Claiming His Highland Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  He’d gone south on some business for The Mackintosh. South.

  Knowing her days here were at an end, Sorcha understood that she would need help to get to Skye now. She could wait or delay no more. When she met with Father Diarmid for prayers that day, she asked if he would arrange a private meeting with Brodie Mackintosh. By the day’s end, she stood before the laird and lady’s chamber, knowing that everything would be different when she left here later.

  As she knocked and lifted the latch when beckoned, she left the widow Saraid MacPherson behind and stepped into the chamber as Lady Sorcha MacMillan once more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sorcha walked before the laird and lady with her head held high and the confidence of the young woman she’d been raised to be. Though The Mackintosh’s titles were more elevated than her own father’s and though Lady Mackintosh was the daughter of a chieftain, their position in the scheme of things was similar enough that she need not curtsy to them. But, she did. From the way their eyes widened in surprise, she knew they noticed the difference in her demeanour and understood what it meant.

  That she’d been an impostor in their midst.

  Not for a moment did Sorcha fool herself into thinking they’d been convinced of her disguise. The lady’s recent and relentless questioning under the guise of casual conversation at meals revealed her suspicions. And Brodie Mackintosh did not reach and retain his position over a mighty clan and federation by missing the details or believing the false trails before him.

  ‘I wondered when the truth would out,’ Brodie said quietly.

  ‘I would like to make a bargain with you and the lady,’ she said.

  Her plan was to offer the knowledge she had about her father and The Cameron in exchange for their help—not only for her escape, but also to protect Alan. Then and only then would she reveal her identity. His next words destroyed all that.

  ‘What, Lady Sorcha, could we offer to a dead woman?’

  Courage, her mother whispered in her heart. Sorcha kept her gaze on the chieftain while answering his question.

  ‘’Tis more about what a dead woman could offer you, Laird Mackintosh.’

  He blinked then and let out a loud laugh, as she and his wife watched and waited. Lady Arabella studied her in silence, but Sorcha kenned the woman missed little even if she did not say so.

  ‘And that would be...?’

  ‘Knowledge of a grave weakness in your alliance with several clans.’

  ‘Certain knowledge or rumours and innuendos?’

  He stood then and walked to her, looking down from his great height for a moment. No doubt he wanted the difference in their size and power to intimidate her. The problem for him was that she kenned him to be an honourable man, one trusted by Alan and everyone living here. Brodie Mackintosh would never use his size and strength against a woman. But, she must never underestimate his power or his intelligence. Try as she might, she was not as calm as she was attempting to be. Sorcha entwined her fingers to keep them from trembling.

  ‘I was witness to several conversations in which specific arrangements were discussed, certain promises made and bargains sealed.’ The epithet that The Mackintosh hissed out made her and Lady Arabella wince.

  Her father never dreamt a woman would plot against him, certainly not his wife or daughter who lived in fear of his every word and deed. Hugh MacMillan paid no heed to the words she and her mother overhead in his talks with Gilbert Cameron for Sorcha’s marriage to the chieftain. He’d never worried over a mere woman listening in on the treasonous negotiations that led to an agreement of support and marriage of his daughter.

  Sorcha noticed that the lady paled now as betrayal was mentioned and wondered if it was her delicate condition or her family connection to the one whom Sorcha was about to implicate in a plan against her husband.

  ‘My lady, do you wish to hear this in...your condition?’ Sorcha asked, trying to be mindful that Arabella had extended every kindness and welcome to her during these last weeks. When Arabella sat up a bit straighter, Sorcha wondered if her words were misconstrued. ‘I mean no insult, lady. I have long been accustomed to the truth of my father’s nature, but I do not presume to ken your knowledge of your uncle’s.’

  ‘And I hold no pretences about Gilbert Cameron,’ the lady said. ‘Let us be frank amongst ourselves since you have come with an offer of information.’

  ‘And a demand for a bargain, Bella. Forget not that part of it,’ The Mackintosh said.

  The lady rose then and walked to her husband’s side, touching his arm as if to draw him back. Their gazes met and Sorcha could not help but long for such a look from a strong man such as this one. Her heart stung then as she realised Alan had looked at her with the same expression of love in his eyes...just before she sent him away. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly, hoping they’d not seen it. She could not take the risk of appearing weak now.

  ‘A woman is wise to bargain when she has the power to do so, Brodie. You ken that as I do. Come, let us sit and discuss this quandary and the threat to our families.’

  The chieftain stepped aside now and walked with his wife to an alcove where several chairs sat. After the lady sat down, he nodded to Sorcha who did the same. Only then did he sit. Thoughts and words raced through her mind as she attempted to find the right place to begin her plea. Instead, her curiosity won out.

  ‘How long have you kenned?’ she asked, looking at him. He did not pretend not to understand her question.

  ‘I suspected when my wife began asking her questions. Her suspicions are usually well grounded, but I ken more of my family’s connections than she does.’ His wife sputtered at his words, but he laid his hand over hers to ease her insult. ‘When I thought on the connections between the MacPhersons and the MacNeills, I remembered my father’s cousin Erca who would be known to Clara. Then there was your letter to your cousin in the convent...’

  Sorcha gasped as he unveiled the extent of his knowledge. She’d placed both her mother’s cousins in a terrible place of being exposed to this man.

  ‘You opened my letter?’

  ‘Aye.’ No apology, no explanation, would come from this chieftain. The lady’s expression confirmed that she’d read it as well.

  ‘My lord, I pray you not to hold Clara responsible for my transgressions. She felt the duty owed to kin and I...’

  ‘Worry not on that, Sorcha,’ the man said with a shrug. ‘I do not begrudge her helping you. But I am interested in what brought you to my village and to her door.’

  ‘Pure happenstance and accident,’ she admitted. ‘None of this was supposed to happen. If everything had gone according to the plan my mother made—’

  ‘Life rarely follows plans,’ Arabella whispered.

  ‘What did your mother have in mind? Why the convent?’ he asked quietly.

  Sorcha did not miss the importance of his question, for it would bring up kith and kin and expose many secrets. She realised she must not reveal everything until she had Brodie’s agreement to her terms. She would help him protect his clan if he helped her protect... Alan.

  ‘You must promise me first,’ she said.

  ‘Although my wife thinks otherwise, lady, you actually have little power right now in this. Now that you have confirmed your identity, there is nothing to stop me from contacting your father and your betrothed with the happy news of your survival. They would both be beholden to me for my aid to you in your time of need.’

  Her first reaction was purely physical—her stomach roiled and threatened to heave up its contents. Then, her body urged her to run, to run fast and far, to run now. Tremors shook their way through her as she fought for control. She could not allow everything to be ruined now, not when she understood she must walk away from the man she loved in order to protect him. This was too important fo
r him. She cleared her throat and placed both hands flat on the table before her in an attempt to calm herself.

  ‘Unlike my father and unlike the lady’s uncle, you are a man of honour, Brodie Mackintosh. Alan told me I could trust you and I will.’ The two exchanged some glance, one that seemed to say she’d confirmed something they suspected. ‘And, if you send the news that I am alive, they will simply wait and find another way to break the treaty and destroy all you hold dear.’

  He made a sound like an exhalation but it carried in it some acceptance of her words. At his nod, she continued.

  ‘My mother and I kenned I would have to disappear and not be found. There were not many options in that regard and the convent seemed the best place for me.’ She paused and took a breath. She must be controlled. She must leave her emotions out of this for now. ‘I confess no true vocation, but a life of quiet contemplation is not unappealing.’

  Now it was the lady’s turn to let out a protesting breath. Her husband gave a visible squeeze to her hand that he yet held under his.

  ‘I did not mean to show up here and involve you. I meant to make my way to Skye and enter the convent and no one would ever hear the name Sorcha MacMillan again.’ She shook her head at how wrongly things had gone. ‘My mother chose a friend to help me escape. Actually I kenned nothing of her plans until he arrived that night at my tent to take me away. I followed him, making our way through the storm and to the west. When he died, I had no choice but to seek help from kin.’

  She stopped then, not certain what else he wanted to hear from her. Glancing from one to the other, she waited.

  ‘And the bargain you wish me to make in exchange for the knowledge and details you hold?’ he asked.

  ‘A simple one—help me disappear. Aid me in getting to the convent and I will provide you with the information you need to ensure the safety of your people.’

  ‘And you do not think that knowing what I ken now is enough for me to do that? Now that I am aware of the threat—’

  ‘There are always suspicions and nebulous threats between any and every clan in the kingdom, my lord,’ she interrupted. From his surprised expression, he was neither used to being interrupted nor had expected it from her. ‘All I’m asking is an escort to Skye.’

  ‘What about Alan?’ the lady asked softly.

  ‘Lady?’ she replied.

  Plainly put, all of this centred on him. Sorcha needed to get away before he returned with the truth. For now, though, it was all speculation. As long as he did not bring back someone who actually could identify her, she could deny it all.

  ‘’Tis ironic somehow that you should end up in the same place and in love with the man so linked to your death and your escape.’ Sorcha could feel herself blanch at the words. ‘And the one man who could seek out the truth of both matters.’

  ‘I cannot put him in the position of choosing his honour over me, my lady. If he kens the truth, he has no choice but to tell my father and his uncle. ’Tis why I must leave before he returns.’

  Now, their gazes at her softened, as though her admission had eased whatever their concern was. Sorcha had decided, in those long nights of contemplation before coming here, that she would not deny her feelings for Alan to them.

  ‘And you give him no choice in this matter? No chance to make his own decision after finding out the truth of you?’ The Mackintosh asked.

  Courage, her mother’s voice whispered once more.

  ‘I am a coward, my lord. I cannot face him after the lies.’ Sorcha looked away, staring at the window on the wall there so she did not have to see the expression of disappointment at her admission.

  ‘Your actions say otherwise, lady,’ he said, drawing her attention back. ‘I ken a few, a very small number of, well-born women who would be able to survive as you have, first with your father and then on your own, using your wits to make it from day to day.’

  She noticed he tightened his hold on his lady’s hand then and the tears that spilt down Arabella’s cheek at his words that were high praise indeed. Then, he lifted his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it with a reverence that nearly undid her last vestige of control.

  ‘I suspect that he will continue his search for you if he finds you gone when he arrives,’ he said as he stood once more. ‘But I agree to your bargain, my lady. With a few modifications.’

  ‘What changes?’

  ‘The first place he will seek you out will be on Skye, so I will send you to kin of mine in the north. After he gives up on his search, then I will see that you are escorted to your chosen convent.’

  It made sense. If Alan felt towards her as she did for him, he would not meet the news of her departure well and would try to find her. Especially with the unanswered questions she kenned he would have. A man like Alan did not give up easily once his interest was roused.

  ‘Very well,’ she said.

  The Mackintosh retrieved cups and a jug and filled one for each of them. He sat back down and waited for her to do the same. The time for reckoning had come.

  It took some time to reveal her knowledge and to answer the dozens and dozens of questions that the laird and lady asked. At first, she thought that Arabella did not believe her words about her uncle’s plans, but it soon became clear to Sorcha that the lady had a full understanding of her kin.

  When a servant knocked on the chamber’s door summoning the laird below-stairs, Sorcha was exhausted and empty. As he left to see to the matter, Brodie Mackintosh turned and faced her once more.

  ‘I cannot order you to wait for him, but the lad deserves to hear the truth from your lips, just as you should hear his from him.’

  He was gone before she could reply. His words, not the ones about staying but those about Alan’s truths, struck her. With their conversations and hearing about him from the lady and from Clara and Jamie, Sorcha felt that she knew him well. Only now did she think how there must be reasons for his estrangement from his family, his almost-exile by his uncle, and those things in his character or life that drove him to search for all manner of things and people lost. She turned to face Arabella Cameron.

  ‘You understand why it can be never be more between us, do you not, lady?’ Surely the woman of breeding and experience understood her dilemma. ‘So many would pay a price for my actions. He would be in an impossible situation.’

  ‘Sometimes, Sorcha, I think it best to let a man decide his own fate.’

  ‘I cannot stay here and risk recognition when The Cameron comes to pay a visit. Or, God forbid, my father comes here.’ Sorcha shook her head. ‘We both know that as close kin to the chieftain, Alan cannot marry at will. ’Twill do us no good to continue with any hope that there is a way for us to be together, lady.’

  The tears would not stay then, so Sorcha stood and curtsied. She needed to leave.

  ‘I pray you to send word when your husband has made arrangements. I would like to leave as soon as possible.’

  She stumbled out the door even as the lady called her name, grabbing on to the railing on the wall to make her way down the stairs. Without looking left or right or pausing, she made her way out of the keep and out of the gates. Caring not for her destination, she walked and walked and walked, somehow ending up this time in front of Clara’s cottage. Lucky for her, since Alan was not there to search and find her if she got lost now.

  * * *

  A messenger from Brodie came the next day and told her to prepare to leave Glenlui in two days’ time.

  Even though she kenned she must, Sorcha understood that she would be leaving a part of herself behind in this village. A piece of her heart and her soul would remain with Alan Cameron for ever even if she could not.

  * * *

  As she bade farewell to Clara and Jamie, even the words that gave her comfort and strength did not work. But loyalty, honour and courage were
all she had left in her life, for she left her love behind with the people who had helped her so much in her need.

  And with the one man who could never be in her life again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alan cursed the weather, his stupidity, his fate and various other things for the hundredth time that day. The sun had long ago hidden itself behind the thick, swirling clouds and Alan suspected his luck as a tracker had run out days ago. It mattered not now, for he’d discovered what he’d set out to find and was on his journey back to Glenlui.

  Somehow, Sorcha MacMillan, the only daughter of Hugh MacMillan of Knapdale, had not died that night in the storm. She’d not been washed away in the torrential rains. She’d not died in the rushing river and had not been dragged along for miles in its storm-swollen rage. Indeed, Sorcha MacMillan had been spirited away by a man, led west towards Skye only to find herself alone and lost.

  He laughed then, bitterly, as he remembered his words to her on another stormy night. She need not worry about being lost, he would find her. Instead, this ill-begotten plan of a dead woman had led Sorcha straight to him and he’d never seen her coming. He’d never realised their connection because why would he search for a dead woman?

  Rubbing his hand over his face, he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and then tugged his plaid back up into place. Alan was lucky the road had not washed out in this area where the river flowed into the loch. It would take another day of riding to get to the Mackintosh village. Then what, he had no idea.

  Taking refuge in a thicket of trees, he saw to his horse and ate some of the last of his supplies before seeking the driest place he could find. Alan wrapped the extra plaid around him and leaned against a tree to sleep.

  His search had taken longer and taken him further south than he’d expected. Although some details were still missing, he had no doubt that the widow Saraid MacPherson was Lady Sorcha MacMillan. When he tracked her path backwards from Glenlui, he recognised details he’d missed before. Hell. Once convinced the girl was dead, he’d overlooked signs the likes of which he hadn’t missed since his first days tracking.