Terri Brisbin - Claiming His Highland Bride

Three damned tables away, she spoke with Clara.

Standing next to each other, heads together, speaking together, they were a contrast in appearance. Clara stood tall and lush with dark auburn hair and a full smile that she used often and well while the cousin was shorter and dark-haired. As he’d watched, she smiled little and when she did, those seemed shy and tentative. But then one was kin and known to all in the hall and the other was a visitor and a stranger, which could account for the reticence in her demeanour.

Somehow, as he’d been watching and comparing the two women, his feet had led him right to them. Lucky for him, Clara’s husband took note of him before they did.

‘Alan,’ James said, nodding to him. ‘You’re back from your travels then?’ The blacksmith had been a friend for years now. They had both been close in age when they’d met during the struggle between the Mackintosh cousins that ended with Brodie’s ascension to the clan’s high chair.

‘Aye,’ Alan said, accepting more ale from the pitcher that James lifted off the table. ‘Done travelling for a while, I suspect.’

‘Well, you ken I would gladly accept your help, if you are looking for something to fill your time,’ James offered. Alan glanced over his shoulder as the man spoke. ‘She is rather fetching, is she not?’

Alan could have ignored the question or tried to laugh it off. He decided to do neither.

‘Aye.’

It was the only word he could utter as he took his first close look at the widow Saraid MacPherson. If he had thought her unremarkable, he’d been very, very wrong indeed. Alan blamed the distance that had separated them for the mistake. Now, as he walked with James towards Clara and her cousin, Alan could see that her eyes were an interesting blend of blue and gold.

Interesting? Hell, they were beautiful. As was the rest of her, from her heart-shaped face with full lips that begged to be kissed to the creamy skin of her graceful neck that led to... Hell! He was damned now! Worse, he’d been so entranced by the sight of her that James had continued speaking while he gawped and Alan had no idea what the man had said.

Yet Saraid had not even looked at him. Alan gathered his scattered wits and tried to follow James’s words. The knowing sparkle in his friend’s eyes told him that James was enjoying his discomfort. He would pay for that.

‘My wife’s cousin is visiting to help with the bairns,’ James said, kicking Alan’s foot to gain his attentions. ‘Saraid, may I make you known to Lady Arabella’s cousin, Alan?’

‘My lord,’ she said quietly, lowering her head respectfully and dipping into a curtsy.

‘Nay, Mistress MacPherson, not a laird nor nobleman,’ he said, shaking his head and watching a lovely blush creep up into her cheeks. ‘Just Alan Cameron.’

While James laughed at his words and Clara smiled, the woman had a different reaction. The pink in her cheeks left abruptly and was replaced by a pallor that reminded him of...fear. What had caused that?

* * *

Sorcha fought the urge to clutch at Clara for support when the man spoke his name. She’d noticed him when he’d entered the hall and walked to the raised table in the front, joining those closest to the chieftain. What woman alive and breathing would not notice a man like him? Tall and muscular with his long, dark-brown hair gathered back behind his head, he strode through the place with the lethal grace of a natural predator and the confidence of one who knew his place and liked it.

She must have been too obvious in staring, for he’d looked in her direction several times through the meal. Sorcha tried to concentrate on Clara’s words and introductions and to play along with the story of her that they’d created to cover her identity. In changing the detail of her betrothed dying to her husband dying, it had made some men here a bit bolder in their introductions. As she watched his approach, she wondered if it made a difference to him.

She’d seen men like this in her father’s hall and noticed the way women watched them with hunger in their gazes. These same men never slept alone or wanted for companionship. As he came closer, it did not escape her that many women in this hall did not miss a move he made.

Now, as he stood before her, his blue gaze almost glowing as he stared at her, her mouth went dry, her palms sweaty and she lost her ability to think. Until she misspoke and he revealed his name—his full name.

Cameron.

Alan Cameron.

Cameron.

Her first instinct was to run. The urge came over her so quickly and strongly that she almost ran. But she’d not survived so far by acting on fear alone. No, she must control her fears once again to survive this situation. Sorcha coughed to make herself breathe and turned away to give herself a moment to gather her control. After smoothing her gown down, she faced James and Clara and...him.

‘Your pardon,’ she said, nodding to Clara first. If there was a small pause in the conversation, James had not noticed for he stepped right into the gap.

‘Alan may be a Cameron, but we try not to let that colour our regard for him.’ The smile that accompanied the mild insult told her that there was true affection between these two.

‘My thanks, friend,’ Alan said, aiming a mock punch at James’s shoulder. ‘And I try not to forget that you are a Mackintosh, Jamie.’ Then, when a most mischievous and alluring smile lifted the corners of his mouth, he winked at her. ‘But I am but one among many and must have a care.’

A wave of heat passed through her then, teasing and tickling its way through every bone and muscle in her. She did not know why he affected her so, but it could not go on. With his gaze on her and James and Clara glancing her way, they were waiting for her to speak. A question—she should ask a question. With no understanding of his place here and worried over revealing too much of her own, she must tread carefully.

‘Do you visit Glenlui often, then?’

‘I do,’ he said.

‘He does,’ James and Clara said together.

‘That much, then?’ she offered, catching the humour in their tones.

‘Since the truce has held between our clans, I split my time between here and Achnacarry, my uncle’s seat.’

Gilbert Cameron was his uncle. Luck was on her side for now because she’d met or seen so few of The Cameron’s men when he’d visited Sween Castle. And this one had not been one of those few. Alan did not react as though she was familiar to him, so she let out her breath and she nodded politely ‘So are you from Cluny?’ he asked.

For a fleeting moment, she thought on the story of her background they’d created and shook her head. With a shrug and then a nod, she sought to clarify it to him.

‘Originally, aye, my mother’s family lived in near Cluny. But my husband...’ She paused and took a slow breath. ‘My husband was kin to the MacNeills.’

‘MacNeills are allies of the Mackintoshes,’ he said, looking around the hall then. ‘I am certainly outnumbered here.’ His laugh made her insides melt a little. Deep and full, it resonated through her. ‘That was unseemly, Mistress. My condolences on your husband’s passing.’

She did not speak, but nodded at his kindness in spite of the false need for it. Clara’s knowing gaze flashed a warning to her. Had she sensed the growing weakness in Sorcha at keeping up the pretence? She’d been introduced to so many people, both tonight in the hall during this gathering as well as in the village over the last weeks. And each one asked after her husband and her grief, expressing what felt like true concern and sympathy.

From what Clara had told her, all of them had dealt with death and loss over the last decades as war waged between their clan and the Camerons. Only the strength of will of their present chieftain and the powerful love of his Cameron wife brought it to an end with their marriage and a lasting truce. Which made it possible for this Cameron to be standing here in their midst without fear.