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Something dark and dangerous entered Iain’s gaze, but it was gone with a blink. “He has the right,” Iain confirmed, his tone one of barely controlled anger, “but he’d need the strength to do so.”
She thought she comprehended it now. The king did not have the fighting strength to go against Iain MacLeod, not that the king had wanted to, but if he did, it would take swaying a great many people to join him. So the MacLeod laird held power others did not, but the king left it alone. But why?
“Ye are verra loyal to the king?” she asked.
“Aye,” Iain agreed immediately. “I lived near David and grew older with him. He is like a brother to me.”
She nodded. “So ye support him, possibly even when ye believe he is nae choosing wisely.”
“Ye’re verra astute, Sorcha. I support the king always, kenning that sometimes it is the best choice to support the king while offering my opinion and counsel, which I pray to God he takes.”
“And what has the king chosen for me?” she blurted, wanting to get it over with. Her stomach was in knots, and sweat trickled down her back.
Iain surprised her by descending the dais and coming to stand in front of her. He studied her for a long moment before speaking. “David wishes to use ye because it is convenient. He dunnae have to go through the hassle of bargaining with yer father, who may well be a lord, because ye dunnae recall who yer father is.”
She nodded, not overly shocked by this news.
Iain’s nostrils flared a bit, hinting at his suppressed anger, but that was the only clue he was unhappy with the king. “He wishes to marry ye to one of the lord’s sons who signed the petition against him because, in doing so, he can use it as an excuse to give ye a dowry since ye dunnae have anyone else to do so.”
She frowned. “How does giving me a dowry help the king?”
“It aids him because he will give back the land he had previously taken from the lord under the guise of yer dowry,ifthe lord withdraws his support from the rebellion against the king.”
“So he wishes to marry me to this lord? What is his name?” Her throat tightened, thinking of the possibility of being married to some nameless, faceless, older stranger, as opposed to the possibility of having a future with Cameron.
“The lord who signed the resolution is the Earl of Ross.”
Fear sliced through Sorcha, causing her scalp to prickle. She didn’t know why, but something about the name tugged at her memory.
“Ye’re nae to marry the earl, though,” Iain continued, unaware of how his words had affected her. “Ye’re to marry his son. The king cleverly planned to give ye as bride to the son, with Northam Castle as yer dowry. What was the father’s will become the son’s.”
She inhaled a sharp breath, understanding starting to dawn.
“Thereby both father and son will be occupied with their quarrels over the castle,” Iain went on, “and trying to best each other to gain the king’s favor and attain the land.”
She nodded. “What is the son’s name?”
“Hugo,” Cameron said, coming to her side and taking her hand. “Hugo.”
Such strong fright gripped her that she found herself clutching onto Cameron. “What is it?” he asked, concern etched on his forehead.
She searched her memory, her frustration rising that she could not say why the name had struck her so. “I dunnae ken,” she choked out, the words hard to get past her tight throat. Her free hand fluttered to the column of her neck, and her fingers brushed against her skin where her pulse raced. “I—” she faltered, wishing she could put to words exactly why she was fearful, because she sensed in her gut that it held great importance. “I sense I ken the man, and that I dunnae like him. Dread has knotted my belly and tightened my chest.”
Cameron took her hand with his, offering silent strength, which she appreciated. “Perchance ye met Hugo the time ye were here for the St. John’s Eve celebration. He threw daggers in the same contest ye did. He tried to goad Bridgette into an argument by taunting her.”
“I did nae ken that,” Lachlan said suddenly from the dais. “I should cut off Hugo’s tongue for daring to talk to ye that way,” he added, looking at his wife.
Bridgette gave him an indulgent smile. “It was years ago, Husband. He’d nae dare to speak to me that way now or I’d cut out his tongue myself.”
Lachlan’s response to his wife was to pull her to him and kiss her soundly. Sorcha felt the slightest twinge of jealousy about how settled and sure Lachlan and Bridgette’s life together seemed, but Sorcha reminded herself that they had been through much to get there.
Bridgette looked at Sorcha. “I agree with Cameron that ye likely remember Hugo from the St. John’s Eve festival. He was verra obnoxious, and if I were told I was to marry that man after such a meeting, dread would settle in my belly, too. Of course, I truly ken Hugo, so if ye told me I was to marry him now, I’d disappear.”
At first, relief had Sorcha nodding her head vigorously in agreement with Bridgette—she’d likely met Hugo at the festival—but as Bridgette continued to talk about what she would do if she were told to marry Hugo, Sorcha’s relief fled. There may be no choice but to marry this man she feared but did not remember. She stole a glance at Cameron’s profile. Tension was evident in the clench of his jaw and his narrowed eyes.
Iain cleared his throat pointedly at Bridgette, whose words trailed off as her cheeks promptly turned red. When all was silent, Iain said, “I wish to hear what ye desire, Sorcha, and I will do my best to honor it.”
Cameron’s fingers curled tighter around hers, but when she glanced at him, thinking it was purposeful, he seemed completely absorbed with scowling at his eldest brother, who glared back. She loved that Cameron was so close with his brothers, and that they seemed to be able to express themselves without too much animosity. She had a sudden yearning to be part of this close family where the wives spoke their minds and challenged their husbands, and the husbands not only accepted it but seemed to take a measure of pride in the fact that their wives were so bold.
