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Isobel frowned. “Graham told me a bit about that, but ye’re perfectly safe here.”
“I’ll keep my bow with me, if ye dunnae mind.”
“I dunnae,” Isobel assured her.
Not long later, Sorcha’s doubt that Isobel could handle Lena was erased rather quickly. She’d not have believed it if she hadn’t seen it, but after Isobel led them to the hall and hauled Lena off by the arm to speak with her privately, as Isobel had put it, Isobel came back into the room with Lena trailing behind her. They quickly had a bite to eat, with Isobel doing all the talking, and then the three of them set off with Isobel to see the bakehouse and the brewhouse.
They spent the morning in the bakehouse learning to bake bread and eating their fill of it. At one point, Lena actually smiled, recalling a sudden memory of learning to bake bread with her mother. “She was a terrible baker, mind ye,” she said with a laugh, finishing a story about their father getting ill after eating some bread their mother had baked. “She had no desire for feminine accomplishments as far as I can recall. What I remember most about her,” Lena continued in a soft, musing voice, “is that she was fierce, and I wanted to be strong like she was to make her proud.”
Her smile faded, and she turned away from all the women in the bakehouse who had been raptly listening to her story. “I thank the Lord she is nae alive to see how far short I fell from her glory,” Lena mumbled under her breath.
Sorcha glanced at Isobel to see if she would say something comforting to Lena, but Isobel was talking to a guard who had just entered the bakehouse. The other women had already gone back to their work, for they had to have bread ready for supper tonight, which left only Sorcha to ease Lena.
Taking a deep breath, Sorcha moved to Lena’s side. She started kneading the dough alongside Cameron’s sister, and after a few moments, she finally said, “I think ye are verra braw, Lena, if ye dunnae mind me saying.”
Lena stilled, her hands suspended in air, but she did not look at Sorcha. “Ye dunnae ken me,” she said in a forceful yet soft voice. “Ye dunnae ken if I’m braw or nae.”
“Well,” Sorcha said slowly, “I ken that ye were seized as a young girl and that ye faced many horrors and lived through them with yer mind intact. Some women may have lost their wits in similar circumstances or taken their lives.”
Lena looked at her, her eyes burning bright. “What makes ye think my wits are intact?”
The question startled Sorcha, but she could see Lena’s fingers working the dough nervously, and she suspected the woman was putting up a barrier to keep Sorcha at a distance. Lena may have purposely done the same with most people because she feared letting them close.
Wanting to try to build some sort of friendship or at least peace between them, Sorcha decided to be honest, even if it irritated Lena. “Because it takes a woman with a keen mind to decide her brother needs protecting and then make a persuasive argument to the woman she wishes to drive off.”
Lena’s mouth fell open. “Did I—” She paused, took her hands from the dough, and wiped them on her skirts, leaving a trail of white flour. “Have ye decided that ye should leave Cameron be?”
“Ye made me question myself, certainly. I truly kinnae recall most of my past, and that makes me fear greatly that I will hurt Cameron or lead him to destruction, as ye said.”
Lena bit her lip and gazed silently at Sorcha for a long moment. “Isobel reminded me that I almost drove her off from Graham when she first came to Dunvegan. It seems I have a habit of negatively judging women my brothers may love.”
Sorcha gasped. “Cameron dunnae love me.”
Lena gave Sorcha an indulgent smile. “I believe he does, Sorcha, and I believe ye may well love him, too, but neither of ye are quite ready to admit it. I have no words to excuse myself; I am simply jealous and feel adrift.”
Lena’s words about love swirled in Sorcha’s head. She wanted to focus on them and examine them, but she needed to set her wants aside for the moment and be as selfless as Cameron was. Her heart squeezed just thinking about him. “I feel adrift, as well,” she divulged. “I’d verra much like to be friends with ye, and if I truly am the enemy or related to the enemy, I vow I will tell Cameron and nae lead him to harm.”
“Sorcha, Lena,” Isobel called from across the room, interrupting their talk. “I have to go back to the castle. My grandmother is nae feeling well. Do the two of ye want to come with me? Or ye could follow the stone path to the brewhouse and take it just a bit farther to the west side of the loch. The shore is verra beautiful over there, and the water is warm for swimming.”
Lena looked to Sorcha. “I love to swim,” she said, her smile seeming hopeful.
Sorcha grinned. “I dunnae ken if I even can, but I’m willing to learn.”
“Excellent! Then it’s settled,” Lena announced. “We’ll come back to the castle this afternoon.”
A triumphant look flitted across Isobel’s face. Was her grandmother even ill, or had Isobel planned all this simply to give Sorcha and Lena time to resolve their differences? Either way, Sorcha needed to thank her later.
They followed Isobel out, and the three women paused outside the closed door. “Just return to the castle before dark. It’s perfectly safe, mind ye. Nae a soul gets on this island without having to pass by the guards at the bridge, but Graham, worrier that he is, still dunnae like me to wonder about after dark. I’m certain Cameron will feel the same way.”
Both ladies nodded, then parted ways with Isobel as she headed toward the castle and they took the path to the brewery. They walked in companionable silence, Sorcha thinking upon Lena’s memory of her mother. Something about the memory had tugged at her mind, but she could not quite part the fog in her head to understand why.
“Alex’s men have arrived,” Lena murmured, pulling Sorcha’s thoughts back to the moment.
She glanced through the trees, down to the bridge that connected the castle on the island to the land. A long line of men on horses had halted, and as Sorcha and Lena watched, it did indeed appear that each man was only allowed to pass through the heavily secured towers after personally being spoken to by the guards.
A knot of tension that Sorcha had not even realized was in her stomach seemed to loosen. They were certainly quite safe on this island. It was too bad they could not stay here forever. It was by a look of silent agreement toward the brewhouse that they continued on their way and spent a few hours laughing and speaking with the men who worked the house as they sampled a good bit of brew. It was only later, as they made their way to the loch Isobel had told them of, did Sorcha realize how lightheaded she felt, much the way she had felt after imbibing in too much wine back at Dunvegan.
She groaned. “I fear I drank too much ale.”
