How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

by Julie Johnstone

  “I want to drop to my knees and worship ye, as well, but first we must talk more,” she said, forcing herself to address what she had been putting off regarding Eolande.

  “Aye,” he agreed, the word full of regret. He bent his head to her chest and brushed a feathery kiss over one breast and then the other before carefully covering her once more. When he held his hand out for her to place hers in his, she could not help but smile at the sweet gesture. She slipped her small hand into his bigger one, his fingers curling tightly around hers, as he led her to the bed. They sat and turned toward each other, but he did not relinquish his hold on her hand. “Why did ye go to see Eolande?”

  She hesitated. She wanted to be truthful, but to lay her heart before someone was a frightful thing. “I wished to hear what her foretelling of my future was,” she admitted.

  “Why?” His gaze penetrated her to her soul. Even if she had wanted to hide what she was feeling from him, she felt certain he could somehow sense it. “I wanted to see if she would tell me anything of my future that would help me remember my past.” She paused. “And I wanted to see if she said anything more about the prophecy for ye and me.”

  “Because?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice, yet she saw the urgency flash in his eyes.

  “Because in spite of my fears, from the moment I awoke here with my memory gone, I knew one thing for certain: I was drawn to ye. I may nae remember what lay behind me, but I feel in my gut that I’ve nae ever been drawn to a man like I am to ye. I—”

  His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he tugged her to him, crushing his mouth to hers. The kiss ravaged her senses and left her panting, and when he pulled back and gave her a look of pure, male triumph, she was glad that she had revealed her heart to him.

  “Ye never did tell me who told ye of the prophecy. Was it Marion?” he asked, surprising her.

  “How did ye ken?” she blurted, relieved not to have to keep that secret from him. She wanted no secrets between them, but she also didn’t want to cause Marion trouble.

  “Dunnae fash yerself, lass,” he said in a gentle voice. His finger traced a circle over the top of her hand, which brought a flutter to her belly. He looked contemplative, and she thought he might not even realize he was absently comforting her with his touch. “I’m nae cross with Marion. I ken that Iain must have told her, and she, in turn, revealed it to ye, but Marion would only do so out of a wish to help me. I’ll nae say anything.”

  “And do ye feel she helped ye by telling me?” Sorcha asked with a bit of hesitancy.

  He squeezed her hand and brought it up to his lips to place a chaste kiss to the top. When his lips brushed her skin, her breath caught, and desire once more tugged at her.

  “I do,” he said. “If ye had nae gone to see Eolande, then I believe I would have continued to fight what I feel for ye, though I dunnae ken that I would have defeated it.”

  Her heart hammered so hard, she took a breath to try to slow her racing pulse, but it was to no avail. “What do ye feel for me, Cameron?”

  “I am drawn to ye as ye are drawn to me,” he said.

  Her chest swelled with happiness as he continued. “I feel I have kenned ye for years, though it has been but a few days. To see ye with another man fills me with jealousy. To know someone is trying to kill ye makes me want to kill them. I want to learn the secrets ye keep here—” he splayed his palm over her chest, and she was sure he felt the rapid beat of her heart. His eyes locked with hers, smoldering in their intensity. “I have nae ever wished to ken the secrets of a woman’s heart. I did nae believe I would ever wish to, but now I do. Will ye let me learn the secrets that ye recall and share yer memories with me when they come to ye?”

  “I want to,” she whispered. “I want that verra much. But I must tell ye first what Eolande foretold. I’ll nae have ye blind about it.”

  He nodded and took her hand in his once more, intertwined their fingers, and covered their hands with his other one. She smiled down at their hands. It was the most perfect moment, and she prayed it was but one of a thousand more to come, yet fear twinged within her.

  Cameron heard worry in Sorcha’s voice, and he found it impossible to remain silent. His need to ease her anxiety flared. “When Eolande foretold my future so many years ago, I scoffed at the idea that that I’d be willing to forsake my honor and betray my family and king for ye,” he said. “But mere days after ye came here, I sensed in my bones that I could grow to care for ye so much that I would do these things without hesitation.”

  “Nay!” she cried out and wrenched her hand from his grasp while springing to her feet. It was most definitely not the response he wanted. She whirled away in a blur. Just as suddenly, she whirled back around to face him. “What I fear more than anything is that these things would come to pass, and then ye would hate me because of what ye felt ye had to do.”

  He shot to his feet, closed the distance, and pulled her into his arms. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to cradle this woman in her distress, to provide a space where she could always come that would protect her from harm. “I feared that, too. But Iain told me something, and after I thought on it awhile, I kenned it was true.”

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  He brushed a strand of her golden hair out of her face and tucked it behind her shoulder, purposely allowing his fingers to graze the skin near her shoulder bared by her léine. Desire shuddered through him as he felt her tremble, but even greater than the yearning was the intense pleasure he received from the simple act of holding her and touching her so familiarly. “He said that ye were in my head, and ye are.”

  She smiled slightly, and he could not resist the urge to brush his fingers over her lips. Her sharp intake of breath, and the flush of desire that covered her chest and stained her cheeks made him hard with wanting. He dropped his hand and continued. “He also said that once a woman is in yer heart, though, it’s possible to live without her, but it’s misery. And he would ken, Sorcha. He endured it when his first wife died.”

  “Oh,” she said with a soft, sad murmur.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I kinnae live with nae giving us a chance to discover what may be. I will regret it, and the regret will eat at me until I am miserable. So what say ye? Do ye wish to chance fate with me?”

  “I do,” she said, but he read hesitation in her eyes. Before he could ask her about it, she spoke again. “When I went to see Eolande, she told me things I believe ye need to hear before ye decide for certain. I already ken I want to move forward with ye, but I want ye to ken.”

  Triumph and pride rushed through him. He pressed his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, and settled his mouth tenderly on hers. He didn’t know how to say how happy her words had made him, but he hoped his kiss showed her. When he pulled away, she looked utterly bemused and very enticing. “I dunnae need to hear what the seer said. All I needed to hear was that ye wished to move forward. The rest—the prophecy, the king, all of it—we will resolve together.”

  “Cameron,” she said, desperation in her voice and a plea in her gray eyes, “I kinnae be with ye unless I ken ye have heard and accepted everything that could come to pass.”

  “Tell me, then,” he said, understanding deep within that nothing she would reveal would change his mind but also sensing exactly how important it was for her to tell him.

  “Might we sit?” she asked, her voice wobbling with what sounded suspiciously like fear.

  Silently, he led her to the bed, and when she started to sit beside him, he pulled her into his lap and encircled her in his arms. She blinked in surprise at him, and a demure smile lit her beautiful face. He studied that smile. Was she shy? He hardly knew. They’d not had time to really learn each other, but he intended to correct that.

  “Tell me yer fears,” he said, “and I will conquer them for ye.”

  She ran a hand down his face, her skin a whisper against his. “I believe ye.” She took a deep breath. “Eolande told me several
things, one of which has already occurred.”

  He raised his eyebrows questioningly, even as his chest tightened at her words.

  “She said she saw an attack coming verra soon, and she warned me that we should make haste to Dunvegan from the Fairy Pools with our weapons drawn.”

  Unease rippled through him. He did not like that part of Eolande’s foretelling for Sorcha had already occurred. “What else did the seer say?”

  Fear flittered across Sorcha’s face. “She said that two deaths would come to pass that would break my heart.” He tensed at the news. “While I was being attacked earlier,” she continued, “I thought the deaths she had seen were possibly Marion’s, Bridgette’s, or Broch’s since they were with me as the men were trying to kill me. That is why I raced into the clearing alone. I wanted to draw the men away to keep them safe and give them time to possibly fire on the men instead of being fired upon.”

  “Ye are verra braw and verra foolish,” he admonished. “Ye risked yer life—”

  “To save others,” she interrupted, her chin lifting into a stubborn tilt and her eyes glittering with defiance.

  He had to force himself not to smile at her display of spirit and resolve. He was glad she was brave, but he didn’t want her putting her life in danger. “There is a difference,” he said evenly, “between being braw and reckless, and being braw and thoughtful.”

  She frowned and tried to wiggle away, but he refused to let her go. They were learning each other. Didn’t she realize it? He did, and he quite liked the process. It was like nothing he had ever experience before.

  “What is the difference?” she asked, her words stiff with her irritation.

  “Death,” he said flatly.

  Her eyes narrowed upon him. He likely should have chosen a more delicate way of showing her where she had erred, but he needed her to understand and never forget it. Still, he did not want this to result in an argument. He brought a hand to her shoulder and rubbed it gently, hoping she would soften with his touch. After a breath, her frown disappeared, and the rigidness of her body loosened. It pleased him greatly that his touch could bring her comfort, and a smile pulled at his lips, which caused her to scowl at him.

  “I ken what ye just did,” she grumbled. “I did nae ken it in the moment ye were doing it, but I ken it now.”

  He ran his hand from her shoulder into her hair and twined his fingers in the silken strands before drawing her face toward him and brushing his lips over hers. Desire darkened her eyes, which made his body throb to claim her mouth, but now was not the time. “I’m gladdened that ye trust me enough that I can soothe ye with a touch.”

  “Are ye now?” she teased, even as she blushed. “I wonder,” she murmured in a low, voice, “if I can do the same for ye…” She brought her hands to his chest and ran her fingers soft as a feather from his collarbone, over his stomach, to low where his braies sat on his hips. A shudder of yearning coursed through him, and she smiled wickedly.

  With a growl, he caught her hands as she started to slide them back up his chest. “If ye dunnae cease that, bean bhàsail, I kinnae vow I’ll be able to control myself.”

  She tilted her head, as if thinking seriously about his calling her a temptress. “I believe I like that ye see me as such. I dunnae recall what I was before I woke up here, which makes me feel powerless, but if I’m a dangerous enchantress, then I have power.” She grinned, displaying two dimples and the undeniable fact that she truly was a temptress, albeit the most innocent, honest one he’d ever met. Her eyes turned a swirling, sultry gray as she stared at him. “I feel as if we’re racing against time and the inevitable, and that we may well lose.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I dunnae wish ye to cease if after hearing all I must reveal, ye dunnae wish it, either.”

  He pulled her hands against his chest to let her feel what she did to him. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “M’eudail,” he growled.

  “Yer treasure,” she repeated, a sigh of happiness escaping her.

  God’s teeth, her innocent sounds made him want to strip her of her léine and worship her body. “Tell me the rest,” he said, his voice hoarse with his need for her.

  “Eolande said the attack would cause a change.” Sorcha’s gaze darted to his and then to her hands. “I do question now if the change she spoke of was this—us—accepting the desire between us.”

  He nodded, pondering the same. “What else?”

  “She said she saw someone who would betray me. Someone I care for and fear. How can I care for someone I fear?”

  He thought about that for a moment before responding. “Perchance ye cared for the person before they made ye fear them. Perchance there are ties that bind ye that make it hard to cease caring, in spite of yer fear. Perchance someone in yer family?” he hazarded.

  She shrugged helplessly. “I wish I kenned.” She sucked in her lower lip, silent for a breath. “I had another memory come to me. Do ye recall that I told ye of remembering a man who was childlike in his head?”

  “Aye,” he replied. He had to force his tone to remain even, though he felt suddenly tense.

  “He is my uncle, and his name is Brom.”

  Cameron exhaled a breath of relief. Sorcha arched her eyebrows at him. “I told ye he was nae anyone I cared for in an intimate way.”

  “I ken ye told me that, but it’s nice to have confirmation. I wish to be the only one ye have ever cared for that way,” he said, choosing to be completely honest.

  She nestled closer to him, making him think his words had pleased her. “In my memory, I was young, and another girl, who was nae much older than me, was chastising me for nae being cautious enough when we were playing by a creek.”

  “Considering yer actions of yesterday, I dunnae find that hard to believe,” he quipped.

  She gave him a teasing scowl. “As I was saying, the girl chastised me, and then I fell into the water and my uncle rescued me. I felt safe with him, so I dunnae believe he is the one I care for who frightens me.”

  Cameron frowned. “Perchance he did nae frighten ye at the time.”

  “Perchance,” she relented, “but I believe I would have felt a tremor of fear in my memory. I felt only happiness toward my uncle. As for the girl in my memory, I referred to our father when I spoke of getting in trouble, so she must be my sister.”

  He rubbed her back, feeling the tension mount there as her spine stiffened.

  “I kinnae believe I dunnae recall my own sister’s name,” she said incredulously.

  “Ye will,” he said quietly, unsure how he felt about that. What if the memories she had not recalled made her the wife of another?

  “What are ye thinking?” she asked softly, tracing a finger over the length of his brow that he only just realized he had furrowed.

  He smoothed it, captured her wrists, and stared into her eyes. “I was considering what I would do if ye recalled that ye are the wife of another man. I nae ever thought I would be the sort of man to take what belongs to another, but if ye did nae love him…”

  She put a finger to his lips as alarm and gratefulness warred for a place on her features. “I would nae ever wish ye to sacrifice the honor that makes ye who ye are for me.” He opened his mouth to object, but she pressed her finger harder, a silent entreaty for him to let her speak. “I am nae the true wife of any man, Cameron.”

  His heartbeat quickened at her words. “How do ye ken? Did ye recall something?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, but Marion examined me, and she assured me I have nae ever joined with a man.”

  Gratification blossomed, along with fierce possessiveness. She was his. No other would ever touch her as he would, and though he had not thought it mattered to him, he was glad that it was so. Still, he did not want to say that and make her think he would have wanted her less otherwise, so he said, “It would nae have mattered to me, but I kinnae deny I’m glad to hear it. But only because I feel possessive of ye.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line, making
him think his words had angered her, but then she smirked. “I feel possessive of ye, as well, but since I ken good and well that ye have joined with many lasses, I will say that if ye wish us to have a true chance and our lives to be intertwined as one, ye will nae ever touch another.”

  “God’s teeth, nay. I’d nae. The idea repulses me,” he admitted.

  “It does? Truly?” she asked. The hopefulness in her voice revealed her vulnerability.

  He leaned close and kissed her neck and then her lips. He could not help it. Having finally allowed himself to freely relent to the desire to touch her, he was finding it near impossible to stop. “Aye, truly. I would nae ever be the sort of man to have more than one woman, and I would expect the same from ye.”

  “And I will give the same,” she replied, huskiness tingeing her voice, “gladly.”

  Contentment warmed him, even as he knew she likely had more to say. The silence between them remained for several breaths, and he allowed it, savoring the moment, as he suspected she might be doing also. There was much left to discuss, including the king, which he guessed neither of them wanted to speak about. Cameron hadn’t mentioned it again purposely, because he was unsure how he was going to handle King David, but he would find a way. He suspected Sorcha left the topic of King David unspoken because she feared discussing it.

  “Did Eolande say any more?” he asked.

  She gave him an intimate smile. “Aye. She said there is passion between us that will nae be denied.”

  He leaned in to brush his lips to hers once more, but her small hand came between them and pressed against his chest. Her smile had turned to a frown. “She also said that we will either sink under the weight of lies or rise with the power of love,” she whispered, her gaze now averted.

  He looked down at her hands, which she had brought to her lap and was currently twisting together. He cupped her chin and turned her face gently to him. “There will be only truth from my lips to yers.”