Stolen by the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Him.

  The shock of that thought made her pull back and stare at him. His breathing came shallow and fast, matching hers. His eyes bore the glittery glaze of passion and stared at her mouth as though hungry for it, for her. Her body shuddered, recognising the extent of his desire and answering it with a throbbing tightening within her. His expression turned fierce, possessive, primal as he slanted his face and pulled her in to him once more.

  ‘Brodie.’

  He stopped at the sound, his mouth scant inches from hers, open and ready to take hers. She blinked, trying to dispel the powerful attraction to him.

  ‘Brodie,’ the man said, louder this time.

  He released his hold on her and she on him. Sitting back on her heels, Arabella tried to slow her ragged breathing. Her body did not wish to and she felt aching waves that pulsed through her. Then he stood and stepped around her, walking to the opening of the chamber to speak to one of his men.

  When he turned back towards her, she tried to keep her gaze on the small crock in his hand. But her efforts failed for she could not help but notice how aroused he still was as he crossed the space between them.

  How could she be so drawn to the one man she could never love? Where was her honour when all she wanted to do was fall into his embrace?

  Taking a deep breath, Arabella prepared to do battle—with herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘You just thought of him, did you not?’ he asked quietly. His gaze searched her face and for a moment she did not realise to whom he referred. Then she did and the pain struck her. ‘And again just then, too.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, turning her face so he could not stare at her in that manner.

  ‘And you feel disloyal to his memory because we...kissed?’

  She nodded as tears gathered in her eyes, stinging her throat. If only...

  ‘Arabella, look at me.’

  It took a few moments to gather her strength and meet his gaze.

  ‘I would deny it if I could.’

  She waited, her heart pounding as she knew she wanted him to refute his part in Malcolm’s death. She’d waited to hear his explanation, his attempt to mitigate his part in it, but now she knew it would not come. It could not come because he was guilty. No matter if she wished it. Exhaustion and sadness overcame her then and her shoulders sagged.

  ‘Take your rest, lady,’ he whispered, kneeling next to her. ‘You have done more than I expected of you and you have earned your rest.’

  ‘Nay,’ she said, reaching for the needle and thread. ‘I’ll see to your wound, as Margaret asked me to do.’ She retreated safely behind the woman’s request.

  He nodded and sat on the stool, spreading his legs once more around her and leaning back to give her access to the gash on his side. In silence, she repaired the wound, using small, close stitches, mopping the blood as it welled and spilled down his side. Then he held out the small crock and she scooped out some of the ointment with her fingers and dabbed it over the area. Other than stiffening once or twice, he did not move or speak.

  Or reach for her. Or stare at her mouth. Well, if he had, she’d not seen it for she kept her eyes on her task and tried to ignore the man beneath her touch.

  When she wrapped several lengths of cloth around his chest and tied it off, her task was done and she gathered up her supplies. As she stood, her legs trembled and she would have fallen if he had not caught her. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she regained her balance and stepped back. And saw the other gash on his head.

  ‘You did not tell me your head was injured,’ she said as she took the needle and thread in her hand. ‘Hold that candle higher so I can see this.’

  ‘’Tis nothing, Arabella.’

  ‘It must have pained you when I...tugged on your hair?’ This tear followed the line of his hair from above his right eye down to the side of his cheek.

  ‘Nay.’ He hissed this time when the needle pierced his skin, the area being more tender than his side.

  ‘I will finish quickly.’ She bent to her task, not wasting time on words. It took only a few minutes to repair that cut and put the ointment on it. No bandage would be placed over it.

  ‘My thanks, lady,’ he said as he rose.

  Brodie walked to the trunk and pulled a shirt from it. She saw the wince as he lifted his arms and tugged it over his head but did not comment. Men generally did not want to be reminded of weaknesses or injuries—she’d learned that early in her years of caring for her family after her mother’s death.

  ‘Seek your rest now. And you have my thanks for your help this day. Especially since...’

  ‘Since?’

  ‘Since you are here against your will. And...’

  ‘And a Cameron?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye. A Cameron.’ She sensed that those words were to remind her of the line drawn between them. A safe distance from which they could observe and interact but not engage.

  ‘Even Camerons are capable of mercy, sir,’ she retorted.

  ‘It would appear that some are, Lady Arabella.’

  And he was gone. No warnings to stay within. No admonitions of any kind.

  Tomorrow would see new battles between them, but for now she walked to the pallet there and collapsed into a fitful sleep.

  * * *

  Brodie wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he could not allow it to take control that night. He paced his way around the camp, from end to end, checking on his men, the guards, the horses and the supplies. And then he found himself standing before the cave he’d claimed as his some months ago. Jamie moved away as he approached. He crouched down to look within and saw her on his pallet.

  Damn, but he felt himself surge and harden at the sight of her lying there!

  She’d been extraordinary all day. Margaret yet sang her praises, as did every one of his people who’d come into contact with her. Magnus’s life was owed to her actions—actions taken without hesitation. A prisoner. A Cameron.

  What was he going to do with her?

  His body responded with its own suggestions, the same ones that had been trying to take control for months now. The same body that she’d repaired with her gentle touch and sure movements. Did she know he had inhaled her scent as she knelt between his legs? Had she been able to see his erection that had lasted through the whole time they were together? Had she any idea of what could happen if she but gave a word or sign to him?

  She was an innocent, he had no doubt of that. But that simply made it worse. He could read the signs of her own arousal, he’d noticed the tightening buds of her nipples and the way she breathed there next to him. Her eyes had darkened and her mouth had opened just a bit to allow her to pant in shallow, quick breaths.

  Never to be his.

  He let out a sigh as he noticed her condition. It looked as though she’d crumpled to the pallet with no attention paid to her comfort. She lay as she’d fallen. Brodie crept silently into the chamber and stood over her as she slept the sleep of the exhausted. If she remained as she was, she would pay the price come morning when her neck would hurt and her hands would be numb.

  Brodie leaned over and untwisted her arms and gently lifted her head on to the folded blanket that served as a pillow. She mumbled as he straightened her legs and untangled her gown. Then, after removing her shoes, he covered her with several thick blankets against the chill. Satisfied that she would be more comfortable now, he stood and watched the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

  And he wanted nothing more in that moment than to lift those blankets and crawl in next to her. To wrap his body around hers, to sleep with her in his arms. He’d not realised he’d groaned until she began to rouse.

  He stepped back into the shadows so she would not see him and wake fully. She rolled on to her side and whispere
d into the dark corner. Her brother’s name floated in the air between them.

  Just where it would always be.

  Brodie stood and walked out, nodding to Jamie as he left. Seeking a place in Rob’s tent, he would get a few hours’ sleep before dawn came.

  And on the morrow, he would hear counsel from his closest friends and supporters over their path forward. The events and bloodshed of this day had shaken his resolve—not in his determination to bring down his treacherous cousin, but in how he would go about it.

  Something must change.

  * * *

  The sun shone bright and clear, its light piercing the darkness of night and of the cave and waking her. Arabella discovered that unaccustomed hard work demanded its price and, for her, that cost was that every one of her muscles ached. As she rose from the pallet, tossing aside blankets she did not remember placing there, her arms and back screamed in protest. She forced herself to move, stretching her arms over her head and bending to ease the tightness in her back and hips.

  She was no stranger to work, but attending to the needs of so many was new. Her father’s healers dealt with the worst of the wounded after an attack or skirmish. Aided by servants, Arabella’s responsibilities had been but to monitor their efforts and offer comfort to the wounded.

  Here, she’d lost count of how many wounds and cuts she’d cleaned, stitched and bandaged. How many doses of Margaret’s potions and pain medicaments she’d administered. How many pieces of cloth she’d torn into bandages. She’d given no thought to the cause of this until she’d overheard some of the men talking outside Margaret’s tent.

  An ambush. A rescue gone bad. Caelan’s attack using villagers as shields. If not for Brodie, more would have died.

  A terrible feeling in the pit of the stomach told her she, and many others, might have been fooled by Caelan Mackintosh.

  ‘Lady?’ Arabella went to the opening where Rob stood waiting.

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Good morrow, my lady,’ he said as he entered. She expected he would carry the customary morning bowl of porridge but he was empty-handed instead. In the light of day, she noticed the bruises on his jaw and under his eye. He’d fought, as well.

  ‘And to you,’ she replied. Before she could ask his purpose, if not to bring her food to break her fast, he spoke.

  ‘Brodie said that if you give your word not to try to escape, you can have the freedom of the camp, lady.’

  Startled, she met his gaze and found all seriousness there. This was an unexpected offer...and chain of a sort.

  ‘He would accept my word?’

  ‘Aye. He said so himself when he sent me here.’

  After spending so many days within dreary tents and this cave, and on an especially sunny day, it would be a welcomed change to be outside. But she would have to give up any attempts at escape.

  ‘Can I trust him when he says he intends to release me?’ she asked, watching Brodie’s closest friend carefully. Without a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. Could she trust him?

  She would learn nothing sitting inside every day until she was released or rescued. Her father must be searching for her. He would not allow this action, this insult, to go unanswered, for it was not his way. She must be ready for whatever happened and being kept here would not work.

  ‘Aye. He has my word.’

  Rob nodded and escorted her outside. An unusually warm day greeted her, the sun shone from a cloudless, brilliant sky, promising to dry up the mud and remove the chill from the air. They walked along the path and were met by nods from those they passed.

  ‘Margaret asked that you see her, if you would?’ Rob said, as he pointed in the direction across the camp. ‘You can break your fast there, as well.’

  Arabella nodded and began to walk away when he stopped her.

  ‘Lady, there are some here who do not welcome a Cameron within our midst, even one brought against her will.’ Rob glanced around and then back at her, his brown eyes intense. ‘So have a care as you go.’

  ‘Old ways die hard,’ she whispered.

  Decades and generations of feuding did not fall away easily. Old attitudes took years to form and even longer to dissipate. Even marrying a Mackintosh would not smooth over all the hurt and deaths of their feud.

  ‘Just so.’ He nodded then and waited as she walked away.

  Arabella stood there, alone for at least the moment, breathing in deeply of the cool air. Glancing across the area, she noted the cluster of tents and shelters erected towards the cliffside and more back along the path to the cave. Several fires burned in pits and women stood cooking around them. Children, a surprising number of children, played nearby.

  The encampment stood surrounded by a thick growth of trees, hidden from view of those below. Above them was only the highest of the mountains in the area. From what she could tell, they faced north, but whether Drumlui Keep was to the north or south of them, she could not tell. A woman waved her towards one of the fires and held out a bowl to her as she approached. The woman looked familiar, but she could not remember her name.

  ‘Good morrow, my lady,’ she said, offering a cup to her, too. ‘I am Bradana. Ye treated my husband, Duncan.’

  ‘How does he fare?’ she asked, smiling as two little boys played around their mother’s skirts, peeking at her and hiding when she glanced back. She scooped the hot porridge up and ate several mouthfuls of it as they scampered about.

  ‘He is complaining this morn, so he must be improving,’ Bradana said. ‘’Tis the way of men, is it not?’

  ‘Aye, it is.’ She smiled at the wee ones as they played their game. She finished the last of the thick porridge and handed the bowl back.

  ‘Have ye need of a cloak, my lady? This bit of warmth will disappear by day’s end and ye will catch a chill.’

  ‘Brodie gave me a cloak, Bradana. I left it behind but I will fetch it later. My thanks for your concern,’ she said, drinking the water and giving the cup back to her, too.

  She walked on and found her way to Margaret’s. She called out softly before lifting the flap of the tent and entering. Magnus lay sleeping and Margaret tended to him. Soon, she followed Margaret throughout the camp, seeing to those injured yesterday. If it was strange to see Arabella Cameron there, or having her help these rebel Mackintoshes, no one said anything. Though she feared some retaliation or insult, none came.

  * * *

  The morning passed quickly and all the injuries had been checked and new ointments and bandages applied. The only one she had not seen yet was Brodie. Had he ridden out again? Arabella kept watching to see a glimpse of him as they moved all around the area, but he was not there. When Margaret said she did not need her any longer, Arabella went looking for her horse.

  Remembering the path she’d taken the night she tried to escape, she circled the tents and walked towards the makeshift yard where the horses were kept together. Had Brodie ridden the black back to Drumlui? She walked to the fence and spotted her horse there. Recognising her, the black came at her call and nuzzled her hand.

  ‘Poor lad! Did you think I’d forgotten you?’ she joked, stroking his nose. Reaching inside the pocket of her gown, she drew out a piece of carrot she’d got from one of the women and held it up on her palm to him. He gobbled it down and pushed her hand, demanding more. ‘Next time, lad. Next time.’

  ‘I think you could forgive me for taking you, but not the horse.’ She turned and discovered Brodie standing with his back against a tree there, watching her.

  ‘You may be correct in that,’ she admitted. ‘Are you giving him a chance to run? He gets restless if he does not.’

  The horse under discussion nudged against her shoulder just then, sending her stumbling a few steps. Laughing, she regained her balance and walked back to the fence. She heard Brodie walk to her side and glanced ou
t of the edge of her eyes when he stood next to her.

  ‘I have been tending to him, lady. And he proved the difference between life and death over these last few days.’

  ‘You did ride him back to Drumlui, then?’ she asked, facing him. She sensed a readiness in him to reveal some of his story.

  ‘Aye. He is stronger than any horse I’ve ridden. And has the heart to give his all.’ Arabella watched as Brodie reached out his large, strong hand and stroked the horse’s side. ‘He saved Magnus and me.’

  She turned back towards the yard and kept her eyes focused on the horse as she took in a slow breath and let it out. ‘How did he do that?’

  ‘He was strong enough to carry both of us. Magnus could not ride on his own when we got him out. Then when we were trapped between the villagers and Caelan’s men, he got us through. Carried us all the way here.’

  ‘So the villagers are against you now?’ she asked. Glancing at him, she saw his jaw clench and grind as he heard her words.

  ‘Nay, not all of them, lady. Most of them have avoided taking sides in this.’ He paused then and she thought him done. But he was not.

  ‘Some were ordered to stop us as we escaped through the village. So they took up what weapons they had—pitchforks and shovels and the like—and got between us and the road out. We could not fight them, would not fight them, but it slowed us up enough for Caelan’s men to catch us there. Then, they attacked all of us, my men, the villagers, anyone in their path, without regard for their part in any of this.’

  She must have gasped for he turned to her and she saw the bleakness in his gaze and feared the rest of it.

  ‘Some were trampled. Some were struck down because they were in the way. Four, possibly five, died there.’

  He stared at her, as though willing her to make the connection he wanted her to see. If she believed his words, Caelan had caused these deaths and more. Where was her father during this?

  ‘Did my father take part in this? Did he send Camerons, too?’ she asked. She needed to understand.

  ‘Your father? I did not see him. Magnus said he might have left for Achnacarry Castle some days ago.’