Page 53 of How a Scot Surrenders to a Lady

“Just outside the cave,” Bridgette replied, withdrawing her dagger. “Marion did nae wish to eavesdrop, and Broch could nae verra well leave her alone.” Bridgette grinned, making Sorcha realize Bridgette must have foreseen that outcome.

“How much did ye hear?” Sorcha asked warily, already moving toward the exit.

“All of it,” Bridgette replied, giving Sorcha an apologetic look. “I am sorry if ye’re angry, but I had to be certain Eolande did nae foretell anything that would put Lachlan in harm’s way.”

“I ken,” Sorcha replied, and she truly did. “Then ye heard her say Cameron would relinquish his honor to free me.”

“Aye,” Bridgette replied. “Dunnae flee.”

Sorcha whipped her head toward Bridgette, shocked that it seemed the woman had read her thoughts.

Bridgette smiled with understanding. “I fled Lachlan thinking to save him from me, and all it did was compel him to come after me and prolong our misery of nae being together. I kinnae believe I am saying this, but I feel ye must do as Eolande said and trust yer heart.”

Sorcha bit her lip, considering Bridgette’s words. “What if my heart is wrong?”

“The heart is nae ever wrong, Sorcha, but that dunnae mean it chooses an easy path. What does yer heart tell ye now?”

“It tells me what awaits me with him could well be the truest thing I’ll ever ken, as if I may nae ever care for another the way I could care for him.”

Bridgette grinned. “Then ye must stay, and we must make haste. I fear danger is near.”

“Aye,” Sorcha agreed, and together they hurried toward the cave entry.

After quickly relaying what Eolande had said about making haste back to Dunvegan with their weapons drawn, they set out without pause. Broch led them to where they had tethered the horses, and once they were mounted, he set a galloping pace toward the castle.

The ride was hard and relentless over the rocky terrain and winding trails. Broch returned them on a different route through the dense part of the forest, so if someone was following them, they would be harder to track. Because of the terrain and the clipped pace, there was no time to move low-hanging branches out of their way, and more than once, a branch snagged Sorcha’s hair, gown, and face. Her left sleeve had been almost ripped off when it had gotten caught on a branch, and warm blood trickled down her cheek where a limb had cut her.

She was certain she looked as if she had been in battle because Marion and Bridgette both looked as if they had been, too, with their scraped faces and torn gowns. She prayed they could get inside the castle without being seen, so that coming to see Eolande would not cause trouble for Marion and Bridgette.

As Sorcha’s horse galloped onward, closing the distance between the Fairy Pools and Dunvegan at a much faster pace than they had earlier, Sorcha thought on what Eolande had said. Who might betray her? A family member? One of her new friends? She could not imagine it being Cameron, as she did not fear him. The part of the foretelling that had lodged in her stomach like a giant rock was that two people she knew, that she cared for, would die.

Just as she tried to imagine who they might be, an arrow whistled past her ear, swishing through her hair as it went. “Attack!” she yelled before instinctually reaching for her bow and turning her horse toward the thickest part of the woods to try to reach the shelter of the trees. Another arrow came seconds later, this one snagging the skirts of her gown. Whoever was attacking was aiming only for her! Luckily, the archer did not seem to be overly skilled.

Broch raced his destrier toward her, as did Marion and Bridgette. In that moment, fear sliced through Sorcha. Was this the moment that two people she cared for would die, and all because someone was trying to kill her?

“Ye wish to kill me?” she screamed, turning and glancing all around, searching for whoever was shooting at her so that she could aim for them. When a flash of red caught her attention and she knew it was her attacker, she nocked an arrow and aimed, though she knew it was doubtful she’d strike her target. Her enemy had the advantage of cover and could easily kill them all out in the open as they were. She had to do something. She had to save the others.

“If ye wish to kill me, ye must catch me!” she taunted. She bent over her destrier and urged the beast to race toward the clearing in the woods up ahead. If she could reach the wide grassy land, whoever was after her would be drawn out, as well, and Broch or Bridgette could possibly fell them.

Her instincts took over as her body molded to her horse in the best possible way to cut through the wind and give her speed. The trees whizzed by her, and she chanced a glance to her right, gasping at the sight of two men chasing her. One man pulled significantly ahead of the other, but they were both charging without thought toward the rolling hills.

Good. Let them come.

She commanded her horse into a teeth-rattling gallop, looking back briefly to see where Broch, Bridgette, and Marion were. Far, far in the distance she thought she saw Marion, but Broch and Bridgette were nowhere to be seen. She knew full well neither of them would ever abandon Marion, so hopefully they had a plot they were carrying out.

Looking back to her right, alarm shot through her at how near one of the attackers was. She saw his face, carved of determination, his lips set in a grim line. When he yanked his destrier to a halt and withdrew a bow and arrow, she knew a moment of blinding fear. She could not stop to nock another arrow, yet she was close enough for the man to shoot at her. She turned to face forward once more, her only hope to put as much distance between them as possible before he released his arrow.

Her body tensed, expecting the sting of the arrow tip. Yet, when it did not come, she looked over her shoulder and shook with relief. The attacker was lying on the ground, an arrow sticking out of him and his horse racing toward her. She scanned the woods for the other attacker, but instead of finding him, she located Bridgette, high on a rock above with her bow poised to shoot.

A whistle split the air, propelling Bridgette into motion. She scrambled off the rock and disappeared into the woods, only to come out racing beside Broch on their horses. Marion, Broch, and Bridgette reached her as one. But instead of stopping as she thought they would, Broch gave her a murderous look, slapped her horse on its hindquarter, and roared, “Ride hard to Dunvegan.”

The journey back was filled with the sound of pounding hooves and nothing more. They were all hunched low on their destriers, and when they finally galloped into the courtyard, Sorcha did not even bring her horse to a complete stop before Broch was off his mount and yanking on the tethers of her destrier to halt the beast.

“What are ye doing?” she cried out when her horse reared back at his handling.

Broch ignored her and clipped a command at the beast, who immediately settled. He reached up and fairly yanked her off her horse. He swung her to face him, his hands gripping her arms tight, his face red with anger. “Are ye mad?” he demanded. “Ye could have been killed!”

Something niggled at the back of her mind. Hands clenching her arms, shaking her, and a desperate feeling to be released overwhelmed her. “Release me,” she hissed, trying to fight back the panic.

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