Читать книгу Stolen by the Highlander - Terri Brisbin - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The flames rose higher towards the night sky as the men circling it sat and drank. Against his judgement and as his uncle had ordered, Brodie posted no guards around the gathering or on the path to this clearing. Caelan and two of his friends sat across from him and Rob. Arabella’s twin brother and two other Camerons made up the third side. In spite of the air of companionship and reverie, there was no lack of suspicion among the group.

‘You are younger than your sister?’ he asked of Malcolm Cameron. He wanted to know more about the lass, no matter how he fought the urge.

‘Aye,’ the younger Cameron replied. ‘Only by a few minutes, but she is the elder.’ Those minutes mattered not when there was a son to inherit the titles and most of the wealth.

‘You fought well today,’ Brodie said. ‘Who taught you the sword?’

‘My uncle Niall trains the young warriors. I know you held back in the yard,’ he replied. ‘Your control was well honed. Who taught you?’

Brodie got to his feet and walked over to sit nearer the young Cameron. Others talked amongst themselves and he did not wish everyone to hear his every question. ‘My uncle Grigor,’ he said, sitting down on the log there. ‘I have heard the story of Niall and Grigor meeting in battle. Mayhap fifteen years ago?’

Malcolm shrugged and shook his head. ‘Where was this?’

Malcolm held out a skin of ale and filled Brodie’s leather cup and then his own. There had been skirmishes and battles between their families for generations and, unless this treaty was successful, there would be more.

‘On the other side of the loch,’ he said. ‘’Tis said the fight lasted a day and a night.’

‘Yet both survived?’ The brother’s eyes glinted with suspicion.

‘’Twouldn’t be a good story if they died,’ he said, laughing. Raising his cup, he cheered, ‘A Mackintosh!’

‘A Cameron!’ Malcolm added his own.

The others joined in the boisterous battle cries and then drank deeply. Caelan retrieved another skin and began to pass it around. This looked more and more like a drinking challenge each minute. Mayhap that was his uncle’s intent? After things calmed, he turned his attention back to Arabella’s brother.

‘So who taught her to ride that beast?’

If he had not been watching the man’s face, he would have missed the darkness that filled his eyes and the stark pain. But Brodie saw it and a tightness filled his gut for a reason he could not explain.

‘She wasna supposed to ride it. The horse nearly died at birth, but she nursed it to health. Then, when it grew to the size it is now, my—our—father forbade her to ride it.’ Malcolm drank deeply then, as though preparing for the telling of some terrible bit. ‘He tried to train it and decided to break it when it would not come to heel. That horse threw every rider that tried, so my father ordered it destroyed.’

‘What stopped him from doing so?’ he asked, almost afraid now to hear the answer, for he knew the lass was in the middle of it.

‘Bella did. She stood in front of the horse and refused to allow it. My father bellowed and shouted and threatened her and the horse, but she would not relent.’

‘What did he do?’ The Cameron was not known to be a soft man or one that would let a defiant daughter stand in his way. Or a defiant anyone.

‘He told her the only way to save the horse was for her to mount it or he would break both of them.’

Even though Brodie knew the outcome, he found himself holding his breath. He knew Euan to be a harsh man, but this surprised even him. From the tremor in Malcolm’s voice, he must have witnessed this.

‘So, she whispered to the horse, climbed on his back and claimed him as hers.’

‘I know him well enough to know that your father would not have let her disobedience go unpunished.’ Why he said that, Brodie did not know. He just needed to know.

‘He did not. She could not move or sit for more than a week.’

Brodie reached for the skin being passed around, filled his cup and emptied it. The wine did not ease his concern but it did send a burst of warmth through his body. Damn, the lass who seemed so compliant, so gracious and always smiling and obedient had a spine of steel.

He did not pursue anything more about her with her brother, for the wine affected him more than it did usually. The other questions he had dissolved in the face of its growing effects. The flames flared and the conversation grew louder and more boisterous. Brodie tried to rise, but his legs would not follow his will. Glancing around, he noticed that Rob’s head bowed in sleep, like the Camerons sitting nearest to him and Malcolm.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, fighting the dizziness and the need to close his eyes. Struggling against the growing lethargy, he called out to Caelan but his vision grew dark and he felt himself falling...falling...falling.

* * *

His head pounded.

His mouth felt as though filled with sand.

His eyes would not open.

Brodie lifted his hand to his face, trying to wipe away whatever kept him from waking. But his hand was wet and it did no good. Dragging his arm, his sleeve, across his face, he could finally see...

Blood. It was everywhere. His sleeve and shirt were soaked with it.

Was it his?

Pushing up on to his knees and then to his feet, he looked in horror at the body lying there.

Malcolm Cameron was dead with Brodie’s own dagger sticking out of his chest.

‘Christ! Brodie.’ Caelan’s voice broke into the thick haze yet filling his mind. ‘Why did you kill him?’ His cousin grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him fiercely. ‘What were you thinking?’ More shouting and more voices clamoured around the clearing as Brodie tried to make sense of the scene before him.

And he failed.

He remembered nothing of the night after talking with Malcolm about Arabella and then a dark void. Looking around, he watched as the others got to their feet. Rob shrugged at him. Brodie did not remember ever getting this drunk before—and he’d had many, many nights of drinking to try.

A large group of men swarmed into the clearing, surrounding all of them with drawn swords. As he staggered forward, unable to regain his footing, his father and the Cameron chieftain dismounted and strode towards him.

‘Why?’ Euan Cameron demanded, grabbing his throat and pulling him forward. ‘Why did you kill him?’

Brodie searched for words, searched for the truth of what had happened and could not find them. His uncle pulled him free and shoved the older man back.

‘We do not know what happened, Euan. Hold until we do,’ he ordered.

The Cameron dropped to his knees next to the bloodied body of his son, staring into unseeing eyes as they all watched. Brodie wiped his hands against his trews, trying to remove the blood there as he looked around at the others there. The only ones who appeared recovered were Caelan and his two friends.

‘What happened?’ he asked, his dry throat made his voice rough. ‘How did this happen?’ He gestured to Malcolm there. Caelan and one of his men walked closer.

‘You do not remember?’ his cousin asked. ‘Truly?’

Brodie squeezed the bridge of his nose and pressed against the throbbing pain in his forehead and brow. The aching there and the queasiness in his stomach forced all rational thought aside.

‘Nay, Caelan. I remember it not. Did Malcolm attack me?’

He had killed a fair number of men, in battle or other skirmishes, but he did not kill without thought. And he had no reason to this time.

‘Attack you? Nay,’ Caelan whispered so that only he could hear. ‘You asked him about Arabella. Then you began to argue. Daggers were drawn and you struck first.’

‘Take him,’ the Cameron ordered his men. ‘He owes his life for killing my son and heir.’ The Cameron men tried to surround him.

‘Nay!’ his uncle Lachlan called out, stepping next to him. The other Mackintosh warriors formed line behind them. ‘You are on my lands and have no power here, Euan.’

‘So this is Mackintosh hospitality then,’ Euan said through clenched jaws. ‘We came under truce. We came in good faith. And yet my son lies dead at the hand of your nephew.’

His uncle crossed his arms over his massive chest and shook his head.

‘We will sort this out back at the keep, Euan. Bring your son and meet us there.’ Lachlan nodded at him. ‘Bring Brodie.’

Two of his uncle’s guards took hold of him, dragging and guiding him along the trail that led back to the keep. He turned back to look as the Cameron wrapped his son’s body in a length of plaid.

‘Caelan. Rob. I would have a word with you two.’

His uncle would want to know the truth before it was spoken in his hall, before their kith and kin.

Before he was branded a murderer.

The worst part was he could not even defend himself, for his dagger lay embedded in Malcolm’s chest and the man’s blood covered him.

* * *

Arabella heard the commotion below in the hall. The sun had not been up for long so it was not even time to break their fast yet. Her aunt came into the 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 him guilty or were shocked that his uncle declared him to be, she knew not. Next would come the...

‘I 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.