Chapter Twenty-One

Sorcha couldn't sleep for thoughts of Alasdair. Every waking moment her head was filled with him, and it seemed she would not get any rest. She punched her pillow, flipped from one side to the other, and with a heavy sigh, decided to give in to the invading feelings. Alasdair had indicated he wasn't certain he could love the way he once had, but she wasn't so sure. Though, she did recognize she might just be seeing things she wanted to see.

Still, there were so many ways he displayed the capacity for great love without even realizing it. First, he had brought her here to his home out of the selfless need to ensure she could wed a good man. And even before that, he had risked his life for her, a virtual stranger, several times. And every day she was in his home, he'd done all he could to ensure she felt comfortable here. These were not the actions of a man incapable of a full open heart. Just look at the way he took such care with his children and how he had now thrown himself into being a part of their lives.

She knew he had dozens upon dozens of responsibilities that could keep him occupied from the time he woke to the moment he laid his head to rest, but he'd taken time out of his busy day to train with Beatie and Hew, and then went with all of them to the healing room. And he had dressed her wound himself! She was certain there were many women in the castle he could have called upon to come to the healing room and see to her wound, but he hadn't. He had done it all himself.

And she had seen with her own eyes that he was starting to shed his grief with laughter and smiles, dancing with her and the children, and speaking of Mariot. He was capable of great love again. She felt it in her bones. Whether that great love would be with her was another question. But why should she care? Well, she knew why as she lay in the safety of the quiet, all alone with nothing but the stark truth in her heart. She had fallen in love with Alasdair.

She loved him. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment on the glory of it, but she also feared how hurt she would be if it did not work out. Her heart thumped in her chest, ears, and head, but she forced her eyes open to the moonlit room, took a deep breath, and accepted that there may be great pain. Yet, she knew without a shadow of doubt that she would take the risk. She would take all the colors life had to offer over the dull life of safe routine that she had planned for herself.

She didn't want to go to her brother's home, but she did want to meet him and see the home she had been taken from, where she had been born and had lived, for a time, a happy life. She most definitely did not want to wed a man she did not know, and if she had any say in it, she was not going to. But could she stay here if Alasdair could never open his heart fully to her? No, she did not think she could. Could she return home and open the apothecary shop as she had planned? She could, but she would never be satisfied with that life now that her heart had been opened wide. She had two options: speak with Alasdair and tell him how she felt, and in doing so, hope it helped to open his own heart, or go with her brother and try to persuade him to let her have time to choose her own husband. She would start with Alasdair.

"Sorcha," a woman's voice called before a rap came at the door. "Sorcha, 'tis Esmerelda."

Sorcha buried her groan in her pillow.

"I've come to collect ye and take ye to the solar. Yer betrothed and brother have arrived for ye."

Panic rioted within her as she sat up. She'd not had enough time to speak with Alasdair! She had to try before she was taken away.

"Might I come in?" the woman asked in the sweetest tone Sorcha had ever heard her use.

She supposed it made no difference at this point. The sooner she could speak with Alasdair the better, and with Esmerelda's help, she could get the back laces of her gown done much quicker, so she called out, "Aye," as she scrambled from the bed, glad she'd gone to bed with her léine on.

The door opened just as Sorcha tugged up her gown and presented Esmerelda her back. "Would ye lace me up?"

"Aye," the woman replied and stepped behind Sorcha, who felt a tug as she pulled at the laces of Sorcha's gown. "Yer betrothed is verra handsome," she said.

"It does nae matter to me," Sorcha answered honestly.

"Ye dunnae wish to wed him?"

"Nay, I dunnae wish to wed a man I dunnae ken."

"Many marriages start between strangers," Esmerelda said. "'Tis how my own started."

Sorcha already knew that, and the information did not sway her opinion in the least, but to be polite, she asked, "And was it a verra happy marriage?"

"I got safety out of it, and a beautiful son and daughter," the woman answered. "What more can a woman ask for?"

"Surely ye jest!" Sorcha exclaimed, turning toward Esmerelda, but the serious expression on the woman's face told Sorcha she indeed did not jest. "Ye saw yer own daughter's marriage, I am certain. I ken it was full of love."

"Aye," Esmerelda agreed. "Mariot was a verra lucky woman. Most of us dunnae get that."

"Alasdair is a special man," Sorcha said, her heart squeezing with the words.

The woman gave her a long, scrutinizing look, and her eyes darkened with an emotion Sorcha could not read. "Aye, he is. He would take on an insurmountable burden to aid ye, even if it hurt the clan, because his honor makes him feel obliged."

The woman had clearly seen how Sorcha felt about Alasdair. It must show on her face. She took a deep breath before speaking to calm herself. "I would nae ever stay simply because his honor makes him feel obliged to aid me."

The look that came over the woman's face now, Sorcha recognized immediately as dislike. No matter how Esmerelda had tried to disguise it, she did not like Sorcha. Sorcha was almost certain it was because Esmerelda thought Sorcha would be the reason Alasdair moved on, but it honestly did not matter.

"He will nae ever give his heart to ye the way he did to my daughter. Ye dunnae appear to be the sort of woman who'd be at peace with that."

"Well, 'tis nae for ye to say what Alasdair would do," Sorcha replied. "'Tis his words I'll have." And with that, she turned from Esmerelda, even as the woman called to her, and she raced toward the solar.

Esmerelda's footsteps tapped in rapid succession behind her, but she increased her pace, reaching the closed solar door a good seven paces before Esmerelda. She was about to shove it open, when a deep male voice, one she did not recognize, filtered from the door with talk of her and halted her movements.

"Yer nae returning my sister to me without first ascertaining if Laird Campbell is a good man holds much weight with me."

Sorcha's breath caught, and she placed her hands on the door. Alasdair had the perfect opportunity to declare his feelings for her.

"I owed that much to yer sister," Alasdair said. "She saved my life, and I owed her this much."

All the air emptied out of Sorcha's lungs, as did most of her hope that Alasdair would ever care for her the way she wanted him to. Behind her, Esmerelda's inhalations and exhalation whooshed in Sorcha's ears. Her humiliation burned her face and neck.

"Well, as ye can see, I am a good and honorable man, and I will treat Margaret with respect and kindness," came yet another voice, which she assumed belonged to Laird Campbell.

"I dunnae ken ye from one meeting," Alasdair began, and that bubble of hope that had almost completely withered sprang to life in Sorcha once more. "But I trust Calan, and he has spent a good deal of time ascertaining yer character and vouches for ye, so if Sorcha does indeed wish to go with ye, I will nae try to stop it."

"And we will get the coin, aye?" came Calan's voice.

"Calan," Alasdair snapped.

"I told ye at the beginning of this conversation that ye would," the voice she thought was her brother's said.

Whatever hope she'd still had withered and disappeared. Alasdair had ensured he'd get the coin, and he'd said plainly if she wanted to go, he'd not stop it. Those were not words of a man who would scour the ends of the Earth for the woman he loved.

She pushed herself off the door, straightened her shoulders, raised her hand to the door, and knocked.

"Enter," came Alasdair's voice.

She slid her trembling hands down her gown and through her hair to bring some semblance of order to it. There was nothing here for her, and she was going to be leaving with a brother she did not know and a betrothed she did not want. All that she could do was try to gain time from her brother to get to know her betrothed, and then, if she did not care for him, to mayhap be allowed to pick another.

With that in mind, when she entered the room and her gaze first found Alasdair's full of honorable concern for her, she was infuriated. She jerked her eyes from him and looked over at Calan, who offered a small smile, and then to the man who stood next to him, who bowed immediately.

When he came up, he stepped toward her, took her hand, and kissed the top of it. "I'm Laird Campbell, yer betrothed."

Her lips would not form words. They were frozen in place, so she moved her eyes from him to the man next to him, and the familiarity in his face made her feel weak in the knees. "Laird Stewart?" she managed, her voice cracking under her shock and the emotions warring within her.

"Nay, lass," the tall black-haired man said, his green gaze displaying a kindness that made her legs tremble a bit less. "I'll nae ever be Laird Stewart to ye. I'm yer brother," he said, stepping close to her. "I'm Ross, and ye should always call me ‘Brother,' unless ye're vexed with me; then call me ‘Ross.'" That made her laugh and a bit more tension melted away.

"We've come a long way to get ye, and I've been looking for ye since nearly the day I discovered who I was. I—" His voice caught on emotion that shocked and warmed her. "I prayed to the gods this day would come. I... I did nae remember ye, but seeing ye now, by the gods, I do."

She was surprised how his words affected her. Tears sprang to her eyes, and a knot formed in her throat, which she had to try several times to swallow past to speak. "I... I dunnae remember ye." She saw his shoulders fall, and between that and his words, she knew he was a good man. She felt it in her bones, and she prayed he would understand why she might want to choose her own husband.

He held out his hand to her, palms up, and she understood in that moment, he was giving her a choice to take his hand or not, and that was yet another gesture that eased her. She took his hand, tears blurring her eyes, and he drew her toward him and smiled at her. "Mags," he said, his voice hoarse. "Mags, ye were a stubborn little lass. Are ye still?"

She did laugh then, a full hearty one that took a moment to get under control. "Aye," she finally said. "And as part of that willfulness, I request ye call me Sorcha." His eyes widened in surprise, so she explained. "I ken Margaret was the name given to me, and the one ye kenned me by, but I have only ever kenned myself as Sorcha, and I kinnae simply think of myself as Margaret or this Mags—"

"We called ye Mags as a term of endearment," he said in a somber voice that tugged at her heart.

She nodded. "Aye, I ken that, but I dunnae have that memory at all, and there is so much change for me already, if ye could just allow me to be called Sorcha—"

He held up a hand, and an understanding smile tipped the corners of his mouth, slowing her heart, which had begun to beat rapidly. "Ye will be called Sorcha until ye wish to be called Margaret, and if ye dunnae ever wish it, that is fine as well. Yer name does nae change who ye really are. We are blood. The bond is unbreakable."

His words relieved her greatly and moved her. "Thank ye."

He grinned. "I'm used to bargaining. My wife is stubborn, too." Sorcha laughed at that, and her brother's grin grew wider. "She is verra eager to meet ye and was beside herself that she could nae journey with us to fetch ye, but she's with child, ye see."

"Oh, that's verra grand!" Sorcha exclaimed, meaning it.

Ross grinned. "Aye, it is. Ye will be an aunt!"

That made her lips part with yet more shock. She would be an aunt. It was hard to comprehend it all.

"I'm anxious to get back to her, as ye can imagine." She was so pleased and heartened by his words and the obvious love she heard in them. "If it's acceptable to ye, we will leave at sunrise on the morrow. I ken this is fast, so if there is a reason to stay longer..."

She drew on the iron will that had gotten her through all the years of living with the man who she'd called Da, and she did not look at Alasdair, despite every part of her wanting to. She kept her attention focused on Ross and prayed to the gods that Alasdair would speak up, would give her a reason not to go, but heart-shattering silence greeted her.

"Nay," she finally managed past the ache in her throat. "There is nae a reason to linger."

"Excellent," her brother said. "I'm certain ye have questions about how ye came to be taken away from our home..."

"I do," she said, "but my mind is awhirl, and I am uncertain I can even properly voice them right now."

"That's understandable," Laird Campbell said, drawing her attention to him. "Though, I'd verra much like a moment alone with ye, if ye would grant it?"

Despite her resolve, her eyes found Alasdair's, but his lids came down swiftly to veil whatever emotions he might have and he turned away. It was crushing. She wanted to crumble to the ground, but she straightened and focused on Laird Campbell once more. "We can walk on the rampart if ye wish it?" she offered. Mayhap the man wanted to break the betrothal. She knew there were unusual circumstances that bound them, but surely if all parties agreed, they could dissolve the ancient agreement.

"That's acceptable," Laird Campbell said.

"Sorcha, do ye wish me to accompany ye?" her brother asked, giving her additional hope that he might relent to her desires if she could speak with him.

She shook her head. There was no harm that could come from a simple walk on the rampart, and she didn't wish to make things harder than they already were.

Laird Campbell drew near her, and unlike her brother, he did not ask to take her hand; he simply took it. His actions sent a warning tremor down her spine. He led her to the door and out into the corridor and didn't speak until the door closed behind him. He was a tall man, with a head of shocking red hair that nearly matched hers in color, but he had dark brown eyes.

"I was verra surprised to learn ye may be alive," he finally said as he guided her down the stairs to the door that led to the courtyard and the rampart.

"Aye, I'm certain ye were, my lord." She had chosen the words purposely, hoping he'd correct her as her brother had and tell her to call him by his given name, but he simply kept strolling until they were in the courtyard.

"Ye might even say I was unhappy about it. I kinnae say I had a wish to wed."

She paused in walking, feeling hope in his words. "If ye dunnae wish to wed—"

"Dunnae fash yerself, lass. I'm laird now. My da died right after yer brother returned from the dead, making me laird, and I ken well I need to produce an heir and keep my clan strong. Our marriage will ensure we both have the strongest clans around."

"Mayhap there is another lass ye could wed to strengthen yer clan?" she suggested as they climbed the rampart steps.

Once they were at the top, he stopped and turned toward her. "Ye dunnae wish to wed me?"

He seemed to be simply seeking the truth, so she gave it. "I dunnae ken ye," she said, "and I wish to ken the man I wed."

"Well, there's nae a better way to ken a man than to kiss him," Laird Campbell said, and before she could lodge a protest, he pulled her to him and planted a kiss on her mouth. It wasn't a particularly unpleasant kiss, but it did not have the effect on her that Alasdair's kisses had. Moreover, the man had not asked; he'd simply taken what he wanted.

She broke free and would have stepped out of his reach, but he caught her forearm. To her right, a movement caught her eye, and there, standing in the courtyard looking up at them was Alasdair. He did not call out a warning to Laird Campbell not to touch his woman, he did not storm the rampart to protect her, he did not say a word. He simply turned on his heel and walked away, and with him, he took the last thread of her hope, but not her stubborn nature.

She faced Laird Campbell once more and slapped him. "Ye kinnae simply take what ye want," she grumbled.

"Aye, lass," he replied, "I can. Ye are my betrothed, and therefore, ye are my property."