Twelve
The sight of Sorcha in a torn gown, with her hair a mess and cuts on her face was difficult enough for Cameron to see, but she was also gripped in Broch’s embrace. It made Cameron clench his fists. Then, when Sorcha demanded Broch release her and the man did not, Cameron’s anger exploded, and the innate need to keep her safe sent him barreling across the courtyard and straight at Broch.
He crashed into the Scot with a force that sent them both flying backward and to the ground with a hard thud, but the anger pumping through his blood shot him to his feet. Before Broch could gain his, Cameron’s fist connected with Broch’s nose. Bone cracked and blood gushed, but Broch was not a man to be easily felled. He swiped an arm out, catching Cameron’s left leg, and with a jerk, he pulled Cameron to the ground, all his breath whooshing out of his lungs and the courtyard briefly tilting as his thoughts jumbled.
“Cease this foolishness!” Marion bellowed.
Both men ignored her, Cameron rolling to his side as Broch lunged for him and missed. He scrambled to his feet, ducked a punch, and came up with a hard jab to Broch’s ribs. The Scot doubled over for a second, then came up swinging, his fist connecting with Cameron’s jaw. Pain throbbed through the entire left side of Cameron’s face, but he shook it off and hit Broch’s chin from underneath. After that, it was one punch after the other, warrior to warrior, rage to retaliation. Cameron’s blood roared in his ears, and as he pulled his arm back to hit Broch once more, it was caught from behind. His other arm was yanked up and behind him.
Panting, he turned his head to one side and received a dark scowl from Alex. Turning his head in the other direction, he received a furious glare from Angus. “Let me go,” Cameron growled, trying to twist free. Across from him, two of his warriors held Broch in a similar restraining hold.
“Do ye vow to keep yer fists down?” Alex demanded.
Cameron raked his gaze across Broch, and then around him where a crowd had gathered. “I vow,” he said in a low voice, “nae to hit him again, but I want him gone from here,” he bit out, seething.
Broch cocked an eyebrow at him and spit blood. He looked at Sorcha, who stood trembling between Marion and Bridgette, and back to Cameron. “Ye’d banish me from the clan because ye believe I have somehow hurt this woman?” Broch asked in a voice as low as Cameron’s.
“Ye had her gripped in yer hands,” he growled.
“Aye,” Broch snapped. “I did lose hold of my anger, but only because the lass almost got herself killed by using herself as bait to lead the two men who were shooting arrows at her away from us. She’s braw but foolhardy, and I suppose I thought to shake some sense into her head. If ye wish to banish me from Dunvegan for that, then so be it,” he said, tilting his chin up in challenge.
The news that someone had once again tried to kill Sorcha had anger battering him. Swift shame followed the anger. He had responded so violently against Broch, a man he had known and trusted for years. Guilt flooded Cameron along with the desire to shake Sorcha for endangering herself. He battled the need to pull her into his arms and press kisses all over her in relief that she had once again escaped unscathed. His emotions reeled so sharply, he felt as if the courtyard was spinning. He took a long breath to calm his heated blood before speaking.
Turning his gaze on Broch once more, he said, “I clearly dunnae ken all that has happened. I thank ye for keeping her alive, and I am sorry for the way I responded.” He owed the man that, but he could not leave it there. Fierce, raw possessiveness compelled him to say more. “But hear me now, Broch. If ye ever restrain her again, as ye just did, unless it is to save her life in that moment, ye will regret it. Do ye ken me?”
“I ken ye,” Broch clipped. “Bridgette killed one of the attackers, but one is still afoot.”
A furious tic began in Cameron’s jaw, along with rapidly growing fear. Sorcha had been attacked again, and he’d not been there to protect her. He kept his gaze carefully off her now, fearing that if their eyes locked, he would not be able to stop himself from taking her in his arms, soothing her, and assuring her she would be fine. He had to give orders. Make choices. Be the warrior he was striving to be. But soon, very soon, he would claim her mouth once more. She had almost been taken from him today. The thought sent ice through his veins and clarity into his mind. His heart squeezed tight. It was too late for him to deny her any longer. She was in his head, and likely his heart, just as Iain had said.
He settled his gaze on Marion and then Bridgette, taking care to skip over Sorcha. “Take Sorcha to her bedchamber and stay with her until I come. Can ye do that without getting into any more mischief, or do I need to send a guard with ye?”
Marion grimaced and inclined her head in acceptance, but Bridgette glared and let out a huff. “Aye, we can do that,” Bridgette muttered.
He nodded, then finally looked at Sorcha. His heart lurched at how fragile she looked, yet not fearful. The fear was gone. What was that emotion shining in her eyes? When her gaze bore into him and she tilted her chin up, it struck him—defiance and anger. He ground his teeth. “Ye,” he growled, “I will speak with shortly.”
“Possibly,” she snapped. “If I feel like speaking to ye after this”—she waved her hand at him and then Broch—“display!”
“I thought the man was harming ye!” he thundered.
Her eyes popped wide, and her lips parted. “I see,” she said very quietly, and he swore a small smile had tugged at the corner of her lips before she quickly got herself under control. “In that case, I’ll be willing to talk with ye later.”
With that, she turned with her head high and her spine straight as an arrow and walked toward the castle door with Marion and Bridgette trailing behind her.
“What?” he asked, sensing Broch’s gaze on him. “I said I’m sorry. What I did was nae acceptable.”
“It’s already forgotten,” Broch replied, and a ghost of a smile touched his face. “I stare because I did nae believe I would see the day that a woman tied ye into knots and caused ye to act crazed.”
“I’m nae in knots,” he bit out, all too aware of how irrational his denial sounded. He was grateful when Broch simply shrugged. Cameron motioned for Broch to follow him as he moved away from the other men. When they were alone, he said, “Tell me of what occurred today, from start to finish.”
Guilt flashed across Broch’s face, followed by anger. “It began this morning when Bridgette asked me to accompany her, Marion, and Sorcha to see Eolande.”
Cameron’s surprise at Broch’s words was so great that all he could do was gape at the man. Clenching and then releasing his teeth, he managed to say, “For the love of God, I kinnae imagine how ye allowed yerself to be talked into something ye ken I’d nae approve!”
Broch fidgeted, not answering, and when Cameron’s anger sparked again, he was about to demand a reply when the likely answer hit him. His nostrils flared as he stared at his longtime friend. “Ye did it to gain favor with Sorcha.”
A flush covered Broch’s neck. “Aye. I’ve no excuse, and I expect to be punished.”
And he would be. The man had known Cameron would not agree, but he’d done it anyway. Yet, Cameron did not give the penance immediately. He carefully thought upon what he wanted to say, knowing jealousy was involved on his part. “I must take away yer command of men for a time. Ye ken I would nae have agreed to such an excursion, nor would Iain or Lachlan.”
Broch lowered his head. “Aye. The woman enchanted me.”
Cameron felt as if Broch had hit him in the jaw once more. He swallowed hard. “Did she…did she give ye reason to believe she welcomed yer attentions?”
“Nay,” Broch said with a shrug. “But I’m stubborn, and I’d hoped she would after a time.” He lifted his gaze to Cameron’s. “I see now that she will nae. I did nae ken ye already had a claim on her heart.”
Shock stilled Cameron, and he glanced around swiftly, relieved to see everyone but he and Broch had dispersed. “Did she say that to ye?”
“She did nae have to. It was in her eyes when she looked at ye. Adoration. Trust. Fear that I had hurt ye. I did nae ever believe I’d wish to be looked upon that way, but I believe now I might desire it verra much.”
Cameron knew exactly what Broch meant, but he’d not say it. Instead he said, “Tell me of the seer and the attackers.”
As Broch began to talk, Cameron forced himself to focus, though his thoughts kept trying to stray to Sorcha. He would see her soon—after he secured the dead attacker and combed the woods for the one still at large. Once that was done, he would deal with her sneaking away and her recklessness. He had to if he was going to keep her protected. He just prayed he could keep his hands off her long enough to make her understand that she had to take more care with her safety.
Sorcha paced the length of her empty bedchamber, noting the first light of a new day had streaked the sky in a breathtaking display of oranges, reds, and purples. The léine she wore swished against her thighs with her fast, agitated strides. Her head ached, and her eyes stung with lack of sleep. She’d tried to rest—oh, how she’d tried—but the peaceful state had eluded her.
After Marion and Bridgette had departed late in the night, the guard appointed to watch over her from outside her door had told her that Cameron was out with a tracking party looking for her attacker. So she’d waited, tense with anxiety, on the edge of her bed, thinking he would come speak to her when he returned. Thundering horse hooves had filled the courtyard when the moon had nearly departed the sky, and a glance down below had revealed the tracking party had returned, yet still Cameron had not come.
Exhaustion had weighed heavily on her, so she’d stripped off her gown and climbed into the bed, certain that she would fall asleep immediately. Except her mind had raced with a hundred possibilities of why he did not come to her, each tormenting her in its uniqueness and keeping sleep out of her reach. No matter what position she had tried, her head had battered her with questions. Was he furious that she had gone to see Eolande? Was he angry that her journey to the seer had endangered Broch, Marion, and Bridgette, even if accidentally? It could be that he simply did not wish to see her. He may have decided she was entirely too much trouble and was planning to persuade the king to take her off his hands. Or perchance he thought she cared for Broch. Or that she was evil…
The more questions she had, the more irritable she became. She was upset with him. She understood that he likely warred with himself because of the seer’s prophecy—and she was pleased he had admitted he’d attacked Broch out of care for her—but she needed him to talk to her so they could determine if they could even cross the divide that lay between them.
She’d abandoned sleep and taken up pacing long ago. As she completed another trip across her room, she paused in front of the window, looking out at the sunlit courtyard and massaging her aching temples. There were no answers, only questions and growing frustration. Cameron had the answers she sought—well, some of them anyway—but perchance he intended to avoid being alone with her ever again. She breathed slowly and evenly, considering what Eolande had said to her. The attack the seer spoke of had occurred, but what was the change? She skipped over the things the seer had said that she could not comprehend, and she settled on what the woman had said in regard to Cameron. Did they truly share a passion that could not be denied?
Her gut told her that such an attraction as the one that had sparked between them was not a common occurrence. Her mind started to turn to all the obstacles they faced even to have a future, but she shoved the thoughts away. She knew the obstacles well—her memory, the king, the prophecy. Yet, she still wished to learn Cameron. He was the man she wanted to walk with, talk with, train with, and have take her in his arms. But before she could admit all of that to him, she had to tell him what the seer had foretold to her.
Eolande had said their passion would either sink under the weight of heavy lies or rise with powerful love. Who would be the liar? Was it her? She curled her hands into fists. She had no control over the sort of person she had been, but by God, she had full control over whether she had honor or not now, and she chose honor.
She sighed as the rest of Eolande’s prophecy echoed in her head, especially the part about a claim upon her body that would supersede the one upon her heart. Eolande could have been seeing that the king would force her into a marriage her heart did not want, or possibly someone else would. Either way, Cameron had a right to know since the seer said he would forsake his own honor to free Sorcha.
Fierce determination to see the man and make him look at her and hear her overcame Sorcha. If the stubborn Scot refused to come to her, then she would simply have to go to him. She quickly donned her gown and then marched toward the door and flung it open, coming to a shuddering halt at the sight of Cameron filling the doorway. A thick leather strap that secured his gleaming sword was all that covered his sculpted chest. His hair was pulled back by twine, revealing the harsh but beautiful lines of his jaw. His green eyes appeared almost moss colored in their darkness, and they widened as he raked his gaze over her before meeting her eyes once more. The desire flaming there set her heart to pounding and instantly heated her body.
He stepped toward her without a word but with a predatory look about him. She set her palm to his chest and locked her gaze with his. The rapid beat of his heart thumped against her fingertips, as the heat of his flush singed her. She wanted to relent to him, but he had to be at peace with what he felt for her before she could, and he had to hear what Eolande had said. She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed a finger to her lips.
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt ye,” he said, his voice husky. The apology made her heart squeeze. He ran his finger gently over her lips before removing it. They stood face-to-face, very close, but he no longer touched her. “I dunnae want to fight how I feel any longer.”
To hear that he had accepted how he felt for her, overwhelmed her. She dropped her palm and pressed her body close to his, bringing her mouth to his ear. “Nor do I,” she whispered, allowing herself to forget for the moment what she wanted to tell him of Eolande.
He rubbed his cheek against hers as he set his hands to her waist and lifted her with ease. He carried her into the room and kicked a leg backward, closing the door with a resounding thud. When he set her on her feet again, her chest brushed his, making her loins tighten and her breasts grow immediately heavy. A moan escaped her, and he responded with a growl before his arm slid around her waist once more and his hand fisted in her hair to tilt her head back. He slanted his mouth over hers, stoking the fire that threatened to consume her.
His fast, demanding kisses sang through her veins and made her gasp, but when his mouth suddenly became slow and gentle, almost reverent in its caresses, she wanted to weep at the tenderness he was displaying. It showed her that what was between them had the promise of more than desire, just as Eolande had foretold. As he kissed her, his hands explored her back, her waist, her hips, and then slid up to the neckline of her léine.
Breaking their kiss, he pulled back from her, his gaze boring into her as he tugged her léine down over one shoulder and then the other. Ever so slowly and gently, he inched it along her breasts, exposing the tops but nothing else. He stilled, a questioning look coming to his eyes.
“I’ll cease now if ye wish it,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.
God, she did not wish it. What she needed to tell him of the seer niggled in her mind, but she shoved it down for one more moment. She wanted him to bare all of her and then set his hands to her burning body, because she was certain he could offer relief to the exquisite ache that had claimed her. “Nae yet,” she replied, her voice husky.
Desire darkened his gaze further as he slid her léine over her breasts to her waist. Silently, he stared at her with a look of bold, frank possession. Her blood thickened as he reached out and cupped her breasts, running his thumb over her straining buds. She hissed as her body arched involuntarily toward him, and he caressed her again in slow, teasing circles that made her want to scream with pleasure.
He moved his hand from her breasts, making her whimper for the loss of his touch, and he cupped her chin and fastened his gaze to hers. “Ye are the most glorious creature I have ever beheld, and I dunnae only mean yer body, though I’ve nae ever looked upon a lass as beautiful as ye. Ye make me want to drop to my knees and worship ye.”
She raked her gaze over his face, thick arms, slabs of his stomach, and muscled legs, locking her eyes to his once more. Intensity shone in the green depths, and his jaw was set, just as it had been the moment she had looked upon him after waking from her injury. She had known then that he had a tight rein on a great amount of power. Was he keeping control for her now? Did he fear releasing it with her? She wanted to see him without his inhibitions, without the shadows of doubt that danced in his eyes. No matter what came for them in the future, this moment was theirs, and it very well could be the only one like this they would ever share. She prayed it was not, even as she reached out with trembling hands and ran them down the length of his chest, glorying in the way his lids grew heavy with the need she was creating in him.
“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.”
“And from mine to yers,” she agreed immediately, making his chest tighten with her ready pledge.
He ran the pad of his thumb over her sweet lips. “Then lies will nae fell us.”
She nodded her agreement, yet her hands still twisted with her worry. “Why do ye still fret?” he asked gently.
Her lip trembled, and she bit down on it, stopping the motion. Intense unease sprang within him like a weed.
Her skin grew ashen, making his concern rage. “Tell me,” he urged.
“She says”—her voice dropped to a wobbly whisper—“there is a claim upon my body that will supersede the one upon my heart. I fear she refers to King David’s plans for me.”
“Nay.” The word lashed out of him, and she jerked as if he had struck her. There had to be a way to keep Sorcha and not betray the king. He quickly took her hands to reassure her. “I will nae let ye be taken from me as long as ye wish to be by my side. We will find a way to bend the king’s mind.”
“And if we kinnae?” Sorcha asked, her voice a threadbare tremor. “Eolande said ye would forgo yer honor to free me. That seems to indicate that changing the king’s designs for me will be impossible. Vow to me,” she implored, the words savage, “vow ye will nae sacrifice yer honor for me.”
He wanted to lie. He feared the truth would put a wall between them once again, before they had even had a chance, but he had pledged to tell her only the truth. “I kinnae make such a vow.”
She pushed his hand away from her chin and went to rise, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her back down on his lap. “Look at me,” he demanded as she had turned her back to him.
“Nay,” she choked out.
He twisted her around easily, and when she faced him, the tears streaming down her cheeks made him ache. “I vow to ye that I will find a way to keep ye with me without forsaking my honor.”
“Ye vow it?”
“I do,” he replied.
She pressed her hands to his cheeks. “Then let us try to change Eolande’s foretelling right here in this moment.”
“How?” he asked, fascinated by the determination that had swept over her and lit her eyes with a fire.
“Take my body, Cameron.”
Unbridled yearning raced through him almost before his mind could respond and keep from tossing her on the bed and taking what she’d offered. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to. God above, he wanted it so much that his teeth ached. But she was not like any other woman he had ever joined with. She was a woman he wished to wake beside. “Sorcha, ye dunnae mean what ye say,” he choked out, fighting the need that whipped at him.
“I do,” she insisted. “I ken what I’d be giving ye, but I give it freely. If ye claim my body, then that part of Eolande’s foretelling will be forever changed.”
“Sorcha—” Disbelief that he was actually trying to dissuade her from this had him at a loss for words. To join with her like that, he imagined they should be married, and the thought made him break out in a cold sweat.
“Shh,” she said softly, leaning into him and brushing her breasts—purposely, he was sure—against his chest. He was going to go mad with desire. She was learning to be a true temptress at an astonishing speed. “Listen. Please,” she cajoled. Damned if he could not get his lips to form the word no.
He nodded, desire overcoming reason.
She did not bother to hide her triumphant smile. “Eolande said our choices could change her foretelling, and she said I should trust my heart. My heart tells me to give ye my body. I dunnae care that I’ve nae kenned ye long. I met ye years ago, and in that moment, I am sure we became tethered to each other.”
He nodded again.
“Change the future Eolande saw for me,” Sorcha pleaded. “In doing so, ye change yer own. Yer honor will remain yers.”
Everything she had said sounded perfect, except that he would nae feel honorable if he took her innocence but did not make her his wife.
“Marry me,” he said, shocked at his own words and aware, in that moment, that it would be a betrayal of what the king wanted. But he would fix the betrayal later. He would make it right. Because marrying her was more than right. He could feel it deep within in every beat of his heart: this choice was fate.