Mairi handed her fresh linens. “Do you require aid undressing? I could send a servant to help, if you’d rather?”
“Nay, I can manage.” She accepted the offering and moved a step closer to heaven. Midway, she paused and smiled over her shoulder at Mairi. “Thank you…for everything. I cannot tell you how much your kindness means.”
Mairi dashed forward and crushed Arabella in another tight embrace. “I’m just so pleased you’re here at last. Calum must be beside himself with joy.”
Joy?
Before Arabella could question the woman, the whirlwind known as Mairi spun on her heel and hurried from the chamber, banging the door shut behind her. Arabella merely gawked, thoroughly bewildered by the odd encounter.
Something most assuredly was going on. What, she had no notion, but she would soon find out. She glanced longingly at the steaming water. After a hot bath.
Making short work of her clothing, Arabella sank into the fragranced water with a contented sigh and allowed her thoughts to slip away, at least for a short time.
*
Calum guided his mount into a stall, mulling over the dejection he witnessed on Arabella’s face after she caught sight of Mairi. Had she somehow mistaken Mairi as someone other than his sister? He snorted at the absurd notion. Now he was being as ridiculous as Liam.
As he unfastened his stallion’s bridle, he thought on the remainder of their journey. On one hand, he cursed the distance he imposed between him and Arabella. On the other, he did so for her own safety…from him.
The supple press of her body against his, the soft little moan she made in the back of her throat when he kissed her, the sweet taste of her mouth…he repressed a shiver. His control already rode a narrow path in her company. The last thing he needed was the temptation of her riding alongside him for days. Or worse, seated on his lap.
Saints above, he should not have taken liberties with her, but the kiss they shared was as inevitable as his next breath. Those few stolen moments in the forest had shifted something in him, softening him, forcing him to make a decision that would alter the course of their lives. ’Twas why brought her to his home. He could not bear to deliver her into Fraser’s hands. Not yet—never—if he had a say in the matter.
Now, he simply needed time—to woo her, for her to accept him, to tell her of his agreement with Fraser.
His hands paused in loosening the leather straps of his saddle. The last thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He cared naught of the dowry Fraser offered. Aye, his clan would benefit from the rich bounty, but ’twas not why he decided to wed the lass.
In truth, he wondered if he lost his good sense somewhere along the journey to and from England. For so long, he rejected the notion of taking a bride, unwilling to saddle himself with an unhappy marriage. But Arabella was…different, unlike any other female he’d encountered, or so he prayed. The lass had somehow forged an odd connection between the two of them—one he was unwilling to disregard.
One troubling thought lingered, planting a wash of near-crippling doubt in his mind. What if she had no desire to wed him?
Calum grabbed the saddle from his mount and chucked it over the wood railing. He leaned forward and rested his forearms and forehead against the hard leather. When had his simple life grown so difficult?
He raised his head and came face to face with his first commander, standing on the opposite side of the rail.
Marcus’ brow creased. “Is all well, Laird?”
“Aye, just weary.” Calum unfastened his saddlebag. “Any trouble while I was away?”
“Not in the least.” Marcus grinned. “’Tis good to have you home.”
He cuffed his commander’s shoulder. “Good to be home, old friend.”
“I saw you ride in with Fraser’s niece.” Marcus quirked with a half-smile. “Looks to be a handful, if you ask me.”
If you only knew.
“A handful that Calum’s more than willing to handle.” Liam’s earsplitting voice shattered the peace in the stables as he ambled toward them. He gave Marcus a solid thwack on the back. “Good to see you as always.”
“Welcome home, Liam.” Marcus chuckled and settled his amused gaze on Calum. “Is that so?”
Liam snorted. “Of course ’tis so. If his mood is any judge.”
The man may be his kin, but Calum would have no trouble smacking the silly grin off his foolish face. Liam knew naught of his decision to wed Arabella. In fact, he’d made a point not to discuss the matter. Mainly because Liam could not keep his blasted gob shut.
Glowering at his cousin, Calum tossed his saddlebag over his shoulder and strode out of the stall. “Stop being an arse.”
“Oh ho!” Liam laughed. “See, Marcus, I told you.”
“About that…you might want to speak with Fraser, Laird.”
He turned and narrowed his eyes on his commander. “Why?”
Marcus shifted from foot to foot. His gaze flitted away in a nervous manner uncommon for the man.
Calum opened his mouth to insist Marcus spit it out, but a solid cuff to his ear caught him unaware. Enraged, he swung his head around only to find Mairi scant inches from his face. Her usual pleasant features twisted with a scowl.
“Are you a flaming idiot, or have you fallen and taken leave of your senses?”
His mouth flapped open to rebuke her sharp tongue, but she threw up her hand to silence him. He swerved his head in time to avoid a clout to the jaw.
“I would’ve thought you had better sense than this. You should’ve seen the poor dear’s face when I went on and on about her arrival.” Her lip curled in disgust. “She has no idea, Calum. How could you not have told her?”
Christ’s bones, what now? He glared at her. “I know not what—”
“Nay, you do not!” Mairi stepped closer, shoving her finger under his nose. “I cannot believe you would do this.”
“Do what?” Out of patience, he slapped her finger away and shouted. “What the devil are you on about?”
“Arabella! How could you not tell her of the wedding?”
The air pushed from Calum’s lungs in a violent rush. The saddlebag slid off his numb shoulder to drop onto the hard-packed earth with a faint, distant thump. Apprehension crept into every dark crevice of his mind. After several deep gasps, he found his voice.
“What wedding?”
Her scowl eased into a confused frown as she searched him over for the truth. She bit her lip. “You really do not know?”
He sucked in a painful breath. “Tell me.”
His mischievous, vexing sister had the good grace to look sheepish. She swallowed loudly. “Well, Fraser…he told the clan…you were bringing home a bride.”
Dread crashed over Calum in a blinding wave, dragging him under and submerging him in a sea of panic. A low hum bore in his ears while his sight dimmed. His body slackened and he grew weak-kneed as though he were going to…
Hell, men do not faint!
He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists.
“Oh no!” Mairi’s eyes flew wide open. “I have to warn Florie and the others.”
She spun away and ran for the keep, leaving him stewing in the stable entryway. He started when a firm hand cuffed his shoulder. He slanted at look at his cousin, who watched Mairi’s mad dash across the courtyard.
Once she disappeared inside, Liam slid him a sly grin. “At least one good thing comes from this mess.”
Do not ask. Do not ask. “What?” Damn.
“Now you do not have to make a decision. Someone else has done it for you.”
As God was his witness, he was going to flay Fraser alive the next time he saw the old goat.
Chapter Ten
The relentless drum of his fingernail tapping the oak table pounded a tedious thump in Geoffrey’s head. For days, he’d sat in Penswyck’s dismal great hall, awaiting word of Arabella’s capture. And for days, there had been naught.
He stared across the distance at the enormous hea
rth, ensnared by the flames’ flicker. With each passing moment, more of his patience slipped away and the dull pain in his temple throbbed with an excruciating pulse. Closing his eyes, he lifted his hand to rub above his brow in a bid to quell the relentless ache.
Christ, everything he’d worked for, all the steps he’d taken, relied on recovering the vexing wench. How damned long must it take to capture one silly, simple-minded woman? Still, his men had yet to return with her.
Shifting in his seat, Geoffrey opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the fire once more. One thing was certain, when he got his hands on Arabella de Percy, she would repay him the trouble. Though he had no desire to break her—yet—she would have to learn obedience once they wed. The notion gave him pause.
Him, Geoffrey Longford…with a wife.
’Twas laughable really, but what choice did he have if he wished to lawfully gain lordship over Penswyck and its coffers? Not that wedding the girl would be a hardship. Arabella was pleasing on the eye, spirited, defiant—just how he preferred the women he took to his bed. And who’s to say she might not meet with an unfortunate accident when he tired of her. In the meantime, bedding the wench would prove interesting sport, indeed. For the first time in days, his lips stretched with a grin.
The clatter of the hall doors pulled his gaze to the entrance. Renard, one of the men he’d sent after Arabella, strode inside at a clipped pace. No doubt the grim set of the hired arm’s features boded ill. Renard paused feet away from the raised dais where Geoffrey sat and bestowed a stiff bow. Refusing to meet his unwavering stare, the soldier regarded the trestle table Geoffrey continued to tap.
Advisable, given his current mood.
When the man did not speak, Geoffrey ceased the drum of his finger. “Well?”
“I came as quick as I could, my lord.” Though Renard spoke in a steady, even tone, he shifted from foot to foot, belying his unease.
“And?” Geoffrey drawled. “Do you have Lady de Percy?”
Unease hung on the guard’s pockmarked face. “N-nay, my lord.”
Anger unfurled in his belly with a furious burn. He slapped his palm flat on the table, the sound hammering throughout the quiet hall. “Come again?”
“The rest of the men…” Fidgeting with the sheathed weapon at his side, Renard refused to glance upward. “Forgive me, my lord, but they’re dead.”
“What do you mean, dead?” He floundered between fury and disbelief. “She’s but one woman!”
“Lady de Percy was not traveling alone.” Renard shook his head. “She and a band of Scots camped near the border. The men snuck into their camp early in the morn, but the Scots awaited them. All the men were slain.”
A veil of crimson fell over his vision. “Yet, you stand before me now.”
Blanching, Renard swallowed hard. “James and I, my lord…we escaped with our lives to bring you word.”
“Rather, you and James ran away like a pair of dogs,” Geoffrey spat in disgust.
Every curse he knew sifted from his mouth.
Of course, she’d gotten word to her bastard Scots uncle and the cur sent men for her. What did he expect, placing his trust in hired mercenaries, many of whom lacked loyalty and discipline? Christ above, he should’ve taken Penswyck himself and to hell with the useless men in his employ. Arabella would’ve never stepped past the front gate.
Now what the devil was he to do?
He could not simply stroll across the border after her. Every blasted sheepherder and swine farmer in Scotland would chase after him. Not to mention, he’d lost a troop of men, useless or not. The king would offer little help. The imbecile avoided the cursed Northern land for fear of war.
As soon as a hint of defeat edged into his mind, he deflected the errant notion in a flash. He’d not come this damned far to abandon his hard work. Least of all because of one inferior woman. Nay, Penswyck would be his, by any means, foul or other.
The cogs in his brain spun in a new direction. He narrowed his eyes at the soldier. “If I’m not mistaken, there are two Scots amongst the men.”
“Aye, my lord. From the same clan, I believe. Mac—” Renard’s words died in his throat once his gaze met with Geoffrey’s.
“Send them to me, at once.”
The man bowed and beat a hasty retreat from the hall. When he disappeared from sight, Geoffrey waved forward one of the patrols posted near the entrance.
“Once Renard’s finished his chore, see that he’s taken care of.”
With a hand to his chest, the soldier bowed and backed away, leaving Geoffrey to his solitude.
Slumping in his chair, he returned his gaze to the hearth and lifted a hand to rub at the ache in his head as he devised his next move. So much to do, and such little time to do so. To his good fortune, all his toiling and frustration would be worth the trouble when he was the irrefutable Lord of Penswyck.
He chuckled, nodding to himself. Not bad for a lowly bastard son. Not bad in the least.
*
A chill darted over Arabella’s bare shoulders and she shuddered. The hot bath had long since cooled into a tepid tub of water. She heaved herself up on the rim and reached for the linens she’d placed on the stool beside the bath. Drying herself off, she stepped out of the water and wrapped in the linens. She crossed the chamber to her bag in the corner and dug out her last remaining gown, then hurriedly dressed.
’Twas a mercy Maggie had the foresight to stash a comb in her satchel as well. The clever woman had not forgotten a thing, Arabella thought with a faint smile. She passed her thumb over the teeth, wondering if Maggie and Dougal had fled Penswyck without difficulty. With a sad sigh, Arabella pushed her concern aside. ’Twas senseless to dwell on matters she could not change. She grabbed the comb and settled on a stool in front of the hearth to brush out her hair before it curled into a tangled mess.
As heat from the fire dried her damp tresses, she considered Mairi’s odd behavior. The whole affair puzzled Arabella. Most assuredly, something was amiss and she intended to find out what. A rap at the door pulled her from her thoughts before she delved deeper into the mystery.
She glanced at the door where a small blonde with dimpled cheeks peeked inside. Once their gazes met, the woman beamed a bright grin and burst into the chamber without hesitation.
“I’m Florie, my lady. Lady Mairi sent me to help you dress for the evening meal.” The servant stepped forward and snatched the comb from Arabella’s hand. “Here, let me take care of that for you.”
Her brows rose at the woman’s forthright manner. “Um, thank you, Florie. Please just call me Arabella.”
“Oh no, my lady. The laird would have my ars—” The maid choked out a cough. “What I mean to say is, ’tis not fitting for me to do so.”
Arabella smothered a grin and decided to seize upon an opportunity to ply information from the maid. She opened her mouth to question the woman about her mistress’ behavior, but Florie cut her off.
“How’d you enjoy the bath?”
Before she could answer, Florie snagged the comb on a tangle and Arabella bit her lip to keep from crying out. Heedless, the maid carried on.
“Lady Mairi suspected you’d be wanting one after such a long journey. As soon as Anthony rode through the front gate, we rushed to get the bath ready for you. Thank the stars we’d tidied the laird’s chamber days ago for your arrival. Not to say the laird is filthy, mind you. Truth be told, he’s a rather tidy fellow.” Florie snorted. “Ha! Wish his cleanliness would rub off on my Robbie. The blasted man just does not under—”
“Wait, Florie?” She peered over her shoulder. “Did you say this is your laird’s chamber?”
“Well, aye.” Florie’s hand paused mid-stroke, the comb halfway through Arabella’s hair. “Lady Mairi thought it would be fitting. I mean, after all…”
“After all?” Frowning, Arabella swore the little woman mumbled a curse. When Florie did not respond, she pressed. “After all, what?”
The maid’s raised brows
nearly disappeared in her hairline. “After all…’tis a very fine chamber.” She flashed a toothy grin.
Arabella narrowed her eyes. “How did you know I was to arrive with Calum?”
Color rushed to Florie’s cheeks and she blinked thrice before blurting, “Anthony. I’m sure I said that. He passed through the gates not an hour before you rode in with the laird.”
“But you said the chamber was cleaned days before.” She shifted around on the stool, her direct gaze pinned on Florie. “How did you and Lady Mairi know I was to arrive with Calum then?”
The maid’s eyes widened and her mouth flapped open and closed repeatedly, resembling a fish out of water. Stifling the impulse to laugh, Arabella affixed a stony stare and waited for an answer.
Naught but a stream of garbled stammers left Florie’s mouth, none of which Arabella comprehended. A heavy-handed knock pounded against the chamber door, startling them both, and the comb slipped from Florie’s hand to clatter on the floor.
The maid recovered first and spun on her heel to run across the room as if the hounds of hell chased after her. She swung open the heavy door wide enough for Arabella to see Calum standing on the other side of the threshold, his hand hovering in midair and his features drawn in surprise.
“Sweet Jesu!” Florie sagged against the door.
His brows lowered into a frown and he dropped his arm. He remarked wryly, “’Tis good to see you, too, Florie.”
“Oh, go on with you, Laird,” the maid cackled and slapped his arm as she forcefully tugging him inside the chamber.
Calum darted a questioning look at Arabella and she shrugged. To be honest, she wondered if the entire lot of them was not a bit touched in the head. She bent forward to grab the comb from the floor.
“Have you come to escort your lady to the hall for the meal?”
Arabella glanced up in time to catch Calum flash a scowl at Florie. The small woman gasped and flushed a bright pink.
“Well, bless me, I forgot Glenda needs my help in the kitchens. I’ll just be on my way.” Backing away, Florie bobbed a quick curtsy and hastened from the chamber, leaving Arabella alone with Calum.
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