“This—” He waved a hand between her and himself but did not raise his head. “Ye, we”—another growl came from him, but this one was filled with frustration—“our circumstances are much more confusing than I anticipated.”
“Our circumstances?” she asked, fascinated by the vein that visibly pulsed at his left temple.
He inhaled a long breath, making the slabs of muscle on his back ripple. “Someone is trying to kill ye.”
“Aye,” she replied, a hard knot forming in her chest. “I still dunnae ken what ye mean by our circumstances, though.”
His hands slid through his hair to the back of his neck. He linked his fingers together, lifting his head to look straight ahead. “Ye risked yer life leaving the shelter of the rock to aid me.” His head whipped in her direction, eyes so bright that she sucked in a sharp breath. “Why?” he demanded, the word harsh and aching. “Why would ye risk yer life to help a stranger? Especially one who ye ken suspected ye to be guilty of murder?”
Why? It was a good question, and not one she had paused to ask herself yet. Her hand fluttered to her hair, catching a silky strand, and winding it around her finger. The action soothed her and seemed to help her think. “Suspected?” she asked, curious if he no longer thought her a part of the plot to kill Katherine and wishing to gain time to give him an answer to his question.
He nodded. “Aye. I kinnae make sense of why someone would be trying to kill ye if ye are working with them.”
“Perchance they want to silence me,” she said in a hushed tone, voicing her fear.
“Perchance, but my gut tells me nay, so unless I discover otherwise, ye are nae my enemy. Now, do ye intend to tell me why ye risked yer life for me?”
She shifted, assessed her heart and her mind. “I kinnae say for certain, except I…I feel as if our paths are somehow intertwined.”
Tension crossed his face, and then a look of understanding filled his eyes. She exhaled a breath she had not even realized she had been holding. “Do ye—do ye feel so, as well?”
His mouth twisted as if he wanted to deny it, but he nodded, shoulders sagging. “I do.”
It seemed to her there was more there he wanted to say, but when he remained silent, she spoke. “Ye sound as if that is the worst thing in the world,” she said in as light a voice as she could muster when her feelings had been trampled upon.
He stood swiftly. “I fear it may well be,” he replied, looked as if he might say more, but he clenched his teeth and abruptly turned away.
Seven
After Marion collected Serene from her bedchamber the next morning, she took her to the great hall, and the first person they encountered was Cameron. Faster than Serene knew what was occurring, Marion was handing her over to Cameron and striding away. For a long moment, he simply stared at her with an uneasy look on his face before he took her by the arm, and then he led her to a table and deposited her for the morning meal without a word. From the pitying looks the curly redheaded woman beside her gave her and the sympathy-filled blue eyes Marsaili turned upon her, Serene was certain it was as obvious that Cameron wanted nothing more than to put distance between them. She swallowed hard as she listened to him order the giant warrior sitting beside Marsaili to guard her.
When the man acknowledged his duty, Cameron turned away and strode toward the dais. Confusion churned in her belly. He’d said he did not consider her his enemy, but the moment she had confessed that she thought their lives were meant to intertwine somehow, he’d become cold. Feeling her throat tighten with all the emotions bottled inside her and her vision blur with unshed tears, she reached blindly for the goblet in front of her, desperate for some way to quell the tide within. Her fingers brushed someone else’s, and she pulled back quickly while glancing to her right. Dark, assessing eyes framed by long, dark lashes met hers.
“I’m Alanna,” the woman said in a serious voice while shoving a mass of red curls over her shoulder. “I’m Rory Mac’s wife.”
When Serene frowned, the woman’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “Rory Mac is the warrior who was gravely injured in the attack that killed the king’s mistress.”
“Oh!” Serene gasped. “How does he fare?”
“His fever has broken,” Alanna said, her tone anything but friendly.
Serene got the feeling Alanna blamed her for Rory Mac’s injuries. “I’m glad to hear his fever broke,” she said, choosing her words with care. “I hope he makes a swift recovery. I wish I could remember the attack so that I could help find who ambushed yer husband and the others.”
Alanna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Just because ye dunnae have a memory of doing evil, dunnae mean ye did nae do it.” The woman stood. “I’ll nae break my fast beside ye.”
Serene clenched her teeth for a moment. Anger coursed through her, but understanding did, too. “That’s yer choice,” she said quietly. “Though I hope to prove to ye and everyone else that I’m a good person.”
Alanna pursed her lips, and then she let out a rattling sigh. “I hope ye prove that, as well.”
Her departure and the words she’d spoken left the table in absolute silence. Marsaili quietly stood next, causing Serene’s breath to catch. Were they all going to leave the table one by one? How humiliating that would be!
Much to her surprise, Marsaili moved to the empty space Alanna had left on her departure. Marsaili turned to her. “I ken well how it feels to be an outcast here. I dunnae believe ye would have bothered to try to aid Cameron last night, if ye were a willing partner in the attack against Katherine.”
“I dunnae believe so, either,” said the large warrior Cameron had assigned as her guard. The man swiped a hunk of bread through the thick sauce on his plate, wiped his hands on his plaid, and grinned at her as he leaned his elbows on the table. “I’m Broch, and it will be my pleasure to keep watch over ye.” With those surprising words, he winked at her.
An older gentleman with red hair and nubs for ears leaned around Broch to look at her. He eyed her for a long moment before thumping Broch on the head. “Dunnae let lust for a beautiful lass rule ye. Ye see that Cameron dunnae lose his good judgment simply because the lass is bonny. She may have tried to aid him,” the man said, directing his steely gaze at Marsaili, “but let none of us forget she dunnae remember who she is. When she does…” His eyes narrowed.
Heat singed Serene’s cheeks, and she opened her mouth to defend herself, though she did not have much of a defense since she did not recall the truth. Before she could speak, Marsaili slammed her hand on the table, rattling the trenchers. “Ye are a grumpy old man, Neil,” she bit out. “Ye have decided she’s guilty of the worst without any proof.”
“I’m nae the only one,” the man named Neil sputtered. “Clearly Cameron has decided so, as well, and Alanna. I am certain everyone in this room is wary of her but ye, Broch, and Marion. We all ken Marion is too nice and too trusting, and as for Broch…” He waved a hand at the warrior. “We all ken his brain is nae leading him in this.”
The heat in Serene’s cheeks spread down her neck and to her chest.
Grunts of agreement sounded from all around the table, and Neil said, “Broch turns into a clot-heid whenever a bonny lass smiles at him.”
“Aye,” everyone at the table besides Marsaili said.
“Ye’re the clot-heid, Neil!” Marsaili said with such force that people from the nearby tables turned to look at them.
Desperate to quiet the rising argument, Serene said in a low but firm voice, “If I am guilty of conspiring to kill the king’s mistress, I will willingly give my life.”
“Ye’ll be giving something anyway,” someone to her left snarled.
She turned to ask them what they meant and blinked in surprise at the sight of Cameron standing there. Fury was etched into his features and burned in his eyes. He jerked the younger man out of his seat and yanked him forward until their faces were a hairsbreadth apart.
“Keep yer filthy mouth shut, Cormac,” Cameron growled.
The man scowled. “We all ken what the king has planned for her. Why do ye defend this woman who may well have murdered our king’s mistress?” His words were like thunder, reverberating around the now-silent great hall.
Serene wished she could disappear, but she forced herself to sit tall.
“I find I’ve the same question as young Cormac,” a deep voice said from the direction of the dais.
Serene turned to find a man standing. His brown hair and beard were both impeccably kept. He wore a long, ruby-red cloak trimmed in gold; the material was thick and obviously rich. He was tall and of lean build, and he had a long, patrician nose and prominent cheekbones.
“Dunnae ye have an answer for yer king?” he asked in a quiet, yet powerful voice that managed to send chills racing down Serene’s back. “If ye dunnae, perchance I should rid us all this very hour of this woman who trouble seems to haunt.”
Terror clawed at Serene, but she forced herself to sit perfectly still, except her gaze, which she cast furtively at Cameron, who shoved the man he’d been gripping back into his seat. Cameron did not look the least concerned with the king’s question. In truth, the expression on his face almost bordered on anger. But it seemed to disappear before her very eyes, as if he had slid a magic shield in place that was to leave whoever was staring at him baffled and confused.
“Because, Yer Grace,” he said in an easy, casual tone, “Serene recalled a new memory that further points to her innocence. I simply have nae yet had a private moment to share it with ye nor Iain.”
Shock bolted through her at his lie. She barely managed to keep her lips together, but as his gaze settled on her, his shields dropped down, and in the depths of his mesmerizing eyes, a warning dwelled. He was warning her to stay silent! Her heart thudded heavily as she tilted her head ever so slightly.
Footsteps resounded in the silent hall, and without turning to see who approached, Serene knew it to be the king. He appeared beside Cameron. The king was a bit shorter and his build not near as commanding; nevertheless, he had a presence about him that commanded attention.
“Do tell,” he said in a tone that was low enough that the whole room could not hear but not so hushed that everyone at the table did not lean forward to listen. Serene found herself leaning forward, as well, unsure what he was going to say or why he would boldly lie to his king for her. She was both terrified and so grateful that she wanted to weep.
“She recalled that she had been taken by force from land near her home,” he said smoothly.
Serene felt her lips part, but she immediately pressed them shut and looked down at her hands. She feared she would give away his falsehood, and she would rather cut out her tongue than betray this man who had just deceived his king for her.
“What else do ye remember, my lady?” the king demanded in a harsh voice that made her twitch.
Slowly, she looked up and met the king’s probing gaze. Her blood roared in her ears as she licked her lips and swallowed hard. “Nae anything else, I’m afraid, Sire.”
His eyes narrowed, and he offered a tilt of his head. “I’m certain if ye are now recalling things, ye will soon remember more that will help Cameron in his search for my Katherine’s killers.”
She wiped her suddenly sweaty palms against her skirts. “Aye, Sire,” she started, but had to clear a catch in her throat. “I’m certain I will recall more that shall shed light.” Pray God it would prove innocence when she did finally remember.
The king strolled over to her and motioned for her to stand. She did so on trembling legs. He quirked his finger in commandment for her to come to him. She took a deep breath to quell her quaking nerves as she walked to the king. When he gripped her by the chin, she bit her lip on her cry of protest. His grip was not punishing but firm, and seemed to hint that punishment would come if she were to move.
Behind the king, Cameron tensed, and his hands curl into fists by his side. Suddenly his brothers Iain and Lachlan were flanking him. Her attention was diverted back to the king when he turned her face sharply to the left, then the right.
He smiled, the brittleness increasing her fears. “I’m pleased to hear it is unlikely that ye are a traitor,” he offered, turning her face directly to his. “I’ve designs for ye, my lady, but first…” He squeezed her chin with such force that she winced. The king shifted, and she could once again see Cameron. Both his brothers had a hand on each of his arms. The king released her as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, and she rubbed her aching chin. “First, I think it wise if ye go with Cameron on his search for Katherine’s killers.”
Relief at the king’s proclamation nearly sent her to her knees. She did not want to be left at Dunvegan Castle without Cameron. She looked to him, afraid he’d argue that she’d slow him down in his quest, but he was already striding toward the king.
“An excellent idea, Sire,” Cameron replied. “I can use any information Serene may recall.”
The king’s mouth twisted into a smug smile. “Just be sure to keep her unscathed,” he drawled, raking his gaze over her so she had to back up a step. “I want her returned just as lovely appearing as she is now, to use as I see fit.”
Serene shuddered inwardly at what the king was implying. She yearned to flee the great hall and keep running, but she had no notion where she would even go.
With those ominous words, the king turned toward the silent great hall, held up his hands, and announced, “I’m away to my home in a short while. Let us finish breaking our fast before my departure.” The hall once again erupted into chatter as the king strode back to the dais.
Serene stood face-to-face with Cameron, her heart racing as he stared into her eyes.
“Brother,” Iain said, coming up behind Cameron. He studied Serene before he spoke once more. “Come back to the dais and break yer fast. We will discuss Serene and what’s to be done after the king has departed.”
She stilled, wishing fervently that Cameron would not leave her once more, and when he shook his head, she could not hold back the exhalation of relief that he planned, perchance to keep her near. His eyes widened, and wariness flickered within them. “I’ll be down to the loch for the king’s departure, but I’ve nae an appetite for food.”
“As ye wish,” Iain replied, though he looked anything but happy about relenting.
He passed by her, as did Lachlan, both of them seeming guarded, as if she could somehow harm them. She didn’t have time to question it as Cameron stepped closer and took her by the elbow. His fingers curled tightly around her arm, and he started to pull her closer when a startled look crossed his face. He dropped her elbow as though it burned him. She swallowed. He hadn’t meant to touch her. She knew it was unreasonable to be bothered by it, but it was like he had taken a chunk of her pride and smashed it with his fists.
His eyes had an almost hungry look as he stared at her. “Try nae to cause any more trouble as ye break yer fast.”
She flinched at his words as disappointment that he had every intention of leaving her filled her chest. She clenched her teeth at her continued foolishness. Given the way he was acting toward her, it was obvious that, despite his earlier words, the man detested her. Embarrassment mingled with sorrow and confusion. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t even know him, not really; the little she remembered of him was all she knew. But whether she should or not, the simple fact was that she did care.
She forced out a steady response. “I did nae cause the trouble,” she said, frustrated that her voice was not as strong as she had liked. Devil take it, she sounded weary, defeated, almost wounded. “Yer clan hates me,” she whispered furiously so only he could hear, though as the words left her mouth she could have kicked herself. Now she sounded wounded and like a weepy child. She vowed in that moment not to say anything else that would make her seem weak or foolish.
He looked as if he was about to argue, but then he clamped his jaw shut and raked a hand through his hair, making her wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers throu
gh his thick locks. How appalling! Apparently she was weak and wicked.
“Dunnae move,” he growled.
She nodded, and he strode purposely around her toward Cormac. His eyes widened at Cameron’s approach. She noted with self-satisfaction, which was likely sinful, that the man was not so full of bluster now.
“My lord,” he began, but Cameron interrupted him by holding his palm up. The man fell silent, and when Cameron leaned over him to talk—she supposed so no one else would hear—all the color leeched from Cormac’s face. When Cameron stood up straight again, the other warrior slunk low in his chair, hunching his shoulders and casting his gaze down. The men around him jeered openly at him, calling him a clot-heid.
Though the young warrior had made her angry, her heart ached for him, and she felt a twinge of familiarity, as if she too had been humiliated before. Cormac’s gaze darted to her for a moment, and she vowed she saw remorse there, but he turned his eyes quickly down before she could offer an understanding smile.
Cameron grabbed two hunks of bread, cheese, and a carafe of wine before striding back to her. “Come,” he said gruffly, making her certain he didn’t really want her to but that he felt he must offer.
“Ye dunnae have to snap at me,” she grumbled.
His lips parted, then twisted into a smirk as a dangerous gleam filled his eyes. “If it pleases ye, come now.” The paltry please he’d added did nothing to disguise the order that was still there. She ground her teeth at his high-handed treatment and folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin up stubbornly.
He grunted. “I did nae ken ye wished to stay and break yer fast amongst my clansmen who dunnae like ye.” he said in a low tone. “I’m nae one to stand in the way of a lass’s desire.” He swiveled on his heel and started for the door. She was sure he’d turn back, so when he got to the door and started out of it, she raced after him, catching up just as he rounded the corner out of sight.
How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady Page 11