How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

by Julie Johnstone

  Marion frowned and patted Sorcha on the arm. “Shh, now,” she said in the softest, most soothing voice. “It will all be fine. Put your worries in God’s hands.”

  The words were like a shot to Sorcha’s head that lodged in her brain and loosened another memory. She gasped and then grinned. “My mother used to say something similar! I have the loveliest feeling in my chest when I recall my mother,” she finished, blinking rapidly to keep the tears filling her eyes from spilling over.

  Marion squeezed Sorcha’s hand. “Let’s start by taking a look at your head, and we’ll work our way to your heart,” she said with a wink that immediately put Sorcha at ease.

  Sorcha merely nodded.

  Marion leaned forward and raised her hands. “I’m going to check your wound.” Sorcha nodded again as Marion unwound the bandage, then gingerly examined Sorcha’s head. “It’s healing nicely. Has it been hurting much?”

  Sorcha shook her head. “Nay, though I do feel as if I’ve something stuffed in it,” she said on a hiccup.

  Marion frowned. “Did ye drink wine when ye broke yer fast?”

  “Aye,” Sorcha replied, her stomach roiling in protest of the wine still in it. “An entire carafe.”

  “Oh dear!” Marion exclaimed. “Be more careful with the wine. The MacLeods make especially strong wine. I’m shocked a carafe did not put you to sleep.”

  Sorcha yawned at the mention of sleep. “In truth, I am verra tired.”

  Marion nodded. “It could be the injury or the wine. Either way, you need to make sure to get plenty of rest tonight. Now,” she said, sitting once again as she set the bandage that had been wrapped around Sorcha’s head down beside her chair. “What is your real name?” She quirked an eyebrow and offered a smile.

  “It’s Sorcha,” she said.

  “Sorcha,” Marion repeated but much slower as she cocked her head. “Yes,” she murmured. “That suits you perfectly. I happen to know your name means brightness, and you are that.” Marion chuckled, sweeping her gaze over Sorcha’s blond hair and then meeting her eyes once again. “Have you recalled anything else? Like what clan you belong to?”

  Sorcha shook her head, her thoughts seeming to slosh around like water. “Nay, but surely more will come soon?”

  Marion’s nod of agreement sent relief surging through Sorcha. She hoped remembering her past would be a good thing, but even if what she remembered was bad, it would be better than not knowing.

  “So,” Marion said, her mouth pulling into a teasing smile, “Cameron kissed ye.”

  “Aye,” Sorcha said, unable to keep the glumness from her tone. She hiccupped again. “And then he fled me as if a fire was nipping at his plaid, but nae before he made sure to tell me he would hurt me if I let him.”

  A contemplative expression came over Marion’s face. “That’s not overly astonishing. Things do seem rather tangled, and I’m sure it’s weighing heavily on his mind.”

  “What do ye mean? My memory loss?”

  Marion sighed. “I imagine your lack of memory is part of it. And the king’s intentions for you are likely another part.”

  “I ken what the king wants to do with me,” Sorcha blurted, wanting to hear what Marion had to say about it.

  Marion’s brows shot up. “Did Cameron tell you?”

  “Nay.” Sorcha didn’t want to keep secrets from Marion when she was asking for the woman to be her friend, but she also did not want to put Broch in a position to be disciplined.

  “It matters little who told you,” Marion said, giving her a look of understanding. “My husband says David is a good man at heart, but even good men sometimes lose their way.”

  Sorcha was surprised Marion would share such a thing with her but heartened that she had. It showed trust, and Sorcha did not intend to betray it. “Whether he is good at heart or nae dunnae make a difference in the end if he forces me into a marriage I dunnae want. What if I’m already married?” Sorcha asked, voicing one of her biggest concerns.

  Marion blinked at her. “Do you think you are?”

  Sorcha shook her head. “Nay. I truly dunnae. I’ve had nae any memories of any man but Cameron. It seems to me that if I was married, I would recall my husband, whether I loved him or nae, before a man I’d only met once and whose name I did nae even ken.”

  Marion nodded. “It would seem that way to me, as well. What about when Cameron kissed you? Did it feel as if you had done such a thing before?”

  “Nay.” Sorcha’s cheeks burned. “It seemed strange and foreign, as if I had nae ever experienced such a thing, but—” she took a deep breath, determined to forge ahead despite her embarrassment “—it was strange in a wonderful way.” She paused and worried her lower lip, nervous to voice what she was thinking next. “Marion, is there any way for a woman to ken if she is still an innocent?”

  Color immediately blossomed on Marion’s cheeks as she nodded. “There is,” she said on an uneasy laugh. “Why?”

  “Because if I’m still innocent, then I kinnae be a man’s true wife.”

  Understanding dawned in Marion’s gaze. “I warn you that the process is quite, um, familiar. But it may be wise for us to know immediately if you are married, because if you are, that at least will stay the king’s hand in marrying you to another. Not to mention that you just kissed a man,” she said grinning.

  “He kissed me,” Sorcha protested. She bit her lip on a wave of guilt. “Of course, I did kiss him back.”

  Marion chuckled. “Yer secret will remain just that. Now, if you are truly married—that is, if a man has joined with you and made you his true wife—I can learn from a simple exam. Again, it’s quite familiar, but I assure you, it is painless. Do you wish for me to examine you?”

  Of course she did not wish for an intimate examination, but she did not wish to remain in the dark about whether she was married or not, either. She chewed on her lip for a moment, considering. “I do,” she said hesitantly, “but—”

  “Before you tell me you’ll be embarrassed, I assure you that you don’t have any parts I myself don’t have, and I feel certain you would be far more embarrassed without a carafe of wine in your belly.”

  Sorcha chuckled. “Ye are verra good at arguing yer points.”

  Marion winked. “That’s because I have had much practice striving to get my way with my husband.” A fond smile came to her lips that made Sorcha wonder what her own face would look like when she spoke of her own husband one day. Would it be miserable or happy? Unbidden, Cameron’s image floated in her thoughts, and she sighed. One very exceptional kiss and she already was imagining the man as her husband? She hardly knew him! And regardless, the likelihood of such a future was almost nonexistent.

  “So then,” Marion chirped, breaking into Sorcha’s thoughts. “You will need to take off your underclothes and lie on the bed.” Marion indicated a small bed in the far corner.

  Sorcha frowned. “Why do I need to take off my underclothes?”

  Marion’s face turned as red as an apple. “Have you never been in a household where a marriage takes place and the men watch the joining to ensure it has actually occurred?”

  Sorcha faced burned. “I dunnae ken. I kinnae remember,” she said emphatically. But as she thought of what Marion was saying, more memories flooded her mind. She saw herself standing in a stable watching two horses mate—more accurately she was gaping at the stallion, shocked at what she saw. The same shock swirled through her now. “Ye wish to see if I’ve been mounted?” she exclaimed.

  Marion’s brow furrowed. “What?” Understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, well, er, yes, that’s the way of it. If you’ve been mount—er, joined with, then there is a small barrier inside you that will not be there any longer. I will simply feel for the barrier with my fingers.”

  “Ye will nae!” Sorcha cried.

  Marion gave her a stern look. “I will have to if you wish to know for certain if you are someone’s true wife.”

  Sorcha stood there for a moment, torn betwe
en her desire to know and the embarrassment of allowing Marion to do such a thing. Finally, she jerked her head in a nod. “Be quick about it, aye?”

  “I assure you, I’ve no intention of taking my time,” Marion said, her lips twisting in a comical smile. She quickly went to the bucket, cleaned her hands, and waited patiently with her back turned for Sorcha to say she was ready.

  By the time she took her underclothes off, lay back on the bed, and called for Marion, she had worked herself into such a nervous state that her legs trembled when Marion asked her to spread them. She took five deep breaths as Marion had instructed in a low, soothing voice, and just as the shock of what was occurring hit her, it was over.

  “All done,” Marion said, sitting up. She smiled at Sorcha. “You are not the proper wife to any man.”

  “Thank God!” Sorcha declared, not realizing just how much she had dreaded hearing she may be married.

  Marion smirked at her. “Is that relief I hear in your voice because of Cameron’s kiss?”

  “Nay!” Sorcha protested, though the memory of his kiss made her stomach flutter. “I barely ken him. But I kinnae deny I feel much better that I did nae play a husband false, nor nae even remember a husband when I remembered Cameron.” She quickly donned her underclothes and faced Marion once more. “Although,” she said, worry suddenly knotting her belly, “this does mean that there is nae a marriage to prevent the king from marrying me to a stranger.”

  “Yes,” Marion replied solemnly. “It does mean that. I propose we keep the knowledge of your innocence to ourselves for now. That way the king may not act as soon on his desire to use you for gain if he is unsure who he may be crossing.”

  Sorcha’s eyes widened. “Ye’d do that for me?”

  Marion walked over to Sorcha and gave her a quick hug. “Yes. That is what friends do for one another, and we are friends,” she stated firmly.

  “There are many in yer clan who may nae like that ye have befriended me. In truth, I’d venture to say most in yer clan will nae like it.”

  Marion snorted. “I’ve never been one to let others’ opinions sway me, and I will not start now. Besides, most of them will see yer goodness rather quickly.”

  “I dunnae ken that it truly matters. I’ll nae be here long, as I’m certain ye heard the king say that I’m to go with Cameron to track Katherine’s murderers. And once we’ve found them, I imagine the king will nae tarry in using me.”

  “Well,” Marion said, “we cannot know what will come to pass in your future, but I do know this—not long before Broch brought you in here to me, my husband told me that you will be with us for at least a sennight. And so, for this week, I will do my best to help you feel less alone here.”

  A surge of gratefulness filled Sorcha. “I dunnae want ye to anger yer family. I seem to be doing that with Lena plenty.”

  “Bah,” Marion said. “Lena is more annoying thunder than deadly lightning. She booms her anger and makes all sorts of ruckus, but she will not strike to hurt unless you try to hurt her or someone she loves.”

  “Aye,” Sorcha said. “I recall what ye mentioned about her wishing to protect Cameron as she had been denied being motherly to her brothers. Ye said ye couldn’t tell me more then, but can ye now?”

  A sad look crossed Marion’s face, followed by an angry one. “She was taken from the clan as a child by her uncle, who was vindictive and cruel. She thought for many years that her family was dead, because her uncle told her so, and one day he forced her to marry an abusive man named Findlay Campbell. That is Marsaili’s dead brother she spoke of.”

  The news of Lena’s troubles made Sorcha feel immediately more understanding of the woman’s unfriendliness.

  “Graham, who you have not yet met,” Marion continued, “killed Findlay while defending himself after Findlay came after Graham to try to steal his wife, Isobel, from him.”

  Sorcha gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “That’s awful!”

  Marion nodded. “That is not even half of the horrid things the Campbells have done. They are not nice people.”

  “How did Marsaili’s other brother die?”

  Marion sighed. “This may make the MacLeods sound rather like murdering fiends, but I vow they are nae. Lachlan killed Colin Campbell after the man stole Bridgette, forced her to marry him, and hurt her very badly.”

  Sorcha’s stomach tightened at Marion’s words. “It sounds to me like both Lachlan and Graham are men who truly defend the women they love.”

  “Aye,” Marion said, a smile tugging at her lips. “All the MacLeod brothers are that way. Well, at least I think they are. Cameron is the only one left who is unmarried, but I believe he has the same capacity to love with his whole heart. I was having my doubts, mind you. He has quite the reputation with the lasses. They shame themselves panting after him with the small hope—hope that he certainly doesn’t give them—that they might be the lass to change him. And he’s always been only too willing to tumble in the hay with anyone who says she understands what he offers is nothing more than just a joining for pleasure.”

  Jealousy streaked through Sorcha, which she prayed did not show on her face. “Ye said ye were having yer doubts,” she asked, embarrassed to be prying and likely seeming so eager to learn about Cameron, but she could not help herself.

  “Yes, I was doubting…until you came along.”

  “Me? But why?” He had kissed her senseless after only knowing her for two days. Maybe he was trying to seduce her. If so, he was going about it in a rather odd way, she thought, though admittedly, she had no experience to rely upon for this conclusion.

  Marion held up a fist. “One—” Marion raised a finger “—he kissed you, despite Eolande’s prophecy.”

  Sorcha tilted her head in confusion as unease stirred within her. “Who is Eolande? What prophecy?”

  “I’ll explain in a moment. First, let me finish my point. Two—” another finger popped up “—he kissed you in spite of promising Iain and Lachlan that he would keep his distance from you.”

  Sorcha startled at those words. “They dislike me so much that they asked him to keep his distance from me?”

  Marion waved a dismissive hand. “No. It’s not you. It’s the prophecy, and it’s the fact that the king has publicly declared that he has intentions for your future. Now, as for the prophecy and Eolande, I can tell you that the MacLeod clan is one that holds a very strong belief in the power of seers and fairies, and Eolande is a well-known seer who is half-fairy. All the prophecies that she has given have come to fruition, though not every part of them, thank God above.” Marion squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. “But enough of what she has foretold has come to pass that all the MacLeod brothers—all the MacLeods, really—are all wary of making choices that will lead to the worst parts of Eolande’s prophecies coming true.”

  Sorcha’s pulse kicked up several notches, and a strange, breathless feeling started in her chest. She pressed a hand to her forehead, suddenly feeling overly hot, as well. “I believe,” she said, her voice shaky to her own ears, “that ye better tell me of this prophecy now since it apparently involves me.”

  Marion bit her lip as her gaze swept over Sorcha. “Oh dear. I didn’t mean to worry you, Sorcha. Though, now that I think upon it, I don’t believe hearing the prophecy will ease your worry. And beyond that, I know Cameron would not want me to tell you, so I should likely have kept it to myself.”

  Sorcha frowned. “Did he tell ye nae to tell me?”

  “Well, no,” Marion hedged, “but he did not tell me of the prophecy at all. My husband did, and before he could swear me to secrecy, which I could tell he was about to do, I kissed him senseless.” She offered an unapologetic smile. “So you see, I am quite sure neither of them would want me to say anything to you.”

  “So ye’re nae going to tell me?” Sorcha asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her tone.

  “Of course I’m going to tell you! We women must lead in matters of
the heart because the men may as well be blind and deaf for the way they handle love.”

  Sorcha sagged with relief, and Marion winked at her. “I just had to make sure you understood I was not supposed to be telling you, and I wanted to explain why. This too must stay between us for now.”

  Sorcha nodded and wiggled forward on her seat as Marion took a deep breath. “I may not remember it exactly—”

  “Simply tell me to the best of yer remembrance,” Sorcha said, trying desperately to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

  Marion nodded, then twined her hands together. “I know you don’t recall the first time ye truly met Cameron, but what do ye recall?”

  “His hands. A woman staring at me. Daggers.”

  “Well, apparently you had entered the annual dagger-throwing contest that happens every year at the St. John’s Eve festival. You won the contest, besting Cameron, who is known throughout the land as the most skilled with daggers.”

  Sorcha stared down at her hands in wonder. Her fingers tingled suddenly, and she could practically feel a cool, heavy weight there, but whether it was from a lost memory of throwing daggers or she was feeling these things because of what Marion was revealing, she could not truly say.

  “Anyway, that is not the important part,” Marion went on. “Cameron ran after you when you fled him, and before he could catch you and learn who you were, the seer stopped him and told him to let you leave. She said that particular night was not the time he was meant to meet you.”

  “What did she mean by that?” Sorcha asked.

  Marion gave her a knowing look. “I do believe he asked the same thing, and Eolande told him that you would come to him once more.” She paused a moment, looking contemplative. “I think she said that you would come to him in a battle.”

  Sorcha hissed in a breath.

  Marion nodded. “Yes, I agree. Eolande also said you would be bathed in blood…” Marion’s gaze strayed to Sorcha’s injured head. “She also told him you would be marked by a heart.”