Читать книгу Claiming His Highland Bride - Terri Brisbin - Страница 14

Chapter Four

Alan followed Brodie and the others closest to him in loyalty and kinship out through a doorway to a chamber off the kitchens where they would have a measure of privacy. Though he did not ken the subject to be discussed, Alan suspected that word of his uncle’s actions had gotten back to Brodie through a means other than himself.

And Brodie would ask for his opinion on the matter.

He exhaled as he considered what his words might be and what they must be. No matter how much he liked and admired Brodie or disliked his uncle, he was first a Cameron. Entering the surprisingly large chamber, he walked across and stood, back against the wall, waiting for Brodie to begin.

Rob, as always, stood at his side. A few of the elders were here as well. Alan recognised Grigor, the man Brodie thought would lead the clan after the in-fighting that nearly destroyed them. Magnus, a warrior married to Rob’s sister, now served on the council of elders. He smiled then, remembering Magnus’s reaction to being called an ‘elder’—no one did that after the first time. Fergus, Brodie’s steward here at Drumlui Keep, was the last man to enter and one he had not expected to be present. He closed the door and stood in front of it, waiting on his lord’s words.

‘I have received word that Gilbert met with Hugh MacMillan near Ballachulish recently,’ Brodie began. The chieftain’s dark gaze did not leave Alan’s face as he spoke. ‘They met for the purpose of a betrothal.’

Though the others were surprised by this news, Alan did not, by word or look, feign ignorance of the event. He owed Brodie his honesty even if he could not disclose what he knew of the matter.

‘Who was to marry whom?’ Rob asked. Since both The Cameron and The MacMillan were widowed, either could have been seeking a bride. Alan almost smiled at the astute question from Brodie’s friend.

‘Apparently The Cameron went seeking a bride,’ Brodie answered.

‘Who is he to marry?’ Grigor asked, crossing his arms over his massive chest. ‘How many daughters does The MacMillan have?’

Though older than any of them, the man seemed to grow in robustness as he added years to his age. Having taken Arabella’s aunt to wife recently, he was both strong and content and Brodie always counted on him for his support and knowledge. Alan waited to see exactly how much Brodie knew about The MacMillan’s only daughter.

‘He had one,’ Brodie said, again staring at Alan as he spoke. Alan gave a slight nod, confirming his knowledge.

‘Had?’ Rob asked. ‘What the bloody hell happened to her?’

Alan wanted to laugh at the way Rob managed to curse in almost every sentence he uttered, but this was not the time for levity. The lass’s demise bothered him still. Brodie watched him, waiting, so Alan stepped away from the wall and crossed to stand before the chieftain.

‘The MacMillan’s only daughter apparently fell into the rain-swollen river in the middle of the night and drowned.’ Silence lay heavy over those present for a few moments and Alan added nothing more.

‘Better a quick death in the river than a slow one married to Gilbert.’

Alan whirled around to see who had spoken those words, both shocked and intrigued that someone else had come to the same realisation that he had. But, of course, he had never said it aloud. Magnus met his stare and nodded.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us, Alan?’ Brodie asked, drawing Alan’s attention back. Not ‘want to tell us’. Brodie understood his predicament, for he was a man caught between honour and loyalty.

‘Nay, my lord,’ he said, bowing then to the powerful man.

‘Then I pray you to seek out your cousin and escort her to our chambers.’

Without another word, Alan accepted the dismissal and walked to the door. Fergus stepped aside and opened it for him. It closed behind him and he’d taken only two paces when the uproar within the chamber erupted. Between the deep distrust that yet ran deep between their clans and that which they held for Gilbert, the shouting and arguing did not surprise him. Knowing Brodie, he would allow each man a say before coming to any conclusions. And before coming back to Alan.

He walked back to the hall and found Arabella deep in conversation with Rob’s wife and sister. When they all looked up at him at the very same moment with their gazes narrowed, a strange fear shot through him. Oh, he’d faced death and dismemberment in his life already, but the thought of being in the aim of these three women terrified him...as it would any sensible man who had even a bit of self-preservation in his blood.

‘Is the discussion finished then?’ Arabella asked first.

‘Nay, it continues without me.’

‘If it involves the Camerons, why are you not there?’ she asked, probing into uncomfortable matters as she always did—with a remarkable sense of what would be best left untouched. He did not question how she knew Brodie discussed the Camerons, for she had as many sources of knowledge and gossip as her husband did, possibly more.

‘The Mackintosh dismissed me.’

The three let out gasps as one and leaned back in their chairs, surprised by this news.

‘And you know not why?’ Eva asked.

Rob’s wife was no stranger to the machinations and manipulations of clan chiefs. Her own father had forced her into marriage with Brodie’s closest friend for his own benefit. For them, though, the marriage had turned out for the best.

‘I am not privy to Brodie’s reasons,’ he said. Not exactly the truth, but close enough for now. ‘Mayhap Arabella can discover it when he returns to their chambers?’ Alan held out his hand to his cousin. ‘Which is where he’s asked me to take you.’

The women looked one to the other before looking back at him. He continued to wait for Arabella to take his hand. Arabella took pity on him and rose from her chair then, accepting his arm and nodding to Eva and Margaret. From the expressions on those two faces, Alan understood that they expected that she would reveal the reason he was expelled from Brodie’s gathering and what was truly happening.

She remained silent as they walked through the hall, up the stairway that led to their chambers. But he knew that restraint would not last long once they reached the privacy promised in her room. Tempted to leave the door ajar, he waited for her to enter before standing before it.

‘Oh, do close the door, Alan. You know that will not stop me from having my say or asking my questions of you.’

He did as she ordered and watched as she crossed the room and poured wine into two waiting cups. She carried them to the small table in the corner and sat, arching a brow to give him another order without words. Alan sat and accepted one of the cups.

‘So, Brodie truly dismissed you? What were his words?’ she asked, taking a sip from her cup.

‘He simply bade me to bring you here.’

Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor between them. Arabella would think on this until she was ready to pounce. Or until her husband arrived.

‘You will not reveal to me the purpose of calling you all together?’

‘I will say it involves the Camerons and the Mackintoshes.’

Alan waited for the explosion of temper from his cousin, but none came. Instead, she pursed her lips and looked over his shoulder towards the door. He turned and saw Brodie standing there.

‘Come now, Bella,’ Brodie said, walking to where they sat. ‘Abusing your cousin will not loosen his lips. You should know that by now.’ Alan tried to stand, as he should in the presence of the chieftain, but Brodie’s hand on his shoulder kept him sitting. ‘He has been in this same situation before and he is now and always be loyal to his clan first.’

Somehow, when Brodie spoke those words, ones that echoed his own thoughts and vow, guilt washed over him. And he had no reason to feel that at all. He’d helped the Mackintoshes a dozen times over and would again if he could. He would not, however, betray his own clan or disobey a direct order from his own chieftain. He did stand then, pushing free of Brodie’s hand to look him in the eye.

‘Aye. I am loyal to the Camerons, Brodie.’ Anger built in his gut then and he wanted to rage. The strange thing was that he was not certain who his target should be.

‘Hold,’ Brodie said, putting his hand up between them. ‘I meant nothing more by my words. And I ken that your uncle’s actions will cause strife between us.’

‘My uncle’s actions?’ Arabella rose now and approached her husband. ‘What has he done now?’

‘Gilbert has been negotiating with Hugh MacMillan of Knap for his daughter’s hand in marriage.’ Brodie’s gaze never left his own.

‘Another marriage?’ Arabella gasped at this news. ‘How old is she?’ she whispered. The words lashed out at him and Alan could not help but flinch. How old?

They’d never spoken of Gilbert’s penchant for young women openly and it should have surprised Alan to hear it from her, but somehow it did not. Arabella missed little, whether here in Drumlui Keep and village or at the home of her childhood Achnacarry. She’d learned early in life that she would be the wife of a powerful man with many under her control and supervision and had learned the skills needed to live that life. Breaking from Brodie’s stare, Alan looked at his cousin.

‘It matters not for The MacMillan’s daughter drowned on her way to the betrothal.’

Arabella began to say something, but she pressed her lips together and swallowed. He could guess that her words would be close to those uttered by Magnus just a short time ago in a different chamber.

‘God rest her soul,’ she whispered, lifting her hand to her head, chest and shoulders in the gesture that usually accompanied such prayers. A few moments passed before she reached out to touch her husband’s arm. ‘There must be more to this if you are so concerned. Tell me the rest of it, Brodie.’

‘I suspect there is more to this than a simple betrothal, Bella,’ Brodie said. ‘There have been whispers for months about dissatisfaction with the treaty between our clans. But nothing more. Nothing substantial. Nothing I can prove.’

‘Alan, do you know of this?’ she asked him next.

‘In all candour, Arabella,’ he said, glancing first at Brodie, then back to her, ‘I know nothing of plans to undermine or weaken the treaty.’ He took a breath in and let it out. ‘As to the other, I know only what Brodie told you.’ He looked at Brodie once more. ‘In either of these, though, my uncle does not keep my counsel or invite me to share in his, Brodie.’

‘I wanted to tell you that you have a place here, Alan,’ The Mackintosh said. ‘No matter what actions your uncle carries out or treachery afoot, you are one Cameron that will always be welcomed here and in the Chattan Confederation.’

Tears had begun trickling down Arabella’s cheeks at her husband’s words. A sick feeling flooded him for, by those words, Brodie had confirmed one thing and, at the same time, hinted at so much more.

‘What do you know? What treachery do you speak of?’

‘Brodie. Alan. Can we three not speak plainly here together? We have given ourselves into this treaty and have seen too many die before it was in place to want it weakened. We are more than allies here,’ she pleaded. Her eyes bright with tears, she touched both his and Brodie’s hands. ‘We are kin. We are family. We are friends who have protected each other and even saved each other’s lives when we needed saving.’

Her soft words crushed his pride and the tension in Brodie eased as well. He stepped back and nodded at his wife.

‘You are right in this, my love.’

Brodie walked to the pitcher and brought it to the table with another cup. Pouring a generous amount in each of the three there now, he drank deeply and Alan wondered if the news Brodie would share was so bad he needed the fortification of strong wine.

‘First, word came to me that The Cameron has sent and received many messages to Alastair MacDonald of Lochaber in recent months.’

Feeling somehow responsible to defend Cameron honour, Alan was tempted to offer some sort of explanation. Instead he waited to learn more about Brodie’s suspicions and whether they were groundless. Alastair MacDonald had been behind attacks on Mackintosh holdings, and villagers, a few years back. He’d deflected his guilt on to the Camerons until Alan had discovered the truth of it. Would his uncle truly be contemplating some sort of alliance with the MacDonalds of Lochaber now?

‘More recently I received reports about this betrothal with The MacMillan’s daughter. His claim on Castle Sween is tenuous at best now that his wife is dead. But if his daughter married the Cameron chieftain, he might be amenable to defending her father’s claim.’

‘How is that trouble for the Mackintoshes or the treaty? The MacMillans are long-time allies to the Chattan Confederation. Would that not bind the Camerons more closely to your side?’ he asked Brodie.

Brodie’s smile then was stark and devoid of mirth. Alan tried to think of all the ramifications of the match that had almost happened. There were so many bonds and feuds between this clan and that one all over Scotland that he found it impossible to see all the strands in the spider web of connections. Clearly, Brodie had been thinking about this for some time.

‘Hugh MacMillan is an upstart who claimed Castle Sween from the MacNeills. He would change allegiances if it benefitted him.’ Brodie crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I will be watching to see their next moves.’

‘If I learn anything that I can tell you, I will,’ Alan said. ‘You ken that I will, do you not?’

He would. He could not let this honourable man face destruction or mayhem without warning, if he knew about it. There were ways to walk that narrow path between friendship and betrayal and Alan had been learning that well these last years since he first met Brodie Mackintosh.

Alan drank down the last of his wine, realising how late it was, and bade them both farewell. As he reached the door, he needed to ask something of Brodie.

‘’Tis clear that your spies are effective, my Lord Mackintosh,’ he began, bowing his head in a mock salute. ‘I would ask the same of you. That you inform me of anything you believe I should know.’

Arabella smiled then, for the first time since their earlier discussion at supper about the attractive widow Saraid MacPherson. She wanted peace between all of them, all her kith and kin, and trouble and discord tore at her heart.

‘And you as well, my Lady Mackintosh,’ Alan said, nodding at his cousin. He rarely used a title when addressing her. ‘I ken that some of your sp...inform...sources ken as much as your husband’s and would appreciate being told what you discover.’

Thinking that was the end of their discussion, he lifted the latch and pulled it open. As he tugged it to close behind him, Arabella called out to him. He slowed to hear her words.

‘My informants have told me that the widow Saraid MacPherson plans to enter a convent on Skye when she leaves here.’

The door was closed with some force so Alan knew there was no chance of saying anything back to her. Or asking her any questions. He walked away, listening to the laughter coming from inside the chamber—his cousin’s and Brodie’s, too. He thought about his experience with women and let out some words that would rival even Rob Mackintosh’s best, or rather worst, efforts.

He’d searched for his cousin and found her, but got captured, too.

He’d fallen in love with Agneis, but lost her to Gilbert.

He’d searched for, found and lost Fia Mackintosh, who then turned down his offer of marriage.

He’d searched for the MacMillan girl and found that she’d died.

Alan shook his head and let out an exasperated breath then as he realised that even showing interest in a woman seemed to move them out of his reach. As Saraid MacPherson would be when she left Glenlui and travelled on to Skye.

A nun.

A bl—

Alan stopped at the blasphemous words he almost thought and laughed at the irony of his situation instead.

The man known throughout the Highlands as the best tracker of all manner of things seemed to lose the women he wanted to find and find the ones he could only lose.

As he made his way to the chamber he used here, he could almost hear the Fates laughing at him.