Terri Brisbin - Stolen by the Highlander

‘Yer aunt awaits ye there, Arabella. Seek yer chambers.’

Although she might have challenged her father were they in their own keep and with only her clan present, she would never do so here and now. Not with so much depending on her being an obedient, dutiful daughter whose only task was to save their clan from continuing slaughter and destruction.

Forming that hated smile back on to her features, she rose and curtsied to her father and to The Mackintosh, before walking around the table and down the steps. Her aunt Devorgilla stood there, watching her every move. No doubt, there would be instructions this night about her behaviour and appearance. Arabella nodded and smiled at anyone who spoke or whispered her name as she passed and her graciousness, after so many hours of being forced to it, tired her.

With a servant leading the way with a torch, she followed through the corridor and up the stairs to the chamber assigned to her for her stay here. Once there, she waited for only a moment to pass after the door closed before collapsing on the bed, allowing her face to relax from the hours of tortuous smiling. Pressing her palms against her cheeks, she knew what would come next.

‘You sat too close to the one and ignored the other, Arabella.’ Even with her eyes closed, she could tell from the changing direction of the high-pitched voice that her aunt was pacing around the edge of the bed. ‘You must not be seen to favour one over the other.’

‘Aye, Aunt Devorgilla,’ she said without opening her eyes.

‘You were not paying attention during that last poem. You must not show disrespect to the Mackintosh’s bard or his harpist or his—’

‘I understand, Aunt Devorgilla,’ she said before her aunt went on. ‘And my mother would be terribly shamed by my lack of manners at the feast...and by not paying enough heed to your warnings...’ Those words and more poured out of her and from the silence, Arabella knew she was not the only shocked person in the room.

‘Child,’ her aunt whispered. ‘Your mother would be proud of you. Proud that you are carrying out the duty you were born to fulfil.’ Her aunt’s voice grew deep with emotion and Arabella raised her head to look at her mother’s youngest sister. ‘She would be proud that you are doing your duty when it would be easier not to. When it means you must live the rest of your life among our enemies.’

‘Aunt Gillie,’ she said. The tears would not be held back now. ‘I am so sorry. I did not mean to act the wilful child to you. I value your advice, I truly do. I am exhausted and will be ready to face this on the morrow.’

‘Here now, child,’ her aunt said, stepping behind her. ‘Let me help you ready for bed.’

‘Nay. I can call for Ailean to help me.’ Her younger cousin served as her companion and her maid when needed.

‘Hush now,’ her aunt said, unlacing her ties and loosening the gown and tunic she wore. Soon Arabella stood in only her shift. When her aunt began to unravel the long braid of her hair, she sighed. ‘Sit,’ her aunt directed.

First, her aunt slid her fingers into the woven tresses and then she used a brush to ease out the snarls and knots. Each moment eased the tension within Arabella and allowed the exhaustion to creep closer to controlling her. Her eyes drooped closed and her body began to relax. All her worries drifted away with each long stroke of the brush through her hair.

‘What are the plans on the morrow?’ Forced to think of her future and the uncertainty of it, Arabella sighed again.

‘A ride with Caelan in the morn and one with Brodie after the noon meal. Worry not, Aunt Gillie, Ailean will accompany me at all times when we leave the keep.’

‘I do not worry over your safety, child. I worry over your heart.’ The brush stopped and her aunt stepped away. Arabella turned to face her and found a sadness in her eyes she’d not seen before. ‘Do not let your heart be engaged with either of these Mackintoshes until their elders decide on which will be tanist here. It will only lead to heartbreak and pain in the years to come.’

‘Aunt Gillie, what—?’ This was something unexpected. Something surprising and clearly with more of a story than she’d heard about.

‘No matter, Arabella,’ her aunt interrupted before she could complete her question. ‘I think I am more tired than I thought. I will seek my bed now.’

Without another word, her aunt placed the brush on the small table there, turned and left the chamber. Granted, the warning was one she’d heard before, but her aunt’s words about heartbreak hinted at something more personal. She would pursue this on the morrow, but a soft knock foretold of Ailean’s arrival. Arabella soon lay in the quiet darkness and pondered the differences between the two Mackintosh cousins and her future as the wife of one or the other.

Her aunt’s counsel did not take into account how she truly felt about the one thing that would not change—no matter which she married, she was giving herself to her enemy. She would become part of the clan that had massacred her family over the past several generations and bear children to it. There were hopes that this feud would now end with her marriage to the next Mackintosh chief.

No matter, Arabella would be marrying her enemy very soon.

* * *

Brodie held out the cup to one of the women serving at table and watched as she filled it. Nodding his thanks, he continued to observe every Cameron in their hall. They came under a flag of truce and accepted the hospitality offered, but Brodie did not trust a one of them.

As he glanced from Cameron warrior to Cameron warrior, he knew that some of them had killed Mackintoshes during their past skirmishes and battles. And some of the older ones did not want this truce or the coming treaty at all. Reasons not to trust them.

Not even the golden-tressed heiress of their clan did he trust. The chamber where the feast to welcome her had been held began to empty now that Lady Arabella Cameron had retired for the evening. Glancing around the hall, he met the gaze of each of the men he’d positioned wherever the Camerons sat.

Let their bard and hers pay homage to her beauty. Let his cousin fall all over himself flirting with the lass. Brodie saw to his duty of securing the safety of his clan while others played the courtier or ignored the dangers. When each of his men nodded their reply, he turned his attention to his uncle and cousin and their guests.

Content to observe and not get involved in the discussions, Brodie noticed the way The Cameron and his eldest son, Malcolm, sat and spoke and the way they watched him, too. It confirmed his belief that there was wariness on the part of both families. And possibly treachery, at which the Camerons excelled. His uncle stood and everyone at the table did, as well—a signal that the feast was over.

Brodie put his cup down and walked to his uncle’s side as the Camerons followed their escort to the chambers assigned to them in the north tower. Keeping them together, in several chambers in the one tower, made it easier to keep a watch on them. And to keep them isolated in case of trouble. He smiled at that.

‘You will escort the Cameron lass after the noon meal,’ his uncle said, gaining his full attention now.

‘Nay, Uncle. I have to see to—’ Brodie began to explain.

‘You will escort the lass, Brodie. That is your duty on the morrow.’

They’d already argued this point many times before the Camerons arrived on their lands for this visit. Brodie thought it premature for any of this, while the elders sided with his uncle. They thought it a way to assess the two cousins before making their choice.

After facing whatever tests the elders had planned, one cousin would be proclaimed tanist and heir to the chieftain of the Clan Mackintosh. With no other living male relative eligible, either he or Caelan would govern the Chattan Confederation after his uncle died. One of them would be selected by the elders to control the people and the lands and wealth of their clan.