Torn Between Two Highlanders (11 page)

What Arabella remembered most of the castle, on the days she’d been there for market, was that it was well-manned. It was a large, beautiful, wealthy place. A place only for visiting. But she realized now, her sister lived there. Her sister was behind those walls. And so she began to long for it, not only for safety, but because it now meant a place like home.

They were spotted as they neared the sea gate.

Arabella knew, because a flaming arrow came whizzing past her head in the dark before fizzling into the cold, dark sea. “Get down!” Malcolm shouted, pushing her to the bottom of the boat as it rocked and heaved. And, absurdly, as she contemplated her death for the thousandth time in the past few days, she was overcome by the stench of fish. There was a bloated one by her nose, dead and stinking in the boat. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now that it was so close to her face, she nearly retched.

And then she nearly laughed.

A
fish
. Why did every adventure with Davy involve a bloody fish? Except this time, they weren’t going to live to tell the tale. As another volley of arrows came their way, and one of them stuck in the boat with a thunk.

Davy called out the Macrae war cry. “
Sgurr Uaran!
Stop shooting arrows, you accursed idiots.”

“Davy?” came the reply.

“Aye, and Malcolm,” he called back into the night.

“For the love of Christ,” someone said. “Get in the castle, you dumb bastards.”

“Arabella!” Her name was shouted across the slushy, torchlit courtyard, her sister running toward her with open arms.

Breaking away from the knot of men who had pulled them up from the fishing boat, Arabella cried, “Heather!” She didn’t care that she wasn’t supposed to speak her sister’s name anymore, since she’d been cast out as a harlot. Arabella cared nothing bout any of it anymore. All she wanted was to fly into her sister’s embrace, and that’s what she did.

“
Bella
,” Heather said, using her childhood nickname, pulling her into a tight and familiar embrace. So familiar, in truth, that tears pricked at Arabella’s eyes. Dear God, she had missed her sister. Arabella had feared to think too much about her family, lest she fall apart. But now that she was near again…

But oh, Arabella’s sister was so different. The same beauty and uniquely violet eyes. But no longer a simple crofter’s daughter, no. Heather was mantled in an expensive fur. Her hair was plaited and styled. Her skin, sweet smelling and clean.

Whereas Arabella smelled like dead fish.

Grasping Arabella by the face and studying her as if to be convinced she was unharmed, Heather let go of a little sob. “The last time I saw you—”

“I know. They took me.”

Now it was Arabella’s turn to sob. Heather had been there when the Donald men attacked. And Heather had fought for Arabella. In spite of the knife at her throat, she remembered that much. “I’m so sorry you were taken, Arabella. So sorry. Conall brought word that you were safely rescued, then the snow storm came and I was so afraid for you. But now…”

But now the castle was under siege. And they were all safely inside, but trapped there too. Arabella understood all this without her sister having to say it. With a shiver of cold and a shudder of fear, Arabella whispered, “I know.”

“Let’s get you inside and tended to,” Heather said, her voice taking on a strange sense of authority. As if she had the run of the castle. As if she could speak for the laird.

Arabella started to follow after her older sister, just as she’d done when she was a child and in need of care. But one look over her shoulder at the men whose bodies she’d found such solace in, and she remembered she was not a child anymore. “Not without Davy and Malcolm,” she said. “They must be tended, too. Malcolm was badly injured. I fear his wound re-opened on the way here.”

“They’re my laird’s men. They will be tended to, never fear.”

Both men were watching Arabella, staring after her with something akin to longing in their eyes, and she wanted to go back to them. “But—”

“We’ll talk inside,” Heather insisted, tugging her by the hand. “Or do you want us all to catch our deaths in this cold?”

The castle was crowded, many villagers having come inside the walls for protection. And Arabella soon learned it was her abduction that had served as the warning in the countryside, spoiling the surprise attack.

At least it had served some purpose, she thought.

Though, in truth, it had served more than one. She would never have spent time with Malcolm or Davy if she hadn’t been taken. Never have known of their bravery. Never become so attached to them. And she
was
attached. She had taken them together, because she wanted no man to feel a claim on her.

But she hadn’t considered that she might feel a claim on
them
.

And she must feel it. Otherwise, why did her heart ache so much to be suddenly apart from them? In Heather’s chambers—yes, she had chambers, more opulent by far than the cottage where they’d come of age—a servant brought hot water.

A servant! Arabella could scarcely imagine how this had come to pass.

The servant bathed Arabella and asked to take away her filthy clothes. Conall’s clothes, really. Was he here, in this castle? Had he told everyone of her shame? These questions only plagued Arabella for only a moment before she decided that she just did not care. She cared more about the fact that Heather seemed to be extraordinarily well treated, with jewelry and a maid at her service.

Did the Macrae treat all his harlots so well?

“This might fit you better,” the servant said, offering Arabella a dress.

“It’ll be perfect, Brenna,” Heather said to the servant girl, then pulled Arabella into another embrace, as if she couldn’t get enough of her. “My sister. My sweet sister.”

Not so sweet anymore
, Arabella thought.

But it wasn’t a shameful thought. In truth, she was rather proud of herself as she told Heather how they had ridden out in snowy forests, stolen a fishing boat, braved the waters of the loch, and ducked flaming arrows…

Heather’s hand fluttered to her throat. “The risk!”

“But I came through it well,” Arabella insisted. “More than well. I’m only worried for Papa and the little ones.”

“They’ve gone into the mountains for safety,” Heather said. “Papa ought to have come here, but you know he would not trust the laird with his safety.”

“Do you?” Arabella asked.

She watched her sister’s expression melt into sweetness itself. “Oh, aye, Bella. I trust him more than any man who ever lived.”

“After what he did to you?” Arabella asked, unwilling to believe it. “After he made you promise to be his whore, to belong to him, until he should tire of you like a cast off shoe?”

Heather’s violet eyes misted with emotion. “What he did was bring me happiness. So much happiness. I cannot explain it all now, but he is a man with a lion’s heart. And he and his warriors will beat back these invaders from the castle. You must believe it. You must have faith in him.”

Arabella did not know if she could have faith in John Macrae.

But she had faith in her sister and two of his warriors.

Faith, deep and abiding.

And it would have to be enough.

~~~

How strange it was to awaken in a bed by herself, not tangled together with the two men who had given her such exquisite pleasure. It had only been one night, Arabella thought. But somehow, when she opened her eyes, she expected to be back in that cottage, trapped by the snows. Warm hands on her. Warm mouths seeking her neck, her nipples, her cunny…

Instead, she’d awakened in her sister’s chambers. In Heather’s bed. And where Heather was…well, she could guess. It was no secret anywhere in the castle that her sister spent the night, and every night, with the laird. And yet, that was still less scandalous than what Arabella had done. Less scandalous by far than her new fantasy….with an imaginary bed, big enough for Malcolm and Davy both, without squishing her too much in the middle.

Though she supposed that would never happen again.

It was a night they wanted from her, and a night she gave them.

A knock upon the door interrupted her thoughts, and Brenna, the serving girl, was standing there. “Do you need help dressing?”

“Dressing?” Arabella asked.

“For the laird,” she said. “He wants you to appear before him.”

Arabella gulped, a shudder of dread working its way down to her belly. It was all well and good for her sister to praise the laird. For Davy and Malcolm to praise him too. But what Arabella remembered of John Macrae was his cold promise to execute her Papa—a thing she wasn’t sure she could forgive.

Still, Arabella was a crofter’s girl. She had no right to judge the laird or question him. She was only meant to say “Yes, my laird” and “No, my laird.”

And that was only if she was spoken to.

So why let herself get so roiled up inside with rebellious thoughts?

“He’s waiting for you in his library,” Brenna explained. “You might want to let me do your hair…better than how you have it now.”

“I can do it myself,” Arabella insisted, taking a brush from the table. She hadn’t ever had a servant before, and she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of having one now. Worse, Brenna obviously wanted to make her a pretty lady in a pretty gown with pretty hair. Arabella was already missing her men’s garments.

When she was presentable—though Brenna may have disagreed—Arabella followed the maidservant through the castle to the room where the laird sat amongst maps and swords and soldiers. It was a war room, of sorts. And at his side were two warriors who looked up at her, each with a different expression of pleasure. Davy with a warm and radiant smile of welcome. Malcolm with a searching look in his dark eyes, as if it distressed him that he could not simply grab her and pull her into his arms.

Of course, Malcolm wouldn’t do such a thing. Not in front of the other men. Not in front of his laird. But it made her happy to think he wanted to. And his presence made it easier to look up on John Macrae and Heather, who stared adoringly at her laird, as if she belonged at his side.

The Macrae was a handsome man. A commanding chieftain. A man with an aura of power about him. And Arabella would be lying if she said it did not frighten her a little when he ordered everyone to go. Everyone but Heather, Malcolm, and Davy.

Then John Macrae said, “You must be Arabella.”

“Aye, my laird,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.

“I’m told you’ve suffered quite an ordeal.”

She glanced up at Davy, who gave her an encouraging nod. Malcolm narrowed his eyes, as if to tell her that she need not share any of the details of her
ordeal
unless she wanted to.

Arabella swallowed. “Aye, my laird. I was taken by brutes but saved by your men.”

“As simple as that?” the laird asked.

She didn’t know what he was driving at. “They took me to keep my Papa from warning you of an attack.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” the chieftain said. “Bodies of the Donald men were found before the three of you went missing, you see. But some of them seem to have died from a mysterious ailment. Some say poison. Some say witchcraft.”

Arabella’s sister gasped at the word
witchcraft
.

Arabella did not.

“It was poison,” Arabella said, too weary to lie.

Hoping the truth would save her.

The laird frowned. “Pity.”

“T’was berries of the yew tree,” Arabella explained. “They meant to rape me, my laird. I couldn’t see my way clear to let them do it without making them
suffer
.”

At the fierceness of her words, the laird’s eyebrows rose. He gave a quick glance to his men, before turning his eyes to Heather. “Are all the women in your family such spitfires?”

“Aye, my laird,” Heather said with an adoring smile. “We are.”

Now that was nonsense, for unlike Arabella, Heather had been nothing but an obedient girl all her life. Not a spitfire at all. Unless things had changed very much…well, Arabella could see that things
had
changed. Heather seemed more in possession of herself. And with all her new finery, almost a lady, if she were not a harlot. Perhaps it was true that she and the laird were sweet upon one another, because she could swear that she saw John Macrae smile back with adoration of his own.

Then the laird rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re sure you’re not a witch, Arabella? Because I could use one. The walls of this castle are near impregnable. And the castle is well-stocked to wait out a siege until our allies come to our aid. But in the meantime, a magic spell to drive off the invaders would be welcome. I would pay you well and provide whatever supplies you needed to work a curse.”

Even though Davy had told her the laird might react this way, Arabella hadn’t believed him. And now she stared at her chieftain in shock. “If a churchman heard you, my laird…”

“Do
churchmen
defend this castle?” the laird snapped. “No, I give not a fig for the that. I only care for the well-being of my clan, and the defense I owe the people. If that’s blasphemy or heresy, so be it.”

Well, that was all fine and good to say if one was the laird. But if one was a crofter’s daughter who was suspected of witchcraft…

“I’m sorry, my laird,” Arabella said. “I know no spells. But I am good with herbs, so if you have any yew berries, I could cook up your enemies another deadly rabbit stew.”

At that, the laird tilted his big head back and let out a bellow of laughter. Loud and clear. Laughter that seemed as if it was well-needed. “Mayhaps it will come to that, lass, since I suspect there is a traitor or two amongst us.”

Arabella blinked. “A traitor?”

The Macrae sighed and deigned to explain, “An army doesn’t attack a well-fortified castle with few vulnerable spots just as winter is breaking unless they have someone on the inside they believe will help them gain entrance before the worst of the snows come.”

A traitor
, Arabella thought, leaving the laird and his warriors to their battle plans. But who might it be? She supposed with all the villagers who had sought shelter within the castle walls, it might be anyone. And given how ill-disposed to the laird her own Papa was, she found herself suddenly grateful that he had fled with her younger siblings. Because he would be suspect. Even his daughters would suspect him. And the laird would surely hang him this time, just in case.