Cameron noted that Lachlan did not disagree. Instead, he jerked his head in a nod. “I suppose I agree, but for me, I would have rather faced the worst of what she prophesized than live a life without Bridgette, so I pursued her. Ye ken the rest.” He grinned. He often smiled when speaking of his wife.
“What did Eolande say to ye?” Iain asked Cameron.
Cameron’s skin prickled with the recollection. He hesitated to speak aloud what she had predicted, yet he felt compelled to, given his intense response to Serene. “She told me that I would forsake everything I hold dear for the lass. King David.” Cameron swallowed and forced himself not to glance away from his brothers. “The family.” Iain’s eyes went wide, and Lachlan’s nostrils flared. Cameron curled his hands into fists. “And my honor,” he added in a flat tone. He turned his face away for a moment, shamed by the foretelling of his weakness. “She said that the lass was the mate of my heart and enemy of our clan.” He had to force the last words out. “And that with her comes life and death born of my choices,” he finished, turning to look at his brothers once more.
“Stay away from the lass,” Iain pronounced without hesitation.
Cameron glanced at Lachlan, expecting him to mock Iain for his obvious fear of the seer’s words or, at the very least, to disagree. Instead, Lachlan shifted from foot to foot, an uneasy look on his face. “Avoiding the lass seems the best course to me, as well. There’s nae any sense taking chances that any part of Eolande’s prophecy will come true.”
“How am I to avoid her?” he demanded, truly questioning it but also keenly aware that he wished to unravel her secrets, not avoid her. “My life hangs precariously in the balance,” he said, first eyeing Iain, then Lachlan. “I need to learn everything about this woman, because one small detail may verra well help me discover who she is and what she kens about Katherine’s murder.”
“Ye’re assuming she is nae lying about nae remembering, and that she will share what she kens with ye,” Lachlan pointed out.
“I dunnae believe she’s lying,” Cameron said, though he had questioned it at the very first.
“Dunnae be led by lust!” Lachlan spat.
Cameron inhaled slowly, working to control his temper. Was he being led by lust? He didn’t think so. It was more a feeling in his gut that had grown as he talked to her. Still, he would need to tread carefully. “I’m nae such a clot-heid to allow lust to rule me,” he growled, willing it to be true.
“Use yer head, Brother,” Iain said, clutching Cameron’s shoulder as he faced him. “If she is telling the truth—”
Cameron made a derisive noise from his throat. It was more of the same—his beliefs being questioned because his brothers did not think his instincts could be as sharp as theirs.
Iain held up a hand. “Hold yer temper. I’m also inclined to believe she is telling the truth, especially given what Marion told us about treating others with the same such injury.”
Cameron remained silent, recognizing the need to allow Iain to speak, though the ire that simmered within made him want to walk away from his brother.
Iain took a deep breath. “If she dunnae recall anything, what good does it do for ye to be around her?”
“She may say things without realizing it that might provide clues to who she is or what her part was in the attack, if she even had one,” Cameron explained.
“Lachlan and I can listen for such things just as well as ye could,” Iain insisted. “And we will order Broch and Ragnar to guard her when we are nae with her. Yer time will be better spent scouring the countryside for information on the man with the mismatched eyes and the scar.”
The desire to argue his brother’s logic burned through Cameron’s body, which is exactly why he merely nodded. He was not ruled by lust, no matter what his brothers thought. His desire to be around her was great, it was true, so he’d do the opposite. The less time he spent with the lass, the less time for him to do something foolish that would make Eolande’s foretelling a reality.
Iain cleared his throat. “I ken why ye feel as ye do about being to blame for Katherine’s death, but ken this, I will nae let ye die because of it.”
“We will nae let ye,” Lachlan added. “Dunnae fear that if ye kinnae find her murderers that we will stand by and allow the king to kill ye. It is our brotherhood that makes us invincible. Only alone are we weak.”
Cameron’s chest tightened in gratitude, but the frustration that they were in this situation because of him still boiled below the surface.
“We defend one another always,” Iain added so fiercely that it almost seemed as if he could read Cameron’s thoughts. Iain held out his forearms to be clasped, as they always did as a symbol of unity before separating for battle.
Aware of his brothers’ expectant looks, Cameron stuck out his own forearms to be clasped as he gripped theirs.
“Agreed?” they asked.
“Aye,” he replied, though guilt and shame made him want to disagree. He’d set out to prove he was their equal, and instead, he had dragged them—devil take it, he’d dragged the entire clan—into a dangerous situation. Self-loathing filled him. He wanted their respect, and the only way to earn it was to show them he deserved it.
“I’ve nae a doubt that the attack on Katherine was meant as a direct attack against the king,” Iain said.
Lachlan and Cameron both nodded, and Lachlan said, “The king has many enemies.”
“Aye,” Iain agreed, then looked to Cameron. “Ye have always been very astute when it comes to matters of Scotland, the king, and the other clans and nobles all vying for power. Do ye have any thoughts as to who could have ambushed ye?”
Cameron considered the question for a long moment, thinking on all the men, most especially the nobles, who were vexed—no, that word was not strong enough—disgusted with the king. “The Earl of Ross, as the king stripped him of one of his castles recently, and the Campbells possibly because of their recently failed attempt to manipulate the king. They likely have not given up the idea that they should have a measure of control in ruling Scotland.”
Both his brothers nodded and gave him almost matching expectant looks. That they sought his opinion and seemed to trust it made his chest feel full. “Possibly the Earl of March.”
Lachlan nodded. “Aye, I agree. I kinnae think of any good reason why he attempted to marry his son to Graham’s wife, Isobel, other than to gain her castle so he could control the sea entry to the Isles. We all ken that whoever controls the entry to the Isles holds a powerful position that could remove David from the throne if enough forces rise against him.”
“Aye,” Iain added. “And March did it all secretly, trying to keep the king in the dark. I dunnae trust him at all.”
“Aye,” Lachlan and Cameron agreed.
“Since ye mentioned Isobel and Graham,” Iain said, referring to their other brother who now lived at Brigid Castle with his wife, “we need to send word to him about what has occurred. Who should we task with it?”
“I’ll go,” Cameron replied. “I intended to make my way to the largest castles to see if anyone kens anything about the man with the scar. If I can learn what clan he belongs to, we will ken who ordered him to act. And as Brigid is near the Earl of Ross’s home, it will be easy for me to stop and see Graham and warn him of the trouble stirring.”
“Wait to depart until the king does, Brother. This way he kinnae send men behind ye to track yer every move,” Iain said.
“Ye speak wisely,” Cameron agreed. “Did he share his plans?”
Iain nodded. “He intends to go to the MacDonald hold and to make his way to the Steward’s home from there.”
Cameron frowned. “Is that wise to go to his nephew, given the king’s suspicions that he is involved in the plot to force him from the throne? After all, the Steward did block David’s release from captivity by the English twice, and he seemed well pleased to sit on the throne in David’s absence for all the years of the king’s imprisonment.”
; Iain smiled grimly. “I believe David finally feels he has enough power to punish his nephew for his part in keeping David imprisoned and for what he believes are the Steward’s attempts to rally other noblemen to rise against David so that the Steward can take the throne.”
“Does the king mean to publicly declare the Steward a traitor?” Lachlan asked, voicing what Cameron also wanted to know.
“Aye,” Iain replied, his voice vibrating anger. “The war for the throne is beginning, brothers. Pray to God we all come out alive.”
It felt like days had passed, but Serene knew by the moon rising in the night it had not been that long. She stood surrounded by a bevy of chattering women in the bedchamber she had been escorted to when she was allowed to leave the healing room, yet she felt very alone. Though the laird’s wife, Marion, was friendly enough, the other three women wore varying expressions that ranged from wariness to barely concealed hostility as they poked her to assess the fit for fashioning her some gowns. She looked toward the door once more, hoping Cameron, the only person who felt familiar to her, would appear. But the door to the bedchamber remained stubbornly closed, just as the door to the healing room had.
Cameron’s sister, Lena, caught Serene’s gaze as she looked toward the door.
The woman scowled at Serene. “My brother has more important things to do than attend to ye, so ye can quit staring at the door,” she snapped.
“Lena!” Marion and the other woman, Bridgette—who was rocking a swaddled babe in her arms—shouted as one. When the infant started to wail, Bridgette cooed, “Hush, my darling Magnus. I’ve ye safe in my arms.” When she looked up from her babe, she glared at Lena.
Serene’s cheeks flamed with astonished embarrassment at Lena’s words. She quickly looked away from the door to the gown that Marion had been holding up but was now crumbled against her hip. Marion frowned at Lena. “Don’t be cruel. It’s only natural that she is looking for Cameron since he is the only person, or even thing, she recalls of her past. You are being too protective!”
Lena’s fierce glare did not indicate that she agreed with Marion.
Serene touched her fingertips to the bandage around her head. The panic, which she had managed to keep under control thus far, stirred at the mention of her memory loss.
Lena tsked. “I dunnae ken the lot of ye. She says she dunnae recall anything, and ye all believe her without question.”
Serene’s spine stiffened at the woman’s angry tone and the accusing glare she fixed on Serene.
Lena pointed at her. “I dunnae believe ye,” she growled. “I’ll be more than happy to be proven wrong, but for now, I’ll be watching ye.”
“Lena,” Marion said on a gasp as she bent down and picked up the young child tugging on her skirts. “You are being rude,” she said, standing and settling the black-haired boy on her hip. He grinned as he began to play with her hair.
“Nay,” Lena disagreed. “I’m being truthful. I’ll nae mince words in this instance, nor force myself to pretty manners. My gut tells me ye will bring great strife to my brother, and I kinnae sit back and allow it to happen. I will defend him.”
“Yer brother is a grown man, and a warrior at that,” Serene said, trying not to be antagonistic but rather placating.
Lena narrowed her eyes into slits, and Serene rushed through the rest of what she wanted to say. “But I understand yer desire to keep him safe from harm, as it should be. He is yer brother, and even fierce men are nae invincible. If I had a brother—” Her heart squeezed within her chest, and she halted her words. Wrinkling her brow, she cleared her throat and started again. “If I had a brother—”
There! There it was again. That same tightening in her chest.
“What’s troubling you?” Marion asked, concern lacing her tone. The child on Marion’s hip stared at Serene with large blue eyes for a moment before he started playing with Marion’s hair once more.
Serene rubbed at the tension in her chest. “I believe I have a brother,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Do ye remember him?” Lena asked, the wary look she had been wearing replaced by a dubious one.
“Nay, but it’s a feeling I have here.” She pressed her fingers to her heart.
Bridgette nodded. “Aye, I understand what ye mean. When I think of my brother, I get a warm feeling of happiness in my chest.”
The blue-eyed, brown-haired woman called Marsaili, kneeling at Serene’s feet suddenly stopped pinning the gown they had demanded Serene put on to replace her bloody and torn one. Marsaili stood as a dark look swept across the woman’s features. “When I think of my brothers, Colin and Findlay, I feel gladness that the murdering devils are dead. But when I think of Graham, Iain, Lachlan, and Cameron, I feel hope.”
Serene must have worn a confused expression, because Marsaili said, “I only recently discovered I am half sister to the MacLeod brothers—and Lena, of course.”
“What do ye feel?” Lena demanded, studying Serene.
Serene thought about it for a moment. Beyond the tightness, her belly felt hollow, and a sense of dread and worry prickled her skin. “I dunnae feel happiness,” she admitted.
“That might be because yer brother killed the king’s mistress,” Lena bit out.
Serene recoiled at the suggestion. “Nay!” she blurted, but the worry within her blossomed into fear.
She struggled not to show it on her face, but Lena leaned in close and said, “Ye look guilty.”
“Let her be,” Marion snapped. To Serene, Lena’s gaze seemed less friendly than it had moments before, which meant Lena now looked like she could cheerfully shoot an arrow through Serene’s heart.
Bridgette quirked her mouth, then spoke. “Perchance her brother is like Colin and Findlay were. That would explain why she looks terrified.”
Serene quickly pressed her hands to her cheeks. She looked terrified?
“Aye, that would explain it,” Marsaili added. “She looks the way I felt about my brothers.”
All four women stared at her as if trying to determine whether she was friend or foe.
But even she didn’t know! Not truly, and the realization made her throat ache terribly with the need to cry. “Might I rest before supper?” she asked. She was weary and her head ached horribly, but mostly, if she was going to weep like a babe, she’d rather not have an audience.
“Certainly,” Marion replied, giving the other three women a stern look. They filed out with barely a backward glance, except for Marion, who paused at the door.
She smiled hesitantly. “I’m certain you had nothing to do with killing Katherine. You have kind eyes, and people with kind eyes are not murderers.”
Serene laughed, despite how dreadful she felt. “I’m nae positive that’s correct, but I thank ye for trying to make me feel better.”
“Food will make you feel better, as well.”
The young boy on Marion’s hip said, “Me eat!”
Marion chuckled as she ruffled the child’s curls. “Yes, Royce. Mummy is going to feed you.” Marion glanced to Serene once more. “I’ll come fetch you for supper in a little while, and I’ll bring a fresh gown with me, but ye can don this one until then. She handed Serene the wrinkled gown she had been holding.”
Serene was certain neither food nor a fresh gown would make her feel better. Only her memory had the potential to do that. Or it’s possible that remembering would make her feel worse… Either way, she kept the thoughts to herself, took the gown that Marion extended, and then shut the door behind Marion once she had exited the room. Serene leaned against the door, pressing her pounding head into the hard wood. On the other side, she could hear the women speaking.
“Ye’re too trusting,” someone cautioned, surely to Marion as no one else appeared to trust her.
“Would you have me judge her our enemy without any proof?”
“Aye. She is our enemy until she proves otherwise.”
“Aye,” came a chorus of agreements that made Serene’s heart squeeze. N
ot only was she in a foreign place but she was a stranger to herself, unsure of the sort of person she really was. And now it seemed the one potential friend she had would likely not be a friend anymore.
She shoved away from the door, took off the gown the women had been pinning, made her way to the bed, and fell backward to stare up at the ceiling, wondering if she was good or evil. In her heart, she felt she was good, but perchance everyone felt that way about themselves. She had to recall her past, and it seemed to her she needed to remember sooner rather than later. But how? She had one memory, if one could call the recollection of Cameron MacLeod’s hands on a dagger a memory. But it was all she had, so lying there, in the chilly room in the growing darkness, she pictured his long, strong fingers, which had wrapped easily around the dagger. And then she pictured his face and focused hard on it. Something niggled in her mind. It was a muddled image of a younger man smiling a teasing smile.
His features were not defined, but somehow she knew it to be Cameron. She closed her eyes and searched through the mist in her head until another memory appeared. Cameron stood beside a woman with long, dark hair and eyes that seemed to pierce the distance between Serene and the two of them. Serene laughed and was startled by the noise. She had been laughing! In her memory she had been laughing and breathless, and then she had been filled with trepidation.
Determination filled Serene. She needed to find Cameron and question him about what she had remembered. She stood abruptly and started toward the door, but paused as her hand touched the latch. She had no notion where Cameron might be, and she doubted any of the women would be willing to tell her. But perchance she would come across an unsuspecting man and she could persuade him.
She glanced around the room, saw a bucket, and walked over to it. She twisted her hair into a knot, then set about washing her neck, arms, and face. When her fingers brushed the bandage on her head, she winced. She doubted it made her appear very fetching, but she’d have to leave it. Releasing her hair, she picked up the comb that was lying on the vanity and tried as best she could to get out the tangles. Then she tugged on the gown that Marion had handed her. It was too tight and too long, but so was the one the women had been working on, and since her old gown was in tatters, this one would have to do. She took a breath for courage, and her breasts very nearly spilled out of the top of her gown. She heaved it up once more and made her way to the door. She slowly opened it and poked her head out just enough to see who, if anyone, was in the passageway.
How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady Page 8