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When he deemed it clear, he looked again to the path, more vigilant now as he watched for anything amiss. Winthrop hadn’t moved two steps before Cameron yanked up on the horse’s reins when he spotted something pale and slender on the ground. His first thought was that it was another snake, but he dismissed the insensible notion as he’d never seen a snake such a color. He moved Winthrop a step closer and let out a slow breath. An arm. He was staring at an arm.
“Och!” he swore, pointing at it. “Do ye see that?” he asked Alex as he dismounted.
“Aye,” Alex replied, the thud of his feet landing on the ground resounding behind Cameron.
He drew his sword, preparing for an ambush, but as he drew near the body, his lips parted and he lowered his sword. “By God,” he muttered and put away his weapon.
Alex gave a sharp intake of breath from beside Cameron as they stared down at the woman. This was the flaxen-haired lass he’d glimpsed earlier. She was lying still, her delicate features bathed in the early-morning sunlight and her forehead covered with blood. He dropped to his knees in the cold, hard dirt. Rocks dug into his skin as memories sliced through his mind like sharp daggers, shredding his control.
He saw the St. John’s Eve festival of five years before and the lass turning to wave a mocking farewell after she had bested him in dagger throwing and dashing away. He recalled Eolande’s violet eyes penetrating him as she foretold his future. A shudder ran through him as the seer’s words echoed in his head.
She will come to ye again, but this time in battle, bathed in blood and marked by a heart. To yer knees she will bring ye, and for her, ye will betray everything ye hold dear.
His heart began to pound a fearful beat as he stared at the lass. Long, dark lashes rested against her pale skin. Her cheekbones were high, lips full, and nose pert. Her thick hair fanned out around her, stark light against the dark dirt. A deep, dark gash of dried blood ran across her forehead. She must have bled a great deal, for the blood had run down the side of her face and matted in her hair by her shoulders. She smelled floral, like bell heather, and he immediately thought of sunshine as his gaze passed over her blond hair and moved to her hands. A dagger rested against her palm, and by the way her fingers had folded open, he knew she’d been clutching it when she had been knocked from her horse. It was obvious what had happened by the long cut across her head and the branch above her.
Alex elbowed Cameron. “Do ye fear she’s dead?”
“Do ye?” Cameron growled, his response so violently strong at the possibility that it made him almost nervous to touch her. He waited for her to take a breath. When it came, slow and shallow, he exhaled an odd feeling of relief. “She lives,” he announced. When his fingers grazed her cool skin, his body responded by tightening all over. It took great will not to release her immediately. He gave her a small shake, and when she did not respond but remained motionless with her eyes still closed, he raked his gaze over her, searching for the heart the seer had spoken of while fighting back a sense of dread.
No heart was readily seen, but it gave him little comfort as she was fully clothed and there could well be the marking Eolande had referred to in a place he could not see. His fingers twitched with the desire to explore, but his wariness at actually discovering the mark stilled him. He wanted to reject the seer’s prophecy, but how could he if this lass was marked by the symbol of which Eolande had spoken? He clenched his teeth. She may have had a heart, but he was no betrayer of family and king.
“Shall I gather her and ye go for Katherine?” Alex asked.
It was a reasonable suggestion. Actually, it was what Cameron would have insisted upon to ensure the king did not take his anger out on Alex if he were to arrive with the king’s dead mistress on his horse. Yet knowing it was the sound thing to do did not stop the sudden flare of possessiveness that arose in Cameron. That feeling—that strange, inexplicable emotion for a woman he did not know—jolted him to his feet and sent him skittering back a few steps, his blood surging through his veins.
Alex frowned at him. “What’s amiss?”
Eolande’s damnable prophecy throbbed in his head, and even without seeing the heart upon the lass’s body, Cameron was somehow certain it was there. And if it was there, despite believing he’d never betray his family nor his king, concern twisted through him at the strange feelings the lass had caused. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her, yet he did. And because he did, despite knowing the prophecy, he needed to keep a safe distance. “I’ll go gather Katherine and meet ye here.”
Alex grasped him by the arm just as Cameron was turning away. “Are ye fashed about the king? Is that what has ye behaving suddenly so oddly?”
Cameron nodded, though he had hardly given thought to the king’s response to Katherine since they had come upon the lass. “Aye,” he forced out, shrugged out of his friend’s hold, and then mounted his destrier and rode away. He wanted to look back and certify that Alex had gathered the lass upon his horse, but Cameron compelled himself to keep his gaze ahead of him. As he rode through the woods, the lie he’d told his friend lingered like ash on his tongue. He never lied, yet he had just now. Honor and truth were one, yet he had just broken the bind. Eolande’s words roared even louder until they drowned out the sound of Winthrop’s galloping.
For her, ye will betray everything ye hold dear.
“God above,” he muttered. Where was his control?
He inhaled a ragged breath. All his life, he had wanted nothing more than to rectify his mistakes and prove he was worthy to fight by his brothers’ sides.
And no lass was going interfere with that.
Three
It was nearly nightfall, and Cameron and Alex continued to ride in silence toward Dunvegan Castle, each carrying a woman across his lap. As they exited the thick woods, the outer bailey, which was lit with hundreds of torches, came into view.
“They await our return,” Alex said, his voice grave.
“Aye,” Cameron replied, his own tone heavy with tension. “I supposed they would, once the men gave word of the ambush.”
Cameron glanced at Katherine’s lifeless form. He could no longer see her injuries clearly due to the darkness, but he had stared at them long enough during the journey that they were seared into his memory. The deep crimson that had stained her gown when the arrow had pierced her flesh had spread across the fabric, and the metallic smell of blood still wafted from her. Bile rose in his throat, as it had done when he had first gathered her off the forest floor and into his arms. Death was not foreign to him. He’d been in a few battles and killed men who had intended to kill him, but he had never seen a helpless woman shot down, and never had he held a dead woman in his arms.
The wrongness of it struck him to the core. The pain, which had been piercing at first, then faded to a dull ache as the day had worn into night, became sharp once more, stabbing his belly as if he had swallowed knives. The need to obtain justice for Katherine throbbed within him, and the shame of his failure roiled in his gut.
As they drew closer to the castle, the distinct sound of many voices raised in a song for the injured floated to him. He tensed, knowing the refrain had to be for Rory Mac. His gaze slid to the mysterious lass in Alex’s arms. She slept as if she were dead, yet she lived. He knew it to be so because he had made Alex check repeatedly on the journey.
“The king will be waiting,” Cameron said, solemnly.
“Aye,” Alex agreed.
