Arabella understood “the others” were the Mackays. Beathan Gunn had just unleashed a clan war that he couldn’t hope to survive. Through marriage, the Sinclairs were tied to the Mackenzies, and the Sutherlands were connected to the MacLeods and Camerons. Most of the northern Highlands would soon descend upon the Gunns’ doorstep. There was no chance to say more before a man shoved Arabella toward Beathan. He wrapped his arm around the back of her neck and tipped her backwards, so he could kiss her. Arabella jabbed her fingers into his eyes and stumbled backwards as he released her.
“Ye will rue the day ye did that,” Beathan barked.
“No more than I rue the day my father heard your name,” Arabella spat back. Beathan snagged a fistful of her hair and pushed her toward the mouth of the cave. She fought against his hold and managed to look back at Lachlan. She nodded as best she could, and he returned it. Arabella feared the Sutherlands might run their horses into the ground, but they would travel faster than the Gunns. She just had to keep herself alive long enough for Lachlan to rescue her. Again.
Thirty-Six
Lachlan had never ridden so hard as he had for the past four days. For the first two days, he and his men rode parallel to the Gunns, taking turns riding ahead to scout their nemesis’ progress. But they were forced to pull ahead, so he could reach Dunrobin with time to ready his clan. It should have taken the Sutherlands six days to travel from the mountains to their home, but they rode through the nights and only stopped when they feared they would kill their horses if they didn’t. When they reached Dornoch Firth, Taran and Wallace broke off and rode to Castle Varrich to seek the Mackays’ help. It was nearly an eight days’ ride from the Cairngorms to the northern coast, but Lachlan knew his men would continue to push themselves and their horses, just like he, Lellan, and George did. It would be another three days from Varrich to Clyth. It was likely that any battle between the Gunns and the Sutherlands would be over, but Lachlan couldn’t be certain. He knew his cousin Mairghread would geld her husband Tristan if the laird didn’t ride out, and he knew Tristan would be on horseback the moment he saw Sutherlands approaching.
It was a day’s ride north from Dunrobin to reach the Sinclairs at Dunbeath, and just a little more than half a day’s ride further north to Clyth. He prayed his father and their army could make it to the Sinclairs in time to stop and ask for their help before the Gunns traveled past. In Lachlan’s mind, the most ideal scenario would be to catch the Gunns as they passed close to Dunbeath, but he would track Beathan to Clyth, if he had to.
Lachlan had never been so happy to see his home as he was when he crested the last hill. He and his two guards clattered into the bailey as his parents stepped out of the keep. The bells ringing alerted his clan to his return. He leaped from Spiorad’s back before the horse came to a stop. He sprinted to his parents and didn’t bother with a greeting.
“We need to talk,” Lachlan said as soon as his parents could hear him without yelling. “Beathan has Arabella.”
Without a word, Hamish and Amelia turned to lead the way to Hamish’s solar. Once they were behind the closed door, Lachlan explained. As he watched his parents’ faces, he realized it didn’t surprise them to learn that he loved Arabella. He saw a flash of hurt in his mother’s eyes as he told his parents about his impromptu wedding. While he spoke rapidly and without unnecessary detail, he recounted everything that led to Beathan kidnapping Arabella a second time. Guilt nipped at the back of his mind for telling Arabella’s secret without asking her first, but he had to be honest with his parents. If he would risk the lives of the clan’s warriors, his parents had to know what they faced.
“I’ll have food packed and fresh clothes in yer saddlebags,” Amelia said as she rose. She leaned forward and kissed Lachlan’s cheek. “I’m glad to see ye son, and ye ken I worry for ye, but I have faith in ye.” Amelia squeezed his shoulder as she rushed out of the solar. Lachlan turned to look at his father, who had risen too. He watched the man he most admired and trusted above all others pull open a drawer to his desk. Hamish lifted out a box and flipped the lid open. Inside lay two matching dirks. They had been a gift from Robert the Bruce for Hamish’s service to him during the Wars of Independence.
In recent years, the Sutherlands hadn’t seen too many conflicts. When warriors rode out, as Hamish’s tánaiste, Lachlan usually led the way while Hamish remained at the keep. But when they rode to the Camerons a couple months earlier, Hamish gave Lachlan one of the dirks. There was a silent and sacred bond between father and son as they carried the matching set of weapons. As they prepared to ride into battle, Hamish held out Lachlan’s dirk. Both men sheathed their dirks into their belts. Without a word, the men embraced, both praying that they returned together just as they left together.
Arabella gritted her teeth as Beathan attempted to push the waterskin into her mouth that she knew he’d filled with whisky. She hadn’t suffered for days only to have her progress undone by even the slightest drop of alcohol. As Beathan’s fist swung toward her, she feared he would win if he knocked out all of her teeth. She dodged away from him, his fist swinging through air where her head had been a moment ago. He grabbed her hair and pulled until her back bent like a bow. He plowed his fist into her belly, making her mouth open as she gasped. He was quick and poured whisky into her mouth, but he didn’t anticipate Arabella spitting it back at him. He released her as his hands went to his face, trying to wipe away the alcohol that burned his eyes.
“Yer days are limited, bitch,” Beathan grunted.
“Do you like being laird?” Arabella asked with sickly sweetness. Her question caught Beathan off guard. He narrowed his watering eyes at her. “If you do, then you’ll need to stay alive. Hurt me, and there is no way you will live. If it isn’t Lachlan who kills you, it will Laird Sutherland or one of his men. Mayhap it’ll be Laird Sinclair, or Callum, or Tavish, or Alex, or Magnus. Don’t forget Laird Mackay is likely to show up. So may Laird Cameron and Laird MacLeod. If they miss the fight, I’m certain their pish will water the flowers on your grave.”
Beathan seethed as he leaned closer to her face, thinking his size would intimidate her. Arabella was sober and refused to cower before him. She’d welcomed the chance to hide from reality when he plied her with whisky the last time. But now she refused to cower or run away, even if it was only in her mind.
“Think what the king will have to say when he learns you’ve stolen me not once, but twice, from the man he granted permission for me to marry. Do you think what you want supersedes the king’s wishes? That is what he will think you believe when he hears of this. And how will the queen react in her fragile condition when she learns of what has befallen one of her longest serving and most loyal attendants? I can only imagine what she will say to the king. Imagine how he will feel with a pregnant and irate wife. I doubt he will forgive you for that alone.”
Arabella grinned as she continued to provoke Beathan. She knew it wasn’t the wisest course of action, but as long as she was talking, it meant he wasn’t pouring whisky into her.
“Have you told your clan where you wish to be buried? Do you have a spot already picked out? Or is there a family tomb? Och, we’re in the Highlands. Mayhap a family cairn? If you haven’t thought aboot that yet, this would be a good time. You don’t have much longer to decide.”
“Shut yer gob, wench,” Beathan snapped.
Gladly since a mouth shut is a mouth without whisky.
Arabella cast him a speculative glance, as though she was thinking about what to say next. Beathan grunted and stomped away. She swept her eyes around the camp they’d made less than an hour earlier. They’d been traveling for five days, and she suspected they had to be drawing near Dunrobin from what she remembered Lachlan telling her. She assumed Beathan wouldn’t expect Lachlan to arrive at his home before the Gunns passed it. She also assumed they would give Dunrobin a wide berth. She wondered if Lachlan had been successful in reaching his home yet.
Of course, he has. He and his father w
ill have ridden out already. They must be close to the Sinclairs by now. They will be ready. I ken it.
As Arabella continued to look around, her hand rested on the outside of her pocket where she could feel the outline of her knife. As she shifted her weight, she rubbed her thighs together, and the dirk strapped to her leg gave her a sense of reassurance. She thanked God over and over that no man had searched her, and since she remained unmolested, none had discovered the weapon beneath her skirts. Plenty of the Gunn men ogled her, but none dared make any advances, knowing Beathan claimed her.
She’d reminded him more than once that not only had she and Lachlan married, but there was already the chance that she carried his heir. He’d threatened to murder Lachlan, then marry her. She’d tapped her chin and asked, “will you mind if it’s Lachlan’s son who becomes your clan’s next laird? I mean, if you bed me now, you’ll never ken if the lad is yours or Lachlan’s. Can you imagine if it is Lachlan’s? Then he would be laird to both the Sutherlands and the Gunns. Can your clan get used to being called Sutherland?”
Beathan had spewed curses in Gaelic that she didn’t understand, but from his men’s reaction, she knew they had to be vile. She’d sat atop her horse and grinned. She’d pretended to be mostly cooperative, so they hadn’t restrained her. When the Gunns captured the Sutherland guards, they’d taken Firelight from them, so Arabella had her own mount. She would continue to go along to get along, only making enough trouble to remind Beathan that he hadn’t won yet.
“Ye think ye can outwit him,” Graham sneered as he stepped from behind her. She cast him a haughty look before turning her head away in disinterest. “Be a bitch. I dinna care. He will kill ye eventually. That ye can be sure of, but nae before he lets me have a rut or two on ye. Ye’ve clearly heard the stories aboot him and how he likes to take his women. Who do ye think introduced him to how to control a whore? Yer sweet little arse will be raw by the time I finish with ye.”
Arabella sniffed, pretending to curl her lip in disgust. She wouldn’t allow Graham to know how his words terrified her. She risked her life with her next words, but she prayed it was enough to make him walk away. “I thought it was only men who like to bugger lads who do it that way. I don’t see any lads here, so is that why you want it that way with me? I am as small as an aulder lad. Mayhap you’ll close your eyes and can think I’m one.”
“Stupid whore,” Graham growled. His hand whipped out to strike her, but Beathan called out.
“Nae until after I’m done with her. Then she’s yers. Until then, only I get to play with her.” Beathan flicked his tongue in a vulgar gesture that Arabella sensed she understood. She thought about what she and Lachlan had done together, and she grew certain she understood. Arabella remained quiet the rest of the night, and no one approached her. They were back in the saddle before sunrise. She survived the next two days on horseback, but as they cantered down a hill into a meadow, glimmering metal in the distance made her wonder if any of the surrounding men would survive to see the next.
Thirty-Seven
As Lachlan sat atop Spiorad at the crest of the hill, he had an unobstructed view across the valley. Arabella’s red tresses was the beacon calling him home. He could see she was riding Firelight, her horse’s chestnut coat shone nearly as brightly as Arabella’s hair. Sinclair scouts informed them an hour ago that the Gunns approached and that Arabella rode her own mount. They reassured Lachlan that no one had bound or restrained her, and that despite the situation, she looked well. Lachlan knew the report came from spying her from a distance, but it was enough to breathe easier.
He looked to his left, where his father sat on his giant stallion beside him. The beast made Spiorad look like a colt. Hamish’s horse sired Spiorad, who was only six. Lachlan was confident his horse still had a couple years left to grow. Beyond Hamish were the Sutherland warriors who rode out with them. Two score men in Sutherland plaid with their swords resting upon their laps awaited his order.
Lachlan looked to his right, where his Uncle Liam’s horse nickered beside his. Liam Sinclair was a legend in his own right, both for the great love he shared and continued to carry for his deceased wife and for his prowess on the battlefield. As a child, Lachlan had revered his father, been in awe of King Robert, but idolized his uncle. Liam looked sideways at him and cast him a knowing smile. Lachlan couldn’t help but grin.
“What’s so funny?” Callum demanded.
“Dinna be mardy,” Liam warned his oldest son. Lachlan chuckled, knowing Callum disliked the word “mardy” as much as Lachlan did. Deep rumbling laughter came from Alex, Tavish, and Magnus. The four brothers waited side by side, descending in age the further they were from their father. The four brothers had their own reputations, mostly from before they each married. But as a united force, there were few who were foolish enough to take on the Sinclair brothers. More than one man had stopped fighting on a battlefield to watch the Sinclairs tear through their opponents.
“He canna help it, Da,” Tristan Mackay called from the end of the line. “He misses Siùsan too much. He doesnae ken his heid from his arse without her to tell him.”
Every man within earshot guffawed. Callum leaned forward to shoot a murderous glare at his brother-by-marriage. “And just what do ye think ma wee baby sister will think when ma wife is consoling me for the horrid things ye say?”
It was Callum’s turn to hoot with laughter as Tristan swore. His horse danced about, sensing its owner’s displeasure. Lachlan leaned back and looked over his shoulder at the Sinclair and Mackay warriors assembled. Taran and Wallace had met the Mackays as Mairghread and her husband traveled to visit the Sinclairs. There were newborn bairns at Dunbeath, and Mairghread and Tristan came to see their nieces and nephews. Tavish and Magnus hadn’t hesitated to ride out, but Lachlan kenned they worried about their wives who had given birth only days apart. Lachlan had sworn they would finish their business with the Gunns and be home in time for the evening meal. Five female voices had floated into Dunbeath’s Great Hall from the second floor, announcing they would hold him to that pledge.
While it was taking every ounce of restraint not to spur his horse and gallop toward Arabella, he was proud of his family and their bonds. No one, not a member of his family or their clans, had hesitated to take up his cause when he arrived at Dunrobin and Dunbeath asking for help. He knew he’d been blessed to be born into such an unusual family. His hand slipped into his sporran, and his fingers ran over the carving he always carried with him any time he left his home, even if only to ride out to a nearby village. The eve before his first battle, Hamish had presented him, Amelia, Maude, and Blair with identical carvings that depicted their family. The five of them stood arm in arm. It was each family member’s most prized possession. He’d carried the treasured item for more than a decade, some parts smooth from his fingers rubbing over them. He looked at Hamish when his father placed his hand on Lachlan’s knee.
“I am proud of the mon ye are, Lach. I couldnae ask for a better son. I dinna care what Uncle Liam says. There is nay finer warrior than ye. He can keep his lads, and I will keep mine.” Hamish squeezed his knee before drawing his hand away.
“Thank ye, Da. I just strive to be like ye. If I am even a little, then I can respect maself,” Lachlan whispered. He turned his eyes toward the meadow. He knew the moment Arabella spotted him. The men surrounding her continued to canter forward as they passed her. Firelight was slowing to a trot, allowing the Gunns to move ahead of her.
Lachlan raised his sword arm over his head. When he saw Beathan’s attention turn to Arabella, looking to see where she’d gone, Lachlan dropped his arm. He spurred Spiorad and calling out, “sans peur,” the Sutherlands’ battle cry of “fearless.” He heard it echoed to his left while the Mackays let loose their battle cry, “Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh” unifying their men under the call for “the white flag of Mackay.” Not to be outdone, the Sinclairs called out “Girnigoe! Girnigoe!” Their war cry harkened back to their Norse ancestors.
“Ye’re coming with me, lass,” Beathan hissed. Holding the reins in one hand, he reached out the other to wrap around Arabella’s waist. She drew her left hand up then plunged her knife into his forearm.
“I’m going nowhere with you. You bampot. You may have returned me to Lachlan,” Arabella crowed. “But you are going to die.”
As Beathan stared at the knife quivering in his arm, he was slow to react to Arabella’s words. With her hand wrapped around the hilt of her second sgian dubh, she turned her palm up and thrust the short but fatally sharp blade into his neck. Blood sprayed forth, covering her face, chest, and hand. It splattered across her gown. The scent so close to Firelight’s nose made the already agitated horse frantic. Untrained for battle, the tiny mare bolted. Arabella barely had time to grasp the reins before they slipped beyond her reach. She let Firelight run until she broke through the circle of warriors who came to rescue her. She reined in her terrified horse, cooing at her and patting her neck.
When Firelight settled, Arabella looked back at the nonexistent battle. More than a hundred sets of eyes looked at her, but she only saw Lachlan. He spurred Spiorad forward, going through the break in the line of men that Firelight created with her headlong flight away from the blood and noise. Arabella swung down from her horse as Lachlan brought Spiorad to a stop. He leaped from his horse as his steed nodded his head and pawed the ground as if he agreed with Lachlan and Arabella’s reunion.
A Beauty at the Highland Court: A Star-Crossed Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 7) Page 27