Stolen by the Highlander (9 page)

Now, she watched the growing shadows outside the tent each time the flap moved in the wind and knew she would need to act quickly once Margaret left. Arabella had taken note of the twists and turns in the pathways as she was permitted to walk last evening with one of Rob’s men. Finally, Margaret put away the garments and pieces of fabric and sewing needles and shears and went off to get their evening meal.

Her stomach clenched with nervousness and she thought she might vomit from the tension in her. She stood and tugged and shimmied until she got her gown off over her head. Grimacing from the smell of too many days in the same gown, she shoved it in the space between the pallet and the side of the tent. With a speed her maid would laugh over, Arabella pulled the breeches and stockings into place. The fabric outlined her legs in a way she’d never seen before.

With a length of linen, she bound her breasts and put on the tunic. Gathering up her braided hair, she shoved it down the back of the shirt and hoped the cloak would hide all manner of mistakes. With the hood in place, she lifted the flap of canvas and looked around the immediate area before stepping out.

With a deep breath to calm herself, Arabella walked away from the tent. Remembering the cocky strides of her brother and other young men, she lengthened her steps as she tried to imitate it and mask her feminine sway. She quickened her pace and tried to follow the path she’d laid out in her mind.

Left. Left. Right. Straight on to the area where they kept the horses. Although the night was clear, there was no moon and she would have little time to get down the mountain or away if she did not hurry.

She looked neither left nor right and never raised her head to meet the gazes of others. Soon, she heard the sound of horses and saw her black there in the pen. Climbing over the hastily made fencing was much easier in the garb she wore and soon she stood before her horse as he nuzzled her face and neck. Then he sought out the treats she usually brought him.

‘Next time, laddie,’ she whispered as she found a bridle hanging on the fence and quickly fixed it in position. Leading him out through a gate, she tried to avoid scaring the other horses there. She did not, could not, be discovered yet.

With no time for a saddle, she used the fence once more as a step and swung herself over the horse’s back. This would not be the first time she rode without one, nor the last. With fast, familiar motions, she wrapped the reins around her hands and grabbed on to his mane. Then, with a touch of her heels to his sides, she guided the black out of the camp.

Or she would have if not for the obstruction in their path.

Brodie stood in their way, hands on hips and a dark expression in his eyes. She was still far enough from him that she could get the black into a running start that would force Brodie to move or be trampled. Before she could, he strode quickly at her, his long legs eating up the space between them.

The horse reared up and whinnied loudly, blowing and huffing his displeasure at being threatened so. And it was a threat. Arabella thought Brodie would keep running at them and grab for the reins, but he stopped a few yards away and waited for her to control the horse. She did, with some whispered words and caresses.

‘Are you willing to take the risk, lady?’ he asked in a quiet voice and not in the loud, angry shout she expected.

‘Risk? He is mine. He knows me. He can take me out of here,’ she said.

‘The dark of the moon is upon us. The fog rises quickly in the mountains. And you would take that horse on to a hillside path that you do not know and have never seen? If you have not a care for your own life, I thought he was more valued to you than that, Arabella.’ He crossed his arms over his massive chest and glared at her.

Accusation mixed with disappointment. That was what she heard in his voice. And, worse, it bothered her though she did not wish to admit that. She wanted to run. She wanted to knock him out of their way and escape. But, damn the man, he was right.

He walked the final few paces and reached up to take the reins from her. The horse shuffled his hooves in the dirt and nuzzled him just as he had her. The traitor!

‘Give me the reins,’ he ordered.

‘I want to go home, Brodie. Just let me pass.’ She hated that her voice trembled and sounded, even to her, as though she begged this of him.

‘Give me the reins, Bella,’ he said.

So shocked to hear that name, she let the reins slip from her hands. No one called her that except...except...Malcolm. And this was the man who had taken his life. The same one who now held her life in his hands. She stared at his hands, remembering the sight of them and him covered in her brother’s blood that terrible morning.

Arabella did not realise she’d launched herself at him until they tumbled to the ground.

Chapter Nine

T
he only warning he got that she would attack was the briefest flash of complete and utter devastation in her blue eyes. Then, her eyes darkened and she leapt from the back of the horse at him, throwing her full weight onto him. Her knee landed a blow in his gut and he could not breathe from the power of it. Then, she screamed unintelligible words as she clawed at him with her nails.

The black reacted, too, dancing and shuffling next to them—too damn close to them—as Brodie tried to get control over the she-demon who raked his face with her nails. If he did not get them out of the way, they would both be trampled to death by the huge stallion. And there was no way that the horse would not be injured in such a situation. A shrill whistle pierced the air, alerting him to help.

Brodie managed to get both of her hands in his and rolled over, straddling her in the muddy path. Rob ran to them, first throwing his hands up to try to scare the horse away and then, when it had backed up, grabbing the reins and bringing it down on all four hooves and trying to calm it.

As he did with the wild woman beneath him.

They were both covered in mud from the wet ditch next to the path that collected the rain. Her cloak had loosened and she lay there, struggling against his hold as she called him a murderer over and over.

‘Arabella,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. ‘Stop. Now.’ He leaned more heavily on her softness, trying to make her cease her fight and her accusations.

He wanted to stop her words. Others were gathering, drawn by the sounds of their struggle and her screams, and he did not want them to hear. They might all think the same thing. They might not believe him guilty, but hearing the claim spewed aloud before all of those who threw their lives and futures in with his was not something he wanted right now. Not here.

‘Stop,’ he whispered. ‘I beg you. Just stop.’

His quiet plea broke through her hysteria and she stilled. He knew when she had gained control over herself, for her eyes finally centred on his face. Everything in her gave up in the same moment. Her body softened beneath him, all trace of resistance dissolved away so quickly he thought she’d fainted. Her breathing came heavily then, moving her breasts against him and reminding him of his promise not to harm her.

Brodie eased up, releasing her hands slowly, ready to capture them again if he needed to. His face stung and his stomach hurt. Pushing to his feet and wiping the blood and mud off his face, he reached out to help her up. Her empty gaze filled with confusion and shame as she lay there unmoving.

Rob had taken the beast away and his men cleared out of the area, so Brodie leaned down and scooped her into his arms. She did not fight him—indeed, she did nothing but slump against his chest. Only then did he realise she wore another man’s garments and not her own gown. And he felt the outline of shapely, feminine legs on his arm and knew that he would feel much more if he moved his hands.

Walking towards the small cave he claimed as his, he nodded to one of his guards to follow. Once he carried her inside and let her stand, he returned with orders for buckets of hot water and cold and for Margaret to attend her.

* * *

The night was full dark by the time she had cleaned the mud and muck from herself and he’d used the nearby stream. The frigid cold water had shocked him back to his senses. He thought it might dampen the growing desire he felt for her, but that came roaring back as soon as he entered his shelter and found her there, sitting on his pallet, wrapped in a blanket and staring at the far wall.

He approached quietly but without trying to be silent. An air of fragile emptiness filled her—something he’d never seen before. This was not the beautiful Lady Arabella, nor the falsely smiling one. And not the intelligent, resourceful, frustrating one, either. Something had broken inside of her. He searched his memory for the moment that she’d lost control and attacked him.

Bella.

He’d called her the name her brother had used for her.

Then Brodie searched his memory for the time when Malcolm had said it to him and remembered their conversation
that
night. But he could not remember much more after that.

When it had slipped out in that moment and had caused this strong woman to fall apart, he also knew he had yet another sin laid at his feet that he would answer for. He let out a sigh and sought the jug he kept in his trunk. Taking a mouthful and swallowing the burning liquid, he observed her.

The edge of a gown peeked out from beneath the blanket, but it was not the one she’d worn since he’d kidnapped her. He’d given no thought at all to her care and comfort while making his plans to bring her here. Her hair was loose now, hanging damp down her back. Margaret had helped with that, too.

Carrying the jug, he walked over and poured some in a cup for her. When she did not take it, he placed it on the floor before her. Brodie used the wall to slide down and sit across from her. He stretched out his legs and then drank from the jug once more.

‘Where did you get the garments? Do I need to see if one of my men lies unconscious somewhere in the dark?’ he asked, never expecting her to answer. She was deep in shock, an emotional one, brought on by many things, including his kidnapping and imprisonment of her. He should’ve expected it sooner, but that was a testament to the lass’s strength.

A spine of steel.

Familiar words, but again, no clear memory of when he’d heard them or said them.

‘Nay.’ The soft whisper shattered the silence and drew his gaze to her. ‘No one is hurt.’

‘Well, that is good,’ he said, nodding. He did not think she would harm someone, not truly. ‘And the garments?’

Without looking up or moving at all, she continued. ‘I have been helping Margaret repair clothing.’

‘Ah. So you fixed them and hid them away until you needed them for your plan, then?’ Smart lass.

She did not answer him, but she did lean forward and take the cup in hand. After sipping from it once, she placed it back on the floor and slid away to lean against the wall as he was.

‘Too strong for you, is it?’

She nodded and touched the back of her hand to her lips. He walked over and got the jug of water, adding some to the golden liquid in her cup. Then he returned to his place on the other side. They sat quietly for a few minutes and then he asked the question he’d not been able to ask anyone else.

‘Were you there when my uncle died?’

The look of betrayal in his uncle’s eyes as he spoke the words exiling Brodie would haunt him until he died. Worse, he could not deny the charges and clear his name.

‘Nay. We had returned home. We only heard the news afterwards.’

He’d never had a chance to reconcile with Lachlan, a man who’d raised him and taught him and challenged him into manhood. And he’d died believing that Brodie had betrayed him and their work to ensure a peaceful future for their clan.

‘My father said he did not seem to suffer. That he began to have trouble keeping food down and two days later, he...he...’

Brodie nodded for he’d heard the way of it. ‘Aye.’

He sank into sadness, thinking about all the people he’d lost due to his cousin’s plans. Brodie had avoided this, avoided allowing his feelings to seep through but now he could not. If only. If only. His own plan could not bring back the lost, but it would prevent further destruction of his own clan and that of the Camerons. So distracted was he by the memories he never heard her approach. Her hand on his cheek startled him into awareness.

Arabella knelt next to him, touching his face.

‘You are bleeding,’ she said quietly, almost a whisper. He had washed the deep scratches but had not worried over their condition. Reaching up to staunch the bleeding with his hand, he found them pushed away by the lass. ‘I will see to them.’

Her ministrations, gentle and sure, wrecked any sense of self-control he thought was his. With her this close, he felt her breath against his skin as she traced the path of each slash and pressed on it with a cloth. And he would have been fine, he would have been able to resist her nearness if she had not slid her fingers in his hair to move it away from his face.

Brodie turned his head, bringing his face level and close, very close to hers. Her sharp gasp and shallow breathing told him she was affected, too. A quick glance at her eyes revealed no fear there. They darkened to a deep blue and her mouth opened ever so slightly. And then he lost his battle.

Her fingers stilled in his hair as he leaned over and touched his mouth to hers. Brodie pressed against her, teasing and touching her lips with his and with his tongue. He slanted his face, moving closer to capture her. At first she stared into his eyes, but when hers drifted shut, he slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her to him.

Her body leaned against his, her breasts against his chest, and he felt the rise and fall of every breath she took. Her mouth and body softened and he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened to him. Dipping deep inside, he tasted her.

Sweet. A hint of
uisge beatha
. Arabella. And so much more.

He smiled against her mouth when she allowed him in. Sweeping again, he found her tongue and suckled on it, gently then stronger. She intoxicated him. Attracted him. Lured him to her. Brodie eased his arm around her shoulders and guided her down until she rested over his lap. Waiting for some sign of hesitation or rejection, instead she touched the tip of her tongue to his.

He waited then, allowing the curiosity that was as much a part of her as her beauty to push her on. And he was not disappointed for she began to stroke his mouth with her tongue, then, taste him and suck on his. It stirred his desire and his body hardened.

What he really wanted to do was to lay her down there, strip her naked and taste every inch of her. Now, after hearing her soft gasps, he wanted to hear more of the sounds she would make in passion. What noises would she make when he kissed her breasts or touched that place between her legs or when he entered her? He drew back to see her face and exulted in the passion-glazed expression her blue eyes held.

Then, something just outside the cave’s entrance crackled loudly, startling them both back to their senses. Arabella pulled back, pushing herself out of his intimate embrace until they did not touch at all. Kneeling there, with her mouth swollen from his attentions and with his flesh swollen from kissing her, he only knew he wanted more...of her...with her.

Footsteps outside the cave drew his attention, so he moved away from her and her disconcerting nearness and stood. He had duties to see to. He had people he was responsible for. He had things to do. Worse, he knew she would never be his. Time ran against him, as did his resources, and the commitment of the people here.

Brodie wanted to explain everything to her, but he knew Caelan’s methods. If he failed, he did not want her to answer for his sins. The less she knew, the better. Though if he failed, there was every possibility that she and her family would suffer, too.

‘Take your rest there this night,’ he said, pointing to his pallet.

She raised her chin as though she would argue. Their gazes met and she looked away, with a slight nod of her head in acquiescence. Almost out of the cave, her soft question called him back.

‘Why did you call me that?’ He did not pretend to misunderstand. He shrugged.

‘I heard you called that once.’

‘When? By whom?’ she asked. She stood now, twisting her hands together. ‘No one is permitted to use that. My father would not like it.’

The fragility was back. Her spirit seeped out of her body as he watched, some memory forcing her into surrender. With what he’d heard and what she just revealed, Brodie knew there must have been some punishment wrought in the past by her father. Just as with the black.

He hesitated in giving her the answer. Would it hurt her more to hear the truth? Would it send her careening out of control once more? Something told him she would value the truth, even though he could not give her all of it. Nay, for now he would not risk it.

‘I am sorry, Arabella. I do not remember,’ he said, turning away.

‘It was Malcolm, was it not?’ she asked. He could hear her walking up behind him. The touch of her hand on his arm was no surprise then. ‘What else did he say?’ A mournful, pleading tone in her words nearly took him to his knees.

‘Aye, it was your brother. I just do not remember when he said it.’ He did not look at her then, knowing he could not hide the lie from her gaze.

She released him without another word and he stalked out of the cave, leaving her there. Rob waited for him, waving him on, but he dared a glance back at her.

Arabella stood without moving for several moments before lifting her hand to touch her mouth. She slid her fingers over her kiss-swollen lips and then turned away. Rob called his name and he nodded. After posting two guards at the only entrance to his dwelling, he went off to see what had chased the usual mirth from his friend’s face.

It could not be good.

* * *

The way her body throbbed could not be a good thing.

Her lips were swollen. Her skin tingled. A place deep within her ached for something she could not identify. Well, if she was honest with herself, she could.

More. More of him.

The kisses she’d had with Caelan had never caused this wanting within her. They had been tepid, unmoving kisses. Just between two friends with no air of intimacy or longing.

Brodie’s had been possessive and enticing. He had tasted her and showed her how to taste him. He wanted her, she could hear it in his breathing and feel it in the way he held her and in the way his body...changed beneath her.

She’d asked her question because she’d needed to force herself out of this seductive haze and back into remembering who he was and, more importantly, who she was.

Months ago, her growing curiosity about him had been appropriate for they might have married. Now, now he was her captor, the man who’d kidnapped her and killed her brother. And his wanting her could lead to nothing but more heartbreak and dishonour. And he could not be the man she thought him to be those months ago if he did these things.