25
Cameron and Alastair rode out to the front lines. As they got closer and closer to the gap between the two armies, Cameron could feel the weight of every man behind him staring at him, watching him. He knew that the fate of their lives rested on his shoulders just as he knew there were countless lives on the other side of the battlefield that might be lost as well. He wanted to scream that this was not what he wanted, that they had to stop this. But they were almost past the point of no return.
“I will go to them first,” Alastair told him, his voice kept low for only him to hear. “I will signal ye if ye are needed for the conversation, but I must advise ye that it will be better for everyone for ye to stay put.”
Though Cameron didn’t understand the reasoning behind this, he nodded anyways. After all, Alastair’s experience for these things far outweighed Cameron’s.
So he stopped his horse while Alastair continued. He was still far enough in front of his armies for everyone to know who he was, or at least think they knew who he was. But he wasn’t so close that he could hear the conversation Alastair was having.
Cameron watched closely as three men dressed in similar attire to his own met Alastair halfway. It appeared that they all already knew each other, though Cameron doubted that was a good thing. Unlike him, the other three Lairds didn’t wear their helmets yet, instead they opted to tuck them under their arms.
He wondered for a moment which man was Charlotte’s father. But then the man in the middle shifted in his saddle and the sunlight caught his hair. It started to glow the same way Charlotte’s did in the sunlight and he knew that had to be her father. For a moment, Cameron studied the man’s hard expression and the deep lines that were etched into his face. But he quickly looked away, knowing that if he saw any other resemblance to Charlotte, Cameron was likely to fall apart.
Trusting Alastair to do his job, Cameron turned his attention to the army sitting across from him. He couldn’t stop himself from scanning the faces of those men, even while knowing many of them would not face tomorrow. He was surprised at how many were young, too young to be called men. His heart ached for their mothers and the families that would never heal from today’s battle. His breath caught in his chest and he had to force his lungs to work properly. If he wasn’t killed in battle, he would die of embarrassment if he were to have a breathing attack in front of all of these warriors.
He was only halfway through the crowd when the lines began to shift and shuffle. For a moment, Cameron thought perhaps the fight was beginning and he had missed the signal. But then three horses emerged from the crowd, proving to be the point of displacement. With furrowed brows, Cameron kept his eyes on them. It was perplexing as to why anyone other than the Lairds and their advisors would break through the army at a time like this. As far as Cameron could tell, those who fell in that list were already present.
As the three riders got closer, Cameron’s confusion only grew deeper. It was odd enough for them to ride up to the clan representatives who were still talking with Alastair, but when he realized one of the riders was a woman, he was truly baffled. He couldn’t imagine any man, father or husband, who would be willing to allow a woman onto a battlefield, yet here was one acting as though she had a right to be there.
His interest had Cameron urging his horse forward ever so slightly. Something was pulling him to the riders. Something about them tickled the deepest parts of his memories, as though they were faces from a dream. He wanted a closer look. He needed a closer look.
Without paying much attention to how close he actually was to those discussing the war, Cameron looked to the man on the horse closest to him. To his surprise, Cameron found that he was looking into a mirror image of himself. Of course, there were some things that were a little distorted—the man was a bit shorter than him but had wider shoulders and his skin wasn’t so suntanned. But their eyes were the same piercing shade of green, their nose the same proud angle.
Cameron’s mind started to work furiously, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. The second man held no such resemblance to himself, but he could see glimpses of Charlotte and the man Cameron had assumed was Charlotte’s father. Her brother, then, he decided before moving on to the third and most confusing of them all.
The only hint Cameron had to the identity of the woman on the field was her long braided hair that hung down her back, peeking out from under her helmet. She hadn’t noticed him, paying attention only to the men talking in the middle. Her distraction gave him a clear view of her face when she pulled off her helmet, revealing a face that had long haunted his dream.
“Mother?” he muttered in disbelief.
He shook himself, knowing that was an impossibility. He had watched his mother die decades ago. But the resemblance was uncanny. This woman had the same tilt to her eyes and the same roundness in her cheeks that his mother had.
A second later and the reality of what he was looking at, of whom he was looking at came crashing down.
For the first time since they had been trapped together in that burning shack, Cameron allowed himself to consider the possibility that his siblings were alive. He had wrestled with the hope for years, but the truth seemed to be staring him in the face. Not only were they alive, they were sitting mere feet from him.
Without another thought, Cameron kicked his horse into a run. He didn’t care that all of the men watching them reached for their swords. He didn’t notice the look of disapproval and confusion on Alastair’s face. He didn’t even slow at the malice in the faces of his siblings. All he knew was that they had spent too many years apart and he wasn’t going to wait another second.
The whole battlefield tensed in the few seconds it took for Cameron to reach their sides. Charlotte’s brother, Blake he recalled, moved his horse ever so slightly to position himself in front of his sister. But the tension turned to confusion when Cameron opened his mouth and started to shout.
“Ciaran! Senga! Och! Ciaran! Senga!”
He leapt from his horse, barely landing on his feet in time to keep from rolling onto the ground. His eyes watered, temporarily blurring his vision of their bewildered expressions. Frantic and desperate for them to know who he was, Cameron ripped off his helmet and threw it to the ground, not caring where it landed.
It must have been a wild scene to witness and Ciaran jumped from his horse, sword half drawn, ready to defend his sister. Only once Cameron’s face was revealed did Ciaran’s hand let go of the weapon.
The same recognition that had blindsided Cameron whipped across Ciaran and Senga’s faces. Overwhelming relief and joy poured over them all while the rest of the onlookers sat in their confusion.
Ciaran broke out into a run, matching pace with his brother, while Senga dismounted and raced to meet them. They collided into a heap of tears and hugs, wrestling to get closer to each other. Cameron’s hand gripped Ciaran’s shoulder while his other held the side of Senga’s now damp face.
None of them could summon any words. There were no questions, no murmurs of disbelief. Only relief at finding each other once again.
Cameron did nothing to stop the tears that fell down his face. Years ago, he had wept bitterly, thinking he had held his younger brother and sister for the last time. Today, he cried knowing that they were back by his side, back in his embrace. His arms tightened their grip, and his siblings followed suit.
“Is it really ye?” Senga asked after another minute, though she made no effort to break their embrace.
“I was going to ask the same thing,” Cameron answered.
He tilted his head back so he could look into her eyes, into their mother’s eyes. His tears threatened to start all over again.
