Even though she kenned she must, Sorcha understood that she would be leaving a part of herself behind in this village. A piece of her heart and her soul would remain with Alan Cameron for ever even if she could not.
* * *
As she bade farewell to Clara and Jamie, even the words that gave her comfort and strength did not work. But loyalty, honour and courage were all she had left in her life, for she left her love behind with the people who had helped her so much in her need.
And with the one man who could never be in her life again.
Chapter Seventeen
Alan cursed the weather, his stupidity, his fate and various other things for the hundredth time that day. The sun had long ago hidden itself behind the thick, swirling clouds and Alan suspected his luck as a tracker had run out days ago. It mattered not now, for he’d discovered what he’d set out to find and was on his journey back to Glenlui.
Somehow, Sorcha MacMillan, the only daughter of Hugh MacMillan of Knapdale, had not died that night in the storm. She’d not been washed away in the torrential rains. She’d not died in the rushing river and had not been dragged along for miles in its storm-swollen rage. Indeed, Sorcha MacMillan had been spirited away by a man, led west towards Skye only to find herself alone and lost.
He laughed then, bitterly, as he remembered his words to her on another stormy night. She need not worry about being lost, he would find her. Instead, this ill-begotten plan of a dead woman had led Sorcha straight to him and he’d never seen her coming. He’d never realised their connection because why would he search for a dead woman?
Rubbing his hand over his face, he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and then tugged his plaid back up into place. Alan was lucky the road had not washed out in this area where the river flowed into the loch. It would take another day of riding to get to the Mackintosh village. Then what, he had no idea.
Taking refuge in a thicket of trees, he saw to his horse and ate some of the last of his supplies before seeking the driest place he could find. Alan wrapped the extra plaid around him and leaned against a tree to sleep.
His search had taken longer and taken him further south than he’d expected. Although some details were still missing, he had no doubt that the widow Saraid MacPherson was Lady Sorcha MacMillan. When he tracked her path backwards from Glenlui, he recognised details he’d missed before. Hell. Once convinced the girl was dead, he’d overlooked signs the likes of which he hadn’t missed since his first days tracking.
Brodie would have a fine laugh at this failure of his. But, kenning the Mackintosh chieftain, Alan did not doubt that the man suspected more than he’d let on to him.
As the night passed, the anticipation grew in him at the thought of taking the truth back to her. His uncle’s betrothed. The woman he loved. He laughed then and the horse snickered in reply. Now that he knew who she was, her actions and words made more sense to him.
She had not been fearful in his arms because she missed a dead husband—the distress in her expression and in her body’s reactions was a virgin’s natural reticence at her first experience. She had not been distraught over her husband’s death, but over her mother’s and her protector’s. She had not refused him because she did not want him, but because she was to be his uncle’s wife.
Sorcha was trying to prevent him from making a grave error, one that could have serious consequences if anyone discovered her true identity and her connection to this uncle. She’d understood the gravity of the situation and tried to protect him from himself.
So, now what? What was his next step in this? He loved her. He wanted her. But his honour demanded that he tell his uncle of her existence and give her up to him. His body reacted immediately at such a thought.
Never. Never would he give another innocent into his uncle’s rough and deadly care. And never would he walk away from the woman he loved.
But what were his choices?
Sorcha, if he believed her words, was intent on avoiding the matter by entering the convent. That part of her story and her plan matched the truths he’d discovered all his journey. He’d tracked down her mother’s companion and long-time servant who, after fainting in shock at the news that Sorcha was alive, was happy to speak of her lady and her desire before passing away to help her daughter escape the same fate she’d had.
Apparently, his uncle’s reputation had made it to Knapdale. Alan smiled grimly at that for, with the power of his position and the wealth he controlled, Gilbert Cameron would never have a problem finding another man willing to sell off his daughter or sister for the amount of gold he could offer and the alliances he could promise.
The winds quieted over the next hours as he turned this over and over in his thoughts. Gradually the rains ceased once the clouds thinned. Though exhausted from the hard riding of the day, Alan found that his thoughts would not quiet enough to allow him to sleep.
What would her reaction be when he returned on the morrow? Had she guessed why he’d left? Did she fear him now? Would her gold-flecked eyes fill with dread at his approach? Dear God, he prayed not! He wanted to see the frank desire there that he’d glimpsed when she’d told him that he could have his way with her.
Considering her reaction now, and the tightness he’d found, Alan could not figure out how he’d missed all the signs that he was not dealing with a married and widowed woman, but a noble-born virgin.
Love.
He would blame it on love. And on his pride, too, for he’d convinced himself of her death and no matter his hesitation or doubt in the signs he’d found. He was so desperate to keep the young woman out of his uncle’s control that he’d done the one thing he warned others about doing—overlooked his process and the warning in his gut.
* * *
By the time the sun rose into a calm, clear sky, Alan was no closer to sorting out his possibilities or in deciding what he thought Sorcha would do. Would she insist on leaving? If she agreed to stay with him, where would they go? If he denounced his uncle without proof, it would ruin his honour amongst most of his kith and kin.
Since Sorcha was the one who could prove Gilbert’s guilt in planning to act against the clan’s interests for his own, Alan would never ask her to do so. For that would put her in Gilbert’s power if Alan did not succeed or if Alan died in his efforts to unseat his uncle.
Alan had no doubt that Brodie would stand by him and welcome him, but Alan’s presence could cause problems that rippled out to other alliances and put the truce in jeopardy. Another consequence to his actions.
So, did they leave together and make their way to another place? Assume new names to avoid the trouble that would follow Alan Cameron, disgraced nephew to The Cameron? The worst part was the worry over how his parents and younger brothers would bear this. He did not have to guess how his uncle would treat them over this, he’d already seen the disdain and disrespect borne by his father for years.
