The simple sincerity in her voice unraveled something tight inside Catriona’s chest. Emotion burned suddenly behind her eyes.
“Och,” she whispered shakily. “Ye barely ken me.”
“Sometimes women recognize somethin’ in each other that seems tae click. That’s how I feel with ye,” Sorcha replied. “Certainly we’re better at it then men,” she added jokingly, drawing a soft laugh from Catriona.
She met Sorcha’s smile with one of her own. “That’s kind of ye, Sorcha.”
Sorcha’s smooth forehead creased as she asked, “Will ye trust me enough tae tell me what’s on yer mind? I promise I’ll nae betray yer confidences.”
Catriona hesitated. Then she quietly replied, “I love him.”
Sorcha’s expression softened instantly. “Malcolm?”
Catriona nodded, fingers twisting nervously together amid the lavender stalks.
“I didnae mean tae fall in love with him,” she admitted softly. “At first I could hardly tolerate him. I thought him arrogant and reckless and impossible, as he often was when we were younger.” She briefly explained how their fathers’ friendship meant they had spent a lot of time together, the four of them, while growing up.
Sorcha listened attentively.
“I thought I’d outgrown him,” Catriona went on, a helpless smile flickering across her lips as she finally confessed, “But now... well, I cannae hardly seem tae breathe properly whenever he enters a room.”
Sorcha’s eyes sparkled warmly. “Och, a dangerous affliction indeed.”
Catriona laughed faintly before her expression dimmed once more. “But lovin’ him changes everythin’, ye see, Sorcha.”
“How so?”
Catriona looked toward the rain-streaked window. “The man I mentioned at dinner, Laird Torcall Sinclair.”
A shadow passed across Sorcha’s eyes. “Aye,” she said. “What of him?”
“As ye ken, he wants me fer his wife.”
Noting Sorcha’s obvious surprise, Catriona went on to tell her all the details of Sinclair’s unrelenting pursuit of her as his bride, including how Malcolm helped her escape from the priory.
“Och, dear Lord, Catriona, what an awful state of affairs,” Sorcha said when she had finished, her face aghast.
“Aye. And so, if Malcolm marries me...” Her voice grew quieter. “... his life would be tied tae mine forever. It would put him in danger, and his clan too, all because of me.”
“All because of Sinclair, ye mean,” Sorcha said, studying her face closely.
Catriona did not respond to the comment but went on, “I’d be in fear of Malcolm bein’ hurt the whole time. And if we had bairns…” She paused again, her throat tightening painfully. “...what sort of life would that be for them? Always lookin’ over their shoulders? Always fearin’ Sinclair?”
Understanding dawned slowly across Sorcha’s face. “Och, Catriona, I’m so sorry.”
“I want a family someday,” Catriona whispered, touched by her new friend’s’ sympathy. “One of me own, tae live in peace and safety. But I worry that perhaps lovin’ Malcolm means givin’ those things up before there’s even a chance of one day havin’ them.”
For a moment, the only sounds were the rain pelting at the window and the fire crackling in the grate.
Then Sorcha rose and crossed to kneel beside Catriona’s chair. Gently, she took her hand in hers and looked into her eyes, her own shining with sincerity.
“Listen tae me, please, Catriona,” she said softly. “Noble women like us are taught tae weigh love against duty from the moment we’re born. Most never find both together.”
Catriona clutched her hand, blinking rapidly against threatening tears.
“But what ye and Malcolm share…” Sorcha squeezed her fingers lightly. “That sort of bond is rare. Truly rare.”
Catriona looked down helplessly. “And what if fear destroys it?”
