‘If not ill, then what, Brodie?’
‘Bradana said you were seeking me?’ He neatly avoided answering her question.
‘I was going to speak to Margaret about moving some of the supplies in the caves. It would be more efficient...’
‘Efficient? For whom?’
‘For the women who oversee them. For the people here who need to use them. For all of you if you need to abandon the camp, as some seem to think will be necessary soon.’ He raised a brow at the last part.
‘You’ve been asking your questions again, lady?’ This time he did not sound so aggrieved at her curiosity.
‘Aye. And I have been listening as your people talk. I have some experience with this,’ she said, gesturing to the boxes and bundles around them. As chatelaine for her father’s estates, she’d worked with their steward doing just this thing.
‘Very well, Arabella. If Margaret agrees, I leave it in your capable hands and hers.’ He stared at her now, as though seeing someone new. Then he began to leave.
She’d not said the most important part. In listening to his people, in watching him, even in being his prisoner, she’d begun to comprehend that there was so much more she needed to know and understand. About this feud. About Caelan’s role in it and Brodie’s. About her part and her future. Arabella lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze directly.
‘I think I am ready to hear your truth.’
There it was. Boldly and clearly put. Not demanded or angry. Now what would he say? He let out a soft sigh, a sound of utter exhaustion that she was not certain he realised, and then nodded.
‘Join me for the evening meal and we can speak about this. And remember to speak to Margaret about your ideas.’
She smiled and nodded and watched him leave, aware of the effort it took for each step. Something was very wrong with Brodie and if he was not well, she suspected a lack of sleep.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon hours passed slowly and she spent most of it with Margaret, making suggestions and discussing her ideas. By the time the evening meal was ready, Arabella questioned the wisdom in the coming talks with Brodie. It made no sense unless she was willing to listen and believe his words.
The shocking truth she faced first was that she did believe him and trust him. That realisation came to her as she stood outside the cave he’d chosen, with one of Bradana’s friends helping her carry the pot of stew, the loaves of bread and wheels of cheese. She stopped so quickly the other woman nearly dropped everything on the path.
How could she trust him? He had killed her brother and kidnapped her. And yet, deep inside, she knew he would stand by his word and his honour. He’d adopted these people, these exiles, as his own and fought to keep them safe. Against all odds and against all reason, he put them first and was determined to find a way to give them back their homes and their families.
‘Did ye stumble there, lady?’ Nara asked from behind her.
‘Oh, aye, Nara. I beg your pardon for my clumsiness.’ She tried to cover up the hesitation and moved on. The guard called out to Brodie and motioned her inside.
It took a few minutes to set out the pot and bowls on the small table and Nara helped her. Arabella could not help to steal a glance across the chamber to where Brodie stood reading some letter. He nodded in greeting but continued to read as they set out supper. After a quiet thanks to Nara, she waited for him to finish.
And then they were alone.
He put the letter aside and waited for her to sit. Bringing a jug of water with him, he sat and poured some in their cups. Arabella lifted the lid and scooped some of the thick stew into each bowl. He watched as she broke the bread and cheese into smaller pieces between them. Then, they shared the food, eating in a silence that should have been tense and filled with anticipation. Once they’d finished, she collected the leftover food and bowls and made them ready to return to Nara.
She watched as he stood and retrieved the small jug of whisky from his trunk and poured some into each of their cups. Remembering the results of this on Alan, she promised herself she would partake of little. When he did not begin to speak, she asked him about his condition.
‘You look more exhausted than you did when we travelled here. I know you did not get much sleep and yet you never looked like this.’ He smiled and held up his cup in salute to her.
‘You do know how to compliment a man, my lady.’
‘I did not mean... I meant... Why are you not sleeping, Brodie?’ After the words had escaped her mouth she realised how prying and intimate they sounded. She should apologise.
‘I am plagued by dreams.’
‘Bad dreams?’ He nodded. ‘I had bad dreams for many years as a child after my mother passed. Aunt Gillie used to help me sleep by rubbing my forehead and whispering a silly song to me to chase them away.’
‘Did it work?’ He sipped from his cup, his eyes darkening as he stared at her. She nearly forgot the question.
‘Aye, most times.’
‘I will have to remember that.’ He paused and then changed their topic to the one she’d waited for. ‘Arabella, how much do you know about how the feud began?’
‘Broken promises. A lover’s betrayal. Land. Gold. The usual ways a feud begins,’ she said. ‘The Cameron claim of lands near Drumlui was contested by the Mackintoshes. The fighting began and the battles continued over the last four or five generations.’
‘And enough bloodshed and lost lives to destroy families. It was my father’s and uncle’s dream to bring it to an end.’
‘And mine,’ she added.
‘Unfortunately, not Caelan’s.’
‘But he endorsed the truce. As chief, he accepted the terms already in place.’
‘Aye, he did all those things in front of the clans, Arabella. Yet, all the while, he was negotiating his own arrangements with other clans in the Chattan Confederation and across the Highlands.’
The Mackintosh chief held the high chair of the Chattan Confederation, a group of clans, some bound by blood, others by oath, that extended its claim and control over a good part of the Highlands. The Confederation’s involvement was the only reason, in her estimation, that the Camerons had not triumphed in this feud.
‘How do you know this, Brodie?’ she asked. She wanted to believe his explanation, but he would never succeed on just his word. At least not as an exiled outlaw.
He stared at her for a minute as though considering what and how much to say. So, when he stood and walked to his trunk, it surprised her. She watched as he moved the heavy case and lifted that chained one into view. Placing it before her, he removed the lock and opened it.
A pile of letters and documents, signed and marked with various wax wafers and seals, filled the box. He got the letter he’d been reading when she arrived and placed it on top. He gestured for her to examine them and walked away to stand in the shadows as she did. It took some time, but she read each of them and was disturbed more by the next and the next until she reached the bottom.
These documents outlined a thorough and deadly plot against her clan. This was no plan for a long and abiding peace, this was the complete annihilation of the Camerons. Every Cameron would be wiped out and their claims and titles buried with them. Caelan had even promised gold from her dowry as bribes and rewards for doing his bidding. Some of these plans went back for years and some were more recent, much more recent.
‘But he claimed to want peace.’
‘Caelan was, apparently, made to watch his parents being murdered by your father. It broke him in some way and he’s planned this for years. Step by step, conspiracy by conspiracy.’
‘My father?’
Arabella wanted to deny it, but she’d heard bits of this when the Camerons claimed their glorious victories of the past. She had not known abou
t Caelan, though. She had only a moment’s warning before her stomach convulsed in disgust and at the horror of it all. She made it over to the basin just in time. When it was over, he touched her shoulder and offered her a cup of water and a cloth.
Climbing to her feet, she faced him.
‘How long have you known?’ she asked.
‘Not long. Since meeting you those months ago,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Because of you.’ When her legs trembled, he caught her and eased her to sit on the pallet.
‘Why me?’ He handed her a cushion and she placed it behind her back. ‘What did I do?’ How could she have played a part in this?
‘You made me question my assumptions, lady.’ He sat next to her then and took her hand in his. ‘When I found a completely different person hiding behind that facade you wore, it made me realise that something was not right about Caelan. I began to explore and question. But I did not have enough time...’
‘And that’s what you’ve been doing since? Finding proof?’ She nodded at the box, still sitting on the table.
‘Aye. The last pieces were only in our hands days ago.’
He had saved her. By kidnapping her, he had bought himself time, but he had saved her from Caelan. He stroked the back of her hand then and she met his eyes.
‘And now what? What will you do with that?’
‘I had hoped to meet with Caelan and convince him to do the right thing. To let him walk away. But...’
‘He will never go. He has worked too hard on this. Oh, God in Heaven! Do you think he had anything to do with your uncle’s death?’
A silent nod of his head sent chills down her spine. Caelan had killed his uncle because Lachlan stood for peace. So who then?
‘And...Malcolm?’ she asked, daring not to hope.
‘My dagger, Arabella. His blood on my hands. There were witnesses.’
‘You could take this to my father. He would help. He already contemplates involving the king.’
‘With this evidence, with these statements, your father could simply destroy the Mackintoshes. Wipe them off the earth even as Caelan planned to do with you.’
‘My father would nev...’ He watched her with intense eyes as she realised the truth—if given the chance and this evidence, her father would be as brutal as Caelan planned to be.
Silence surrounded them. Arabella tried to think of a way out of this. To preserve the peace. To keep them all alive.
His snore startled her when it came. Glancing at him, she saw his eyes had closed. Exhaustion etched dark lines around his eyes and a deep furrow in between them. Not wishing to disturb him, she sat there, her hand in his, thinking about all that she’d read.
And all he’d done. For her. And though he could have tried, he had not tried to force her to believe. He’d done what he did best—he protected and helped and led. All the while, putting himself in danger and directly between his cousin’s dangerous plan and her.
He was the first man to see her for herself. To see beneath the facade to the heart of who she was. He respected her even while holding her here, giving her a chance to use her mind and her efforts. Never valuing the appearance over the substance.
She looked down at their joined hands and realised that she had, at some point, fallen in love with Brodie Mackintosh.
Her heart pounded, confirming it.
She loved Brodie Mackintosh.
He stirred next to her, but she could not speak right now. She whispered his name and urged him to lay his head on her lap instead. Trying to sort out the feelings she only now acknowledged, she began to trace the patterns on his forehead and over the bridge of her nose as her aunt had done many, many times.
To ease her bad dreams. To ease the frequent megrims that throbbed in her head. To ease the pain in her heart over the loss of her mother and, then more recently, her brother.
And, though she could not understand how this man would have or could have taken her brother’s life, apparently her heart had decided to accept him, anyway. She doubted any good could come from her feelings and she would not tell him. There were no assurances that he felt the same or that either or both of them would survive the coming battle.
Certainly, there would be battles to finish this. Of that, she had no doubt.
* * *
Arabella was sitting there in the quiet, thinking about all she’d learned, still holding his hand, when Rob entered and found her so. He opened his mouth to speak and she waved him off. Brodie had not slept for too long to wake him now. The shock clear on his face, Rob nodded and left, but not without giving her several quizzical looks.
Comfortable and warmed by his nearness, she drifted off to sleep as she was. Some time later, he released her hand and rolled to his side. She slid her fingers into his hair and caressed his head gently.
When he settled again, she stopped moving her fingers and just let her hand rest on his head. Content with her feelings about him, she fell deeper into sleep’s grasp.
* * *
His restlessness woke her quickly. He struggled in his sleep, trying to move, but unable. Then he began calling out to people he saw in those dreams.
‘The boy!’ he said, gruffly. ‘The boy.’ She was going to try to wake him when he groaned, in pain.
‘Malcolm! The dagger. The blood. Not Malcolm.’
God in Heaven, he was reliving that night! He thrashed around then, struggling against something or someone. The words were unintelligible, but the pain and grief and guilt were clear.
‘Not Malcolm,’ he moaned out. ‘Pray God, not him. Not Bella’s brother.’
Her own tears flowed freely at the sound of the name only her brother used for her and at the thought of what had happened between them that night. He quieted for a moment and then lifted his hand and pointed to something.
‘The boy! The boy saw it.’
The boy. The only boy she could think of was...Alan! Had Alan been there? Had he followed her brother as was his habit and witnessed it all? Brodie calmed then, back into a more restful sleep while she pondered the meaning of his words.
These dreams had begun just when Alan had stumbled into the camp and tried to help her escape. Brodie had reacted strangely to her cousin and she’d caught him staring at the lad several times since. As though his mind struggled to recognise him.
Had Alan’s appearance spurred these dreams? Was his mind trying to remember the events he swore he could not? She did not believe Brodie would harm the boy, but if he had witnessed Brodie kill her brother, others who would stand in his defence might take action.
If they knew. If he remembered. For if Caelan was discredited, there would be no other witness against Brodie but for Alan. If he remembered.
She must get Alan away from here. And she must send word to her father to prepare for attack.
Once Brodie slept deeply, she eased her way out from under his head and made her way across the cave. Glancing back, she was struck again by the love she felt for him. An impossible, irrational love that would not, could not end well. But, as she walked back to Bradana’s tent, Arabella knew she would treasure the time they’d had before their world here was destroyed.
Chapter Sixteen
Brodie woke with a start.
He lay on the pallet in the cave. The sun shone through the entrance, telling him it was long past dawn. The bowls and food from supper were gone from the table, though his strongbox was there. Open.
Arabella was gone.
They’d spoken at length. She’d read the proof he’d gathered over the last several months. And then...
He’d fallen asleep.
Pushing his hair out of his face, he stood and walked outside. The camp was awake and people carried out their tasks. Since no guard stood there, he knew Arabella had gone back to Bradana’s. Before seekin
g Rob, he went back inside and secured the valuable papers in the box and placed it back under his trunk.
As he turned to leave, he noticed the cushion there, against the wall.
He’d fallen asleep next to her. Then he remembered feeling her gentle touch outlining his brow and forehead. Had she tended to him while he slept? Singing silly words to chase away his bad dreams? He smiled, thinking of the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand. Brodie left the cave and sought out Rob, who—from the expression on his face—was not happy to see him.
‘You’re awake, are you?’ Rob said, walking through the camp and not stopping for him. He grabbed his shoulder and brought him to a halt.
‘Is there a problem?’ Rob stared at him and glanced around before speaking.
‘Aye, there’s a problem.’ Brodie raised a brow at him. ‘Her name is Arabella Cameron.’
‘What has she done?’ he asked, looking for the lady and not seeing her.
‘Not “what has she done,” Brodie. ’Tis more about what you have done.’
‘Have a care, Rob,’ he warned.
‘Brodie, ’tis too late for that. I see how you look at her. I saw the two of you last night.’
‘Last night?’
‘You were sleeping on her lap. Holding hands.’
‘Something changed between us, Rob. I cannot explain it. Almost as though...’
‘Nay. It cannot be so. You know it, Brodie. You know it.’ Rob paced back and forth before him, agitated by what he’d seen and what it meant.
Brodie knew the truth of the matter and there was no way to change it. So he saw no reason to argue over it. He reached out and grabbed Rob’s arm.
‘The plan is still the same. Nothing has changed.’
Rob glared at him, clearly disbelieving the words he uttered.
‘You will walk away from her? You will leave her to marry the next tanist?’
If they succeeded, Brodie expected Grigor to take the chieftain’s seat. One of the elders, he was the obvious choice, a blood relative to the last chief, and would be acceptable to all those with a stake in this. Then a new tanist would be chosen from among those men eligible from the other clans in the Confederation. No matter, it would not be him. The Camerons would never agree to terms if he took that position.
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