Stolen by the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
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sentence you to be outlawed from this clan and our allies. From this day forward, you are no longer kith or kin to the Mackintoshes or any of the Chattan Confederation.’
A few shouts erupted from the crowd—even Caelan called out against this punishment. The pronouncement shocked even her but she listened to the rest of it.
‘You are no one. Your name is gone. Anyone who kills you does so with impunity and without fear of punishment or retribution. All ties of blood or marriage are torn asunder from this moment on.’ His uncle’s voice wavered then and Arabella found her throat and eyes burning with tears. For Brodie? For Malcolm? For them all? She knew not which.
She waited for him to argue, to plead for mercy or appeal in some way, but he did nothing. His face lost all its colour and other than a slight shake of his head, he remained wordless.
The Camerons there did not remain silent, the cheering began and spread through the warriors. They would have the chance to avenge their kinsman’s death with no repercussions at all. She could see the lust for it in their eyes. It would not take them long to hunt him down and hang him like the mad dog they thought he was. She shuddered.
‘You have two hours,’ the chieftain continued. ‘You leave with what you have on your back and nothing more.’
‘Uncle...’ Brodie finally spoke. When he would have said more, his uncle backhanded him across his face, sending him reeling back.
‘You are not of my family, so do not call me that again. Go. Now. And never return here.’
She wanted to scream. She wanted...something. None of this felt real. Surely someone would wake her from this nightmare and tell her it was the stuff of dreams. Glancing over at her dead brother, she had to accept it as it was.
They released Brodie and he staggered through the hall and out into the yard. Though some looked as though they would speak to him, none did. Several minutes passed before her father and The Mackintosh spoke again.
‘I declare Caelan Mackintosh to be tanist of the Clan Mackintosh and heir to me personally and to the chief’s chair,’ he called out.
‘And I declare a betrothal agreement has been reached between us. My daughter, Arabella, will marry Caelan,’ her father replied.
Her father motioned to her to rise and come to him. Marriage? They thought of marriage now while her brother lay unshriven and unburied there between them? She struggled to her feet, helped and escorted by her aunt. Her father took her hand and the Mackintosh took Caelan’s and joined them. She could not breathe. She could not think. This was indecent and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
‘The marriage date will be set and our clans will be joined. The feud will end,’ her father said loudly. Releasing their hands, he walked away, calling out orders to ready for the journey home.
Lost, alone and in pain, Arabella did not know what to do.
‘Come, Lady Arabella,’ Caelan said softly, placing his arm around her shoulders and guiding her away. ‘Let the servants see to the tasks at hand and I will see you to your chambers.’
‘My thanks, Caelan,’ she whispered. She appreciated his strength right now. She needed something, someone, to hold on to and he was there for her. At her side where Malcolm had always stood.
‘This is not the way I wanted to win your hand in marriage, my lady. But we shall find a way through this. Together.’
Overwhelmed by the grief and shock, she allowed him to escort her to her chambers. In just a few hours, her entire world and family and dreams had been turned asunder. There would be a burial on their arrival back home. And a wedding to plan after that.
The only thing she could count on now was that she would be marrying Caelan Mackintosh. At least she’d learned the truth about the real nature of his cousin before she’d found herself married to such a despicable man.
Four months later...
Arabella walked around the large chamber and came to stand next to the window in the north wall. Her father had slept in this room during their last visit here, but he slept below in a smaller one now. Ailean and Aunt Gillie occupied the chamber outside this one.
The storms battered the stone keep with relentless winds and rain. This one had begun as soon as they passed under the gates and entered the yard three days ago. It was as though the weather felt her sadness and responded in kind. She sighed then, peering through the rain down into the yard.
The last time she’d seen Malcolm alive was there, in the yard, fighting with his friends against some of the Mackintosh warriors in a training exercise. It was all in the spirit of the approaching treaty, when they would become allies instead of enemies. Wiping the tears from her cheek, she turned and glanced around the chamber.
It had been four months yet the pain and tightness in her chest crushed her now just as it had then.
Malcolm dead. His murderer exiled and still uncaptured. The Mackintosh chieftain dead. And, on the morrow, she would wed Caelan Mackintosh, the new chieftain, and seal their treaty. And any sense of excitement or anticipation had died along with her brother.
‘Arabella?’ She’d not heard Ailean open the door.
‘Aye, I am ready,’ she said. Accepting the gold circlet that Caelan had presented to her on her arrival, Arabella placed it on her head as Ailean adjusted her hair. She took a deep breath and tried to let the sadness leave her as her breath did. Attending a feast to celebrate your marriage was not the time to be crying and mournful.
Caelan stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs, smiling and nodding as he saw her. Ailean stepped aside and allowed Caelan to walk at Arabella’s side. He took her hand in his and entwined their fingers in an intimate way. Lifting their joined hands to his mouth, he kissed hers and smiled again.
‘All will be well, Arabella,’ he whispered. ‘I know that you are feeling the loss keenly right now, but I hope it will pass.’ She felt a fool then, forgetting for that moment about his loss.
‘My lord, your pardon please,’ she whispered back. ‘You have suffered your own loss and I have not offered my condolences.’
His eyes lost their merriment and he nodded. They entered the main hall and he escorted her to the table on the dais. Her father stood there waiting and nodded to both of them. Caelan introduced her to the chieftains of the other branches of their Chattan Clan, some young, some old, but none appeared happy. When they reached their places, he waited for her to sit and then raised his cup.
‘To Arabella Cameron, soon my wife—’ Boisterous and bawdy cheers interrupted his words and he laughed. Then growing serious, he added, ‘And to the alliance our clans gain by this marriage.’
The hall erupted in cheering and clapping then, though some did not enter the frivolity. Some of the Mackintosh elders did not seem pleased...by her or the alliance.
When he said those words, she realised that her attempts to remain gracious during that earlier visit were completely missing now. And it was critical to both families that this marriage happen and this alliance be confirmed. There had been more outbreaks and skirmishes since her brother’s death and there would be more unless...
Unless she saw her duty through in good faith and humour.
Once the crowd calmed and Caelan sat beside her, she rose, cup in hand, and nodded at him.
‘To my lord, Caelan, The Mackintosh, soon to be my husband,’ she called out. She drank from the cup as they cheered and then raised it again. ‘To our alliance!’
Caelan stood then, took her hand in his and raised them. After a few moments, he lowered them and leaned closer. His intention clear, he did not pause. He kissed her, on the mouth, and though the action surprised her,