True Heart Read Free Page B

top, the symbol was the same. The hearts were more perfectly drawn, as if a woman rather than a lass had fashioned them.
    From the ashes of certainty, a spark of hope flickered to life.
    Virginia could be alive.
    The thought staggered him.
    MacAdoo grasped Cameron’s arm. “What’s wrong? Have you gone light in the head?”
    Mouth dry, hands shaking, Cameron leaned against the stack of tobacco casks. Past disappointments warned him to take caution. But what were the odds of another person combining the arrow of Clan Cameron, his mother’s Highland family, with the heart of love in this exact fashion? No coincidence appeared before him; Virginia was alive and this drawing was proof. Or was it a cry for help?
    â€œStay here,” he ordered.
    Stuffing the hogshead under his arm, he located Quinten Brown, captain of the merchantman.
    â€œFrom where did this hallmark come?”
    Brown swept off his three-cornered hat and tucked it under his arm. His hair reeked of the fragrance of pine, a favorite scent among seamen. “Why would you be asking, Cunningham?” he said in his clipped English speech. “Ain’t the brandy trade enough for you?”
    In his place, Cameron would also be protective of his livelihood; any businessman would. To allay the man’s worry and loosen his tongue, Cameron fished a sack of coins from his waistcoat. “I’ve seen this design, and it’s very important to me. I’ve no intention of heeling in on your tobacco trade.”
    Satisfied, Brown pocketed the gold. “ ’Course you ain’t. What would you want with my trade when you got all them friends at court. Rumor has it you’ve talked the Cholmondeleys out of their daughter.”
    The Lady Adrienne Cholmondeley had never been farther from Cameron’s mind. “Tell me what you know about this cask.”
    â€œI know all of the tidewater plantations.”
    The cask had come from Virginia. How ironic. “What about the plantation where this cask originated?”
    â€œI’ll tell you what I know o’ the matter. The cooper at Poplar Knoll—Rafferty’s his name—always favored the plain crown, even after the colonies was lost to us.” He traced the design. “This girlish mark, the hearts ’n’ arrow on that barrel, I ain’t seen it afore now.”
    â€œThen how do you know this tobacco came from there?”
    â€œThe new mistress herself come aboard to pay her respects to me.” Rocking back on the heels of his bucket top boots, the seaman clutched his lapels. “Her husband, Mr. Parker-Jones, bought the plantation more’n a year ago. I tell you true, Cunningham, the slaves ’n’ servants o’ that place are praising God. The old owner and his wife were devils and more.”
    Cameron had scoured every port in the British Isles, the Baltic, Europe, and even the slave markets of Byzantine. He’d searched Boston, the cities on Chesapeake Bay, and even the Spanish-held New Orleans. “Where is this plantation?”
    â€œPoplar Knoll? The tidewaters of Virginia.”
    Cameron had sailed those waters but not in many years. With his father serving in the House of Commons, Cameron now favored the shorter European trade routes. “On the York River?”
    â€œNo. The James, just west of Charles City.”
    â€œThe south or the north shore?”
    â€œSouth if I’m remembered of it. Fine dock with lovey doves carved into the moorings. Yes, south side.”
    At the least, the person who’d crafted this hallmark had some knowledge of Virginia. If she were on an isolated plantation, that would explain why he hadn’t found her. For years after her disappearance, the lost war with the colonies had limited shipping traffic, and little news traveled out of tidewater Virginia.
    Anticipation thrumming through him, he thanked the captain.
    â€œKeep the cask, Cunningham. You paid good