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

by Celeste Barclay

  “Belle, the only point I meant was aye, a mon might become aroused, but I’d rather that than you fly off the back of the horse and die.”

  “And that’s what you would say when you ride with another woman.”

  “When? Unless it’s my mother or my sisters, there won’t be any other women riding with me besides you.” Lachlan appeared truly mystified.

  “Then why do you assume I’d ride with another mon? I don’t intend to do that.”

  Lachlan fought to keep from sighing. He understood Arabella’s naivety, but he knew they needed to get back on the road. He hadn’t started the conversation intending to steer it in this direction, but he had. “Mo chridhe, there may be times when you must ride with a guard. You must understand this to some level because you said you rode pillion with Edwin.”

  Arabella nodded. “That is why I rode pillion. It just didn’t seem right to be wrapped in another mon’s arms. It didn’t feel appropriate, and I suppose I knew why, even if I didn’t actually think it.”

  Lachlan kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “Don’t think that just because I want you safe doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be jealous. But your wellbeing will always come first, Belle. It’s what matters most to me; that and your happiness.”

  “Bluidy hell, Lachlan. I love you,” Arabella swore before fisting his leine and going on her toes to press a quick, hard kiss.

  “And I love you. Now we must be away,” Lachlan said as he tapped her backside. They mounted and cantered away from the stream. Once they were on the open stretch of road, they pushed their horses to run faster.

  Twenty-Six

  Arabella opened one eye as she came awake during the middle of their second night traveling northeast. She lay still beside Lachlan, whose heavy arm kept her pinned against his chest. She’d shivered so badly the night before that Lachlan woke her to make sure she wasn’t ailing. After that, he cast propriety to the wind and insisted that she sleep tucked beneath his plaid and against him.

  She was certain she heard movement, but she lay still and heard nothing more. The longer she lay with one eye open, the more she couldn’t ignore the need to relieve herself. She tried to ease out from under Lachlan’s arm by rolling on her belly and scooting out from under the plaid, but his fingers tightened around her waist.

  “Where’re you going?” His voice was rough and groggy.

  “Just to the bush on the other side of the fire. I’ll only be a moment,” Arabella whispered her reply. She jumped when she looked back and saw both of Lachlan’s eyes were open wide, and he didn’t appear to have just been sleeping. “You’re awake?”

  “The moment you woke,” Lachlan explained.

  “How?” Arabella’s brow furrowed, but then she shook her head. Her sense of urgency only increased by the moment. “Never mind.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Lachlan offered.

  “That’s not necessary. Give me just a moment. You won’t have a chance to miss me.”

  “Of course I will.” Lachlan’s smile was exceedingly rakish when combined with his deep and rasping voice. Arabella tutted quietly and slipped from beneath the plaid. She looked back when she sensed Lachlan’s movement. He’d sat up and was leaning to see around the fire. Arabella skirted around the slumbering men, but she wondered if they too woke from her movement. She suspected they were awake, since they were trained warriors like Lachlan. She was both embarrassed and remorseful to wake them while she crept to the bush.

  As Arabella lowered the skirt of the habit she still wore, she was certain she heard something that sounded more like a man’s tread than a ground animal. She froze for a heartbeat, trying to determine from which direction it came. She lifted her foot to take her first step back to the camp when a hand came over her mouth and nose. She tried to scream, but the sound was too muffled to travel. She was certain the man had ham hocks for forearms as his hand slipped down to cover only her mouth as the fingers from his other hand pinched her nose. She struggled against him, but as her vision blurred, she settled. She fought off the haze as she tried to conserve what air she still had trapped in her lungs. She knew it was less than a couple minutes before her eyes slid shut. She’d gone to a bush just past where she knew Lachlan could see because she’d been too modest. Now she would pay for that.

  Her unidentified assailant carried her to a waiting horse and flung her belly down. The impact was enough to knock the remaining air from her and bring her eyes open. She attempted to wiggle free and drop from the horse’s back. As she tried to free herself, she noticed a pair of bare calves walking toward her. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but she registered the uncovered legs were beneath the hem of a plaid. Unable to see the pattern she could only guess who was abducting her. Beathan Gunn’s fist slammed into the back of her head, and everything went black.

  Lachlan was on edge the moment Arabella disappeared from his sight. The longer she was away, the more anxious he became. Even if she needed more time than she suggested, Lachlan reasoned she should have returned by now. He rose and drew a log from the fire, singeing his knuckles, but he had a torch. He moved in the direction Arabella went, but paused when all four of his men sat up.

  “Aye, she’s been gone too long,” Wallace grunted.

  Lachlan looked at his friend and most experienced warrior among the group. He nodded before glancing at the others. Without a word, the men began folding their bedrolls and pulled logs from the fire before kicking dirt into it. Lachlan’s heart thudded because he knew he wouldn’t find Arabella. He carried the torch into the bushes, holding it toward the ground in front of him. He spotted her footprints and found the bush she’d used. He also discovered the disturbed brush and leaves where Arabella must have struggled. He squatted and pushed aside the loose foliage to find the footprints beneath. Someone had covered them. He noticed a man’s size boot print along with Arabella’s smaller one. They were smeared as if there was a scuffle. He turned away from the camp and searched for the direction the prints went. He found it, but there was only one set. Lachlan whistled softly, and his men appeared like wraiths. The fire was out, and he knew there would be no sign of their stay. The Sutherlands followed the footprints a short distance until they ended and hoofprints began.

  “There’s only one set,” George noted. He was close in age to Lachlan, but he was a mountain of a man. The warrior often reminded Lachlan of his cousin Magnus. Both men had tree trunks for legs and shoulders board enough to carry Atlas’s rock. “Whoever it was must be meeting his men further away. Didna want to risk us hearing too many of them.”

  “Aye. And that someone is Beathan Gunn. I would bet ma last groat,” Lachlan replied. He never bothered hiding his burr when he was among his men. His father had never lost his and didn’t even attempt to hide it. Lachlan found he could concentrate better on trying to reason where Beathan headed when his speech wasn’t his focus. He looked back and found Taran and Lellan, the other two guards with him, had the horses. Each man carried a torch, more concerned with finding Arabella than remaining invisible. None wanted to miss any sign, or worse, her body, by stumbling through the dark. They followed the hoofprints until they found the cluster of several more. The men looked around, but the trail seemed to disappear.

  “They’re sweeping away their tracks,” Wallace noted as he once again kneeled and hovered his hand over the ground. He shone his torch in every direction before facing west. He inched along until he placed his palm on the ground. “Here. I can feel the imprint even if they smoothed over the top. It’s deep, so it must be the horse carrying Lady Arabella and whoever has her.”

  The men walked in the direction Wallace pointed, even though they couldn’t see any prints. The tracker periodically touched the ground again. Lachlan was growing restless, wanting to mount his horse and charge after Arabella. But he knew he needed to be strategic, or he was likely to ride off in the wrong direction. Lachlan understood Beathan chose a western path thinking to throw the Sutherlands off his trail, but inevi
tably, he had to turn east before long. Riding in that direction didn’t guarantee they would find Arabella and the Gunns. They needed a more exact route to follow.

  Lachlan’s patience was rewarded five minutes later when hoofprints became visible with no attempt made to hide them. They pointed east toward Loch Tay. It would be three quarters of a day’s ride to reach the waterway, but Beathan didn’t have that great a head start. The men swung into their saddles and kneed their steeds into a gallop.

  Twenty-Seven

  Arabella’s ears rang as her head pounded. It was worse than any headache from overconsumption. Her chest flopped against the horse’s shoulder with each stride, and her stomach churned as she watched the ground pass beneath the charging horse. Before she could stop herself, the rabbit and bannocks she’d had before going to sleep spewed forth, splattering the horse’s legs. The odd sensation made the animal rear and whinny. A hand grabbed hold of the back of her clothes as she felt herself sliding. Another wave of nausea crashed over her, and her stomach emptied.

  “Ye stupid bitch,” a gravelly voice came from above her. The sun had risen several hours earlier, and Arabella recognized Beathan. He no longer sounded like the man at court. His burr didn’t have the soothing effect Lachlan’s did. She squinted as she watched, fearful she would lose hours again if she slipped back into unconsciousness. She felt one of Beathan’s hands still grasping her clothes while the other tugged on the reins as he brought his horse back under control. He pulled the horse to a stop and swung down, pulling Arabella with him. He tossed a waterskin at her, and she put it to her lips, grateful for a drink. She spluttered as whisky flowed into her mouth instead of water. Unprepared for the alcohol, it surprised her, but only a moment later her craving overtook her sense. She took long drags from the flask, both thirsty and wishing to escape the nightmare she found herself in. After several long swigs, her sense came back to her.

  What’re you doing? You were just praying not to pass out again, and now you’re drinking yourself to where you’ll black out. How will you defend yourself from these men if you’re soused? How will you escape if you’re too drunk to put one foot in front of the other? How will you get back to Lachlan if you can’t pay attention to where you are?

  “Uh-uh, lass. Drink up.” Beathan ripped the wimple from her hair and fisted her locks. He forced the flask back to her mouth despite her attempts to push against him and to turn her head away. He yanked her head back and pushed the opening of the waterskin into her mouth. She feared she was about to drown as the liquid scorched a path down her throat, bypassing her tongue. She gagged until Beathan gave her a moment’s reprieve. “Dinna think I forgot aboot why ye ended up in the gaol, ma little wayward bride.”

  Arabella turned wide eyes toward him and tried to shake her head. She stopped swallowing, the liquid pooling in her mouth. When there was enough to dribble from her lips, she spat it in Beathan’s looming face. He dropped the flask and swung his hand until his palm connected with her cheek.

  “Ye’ll think twice before ye do that again, lass. Wed ye and bed ye is all I need to collect yer dowry. I forced yer father to lower the bride price, but I’ll still collect yer entire dowry. Yer father needs the wee bit of coin and wants ye off his hands even more. Ye’re mine now.” Beathan made a lewd gesture as his hand slid beneath his sporran and he thrust his hips forward.

  Arabella felt the effects of the alcohol washing over her, but she was still aware enough to be terrified that Beathan would follow through on his threat. If she was too drunk to argue, she might find herself before a priest willing to marry her to the odious man. Then she would find herself beneath him as he slavered over her and claimed his husbandly rights. She didn’t doubt that if Beathan gained proof that he consummated a marriage between them, her father would be bound to hand over her dowry. Once that happened, she would be no use to him. She was likely to be dead before they could arrive at Clyth Castle.

  “I can see yer wee mind whirling away as ye work it all out. I’d wager ye ken I dinna need ye once yer dowry is on the way. But I will swive ye a few times just for the pleasure of having Lachlan Sutherland’s woman. Tell me, has he broken ye in yet? Or will I be the one to rip through yer maidenhead? I like it when they scream,” Beathan sneered before licking her neck.

  Without thinking, Arabella’s foot landed against his shin and then her knee aimed for his bollocks. Beathan laughed as his palm connected with her cheek once more. He held out his hand and gestured for one of his men to come closer. He pointed to the waterskin, never taking his eyes off Arabella. He shoved it back into her mouth, releasing her hair in favor of plugging her nose. It forced her to swallow even when she tried not to. It wasn’t long before she’d drunk the entire container. Her eyes shut as her head wobbled on her neck. She tried to open her eyes, but what she could see was blurry. She closed them once more, hearing sounds and sensing movement around her, but she only remained on her feet because Beathan held her up.

  Arabella jerked out of her semi-asleep state when Beathan nudged her forward. One of his men supported her as he climbed into the saddle. He pulled her in front of him, and deciding he couldn’t afford another chance of her vomit spooking his horse, he kept her upright. Arabella registered the hint of a thought. Something Lachlan told her. She struggled to work through it until she recalled him saying it was safer for her to ride in front of a man. She blinked several times as the horse lurched forward. She was in disagreement with Lachlan’s argument. At that moment, she would have much preferred the horse throw her. She’d take her chances breaking her neck if it meant Beathan Gunn no longer held her captive.

  Lachlan scanned the horizon, but there was nothing to see but open landscape. They’d been following the trail for most of the day and still hadn’t caught up to Beathan, Arabella, and the Gunn escort. They’d determined there were six men riding with Beathan, which made it seven Gunns to five Sutherlands. The Sutherlands were confident in their odds, having fought and bested the Gunns on more than one occasion. As the sun passed over the zenith and moved to shine at their backs, they approached the village of Killin at the foot of Loch Tay. Lachlan and his men had already discussed their best course of action was to either catch Beathan or overtake him. They rode to the shore and searched for birlinns they could hire. Lachlan wanted to groan when he discovered the only boats along the docks were fishing boats. They wouldn’t be able to take their horses. Without the steeds, there would be little they could do to intercept Beathan even if they got ahead of the Gunns.

  “Have a nun and a mon, along with his escort, boarded any boats today?” Lachlan asked. Several men shook their heads. “Have they passed by this way?”

  “Aye,” an old man with gnarled fingers and a toothless smile nodded. “An hour or so past. They stopped to water their horses.”

  Lachlan looked at his men and raised his eyebrows. “If there arenae any boats, then we must ride. I dinna think we can catch them while it’s still light, but we may find their camp if we ride through the night. We take her from Laird Gunn just as he took her from me.” Lachlan was cautious not to use Arabella’s name, but he had no qualms about having people discuss Beathan kidnapping a woman.

  “Ye’re Sutherlands, arenae ye?” Another man asked as he came to stand beside the ancient fisherman. Lachlan nodded slowly. There was little way to hide the fact since he and his men wore their plaids, but Lachlan was suspicious. “The woman wore a nun’s robes but had bright red hair. She looked worse for wear. She had a bright bruise across her cheek.”

  Lachlan fisted his hands as he ground his teeth. Any chance that Beathan would survive their inevitable fight ended with that news. He would kill him and not lose a wink of sleep. He waited for the man to say more, but when nothing was forthcoming, Lachlan thanked him and prepared to return to his horse.

  “She didna look like any nun I’ve seen,” the old man said.

  “She’s nae. She’s ma betrothed,” Lachlan replied.

  “Runaway from the conven
t, has she? Caught by the wrong mon?” The younger fisherman asked.

  “Nay. She dressed as a nun to protect her from the vera mon who stole her,” Lachlan answered. He walked to his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. He grasped his saddle and was prepared to pull himself up when one fisherman called out to him.

  “There are birlinns a wee distance up the shore. Ye can sail them north. Tell them Samuel sent ye,” the older man stated. Lachlan once again thanked him, and the Sutherlands rode away from the village. They kept close to the banks and easily found the larger crafts. The fishermen were apt to haggle until Lachlan mentioned Samuel’s name. They nodded and said there was no fee. They would ferry Lachlan and his men for nothing. It made Lachlan wonder what position Samuel held that gave his name such influence.

  Accustomed to boats, the Sutherland horses boarded without trouble. It was minutes later that they raised the sails and were under way. Lachlan scanned the terrain they passed, straining for any sign of Arabella. If they reached Comrie Castle after sailing to the far end of Loch Tay and up the River Tay without spotting the Gunns, Lachlan would enlist the Menzies help. A clan that normally remained neutral in clan issues that surrounded them, Lachlan knew they would lend their help to the Sutherlands. It was a debt owed and never repaid from generations ago. Proud Highlanders, Lachlan knew it was manipulative, but their honor would demand they ride alongside him.

  As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the first stars twinkled, he was certain they’d overtaken the riders despite seeing no signs of them. He wondered if Beathan spotted the boats and knew they were aboard, or if he’d ignored them. There was the possibility that the Gunn hadn’t seen them at all. While the horseback riders would have to make camp, Lachlan and the other men continued to sail throughout the night. It was another three-quarters of a day’s ride to traverse the length of Loch Tay on horseback, but only a few hours by water. Beathan’s party could have only ridden a couple hours past the village before having to stop. Sailing through the night meant Lachlan would arrive with time to spare, or rather time to recruit the Menzies.