‘I do not flee to the convent, Alan. I go there willingly to seek a place away from the world in prayer.’
She’d expected him to argue with her. Even to yell out his anger. But, when he nodded and walked away in silence, she was stunned. He’d taken several paces towards the road when he abruptly came back and took hold of her shoulders, pulling her to her feet in front of him.
He stole her breath and her thoughts with a searing, possessive kiss, slanting his lips over hers and thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. As quickly as it had begun, he ended it, tearing his mouth from hers and releasing her.
‘I leave in the morn to see to something for The Mackintosh. If you have need of anything while I am away, seek him out. You can trust him and Arabella, even if you cannot trust me.’
When she would have argued his words, he turned and disappeared down the road towards the keep. Sorcha dropped back on to the bench, out of breath and confused. She wanted nothing more than to trust him. But that would place him in an impossible situation and give him no choices over his actions.
* * *
Her cousin returned some hours later to find her still sitting there on the bench, staring off down the road. Sorcha blamed it on exhaustion and a sleepless night—another lie added to her ever-increasing roster of them. If she wanted to press for more, Clara gave no sign. Instead, she took Sorcha inside and made tea for her that would aid her in sleeping.
* * *
By the time Sorcha had risen the next day, the sun was halfway across the morning sky and most of the tasks the two of them accomplished by midday were done. Over the next few days, she found herself hoping for his return. Hoping that he would grab her from behind and kiss her. Hoping that he would sit next to her at table when the lady began her questions. Wishing that his voice would interrupt her walk from keep to village.
None of that happened for he was gone. Though no one spoke of his specific task for The Mackintosh, the lady let one detail slip when Sorcha mentioned his absence.
He’d gone south on some business for The Mackintosh. South.
Knowing her days here were at an end, Sorcha understood that she would need help to get to Skye now. She could wait or delay no more. When she met with Father Diarmid for prayers that day, she asked if he would arrange a private meeting with Brodie Mackintosh. By the day’s end, she stood before the laird and lady’s chamber, knowing that everything would be different when she left here later.
As she knocked and lifted the latch when beckoned, she left the widow Saraid MacPherson behind and stepped into the chamber as Lady Sorcha MacMillan once more.
Chapter Sixteen
Sorcha walked before the laird and lady with her head held high and the confidence of the young woman she’d been raised to be. Though The Mackintosh’s titles were more elevated than her own father’s and though Lady Mackintosh was the daughter of a chieftain, their position in the scheme of things was similar enough that she need not curtsy to them. But, she did. From the way their eyes widened in surprise, she knew they noticed the difference in her demeanour and understood what it meant.
That she’d been an impostor in their midst.
Not for a moment did Sorcha fool herself into thinking they’d been convinced of her disguise. The lady’s recent and relentless questioning under the guise of casual conversation at meals revealed her suspicions. And Brodie Mackintosh did not reach and retain his position over a mighty clan and federation by missing the details or believing the false trails before him.
‘I wondered when the truth would out,’ Brodie said quietly.
‘I would like to make a bargain with you and the lady,’ she said.
Her plan was to offer the knowledge she had about her father and The Cameron in exchange for their help—not only for her escape, but also to protect Alan. Then and only then would she reveal her identity. His next words destroyed all that.
‘What, Lady Sorcha, could we offer to a dead woman?’
Courage,her mother whispered in her heart. Sorcha kept her gaze on the chieftain while answering his question.
‘’Tis more about what a dead woman could offer you, Laird Mackintosh.’
He blinked then and let out a loud laugh, as she and his wife watched and waited. Lady Arabella studied her in silence, but Sorcha kenned the woman missed little even if she did not say so.
‘And that would be...?’
‘Knowledge of a grave weakness in your alliance with several clans.’
‘Certain knowledge or rumours and innuendos?’
He stood then and walked to her, looking down from his great height for a moment. No doubt he wanted the difference in their size and power to intimidate her. The problem for him was that she kenned him to be an honourable man, one trusted by Alan and everyone living here. Brodie Mackintosh would never use his size and strength against a woman. But, she must never underestimate his power or his intelligence. Try as she might, she was not as calm as she was attempting to be. Sorcha entwined her fingers to keep them from trembling.
‘I was witness to several conversations in which specific arrangements were discussed, certain promises made and bargains sealed.’ The epithet that The Mackintosh hissed out made her and Lady Arabella wince.
Her father never dreamt a woman would plot against him, certainly not his wife or daughter who lived in fear of his every word and deed. Hugh MacMillan paid no heed to the words she and her mother overhead in his talks with Gilbert Cameron for Sorcha’s marriage to the chieftain. He’d never worried over a mere woman listening in on the treasonous negotiations that led to an agreement of support and marriage of his daughter.
