A Beauty at the Highland Court: A Star-Crossed Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 7)

by Celeste Barclay

  “It’s not for me to say no,” came the curt reply.

  “It is when she isn’t greasing your palm, but you conveniently forget your duty when you get paid,” Lachlan snapped. He muttered under his breath, “Bluidy Lowlanders. No honor.”

  He looked at both men, trying to keep his loathing and frustration under control. He couldn’t blame the men for Arabella’s decisions. And he understood why neither left his post to inform Lachlan. Though, had he been in their place, he would have. He wouldn’t let any lady leave the castle at night unescorted.

  “You didn’t seek me out yesterday.” Lachlan growled.

  “We figured she’d be released sharpish. It was seeing you pass through the gate this morning and watching you go toward the taverns that made me realize you must be looking for the lady,” replied the guard who’d been at the front gate.

  “Do you ken the men who guard the gaol?”

  “Aye,” the guard from the postern gate hedged.

  “What?” Lachlan had just steadied his breathing, but his heart raced again.

  “There’s only one. He’s not known to treat women well.”

  Lachlan lunged at the guardsman and grasped his collar. He lifted the man onto his toes and shook him. “Bluidy bleeding hell. You’re to protect those within the castle as much from what happens in the walls as you are to protect them from what’s outside the walls. You should have fetched me or sent someone else to. I swear to you both, if anyone harmed her during that time, I will rain down holy hellfire on you and anyone within reach.”

  Lachlan pushed the man away and spun on his heel so abruptly that his plaid swished around the back of his thighs. He knew where the dungeon was, and he knew what he would find down there. As he approached the door at the bottom of the steps, he steeled himself for the state in which he would find Arabella. She’d been down there for two nights and a day. He expected the worst, if she was even still alive.

  Fifteen

  “You will let me in, or I will sever your head from your shoulders,” Lachlan threatened as he tried to gain entry to the dungeon. The guard met him at the door and refused to budge. They were matched in size, their glares menacing, their posture prepared for attack.

  “If you aren’t the king, then you don’t give me orders.”

  “I am Lachlan Sutherland, the heir and son of Laird Hamish Sutherland, the Earl of Sutherland,” Lachlan growled.

  “So?” the guard sneered.

  “I doubt my godfather will be pleased when I interrupt him in the Privy Council chamber. Imagine his displeasure to learn you’ve locked away one of his wife’s favorite ladies-in-waiting,” Lachlan kept his voice low, and it lent a gravelly pitch to it. He saw the moment the guard wavered, but the man didn’t relent.

  “Nah, yous nobles allus mitherin’ aboot sommat,” the guard grumbled. “There’s nay lady in yon cells. And you aren’t anyone’s godson, you heathenous Highlander.” The guard tried to slam the door shut, but Lachlan and his four guards barreled past him, pushing the man to the ground. Lachlan’s foot landed against the guard’s ribs, making him wheeze.

  “What do they call ye, ye bag of shite? Give me yer real name, and I willna kill ye. Play me for a fool, and I will come back, tie a rope around yer cods, and hang ye from them like a slaughtered lamb.” Lachlan was so furious that he didn’t notice his brogue replaced his courtly accent. He kicked the man once more for good measure.

  “Donnach,” the guard spat.

  “Vera well, Donnach. Mayhap ye will live to see tomorrow morn. Take me to her.”

  “The bitch you want isn’t here. We don’t hold feasts for lairds and ladies.”

  Lachlan pulled the man back onto his feet before driving his fist into his belly. “Yer lies stinks as much as yer breath, ye foul swine. Tell me where she is.”

  “Not in any of these cells, she’s not,” Donnach taunted.

  “Then which cell is she in?” Lachlan insisted.

  “There’s no lady, real or pretend, in any of these cells. See for yourself, my lord,” Donnach sneered.

  Lachlan dropped Donnach and spoke over his shoulder as he walked away. “Stay with him. Gut him if he says a word that isnae to tell ye where Lady Arabella is.”

  “Arabella!” Lachlan called out. The inmates howled and ranted, but he couldn’t hear Arabella’s voice. He yelled louder, “Belle!”

  Lachlan walked to each cell door with a window and peered inside. The conditions were worse than deplorable. His fear for Arabella’s safety pulsed through him as he caught sight of a man thrusting into a whore he recognized from the Merry Widow. He couldn’t imagine how anyone would want to couple in such a place. He walked past one cell where there was enough light to see a man lying in a puddle of blood. The other men in the cell acted as if there wasn’t a corpse among them. Not one flinched or looked guilty. Lachlan knew then that the guards didn’t check prisoners for weapons. They were just as content to let them murder one another as they were to torture the inmates. Lachlan was certain Arabella carried her dirk, but he was also certain most of the people in the dungeon carried one too, and they would be far more experienced using one.

  Lachlan continued to call out to Arabella, but the women’s voices who reached him were not the refined tones of a lady. He came to the end of the cells and hadn’t found Arabella. He turned around, unsure of how he didn’t find her, unless the guard was telling the truth. He didn’t believe that for a moment. She had to be somewhere in the dungeon. As he made his way back toward his guards and the door to the outside, a woman’s hand stuck through an opening in a cell door.

  “Laird,” the woman called to him. “They done carted her off yesterday morn. I don’t ken where to, but she was here. She was at my tavern—” a muffled voice behind her interrupted. “Hush, mon. Your tavern, my tavern. It doesn’t bluidy matter. Anyway, laird. His nibs took her somewhere, but she was here. She came to our tavern looking for whisky. Said she was getting it for her mistress. I kenned she wasn’t a maid. I kenned she was a lady.” The woman’s voice grew smug, proud of herself for realizing what no one else had.

  “Thank you,” Lachlan nodded before running back to his waiting men. He drew his sword and pointed it at Donnach. “Where’s the oubliette?”

  “We don’t have one,” Donnach grinned as he lied. Lachlan sliced the man’s arm, and Donnach howled.

  “Wrong answer. Where’s the oubliette?” Lachlan repeated.

  “We don’t have one,” Donnach mocked.

  “My blade will last longer than your life,” Lachlan warned before he slashed Donnach’s thigh. “Where is she?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because you’ll live.” Lachlan fished into his sporran and pulled out a small pouch that he shook. Coins clinked together. Lachlan waived it before Donnach’s face but yanked it out of his reach as soon as Lachlan saw his interest. “You could live and have some extra coin.”

  “Bah. You’ll kill me anyway,” Donnach growled. Lachlan knew he would get nowhere with the man. He could take the time to torture the man, but that was time better spent seeking King Robert’s help.

  “I won’t, but they will.” Lachlan snatched the key ring and nodded for his men to follow him. Two of them escorted Donnach down the corridor behind Lachlan. He stopped at the cell that held the most hardened of the men he’d seen locked away. He unlocked the door, and the Sutherland men tossed Donnach in. It was like watching a rabid pack of animals as they attacked Donnach. Lachlan felt no remorse for sentencing the man to death. He’d done the same to Arabella by not telling Lachlan where to find her. He spun on his heels, his men once again following. He would have an audience with the king in the Privy Council chamber, and God protect the chancellor if he thought to turn Lachlan away.

  Sixteen

  King Robert glanced toward the door at the sound of a scuffle. Laird Johnstone and Laird Gunn followed his gaze as the door flew open and slammed against the door. The three men watched as five men in Sutherland pl
aids forced their way past the guards. Lachlan had the chancellor by the front of his doublet as he dragged the man into the Privy Council chamber, then tossed him aside.

  “They’ve taken her,” Lachlan declared. He lifted the sheath that held his sword from his back and dropped it and several dirks on the ground beside it before storming toward King Robert. He wouldn’t let the king’s personal guard run him through for arriving well armed without being announced. He recognized Beathan Gunn and a man he assumed was Mitcholm Johnstone from his plaid sash and brooch. He would deal with the fallout of the two men listening once he was certain Arabella was safe.

  “Where? Who?” King Robert snapped. “You were not summoned, Lachlan. This isn’t the time--”

  “To your gaol. She’s been down there since the night before last,” Lachlan insisted. He noted the confusion on Beathan and Mitcholm’s faces. He would keep from saying Arabella’s name if he could.

  Understanding registered on the king’s face as his eyes shifted between the two lairds who stood before him. The men had just been about to sign the betrothal contracts when Lachlan burst in. King Robert narrowed his eyes at Lachlan before lifting a quill and handing it to Mitcholm. Lachlan strode across the chamber and ripped the quill from Mitcholm’s hand. He glanced at the parchment on the table but knew what it was without looking. Lachlan reached for the inkpot and poured the black liquid across the vellum, ruining it.

  “Lachlan.” The king’s voice warned Lachlan that he treaded dangerous water. “How?”

  “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you’d listened to me, this wouldn’t be happening,” Lachlan snarled.

  “Sutherland,” Beathan interjected. “This is a meeting between two lairds and the king. You don’t belong. Leave before I’m insulted.”

  For a long moment Lachlan stared at Beathan. Then he laughed. There was no merriment in the sound, but his laughter filled the chamber. Lachlan sneered at his neighbor. “Go home, Beathan. Hasn’t my family beaten you often enough?”

  Beathan turned more fully toward Lachlan, taking measure of the man he rarely saw off the battlefield. His eyes narrowed to slits before he sniffed and turned his back on Lachlan. It was meant to insult Lachlan, but he was glad that he could return his attention to King Robert.

  “She was taken down to the cells, but your guard has her locked in an oubliette. She wasn’t in any of the cells I saw. How do I get to her?” Lachlan demanded.

  “Who are you talking aboot?” Mitcholm demanded. “Your Majesty, what is the meaning of this? Can this not wait until later?”

  Lachlan shot King Robert a warning glare. For a moment, Lachlan feared King Robert would reveal to Arabella’s father where she was. “It’s a pressing matter,” was all the king answered.

  Lachlan pulled the pouch of coins from his sporran and dropped it on the table. The three men stared at him. “Her bail. Now have her released.”

  “You still haven’t told me why she’s there,” King Robert countered.

  “I told you, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Did she not tell them who she is?” King Robert asked.

  “I’m sure she tried. But if you were the sheriff, would you believe a woman claiming to be a lady-in-waiting?”

  “Sheriff?” King Robert’s russet brows lifted. Lachlan watched him draw in a breath before nodding. King Robert waved one of his guards over and whispered in the man’s ear. Lachlan watched the guard draw away, confusion on his face but nodding. “What was she doing there? Did you take her?”

  “Of course not,” Lachlan answered defiantly. “If the lass would listen to me, she would be safely tucked away in her chamber.”

  “Perhaps you aren’t the right mon for her then if you can’t keep her in hand,” King Robert suggested.

  “She’s not a dog or a horse,” Lachlan snapped. “I don’t command her.”

  “Whoever this woman is,” Mitcholm snickered. “That’s your first mistake.”

  Lachlan fisted his hands at his side as he fought to control his temper. He feared he would say something he couldn’t take back, or something that would give away Arabella’s plight. He would keep her drinking a secret and spare her the shame of her father and Beathan learning where she was.

  “Your Majesty, please order her release. I will see to her,” Lachlan begged. He would get down on his knees if he had to. He’d send his men for the coin in his chamber if it would buy her way out. He would pledge his service directly to the king in trade for her freedom. The king shook his head and turned his attention back to the two lairds standing before him.

  “My scribe will draft new contracts, they will include the newly negotiated terms,” King Robert addressed Mitcholm and Beathan.

  “No,” Lachlan growled.

  “Lachlan,” King Robert warned once again.

  “No. This wouldn’t have happened—” Lachlan snapped his mouth shut when he realized he’d just revealed Arabella was the woman on whose behalf he was pleading.

  “What has my daughter done?” Mitcholm demanded as he turned a murderous glare on Lachlan.

  “Naught. She was mistaken for someone else.”

  “Who?” Beathan interrupted. “I demand to know what my betrothed has done.”

  “She isn’t your betrothed,” Lachlan growled. “The contracts aren’t signed.”

  Beathan opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a side door to the chamber opened. Arabella passed through it, and the rest of the world fell away for Lachlan. He rounded the table, sprinting toward her.

  “Belle.”

  “Arabella?” Mitcholm demanded as Lachlan reached her.

  Lachlan pulled her into his arms and held her, never so relieved to see anyone in his life. He thought learning of Maude’s injuries from a wildcat attack had been the most fearful he’d ever been. Then Blair had disappeared for nearly a month, and he was certain nothing worse could befall him. But fearing for Arabella’s life showed him how deeply he could love someone. He kissed the crown of her head as she clung to him, her petite frame trembling against him. His anger melted away as he rejoiced in having Arabella safely encircled in his arms.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Arabella whispered. Lachlan leaned back and cupped her face in his hands.

  “I love you, Belle. I always have,” Lachlan professed.

  “I love you too,” Arabella admitted. She glanced around Lachlan’s shoulder and recognized her father and a man she assumed was her soon-to-be betrothed.

  “Shh,” Lachlan comforted her as her body shook with fear. “We’ll sort it out. I’m not leaving your side. They haven’t signed the contracts yet.”

  Movement drew their attention away from one another. Mitcholm tried to pull Arabella from Lachlan’s arms, but Lachlan’s snarl made the older man lower his hand. But it didn’t deter the laird from having his say.

  “What is the meaning of this? You are disgusting and stink like a gutter rat. You were to be properly attired and groomed to meet Laird Gunn. Instead, you show up like a beggar, and we ken they locked you away. You’re a disgrace, Arabella.”

  “Speak to her like that again, and I will cut out your tongue,” Lachlan threatened. “This isn’t the place for your admonishment. Don’t you think you should ask if she’s well?”

  “Obviously she is if she can fawn over you. Arabella, release him. You are another mon’s bride. You are humiliating us. Such a disappointment,” Mitcholm sighed as though he expected nothing better from Arabella.

  Arabella released Lachlan and tried to pull away, but he didn’t loosen his embrace. She glanced up at him before looking at her father. “Yes, Father. Lach, let me go.”

  She could tell Lachlan was hesitant to release her, but he respected her request and dropped his arms. She inhaled deeply as she faced her father. She kept her attention on him, not daring to look in Beathan’s direction. She could only imagine what he must have been thinking.

  “What did you do?” Mitcholm demanded.
>
  “I told you, she—” Lachlan slid his hand into Arabella’s and gave it a squeeze as Mitcholm interrupted.

  “I didn’t ask you, Sutherland. My daughter will answer for her crimes.”

  Arabella looked up at Lachlan, remorse filling her eyes. Then she looked at Beathan, and fear replaced her guilt. His furious expression made her wonder what he would do to her once they wed and she was his chattel. Her eyes darted to King Robert and took in his impassive expression. She would admit what she’d done and shoulder the consequences.

  “I was arrested during a raid on a tavern.”

  “What the devil were you doing there?” Mitcholm demanded.

  Beathan shifted and stalked toward them. “Whoring. What else does a woman do in a tavern?”

  “Gunn,” King Robert’s censorious tone made them all pause.

  “I’m not a whore,” Arabella defended herself. “Have a midwife check me. I was there to buy whisky.” Arabella felt as though someone lifted the weight of the world from her shoulders even as her stomach continued to churn. She never imagined she would admit to her vice, but the confession relieved the burden of her secret.

  “Whisky? Why?” Mitcholm asked in a whisper. Arabella could tell her father was genuinely perplexed.

  “To drink, Father.”

  “You tried to marry me to a drunkard.” Beathan growled. “Absolutely not.”

  “Ladies don’t drink,” Mitcholm stated. “You don’t drink. You could never do something so improper.”

  “Why? Because I’m supposed to be above reproach at all times? Because it’s not possible that I’m aught but perfect?”

  “Aye,” Mitcholm snapped. “You do not drink. You were not at a tavern.”

  “You can deny it to yourself all you want, Father. But I was at the Merry Widow, and I do drink. It calms my nerves.”

  “Calms your nerves?” Mitcholm mocked. “You spend your day swanning around the royal court, feasting and dancing every night. It’s not as though you have a single care or responsibility. You’re weak and a failure.”