Highland Obsession by Dawn Halliday

cautious. She felt much older now than the last time she’d descended to the loch, although not even a year had passed.
    Finally, she reached the cave that had once served as her secret place. She stepped into it, though she didn’t really have the time. A twig had caught a tiny piece of linen at the level of her waist. Sorcha took it and rubbed it back and forth between her fingers, remembering her last visit here. The new earl had just arrived from England and the staff had lined up to wait for him. Sorcha had escaped to her secret spot and was caught up in her daydreams when the housekeeper had called for her. She’d scrambled out and had met the earl—Cam—breathing heavily with exertion and with her skirt torn. He had noticed, too. His eyes had raked over her, pausing when they reached the tear, and then he’d met her gaze for a brief, electric moment before moving on. She’d felt flushed all the way to her toes for hours afterward.
    It was the beginning of the end. A month after that, he’d kissed her in an alcove, and by March, she’d become Cam’s eager bedmate. She couldn’t steal away from her father’s watchful eyes often, but when they came together, she and Cam had made every moment count.
    Sighing, Sorcha turned toward the loch, dreading what must come next. She could skim along the edge of the bank for a time, but then she’d have to wade into the water and walk the short distance to shore. Though she’d been taught to ignore superstition, the water looked eerie, like an undulating blanket of velvet, and she sent up a quick prayer for the kelpie to be sound asleep in his nest.
    She traveled along the water’s edge for as long as she could. Mud and reeds squished between her toes. She tied Cam’s shirttails in a cumbersome knot just below her breasts and hiked the plaid onto her shoulders. If she could keep the fabric dry, it might help to warm her later. The loch was cold as ice. If she wasn’t careful, she might freeze to death before arriving at her husband’s cottage.
    Trying to convince herself that it was a better fate than dying as the Earl of Camdonn’s whore, she waded into the water. She gritted her teeth against the shock of it as she progressed down the slope and immersed herself to the waist. After the initial painful bite of cold, her skin numbed in all the places the water touched.
    The rocks of the pebbled beach ahead glowed dimly in the dusky predawn light. Focusing on the shore, she tried to take long, smooth strides so she wouldn’t splash. A mixture of rocks and mud and slimy water weeds covered the ground, and she moved slowly to find her footing.
    Finally, she emerged from the water. Frigid air collided with her body, and she shuddered violently. She brushed the wetness from her legs before untying Cam’s shirt and allowing it to drop down to her shins. The fabric clung to her damp skin. Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, she unfolded the plaid and draped it around her body.
    She glanced back to Camdonn Castle. Word had not got out that she was gone. Everything was silent, the buildings still dark. A shadow moved near the guard gate, and she slipped behind a low, spindly alder for cover.
    The difficult part of her escape was over. Now she merely had to walk the few miles along the shore until she reached Alan’s cottage.
    Would Cam come after her once he discovered her missing?
    Perhaps she should run.
     
    Over an hour later, a glorious morning had arrived. The sun shone brightly, but frost still clung to the eaves, and the arrival of the sun hadn’t heated the earth.
    Sorcha straggled down the path to the cottage. Her teeth chattered so hard she hoped they were rooted strongly enough in her mouth to withstand the battering.
    Scratches and bruises covered her feet. Every cut burned, especially a rather bloody one on the bottom of her arch, and each time a rock nudged against one of the bruises on her soles she felt the deep, aching pain. She was