Claiming His Highland Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  He walked back to the hall and found Arabella deep in conversation with Rob’s wife and sister. When they all looked up at him at the very same moment with their gazes narrowed, a strange fear shot through him. Oh, he’d faced death and dismemberment in his life already, but the thought of being in the aim of these three women terrified him...as it would any sensible man who had even a bit of self-preservation in his blood.

  ‘Is the discussion finished then?’ Arabella asked first.

  ‘Nay, it continues without me.’

  ‘If it involves the Camerons, why are you not there?’ she asked, probing into uncomfortable matters as she always did—with a remarkable sense of what would be best left untouched. He did not question how she knew Brodie discussed the Camerons, for she had as many sources of knowledge and gossip as her husband did, possibly more.

  ‘The Mackintosh dismissed me.’

  The three let out gasps as one and leaned back in their chairs, surprised by this news.

  ‘And you know not why?’ Eva asked.

  Rob’s wife was no stranger to the machinations and manipulations of clan chiefs. Her own father had forced her into marriage with Brodie’s closest friend for his own benefit. For them, though, the marriage had turned out for the best.

  ‘I am not privy to Brodie’s reasons,’ he said. Not exactly the truth, but close enough for now. ‘Mayhap Arabella can discover it when he returns to their chambers?’ Alan held out his hand to his cousin. ‘Which is where he’s asked me to take you.’

  The women looked one to the other before looking back at him. He continued to wait for Arabella to take his hand. Arabella took pity on him and rose from her chair then, accepting his arm and nodding to Eva and Margaret. From the expressions on those two faces, Alan understood that they expected that she would reveal the reason he was expelled from Brodie’s gathering and what was truly happening.

  She remained silent as they walked through the hall, up the stairway that led to their chambers. But he knew that restraint would not last long once they reached the privacy promised in her room. Tempted to leave the door ajar, he waited for her to enter before standing before it.

  ‘Oh, do close the door, Alan. You know that will not stop me from having my say or asking my questions of you.’

  He did as she ordered and watched as she crossed the room and poured wine into two waiting cups. She carried them to the small table in the corner and sat, arching a brow to give him another order without words. Alan sat and accepted one of the cups.

  ‘So, Brodie truly dismissed you? What were his words?’ she asked, taking a sip from her cup.

  ‘He simply bade me to bring you here.’

  Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor between them. Arabella would think on this until she was ready to pounce. Or until her husband arrived.

  ‘You will not reveal to me the purpose of calling you all together?’

  ‘I will say it involves the Camerons and the Mackintoshes.’

  Alan waited for the explosion of temper from his cousin, but none came. Instead, she pursed her lips and looked over his shoulder towards the door. He turned and saw Brodie standing there.

  ‘Come now, Bella,’ Brodie said, walking to where they sat. ‘Abusing your cousin will not loosen his lips. You should know that by now.’ Alan tried to stand, as he should in the presence of the chieftain, but Brodie’s hand on his shoulder kept him sitting. ‘He has been in this same situation before and he is now and always be loyal to his clan first.’

  Somehow, when Brodie spoke those words, ones that echoed his own thoughts and vow, guilt washed over him. And he had no reason to feel that at all. He’d helped the Mackintoshes a dozen times over and would again if he could. He would not, however, betray his own clan or disobey a direct order from his own chieftain. He did stand then, pushing free of Brodie’s hand to look him in the eye.

  ‘Aye. I am loyal to the Camerons, Brodie.’ Anger built in his gut then and he wanted to rage. The strange thing was that he was not certain who his target should be.

  ‘Hold,’ Brodie said, putting his hand up between them. ‘I meant nothing more by my words. And I ken that your uncle’s actions will cause strife between us.’

  ‘My uncle’s actions?’ Arabella rose now and approached her husband. ‘What has he done now?’

  ‘Gilbert has been negotiating with Hugh MacMillan of Knap for his daughter’s hand in marriage.’ Brodie’s gaze never left his own.

  ‘Another marriage?’ Arabella gasped at this news. ‘How old is she?’ she whispered. The words lashed out at him and Alan could not help but flinch. How old?

  They’d never spoken of Gilbert’s penchant for young women openly and it should have surprised Alan to hear it from her, but somehow it did not. Arabella missed little, whether here in Drumlui Keep and village or at the home of her childhood Achnacarry. She’d learned early in life that she would be the wife of a powerful man with many under her control and supervision and had learned the skills needed to live that life. Breaking from Brodie’s stare, Alan looked at his cousin.

  ‘It matters not for The MacMillan’s daughter drowned on her way to the betrothal.’

  Arabella began to say something, but she pressed her lips together and swallowed. He could guess that her words would be close to those uttered by Magnus just a short time ago in a different chamber.

  ‘God rest her soul,’ she whispered, lifting her hand to her head, chest and shoulders in the gesture that usually accompanied such prayers. A few moments passed before she reached out to touch her husband’s arm. ‘There must be more to this if you are so concerned. Tell me the rest of it, Brodie.’

  ‘I suspect there is more to this than a simple betrothal, Bella,’ Brodie said. ‘There have been whispers for months about dissatisfaction with the treaty between our clans. But nothing more. Nothing substantial. Nothing I can prove.’

  ‘Alan, do you know of this?’ she asked him next.

  ‘In all candour, Arabella,’ he said, glancing first at Brodie, then back to her, ‘I know nothing of plans to undermine or weaken the treaty.’ He took a breath in and let it out. ‘As to the other, I know only what Brodie told you.’ He looked at Brodie once more. ‘In either of these, though, my uncle does not keep my counsel or invite me to share in his, Brodie.’

  ‘I wanted to tell you that you have a place here, Alan,’ The Mackintosh said. ‘No matter what actions your uncle carries out or treachery afoot, you are one Cameron that will always be welcomed here and in the Chattan Confederation.’

  Tears had begun trickling down Arabella’s cheeks at her husband’s words. A sick feeling flooded him for, by those words, Brodie had confirmed one thing and, at the same time, hinted at so much more.

  ‘What do you know? What treachery do you speak of?’

  ‘Brodie. Alan. Can we three not speak plainly here together? We have given ourselves into this treaty and have seen too many die before it was in place to want it weakened. We are more than allies here,’ she pleaded. Her eyes bright with tears, she touched both his and Brodie’s hands. ‘We are kin. We are family. We are friends who have protected each other and even saved each other’s lives when we needed saving.’

  Her soft words crushed his pride and the tension in Brodie eased as well. He stepped back and nodded at his wife.

  ‘You are right in this, my love.’

  Brodie walked to the pitcher and brought it to the table with another cup. Pouring a generous amount in each of the three there now, he drank deeply and Alan wondered if the news Brodie would share was so bad he needed the fortification of strong wine.

  ‘First, word came to me that The Cameron has sent and received many messages to Alastair MacDonald of Lochaber in recent months.’

  Feeling somehow responsible to defend Cameron honour, Alan was tempted to offer some sort of explanation. Inste
ad he waited to learn more about Brodie’s suspicions and whether they were groundless. Alastair MacDonald had been behind attacks on Mackintosh holdings, and villagers, a few years back. He’d deflected his guilt on to the Camerons until Alan had discovered the truth of it. Would his uncle truly be contemplating some sort of alliance with the MacDonalds of Lochaber now?

  ‘More recently I received reports about this betrothal with The MacMillan’s daughter. His claim on Castle Sween is tenuous at best now that his wife is dead. But if his daughter married the Cameron chieftain, he might be amenable to defending her father’s claim.’

  ‘How is that trouble for the Mackintoshes or the treaty? The MacMillans are long-time allies to the Chattan Confederation. Would that not bind the Camerons more closely to your side?’ he asked Brodie.

  Brodie’s smile then was stark and devoid of mirth. Alan tried to think of all the ramifications of the match that had almost happened. There were so many bonds and feuds between this clan and that one all over Scotland that he found it impossible to see all the strands in the spider web of connections. Clearly, Brodie had been thinking about this for some time.

  ‘Hugh MacMillan is an upstart who claimed Castle Sween from the MacNeills. He would change allegiances if it benefitted him.’ Brodie crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I will be watching to see their next moves.’

  ‘If I learn anything that I can tell you, I will,’ Alan said. ‘You ken that I will, do you not?’

  He would. He could not let this honourable man face destruction or mayhem without warning, if he knew about it. There were ways to walk that narrow path between friendship and betrayal and Alan had been learning that well these last years since he first met Brodie Mackintosh.

  Alan drank down the last of his wine, realising how late it was, and bade them both farewell. As he reached the door, he needed to ask something of Brodie.

  ‘’Tis clear that your spies are effective, my Lord Mackintosh,’ he began, bowing his head in a mock salute. ‘I would ask the same of you. That you inform me of anything you believe I should know.’

  Arabella smiled then, for the first time since their earlier discussion at supper about the attractive widow Saraid MacPherson. She wanted peace between all of them, all her kith and kin, and trouble and discord tore at her heart.

  ‘And you as well, my Lady Mackintosh,’ Alan said, nodding at his cousin. He rarely used a title when addressing her. ‘I ken that some of your sp...inform...sources ken as much as your husband’s and would appreciate being told what you discover.’

  Thinking that was the end of their discussion, he lifted the latch and pulled it open. As he tugged it to close behind him, Arabella called out to him. He slowed to hear her words.

  ‘My informants have told me that the widow Saraid MacPherson plans to enter a convent on Skye when she leaves here.’

  The door was closed with some force so Alan knew there was no chance of saying anything back to her. Or asking her any questions. He walked away, listening to the laughter coming from inside the chamber—his cousin’s and Brodie’s, too. He thought about his experience with women and let out some words that would rival even Rob Mackintosh’s best, or rather worst, efforts.

  He’d searched for his cousin and found her, but got captured, too.

  He’d fallen in love with Agneis, but lost her to Gilbert.

  He’d searched for, found and lost Fia Mackintosh, who then turned down his offer of marriage.

  He’d searched for the MacMillan girl and found that she’d died.

  Alan shook his head and let out an exasperated breath then as he realised that even showing interest in a woman seemed to move them out of his reach. As Saraid MacPherson would be when she left Glenlui and travelled on to Skye.

  A nun.

  A bl—

  Alan stopped at the blasphemous words he almost thought and laughed at the irony of his situation instead.

  The man known throughout the Highlands as the best tracker of all manner of things seemed to lose the women he wanted to find and find the ones he could only lose.

  As he made his way to the chamber he used here, he could almost hear the Fates laughing at him.

  Chapter Five

  Sorcha followed the two older children out of the cottage, carrying Robbie on her hip in the way she’d watched her cousin do. The bairn was a happy one, content to gurgle and drool and smile most of the day. This morn, while the weather was clear and brisk, Clara announced it was a good day to walk to the baker’s and miller’s cottages and see to some other errands.

  So, while Clara finished up inside, the four of them followed the path from Clara’s cottage back towards the road leading to the village’s centre and then the keep in the distance. Wee Jamie and Wee Clara chattered and called out to children along the way. Sorcha had met many of those who lived here over the last weeks.

  With Clara’s introduction, no one thought she was anyone but the widowed MacPherson cousin. Even James had not been told the truth and, for that, Sorcha felt guilty for asking her cousin to keep it from him. But, until she left, she wanted no one else privy to her true identity. If they knew not her true name or what she’d done, they could not be punished or be held responsible. Clara assured her it would all work out, though Sorcha was not so certain. She’d almost reached the first place on her list when Clara caught up with her.

  ‘I finished sooner than I thought,’ her cousin said, holding out her hands for the bairn. ‘Was he fussing?’

  ‘Nay,’ she said. As it turned out, there was little demand in their household for the fine embroidery skills of which she could boast. Of all the tasks she’d tried to help Clara with, seeing to the babe was the most pleasant and one which she could claim she could do. Or at least until he was hungry.

  That happened the moment he saw his mother. As though the sight of her reminded him that he had not eaten for several hours, Robbie scrunched up his little face and cried out his displeasure. Clara just smiled and shrugged since this happened several times each day.

  ‘If you will see to getting the flour from the miller and collect my loaves from the baker, I will take him home,’ Clara said. ‘And bring the other two along with you, if you would?’

  Sorcha smiled and nodded, trying to exude confidence when she really wanted to beg Clara not to leave her alone in the village with the children. The bairn was easier in that he did not yet walk on his own. The others, well, they had a habit of scampering off so quickly she could hardly keep up with them.

  That had been the latest in her series of discoveries of her lack of experience and knowledge on the simple matters of living. She’d been brought up in a cocoon, surrounded by servants instead of friends and kept apart by her father’s orders and mandates. In her early years, she’d run playing with some of the servants’ children, but her father stopped that.

  And with just that moment’s inattention, Wee Jamie and Wee Clara ran off. Sorcha chased them towards the miller’s and caught up with them, taking the little lass’s hand in hers to keep her near. The miller handed her the sack of flour and she walked over to another path and down it, the smell of baking bread leading the way. No sooner had the man offered them each a piece from a fresh and hot loaf then the children both took off running. By the time she gathered up Clara’s bread and the flour and stepped outside, they were gone.

  Turning this way and that, she listened for the sound of their laughter. Nothing. The area was silent but for the sound of winds flowing through the trees around her. Glancing in as many directions as she could, she could not see them. A noise caught her attention and she ran off in that direction, calling out their names. Another noise took her down another path and then another until she realised two things—she was well and truly lost and the children were nowhere to be found.

  Her chest tightened with fear and worry and it became hard to breat
he. The weight of the flour and the loaves made her arms shake and her legs felt wobbly and weak. She put the bundles down on the ground and shook out her arms to make them stop trembling as she tried to come up with a plan. The sound of a horse’s approach made her turn and run towards the road there. Mayhap whoever was coming could help her?

  A dark horse trotted closer as she ran out into the road and threw up her hands. Its rider cursed and pulled up hard, bringing them to a stop before her and scaring whatever breath she still had right out of her.

  ‘What kind of fool...?’ he yelled first. ‘Saraid MacPherson?’ She sucked in a breath and met the angry gaze of Alan Cameron.

  ‘The children,’ she gasped.

  He jumped from the horse, landing so close to her she could feel the heat of his body. Clutching her shoulders, he pulled her up and searched her face.

  ‘What children?’ he asked. Looking past her and into the distance, he shook his head.

  ‘Clara’s wee ones,’ she forced out, her lungs finally able to take in air. ‘I’ve lost them.’

  A myriad of expressions moved quickly over his face, from surprise to confusion to disbelief. ‘How did you lose them?’

  ‘I was running errands for Clara,’ she said. She remembered the dropped bundles off the road and ran to retrieve them, calling back to him. ‘I turned my attention from them for but a moment and they ran.’ Grabbing up the sacks, she ran back to where he stood watching her. ‘I just pray that nothing has happened to them. I could never forgive myself...’ He took the items from her as though they weighed nothing and checked inside the sacks before shaking his head.

  ‘The miller’s is on the other side of the village. How did you get here?’ he asked.

  ‘I did not pay heed to where I was running. I only followed the sounds I thought were the children.’ Then, she whispered her most embarrassing admission. ‘And, as you can see, I am lost.’