Page 27 of How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

“Aye,” he assured her with such confidence that she did not doubt him. He paused on the steps and turned to her, his vibrant gaze holding her captive. “Iain tripled the watchtower guards and set men to defend the woods in sections, along with the entire perimeter of the castle and land surrounding the loch. “Nae a single enemy will get through this day again.”

She exhaled a relieved breath. “What of all the other days? The men kinnae be kept away from their families day after day.”

“They are warriors, and they will do as commanded to keep ye safe. Now you, however…” His eyes narrowed. “I told ye nae to leave the cave, and ye vowed ye would nae. Does yer vow nae mean a thing?”

Her first instinct was to be angry, but she quickly realized he was worried for her and that realization stole her anger. “Aye. It means something,” she growled. “If ye intend to yell at me, though, I prefer ye do it where yer entire clan kinnae hear ye. Nae anyone but Marion likes me, and I’m nae sure she truly likes me, either. I fear it’s more that the lady is just too nice to be cruel to anyone, even someone suspected of killing the king’s mistress.”

Cameron gave her a pensive look, and she suspected he was making his mind up what to do. When he finally turned toward the loch again, took her hand, and continued down the stairs, she exhaled. At least the entire MacLeod clan would not hear him yelling at her.

Once they reached the shore, he led her to some rocks and guided her gently down, then sat beside her. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, and she could not help but notice how the muscles of his back and arms coiled, as if prepared to fight.

After a long silent spell, he faced her, yet did not sit up. His golden hair just touched his right shoulder as he tilted his strong face to her. She didn’t think there was likely a more compelling warrior on the Isle of Skye. “Do ye have a lass?” she blurted. She slapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

When he frowned at her, she forced her hand down and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I dunnae ken why I asked that. It’s nae any of my concern. I dunnae ken what is the matter with me. Ye affect me oddly. I cannot say for certain why, though, since I kinnae remember my past.” She wrinkled her nose at how greatly she had managed to mess up the apology and make herself look like a fool.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, making her heart squeeze. “I dunnae claim a lass as my own.” The smile that had been curling his lips disappeared abruptly. “I wonder if a man has a claim on ye.”

The displeasure that the thought brought to him was apparent in the tightening of his jaw and his hard, clipped words. She was startled by the jolt of pleasure his jealousy gave her. She may not know what had been in her mind in the past, but right now, Cameron MacLeod possessed her thoughts.

“I dunnae feel claimed,” she mumbled, heat burning her cheeks. “I feel adrift, except when I am near ye. I think it must be because my only memories are of ye and the woman with the dark hair. Who is she? Is she someone special to ye? Did I meet her?”

He let out a jagged sigh, then shoved his hands through his hair before cradling his head between his palms. “She’s a seer, and nay, ye did nae meet her, as far as I ken.” She watched as his fingers dug into his thick locks. Something was weighing very heavy on his mind. Hesitantly, she touched a hand to his bare, muscled shoulder. He flinched, and a low growl sounded from him, but he did not move her hand away, nor did she. The contact with his warm skin made her feel safe.

“This—” He waved a hand between her and himself but did not raise his head. “Ye, we”—another growl came from him, but this one was filled with frustration—“ourcircumstances are much more confusing than I anticipated.”

“Our circumstances?” she asked, fascinated by the vein that visibly pulsed at his left temple.

He inhaled a long breath, making the slabs of muscle on his back ripple. “Someone is trying to kill ye.”

“Aye,” she replied, a hard knot forming in her chest. “I still dunnae ken what ye mean byour circumstances, though.”

His hands slid through his hair to the back of his neck. He linked his fingers together, lifting his head to look straight ahead. “Ye risked yer life leaving the shelter of the rock to aid me.” His head whipped in her direction, eyes so bright that she sucked in a sharp breath. “Why?” he demanded, the word harsh and aching. “Why would ye risk yer life to help a stranger? Especially one who ye ken suspected ye to be guilty of murder?”

Why?It was a good question, and not one she had paused to ask herself yet. Her hand fluttered to her hair, catching a silky strand, and winding it around her finger. The action soothed her and seemed to help her think. “Suspected?” she asked, curious if he no longer thought her a part of the plot to kill Katherine and wishing to gain time to give him an answer to his question.

He nodded. “Aye. I kinnae make sense of why someone would be trying to kill ye if ye are working with them.”

“Perchance they want to silence me,” she said in a hushed tone, voicing her fear.

“Perchance, but my gut tells me nay, so unless I discover otherwise, ye are nae my enemy. Now, do ye intend to tell me why ye risked yer life for me?”

She shifted, assessed her heart and her mind. “I kinnae say for certain, except I…I feel as if our paths are somehow intertwined.”

Tension crossed his face, and then a look of understanding filled his eyes. She exhaled a breath she had not even realized she had been holding. “Do ye—do ye feel so, as well?”

His mouth twisted as if he wanted to deny it, but he nodded, shoulders sagging. “I do.”

It seemed to her there was more there he wanted to say, but when he remained silent, she spoke. “Ye sound as if that is the worst thing in the world,” she said in as light a voice as she could muster when her feelings had been trampled upon.

He stood swiftly. “I fear it may well be,” he replied, looked as if he might say more, but he clenched his teeth and abruptly turned away.

Seven

After Marion collected Serene from her bedchamber the next morning, she took her to the great hall, and the first person they encountered was Cameron. Faster than Serene knew what was occurring, Marion was handing her over to Cameron and striding away. For a long moment, he simply stared at her with an uneasy look on his face before he took her by the arm, and then he led her to a table and deposited her for the morning meal without a word. From the pitying looks the curly redheaded woman beside her gave her and the sympathy-filled blue eyes Marsaili turned upon her, Serene was certain it was as obvious that Cameron wanted nothing more than to put distance between them. She swallowed hard as she listened to him order the giant warrior sitting beside Marsaili to guard her.

When the man acknowledged his duty, Cameron turned away and strode toward the dais. Confusion churned in her belly. He’d said he did not consider her his enemy, but the moment she had confessed that she thought their lives were meant to intertwine somehow, he’d become cold. Feeling her throat tighten with all the emotions bottled inside her and her vision blur with unshed tears, she reached blindly for the goblet in front of her, desperate for some way to quell the tide within. Her fingers brushed someone else’s, and she pulled back quickly while glancing to her right. Dark, assessing eyes framed by long, dark lashes met hers.

“I’m Alanna,” the woman said in a serious voice while shoving a mass of red curls over her shoulder. “I’m Rory Mac’s wife.”

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