How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 5)

by Julie Johnstone

  “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 t
o 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—”