Stolen by the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
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watched his eyes and closed hers for a moment before he ended it. The first true kiss between them and not a hint of the things the married women whispered about in it. For part of her, that was fine and good. Since Malcolm’s death, Arabella had been empty. She’d cried for days once they’d arrived home and through his burial for she felt as though part of her had died.
Then nothing. Empty.
Caelan waited for her to sit and then nodded at the servants to begin serving the meal. Since his uncle’s unexpected death two months ago, he had assumed the chieftain’s chair and inherited his titles and lands. Coming on the heels of... She could not keep her gaze from going to the other end of the table where Bro...he would have been seated.
The feelings she’d denied for months now began to bubble up within her then. Sorrow, loss, pain and hate pierced her heart and made her want to scream. Or run. Or both. Then Caelan reached over and covered her hand with his.
‘Hush now, Arabella,’ he whispered to only her. ‘I know how difficult it is to sit at this table in this hall. I must force myself every day to sit in my uncle’s chair and not to expect his entry into the hall. It will pass. For you and for me.’
Fighting back the tears, she nodded and he squeezed her hand once more before releasing it and turning back to speak with her father. Caelan was being kind in his understanding and she knew that she would do her duty and make this marriage work. She owed it to her father and to her brother who’d died because of her.
As they ate, she glanced around the hall. She noticed that not everyone was joining in the celebration. She searched for other Mackintoshes she might remember from the last time and could find none. What was his name? she thought as she looked for the man who’d ridden with them that one day to the clearing? Rob.
Arabella tried to be discreet while looking around. She realised that many people were not here. The hall, filled to the doorways and rear wall during previous feasts, stood half-empty this time. She knew that the number of Camerons was the same—well, but for one—so where were all the Mackintoshes?
‘I thought you would appreciate it if we kept the ceremony small. Considering...’ Caelan did not finish his words.
She sighed then. Their families had always had a history of pain and loss, caused by the other clan and visited on each other with severity and regularity. This was the way to end it. There would continue to be deaths and loss if she did not enter this marriage willingly. She’d been raised to this and not even grief would prevent her from bringing about peace between them.
‘I thank you for thinking of such concerns, Caelan,’ she said, nodding.
‘Are you anxious?’ he asked.
‘Aye,’ Arabella admitted to him. ‘But my aunt Gillie told me that it is customary for the bride to be a bit nervous the day before her wedding.’
She did not want him to think she was not willing to fulfil her part of this treaty. She would do her duty even as he did his, in the midst of sorrow and loss, but with a hope for peace between their families. So, in the long view of this situation, she was glad it was him she would marry. He was kind and polite and even caring towards her and she would do whatever she needed to do to make this a good marriage.
‘Ah, and so comes your aunt to claim you,’ he said, standing at her aunt’s approach to greet her. ‘Is it time then?’ he asked.
‘Aye, my lord,’ Aunt Gillie did her best curtsy before them. ‘You will see her on the morrow.’
‘Sleep well, Arabella. I will see you at the church.’
He leaned over and kissed her, on her mouth, much to the delight of those watching. They clamoured for more so he took her in his arms and kissed her again. Arabella tried to relax in his arms, knowing most of this was simply to demonstrate his willingness to accept her as his bride. He eased his embrace but held her close for a moment more before letting her go with her aunt.
‘That bodes well,’ Aunt Gillie whispered as they left the hall. ‘I worried that this time apart would sour things between you.’
It took little time to ready herself for bed, but nothing she did seemed to bring on the sleep she needed that night. The morrow promised to be a long, emotional day and Arabella wished to greet it in good humour and without the dark smudges of sleeplessness that appeared under her eyes when she did not rest well.
* * *
As the sun’s first light tried to chase away the fog, she yet stood by the window, staring across the yard and into the distance. Unable to sleep, she’d climbed from the bed some time ago and pulled on an old tunic and gown against the morning chill. This time of day was her favourite, just before dawn while quiet still ruled the land and the people. Stiff-limbed now from standing too long in one position, Arabella was about to turn away when one single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated a spot on the hillside she could see.
The clearing.
The place Brodie had taken her to show her the extent of the lands that she would claim as wife to the next Mackintosh chieftain. She began to shudder before she knew it—her mind recognising the person who stood there now, outlined by the sun’s light. Her breath froze and she squinted to be certain.
It could only be him. Standing there, so close to justice and yet no one knew. If she called a warning, he would flee before... Another shiver, this one bone-deep, shook her.
Even knowing he’d killed Malcolm, there was a part of her that did not want to see him dead. At least not until she learned his motives for taking her brother’s life. At least until she knew the part she’d played by sending her brother to that gathering of men. She wanted to hear his explanation.
She moved around the chamber in silence, finished dressing and then crossed the outer chamber, passing the sleeping figures of her aunt and cousin. She was careful going down the stairs and through the keep and made her way to the stables. With a quiet word to a young boy there, she readied her horse as she usually did and climbed up on his back. Arabella was at the gate when it opened for the day and rode through it without a word, her cloak and hood pulled tightly around her.
Urging her horse faster, she leaned down low and pressed her knees to his sides. They covered the ground quickly as the horse’s strides lengthened and his speed increased. With barely a tug on the reins, she guided him away from the keep and up the road that would curve around the mountainside to where he was.
She would finally get the answers that would allow her own guilt to ease. She would get the opportunity to confront the man who had killed her brother. She would...
Empty.
As she rode through the final line of trees into the clearing, she found no one there. Searching the area, she saw and heard nothing in the stillness of the early morning to indicate that anyone had been there.
Letting out the breath she’d been holding, she walked the horse around the level place, allowing him to cool down from their strenuous ride here. Keeping her gaze on the path, Arabella waited and listened.
The ride back was slower as she faced the truth that it was not Brodie’s guilt but her own that had sent her on this mad quest for the truth. Her heart hurt as she knew that she had sent her brother to his death. She had been the catalyst for the chain of events that caused him to die. If she had not asked him to find out more about Brodie and Caelan, to take their measure, there would have been no fight, no words, no altercation that ended with a dagger in his chest.
Somehow the horse found its own way back to the keep and she rode through the gates to the stable. And she had no idea when the two guards that rode at her side had appeared.
The only thing she could do now to honour her brother’s death was to fulfil the purpose of their visit—to seal the bargain and end the feud. And she would.
No one could give her absolution for her part in sending him to his death.
* * *
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