Ten
When Sorcha entered her bedchamber, Marion and Bridgette sprang up from her bed and rushed over to her. “Well?” they demanded in unison before the door was firmly shut behind Sorcha. She pressed a quick finger to her lips to quiet the women, both of whom she still could hardly believe were being so kind to her. Marion had been correct about Bridgette. Once they had found her, and Marion had told her of Eolande’s prophecy for Cameron and Sorcha—and of Cameron kissing Sorcha—Bridgette had been eager to help, claiming rather boastfully that she had immediately sensed an attraction between Sorcha and Cameron.
“Shh,” Sorcha hushed the women as they giggled like children rather than the wives and mothers they were. She pressed her ear to the door and stilled, listening to Broch’s retreating footsteps. When she could hear no more of him in the passageway, she turned slowly to Marion and Bridgette, who were staring at her with expectant faces. She knew they’d want to hear what had happened with Cameron, but she could hardly think past seeing him kissing that woman in the courtyard. It stole her ability to form a proper sentence, making her angry and sad at once.
“Did it work?” Marion asked, interrupting Sorcha’s thoughts.
“Of course it worked,” Bridgette crowed, and Sorcha bit her lip on contradicting her. “I dunnae ever set a woman on a wrong path to catching a man, now do I?” Bridgette’s green gaze glowed as she plunked her hands on her hips and gave her friend a challenging look.
Marion chuckled. “Well, you did aid me with Iain, I suppose.”
“Ye suppose?” Bridgette gasped. “The two of ye would nae be happily married if nae for me,” she said with a grin.
“I would not go that far,” Marion responded. “We were already married when I met you! Though you did have a hand in making us happy.” Marion laughed at Bridgette’s outraged look, and quickly added, “But I would say that Graham and Isobel are only married because you taught her how to seduce him.”
Bridgette nodded with a triumphant look on her face, then turned her gaze to Sorcha once more. “Now that we have established ye can make Cameron jealous—I saw him glaring daggers at Broch and poor Alex in the great hall—I can teach ye how to entice him.”
She needed to stop Bridgette and tell her about the kiss she’d just witnessed. “Aye, but—”
“It will only be a matter of time after that until he forgets Eolande’s prophecy and gives in to his yearning for ye,” Bridgette exclaimed. “Ye’ll be a quick learner. That was verra smart of ye to ask Broch to accompany ye into the courtyard. Did ye encounter Cameron?”
Sorcha blew out a long breath. “Aye. I encountered him, to be sure. He—”
“Was Broch with ye?” Bridgette interrupted.
“Aye. He insisted on accompanying me and would nae leave me be.” She frowned, recalling the dance that Marion and Bridgette had persuaded her to accept from Broch. He had made her laugh, for certain, but he did not stir attraction in her, and she feared she had led him on. And for what purpose? Cameron was kissing other women. Agitated, she twined a strand of hair around her finger. “I dunnae believe it was wise for me to dance with Broch. I wish only to be his friend, and I fear he now thinks I wish for more.”
“Bah,” Bridgette said. “Ye told him ye did nae wish his attention. And I watched ye dance. Ye kept a respectable distance, and when he moved his hand too low, ye stepped away. If he refuses to accept that ye wish only to be friends, ye are nae to blame.”
“Perchance nae,” Sorcha replied, unsure she totally believed that. “But I’ll nae be accepting another dance from him, and if he demands to walk me anywhere else, I’m going to have to tell him in a less gentle way that I dunnae desire him.”
Bridgette snorted. “Ye’ll need to clobber him over the head with a tree trunk. The man is used to lasses falling at his feet, and ye nae wishing to fall presents an irresistible challenge for him, I’m certain.”
“Enough about Broch,” Sorcha said firmly. “The plot to make Cameron jealous did nae work. I just saw him outside kissing a lass with long, curly, brown hair.”
“Lillianna,” Bridgette fairly spat out.
“Be kind,” Marion chastised.
“I dunnae see why I must. That one is purposeful trouble. She and Cameron have been tumbling in the hay for years, her claiming that she dunnae want anything from him and him being led by an area other than his brain. Tell us exactly what ye saw,” Bridgette demanded.
“Well,” Sorcha started, hoping she didn’t sound as jealous as she felt. “I did see her throw herself at him—”
“Aha!” Bridgette crowed. “I felt certain that’s how it came about.”
Hope sparked in Sorcha, but was if foolish hope? “However,” she said firmly, “it took him quite some time to untangle himself from her. He may have wanted the kiss.” The notion that he would kiss her with such abandon and then eagerly kiss Lillianna with passion later made Sorcha ill.
Bridgette shook her head. “It’s more probable that she had her talons good and secure into him. What did ye do?”
“Honestly, I believe I gaped.”
“What did Broch do?” Marion asked.
“He slung his arm around me in a most annoying manner. I dug my heel into his toe as discreetly as I could, but the man just kept his arm there.”
“And how did Cameron look?” Bridgette inquired, though Marion appeared just as eager to know.
“I can hardly say,” Sorcha mumbled. “It was as if a mask had been slid over his features. I could have been a window that he was looking through.”
“Oh, och!” Bridgette crooned. “That’s what the MacLeod brothers all do when they are truly bothered by something.”
“It’s true,” Marion added. “Cameron is very much like his brothers, though I fear he thinks of himself as inferior. As the youngest, their father was hardest on him. Iain feels partly to blame as he says they all coddled him, which made their father angry and fearful that he’d become soft. He wanted only fierce warriors for sons.”
“It’s getting late,” Bridgette said with a yawn. “And I dunnae wish to be so tired when I join my husband in bed that I kinnae enjoy him, so if ye wish me to give ye some pointers on seducing Cameron tomorrow…”
“I dunnae ken that I do now,” Sorcha admitted. “If we are truly meant to be, won’t it just happen?”
Bridgette shrugged. “It did happen that way with Lachlan and me, in spite of Eolande’s foreboding prophecy of our love.”
Mention of the prophecy had Sorcha twisting her hands. “Dunnae ye fear helping me will bring about something horrible?”
“I dunnae,” Bridgette said with finality. “If I had allowed Eolande’s prophecy to make my choices for me, I would nae be happily married, though I have to confess it was Lachlan, nae me, who was first to snub the foretelling. He refused to live without me, and it was that choice and his bravery that enabled us to have a future together.” Bridgette took Sorcha’s hand in hers and squeezed. “I believe it is exactly as Eolande always says: she can only foretell the future she sees up to the point she touches us, and after that, it is our choices that truly define how the future will play out.”
Suddenly, a new idea had Sorcha gasping. “I should visit the seer! She has nae foretold my future by touching me! Only Cameron’s. Perchance I will hear something that will guide me in what to do.”
Marion and Bridgette exchanged a long look before Marion spoke. “Cameron will not like it.”
“He’ll most likely forbid ye going,” Bridgette added, then smirked. “Of course, ye could avoid that.”
Sorcha smiled. “Aye, if I go in secret.”
Both women nodded. “If ye did so, ye would need to take a warrior to help guard ye, however. There is a man out there still lurking and likely wanting to kill ye.”
“Aye, I’ve nae forgotten,” Sorcha muttered.
“I’ll join ye,” Bridgette declared.
Sorcha startled. “Ye’d do that for me?”
“For ye, for Cameron, to obliterate another of Eolande’s prophecies. I vow that seer-fairy dislikes love.”
“Well,” Marion pronounced, “the two of you cannot go on an adventure like this without me!”
“Iain will be furious if he finds out ye went to the Fairy Pools with an enemy about,” Bridgette said.
Marion scowled at Bridgette. “I don’t intend him to find out, but lucky for me, if he does, I know how to cool that Scot’s temper.”
“Will Lachlan nae be furious with ye for going to the Fairy Pools with an enemy about?” Sorcha asked Bridgette.
“Oh, aye. But he expects me to create mischief. I do believe he’s resigned himself to it, and he kens that I am well equipped to defend myself.”
“How so?” Sorcha asked, intrigued.
Bridgette grinned. “I am verra handy with daggers and swords, and I am a fair shot with the bow, if I do say so. I’d offer to train with ye tomorrow,” she said on another yawn, “but Alex says ye’re better than I am.” She raised skeptical eyebrows. “Also, if ye wish to truly learn the secrets of Cameron’s heart, ye best train with him alone. It’s hard enough to get a man to open his heart without an audience!” Bridgette moved toward the door, and Marion trailed behind her. “Tomorrow ye train, but the next day, we will find a way to slip away to the Fairy Pools. Marion and I will come up with an excuse. I will ask Broch to accompany us, too, as we need to take a warrior, or even I could nae cool the temper my husband would be in if he discovered I went to the pools without one.”
“Nae Broch!” Sorcha protested.
Bridgette quirked her mouth and looked contemplative for a moment. “Ye must set aside yer concerns. Taking him is the best choice. He is a fearsome warrior, and more importantly, I’ll be able to compel him to come with us.”
“How?” Sorcha asked.
“Ye let me concern myself with that.” Bridgette promptly replied, then yawned hard. I’m off to bed.”
“As am I,” Marion added.
“Sleep well,” both women said before departing.
After undressing, Sorcha crawled into bed, certain she would fall immediately asleep from exhaustion. Instead, she lay there for a long time, staring into the moonlit darkness and recalling Cameron’s lips on hers, his hands in her hair and gliding over her body, his smell, his taste, and the way he groaned his need. With her own groan, she rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut. After a very long while, she felt the tug of sleep pulling her under, and then the dreams began.
There was a large childlike man near a horse stable. Something was wrong with him, but he didn’t frighten her. Actually, she felt a strong need to protect him. The next thing she knew, she awoke with a startled jerk, and his name was on her lips. Brom. He needed her. The certainty she felt was chilling. She had to return home for him, because without her protection, his life was at stake. The fear haunted her into the night, and the realization that when she remembered her home it may well be too late dogged her until the wee hours, when sleep finally took her once more.
“Show me what ye ken,” Cameron commanded as he put away the daggers they had trained with and handed Sorcha a bow and arrows. His voice was purposely gruff, as it had been since they began. His body tingled with awareness of Sorcha, and while there was nothing he could do to control that, he would control his mind. He would control how he proceeded while alone with her.
She gave him a curt nod, moved out of the shadows of the large tree she had been standing under, and raised her arrow to nock it. Her extraordinary eyes met his, making his chest tighten, and as he looked into their depths, the excitement and eagerness that shimmered there filled him with the same excitement and eagerness. A smile pulled at his lips, taking him by surprise. He quickly forced the frown he intended to keep firmly in place while they were alone. He would be cold. He would be gruff.
“What do ye wish me to shoot?” she asked, interrupting his inner monologue.
He pointed to the tree roughly ten feet away, where he had put a target in the wee hours of the morning. He should have been sleeping like everyone else in the castle, except the watch, but sleep had evaded him while memories of the kiss he’d shared with Sorcha had haunted him.
“That target is an affront,” she murmured under her breath, angry color blossoming on her cheeks.
It was an affront for anyone who had a small amount of skill with archery. He’d purposely made her first target easy. Alex may think Sorcha was the best archer he’d ever seen next to Cameron, but Cameron wasn’t so sure that Alex had not been blinded by Sorcha’s beauty. He intended to judge for himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and returned her frustrated stare with a narrowed one. “Then swallow the affront and shoot.” His gruff words had their intended effect, though his gut hardened that it was working.
Anger sparked in her gaze, and a line of focus appeared between her eyes. She angled her body toward the target, aligned the arrow, and stared down the length of it. She inhaled a long, breath, and tilted her head slightly to the left. Her golden hair dangled at her waist, and the sun shone down on her, casting her face in a bright glow. She was a sight to behold, so delicate yet filled with steely determination. When she wet her lips, he wanted to groan, but he clenched his teeth instead.
She let loose her arrow, and it whistled through the air before neatly splitting the target fastened to the tree. The shot was perfect. She was perfect. She swung toward him, a brilliant smile on her face, eyes alight with a mixture of satisfaction and hopefulness, and the air in his lungs whooshed out of him. “Is that good enough for ye?” she asked innocently, but her knowing expression gave away that she was very aware her shot was perfect.
“Passable,” he commented, though the desire to praise her burned his tongue.
The raw hurt that replaced the eagerness in her eyes made him feel nauseated. He felt his resolve to be cold weaken, but he pushed back against the response. He pointed to the next target, some twenty feet away. “Let us see if ye can split that target, Sorcha.”
“Ye ken my real name?” she asked with surprise.
“Aye, Marion told me.” He wanted to tell her how much he liked it, but instead he said, “’Tis a good sign that ye recalled it. Soon ye should remember more that will hopefully lead us to those responsible for Katherine’s murder.”
“I hope so,” she replied, her words shaky.
“Are ye fearful?” he asked before he could stop himself. He’d intended to keep all talk between them today only about her skills with the bow and arrow, but the possibility that she was afraid rattled his will to be gruff and cold.
She nodded. “Aye, but nae of remembering. I fear remembering too late.”
“Too late?”
“I had a dream last night,” she said, barely above a whisper, so he closed the distance between them to better hear her.
“What was the dream?” he asked, breathing in her honeysuckle scent.
“I dreamed of a man.”
“Someone ye love?” he asked, his tone relatively calm despite the sudden tempest inside of him.
“Aye, I believe so,” she replied, her eyes assessing him.
The hand of jealousy squeezed his throat so that he had to choke out his words. “A husband, do ye believe?”
Her eyes widened. “Nay.”
“A lover.” He was keenly aware that his tone was no longer relatively calm. It vibrated with the anger clawing at him.
Some indefinable emotion sparked in her eyes. “Nay. I dunnae ken exactly who he is to me, but he is nae a man I love like that.”
“Ye dunnae need to love a man for him to be yer lover,” he growled.
Icy contempt swept across her face. “I would nae ever join with a man I did nae love, unlike ye joining with Lillianna,” she growled.
“Perchance I love her,” he rebutted, relieved that Sorcha would not easily give herself to a man and pleased that she was jealous of Lillianna.
Devil take it, he had no right to be pleased.
Sorcha bit her lip. “I did nae ken that—That is, I mean to say, I was led to believe your relationship with Lillianna was—” Her words abruptly halted, and she looked away. “Never mind,” she said in a shaky whisper, making the desire to tell her the truth overwhelm him.
“I dunnae love her,” he said in a low voice. “And I have nae joined with her since returning to the castle. I find I dunne have interest in dallying with her.”
Sorcha slowly turned to look at him once more. “Ye dunnae? Truly?” she asked. The surprised wonder in her voice and the matching look on her face was like a battering ram upon his control.
“Truly,” he affirmed. “I find I want only one woman.” When her eyes widened, he hastened to add, “but I kinnae act upon my desire. Much prevents it.”
A momentary look of sorrow passed over her features, but then her face became inscrutable. “The man I recalled is someone I care for as one would a brother or a sister.”
Undeniable relief that he had no right to have poured through him. “I see,” was all he allowed himself to say.
“In my memory,” she continued, “he is childlike in his mind.”
His brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”
“He is innocent like a child. He is a man, but I sensed he did nae have the ability to act like a man. He is kind and in danger, but from whom I kinnae say for certain. It is someone there. He needs my protection. I fear what may be happening to him in my absence.”
He stared at her openmouthed, silenced by the admiration he felt for her. She was beautiful, so much so that he knew most any man would want her. But it was the bravery she kept displaying that tempted him so much that he raised his hand and brushed it down the perfect slope of her cheek. “It will be fine,” he said gently.
“Ye kinnae ken such a thing,” she murmured, pulling back from him. “I ken the king’s intentions for me. Even if I remember my home, if it is the king’s choice, I will nae ever see it again. I must get back to my home once I recall where it is.”
“I vow I’ll help ye return there,” he said, shocked as the words left his mouth. Still, he did not regret them.
“Truly?” she asked, her astonishment clear in her tone.
“I would leave no innocent to the whims of a cruel, evil person,” he replied, choosing to focus on those feelings rather than his overwhelming yearning to keep her safe and happy.
Her face softened, and a gentle, lovely smile pulled at her lips. “Ye are truly a good man.”
The need to kiss her as he had before pounded through him. He motioned toward the target. “Shoot,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She nodded curtly, withdrew another arrow, and nocked it. He watched intently as she repeated the exact steps she had gone through before. His chest tightened at the familiarity. He liked watching her and learning her habits. What would it be like for her to know him and for him to know her so well that they could anticipate each other’s moods, offer comfort in time of need, or laugh at memories only the two of them shared? He’d never wanted that before. His brothers had those sorts of relationships with their wives. They could cheer up their wives or calm their fears with a touch, and they often shared secret smiles or looks. He’d never been jealous of it. In truth, he’d considered his brothers’ attachments to and concerns for their wives as a weakness that lessened them as warriors.
Sorcha’s arrow flew by him to hit its target true. A grin lit Sorcha’s face, and her joy instantly filled him with joy. He almost gasped as he comprehended that this was why his brothers always did everything they could to please their wives.
Sorcha’s gaze locked with his. “Is that shot acceptable to ye?”
In order to keep the wall between them, he knew he should offer only a gruff reply, but he could not do it. He could not destroy her happiness. “Aye,” he said. “It seems though yer mind has forgotten much, yer body remembers exactly how to shoot. I wonder who taught ye.”
“I wish I kenned,” she murmured. A twinkle came to her eyes. “I wonder if I could best ye in archery as I did in dagger throwing so long ago?”
“Och.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Ye deceived the lot of us.”
“I would nae do such a thing!” she teased. “Ye accuse me only to save yer manly pride.”
“Perchance,” he replied, relenting to her contagious good humor.
“Shall we have a contest, then?” she challenged.
“What would the contest and the prize be?” he asked, intrigued. Besides, he was never one to turn down a contest.
She cocked her head in thought. “We will see who can shoot the truest at an agreed-upon target. If I win, ye will tell me yer fondest childhood memory since I dunnae currently have any of my own. And if ye win—”
“Ye will remove the MacLean plaid that ye’re wearing and wear the MacLeod plaid instead,” he rushed out. He knew such a thing should not matter to him. She was not his. She was not even a MacLeod. But it mattered very much. He’d not realized just how much until he’d said the words.
She inhaled a sharp breath, then spoke slowly, as if testing how her words would make him respond. “Does it matter to ye?”
“Aye,” he admitted, “though I dunnae have the right to ask such a thing of ye.”
She nodded. “Ye dunnae, but I’ll accept yer terms.”
Relief shot through him.
“Do ye have a plaid to give me if ye win?” she asked.
“Aye. Ye can wear mine, and I will get another.”
She nodded. “Now, what shall our target be?”
He glanced around the thick wooded area in which they stood. In the distance, well beyond the target she had shot at before, was a low-hanging branch with a large nut hanging from it. He grinned and pointed. “That nut is our target. We will shoot at the same time, and whoever hits it is the winner.”
She looked in the direction he was pointing, and her lips parted. For a moment, she simply stared. “Be ready to tell me yer memory.”
He snorted as he withdrew his arrow and nocked it while she did the same. “On a count of three.”
She nodded but did not look his way. He allowed his gaze to linger for the space of a breath, watching as that same adorable line appeared between her brows again. He wanted to keep watching her and see all the ways he now knew she prepared. But he had no intention of losing, so he returned his attention to his own bow.
“One,” they said in unison. “Two. Three.”
The arrows released almost simultaneously, but by nature of the fact that he was much larger than she was—therefore could make his bow string tauter for a more forceful release—his arrow sailed past hers, hit the nut, and lodged in the tree.
Grinning, he glanced at her and found her looking intently at his arrow with a smile on her face. He looked back to the tree and laughed. Her arrow had split his down the middle. “Ye forgot to account for my superior strength as a man,” he said.
She gave him an amused look. “And ye forgot to account for my superior mind as a woman. I wanted to wear yer plaid, and now ye must honor the contest and give it to me.”
Her words left him speechless for a moment, but as he watched her struggle to stop the trembling laughter on her lips, he threw his head back and chuckled until his gut ached. She let her own hearty laughter spill out, and it filled him with joy like he’d never known. As they both caught their breath, his gaze met hers, and the desire he saw reflected back at him battered his self-control.
Wordlessly, he set down his bow and stripped off his plaid, holding her gaze, which had become dark and beckoning. Yearning strummed through him as he moved so near to her that her scent filled his nose like a heady aphrodisiac, and her body heat caressed him. As he put the plaid on her and his fingers touched her silky skin, need exploded within him. He encircled her with his arms, bringing his hand to the small of her back to tug her close. Her soft, womanly curves pressed intimately against his hard, throbbing body, fitting him perfectly, and when she whimpered her need, he captured her lips with his.
Her mouth was velvety, warm, enticing, and not enough. He wanted more. He wanted all of her. He broke the kiss as his desire mounted, and he feathered kisses to her neck where he sucked in her silky skin on a long draw. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, the nails digging in and revealing her own urgency. She pulled him nearer now, twining her hands in his hair and wriggling against him.
Her chest brushed against his hot skin, and he knew that if he did not stop now, he may not be able to stop at all. Ruthlessly, he discarded the thought, driven by his relentless yearning for her. He took her mouth with his once more, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other cupping her heavy breast. She shuddered in his hand, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He circled his fingers gently around her hard bud. A guttural moan came from her that nearly drove him mad with wanting.
He broke the kiss to press his mouth to her chest, and her heartbeat pounded in his ear. “What are ye doing to me?” she demanded in voice hoarse with desire.
Her question, so telling in its innocence, caused the reality of what he was doing to crash in on him. He froze, his entire body rebelling against him as he released her and stepped away. When his gaze locked on hers, it took everything within him not to wrench her to him again.
“Jesus,” he muttered, disgusted with himself. He’d been a breath away from taking her, and she was likely an innocent. He would never take that from her and not marry her, and to marry her would mean he was choosing to risk that he could change Eolande’s prophecy for his future. If it was only his life that hung in the balance, he thought he might just take that chance, but he could not risk putting his family in jeopardy.
“I’m sorry,” he said, jerking a hand through his hair.
“Oh nay, Cameron!” She moved toward him, raising her hand as if to touch him. He stepped out of her reach, knowing if he let her touch him, he’d be lost to desire once more. Lines of confusion appeared on her brow. “I liked what ye were doing to me,” she said in a quiet but firm voice.
He groaned at her honest admission as it hardened him further with yearning. “I liked it verra much, as well,” he replied. “But this—” he motioned between them “—we kinnae do. I should nae have kissed ye. Twice.”
The anger that settled on her face shocked him. She crossed her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes. “Ye are a coward,” she accused.
Maybe she was hurt, and this was her way of showing it?
He frowned. “Ye dunnae ken—”
“Oh, I do!” she snapped, cutting him off. She stepped toward him and poked him in the chest. He felt his jaw slip open. “I ken about the seer’s prophecy.”
“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.