Stolen by the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
Читать онлайн книгу.
chamber with a haunted expression in her eyes.
‘Dress. Now.’
‘What has happened?’ Arabella asked, as she pulled a shift over her head and a loud roar sounded below. ‘Is it my father?’
With Ailean’s help, she had her tunic and gown in place and her hair pulled into a hasty braid. It would do. Her stockings and shoes were next and then she turned to face her aunt. ‘What is happening?’ she asked once more.
‘Lass,’ her aunt began. Taking Arabella’s hand in hers, she patted it gently. ‘Nay, not your father. Your brother is dead.’
The room spun before her, with tiny sparkles of light dancing in her vision. If her aunt had not wrapped her arm around her shoulders, Arabella would have fallen.
‘Malcolm is dead? How? When?’
It could not be true. Malcolm was her twin, flesh of her flesh, her first protector and friend. They’d just spoken last evening before he went off with the other young men. At her behest. She shuddered against this news, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.
‘I know not the details. We will learn it below,’ her aunt said quietly. ‘Are you ready now? You must be strong. You are the only daughter, only child, of Euan Cameron and must be strong.’
Arabella could only nod, for no words would come.
‘Take a deep breath and we will go.’
She did as directed and soon found herself entering the hall, so lost in her thoughts and memories of Malcolm that she remembered nothing of their path there. Glancing across the large chamber, she noticed the divide immediately. Her kin stood to one side, the Mackintoshes the other. And in the middle, on a table, lay her brother.
Arabella pulled free of her aunt’s hold and ran to him. Only his face could be seen from the shroud of plaid that cocooned him. She touched his cheek and whispered his name.
He could not be dead. He was not old enough to die. He could not. She stroked his face and said his name, willing him to open his eyes and bring this farce to an end. When he did not, she lost any shred of control she thought she had.
‘Arabella,’ her father whispered to her, softer than he had ever spoken to her. ‘Child, come away,’ he said, pulling her by her shoulders from her brother’s side towards a chair in front of the dais. She did not want to leave his side, but her father’s strength forced her away. He placed her in the chair and stood in front of her, blocking her from the sight.
‘Father, how did he die?’ she pleaded for an answer.
‘Murder.’
Chaos ensued his claim, shouting and yelling, men surging and being held back, insults delivered across the ever-shrinking chasm dividing the two clans there.
‘Who would murder Malcolm?’ she asked aloud, but no one was listening. The crowd shifted then and she noticed Brodie Mackintosh standing near the dais, covered in blood.
No. It could not be him.
Not him. He knew his duty. He was known for his honour.
She was beginning to like...
Arabella shook her head but when he met her gaze and regret filled his, she began to scream. Someone, someone strong, grabbed hold of her and held her in her seat until she stopped.
‘Euan, come and let us speak of this privately,’ The Mackintosh said.
She noticed her father did not refuse. The two chieftains strode into a small chamber off the corridor and the door slammed behind them. An uncomfortable silence descended over those left waiting, pierced only by the loud, arguing voices of the two men. With each curse that echoed out of the chamber, the tension grew.
She could not help but stare across at the man accused of killing her beloved brother. The realisation of his death struck her, making her sick to her stomach. Arabella began to retch. The hands on her shoulders released her and she fell to her knees, her empty stomach heaving again and again.
Her brother was dead. She’d sent him to his death.
She turned back to look on his body and then at the man who’d struck him down. Brodie’s face might as well have been carved from stone, for there was no emotion there now. Whatever regret she thought she’d seen was gone, replaced by that empty expression. The only movement she could detect was that of his jaws as he clenched his teeth shut.
Her heart hardened against him in that moment. She would find a way to avenge her brother’s death. Finally, her father and The Mackintosh returned. Now there would be justice for her brother’s death.
‘Did you kill the Cameron’s son, Brodie?’ the Mackintosh laird asked his nephew. Part of her wanted him to deny it. The part of her that was beginning to like this man wanted him to declare it a lie. She waited.
‘I...’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘I do not know. I do not remember.’ Those gathered groaned and shouted at his words. How could he not remember taking her brother’s life?
‘There were witnesses?’ her father asked. The Mackintoshes parted and Caelan and another man walked forward. ‘What say you?’
‘We were across the fire from them, my lord,’ Caelan said. She could hear the resistance in Caelan’s voice—he did not want to be the one who accused his cousin.
‘What did you see?’ her father demanded once more, walking closer to them both. ‘I want the truth of this!’ he shouted.
The Mackintosh stood at his side and nodded at the two. It was clear to her that Caelan was trying to protect Brodie in this. She clenched her hands into fists, awaiting the telling of her brother’s last moments. The hall grew silent in anticipation, too.
‘We were all drinking,’ Caelan explained. ‘All of us. Brodie drank more than was usual for him.’
‘They seemed to be just talking, but then they began arguing,’ the other man said. ‘Over her, over Lady Arabella.’
She gasped as everyone turned to look at her and then Brodie. They had argued over her? Arabella met his gaze and could not hold it. Dear God, what had been said between them?
‘Why did no one intervene?’ The Mackintosh asked. ‘You all know how important the truce is. How violating it would not be tolerated and could result in further bloodshed.’ The other man looked at Caelan and back at his chieftain before saying anything.
‘It happened so quickly. We were all...’ He gestured as though trying to think of an explanation.
‘Drunk?’ her father offered. ‘Too drunk to use reason? Too drunk to stop yourself from killing my son for defending my daughter’s honour from insult?’ Her father charged Brodie then, only being caught and held back at the last moment.
‘Aye, too drunk to intervene, my lord,’ Caelan replied. ‘The daggers were drawn so quickly we did not see them at first, but then Malcolm fell.’
‘He was dead before we could get to him,’ the other whispered. The man looked as though he had more to say but her father interrupted before he could.
‘I want him executed.’
Complete silence met those stark words. No one moved or spoke or even whispered.
‘Euan, you agreed to settle this,’ The Mackintosh said softly.
Her father let out a breath and returned to where the Mackintosh chieftain yet stood. Would he order the execution of his nephew?
‘Aye, Lachlan, I did agree. Get to it then,’ her father said. What was this devil’s bargain? What about the negotiations already completed?
‘With witnesses that can speak of your guilt and with you not being able to refute their words, I find you are guilty of murder.’
A gasp went up, echoing through the hall. Whether the Mackintoshes believed