by Cathy MacRae
“I found naught that first day. But the second time I visited, Coll had been tied to a chair in his croft, and Brinna forced to wait on Keith Dubh and his toadies.” Rory gasped as a particularly bad spasm of pain struck. “She is but twelve!” he hissed. Arbela’s heart lurched.
Rory closed his eyes and for a moment Arbela thought he had fainted. His low, shuddering breath reassured her he had not.
“I wouldnae betray Bram, but Keith Dubh had Brinna and alone I could do naught but pretend to go along with his plan. I knew ye were wary of sending men away from the castle to inspect Keith Dubh’s diversions. And ye were right. But I had to ensure ye wouldnae leave Bram unprotected.” Rory opened his eyes and stared angrily at Arbela.
“Ye came to the dock! Ye left him! Ye should have killed the man sent to kidnap Bram, and I would have….” His head rolled back, his arms limp at his side. “God, Brinna!”
The glen was silent save for Rory’s light moans.
“Ye dinnae think to speak to me?” Caelen asked. “I could have helped ye.”
Rory clutched his shoulder and leaned forward. “I couldnae. He promised if I did, I wouldnae see Brinna again—save to bury her. After he finished with her.”
“Ye know as well as I he cannae harm a lass—not, at least, in that way.”
Rory’s eyes shone bright with pain. “His two men were more than able—and Keith Dubh more than willing to watch.” He turned his gaze to Bram. “I am truly sorry my plan failed. I wouldnae see ye in harm’s way. I will ever be indebted to ye, Caelen. And will endure whatever punishment I have earned.”
Arbela’s stomach heaved. “Tell me where he kept Brinna.”
* * *
The outline of an abandoned hunter’s croft, outlined against the pale streaks of dawn, loomed in the darkness. Arbela slipped from Voski’s back and hurried o the single door, her path lit by the glow of torches carried by Gordon and six other men-at-arms. A heavy beam settled in new iron bolts contrasted to the utter disrepair of the small building, and it took two men to heft the rough-hewn timber away.
Arbela was the first through the door.
Faint embers glowed on the hearth, but the young girl huddled within the hut shivered with the cold. Golden hair straggled free from her braid, and her silver eyes glowed huge in her pale face. Arbela checked her pace.
“I will not hurt ye,” she soothed. “Your brother told me where to find ye.”
Brinna crumpled to the floor, her eyes screwed shut, tears flowing. Arbela sat beside her, pulling her head to her chest, encircling the girl’s thin shoulders with her arms.
“They said they would return—and take me with them,” she whispered. “I dinnae wish to go.”
“Of course ye did not,” Arbela replied. “And ye must not fear them, for they are dead.”
Brinna drew back and met Arbela’s gaze. After a moment, as though satisfied, she nodded. “That is well, for my brother would have dealt harshly with them. Is my uncle well?”
Even in the diminished light, Arbela saw the girl’s lip quiver. With gentle fingers, Arbela swept a lock of hair from Brinna’s face. “Why don’t we go see him together?”
* * *
Gulls wheeled overhead. The piercingly blue sky reflected in refracted light on the rippling surface of Loch Linnhe. The dock bobbed lightly, its charred timbers rising like battle-scarred knees from the water. Alone with her memories of the previous night, Arbela soaked in the sun. Her body was sore from the battle of the night past and her heart ached with the fright of almost losing Bram—and betrayal.
Booted feet crunched on the pebbles and Caelen dropped down behind her and drew her body between his raised knees. Wrapping his arms about her, he placed his cheek against her hair.
“Bram is still sleeping, as is yer aunt and Brinna. The healer says the bumps and bruises will heal quickly.”
Arbela nodded, placing a hand atop his. “I wonder if the deeper wounds will ever heal? Would things be different if I had understood the shepherd’s concern? Could I have prevented Bram’s kidnapping?”
Caelen sighed. “Ye cannae think that way, Arbela. Looking back only helps if ye learn, not if ye simply pile blame on yerself.” He shook his head. “So many ifs could have changed so much. I cannae argue with Rory’s desire to protect his young sister—whom I scarcely remembered—but it angers me he couldnae bring himself to confide in me.”
“If only he had brought her to the castle after his parents died,” Arbela mused.
“Death was strong here. He was right. She would have fared better at the shepherd’s croft in the open air, away from so much sickness. Rory was later reluctant to part them, to bring more grief to the lass.”
Arbela considered Caelen’s words. “’Tis easier to hear this after the danger has passed,” she noted. “I would have been at a loss to find my twelve-year-old sister suddenly in the hands of a madman who demanded I betray my laird.”
“The shepherd confirms Rory’s tale. He woke early this morning from his fever and though weak, says Rory has given us a cleaner version of what transpired after Keith Dubh arrived.”
Arbela shook her head. “Rory deliberately picked a fight with me last night so I would stay behind. He went along with Keith Dubh as long as he could, but could not bring himself to follow through with MacGillonay’s final actions. I was supposed to guard Bram.”
“He was confident of yer abilities, my love,” Caelen said. “Though he could not be certain which man would attempt to kidnap Bram, he’d hoped it would be Keith Dubh—and that ye would kill him.”
His words mitigated a small amount of the guilt tearing at Arbela. She nestled against him and sighed.
“I do not believe Rory is a bad person, though my anger over his actions will linger a time. And I suppose I should be remorseful for striking him with a poisoned dagger, though I am not.” Caelen’s chuckle warmed her ear. “I certainly do not regret using poison on Keith Dubh.”
This time Caelen laughed.
“What will become of Keith Dubh?” Arbela asked.
“He will be punished,” Caelen replied. “He should have been little threat to us. After his da’s failed attempt to take Dunfaileas, and with the knowledge any repeat attempt would be met with the wrath of the MacLean, we should not have heard even a peep from him.” Caelen shrugged. “With his past history, it seemed unlikely he could mount any serious attack or gain the following of his clan, his two toadies who met their deaths last night notwithstanding. I am fairly certain he would not have been awarded the lairdship.”
Arbela tilted sideways, turning her head to meet Caelen’s gaze. “What history?”
“Och, he was the worst of the MacGillonays. But he met his match when he raped the daughter of a powerful laird—Cameron, I believe it was. Rather than kill the lad, the Cameron scarred the lad’s face so he’d never attract a woman again, crippled his leg so he’d never acquit himself in battle, reducing his appeal as MacGillonay’s heir—and fed him his severed manhood so he’d never prick a woman again.” Caelen shrugged. “’Tis likely why he wasnae with his da when they broached our walls nearly a month ago.”
“No wonder he was slight of frame and did not resemble his father or brother. Such a thing would stunt his growth.”
Caelen sighed. “I forget ye come from a place where such things exist. ’Twas a harsh punishment, but the Cameron was in a cold fury and likely saved other lasses a similar fate. Keith Dubh was known far and wide as a blackguard.”
“Hence his name, Keith Dubh?” Arbela asked.
“Aye, named Keith for his da, Dubh for his black heart.”
“I would advise sending him to my father for sentencing and punishment.”
Caelen nodded slowly. “An excellent idea. ’Tis the baron’s responsibility to handle such a matter. To take it into my hands would only strengthen the feud between MacKerns and MacGillonays. This would smack more of justice than vengeance.”
“Father has presided over many cases in Batroun, and
King Alexander gave him the right to do so here.” She was silent a moment. “I predict he will sentence him to be hanged in the MacGillonay courtyard and left for a sennight to warn against further treachery.”
Caelen hugged her tighter, but did not reply.
“What will become of Rory?” Arbela asked.
Caelen sighed. “He has been my brother since we nursed the same breast as bairns. I trusted him with my life. I can sympathize with his dilemma, but it will take time to rebuild trust between us. I have already replaced him as captain. He understands. ’Tis my belief he will work hard to overcome his mistake, and ’tis my hope we will be companions again someday.”
A shriek startled them, sending Arbela and Caelen bolting to their feet. Bram raced down the road, Garen at his side, Gordon at his heels. Bram threw himself into Arbela’s arms. Tears stung her eyes as she held him close.
“I fighted the bad men, Bela,” he crowed. “Just like ye taught me. And it worked! I was too scared at first to ’member, but ye ’membered for me.”
“Ye were very brave, Bram MacKernsingha,” Arbela said, chucking him beneath his chin. “Ye were as brave and as fierce as a lion.”
“I couldnae gainsay the lad from joining ye,” Gordon grinned. “It seemed best he get the excitement out of his system.”
“He is ever welcome,” Arbela reassured him.
Caelen wrapped his arms about Arbela and Bram. “Almost always,” he whispered as he nipped her ear playfully.
Arbela’s blood warmed and she turned her head for a decent kiss. In Caelen’s arms, his child held close, was where she belonged.
Epilogue
Dunfaileas Castle
Late Spring 1223
Bram chortled with glee as the bairn grabbed at his finger. “He’ll be a tough warrior,” he declared approvingly.
Arbela laughed. Zora handed her a soft woolen blanket to ward against the chill air, draping it about her shoulders and the bairn. Caelen thought his wife had never looked lovelier. Her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling, and the bairn in her arms, she completed the image Caelen had longed for. From time to time he was still caught by surprise to discover that this strong-minded, dusky daughter of the desert held his heart. But he would not have it any other way.
“Ye inspect the lad’s grip already?” Caelen asked, striding to Bram’s side and placing an arm about Arbela’s shoulders.
“Och, aye,” Bram replied in all seriousness. “He must be able to wield a sword.”
“He is but a bairn,” Caelen chided. “There is plenty of time.”
Bram nodded. “But I have so much to teach him. And I have all but outgrown Ari, though ’tis nae problem as I will keep him fed and brushed until wee Tomas can ride him.”
Arbela smiled and ruffled Bram’s hair. “This is not the time for swords and ponies,” she said. “This is the time for stories.”
Bram climbed into the chair next to her and laid his head on her shoulder, one small arm protectively about his brother. “Ye will like Ma’s stories,” he said. “Hers are the best.”
Caelen’s eyes misted. “Which is yer favorite, Bram?”
Bram thought for a moment. “Tell him the one about St. George and the dragon.”
A Note from the Authors
We hope you enjoyed Arbela and Caelen’s story. We found it fascinating to bring you a tale deeply rooted in history, with differing cultures and religions. Many of the places and people in The Highlander’s Crusader Bride really existed. If you’d like to know what happened to them, read on.
Donal MacLean is fictitious (more on the MacLean clan later), though in our story he took up the cross and traveled to Outremer with King Richard, who was, of course, king of England in 1190, and who spearheaded the Third Crusade. Donal hired on with Bohemond IV of Antioch & Count of Tripoli, another historical figure, in 1193 after Richard headed back to England. Donal was soon made Baron of Batroun, and, in our tale, fostered Philippe de Poitiers (Philippe I of Antioch, Bohemond IV’s son, who truly lived, though his early personal history is scant) at Mseilha Fort (castle in our story) on the road between Tripoli and Beirut in St. William’s Pass. Such a place did exist, and it guarded the pass, giving safe passage to travelers and merchants through the area.
Bohemond IV, Prince of Antioch, was actually known as le Cyclope, and for the reasons stated in our story. When Donal and his family are recalled to Antioch Citadel in 1221 and receive word they are to return to Scotland, Philippe is given the news that he is to be married to Queen Isabella of Armenia the following year. This also, to Philippe’s detriment, is true. He cared little for the Armenians or their religion, which differed in its style of Christianity from that of the Holy Roman Church, and, when forced to marry Isabella, became quite arrogant, riding roughshod over their culture, and was eventually assassinated by the people he ruled.
Donal MacLean will bring back to Scotland all the trappings, foods, spices, and customs of a Middle Eastern Court, as many crusaders did. Spectacular jewels and outlandish clothing that had not been seen in Scotland will make Arbela suspect—questioning her morals and religion. Leave it to Arbela to be both uncompromising and charming, winning hearts and acceptance in due time.
Donal MacLean’s ship, Falcone de Mar—or the Sea Falcon—is an interesting blend of a medieval cog, already in use for hundreds of years with its sturdy square sail, and the Italian Cocca—which we could find no evidence of until the 15th century—with its innovative triangular lateen sails. Those lateen sails had been in use in fishing boats around the Mediterranean since the 2nd century CE, allowing fishermen to sail 45 degrees into the wind.
The period between the cog and the cocca is where our story lies, and a shipbuilder certainly didn’t simply wake one day with the idea of the cocca in his head. These ships evolved over time, and resulted from the needs of the winds and seas where they originated as well as the ship’s general use. The Crusades were a time of great opportunity for the Italian City States, such as the Venetians, as they had to transport men, horses and supplies from Italy to the Holy Land. These circumstances prompted innovation in ship construction.
The Sea Falcon represents a missing link with its lateen sails allowing it to tack across the Mediterranean, regardless of the wind direction. The large square sail caught the wind when it was 90 degrees to the vessel or at its back, moving it at great speed. The ship’s size allowed it to carry cargo as well as passengers, and Donal’s plans to create a trading company from MacLean Castle in Scotland, would soon come to fruition.
The Saracens who attacked from the North African coast, on the other hand, would have commanded sleek, wave-skimming dhows, lateen-rigged ships propelled by both rowers and trapezoidal sails. The pirates from the Outer Hebrides, by contrast, used square-sailed birlinns with 12 to 16 oars.
Arbela’s horse is an Akhal-Teke, an ancient breed from Turkmenistan still used today as show jumpers, in eventing, and dressage. Dating back centuries in origin, they were known as the Heavenly Horse. The hairs of their coat are clear at the tips, giving their coat a glistening sheen which is unique to this breed.
As with all our books, there is a canine (or occasionally feline) character. For Arbela’s dogs, we chose the Aidi breed which is an average-size, moderately coated dog, with its origins in Morocco. It is known as a livestock protector and also has good scenting capabilities.
Arbela’s character was the product of a Scots father and an Armenian princess mother. Visiting her mother’s people was often a perilous undertaking, and her father insisted his daughter be trained in weaponry skills in an effort to keep her from meeting her death as her mother had at the hands of bandits. He was displeased to find Arbela had spent two summers in Armenia at an uncle’s castle where devotees of the Hashashin order met and trained. As a small woman, well-aware of her limitations in hand-to-hand combat, Arbela was fascinated by the skills they exhibited which used cunning instead of strength, and combined weapons such as poisons, traps, blow guns, use of pressure points
, and acrobatic skills. They also honed their skills in disguise, equestrianism, the art of war, linguistics and strategies. The Hashashin order arose around 1090 and existed until 1296 when they were utterly destroyed by the Mongols.
At the time of the MacLean family’s arrival in Scotland, King Alexander II was king and had recently married Joan of England. He was 23, she was 11.
Finally, the first person to sign himself Maclean, was Gilleain na Tuaighe, born c. 1210, and known as the first MacLean chief. However, there was a strong presence of his ancestors in the Inner Hebrides and Western Highland regions of Scotland, traceable back to Gilleain na Tuaighe’s great-x-34 grandfather, Tuirmhich teainrich righ Eran, who died c.320B.C. Tradition states he was a King of Dálcuinn. (Clan MacLean History Project). We felt secure placing MacLeans in the area of Lochaline in 1222 AD, and giving them a fairly long history there. Though the MacLeans were notably aligned with the Lords of the Isles and the king of Norway, our MacLean, in a bid to assist his shipping trade, made an alliance with the king of Scotland, though he carefully balanced his position between the cultures.
According to the Clan MacLean History Project (link above), Gilleain na Tuaighe means ‘Gilleain of the battle-axe’. Gilleain means ‘servant of St. John’, and Maclean translates as ‘son of Gilleain’, or ‘son of the servant of St. John.’
Thanks for joining us on our tour from Scotland to the Holy Lands and back.
Cathy & DD MacRae
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to all who read through this story and gave us such encouragement as it evolved: Dawn Marie Hamilton, Cate Parke, editor Liette Bougie, and our great beta-readers, Ann Leeson, Barb Massabrook, Donna Finley, April Renn, Raine Clarke, and Sharon Frizzell.
I’m pleased to say Dar Albert once again worked her magic on the cover art.