Flashes of memory hit her.
Beatings. So many beatings Finn had taken at Father’s hands for not being stronger, more ferocious, a better swordsman, shooter, rider. And through many of them, Father had taunted Finn that she had more skill, a woman, his sister, than he did.
“Oh, Finn,” she sobbed.
He flinched, jerking his hand down. “I’d rather die by yer hand. ’Tis fitting.”
She shook her head. “I kinnae.” Maybe Cameron would keep this secret and let Finn flee? No! Despair clawed at her. How could she even ask it of him? Ask him to relinquish his honor and lie for her?
“Make haste.” Her own voice startled her. “Make yer way to Aunt Blanche. Dunnae return to Father, Finn. I’m going to tell the MacLeods what he has done, but I’ll keep yer part to myself. They’ll capture Father and take him to the king, and if ye are there, I’ll nae be able to stop them from taking ye, too.”
“Sorcha?” she heard Lena call, her voice full of fear.
Sorcha turned for a breath to ensure Lena could not see her, and when she twisted back around, Finn was fleeing into the woods. Her body shook violently with awareness of the lies she would now tell to protect her brother. Lies that, according to Eolande, would destroy any love that may blossom between Sorcha and Cameron.
Cameron. Every moment they had spent together filled her head—his words, gestures, kindness, gentleness, passion, and honor. She pulled her bow close to her and wrapped her arms around herself as she turned to go to Lena. Love had taken root, and she had not realized it until now. She allowed herself one brief moment of happiness before overwhelming sadness washed over her. Better to destroy her happiness and the possibility of Cameron loving her in return than to destroy the man she loved.
Yes, he would take her father, Ross, and Hugo to the king, and the king would spare his life for Katherine’s death. He would survive.
Seventeen
Cameron, Alex, Graham, and Grant made their way from the water, where they had toiled and trained the entire day. Bone weariness had claimed him long ago, but now, with the thought of seeing Sorcha, his body stirred to life once more. When they came up the seagate stairs from the shore and rounded into the courtyard to find it full of men on the verge of riding out armed for battle, Cameron’s first thought was of Sorcha. Trepidation filled him as he caught sight of Broch at the front of his men.
“Broch!” Cameron boomed. He strode with the others toward Broch and grabbed at his horse’s reins to stop the man’s departure.
Broch glanced sharply down at him, his tense face relaxing when he realized it was Cameron. “Lena and Sorcha were attacked on the other side of the island.”
Dark fear swept through him. “Have they been harmed?”
Broch nodded. “Aye, but nae fatally. Lena took a cut to the head, and Sorcha one to the leg—”
“Where are they?” he demanded, his voice mingling with Alex’s, who demanded the same.
Broch looked at the two of them. “In the healing room with Isobel.”
“Wait here for my return,” Cameron ordered. “I’ll ride out with ye.”
“We all will,” Alex added, turning toward the castle entry with Cameron.
“Dunnae tarry!” Graham called. They paused and looked back at him. “Whoever gained access to this island could have only done so under disguise, which means they’ve likely already left the way they came.” His grim voice displayed his anger. “I’ll meet ye back here and ride to the other side of the island with ye after I speak with the guards. Make haste.”
Cameron and Alex both nodded as they turned toward the castle door and hurried inside in silence.
It didn’t take long to reach the healing room, and when they entered, they parted, Alex going toward Lena, who was lying on a bed with Isobel huddled over her, and Cameron going to Sorcha, who stood by the window with her back to the door. She turned as he approached, happiness flooding her face, then disappearing in the same instant, replaced by a stark wariness that stopped him. Unease gripped him as he started once more toward her, pulled her into his arms, and ran his hands over her head, shoulders, back, hips, and kneeled at her feet to gently lift her gown and expose her legs.
“What are ye doing?” she asked, her voice a breathy whisper.
He traced a finger gently down her leg where her wound had been dressed. Slowly, he unwrapped the bandage, feeling her eyes upon him as he did so. He inhaled sharply at the long, angry cut on her leg, and as fury flowed through his veins, he tilted his head up to look at her face. “I will nae sleep until I find who has been hunting ye. I’ll kill them. I vow it.”
The fear that flashed in her eyes confused him, but as he stood and pulled her into his arms, she clung to him and he thought that the fear must be for him. He brushed a hand through her hair. “Dunnae fash yerself, mo chridhe. I’ll be verra stealthy, so I’ll nae be in danger.”
She pulled back and met his eyes. That same look was in her eyes—stark, vivid fear—but now wariness accompanied it.
Apprehension flickered through him. “What is it?”
“Mo chridhe?” she whispered.
He frowned. “Ye dunnae wish to be ‘my heart’?” He intended his voice to be steady, yet he heard it wobble.
“What? Nay!” she said in a low, rushed tone, as she pressed her lips to his.
When she started to draw away, he locked his arms around her back and held her prisoner as she was holding his heart prisoner. She had his heart. She’d taken it, likely just as his brother had warned—from the very first kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers, tasting her, feeling her, tormenting them both with a kiss that stirred their passion but must be stopped for what lay ahead. She pulled away before he could manage to gather the will. Her hand came to rest on his heart, and her gaze, burning bright with worry, locked with his.
Unease blanketed him once more. “What is it?” he demanded.
“I’ve remembered my past,” she whispered, her voice laden with misery.
His gut twisted at the obvious fear in her tone. “Ye ken who ye are?” he asked quietly as he drew her to the far side of the room, away from Isobel and Lena. He was aware Isobel had stilled in her ministrations to Lena.
Near the window overlooking the courtyard they faced each other. She stared out the window as she spoke. “My father is the Earl of Angus.”
Her words cut through him like an icy wind on the coldest winter day. He winced and inhaled sharply. The Earl of Angus had once been one of David’s allies. He’d had the king’s favor and had believed that David would never make a choice that would lessen the earl’s wealth. But the king would abide no man who attempted to tell him how to rule, and all who had tried—like the Earl of Angus had—had ended up having land taken from them and given to someone who was truly loyal. Thus, the earl’s power and wealth had been greatly diminished, thanks to David.
Cameron swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. She was the daughter of an enemy of his king and his family, yet she had his heart. Eolande’s prophecy rang in his ears as he asked Sorcha, “Why were ye in the woods the day Katherine was killed?” His heart thudded as he waited for her to answer. It seemed an eternity before she spoke, yet he knew it had taken only two breaths.
“My father, the Earl of Ross, and the Earl of March learned that Katherine would be traveling through the woods near our home.” Sorcha had a faraway look on her face and a crease between her brows. She swallowed audibly. “They decided to kill her to send a message to the king that he could nae control the nobles,” she said, biting down on her lip, her distress obvious. “And that if he tried, there would be grave effects. Hugo offered to kill Katherine in exchange for my hand in marriage.”
A tremor coursed through her, and he squeezed her tighter. Disgust coursed through him. Both her father and King David had been willing to barter her away to a loathsome man like Hugo simply to keep their power.
Cameron had to stop it.
“Father also offered Hugo the castle my broth
er was supposed to inherit—Blair Castle.” Sorcha paused again, and a dark look overcame her. She took a deep shaky breath. “I overheard the exchange and tried to beat Hugo, his men, and my father’s men to yer party to warn ye, but I was overcome by Hugo.”
Cameron nodded, rage pounding through his veins for Katherine’s murder, for the betrayal of the king, for Sorcha.
“I’m sorry, Cameron,” she said with a shake of her head. “I understand if ye wish to turn from me—”
“Nay!” he growled, yanking her to him and circling his arms around her waist. “Ye are a victim of yer father as much as Katherine was. But ye ken the king will nae be merciful to yer family.”
She nodded, sadness twisting her features. She disentangled herself from his hold, wrapped her arms around herself, and stared out the window. “My brother, Finn—we were born at the same time and look alike—he’s gone. He fled.”
“Are ye saying he was nae involved with killing Katherine?” Cameron asked.
“He did not kill her,” she replied woodenly. “Hugo killed Katherine.”
Cameron frowned. She had answered his question, but she had not. Coupling that with her avoiding his gaze, he was sure Sorcha was lying. But why lie now after revealing so much? Unless her brother was involved, and she was trying to protect him… Anger and understanding warred within him. If his own brothers or sisters had done such a thing, he would do everything in his power to protect them, yet if she would lie to him about this, how could he trust her? Sorcha’s relaying of Eolande’s prophecy came instantly to him: We will either sink under the weight of lies or rise with the power of love.
Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway and motioned for Cameron to join him. “We have to ride out,” Graham growled. “If we are to catch the people responsible for attacking Sorcha and Lena, we kinnae waste any more time.”
Cameron gave a quick nod and turned his gaze to Sorcha once more, staring hard at her face for signs of truth or lies. “Can ye tell me who we are looking for?”
“Nay,” she said in such a soft tone that he would have missed hearing the word if he’d not been watching her lips.
He clenched his teeth in vexation. “We kinnae live happily together without truth,” he said simply, letting her know her lies were apparent. “I kinnae do what I must to help ye if ye are nae honest with me.”
When she still did not look at him, his simmering temper began to boil. He cupped her chin and turned her face to his. The wariness he saw there stole his breath. The old voice that had long made him uncertain of himself grew loud. “Dunnae ye have faith in me?” he asked.
“I have complete faith in ye, Cameron,” she cried out. “I’ve never kenned a man as braw as ye. That’s the problem!” she sobbed.
“Cameron,” Graham pressed. “We must give chase now!”
Frustrated with the lack of time and with her untruth, he released her. “We’ll speak more on this when I return,” he muttered, stalking from the room and not looking back.
Many hours later, as he and the rest of the hunting party were searching the area where Sorcha and Lena had been attacked, Cameron noticed the moonlight glittering off what appeared to be a blade. His heart thumped as he kneeled down and brushed the dirt from the blade, revealing a dagger. He picked it up and brought it close, seeing the House of Angus’s emblem with the initials FA carved into the handle. Those were Sorcha’s brother’s initials.
God’s bones! Had her brother been the one to attack her? Was he the one who had been trying to end her life? If so, why? And why had she lied? Was it to protect her brother? Or was it to protect him from having to lie for her brother along with her?
Cameron slammed the point of the dagger down into the dirt.
“Cameron!” Graham called from a few feet away. “Have ye found anything?”
Eolande’s prophecy came to him, making him shudder. Ye will betray yer king, yer family, the very honor ye hold dear.
“Cameron?” Graham called again.
“Nay,” Cameron replied, forcing his breath to become even, his heart to slow, and his mind to quiet. One thought became loud, one purpose clear. He refused to believe she had lied to him for any reason other than to protect him, and he refused to live without her. Therefore, he needed to be so cunning and so ferocious that he could outmaneuver whatever person or force tried to separate him from Sorcha. Methodically, he thought of each of their enemies and what he would do if he were them, as well as what it would take to change the course of those choices. He considered the king and the conspirators against the king—Hugo, Finn, their fathers, March, even Sorcha.
The fear of Eolande’s foretelling slipped away from him, and fierce determination replaced it, along with the certainty that he was strong enough, shrewd enough, to handle what may come, but with his brothers and his sister by his side, he would be unstoppable. The majority of his life he had avoided leaning on anyone, but no more.
Suddenly, a realization struck him that stole his breath: he did not lose his honor by protecting Sorcha. It was honorable to do so. She was innocent.
“Graham,” Cameron called, standing and motioning his brother over, “I’ve found something.” A plan was forming in his mind that involved marrying Sorcha without her realizing it. If she knew what was happening, she’d refuse in order to protect him from making choices that would cause Eolande’s foretelling to come true. He intended to propose his unfolding plan to the king, but if the king did not agree to it, then the only thing preventing Sorcha from still being used as a pawn would be their marriage. When Graham came near, Cameron handed the dagger to him. “This is Sorcha’s brother’s dagger. I’m certain of it.”
Graham frowned as he ran a finger over the initials. “And?” he asked. The question of why Sorcha’s brother had tried to kill her had not been voiced, but it was clear what Graham wanted to know, given his incredulous look.
Cameron sighed. He quickly told Graham what Sorcha had shared about her father, Hugo and his father, and the Earl of March, and how she had said her brother had fled and not killed Katherine.
Graham shook his head when Cameron paused. “Those men have no honor. To have killed Katherine to strike at the king is a coward’s move,” Graham spat.
“Aye,” Cameron agreed.
Graham’s eyebrows dipped together. “Tell me yer thoughts on why her brother would be trying to kill her and why she would lie to ye about it.”
“I believe,” Cameron said slowly, “her brother likely knew she would tell us what had happened, and he and the others would be accountable to the king. Perchance he intended to try to prevent it, or if they thought the king would lose the throne, perchance he did nae care and he simply wanted to ensure she died so Hugo would nae inherit the castle her brother was meant to receive.” He shrugged. “I dunnae ken the why of it for certain, but I do ken this for certain: Sorcha’s heart is big. She loved her brother, and even if she discovered he had intended to kill her, I believe she might have let him flee to keep him safe from harm.”
“Then she lied to ye,” Graham said flatly.
Cameron nodded. “Aye, but she did tell me the entire truth of her father and the others. I believe she lied to me so I would nae have to lie, too. Would ye nae do all in yer power to keep me from death, even if ye kenned I was nae a good person?”
“I would,” Graham said begrudgingly. “What is it ye wish to do?” he asked, surprising Cameron by not questioning and arguing.
“Ye trust me to make the correct choices?” Cameron asked, his chest tight.
“Aye, Brother. I have trusted ye to make the correct choices for a long time now,” he said. “Ye were just blind to the fact.”
“Aye,” Cameron agreed. “I was.” He cleared his throat. “I want to call Lachlan and Iain here and have a meeting with them, ye, Lena, Marsaili, Bridgette, Marion, and Isobel. I wish to get Sorcha to declare in front of yer priest that she intends to marry me in the future, but her statement must be gained in such a way that she dunnae realize
she has given the first part of what is required for a man and wife to be married.”
Graham’s eyes widened. “And after she has shared her intent in front of my priest, what then?”
“Then,” Cameron said slowly, “I will acquire the second part of what is required to make her my wife by the law of church and man. I will join our bodies.” Though Sorcha simply would think he had finally given in to his desire. “I must defend her against all that may occur, and I fear the cunning of Hugo and his father. If there is a way to get the king’s pardon, they will think of it, and if they gain it, Hugo will still want Sorcha as his wife to get her castle. I must prevent this.”
Graham nodded. “Aye, I agree.” He studied Cameron for a long moment. “In truth, ’tis a good thing ye wish to marry her.”
“Aye,” Cameron agreed. “It is.”
They returned to the castle near dawn, and Cameron went straight to Sorcha’s bedchamber. He didn’t care what anyone might say. If things went according to the plan he had outlined for Graham not long ago, she would be his wife very soon. He knocked on her door, not wishing to simply barge in, and before he could take a breath, the door swung open. His chest tightened with relief at what her face revealed.
Her eyes brimmed with warmth and happiness. She closed the distance between them and threw herself into his arms, circling her own around his waist and laying her cheek against his chest. “I was scairt ye would nae come to me.”
He kissed the top of her silky head while trailing his fingers along her bare arms. “From this day forward, I will always come to ye,” he assured her.
She looked up at him. “Ye may nae always feel that way,” she replied, guilt soaking her tone. She was too guileless in her heart to successfully hide the part of the truth she had attempted to keep from him, but he’d not point that out now.
How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady Page 28