Claiming His Highland Bride. Terri Brisbin
Cameron.
Cameron.
Her first instinct was to run. The urge came over her so quickly and strongly that she almost ran. But she’d not survived so far by acting on fear alone. No, she must control her fears once again to survive this situation. Sorcha coughed to make herself breathe and turned away to give herself a moment to gather her control. After smoothing her gown down, she faced James and Clara and...him.
‘Your pardon,’ she said, nodding to Clara first. If there was a small pause in the conversation, James had not noticed for he stepped right into the gap.
‘Alan may be a Cameron, but we try not to let that colour our regard for him.’ The smile that accompanied the mild insult told her that there was true affection between these two.
‘My thanks, friend,’ Alan said, aiming a mock punch at James’s shoulder. ‘And I try not to forget that you are a Mackintosh, Jamie.’ Then, when a most mischievous and alluring smile lifted the corners of his mouth, he winked at her. ‘But I am but one among many and must have a care.’
A wave of heat passed through her then, teasing and tickling its way through every bone and muscle in her. She did not know why he affected her so, but it could not go on. With his gaze on her and James and Clara glancing her way, they were waiting for her to speak. A question—she should ask a question. With no understanding of his place here and worried over revealing too much of her own, she must tread carefully.
‘Do you visit Glenlui often, then?’
‘I do,’ he said.
‘He does,’ James and Clara said together.
‘That much, then?’ she offered, catching the humour in their tones.
‘Since the truce has held between our clans, I split my time between here and Achnacarry, my uncle’s seat.’
Gilbert Cameron was his uncle. Luck was on her side for now because she’d met or seen so few of The Cameron’s men when he’d visited Sween Castle. And this one had not been one of those few. Alan did not react as though she was familiar to him, so she let out her breath and she nodded politely ‘So are you from Cluny?’ he asked.
For a fleeting moment, she thought on the story of her background they’d created and shook her head. With a shrug and then a nod, she sought to clarify it to him.
‘Originally, aye, my mother’s family lived in near Cluny. But my husband...’ She paused and took a slow breath. ‘My husband was kin to the MacNeills.’
‘MacNeills are allies of the Mackintoshes,’ he said, looking around the hall then. ‘I am certainly outnumbered here.’ His laugh made her insides melt a little. Deep and full, it resonated through her. ‘That was unseemly, Mistress. My condolences on your husband’s passing.’
She did not speak, but nodded at his kindness in spite of the false need for it. Clara’s knowing gaze flashed a warning to her. Had she sensed the growing weakness in Sorcha at keeping up the pretence? She’d been introduced to so many people, both tonight in the hall during this gathering as well as in the village over the last weeks. And each one asked after her husband and her grief, expressing what felt like true concern and sympathy.
From what Clara had told her, all of them had dealt with death and loss over the last decades as war waged between their clan and the Camerons. Only the strength of will of their present chieftain and the powerful love of his Cameron wife brought it to an end with their marriage and a lasting truce. Which made it possible for this Cameron to be standing here in their midst without fear.
‘I thank you for your kind words,’ she said. Now it was James’s turn to bat at his friend and laugh.
‘Alan is many things, but kind is not usually his manner,’ James jested.
She expected Alan to reply to his friend’s jest, but another man approached just then and interrupted.
‘Brodie wants to speak with you.’
This man was tall and very attractive. Were none of the Mackintosh men here plain of face? Though his tone of voice was mild, there was an undercurrent in his words and something more in the expression on his face. Sorcha had seen this man several times, in the village and here in the keep, but had not been introduced to him.
‘Rob, have you met Clara’s cousin yet?’ Alan asked.
Rob. Rob Mackintosh. Commander of the Mackintosh warriors. A formidable fighter and most loyal man to his cousin Brodie. All those things Clara had mentioned now made sense on seeing the man. But not once had she spoken of his rugged attractiveness.
‘Eva told me of you,’ Rob said, nodding to her. ‘Saraid?’
‘Aye, Saraid MacPherson,’ she repeated. Each time she spoke the name it felt easier. ‘I met Lady Eva earlier,’ she said, making the connection between this husband and his wife whom she’d met before. As she watched, Rob glanced over towards the lady at the mention of her name, his gaze filled with an expression of such complete and utter love that it made Sorcha’s own heart pound.
‘Alan,’ Rob spoke his name and canted his head in the direction of his chieftain. ‘Now, I think.’ Walking off without another word, the man stopped and gathered a few others as he made his way to the front of the hall.
‘I will see you in the village?’ James said to his friend.
‘Aye. In the morn if Brodie has no use for me,’ Alan answered. Turning to face her, he smiled again. ‘I hope to see you again, Mistress MacPherson.’
She said nothing, could say nothing to those words, but she did smile and nod. Then he walked in that same predatory gait away from her. Sorcha could not move her gaze from him and part of her hoped he would turn back once more.
Clara spoke to her and yet the words mattered not. James’s voice entered the conversation with his wife and still Sorcha heard nothing and saw only Alan as he moved in purposeful strides away from her. Then as he reached the steps and climbed up them, he stopped and did turn, meeting her stare with one of his own. A smile followed and Sorcha could not stop herself from returning it.
With a word from Brodie, he was gone, off to some chamber behind the table with the others and she was left with what must be a silly smile on her face. She faced Clara then, finding her cousin and her husband gawping at her, open-mouthed and slack-jawed in astonishment.
‘I thought you said she was going to a convent on Skye,’ James whispered loud enough for them both to hear.
Clara grasped her arm and pulled her close. ‘I think we need to talk, Sor... Saraid.’ As they took a few steps towards the doorway, Clara whispered again, ‘About that convent.’
James burst out in laughter as they walked away, not even trying to be subtle about it. The Mackintosh’s hall was a rather boisterous place so it did not seem awkward. Clara glanced over her shoulder, gifting her husband with a threatening look that quelled him a bit.
Sorcha could not explain her reaction to Alan Cameron. Of all the men here, he was the most dangerous to her. God forbid his uncle come here and recognise her. God forbid she slip up and err in front of him. What had James said about him? Ah, aye, he liked to find things. He found and sorted clues to find missing things and people.
He’d found Lady Arabella when she’d been kidnapped by Brodie. He’d tracked another of their kin when outlaws had attacked the village and taken her. He found people...
All the enjoyment she’d felt during the last few hours soured as she realised he was the worst possible man or person at that for her to spend too much time around. Her inexperience with men while under her father’s protection left her with little knowledge of how to protect herself from him. She would need to rely on Clara for guidance in this. When she let out a sigh, Clara held on to her tighter and walked faster away from the keep and back to the village.
Sorcha understood the danger of him. Of his appeal. Of his smile. Of the way he met her gaze and stared