How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 5)

by Julie Johnstone

  Stark terror mingled with rage as he strode through the darkness. Guided by memory, he moved toward where he had seen Katherine and the men. His boot had touched a body before he realized he was upon one. He kneeled, his knees hitting the now-soggy ground and sinking into the muck. He strained to see, sweeping his gaze first over Kieran and then one of the king’s men. Both were dead, killed by well-aimed arrows to the head. The storm lit the sky once more, showing the other king’s guard with a slit throat, open eyes, and an open mouth.

  Cameron moved instinctively toward Katherine. His heart thudded heavily as he slid his hands up her body with care, feeling for injury. The silk of her gown was wet, whether from the rain or from blood he wasn’t sure. When lightning split the sky once more, it illuminated her long enough for him to see the crimson soaking her gown, upon his hands, and on her face where he had slid his hand to find her neck and cradle it.

  “Katherine?” He pulled her close, and the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils. With trembling hands, he found her nose. He placed one hand on her chest to feel for her heartbeat and one hand below her nose, hoping her breath would tickle his fingers. Nothing. No beat, no breath, just eternal stillness. Death hung over her, and guilt cloaked him.

  You are unworthy, his father’s long-ago voice whispered in his head. There would be grave consequences for Katherine’s death, but not now, not while his men were pursuing the attackers.

  He whistled loudly for Winthrop, and when the horse nuzzled Cameron in the shoulder, he swung onto the beast’s back and sent out a loud sea hawk call. Immediately, calls came back from his men, letting him know the directions in which they had scattered to give chase to the enemies who had fled like cowards. Blessedly, the rain stopped, and he stilled for a moment, listening. Horse hooves pounded somewhere from the left. He turned Winthrop and raced toward the sound. As he rode out of the thickest part of the woods, a small measure of light from above guided him.

  He sent the call out again, then following it, he drove Winthrop over a crest and down a steep, rocky embankment before crossing a stream into a much less dense part of the forest. As he galloped toward the answering sound of his call, his mind swung to the woman with the long, pale hair who he had seen just before the battle had begun. What in God’s name was a lass doing in a party of murdering men? Had she been taken by them, or was she with them voluntarily?

  Early-morning light trickled through the branches in this part of the forest. He blinked, his thoughts abandoning the unexpected woman as his eyes adjusted and fixed on Alex battling two men in the distance. Cameron tapped Winthrop’s flanks with his heels, urging his destrier into a faster pace. He drew his sword high as he surged toward the man on Alex’s left. He struck a blow to the man’s sword arm, but he surprised Cameron by ducking and slashing his sword at Winthrop. Cameron jerked his horse back and dismounted in a flash, sending Winthrop to safety while whirling to face the man who was charging him.

  The enemy attempted to hit him from the left, but Cameron easily defended the attack, rid the man of his sword, and felled him with a quick, savage cut of his blade to the man’s chest. The enemy gripped himself and fell sideways to join his comrade, who Alex had killed.

  “How many?” Alex demanded, light from the rising sun washing over his face as he wiped the sweat and blood running down his forehead and into his right eye.

  “How many left, or how many dead?” Cameron asked.

  “Dead by yer sword?”

  “Five including this one,” Cameron responded, gesturing to the man on the ground.

  Alex jerked his head in a nod. “I killed two,” he bit out.

  “Both men?” Cameron asked, thinking once again of the pale-haired lass.

  “Ye saw her, too? I thought I imagined it.”

  “Nay,” Cameron said with a frown. “What ye saw was real.” The woman’s presence was a puzzle, but it was one that would have to wait. He let out another owl’s call, and one came back loud and from the right.

  Quickly moving toward the dead men, he glanced down, dismissing the first almost immediately. He didn’t recognize the man, and the stranger had no distinguishable characteristics that might aid them in discovering who had attacked them. But the second man’s eyes were wide in death and quickly caught Cameron’s attention.

  “Do ye recognize him?” he asked Alex.

  “Nay. Do ye?”

  Cameron shook his head and kneeled, then bent closer so his face was right up to the man’s. He hissed in a breath. “He has one green eye and one blue eye. And look at the scar on his cheek.” It was shaped like a bolt of lightning.

  “Shall we take him with us?” Alex asked, leaning in beside Cameron.

  “Nay. We can ill afford to be slowed with enemies still lurking. He’ll be easy enough to recall. I dunnae imagine there is another man with two such colored eyes and that sort of marking on his cheek,” Cameron replied. He stood abruptly and whistled for Winthrop. He trotted over, as did Alex’s destrier. Once they had both mounted their horses, they rode fast in the direction of the answering call from moments before. He released two more calls to guide him to his men.

  They crested a hill, and in the distance, he saw his men gathered. He counted them quickly and cursed, searching the men to see who had fallen. Who was not there? As he rode closer, his gut twisted with the realization that there was a body slumped over the front of a horse manned by another rider.

  His and Alex’s men stood silently watching their approach. Cameron stopped in front of Broch, his second-in-command after Rory Mac, and with a nod of acknowledgment to the man, he moved closer to Rory Mac, who was slumped over the front of Broch’s horse. By the horse’s feet lay a dead enemy. Cameron touched Rory Mac’s shoulder, but he did not otherwise move. With a grunt and help from Broch, they shifted Rory Mac into an upright position as gently as possible. He winced when he saw the deep wound at Rory Mac’s midsection. It was a blessing the man had passed out. With care, he probed the wound to judge its severity.

  Fear threaded through him. This was a killing wound. There was nothing he could do now except get Rory Mac to Dunvegan Castle and to Marion, Iain’s second wife and a woman with great knowledge of the healing arts. “Can ye ride with him?” he asked Broch. Rory Mac was not a small man.

  Broch’s hard stare met Cameron’s. “Aye.” He slid an arm around Rory Mac’s midsection and together they leaned the man back against Broch. “I’ll watch over him. I vow it.”

  Cameron gave a brief nod before sweeping his gaze over his men.

  “I counted ten enemies,” Cameron said. Nods of agreement came from the others. “Two have escaped us?” he asked. He presumed it was so, but he wanted confirmation.

  Again, the men nodded, some looking down in shame, others’ faces twisting with anger, and still others looking at him with questioning expressions. They were awaiting his orders. He knew it, but his mind was going over every choice he had made, wondering if each had been the right one. It prevented him from speaking. Where had he misjudged? He could not see the exact moment in his mind, which worried him. For so long he had wanted to prove he was worthy to lead, and he had proven the opposite. He had failed Iain. He had failed Katherine. And he failed the king’s dead men and Rory Mac.

  Cameron’s throat tightened painfully. What to do? Pursue the attackers or save Rory Mac?

  There was no question.

  “Ride fast and hard to Dunvegan,” Cameron ordered, meeting every man’s gaze. “I’ll collect Katherine’s body and nae be far behind.”

  All the men nodded and immediately started to move to obey, except Alex. “Cameron, a word?”

  “Hold,” Cameron commanded to the men as he moved his destrier away from the group along with Alex.

  “The king will nae be pleased at the choice to put Rory Mac before pursuing the attackers,” Alex said when they were far enough away for discretion.

  “The king will likely want my head for Katherine’s life; it dunnae matter what I do now,”
Cameron bit out. “So I dunnae give a damn at this moment if my saving Rory Mac angers him more. Nae that I would have made the choice differently under other circumstances.”

  Alex clasped Cameron on the shoulder. “I agree. I just wanted to ensure ye had thought about his response.”

  “Aye,” Cameron replied grimly, “I have.”

  Alex eyed Cameron. “I’ll ride with ye. And dunnae attempt to argue.”

  “I dunnae fear that the attackers have lingered, Alex. Ye ken as well as I do, they were after Katherine. And since they succeeded…”

  Alex nodded. “They’ve likely fled. I dunnae stay with ye because of them. I remain with ye because of David.”

  Cameron let out a derisive chuckle. “Yer presence by my side will nae stop the king from taking my life on sight if he wishes, and it may get ye killed as well for simply being with me when I deliver Katherine to the king.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” Alex replied, determination lacing his tone.

  Cameron nodded. He knew it was futile to argue with the man, who was as stubborn as Iain. It meant a great deal to him that Alex would willingly risk his life for him, but it would not come to that. He’d have to ensure that Alex was not by his side when the king found out about Katherine. Precisely how he was going to achieve that eluded him now, but he had the journey back to Dunvegan to formulate a plan.

  “Broch,” Cameron called, getting the man’s swift attention. “Ye’re in charge. Alex will remain with me. Ride swiftly and save Rory Mac.”

  “Aye. Ye can trust me, Cameron,” Broch replied, already turning to depart for Dunvegan.

  Cameron watched long enough to see the men follow, and then he silently guided Winthrop in the direction he had left Katherine and set out to collect the king’s dead mistress.

  Just as he pressed his heels into his destrier to signal a gallop, Alex said, “Her death was nae yer fault.”

  Cameron involuntarily jerked at the words spoken aloud, words that completely contradicted what he knew to be true. In pulling backward, he slowed Winthrop, whom he’d just set into a gallop. The horse threw his head back at the opposing order but settled when Cameron rubbed a soothing hand down the back of his neck.

  “It was,” Cameron replied, his tone as desolate as he felt inside.

  Alex shook his head. “It was her own damn fault for speaking when she was told nae to. If she had nae opened her mouth, the arrows would nae have found her in the darkness.”

  “It was my responsibility to ensure she understood the consequence of disobeying my orders, and to be ready for the possibility that she might. I failed on both accounts.”

  “My God, Cameron.” Alex’s tone held frustration and sympathy. “Nae even the keenest leader could have been ready for Katherine’s foolish actions. The standards ye are holding yerself to are nae attainable.”

  “They are the standards required of a leader of the MacLeod clan,” Cameron snapped.

  “I dunnae believe yer brothers expect ye to be faultless,” Alex declared.

  “I expect it,” Cameron growled, setting Winthrop to a gallop.

  They made their way back across the stream and started through the thick brush and under overhanging branches. When a snake fell from the trees above them, Cameron threw off the slimy thing with a hiss, spooking Winthrop. The horse reared up on his hind legs and tossed his head back with a snort.

  “Settle, ye wild beastie,” Cameron ordered as he and Alex searched the ground for the snake. He glanced above them to ensure there were no more surprises to come.

  When he deemed it clear, he looked again to the path, more vigilant now as he watched for anything amiss. Winthrop hadn’t moved two steps before Cameron yanked up on the horse’s reins when he spotted something pale and slender on the ground. His first thought was that it was another snake, but he dismissed the insensible notion as he’d never seen a snake such a color. He moved Winthrop a step closer and let out a slow breath. An arm. He was staring at an arm.

  “Och!” he swore, pointing at it. “Do ye see that?” he asked Alex as he dismounted.

  “Aye,” Alex replied, the thud of his feet landing on the ground resounding behind Cameron.

  He drew his sword, preparing for an ambush, but as he drew near the body, his lips parted and he lowered his sword. “By God,” he muttered and put away his weapon.

  Alex gave a sharp intake of breath from beside Cameron as they stared down at the woman. This was the flaxen-haired lass he’d glimpsed earlier. She was lying still, her delicate features bathed in the early-morning sunlight and her forehead covered with blood. He dropped to his knees in the cold, hard dirt. Rocks dug into his skin as memories sliced through his mind like sharp daggers, shredding his control.

  He saw the St. John’s Eve festival of five years before and the lass turning to wave a mocking farewell after she had bested him in dagger throwing and dashing away. He recalled Eolande’s violet eyes penetrating him as she foretold his future. A shudder ran through him as the seer’s words echoed in his head.

  She will come to ye again, but this time in battle, bathed in blood and marked by a heart. To yer knees she will bring ye, and for her, ye will betray everything ye hold dear.

  His heart began to pound a fearful beat as he stared at the lass. Long, dark lashes rested against her pale skin. Her cheekbones were high, lips full, and nose pert. Her thick hair fanned out around her, stark light against the dark dirt. A deep, dark gash of dried blood ran across her forehead. She must have bled a great deal, for the blood had run down the side of her face and matted in her hair by her shoulders. She smelled floral, like bell heather, and he immediately thought of sunshine as his gaze passed over her blond hair and moved to her hands. A dagger rested against her palm, and by the way her fingers had folded open, he knew she’d been clutching it when she had been knocked from her horse. It was obvious what had happened by the long cut across her head and the branch above her.

  Alex elbowed Cameron. “Do ye fear she’s dead?”

  “Do ye?” Cameron growled, his response so violently strong at the possibility that it made him almost nervous to touch her. He waited for her to take a breath. When it came, slow and shallow, he exhaled an odd feeling of relief. “She lives,” he announced. When his fingers grazed her cool skin, his body responded by tightening all over. It took great will not to release her immediately. He gave her a small shake, and when she did not respond but remained motionless with her eyes still closed, he raked his gaze over her, searching for the heart the seer had spoken of while fighting back a sense of dread.

  No heart was readily seen, but it gave him little comfort as she was fully clothed and there could well be the marking Eolande had referred to in a place he could not see. His fingers twitched with the desire to explore, but his wariness at actually discovering the mark stilled him. He wanted to reject the seer’s prophecy, but how could he if this lass was marked by the symbol of which Eolande had spoken? He clenched his teeth. She may have had a heart, but he was no betrayer of family and king.

  “Shall I gather her and ye go for Katherine?” Alex asked.

  It was a reasonable suggestion. Actually, it was what Cameron would have insisted upon to ensure the king did not take his anger out on Alex if he were to arrive with the king’s dead mistress on his horse. Yet knowing it was the sound thing to do did not stop the sudden flare of possessiveness that arose in Cameron. That feeling—that strange, inexplicable emotion for a woman he did not know—jolted him to his feet and sent him skittering back a few steps, his blood surging through his veins.

  Alex frowned at him. “What’s amiss?”

  Eolande’s damnable prophecy throbbed in his head, and even without seeing the heart upon the lass’s body, Cameron was somehow certain it was there. And if it was there, despite believing he’d never betray his family nor his king, concern twisted through him at the strange feelings the lass had caused. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her, yet he did. And because he did, despite knowing the
prophecy, he needed to keep a safe distance. “I’ll go gather Katherine and meet ye here.”

  Alex grasped him by the arm just as Cameron was turning away. “Are ye fashed about the king? Is that what has ye behaving suddenly so oddly?”

  Cameron nodded, though he had hardly given thought to the king’s response to Katherine since they had come upon the lass. “Aye,” he forced out, shrugged out of his friend’s hold, and then mounted his destrier and rode away. He wanted to look back and certify that Alex had gathered the lass upon his horse, but Cameron compelled himself to keep his gaze ahead of him. As he rode through the woods, the lie he’d told his friend lingered like ash on his tongue. He never lied, yet he had just now. Honor and truth were one, yet he had just broken the bind. Eolande’s words roared even louder until they drowned out the sound of Winthrop’s galloping.

  For her, ye will betray everything ye hold dear.

  “God above,” he muttered. Where was his control?

  He inhaled a ragged breath. All his life, he had wanted nothing more than to rectify his mistakes and prove he was worthy to fight by his brothers’ sides.

  And no lass was going interfere with that.

  Three

  It was nearly nightfall, and Cameron and Alex continued to ride in silence toward Dunvegan Castle, each carrying a woman across his lap. As they exited the thick woods, the outer bailey, which was lit with hundreds of torches, came into view.

  “They await our return,” Alex said, his voice grave.

  “Aye,” Cameron replied, his own tone heavy with tension. “I supposed they would, once the men gave word of the ambush.”

  Cameron glanced at Katherine’s lifeless form. He could no longer see her injuries clearly due to the darkness, but he had stared at them long enough during the journey that they were seared into his memory. The deep crimson that had stained her gown when the arrow had pierced her flesh had spread across the fabric, and the metallic smell of blood still wafted from her. Bile rose in his throat, as it had done when he had first gathered her off the forest floor and into his arms. Death was not foreign to him. He’d been in a few battles and killed men who had intended to kill him, but he had never seen a helpless woman shot down, and never had he held a dead woman in his arms.