How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

by Julie Johnstone

  “Eolande lives in a cave down there,” Bridgette said, pointing. Sorcha did not miss the tremor of Bridgette’s tone.

  “If ye fear coming—” Sorcha started.

  “Nay,” Bridgette rushed out. “I dunnae fear what the seer will say to me. I fear for ye, though. I’ll nae lie—her words could make it much worse for ye or much better. Ye won’t ken until ye hear them.”

  Sorcha nodded, grateful for her friend’s warning but also aware of her own sudden unease to hear her future. As she made her way carefully down the steep slope behind Broch, she questioned the wisdom in seeking out the seer. What if she said a future between Sorcha and Cameron was unwise? What if Eolande foretold horrors for Sorcha and told her that her family was wicked? Or worse—that she was. Sweat trickled down her brow, and she was certain it was not merely from heat but also from her fear.

  Once they all reached the bottom, Broch led them along the edge of the water toward a cave that had not been visible from the cliff. As she walked, the bow that was strapped to her back clapped against her skin, and she found herself running her finger along the arrows in the holder at her hip. She was glad she had brought the weapon. It made her feel safer. Broch had his hand on the hilt of his sword and Bridgette had drawn her bow, and Sorcha wondered if both of them felt the same unease that she did. Even Marion had a dagger clutched in her hands, which rather surprised Sorcha, as she had not heard Marion say she had any skill.

  They reached the cave and paused as one. Bridgette was the first to speak. “As ye’re the one wishing for her future to be foretold, I believe ye must be the one to ask for entry into the cave.”

  “How do I do that?” Sorcha asked.

  “Call her name,” Bridgette said. “At least that’s what I did. I called her name and then asked to speak to her.”

  Sorcha nodded, called Eolande’s name, and waited. When no response came, she called several more times before saying, “Perchance she is nae there.”

  “More likely she is ignoring ye,” Bridgette said. “I’d say ye have two choices: turn and leave, or go into the cave and demand she speak to ye.”

  “I’m not sure demanding things from Eolande is a good idea,” Marion said, her tone holding a note of warning.

  Usually, Sorcha would agree, but without the memories of who she was to guide her, she was feeling desperate. “I’ll go in.”

  “That’s what I’d do,” Bridgette said.

  “You three stay here,” Sorcha added, not wishing to bring the seer’s ire upon them should she be angered.

  “Nay,” was the chorused response.

  The four of them slowly entered Eolande’s domain, and Sorcha’s stomach dipped at the astonishing sight before them. A pool of dark-blue water shimmered in the middle of the round cave. On the opposite side, the rocky walls gave way to the outside, allowing sunlight to stream into the space. A waterfall gushed past the opening, and beyond the veil of white mist, sumptuous green trees swayed. Stone steps led up the side of the cave into a dark, shadowed area to the right.

  They followed the stairs into a smaller cave. There was nothing in the room but a bed. No clothes, no personal belongings, not even a cup or a scrap of food. Sorcha frowned. “The seer lives here?”

  Bridgette shrugged. “As far as I ken, but who can say for certain? She may verra well live in the fairy world and only come here to torment us mere mortals.”

  A musical laugh suddenly echoed off the cave walls, causing them all to gasp except Broch, who cursed and drew his sword. They turned as one toward the laughter, and Sorcha felt her mouth fall open. Standing there was a beautiful woman dressed in a white gown. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and on her head, she wore a crown of white flowers. Her pale skin contrasted strikingly with her luminous violet eyes. Those eyes seemed to settle upon Sorcha and peel back the layers of her mind.

  “Ye remember me,” the seer said. It was not a question but a statement of fact.

  “Nay,” Sorcha said, pressing a finger to her temple, which suddenly throbbed.

  “Ye do,” Eolande said forcefully.

  A fierce pain bolted through Sorcha’s head. Crying out, she clutched at her head as her knees buckled, and she started to fall, only to be caught by Broch.

  “What the devil are ye doing, woman?” Broch demanded.

  “I’m helping her remember, warrior,” the seer bit out. “And unless she wishes me to cease and leave her floundering in the dark, I advise ye set her gently down and wait outside my home.”

  Biting back pain, Sorcha pushed out of Broch’s arms and managed to right herself, though her legs still wobbled underneath her. “I wish her help,” Sorcha said, focusing first on Broch, then on Marion and Bridgette, who looked alternately worried and angry.

  “Ye’re certain?” Bridgette asked, glancing warily between Sorcha and Eolande.

  Sorcha nodded, though the slight gesture sent pain spiraling through her head. When all three of her companions remained there with hesitant looks upon their faces, Sorcha said, “Please. I will be fine.”

  Once they had all departed, albeit hesitantly, Eolande moved closer to Sorcha. “Give me yer hand,” she commanded, holding out her own.

  Sorcha did, and the moment the seer’s icy skin caressed hers, memories flooded her mind.

  She was young again and filled with excitement. There was a tent. No, there were hundreds of tents filling a shore, and a shimmering loch, and notes of music, along with the savory smell of meat being cooked.

  “Sorcha, stay where ye have been told,” her mother had said in a chiding yet loving voice. “Young ladies kinnae wander about at a festival such as this one once night has fallen.”

  Suddenly, a face appeared in Sorcha’s mind. She had Sorcha’s gray eyes and light hair—or rather Sorcha had hers.

  “Mother,” Sorcha found herself whispering as tears filled her closed eyes and leaked out to roll down her cheeks.

  Suddenly her memory shifted.

  She skipped around tents in the descending darkness, delighted by the music and the people gathered. To her left was the loch, and to her right, high on the rocks, was a magnificent castle that seemed to rise to the sky. She realized on a sharp intake of breath that this memory was of Dunvegan.

  Then her memory shifted again.

  Her stomach fluttered as she stood in a line of men and listened to the MacLeod laird—it was Iain!—explain the contest. She took aim, allowing the men to shoot first to gain an advantage. Excitement bubbled, and her heartbeat exploded as a man turned his piercing green eyes on her—Cameron. He smiled, and she felt as if she was melting on the inside, something warm and tingly filled her.

  She cried out in dismay when the memory shifted again.

  She was running from him and laughing. She wanted him to catch her just to be near him again, but she could not let him do so because she’d be discovered. She whipped around to gaze upon him one last time, for she feared she would never see him again, and her eyes met first his and then a pair of violet eyes that seemed to know her secrets—Eolande.

  Sorcha’s eyes flew open and locked on Eolande’s probing gaze. Sorcha’s heart pounded viciously in her chest as she looked at their interlocked hands. “Can ye give me all my memories?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

  “Nay,” Eolande said. “Only ones that are relevant to ye from when we first met. I am sorry,” Eolande said gently. “I would give yer memories back to ye if I could, but dunnae fash yerself, verra soon now ye will remember important things, and once ye start recalling yer life, ye will have choices to make.”

  Sorcha inhaled a shaky breath. “Ye see that I remember soon?”

  Eolande nodded as she curled her fingers tighter around Sorcha’s hand. Fighting back the fear of what she might hear, she asked, “What else do ye see?”

  Eolande’s violet eyes almost glistened as she stared at Sorcha. “I see an attack verra soon that will cause a change. A betrayer whom ye care for and fear. A passion that will nae be denied betwe
en ye and Cameron that will either sink with the weight of heavy lies or rise with powerful love. But if the love blooms, many vines will threaten to destroy it. There is a claim upon yer body that will supersede the one upon yer heart, and to free ye, Cameron will forgo his honor.”

  “Nay!” Sorcha tried to wrench her hand away, but Eolande increased her grip.

  “Two deaths,” she hissed. “Two deaths will come to pass.” Eolande released her suddenly, staggering away from her as Sorcha staggered back, too.

  “Whose deaths?” she demanded as she righted herself.

  Eolande shook her head. “I did nae see who, but they will break yer heart.”

  Sorcha felt a sob lodge in her throat. Was it Cameron? Was it someone from her family? “These things ye see,” she said urgently, “these things can be changed, aye?”

  “Aye,” Eolande said, an amused smile coming to her pale face. “As I have always said, I foretell yer future as it comes to me at the moment I touch ye, yet all our futures—mine, as well—can change with our choices.”

  As the seer started to turn from her, Sorcha gripped Eolande’s arm. She swiveled back toward her, surprise etching her face. Sorcha rushed out, “But I dunnae ken what choices to make to ensure the terrible things ye foretold dunnae come true.”

  “Nay, ye dunnae. Trust yer heart,” she said simply, but then her face clouded and a faraway look came over her. She twisted her hand upward and gripped Sorcha’s forearm. “I see a parting of ways between ye and Cameron, and a looming battle. Once parted, ye will nae be reunited—”

  “Ye wee ban-druidh fairy,” Bridgette growled, her footsteps pounding from behind Sorcha. Bridgette must not have left the cave.

  Sorcha gasped at Bridgette calling Eolande a witch. She feared what the seer might do, but seconds later, when Bridgette appeared, eyes flashing and a scowl on her face, Eolande gave her an amused smirk, which only served to deepen Bridgette’s scowl. “Yer foretelling was the reason I almost lost Lachlan!”

  “Nay, Bridgette,” Eolande snapped. “Yer fear was the reason ye almost lost him, which was surprising, given how verra braw I ken ye are.”

  Bridgette stood there, opening and closing her mouth, as if she wanted to argue the seer’s words but could not find the proper response.

  Eolande waved a dismissive hand. “Make haste back to Dunvegan, but do so with yer weapons drawn.”

  “Wait!” Sorcha gasped. “What of the parting? We will nae be reunited ever?”

  The seer shrugged. “I kinnae say. The link to the foretelling was broken.” With that, Eolande turned, strode toward the smaller cave, and disappeared within. As one, Bridgette and Sorcha raced to follow her, but inside the dark cave, they found nothing. No seer and no way to get out of the cave.

  Sorcha shivered as gooseflesh prickled her skin. “She’s magic,” she whispered.

  “Aye,” Bridgette replied, awe in her voice. “It’s fearful and fascinating at once.”

  Sorcha nodded her agreement as she reached behind her and withdrew her bow. “Where are Marion and Broch?”

  “Just outside the cave,” Bridgette replied, withdrawing her dagger. “Marion did nae wish to eavesdrop, and Broch could nae verra well leave her alone.” Bridgette grinned, making Sorcha realize Bridgette must have foreseen that outcome.

  “How much did ye hear?” Sorcha asked warily, already moving toward the exit.

  “All of it,” Bridgette replied, giving Sorcha an apologetic look. “I am sorry if ye’re angry, but I had to be certain Eolande did nae foretell anything that would put Lachlan in harm’s way.”

  “I ken,” Sorcha replied, and she truly did. “Then ye heard her say Cameron would relinquish his honor to free me.”

  “Aye,” Bridgette replied. “Dunnae flee.”

  Sorcha whipped her head toward Bridgette, shocked that it seemed the woman had read her thoughts.

  Bridgette smiled with understanding. “I fled Lachlan thinking to save him from me, and all it did was compel him to come after me and prolong our misery of nae being together. I kinnae believe I am saying this, but I feel ye must do as Eolande said and trust yer heart.”

  Sorcha bit her lip, considering Bridgette’s words. “What if my heart is wrong?”

  “The heart is nae ever wrong, Sorcha, but that dunnae mean it chooses an easy path. What does yer heart tell ye now?”

  “It tells me what awaits me with him could well be the truest thing I’ll ever ken, as if I may nae ever care for another the way I could care for him.”

  Bridgette grinned. “Then ye must stay, and we must make haste. I fear danger is near.”

  “Aye,” Sorcha agreed, and together they hurried toward the cave entry.

  After quickly relaying what Eolande had said about making haste back to Dunvegan with their weapons drawn, they set out without pause. Broch led them to where they had tethered the horses, and once they were mounted, he set a galloping pace toward the castle.

  The ride was hard and relentless over the rocky terrain and winding trails. Broch returned them on a different route through the dense part of the forest, so if someone was following them, they would be harder to track. Because of the terrain and the clipped pace, there was no time to move low-hanging branches out of their way, and more than once, a branch snagged Sorcha’s hair, gown, and face. Her left sleeve had been almost ripped off when it had gotten caught on a branch, and warm blood trickled down her cheek where a limb had cut her.

  She was certain she looked as if she had been in battle because Marion and Bridgette both looked as if they had been, too, with their scraped faces and torn gowns. She prayed they could get inside the castle without being seen, so that coming to see Eolande would not cause trouble for Marion and Bridgette.

  As Sorcha’s horse galloped onward, closing the distance between the Fairy Pools and Dunvegan at a much faster pace than they had earlier, Sorcha thought on what Eolande had said. Who might betray her? A family member? One of her new friends? She could not imagine it being Cameron, as she did not fear him. The part of the foretelling that had lodged in her stomach like a giant rock was that two people she knew, that she cared for, would die.

  Just as she tried to imagine who they might be, an arrow whistled past her ear, swishing through her hair as it went. “Attack!” she yelled before instinctually reaching for her bow and turning her horse toward the thickest part of the woods to try to reach the shelter of the trees. Another arrow came seconds later, this one snagging the skirts of her gown. Whoever was attacking was aiming only for her! Luckily, the archer did not seem to be overly skilled.

  Broch raced his destrier toward her, as did Marion and Bridgette. In that moment, fear sliced through Sorcha. Was this the moment that two people she cared for would die, and all because someone was trying to kill her?

  “Ye wish to kill me?” she screamed, turning and glancing all around, searching for whoever was shooting at her so that she could aim for them. When a flash of red caught her attention and she knew it was her attacker, she nocked an arrow and aimed, though she knew it was doubtful she’d strike her target. Her enemy had the advantage of cover and could easily kill them all out in the open as they were. She had to do something. She had to save the others.

  “If ye wish to kill me, ye must catch me!” she taunted. She bent over her destrier and urged the beast to race toward the clearing in the woods up ahead. If she could reach the wide grassy land, whoever was after her would be drawn out, as well, and Broch or Bridgette could possibly fell them.

  Her instincts took over as her body molded to her horse in the best possible way to cut through the wind and give her speed. The trees whizzed by her, and she chanced a glance to her right, gasping at the sight of two men chasing her. One man pulled significantly ahead of the other, but they were both charging without thought toward the rolling hills.

  Good. Let them come.

  She commanded her horse into a teeth-rattling gallop, looking back briefly to see where Broch, Bridgette, and Marion were. Far,
far in the distance she thought she saw Marion, but Broch and Bridgette were nowhere to be seen. She knew full well neither of them would ever abandon Marion, so hopefully they had a plot they were carrying out.

  Looking back to her right, alarm shot through her at how near one of the attackers was. She saw his face, carved of determination, his lips set in a grim line. When he yanked his destrier to a halt and withdrew a bow and arrow, she knew a moment of blinding fear. She could not stop to nock another arrow, yet she was close enough for the man to shoot at her. She turned to face forward once more, her only hope to put as much distance between them as possible before he released his arrow.

  Her body tensed, expecting the sting of the arrow tip. Yet, when it did not come, she looked over her shoulder and shook with relief. The attacker was lying on the ground, an arrow sticking out of him and his horse racing toward her. She scanned the woods for the other attacker, but instead of finding him, she located Bridgette, high on a rock above with her bow poised to shoot.

  A whistle split the air, propelling Bridgette into motion. She scrambled off the rock and disappeared into the woods, only to come out racing beside Broch on their horses. Marion, Broch, and Bridgette reached her as one. But instead of stopping as she thought they would, Broch gave her a murderous look, slapped her horse on its hindquarter, and roared, “Ride hard to Dunvegan.”

  The journey back was filled with the sound of pounding hooves and nothing more. They were all hunched low on their destriers, and when they finally galloped into the courtyard, Sorcha did not even bring her horse to a complete stop before Broch was off his mount and yanking on the tethers of her destrier to halt the beast.