How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

by Julie Johnstone

  “My God,” Sorcha whispered, her fingers straying to the mark on her body that was shaped like a heart. “How could she ken such things?”

  “Because she is a seer,” Marion said simply. Her voice had dropped low and held a tinge of awe and wariness.

  “What else did she say about me?” Sorcha demanded, her own wariness filling her completely now that she had heard what the seer had gotten correct about her and how she would meet Cameron once again.

  Marion worried her lower lip for a minute before answering. “She said he would betray everything he holds dear for you.”

  “What?” Sorcha exclaimed, her chest tightening.

  Marion nodded. “King. Family.” Her voice had dropped even lower. “The honor that means so much to him.”

  “Nay,” she cried, horrified. She shook her head almost violently. “I’d nae ever ask him to do these things for me.”

  “I do not think you would need to ask if he was in love with you,” Marion said in a gentle tone.

  To be loved so greatly that a man would risk all, betray all, made her feel both hopeful and horrified. She wanted to be fervently loved, but not at the price of a man going against all that meant anything to him. Her blood roared in her ears as she considered what she had just learned. She did not love Cameron. She barely knew him. He did not love her, either. But there was a strange pull between them. She felt it, and he had said he did, as well. And then there was passion so hot it scalded.

  “The other prophecies Eolande has foretold to the other brothers… How much of them have come true?” Sorcha asked, her voice trembling.

  Marion sucked in her lower lip as an uneasy expression crossed her face. “Well,” she started, her words slow, reluctant, “Eolande foretold that Iain’s first wife, Catriona, would die young, and she did.” Marion gave a little shudder. “She also foretold that the love between Lachlan and Bridgette would drive a dangerous wedge between Graham and Lachlan, and it did.”

  Sorcha shifted uneasily in her seat at the growing direness of what she was hearing.

  Marion gulped in a breath and huffed it out before continuing. “However, she said one of the brothers would die, and both are still alive.”

  “Well, thank God above for that!” Sorcha exclaimed, relieved for the small sliver of good news.

  Marion nodded as if she understood what Sorcha was thinking. “I have not told you all she said about you yet.”

  “What else?” Sorcha asked, fearful.

  “Eolande said that you are the mate of Cameron’s heart—and the enemy of his clan.”

  A wave of powerful queasiness roiled through Sorcha. It was so strong that she covered her mouth quickly for fear she may be sick. After it passed, she slowly lowered her shaky hand. “Oh blessed St. John! I must be guilty of helping to murder Katherine!”

  “No, I think not,” Marion quickly rebutted, confidence ringing in her tone. “I think either your clan is an enemy of ours or what Eolande saw in his future was that some MacLeods saw you as an enemy.”

  “Perchance,” Sorcha mumbled weakly. “Please tell me there is nae any more to reveal.”

  Undeniable regret settled on Marion’s face, which made Sorcha cringe. Marion puffed her cheeks out, then blew out the breath. “One more last thing… Eolande also said that with you comes life or death born of his choices.”

  “Well,” Sorcha said, half in desperation and half-sarcastically, only because if she did not make light of the circumstances she would scream, “I can see now why he became angry with himself when he kissed me.”

  “Yes,” Marion agreed in all seriousness. “I can understand, as well.”

  “I’m a deadly temptation to him,” Sorcha mumbled, moroseness weighing her mind and her words. “I bring destruction and death.”

  “No,” Marion said firmly. “Eolande clearly said you bring life. It’s the choices he makes that will be the difference. Perchance they are the choices both of you make.”

  “Then I chose not to lure him to his doom,” Sorcha said. Thinking about how that might sound, she added, “not that I think I am so appealing.” But the seer had said she was the mate of Cameron’s heart. That had to mean he was the same to her. “It’s odd, but I feel sad, as if I have lost a great love, yet I don’t love him. I barely know him.”

  “So ye must learn him and let him learn you. Only then can you even know if you are willing to risk the seer’s prophecy.”

  “I dunnae even ken myself! How am I supposed to learn another?” Sorcha demanded, her frustration bursting through her words.

  “Word by word. Day by day. Touch by touch,” Marion replied firmly. “That is how you learn another, and as you are doing this, I am certain your memories will return.”

  She wanted to peel back Cameron’s layers. Despite the seer’s foretelling, she did not want to turn away, but this was folly. “There kinnae ever be hope for us. The king will make certain of that,” she said bitterly.

  “Yes,” Marion agreed. “But what one plots does not always occur as one expects, even for a king. He had plans for Bridgette, as well, and Graham discovered a way around them. Cameron is every bit as cunning as his brother.” Marion shrugged. “It is your choice in the end. I only know that if it were me, I’d rather tempt fate. I’d discover the secrets of the man the seer says I’m destined for, and that I know well I am attracted to”—she gave Sorcha a stern look—“than settle for being used by the king and married to a man I may despise.”

  Sorcha rubbed her aching temples. “How did ye come to be married to Iain?”

  Marion smiled, and the fondness of her memories was apparent in the satisfied look on her face. “My father thought to marry me to an evil Englishman so he could attempt to take the throne from King Edward. My king and Iain’s king thought to marry me to Iain and stop my father from achieving his goal of becoming King of England. When presented with the choice of an evil knight or a scary Scot, there was no question in my mind. Well, maybe a few.” She chuckled. “But I was immediately drawn to Iain, and I knew for certain he was a good man and would never harm me.”

  “I’m attracted to Cameron,” Sorcha said slowly, thinking out loud.

  “It is plain to see,” Marion said with a sly smile.

  Heat crept up Sorcha’s neck. “I believe Cameron is a good man, too.”

  Marion nodded. “He is. I vow it.”

  “And I dunnae believe he’d ever hurt me physically.”

  “He’d sooner cut off his own hand than harm you or any other woman.”

  The fervor in Marion’s voice made Sorcha smile. The woman obviously loved Cameron, as a sister-in-law should. Sorcha’s mind raced. “I could do my utmost to keep a wall between us, as he is clearly trying to do.”

  Marion frowned. “You could,” she replied, disapproval evident in her voice and face. “Or you could slowly break down the wall to learn him. You will be forced to travel together, anyway. It would be fairly awkward to travel with a man by your side that you are determined to overlook. Take my word for this. I have tried it, and if you are drawn to the man, it’s impossible, truly. A woman’s body has a way of defying a mind’s wishes when a MacLeod man is involved.”

  She thought about all she had learned. She knew what her heart wanted to do. “I wish to break through the wall,” she said, praying she did not regret the choice.

  Marion smiled triumphantly, and Sorcha blinked in surprise. “Do ye ken that ye seem verra innocent, but I see now that ye’re rather devious,” she teased. “Ye were leading me to this conclusion.”

  “Yes, I was.” Marion stood, stretched, and started toward the door.

  “Where are ye away to?” Sorcha asked, springing up.

  “We are away to find Bridgette. If you are going to lure a man to let down his guard, especially one who fears doing so will lead him to ruin, you need an expert enchantress, and that is Bridgette.”

  “I dunnae believe Bridgette will be willing to aid me,” Sorcha grumbled.

  Marion ma
de a derisive noise from her throat. “Once she hears about the prophecy, she’ll be wanting to help. Eolande’s prophecy for her and Lachlan almost destroyed her chance at happiness with him. I vow to you that nothing will please her more than helping to alter what Eolande has foretold for you and Cameron.”

  “I pray ye are correct.”

  “Oh, I’m always correct. I’m the laird’s wife,” Marion said with a wink.

  Nine

  Cameron was starving, yet he did not move to fill his plate from the trencher laden with food in front of him. Food was not what he needed. He needed to see Sorcha. He rolled her name around in his mind as he had done at least a hundred times since Marion had casually told him the lass he had called Serene had remembered her name—Sorcha.

  It had taken a great deal of self-control not to go to her so he could see her smile when she told him of her recollection. But he had maintained control and kept a purposeful distance. Yet now—now—the need to see her clawed at him. He clenched his teeth against the urge. No, he did not need to lay his gaze upon her; he wanted to. Need was for things one could not live without. One needed air, and food, and drink. One did not need to look upon a woman that made one feel weak. That was want, and want was for men who were not trying to prove they were worthy to stand beside their legendary brothers and represent their clan. To acknowledge the difference meant he could conquer the yearning that had been building in him since he last laid eyes upon her early yesterday.

  After he had trained with his men for many grueling hours, he had started to search her out, but the way his pulse had sped at the possibility of seeing her, perchance even touching her as he trained her, made him realize he needed a bit more time to gain full control. Part of him wondered if it had been cowardly to ask Alex to find her this morning and learn what, if anything, she recalled of riding a horse and throwing daggers, but he ignored that part of him that doubted, and instead chose to think he was making wise choices. Men who knew their weaknesses and adapted to overcome them were being prudent, and that’s exactly what he was doing.

  She was his weakness. It hadn’t taken a week or a month for her to seep into his mind and consume it, devil take it. It had taken one kiss. The great hall was full this night, and the hum of voices participating in conversations filled his ears. To his right sat Lena and to his left was Lachlan, both of them eating heartily from their plates. The dais, which was usually occupied by himself, his brothers, and their wives, was unusually empty. Iain had gone to attend to the tenant who had been attacked by a wolf, and Marion and Bridgette had not yet arrived at the great hall for supper. As if his thoughts conjured them, the great hall door opened and the two women entered the room, arms linked and conspiratorial looks upon their faces.

  A smile pulled at his lips. His brother’s wives were very close and always into some sort of mischief. What would it be like if he had a wife of his own to watch stroll into the hall with a twinkle in her eyes and a grin upon her lips? The errant thought had him reaching for his goblet of wine and taking a long drink. He’d never once pondered what it would be like to have a wife. In truth, the idea had never held any appeal, yet now he could imagine it. He was not such a fool to ignore how the timing of this change within him coincided with meeting Sorcha.

  Marion and Bridgette walked down the center of the great hall, giggling and chatting as they approached the dais. They quickly took their seats, and then Marion leaned around Lena and met Cameron’s eyes. “Have you heard about Sorcha?”

  His pulse immediately leaped. “Nay. Is something amiss?”

  “Not at all,” she crooned. “It seems she is even better at archery than at throwing daggers! She bested Alex in every shooting contest they had.”

  Lachlan whistled, and Bridgette chuckled. “Ye should have seen my brother. He behaved as if he was so superior when he took her out to the woods—”

  “The woods?” Cameron asked in a steely voice. “I told Alex to keep her close and to keep a watchful eye on her.”

  “Oh, he did,” Bridgette said with smirk. “He kept her verra close and could hardly wrench his gaze from her. I think he’s smitten.”

  “Ye think Alex wishes to lay a claim upon the lass?” Lachlan asked, surprise clear in his voice.

  Bridgette nodded, without looking directly at her husband. Jealousy rushed through Cameron’s veins, and he had to fight to keep his fingers from curling into fists. Beside him, Lena drummed her fingers on the table. When he glanced at her, she had an agitated expression on her face, as if the news of Alex and Sorcha bothered her as much as it bothered him. Sometimes he thought his sister cared for Alex but didn’t want to, or perchance she simply did not know what to do with the feelings. Given her past and the abuse she had suffered from her first husband, he could well understand this. He set the thoughts aside.

  “Where are Alex and Sorcha?” he asked. He was pleased with how indifferent he sounded.

  “They should be along any moment,” Bridgette responded. “Alex insisted on attending Sorcha to supper.”

  “Did he now?” Cameron growled, fighting the desire to rise and go fetch Sorcha himself.

  When Lachlan shook his head at Cameron, as if reading his private thoughts, he drank another large gulp of wine and shoved some bread in his mouth, though he had lost any hunger he had possessed. As he chewed, the door to the great hall opened once more. Alex and Sorcha entered, heads turned to each other in conversation. As they walked down the center aisle, men paused to gape at Sorcha, but she did not seem to take notice. She walked without a hint of sway to her hips, as if she didn’t care to use the curves God had given her to garner attention.

  Her seeming innocence appealed to him on a primal level. Had he been the first man to kiss her, to awaken the yearning and desire of her body? His own body grew instantly hard as he imagined schooling her in the wonders of what their bodies could do together, and all the air in his lungs whooshed out as he drank in the sight of her.

  Her hair shone like spun gold cascading over her shoulders and hanging down to her waist. Her face glowed as if she had been out in the sun all day, and her eyes were luminous in her delicately sculpted face. His chest squeezed, and he moved his gaze lower to her shoulders. He froze with his goblet halfway to his mouth.

  Sorcha was wearing a plaid. The MacLean plaid. Alex’s clan’s plaid.

  Beside him came a strangled cry, but when he looked to his sister, her face was a mask of indifference. Still, he noted her pulse beating furiously in her neck, just as his was beating within him. Alex deposited Sorcha at a table where there was an empty seat beside Broch, who looked only too eager to have her near him, and with a lingering parting glance, Alex made his way to the dais and took the seat beside Lena.

  Cameron inhaled a long steadying breath before leaning forward to address Alex. “Why is Sorcha wearing yer plaid?” The words came out calm, though he felt anything but.

  Alex, too perceptive for Cameron’s liking, narrowed his dark eyes upon Cameron. “I could tell she was feeling as if she dunnae belong, and I had the means to make her feel like part of a clan until she remembers her own. So I did.”

  “Did ye nae consider how this would seem to others? To the king?” Cameron growled.

  “And how does it seem?” Alex snapped.

  “It seems ye declared for her,” Lena said in a low voice before Cameron could answer.

  “Aye, it does,” Lachlan agreed, sounding happy about it.

  Anger flooded Cameron’s veins. He was sure Lachlan was thinking if Alex declared for Sorcha that would end his need to worry about Cameron and Eolande’s prophecy.

  Cameron turned to glare at Lachlan, and as he did, Alex spoke. “And if I did?” he asked, looking directly at Lena. “Would it matter to anyone sitting on this dais?”

  “Nae to me, though why ye would declare for a woman who may well be treacherous does baffle the mind,” Lena promptly answered. But as she quickly reached for her goblet of wine, Cameron saw that his sister’s hand was
shaking. He frowned. Did she truly care for Alex? His gut hollowed at the thought of what his sister had been through and how it continued to affect her, even after her husband’s death. He wanted to shield her from things that hurt her, but he could not allow her to be cruel to Sorcha. Yet he feared she may feel he was being disloyal to her if he defended Sorcha from her. It was a problem he needed to solve, but now was not the time.

  “I’m glad to ken it dunnae bother ye,” Alex muttered, bringing Cameron’s attention fully back to him.

  “The king has designs for her,” Cameron said between clenched teeth.

  Alex leaned forward once more to look at Cameron. “If I wished to make the lass mine, I would find a way to change the king’s designs, but as it stands, I was simply being kind to her. Nae one MacLeod offered to extend a branch of belonging to a lass who is floating in a sea of lost memories, so I did it. Do ye have a quarrel with that?”

  “I dunnae,” Lachlan replied in that same annoying happy tone.

  Cameron ground his teeth. Yes, devil take it, he had a quarrel with that! If Sorcha was going to wear any plaid, it would be a MacLeod plaid!

  “Nay,” Cameron bit out instead, shoving food in his mouth to avoid further conversation about the plaid and Sorcha. As he ate, all he could think upon were Alex’s words regarding the king and finding a way to change the king’s intentions for Sorcha. What if there was a way to persuade the king in his choice of who he married her to? What if—

  Cameron cut the thought off. What was he doing? He was sitting here looking for ways to possibly, what? Allow himself to claim her if he wished it? He had to quit this line of thinking. It was dangerous.

  “Sorcha is the second-best archer I have ever seen,” Alex said, breaking the rather tense silence that had descended upon the dais.

  Alex’s praise for Sorcha irritated Cameron, though he knew he was being unreasonable. The man could pay Sorcha a compliment if he wished it.

  “Who is the best archer ye’ve ever seen?” Lachlan asked.