . so an heir becomes more important."