‘Nay, he was not,’ he forced out.
He walked out without another word, leaving her in the darkened tent alone. She scrambled to her feet and trailed him out of the tent. This might be her chance to escape and she did not want to miss it.
So, why did she want to run to him and take back her accusation? She stopped just outside and watched as he walked away without even looking back. Instead of running in the other direction, she grabbed up her gown and followed him. With each moment and each step, she waited for someone to stop her or catch her again. Arabella ducked behind some trees when he slowed and then skirted several tents and huts to stay just a few paces away.
Then he stopped and she realised he’d reached the edge of a cliff. For several minutes Brodie stood staring off into the darkness without moving. The winds shifted and spiralled around her, reminding her that she’d left without any cloak or blanket to protect her from the biting cold of the night and high mountain air.
‘Go back to Margaret’s tent, Arabella,’ he ordered without looking back.
She left him there and did as he said. Arabella did not doubt that he would force her back. Her folly was, as she turned and discovered, in believing that she could have escaped. Not only was Rob watching her, but several other armed men, as well. Without a word, she retraced her path back to the tent where she’d been held. Rob held back the canvas flag so she could enter.
Arabella still wanted answers, more so now that his reaction puzzled her. Witnesses had called him guilty. He could not dispute their claims. Yet, he did not accept the blame or responsibility for her brother’s death. It was there, in the tone of voice when he responded to her question. He admitted the deed, but did not accept it.
Since it was clear he meant to hold her until some purpose of his was achieved, she would have time to discover the truth. And she would.
Chapter Eight
For the first time in his life, Brodie felt helpless.
Even on the day he faced the accusation that would change his life for ever, he had not felt this helpless. When the words of exile were spoken, he knew he could survive on his own. He knew their lands better than any of them. He knew his own abilities and weaknesses. He would survive.
Then, as the first few trickled or were sent out of the keep and village and found their way to him, he remained confident in his plan to survive without kith or kin. The growing number of exiled Mackintoshes who joined him and brought him information about Caelan’s plans and activities added to his burden, but helped him in so many ways. When the winter came, they would survive because of their numbers, not in spite of them.
Work continued on the caves and they would be their shelter when the snows came. He regretted that they’d turned to reiving for some of their supplies and needs, but they did as they had to until they could reclaim their clan.
And they would. Brodie had been gathering information and proof to use against Caelan and it was only a matter of time before he was ready to implement his plan. Arabella’s kidnapping gave him the time he needed.
He stood before Margaret’s tent again, once more not even knowing how he’d got there and cursing himself for taking so much notice of the lass. With all other tasks, when he handed off the chore or assignment, he did not concern himself with it unless there was trouble or a problem. He allowed those with him to carry out their duties without interference.
Yet, when it came to her, he lost all semblance of self-control. And all the words he had been able to speak before meeting her. Two nights ago, he had wanted to scream out that he had not killed her brother. But those words would not leave his mouth.
No matter how much he tried to remember that night, no matter how much he wanted to remember, it remained cloaked in a thick fog. After Malcolm had spoken about Arabella’s horse...nothing. Rob’s memories of that night were similar. Knowing now what he did, Brodie had no doubt that Caelan had manipulated them. But without proof, he could not deny killing her brother.
Her voice inside the tent captured his attention then. She laughed softly at something Margaret said but that stopped as he ducked and entered the tent.
‘Margaret,’ he said with a nod at Rob’s older sister. A widow, she had been one of the first to follow them into the wilderness when Caelan had forced her out of the cottage she had lived in since her marriage some years ago. Caelan had excuses, but none that were the real reason—she was Rob’s sister and Rob was Brodie’s friend. ‘Lady Arabella.’
Glancing around, he noticed a lamp lit and several candles. She held out something to Margaret and stood before him, shaking out the length of her gown and smoothing it with her hands. Then she entwined her fingers, even clenched them tightly, as she watched him in silence. Then she blurted out the first question.
‘Is there news? From Caelan? From my father?’
‘There will be no news from them, lady,’ he replied. Margaret whispered something under her breath that sounded much like one of Rob’s favourite oaths. ‘You are here until this is done.’ Damn! He realised what he’d done as soon as the word slipped out.
‘When what is done?’
She loved nothing more than to pick at him with dozens of questions. All at once. Sometimes without drawing a breath. Some silly, ridiculous ones, but always a sly, intelligent one hidden amongst those to lure him into revealing something he did not wish to say. Rob said she did the same to him when he took her from the tent to stretch her legs.
‘If you want to walk outside, come with me,’ he offered, ignoring the query and knowing that being kept inside the small tent was not a pleasant way to spend the whole day.
Her blue eyes narrowed and she seemed to be considering it a choice. As though she weighed the chance of getting answers against the desire to be out in the crisp night air. He’d given her her parole, she would not be tied nor gagged as long as she remained with Margaret. So far, she’d not tried to escape or raise an alarm.
Brodie knew that, too, was only a matter of time.
She nodded and waited for him to lead. Stepping through the flap, he held it out of the way for her. It must be his imagination but she smelled of flowers. He shook his head at that daft thought as he took a few paces away from Margaret’s tent.
‘Come this way.’
They walked around several tents, huts and other makeshift shelters. He made certain to take her along the darker of the two paths, the most deserted one, so that they avoided those who lived in the camp. He did worry about her counting their numbers or memorising their faces or hearing their names. The camp had nearly been discovered only a month ago and he could not risk it again.
The rain that had plagued most of the day had moved on along the valley below and now the stars twinkled in a storm-washed sky. At this height, the clear sky also meant the cold would set in quickly after the sun set. The cloak he’d found for her lay tossed over his shoulder, forgotten until he watched her shiver.
Yet she did not complain. Not about the cold, nor the lack of accommodations suitable for a lady of her stature. Arabella Cameron was unlike any woman he’d ever met. If only things had been different for them.
‘Lady,’ he began, stopping near the path leading to his own shelter. ‘This is for you.’
He held out the cloak, a plain brown one with a hood. She surprised him again, turning her back to him so he could drape it around her. Arabella lifted her hair to better allow him to place it. The urge to take the braid in his hand and wrap it around his palm until he could pull her to him took his breath away.
‘My thanks,’ she whispered as she took a step away. He closed his hands to stop from taking hold of her.
‘You can walk down to that outcropping if you would like time by yourself.’ Mayhap the distance would also give him a chance to clear his head, as well?
‘Why?’ she asked. She tugged the ends of the c
loak around her and stared at him. ‘Is this a trap of some kind?’
‘A trap?’
‘I go down there without you and something will happen to me and you can claim no knowledge of it. Was this your plan, then? To kidnap me and kill me?’ Her voice had dropped lower and sounded too calm. The stark terror shining back at him belied that.
‘I told you that you will not be harmed. I give you my word, Arabella.’
And in that moment, as she met his gaze, he realised that she did not trust him and would never trust him as long as her brother’s blood was on his hands.
She ran then, ran back the way they’d come, running too fast in the growing shadows of night, in a cloak too long for her. He knew these paths in the darkness, but she did not. And now, she took the wrong turn and ran in the direction of the cliff.
Brodie ran faster, catching up with her just before she took the last step off and wrapping her in his arms. Fearing his momentum would carry them over, he was relieved when he felt others grabbing at them and pulling them back on to firmer ground.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing, Brodie?’ Rob asked as he climbed to his feet and dusted his hands off before reaching for Brodie.
‘Chasing her down,’ Brodie answered. He got to his feet without letting go of her. She pulled away then, glancing between him and Rob and waiting for something to happen. ‘We are high in the mountains, lady. There are more of these—’ he pointed at the cliff they’d barely avoided ‘—that will take your life faster than I could.’
She gasped, her mouth opening and her head shaking. Rob said something under his breath...again. Brodie closed his eyes for a moment, praying for forbearance and wisdom and not receiving it.
‘Come. Give me your hand,’ he said, holding out his to her. It would have been easier on his peace of mind to let Rob escort her right now, but he did not want to relinquish her to him.
She hesitated. Then her hand slipped out of the cloak’s folds to him. Rob cleared his throat and walked away then, taking the two other men who’d followed them with him. Brodie took her hand and tugged her closer, laying her hand on his arm. The trembling lessened as they walked wordlessly back along the path.
He had things to say to her and this would be the best time to say them. No details or specific information about his plan, but she did deserve to know some of the truths he’d discovered...because there was every chance that he would fail and she would return to Caelan.
‘I brought you here to stop the wedding and the treaty, Arabella. I am keeping you here until I can make certain that Caelan is stopped.’ He waited for the barrage of questions or the accusations he knew she would make.
Silence.
* * *
He accused Caelan once again and Arabella did not argue this time. This fear that sprang free and controlled her was her enemy as much as the man standing before her. And if she did escape, and she planned to try, anything she could tell Caelan would make it possible for him to destroy his outlawed cousin and bring this, this, well, whatever Brodie planned to an end. It would be wise to learn as much as she could and not antagonise him.
‘If you will not reveal your plans, will you tell me what you think Caelan is planning?’ she asked. Better to focus on something he would speak of. ‘The treaty will bring peace between the Camerons and Mackintoshes and an end to bloodshed. Is that not something to be desired?’
‘A true and honourable truce is to be desired and pursued, as my uncle did with your father. But Caelan twists that now.’ He turned his gaze to her and she lost the ability to breathe. ‘The duty to which you and I were raised is not what you should expect from Caelan if he succeeds, Arabella.’
He spoke of duty. Of a shared duty. Months ago, that might have worked to gain her support. It had surely helped to break down her resistance or reluctance to accept him as husband. There was comfort of a sort in knowing that they would put their duty to their families above their personal desires or wants.
But that was before he killed her brother. And was outlawed from his own clan. Before he kidnapped her.
‘What should I expect? Caelan accepted the high chair and swore to protect your...’ She began to say his clan but it was not his. Not since his exile. ‘Caelan took his oath of loyalty and promised to see this treaty to the end.’
He let out an exasperated sigh then and she half-expected to hear him curse under his breath as his friend did. Instead, he shrugged and shook his head.
‘Caelan has made many promises. Fooled many people. He fooled me for too long, Arabella. I thought you of all people would have seen through him by now.’
‘Me of all people? I know not what you mean by that, Brodie?’
‘You wear your beauty like a mask, hiding the woman you are beneath it. I would think you could recognise when others did the same.’
She wanted to deny it, to say he was wrong, but he had seen through her. And if Caelan was hiding something from her, she had never thought to pay heed to any clues. But what should she say to him now? Should she admit it?
‘You owe me no explanation, lady,’ he said, nodding to the path ahead of them. ‘I just want you to know that there is more to my cousin than he shows until he no longer needs you. When you become expendable, you will learn his truth.’
She shivered against the words and against the fear that he now spoke the truth. Could Caelan be hiding something from her? Arabella needed to think about this, but Brodie’s presence, staring at her as though willing her to believe him, made it impossible.
‘May I return to Margaret’s now?’ she asked.
She needed to get away from him. Too many words threatened to spill and too many accusations burned her tongue. Worse, too many questions bubbled within her. Letting them out would not find the truth for her or get Brodie to reveal anything more. Since her questions angered him and his reaction was to ignore her and them, it did her no good to pursue them now.
‘This way,’ he said, pointing to the left.
He did not offer his arm, but instead, motioned for her to precede him. This part of the path was familiar to her. Soon they reached the tent where Margaret stood waiting. Without a word she walked inside, seeking a place of refuge from the creeping tendrils of doubt that taunted her now.
‘Margaret,’ she heard him say. ‘Do not let down your guard with her.’
She should have been insulted by his words. Instead, she felt as though he saw that there was more to her. That he’d acknowledged it and saw her differently than anyone save her brother had done before.
And the warning was well warranted, for she had begun making plans for an escape. The darning and sewing she’d offered to help Margaret with gave her the opportunity to work on garments from others in this encampment. She started collecting clothing that would disguise her appearance. Once she had enough, she would find her horse and get away.
Even if she did not know the location, she knew she must go down, down from this place high in the mountains, down and towards a loch. Once on the main roads, she would find her way or find someone who knew how to reach her father’s lands.
It might take only another day or two, for she’d hidden away a pair of breeches under the pallet where she slept. The cloak she wore now would work nicely to cover her face. She yet needed a shirt or tunic and she would try. Margaret always left her at dusk to get their meal and it would be just dark enough to obscure her from anyone guarding the area.
One more day, two at the most, and Arabella would, at last, being taking some action and not sitting around waiting for rescue or release. And when she returned to Caelan, she would find out if Brodie spoke the truth.
From the tiny twinges of suspicion that plagued her now, she worried that he might have.
* * *
Obtaining the needed garments proved easier than she thought it would be. Th
ough she could not guess how many lived here, clearly there were not enough women with sewing skills to mend and fix torn clothing. Or mayhap it was Margaret’s way of keeping her occupied during her imprisonment. For whichever reason, she’d welcomed it, for she liked nothing less than laziness. And it provided her with time to give thought to her plan.
Now, she watched the growing shadows outside the tent each time the flap moved in the wind and knew she would need to act quickly once Margaret left. Arabella had taken note of the twists and turns in the pathways as she was permitted to walk last evening with one of Rob’s men. Finally, Margaret put away the garments and pieces of fabric and sewing needles and shears and went off to get their evening meal.
Her stomach clenched with nervousness and she thought she might vomit from the tension in her. She stood and tugged and shimmied until she got her gown off over her head. Grimacing from the smell of too many days in the same gown, she shoved it in the space between the pallet and the side of the tent. With a speed her maid would laugh over, Arabella pulled the breeches and stockings into place. The fabric outlined her legs in a way she’d never seen before.
With a length of linen, she bound her breasts and put on the tunic. Gathering up her braided hair, she shoved it down the back of the shirt and hoped the cloak would hide all manner of mistakes. With the hood in place, she lifted the flap of canvas and looked around the immediate area before stepping out.
With a deep breath to calm herself, Arabella walked away from the tent. Remembering the cocky strides of her brother and other young men, she lengthened her steps as she tried to imitate it and mask her feminine sway. She quickened her pace and tried to follow the path she’d laid out in her mind.
Left. Left. Right. Straight on to the area where they kept the horses. Although the night was clear, there was no moon and she would have little time to get down the mountain or away if she did not hurry.
Stolen by the Highlander Page 8