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SORCHA AND TYRA MADE their way to the Keep joining the weaving circle. Equipped with their baskets of wool, they meandered along the footpath as it was a short walk to the glen. Usually, they chatted along the way, but Tyra had been quieter of late as if something was bothering her.
“Are you well Tyra?” Sorcha asked.
“Aye,” she replied.
“Is something troubling you?”
There was a momentary pause before Tyra blurted out, “Sorcha, dinnae set your sights on Bram. I fear it will lead to a broken heart.”
“I have done no such thing,” Sorcha said defensively.
Tyra gave her a sympathetic look. “We all ken that he visits you often, and he has powerful feelings towards you, but it cannot lead anywhere. Tis best you guard your heart. I tell you this as your friend. I dinnae want to see you hurt.”
Sorcha blushed and nodded because Tyra was right. She would heed the warning. Bram was not his own man and nothing more would ever come of their relationships.
***
WHEN THEY ARRIVED, the entire Keep was in a frenzy of activity. There was anticipation in the air.
“What is happening?” Sorcha asked when they joined the weaving circle.
The women gave each other furtive glances and then Fia said, “Tis the MacDonalds they will be here on the morrow.”
“So soon?” Tyra asked.
“Aye, Bram has been in meetings all morn,” Fia said.
“Why are the MacDonalds coming?” Sorcha asked, out of curiosity. She had heard much about them from the children.
“The MacDonald laird wishes to introduce his sister Yesenda to Bram,” Fia said, giving Sorcha an awkward look. Then Fia continued, “Yesenda has been away at the abbey. Her brother has gone to fetch her... now that she is of marriageable age.”
It was then Sorcha understood, and she paled. She glanced over at Tyra and inwardly cursed herself for her naivety. Tyra and the other women were giving her pitying stares, and she knew why. Bram was betrothed to Yesenda MacDonald. It was an alliance that would ensure the Hendersons and MacDonalds united against her kin.
Sorcha gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. The thought that Bram would make love to her, then prepare to meet his future bride made her feel ill. Without the benefit or sanctity of marriage, she would become a pariah when the laird took a legal bride.
Suddenly the gravity of all her terrible choices weighed her down. Sorcha could not bear to remain in Glencoe, where she would have to witness Bram make a life with someone else. Marry someone else, raise their bairns while she remained as a captive, an outsider.
She wanted to scream out her frustrations to the world because she realized then she had fallen in love with her captor. She loved Bram, and the bastard was about to pledge his life to another woman. She needed to leave now. She needed to get away and leave this wretched place. She needed to go home.
Sorcha abruptly stood. “Please excuse me, I need to see to something.” With that, she ran as fast as she could straight out of the Keep, and she did not stop. Tyra was hot on her heels.
***
BRAM STARED OUT THE window of his meeting room into the courtyard and observed the woman who captured his heart. She was with the weavers, and he thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. His memory of their couplings made him hard. She aroused in him not just physical pleasure, but emotional satisfaction as well. He felt complete whenever she was near him. She was like a drug, and he was past the point of redemption.
His men sat around the table discussing alliance terms and contracts, and to Bram, they just became background noise as he homed in on Sorcha. It was not long before he noticed something was wrong. She looked stricken and hurt. His heart lurched when he saw her abruptly leave.
Without excusing himself, or second-guessing his decision, Bram bolted out the door, leaving his advisors confused at his abrupt exit.
***
SORCHA STORMED DOWN the dusty footpath. She felt humiliated. Bram had ruined her and toyed with her affections, and now she just needed to go home. She missed her family more than ever. Her one thought was to head to the cottage, retrieve her makeshift weapons, steal a horse, and rescue herself.
Her sadness turned to anger at her capture, and she could not wait for Beiste to arrive and kill everyone!
Tyra caught up to her. “Sorcha, come back I am sorry you found out this way.”
“Was Bram betrothed all this time?” she asked.
“I dinnae ken Sorcha, I found out only yestereve, and I kenned you two were growing closer I thought it best to warn you.”
The sound of galloping horses interrupted them. On instinct, Sorcha grabbed Tyra and pulled her off the adjacent path and into the bushes.
Riders bearing the MacGregor plaid rode past. At first, Sorcha was elated to see her kin. She was about to shout out a greeting until she realized she did not recognize any of them. When they had passed, she remained hidden.
“Now do you believe us that your clan keeps raiding our land?” Tyra whispered.
“They may wear the colors, Tyra but they are not MacGregors.”
“Then who are they?” Tyra asked.
A voice close to Sorcha said, “They are Campbells.”
Sorcha almost jumped out of her skin as she whipped her head to the side to find Lachlan crouching nearby.
“Sorcha MacGregor, I have been searching for you everywhere,” he said.
“Lachlan!” Sorcha whispered in surprise. She had never been so glad to see him.
She threw herself into his arms and burst into tears.
“Och, calm down, lass, tis alright.” Lachlan hugged her in return, then got them both into a standing position.
Tyra stood to the side, watching the reunion, and reeling from the knowledge that it was the Campbells who had been raiding their lands all this time.
Lachlan looked beyond Sorcha at Tyra, and all the warmth left his face. He gave her a cold, blank stare. The hatred burned from his eyes so much so, Tyra took a step back.
“Come, we best be going. Beiste and the others are a day away.” Lachlan was already pulling Sorcha with him.
“No, we must tell Bram. It will change everything!” Tyra said, feeling panicked that they had made war with the MacGregors unnecessarily. “Where are you taking her?” she asked Lachlan.
“Home where she belongs. No thanks to your stinking clan,” Lachlan said, then spat on the ground. “Let's hope our paths never cross again because fair warning Tyra if I see you anywhere near Glenorchy, I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”
Tyra flinched and whispered, “Lachie...”
“Dinnae call me that!” he clenched his jaw and gave her a quelling look.
Tyra paled, then turned to plead with Sorcha. “Please Sorcha, you cannot leave. I am sorry for everything, but you must stay until Bram can make things right.”
“Tyra, I have been a bird with clipped wings, mourning the loss of flight for too long. I want to go home. Please, let me go home,” Sorcha said. Sadness reflected in her eyes.
Lachlan clasped Sorcha’s hand and pulled her away. Unfortunately, it was not soon enough.
“Remove your hands from my woman,” Bram shouted as he walked into the clearing, his sword drawn. His men surrounding them.
Lachlan held tight to Sorcha and unsheathed his sword.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Bram growled.
“I am Lachlan Gair, guardsman to chieftain Beiste MacGregor. You have done a grave injustice capturing Sorcha, and I mean to take her home.” Lachlan kept Sorcha behind him.
The tension in the air increased.
Tyra stepped out in front of Lachlan to reason with Bram. “Dinnae hurt him, Bram, he speaks true. Tis a misundersta—aah,” Tyra shrieked when Lachlan grabbed her about the waist and hoisted her to the side.
“Dinnae ever place your body in harm’s way to protect me!” he shouted at Tyra.
Tyra bit her lip gazed at Lachlan and whispered, “Sorry.”
Lachlan just stared at Tyra’s mouth and licked his lips. Both lost in some private exchange.
Sorcha looked between Tyra and Lachlan with confusion. She also noticed Bram glancing between them, his eyebrow raised.
“Your clansmen raided our lands and killed my sister,” Bram shouted.
That seemed to grab Lachlan's attention. He said, “The only clan raiding your lands as we speak is the Campbells! They may wear the colors, but they are not MacGregors. Someone has played you false.”
Bram gripped the pommel of his sword. If Lachlan was correct, then he had made a grave error in judgment. Bram glanced at Tyra, and she nodded in agreement.
Iain stepped up beside him and said, “Cousin, there may be merit in what he claims. Grant was the one who insisted it was the MacGregors and Cruim pushed that as the means for an alliance with the Campbells.”
Bram paused then shouted to his men, “Find the raiders and bring them back alive.”
He turned to Lachlan and said, “You will return to the Keep. There is much we need to discuss.”
Lachlan gave him a wary look, but then inclined his head.
“Sorcha, come to me,” Bram said as he reached out his hand towards her.
Sorcha shook her head and clung to Lachlan.
“Sorcha! I said come to me, please.” Bram glowered at her.
“With respect Laird Henderson, I think you should prepare to meet Yesenda MacDonald,” Sorcha snapped.
Bram flinched. He was hoping to speak to her privately on the matter but now was not the time. He dropped his hand and said, “Very well. But you will return to the Keep and you will not leave without my permission.” He signaled his guardsmen, and they surrounded them both as they all returned to the Keep.
***
“TIS A FINE MESS YOU’VE got us into now, lass,” Lachlan grumbled as he sat across from Sorcha.
They sat at a table in the main hall to take refreshments until the whole matter could be worked out. Lachlan was to be treated as a guest, and Sorcha was free to move about the Keep.
“How is everyone at home, Lachlan?” Sorcha asked.
“They are well but beside themselves with worry for you.”
“And Beiste, is he truly angry with me?”
“I only ken that your brothers are going to whip your behind and most likely kill Bram once they arrive.”
Sorcha paled. She worried for Bram. As annoying as this whole situation was, she did not want any harm to come to him. All she wanted was to leave and put this entire incident behind her. Yesenda MacDonald could deal with the big brute cause she was done with all the turmoil.
She was curious. “How did you find me, Lachlan?”
“It took some time I followed a trail through Argyl and Bute, searching for a man named Bram and a woman named Tyra. It would appear both names were attached to this clan.”
“How did you ken the raiders were Campbells?”
“I kenned something was amiss when people glanced at me oddly because of my plaid. Then I saw a tinker selling wares by the village. When I approached, he was fearful I would steal from him and said the MacGregors already took their fair share.”
“Then what happened?”
“I figured someone was pretending to be us and mayhap this set off the reason they captured you. It was not long before I saw some Campbells donning our plaid.”
“So, have you been hiding all this time?”
“Aye, deep in the woods biding my time waiting for an opportunity to grab you.”
“Do you think my brothers will wage war because of me?”
“Aye, they will.”
“But these are good people, they have just been misguided. They have all treated me well despite my captivity.”
“And has their laird treated you well, Sorcha?” Lachlan raised an eyebrow and Sorcha blushed.
Lachlan gritted his teeth and said, “From the look on your face, I can tell he has done far more with you. You better believe it, Sorcha, your brothers are going to kill him.”
***
“DAMN IT TO HELL!” BRAM yelled, picked up a chair, and smashed it over the fireplace. He then clenched his fists.
Grant Henderson, Cruim’s eldest son, sat beaten and bloodied, tied to a chair alongside his friend Odart Campbell. They captured both of them posing as MacGregors while raiding.
It was just as Lachlan had said. The entire raiding party was made up of Campbells and some of Cruim’s followers. The whole thing was an elaborate ruse to force an alliance with the Campbells instead of the MacDonalds of Glencoe.
What they did not expect was Bram taking lairdship and ruining their plans.
Niall and Iain and several of Bram’s men stared in disgust at the betrayers who had forced their hand.
Bram rubbed his forehead, a sinking feeling in his gut. He had done a terrible thing to an innocent bonnie woman. Captured her against her will, separated her from her family, refused to believe her when she pleaded for him to trust her. And now they would most likely go to war with Beiste MacGregor.
A scout arrived to inform him The MacGregrors and MacDonalds would arrive in the morning. Bram frowned. He grossly miscalculated, and now had one hell of a situation on his hands. He knew there was only one path left open to him and he was going to take it. All consequences be damned.
***
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the MacDonalds arrived in great fanfare. The entire clan was present to welcome them, and Bram insisted Sorcha and Lachlan join them. They were all seated in the hall, sharing a light repast as Yesenda MacDonald, recently retrieved from Saddell Abbey in Argyl, met laird Bram Henderson for the first time.
Much to Sorcha’s dismay, Yesenda MacDonald was a beauty. Worse yet, she had a lovely nature as well, which made hating her virtually impossible as far as Sorcha was concerned. Yesenda brought with her a substantial dowry that would help the Hendersons should the betrothal go ahead. Sorcha could not begrudge the alliance, and if it was any other woman, she would scratch her eyes out, but in this case, it would be like attacking a baby fawn.
With those maudlin thoughts, Sorcha refused to give Bram any of her attention. Avoiding him like the plague.
When the men had retreated to a private chamber to discuss matters. It startled Sorcha to find Yesenda taking a seat beside her.
They sat in silence for some time until Yesenda said, “I see the way he looks at you.”
“Who?”
“Bram.”
“I do not ken what you mean,” Sorcha said.
“Do you not? Then mayhap you are the only one.” Yesenda raised an eyebrow.
Sorcha blushed. “Bram is far too busy to bother with me.”
“He looks at you with hunger. The type of look I hope to garner from a man of my choosing someday.”
“What do you mean? You have no choice, Yesenda, and if you mean to cuckold Bram, you best think again!” Sorcha wondered why she was trying to protect the brute, but she could not help it.
“As much as I respect Bram, I dinnae want to marry him, and contrary to what most people think, including my brother, I have choices,” Yesenda said.
“Why are you telling me this?” Sorcha asked.
“Because I think we could come to an arrangement.”
“What sort of arrangement?”
“I wanted out of that blasted abbey, so I agreed to this. It does not mean I intend to go through with it. Mayhap you could take my place?”
Sorcha looked at Yesenda as if she had lost her senses. “I think everyone would notice a difference.”
“You are his lover, are you not?” Yesenda asked in her forthright manner.
“Aye. I mean no,” Sorcha said.
“You are not his lover?” Yesenda raised a questioning brow.
“No, I mean I am just a captive held here against my will.”
“Are you a captive, Sorcha? Look around. You are not being treated like a prisoner, but part of the clan. If you played your cards better, you may secure your heart’s desire.”
“This is not my heart’s desire, Yesenda. I want to marry a man who loves me and wants to raise bairns with me and occasionally shoot people with arrows.”
Yesenda grinned. “And you think Bram is not that man?”
“I ken he is not. He all but confirmed he has no interest in a long-term arrangement with his captive.”
Yesenda looked a little disappointed. “Very well then, tis no matter. I shall find some other way.” She rose to leave.
Sorcha said, “Wait, why are you reluctant to wed?”
“We are all captives in one form or another, Sorcha. If I go through with this betrothal, it will destroy my clan. I do this to protect, not to harm.”
Sorcha merely nodded and said, “Then I wish you well, Yesenda.”
“I wish you well also Sorcha MacGregor. I daresay we shall meet again.” With those cryptic words, Yesenda winked at her and returned to her seat.
***