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“Nay!” he yelled.
When he pulled his arm back as if to strike her, she rolled toward her bow and arrows, grabbed them, and scrambled to her feet as Finn brought the blade down near her leg, grazing her skin. For one breath, she stared in astonishment at the blood trickling down her leg before she whipped up her bow and aimed it at Finn’s heart.
“Dunnae move,” she said, her voice steady and cold, though her heart raced wildly. “I will shoot ye, and ye ken I will nae miss.” The memory of her brother’s jealousy over her skill with daggers, with the bow, and on a horse rushed back to her. Each recollection of the hostility he had for her made her flinch and die a little inside.
Finn’s nostrils flared, but his lips pressed into a smirk. “Ye dunnae have the fortitude to kill me. Ye love me.” He spat the last sentence with dripping scorn. She understood well why. Father had made Finn believe that soft emotions—love—was for the weak and the foolish.
“I’ll find the strength,” she vowed, unsure if it was so. As the words left her mouth, Finn surged forward, and she released the arrow, aiming for his shoulder instead of his heart. He stumbled backward and dropped his dagger, which she kicked well out of his reach.
“Ye shot me,” he roared, yanking the arrow out of his shoulder with a curse. Blood immediately began to pulse from the wound, turning Sorcha’s stomach with dismay and sorrow. “Ye shot me,” Finn said again, but this time his voice was a bewildered mumble. His gaze caught hers, hurt flashing across his face as he swayed a bit. “I did nae truly believe ye would shoot me. Ye’re my sister.”
She sucked in sharp breath at his words, at his obvious pain. More memories flooded her of a time when he had not been twisted by jealousy and hatred. They used to play a hiding game from their parents, and Finn had always found them the best hiding places. And she, Finn, and Constance would climb trees, and he would always help her into the tree and go down before her to ensure she didn’t fall. Finn used to catch light bugs in his hands for her, so she could make wishes on them, and he’d shown her how to fish. Her throat tightened painfully. What should she do?
“Shoot me,” Finn demanded suddenly.
“What?” she asked in horror.
“If ye take me to the MacLeods, the king will have me executed for helping to kill Katherine. That death will be slow and painful, but ye can kill me quickly.”
“I kinnae kill ye, Finn.” She trembled with the mere thought of it.
“Ye will be sentencing me to death when ye hand me to the MacLeods, and possibly Father, too. I kinnae vow if they torment me that I’ll nae tell that Father was involved in the plotting to kill King David’s mistress, so it’s best if ye shoot me. Do it here,” Finn growled, ripped open his shirt, and poked a finger at his heart.
From somewhere behind her, Lena moaned, making Sorcha jerk. Finn’s gaze skittered past her to where Lena had been left. “She’s waking. Ye have little time to shoot me. Do it now.”
Sorcha shook her head, tears already leaking down her face. She could not kill her brother. It had been one thing to defend herself when he was trying to kill her, but she could not kill him as he was asking. Nor could she set him free and be responsible for Cameron’s possible death if he did not catch him. A bitter, sour taste filled her mouth as Lena moaned again. Sorcha stared at her brother. She could not be responsible for sending him to his death. What was she to do?
Queasiness turned in her stomach as Lena moaned again. Sorcha stared at Finn, her heart feeling as if a hand had gripped it in a merciless hold, and her mind registered that he had on a MacLean plaid. “My God,” she gasped. “Finn, did ye kill a MacLean to gain access to the island?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What if I did? What difference does it make? I tried to kill ye,” he said, his voice breaking and tears leaking out of his eyes now, too. She saw then what she had known, why she was standing here still. Finn was broken. His shoulders suddenly slumped, his hand came to his face, and he buried it in his palm. “I’m sorry, Sorcha. So sorry. I’ll nae ask yer forgiveness.”
Flashes of memory hit her.
Beatings. So many beatings Finn had taken at Father’s hands for not being stronger, more ferocious, a better swordsman, shooter, rider. And through many of them, Father had taunted Finn that she had more skill, a woman, his sister, than he did.
“Oh, Finn,” she sobbed.
He flinched, jerking his hand down. “I’d rather die by yer hand. ’Tis fitting.”
She shook her head. “I kinnae.” Maybe Cameron would keep this secret and let Finn flee? No! Despair clawed at her. How could she even ask it of him? Ask him to relinquish his honor and lie for her?
“Make haste.” Her own voice startled her. “Make yer way to Aunt Blanche. Dunnae return to Father, Finn. I’m going to tell the MacLeods what he has done, but I’ll keep yer part to myself. They’ll capture Father and take him to the king, and if ye are there, I’ll nae be able to stop them from taking ye, too.”
“Sorcha?” she heard Lena call, her voice full of fear.
Sorcha turned for a breath to ensure Lena could not see her, and when she twisted back around, Finn was fleeing into the woods. Her body shook violently with awareness of the lies she would now tell to protect her brother. Lies that, according to Eolande, would destroy any love that may blossom between Sorcha and Cameron.
Cameron. Every moment they had spent together filled her head—his words, gestures, kindness, gentleness, passion, and honor. She pulled her bow close to her and wrapped her arms around herself as she turned to go to Lena. Love had taken root, and she had not realized it until now. She allowed herself one brief moment of happiness before overwhelming sadness washed over her. Better to destroy her happiness and the possibility of Cameron loving her in return than to destroy the man she loved.
Yes, he would take her father, Ross, and Hugo to the king, and the king would spare his life for Katherine’s death. He would survive.
Seventeen
Cameron, Alex, Graham, and Grant made their way from the water, where they had toiled and trained the entire day. Bone weariness had claimed him long ago, but now, with the thought of seeing Sorcha, his body stirred to life once more. When they came up the seagate stairs from the shore and rounded into the courtyard to find it full of men on the verge of riding out armed for battle, Cameron’s first thought was of Sorcha. Trepidation filled him as he caught sight of Broch at the front of his men.
“Broch!” Cameron boomed. He strode with the others toward Broch and grabbed at his horse’s reins to stop the man’s departure.
Broch glanced sharply down at him, his tense face relaxing when he realized it was Cameron. “Lena and Sorcha were attacked on the other side of the island.”
