Clara reached out and took her hand as she wrestled with the realisation of the true nature of the danger he posed to her. For he was not the man with whom shecouldfall in love. Alan Cameron, the most dangerous man in Glenlui, was the man that shewasfalling in love with.
Thinking back, Sorcha understood now that from their first glance at their first meeting in the hall those weeks ago, the process had begun.
Then, as he wended his way into her life here with Clara and Jamie, it had strengthened and become something real. She smiled, remembering the gentle way he had with the bairns, even scooping up Wee Clara and soothing her when she’d fallen and scraped her knees.
Their earlier encounter in the field simply rushed it along.
Worse, she’d spent hours in the dark of night thinking about him and how he would be a man she could...she could love.
‘I must leave.’
That was it. She must leave and make her way to Skye now, before things got even more mucked up than they were already. And there she would spend her days praying for forgiveness for her stubbornness and lack of humility. For thinking she could outwit and outmanoeuvre her father and all his plans by lying and drawing in these innocent people.
‘I will send word to my cousin on Skye on the morrow and declare my intentions,’ she said. Neither Clara nor Jamie had said much so she looked at them now.
‘If that is what you wish to do...’ Clara began. ‘But I would urge you to give yourself more time.’
‘Alan will not push himself if you do not wish it,’ Jamie said.
Though meaning to ease her worries, it increased them. For she wanted him. She wanted Alan to follow through with his whispered promise that he was not done kissing her. And she feared he would do exactly that and chip away at any resolve she might put forward.
‘And, Sorcha, I would not break your confidence to him or to anyone. Worry not that I will share anything you have said or any knowledge I have of your identity.’ Jamie’s hand covered his wife’s and Sorcha’s then.
‘I trust you both,’ she said.
‘What about Alan?’ Jamie asked.
‘I think it best if I avoid him until I depart for Skye.’
The words were spoken with an assuredness she truly did not feel. Avoiding him was the only way to put a halt to something that could not and would not ever be possible. Better to avoid him and save her heart from nothing less than complete destruction.
* * *
The rest of the day had gone quietly by and by the next morn, Sorcha remained convinced of her decision to move on from here and to elude Alan and any attempts to spend time with her. Or to kiss her. Or...
Unfortunately, no one had informed Alan of her plans or her resolve.
Chapter Fourteen
He turned up sometimes in the most expected and sometimes most surprising places at the most unanticipated times over the next days. And, as he’d promised or threatened, he stole kisses regularly. He always checked to see if someone would see, but there were several times when Sorcha thought they might be caught.
Quick kisses. Leisurely ones. Tempting her on and making her want more. Dangerous in so many ways, as was the man himself.
Then there were the gentle soft touches and whisper-soft caresses when he was near. A touch on her thigh when he sat next to her at table. A caress across her neck as he passed her in the corridor of the keep on some task or another. The intense gaze that seemed to tease her skin to a sensitivity she’d never knew could be.
‘What was the name of the priest who instructed you in Latin?’ Father Diarmid asked. Sorcha looked up from her plate and wondered how to respond to his question. More importantly, had the priest or anyone noticed that she’d been lost in her own thoughts?
Seated here at the laird’s table with the lady, the priest and others, Sorcha tried to gather her scattered thoughts carefully before answering. Luckily, on this matter, she could say the truth of the matter.
‘Father Euan was my teacher,’ she said. ‘But he passed more than five years ago.’
‘Was this priest a MacPherson then?’ the lady asked.
‘Nay, my lady,’ she said, shaking her head and placing her spoon and eating knife down by her plate. She clutched her hands on her lap where none could see them. ‘He was of the MacNeills.’
‘And your husband allowed this?’ the priest asked.
Of all those at table and listening to her words, only Alan’s regard worried her. She could feel his gaze on her skin and the blush that rose into her cheeks. Her husband...?
