How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

by Julie Johnstone

  “Ye what?” he bellowed.

  She tilted her chin upward, her face the picture of irritated defiance. “I’m quite certain ye heard me. I do ken yer hesitation. I’m hesitant myself to relent to whatever this is”—she mimicked the motion he had just used and swept her hand between them—“between us. I was hesitant the first time ye kissed me, and that was before I even kenned of Eolande’s prophecy.”

  He was so astounded that he simply stood there gaping. By the time he thought to demand who had told her of the foretelling, she was speaking again.

  “So dunnae tell me that I dunnae ken,” she growled. “I dunnae wish to be the cause of yer betraying yer family or yer king.” Her voice had dropped to a hushed whisper, as if just saying the words could make them come true. “I dunnae even ken my own past! I kinnae say for certain why I was in those woods with the men that killed the queen’s mistress,” she said with such misery that he flinched. “I dunnae blame ye for nae wanting to learn me when I may nae be a good person.”

  “Ye are,” he replied. The conviction he felt about that took him by surprise.

  She stilled for a moment, gratefulness flitting across her face, but then she took a deep, shuddering breath, and lines of contemplation appeared on her forehead. “I ken the king has designs to use me, and I dunnae wish for ye to ever feel ye must defy him because of me. I ken yer thoughts, but now ye must ken mine.” Her gaze locked with his, swirling with the gray clouds of her agitation. “Dunnae kiss me again, because each time ye do, ye make me want to ken ye more, and I dunnae wish to be left with such a wanting that I kinnae ever do anything about.”

  “Sorcha,” he started, his voice catching with the raw emotion her words made him feel.

  She shook her head while holding up a quieting hand. “Nay, please let me finish. We will part as soon as ye capture the men accountable for Katherine’s death, and I will be married or sold to a man I dunnae ken.” The reminder of the future the king had planned for her sparked rage within Cameron. His hands curled into fists, and he clenched his jaw to keep quiet as she had asked of him. “I will bear this fate.” She bit her lip. “I dunnae remember if I am braw, but I feel I am nae a coward, so I will bear it.”

  His throat tightened almost mercilessly at the courage she unknowingly showed with her words. “Sorcha—”

  “I dunnae wish to be haunted by memories of yer lips on mine, yer heat surrounding me, the smell of ye like a poison I crave in my blood,” she continued. “And I will be. I will be if ye kiss me again, so dunnae!” She flung out the last of her words, turned around, and raced down the path back to Dunvegan.

  For a breath, he stood unmoving, astounded by what she’d said. He thought of the enemy that was possibly still out there somewhere. He quickly gathered his things and hastened to follow her to ensure she was safe. He caught sight of her in moments, staying close enough to keep her safe but not so near that he might accidentally bump into her if she were to cease her flight.

  Her words ran through his mind on a loop. It was too late for him, he realized. Memories of her would haunt him forever. He could not imagine yearning for another woman as he yearned for her. He could not imagine allowing her to be married or sold to another man. And it was in his inability to imagine how he could let that fate come to pass that he understood how Eolande’s foretelling could come true. He could imagine betraying his king, devil take it, and even his family, to keep her with him.

  As they entered the courtyard, she slowed to a walk, so he did, too. When she disappeared into the castle, he let her go without stopping her. From the corner of his eye, he could see Iain approaching, but Cameron continued to stare at where Sorcha had disappeared. A war between what he wanted to do and what he needed to do raged within him. His nostrils flared in a desperate attempt to get air and to calm the tempest that threatened to splinter him.

  “What vexes ye?” Iain asked. He was always so perceptive.

  “Sorcha,” he replied, not looking at his brother. He was ashamed of how weak he felt when it came to her.

  Iain gripped Cameron’s shoulder. “I ken that look upon yer face, Brother.”

  Cameron turned to Iain. “What look is that?”

  “It’s the one that settles upon a man when he kens that he kinnae live without a woman.”

  “I can live without her,” Cameron replied. “Dunnae be silly. I barely ken her.”

  “I barely kenned Marion when I married her, but I was certain verra quickly upon meeting her that I did nae wish to be without her. What sort of life would it be for ye to ken ye let another man have her, one that may nae treat her well? She is in yer head,” Iain said. “And I imagine she is there, too.” He pointed to Cameron’s heart. “And once a woman is there… Aye, ye can live without her, but it is nae a life I wish for ye. That life is misery.”

  Cameron’s heart quickened at his brother’s words. “I kinnae chance Eolande’s prophecy coming true.”

  Iain’s gaze grew flinty. “Then dunnae let it, Brother. Ye are strong. Ye will find a way, and Lachlan and I—Graham, too—will help ye. Consider it,” he finished.

  He squeezed Cameron’s shoulder and walked away, leaving Cameron standing there doing just that.

  Eleven

  It turned out there was no need for Marion and Bridgette to make excuses to their husbands as to where they were going the next day with Sorcha. Both men had been called away to a meeting with Gowan MacDonald, who was the Lord of the Isles and Marion’s maternal uncle. The MacDonald’s power, as it had been explained to Sorcha by Bridgette, matched that of the kings of England and Scotland. Thus, King David charged Iain with keeping the MacDonald as an ally. All Marion knew about the upcoming meeting was that a messenger had come from Gowan in the middle of the night, requesting an urgent meeting with Iain and Lachlan. Cameron, it seemed, had been sent in Iain’s absence to go see a tenant on the outskirts of the MacLeod land who was having problems with his horses being stolen.

  Bridgette told Sorcha that Cameron, after arguing with his brothers, had agreed that Broch was best suited to guard her today while he was gone. It seemed Broch held the position of fiercest warrior after the MacLeod brothers, and apparently Lachlan had told Cameron in blunt terms to stop being a clot-heid when Cameron had attempted to assign Angus as her guard. Angus was a fine warrior, but due to his age, he was no match for Broch. Besides, Angus would not have been as easily persuaded as Broch to accompany the ladies to the Fairy Pools.

  Sorcha was not exactly sure what Bridgette had said to him to get him to agree, because when Bridgette had returned to the stables where Marion and Sorcha were waiting for her, she had Broch in tow and there was no time to ask her. But the hopeful look Broch cast Sorcha’s way made her uneasy and she wondered if Bridgette had lured Broch into keeping the excursion a secret with the false promise that it might gain favor with Sorcha. She appreciated it greatly, but not so much that she could conjure feelings for the man that simply were not there.

  Her head and her heart were full of thoughts, longing, and confusion for and about Cameron. On the one hand, he was as changeable in his behavior toward her as the weather, but she understood the reasons behind his behavior. It almost seemed to her that he was fighting his feelings for her, and if that was the case, they had to be strong feelings for him to be so inconsistent, which made her feel more forgiving toward him. Of course, his fury at himself had been so great after their last kiss that perchance he’d never kiss her again. A feeling of loss flowed through her at the thought.

  Her suspicions about Broch grew as they started off on the journey to see Eolande and Broch maneuvered his horse close to her. Marion and Bridgette rode behind them, their amicable chatter floating up to Sorcha.

  Broch cleared his throat, securing Sorcha’s attention. “I overheard Cameron admit to Alex last night at supper that ye were indeed a formidable archer.”

  Sorcha blinked in pleasant surprise. “I’m astounded that the man praised me since he bested me when we competed.”r />
  “I was astounded, as well,” Broch admitted. “Cameron is nae one to easily give praise. He has almost impossible expectations for himself as a warrior, as well as for those of us who are under his command.”

  Sorcha guided her horse up the hill they were ascending. “Do ye believe him unreasonable?” she inquired, wanting to hear what Broch thought of Cameron. Her gut told her a great deal could be learned about the man from those who served him. If he was a good man and leader, surely they would see that.

  Broch shook his head, which filled Sorcha with relief. “Nay, he is nae unreasonable. Simply demanding. But he would nae ever ask anything of us that he would nae ask of himself.” A smile split Broch’s thoughtful expression. “The problem as I see it is that he asks too much of himself.”

  “Such as?” she asked slowly.

  “Such as forgoing the comfort of settling with one woman,” Broch replied, his probing stare landing on her.

  She was glad that she had to focus on where to guide the horse over some rocks, for she did not wish Broch to see the dismay she felt in her heart on her face. She focused her attention on the reins as she spoke. “Ye believe he dunnae ever wish to marry?”

  “Aye,” Broch immediately replied. “He’s long said he dunnae wish for one lass, especially a confusing one.”

  “Shut yer mouth, Broch MacLeod,” Bridgette snapped as she drew beside Sorcha on the widening trail. Marion brought her horse up beside Broch and gave him a narrow-eyed look.

  “Dunnae fash yerself, Sorcha,” Bridgette said soothingly. “Broch’s still smarting over Lillianna. He wanted the lass, and she wanted Cameron.”

  Sorcha tensed, sure Broch would be angry that Bridgette revealed such intimate details of his life, but instead, the man laughed. “I’m nae denying my manly pride was wounded when the lass gave her, er, attention to Cameron, but I was nae overly dismayed. The lass is scheming, and I doubt her schemes include marrying a man who dunnae even ken who his real father is over a man who is the son of a laird.”

  “Oh, Broch,” Marion said in a sympathetic tone. “If a woman is worthy of you, she will not care that you don’t know who your real father is. Besides that, I think it would hurt Neil greatly to hear that you did not consider him your father.”

  The secrets being revealed fascinated Sorcha, so she kept quiet, simply listening as her horse now clopped along at a steady pace.

  Broch looked to Sorcha. “I think of Neil as a father. He kens this. He took me in when his sister came to Dunvegan with a bairn and refused to say who the father was. He raised me as his own after my mother died when I was still in swaddling cloth.” Broch turned his attention back to Marion. “And I ken that Lillianna was nae meant for me, but that dunnae mean it did nae nick my pride.”

  Bridgette made a derisive noise from deep in her throat. “Lillianna is nae a lady. I’d nae give her another thought.”

  Sorcha felt Broch’s gaze settle on her. “I dunnae anymore,” he replied in a slow, deep tone. “Another lass occupies all my thoughts now.”

  Heat seared Sorcha’s cheeks, and her mind raced with how to respond. Thankfully, she was spared the awkwardness of giving a response that would be a gentle dissuasion, as Marion spoke.

  “That’s enough talk of your lustful thoughts,” Marion chided. “I’m quite certain Sorcha must think us uncouth.”

  Sorcha opened her mouth to assure Marion she only had the best thoughts of her, but Marion shot her a warning look. She was trying to turn the conversation, and if Sorcha spoke now, she might bring the talk back to Broch and his feelings for her.

  “I’m quite proper, Sorcha, I assure you,” Marion said. “I’m half-English.”

  “Ye used to be,” Bridgette corrected. “Ye’re full Scot now.”

  Marion grinned. “That’s true. I am. But I was raised to be a lady. I didn’t become the mischievous woman you see before you until I befriended Bridgette.”

  “Ha!” Bridgette snorted. “I befriended ye, and I happen to remember a certain story where a proper English lass feigned her own death to avoid marriage. That dunnae sound like a woman who lacked mischief to me.”

  Sorcha laughed, but then her laughter froze in her throat as a memory split through her mind.

  “Ye’re going to tumble into the creek, Sorcha,” a dark-haired girl chided.

  Sorcha saw herself in a reflection in the water. She was a willowy child, maybe eight summers. She was barefoot, and her arms were thrown out to her sides as she balanced on the edge of some stones and peered into the water. She giggled, turned, and stuck her tongue out at the dark-haired girl, who was not very much older than herself.

  “Ye dunnae ever wish me to have any fun,” Sorcha complained.

  The girl cocked an eyebrow. “I wish ye to stay out of trouble, so that I may, as well. When ye get into mischief, Father always blames me.”

  Deep regret blanketed Sorcha. “I’m sorry. I will try—”

  A scream ripped from her throat as she fell backward off the ledge and plunged deep into the icy-cold water, hitting her head as she fell.

  The next thing she knew she was coughing and sputtering as strong hands yanked her from the water. She looked up into the face of the childlike man, and he hugged her to him. “Sorcha hurt?”

  She coughed some more and then smiled up at the man. “Nay, Uncle Brom.”

  “Sorcha!” Bridgette bellowed. Sorcha blinked and the memories disappeared. “Ye almost fell off yer horse,” Bridgette added.

  When Sorcha glanced down, she realized Broch had a firm grip on her arm. “I had a memory,” she said by way of apology.

  “Of what?” Marion asked, her eyes wide.

  Sorcha told her, and Marion grinned. “This is wonderful! We can send messengers out to some of the larger castles to see if there is a Brom. It will help us locate your family.”

  “I need to tell Cameron immediately,” Broch said. “This might lead us to Katherine’s killers.”

  “My family would nae be part of such a thing,” Sorcha protested, though she had to admit she did not know that for certain.

  An uneasy silence settled on the party, and then Marion said, “My father was not a good man, Sorcha. He did horrid things, but that did not make me a bad person.”

  Before Sorcha could comment, Marion told her about her father’s plot to take the throne from the King of England. She told of his intention to marry her to an evil knight simply to gain the man’s sword arm and fealty and his cruelty to Marion, the people who served him, and Marion’s mother. By the time Marion was done relaying her past, the sun was high in the sky and they had been riding for several hours.

  They stopped to have a quick meal, and then they gathered their things and mounted their horses once again. For the next couple of hours, the time was filled with Bridgette regaling them with stories of her first hunt, during which Lachlan had first kissed her. She also told of her mother, who was a great fighter and her cousin Archibald, who had betrayed Alex, Bridgette, and the MacLeods by plotting with Marion’s father. She went from that serious story to a very amusing, albeit shocking, story of the time Marion had almost died when she fell off a cliff on their way back from secretly visiting a seer near Bridgette’s home and how Bridgette had saved her.

  Sorcha was so entranced by what Bridgette was saying that she did not even notice what was around her, until Marion said, “We must dismount to hike the trail to the Fairy Pools on foot.”

  Sorcha blinked, took a look around, and gasped in wonder. A long, winding path of white pebbles slithered up the rolling green hills. On one side of the path was a carpet of green grass, blanketed with vibrant purple and yellow flowers. On the other side of the path was a stream, crystal clear and trickling. They all dismounted, and Broch tethered their horses to some trees before they began to walk along the path.

  Her footsteps crunched on the stones, but beside her, Marion’s footsteps were muffled by the plush grass. As they moved farther up the path, trees with gnarled trunks lined eithe
r side of them, reminding Sorcha of something. She squinted, trying to remember, and then she gasped.

  “These trees are like soldiers carved of wood,” Sorcha said. “They make me think of the trees that line a trail known as the Marching Oaks.”

  Broch paused, and when he turned to look at her, his expression was one of hope. “The Marching Oaks is in the Caledonian Forest, where Katherine was murdered. It’s where Cameron found ye.”

  Sorcha shivered.

  “Either ye were told the name of that path or ye lived near there,” Broch added.

  She shrugged, helpless with the loss of most of her memories still.

  “If you lived near there, it would make sense that you were taken by the men that attacked the MacLeods,” Marion offered in a hopeful voice.

  Sorcha gave her a weak smile. It would also make sense that she knew of the trail because she had helped to plan the attack, but all three of them were being kind by not saying so. She felt ill, and she purposely turned her attention to studying her surroundings. Somewhere ahead, water rushed, the sound carried by the wind, which had picked up quite ruthlessly. Her hair flapped against her face in stinging whips. She glanced up at the sky, expecting to see gathering storm clouds, but a bright-blue sky stared back at her.

  She frowned. “The wind dunnae make sense.”

  “Nay. ’Tis always like this in these woods, though,” Bridgette assured her.

  “Listen,” Marion said in a hushed whisper. Sorcha paused as she climbed the steep path. Birds, sounding as if there were hundreds of them from the loudness of their chirping, flew around them for a moment before streaking off.

  Fear sent gooseflesh racing across Sorcha’s skin. As they climbed ever higher, shadows grew, cast from the rocks that now formed a barrier to block their view of the sky. The sun disappeared, and the temperature grew so warm, she had to fan herself. To the side of the path, brightly colored flowers covered everything and took her breath. She was sure she had never seen such beauty in her life.

  The path abruptly halted, and they had to hop from stone to stone across the water to the next hill. They climbed steadily up the jagged terrain, but at the top of the first crest, the rocks seemed to part and the sky shone bright and clear above them once more. She shielded her eyes against the sun. As far as she could see, one peak after another reached toward the sky. To the right was a steep incline that led to a bluish-green body of water, except for the frothy white that came rushing from the waterfall above.