Claiming His Highland Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Brodie would have a fine laugh at this failure of his. But, kenning the Mackintosh chieftain, Alan did not doubt that the man suspected more than he’d let on to him.

  As the night passed, the anticipation grew in him at the thought of taking the truth back to her. His uncle’s betrothed. The woman he loved. He laughed then and the horse snickered in reply. Now that he knew who she was, her actions and words made more sense to him.

  She had not been fearful in his arms because she missed a dead husband—the distress in her expression and in her body’s reactions was a virgin’s natural reticence at her first experience. She had not been distraught over her husband’s death, but over her mother’s and her protector’s. She had not refused him because she did not want him, but because she was to be his uncle’s wife.

  Sorcha was trying to prevent him from making a grave error, one that could have serious consequences if anyone discovered her true identity and her connection to this uncle. She’d understood the gravity of the situation and tried to protect him from himself.

  So, now what? What was his next step in this? He loved her. He wanted her. But his honour demanded that he tell his uncle of her existence and give her up to him. His body reacted immediately at such a thought.

  Never. Never would he give another innocent into his uncle’s rough and deadly care. And never would he walk away from the woman he loved.

  But what were his choices?

  Sorcha, if he believed her words, was intent on avoiding the matter by entering the convent. That part of her story and her plan matched the truths he’d discovered all his journey. He’d tracked down her mother’s companion and long-time servant who, after fainting in shock at the news that Sorcha was alive, was happy to speak of her lady and her desire before passing away to help her daughter escape the same fate she’d had.

  Apparently, his uncle’s reputation had made it to Knapdale. Alan smiled grimly at that for, with the power of his position and the wealth he controlled, Gilbert Cameron would never have a problem finding another man willing to sell off his daughter or sister for the amount of gold he could offer and the alliances he could promise.

  The winds quieted over the next hours as he turned this over and over in his thoughts. Gradually the rains ceased once the clouds thinned. Though exhausted from the hard riding of the day, Alan found that his thoughts would not quiet enough to allow him to sleep.

  What would her reaction be when he returned on the morrow? Had she guessed why he’d left? Did she fear him now? Would her gold-flecked eyes fill with dread at his approach? Dear God, he prayed not! He wanted to see the frank desire there that he’d glimpsed when she’d told him that he could have his way with her.

  Considering her reaction now, and the tightness he’d found, Alan could not figure out how he’d missed all the signs that he was not dealing with a married and widowed woman, but a noble-born virgin.

  Love.

  He would blame it on love. And on his pride, too, for he’d convinced himself of her death and no matter his hesitation or doubt in the signs he’d found. He was so desperate to keep the young woman out of his uncle’s control that he’d done the one thing he warned others about doing—overlooked his process and the warning in his gut.

  * * *

  By the time the sun rose into a calm, clear sky, Alan was no closer to sorting out his possibilities or in deciding what he thought Sorcha would do. Would she insist on leaving? If she agreed to stay with him, where would they go? If he denounced his uncle without proof, it would ruin his honour amongst most of his kith and kin.

  Since Sorcha was the one who could prove Gilbert’s guilt in planning to act against the clan’s interests for his own, Alan would never ask her to do so. For that would put her in Gilbert’s power if Alan did not succeed or if Alan died in his efforts to unseat his uncle.

  Alan had no doubt that Brodie would stand by him and welcome him, but Alan’s presence could cause problems that rippled out to other alliances and put the truce in jeopardy. Another consequence to his actions.

  So, did they leave together and make their way to another place? Assume new names to avoid the trouble that would follow Alan Cameron, disgraced nephew to The Cameron? The worst part was the worry over how his parents and younger brothers would bear this. He did not have to guess how his uncle would treat them over this, he’d already seen the disdain and disrespect borne by his father for years.

  How much more could his father withstand?

  In the final few hours of his journey into the mountains south of Loch Arkaig, Alan felt gratitude in a strange way to the lass who’d tried to keep this from him. Sorcha, daughter to a chieftain, understood the consequences of choices considered and choices made and she’d clearly tried to keep him from having to make this one. He now thought that her reason for doing that was the same one that was making him question his next moves...love.

  Though he wanted to enter Brodie’s domain with his decision certain, he approached the road to Glenlui with no such frame of mind. Nay, he would speak to Sorcha first and seek Brodie’s counsel before taking any action. He must not allow his temper to choose his path this time. No matter the rage he felt when he thought of Sorcha being his uncle’s bride. No matter when he remembered Agneis’s sad words about her coming marriage to his uncle and the results of that.

  * * *

  Though late in the evening when he arrived, late enough that the gates were closed for the night, Alan rode straight to Clara and Jamie’s cottage. Having a care to be quiet and not wake the bairns, he knocked softly on the door and waited. He could hear Jamie’s path through the darkened chamber within and smiled when his friend opened the door to him.

  ‘I am sorry for the late hour, Jamie,’ he said, glancing past his friend to see if Sorcha was there. ‘I would speak with Saraid, if you could wake her.’

  Jamie shrugged and shook his head in one motion. He pulled the door open wide enough for Alan to see only Clara there. A very sick and burning feeling began in the pit of his stomach at their expressions. He kenned he was not going to like whatever words they had to say.

  ‘She is not here,’ Clara whispered over her husband’s shoulder.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked.

  ‘She left two days ago,’ Jamie said. ‘Brodie’s man brought a message to her and she was gone a few hours later.’

  ‘The convent on Skye? Is that where she went?’ That was her goal from the first time he’d met her. Had Brodie arranged for her travel there?

  ‘She did not say,’ Clara answered. ‘She said her farewells and was gone. She did promise to write when she was settled, but said that would be some time so not to worry.’

  ‘Alan,’ Jamie began, stepping between him and Clara. ‘Come, let us talk outside. Clara, I will see to this.’

  For the first time in a long time of watching them, Clara did not argue or naysay her husband. Instead, she nodded at Alan and closed the door behind Jamie as he walked outside. They walked around to the smithy and Jamie turned to face him—the truth in his friend’s eyes.

  ‘You kenned the truth, did you not?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Torn between anger and his own stupidity, Alan realised he could not be truly angry because Jamie had been protecting Sorcha—even from him.

  ‘From the beginning? Even when I spoke to you of Sorcha MacMillan?’ He was trying to sort through the way it had happened. Jamie motioned to the bench and they sat down.

  ‘I only kenned she was kin to Clara when she arrived. But Clara told me the rest of it once she learned it from her cousin.’ Jamie leaned back against the tree and narrowed his gaze. ‘Was I wrong to take her in? Wrong to keep her secret?’

  Alan thought on his friend’s question. Would he have done anything differently? Would he have turned away a helpless young woman in her hour of need—no matter who it had be
en?’

  ‘Nay, not wrong,’ he admitted.

  ‘She had planned to be here only days, but was in such a state that Clara convinced her to stay longer. To give herself time to recover from her ordeal and to contemplate what she would do.’ Jamie shrugged. ‘I thought that she might stay once things...well, once you two began circling each other.’

  ‘You never thought to tell me?’

  ‘If I thought she was a danger to you or to our people, I would have spoken. You made it clear to me that your uncle and her father had moved on and her death was over and done.’ Jamie reached over and slapped Alan on his shoulder then.

  ‘Your uncle is a right bastard. She escaped the fate that she would face as his wife. Why would I ruin that for her?’

  ‘Honour? Loyalty?’ Alan spoke the words that most haunted him now.

  ‘Ah, but I have no loyalty to your uncle. And my honour is not in question,’ Jamie replied. ‘If I’d thought there was a danger to my clan, I would have brought it to Brodie’s attention. Which is unnecessary now since he clearly kens and is aiding Sorcha.’

  Alan stood and paced a few strides away and back, thinking on Jamie’s words. His friend spoke first.

  ‘When you mentioned her, you were more upset by your uncle’s plans to marry again. You were tormenting yourself over the same things you always do and allowing him to control you and your future. Does this, does kenning this young woman’s identity, that she escaped him and is now gone from your life, change any of that?’

  At that moment, Alan had no answer for his friend. First, he must find Sorcha and speak to her. Offer himself and his own secrets to her as he should have done before. Offer his heart and see if she would accept him.

  ‘You have my gratitude for protecting when I could not or was too stupid to realise the need for it.’

  He turned and walked away then, knowing that only Brodie could tell him where she was. He knew The Mackintosh well enough to ken that Skye and any convent on it would be the last place to which he’d send her. And the chieftain had learned much since that time years ago when Alan had found his camp in the mountains. He kenned how to cover his trail better than anyone Alan could think of.

  Without his help, Alan would spend weeks and possibly months going in circles and getting nowhere. And no one in this area, save for his uncle, would dare to help him if Brodie had not given permission to do so. Again, something Alan should have noticed.

  * * *

  It took some persuading for the guards to allow him entrance after the gates had been closed. If this was a usual night, Alan would spend it somewhere in the village and wait until morning. But there was nothing usual about this night or his quest to find and claim the woman he loved. Now that he’d made up his mind to do that, he would brook no more delays.

  If Brodie was surprised by his arrival at his chamber door, he did not show it. He stepped out into the corridor there and pulled the door closed behind him.

  ‘Bella needs her rest,’ he said softly in explanation. ‘She is not carrying easily this time.’ His cousin Bella had been blessed with three children, but she’d lost several others. So this time in her pregnancy was always a concern to Brodie, who cared not who might ken it.

  Alan walked with him down to the lower floor and to that small chamber off the kitchens where he conducted his business. Once the door was closed, he waited for Brodie to speak first. The infuriating man met his gaze without flinching or speaking. Alan chose a different topic.

  ‘Is she well?’ he asked. There had been similar signs in the pregnancies that ended sadly for them.

  ‘She said it feels different to her this time,’ Brodie said, thrusting his hands into his hair and shrugging. ‘Sick, but not that way. I pray God...’ His words drifted off.

  ‘So do I, my friend. So do I,’ Alan added.

  Nothing was more dangerous for a woman than carrying and giving birth and Bella had braved it many times to give her husband his heir and other bairns. Alan walked to a side table where a jug sat and poured some of the ale in the cups there. Handing one to Brodie, he asked the question that bothered him the most.

  ‘When did you figure it all out?’ he asked.

  ‘Before you did, but not much sooner,’ Brodie admitted.

  ‘So, where is she? Jamie said your men took her away two days ago.’ Brodie snorted then and drank some ale before answering.

  ‘The lady asked for my help and I gave it,’ he said. ‘My men escorted her, they did not take her.’

  ‘Where, Brodie? Just tell me where she is.’

  Brodie did not answer right away and Alan was not certain if he was making Alan wait or deciding whether or not to tell him at all. The laird drank the rest of his ale and put the cup on the table. Crossing his arms over his chest, Brodie glared at Alan.

  ‘The lady is intent on entering the convent,’ he began. ‘But Bella convinced her that she should speak to you first. That leaving the world behind when so many lies and half-truths lie between you is not the right state of mind or grace to enter such a place.’ Alan would be grateful to Bella for yet another thing now, but he begrudged her not. ‘You may thank my wife for her soft heart later.’

  * * *

  Within an hour, Alan was on his way to the secluded cottage at the edge of Glenlui village where Sorcha waited.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sorcha grew restless. With a thick, woollen blanket wrapped around her shoulders to keep out the chill of the night air, she wandered around the perimeter of the chamber. Every sound outside the cottage seemed to startle her, but then she was waiting and listening for his approach.

  She’d agreed to remain here until Alan returned and to speak to him at Arabella’s behest and against her own judgement. After leaving Clara’s, she’d been brought here to this cottage on the far side of the village, near the drovers’ road. Away from everyone, it gave her the chance to calm her thoughts and prepare for the journey and life ahead.

  Though her first stay would be in a village much further north, in the heart of the lands controlled by the Chattan Confederation outside the royal burgh of Inbhir Nis, she hoped that Alan would not follow her once they’d had a chance to speak. If he relented, then she could travel to Skye as she’d planned much sooner than the time needed to wait him out. Sorcha needed to convince him, if her dishonesty had not already, that there was no way they could be together.

  The cleaner and sooner she broke from this life and moved on, the better she would feel. This way, agreeing to meet with him, was certain to lead to more tears and heartache but she owed him that much.

  How could she bear the look of disappointment when he looked at her knowing how deceitful she’d been? When he discovered how she’d lied and run away rather than facing her duty as the daughter of a nobleman. When he’d professed his love and she’d let him, nay pushed him to, walk away.

  It was for the best, but what man wanted to hear that from a woman? Especially from a woman who’d lied with every breath she took and word she spoke? He’d always seemed reasonable, slow to anger yet capable of fighting his own battles. She prayed the reasonable man was the one who came to her door.

  With little to do while waiting, she’d spent her time walking in the area around the cottage and reading the books that Arabella had allowed her to borrow. It was a joy to meet a woman so well educated and well read as Lady Mackintosh. And, though the lady was quite strong-minded, she did not overstep, even when Sorcha made a decision different from the one Arabella wished her to make.

  Two days she’d waited for him. Two days was the length of time she’d told the laird and lady she’d wait before setting off north. Now, as night had fallen and she’d prepared for bed, Sorcha found herself unable to sleep. Why had he not come? Brodie was quite exact in his estimate of Alan’s return, as though this was something he had experi
enced many times.

  Then, a noise caught her attention and she turned to find Alan there before her. So lost in her thoughts had she been that she had not heard him enter.

  He looked exhausted and haunted. He looked angry and determined. He looked...wonderful to her. His boots and breeches were muddied from travelling and his long hair was pulled back away from his face, exposing the masculine lines and angles. A short growth of beard covered his jaw and gave him a dangerous appeal. She began to reach out to stroke his cheek, but stopped herself. Surely he would not welcome her touch until he’d said what he came here to say.

  ‘Sorcha,’ he whispered into the space between them. Hearing her own name spoken by his deep voice sent chills through her. ‘Sorcha MacMillan.’

  A strange tension grew within her, making her skin prickle and her heart race. Part of her wanted to deny it, to say he was wrong, but the dark expression in his eyes told her he kenned the whole truth of her and denying it would do her no good. Part of her wanted to finally embrace her identity to someone, to him.

  ‘Aye.’

  That one word freed her. Freed her from the guilt of needing to lie to him. Freed her to be herself. He took three long strides and stood before her, staring at her mouth, her eyes and her hair.

  ‘I never noticed the similarities in your eyes and his,’ he said. ‘Oh, not the colour exactly, but the shape of them. Or your height. He’d even pointed out that you were only this tall...’ Alan pointed to the place on his chest where her head reached when she stood close to him. ‘I just never put it together, thinking you, Sorcha, were dead.’

  It was he who reached out and touched her then, sliding his hand along her cheek and then into her hair that lay unbound around her shoulders. He lifted several strands and let them curl around his fingers.