Arabella’s body throbbed.

Her lips were swollen. Her skin tingled. A place deep within her ached for something she could not identify. Well, if she was honest with herself, she could.

More. More of him.

The kisses she’d had with Caelan had never caused this wanting within her. They had been tepid, unmoving kisses. Just between two friends, with no air of intimacy or longing.

Brodie’s kiss had been possessive and enticing. He had tasted her and shown her how to taste him. He wanted her. She could hear it in his breathing and feel it in the way he held her and in the way his body … changed beneath her.

AUTHOR NOTE

Scotland’s history is filled with stories about feuds between the clans. When I was researching a previous book I discovered a feud between the powerful Mackintosh clan and the smaller Cameron clan that went on to last more than three hundred and fifty years!

It began in the early 1300s, over claims to a piece of land, and expanded over generations and across the lands of both the Mackintoshes and the Camerons. It eventually even involved the King of Scotland. Since the Mackintosh clan led the larger ‘Chattan Confederation’—a group of several clans and septs—it drew in large and small families over time.

After thousands of deaths, dozens of battles and attempts at truces and treaties, it ended in 1665, when the Camerons paid a fee to the Mackintoshes for the lands they claimed!

I have taken some liberties with the timing of some of the battles and the names or locations of some of the keeps, changing them to accommodate my story a bit, but the animosity between the clans is real. For when lands and titles and power and wealth are involved the truth can sometimes be stranger than any fictional story created to explain it all!

I hope you enjoy Stolen by the Highlander, the first book in my A Highland Feuding mini-series, and especially the sexy, brave Highlanders who seek to control their destinies and the strong women who tame them in the end!

Stolen by the Highlander

Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TERRI BRISBIN is wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised, and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England.

I dedicate this book,

the first in my new series, to my editorial ‘team’ at Mills & Boon® Historical Romances in the Richmond UK office—especially Megan Haslam, Kathryn Cheshire and Senior Editor Linda Fildew. They constantly push me to make my work better and stronger for my readers, and though we sometimes disagree on how to accomplish that (LOL!), they always do it in a kind and supportive way. It’s been great working with you over these last several books—thanks for all you do for me!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Arabella Cameron understood how the layer of ice on a frozen lake felt. The smile she held on her face as another Mackintosh offered a poem about her beauty would crack soon, just as that brittle ice did when hit by a stone. She did not hold out much hope that she could keep smiling as the words reached a new level of ridiculous praise. The tip of her nose tingled and the worry over her face cracking disappeared when presented with the larger concern of laughing.

Drawing in a slow breath, she blinked several times, hoping the danger of being impertinent or disrespectful would pass soon. As she raised her eyes, Arabella was horrified to meet the dark and brooding gaze of Brodie Mackintosh. Seated at the end of the table to her right, the older of the two men who were possible heirs to The Mackintosh stared back at her, not flinching and not looking away. In the short time since they’d met, she did not ever remember him smiling.

Nothing in his mahogany-brown eyes gave her any indication of how he felt about these men regaling their clans with tales of her beauty and graciousness. Or how he felt about her. Or the possibility that they might, within a few months, be man and wife. Distracted by his intense stare, she had not noticed the poem had ended or that the room silenced in anticipation of her reaction.

Until he turned his glance away and angled his head towards... Towards the Mackintosh bard who had stopped speaking and now looked expectantly at her, awaiting her reaction to his words. Arabella nodded and clapped her hands.

‘I am honoured by your kind words...’ She could not remember his name.

‘Dougal was not being kind, Lady Arabella,’ Caelan Mackintosh interrupted. Seated to her left, he met her gaze and winked, knowing she’d forgotten the bard’s name. ‘He was speaking the truth as we all see it to be.’ She turned back to the man who’d spoken and nodded.

‘Still, I am honoured by your praise, Dougal. And I thank you for composing and sharing it with our clans.’

The bard bowed and returned to his seat amidst the cheering of those gathered for this feast. Caelan leaned in closer and whispered so that others did not hear.

‘You have bewitched all of the Mackintoshes with your beauty and grace, Arabella. The Camerons could have won this feud long ago if they’d used you as their secret weapon.’ He touched her hand, a slight caress, and then lifted his cup to his mouth, all the while his gaze never straying from hers. ‘You have bewitched me.’

She’d heard these words before. She’d been praised for her beauty, a gift from the Almighty that had nothing to do with her own accomplishments, all of her life. But watching Caelan’s piercing blue eyes deepen as he spoke now made her want to feel something for them. She wanted to believe them.

He offered her his cup, turning it so that her lips would touch the place where his had been. Arabella allowed this gesture, this small intimacy, from the man she might marry. The corners of his mouth curved into an enticing smile as she drank the wine. The heat that spread throughout her was not from the strong wine but from the way Caelan watched as she swallowed and licked her lip where a drop yet remained. He leaned closer as though he would dare a kiss, here, now, and she held her breath, waiting.

The crashing sound of metal hitting the stone floor startled her and she turned towards the interruption. Brodie leaned over and picked up his heavy cup and placed it back on the table. Whether done a-purpose or by accident, it had ruined the moment between her and Caelan. And any hopes of rekindling it were dashed when her father spoke.

‘Yer aunt awaits ye there, Arabella. Seek yer chambers.’

Although she might have challenged her father were they in their own keep and with only her clan present, she would never do so here and now. Not with so much depending on her being an obedient, dutiful daughter whose only task was to save their clan from continuing slaughter and destruction.

Forming that hated smile back on to her features, she rose and curtsied to her father and to The Mackintosh, before walking around the table and down the steps. Her aunt Devorgilla stood there, watching her every move. No doubt, there would be instructions this night about her behaviour and appearance. Arabella nodded and smiled at anyone who spoke or whispered her name as she passed and her graciousness, after so many hours of being forced to it, tired her.

With a servant leading the way with a torch, she followed through the corridor and up the stairs to the chamber assigned to her for her stay here. Once there, she waited for only a moment to pass after the door closed before collapsing on the bed, allowing her face to relax from the hours of tortuous smiling. Pressing her palms against her cheeks, she knew what would come next.

‘You sat too close to the one and ignored the other, Arabella.’ Even with her eyes closed, she could tell from the changing direction of the high-pitched voice that her aunt was pacing around the edge of the bed. ‘You must not be seen to favour one over the other.’

‘Aye, Aunt Devorgilla,’ she said without opening her eyes.

‘You were not paying attention during that last poem. You must not show disrespect to the Mackintosh’s bard or his harpist or his—’

‘I understand, Aunt Devorgilla,’ she said before her aunt went on. ‘And my mother would be terribly shamed by my lack of manners at the feast...and by not paying enough heed to your warnings...’ Those words and more poured out of her and from the silence, Arabella knew she was not the only shocked person in the room.

‘Child,’ her aunt whispered. ‘Your mother would be proud of you. Proud that you are carrying out the duty you were born to fulfil.’ Her aunt’s voice grew deep with emotion and Arabella raised her head to look at her mother’s youngest sister. ‘She would be proud that you are doing your duty when it would be easier not to. When it means you must live the rest of your life among our enemies.’

‘Aunt Gillie,’ she said. The tears would not be held back now. ‘I am so sorry. I did not mean to act the wilful child to you. I value your advice, I truly do. I am exhausted and will be ready to face this on the morrow.’

‘Here now, child,’ her aunt said, stepping behind her. ‘Let me help you ready for bed.’

‘Nay. I can call for Ailean to help me.’ Her younger cousin served as her companion and her maid when needed.

‘Hush now,’ her aunt said, unlacing her ties and loosening the gown and tunic she wore. Soon Arabella stood in only her shift. When her aunt began to unravel the long braid of her hair, she sighed. ‘Sit,’ her aunt directed.

First, her aunt slid her fingers into the woven tresses and then she used a brush to ease out the snarls and knots. Each moment eased the tension within Arabella and allowed the exhaustion to creep closer to controlling her. Her eyes drooped closed and her body began to relax. All her worries drifted away with each long stroke of the brush through her hair.

‘What are the plans on the morrow?’ Forced to think of her future and the uncertainty of it, Arabella sighed again.

‘A ride with Caelan in the morn and one with Brodie after the noon meal. Worry not, Aunt Gillie, Ailean will accompany me at all times when we leave the keep.’

‘I do not worry over your safety, child. I worry over your heart.’ The brush stopped and her aunt stepped away. Arabella turned to face her and found a sadness in her eyes she’d not seen before. ‘Do not let your heart be engaged with either of these Mackintoshes until their elders decide on which will be tanist here. It will only lead to heartbreak and pain in the years to come.’

‘Aunt Gillie, what—?’ This was something unexpected. Something surprising and clearly with more of a story than she’d heard about.

‘No matter, Arabella,’ her aunt interrupted before she could complete her question. ‘I think I am more tired than I thought. I will seek my bed now.’

Without another word, her aunt placed the brush on the small table there, turned and left the chamber. Granted, the warning was one she’d heard before, but her aunt’s words about heartbreak hinted at something more personal. She would pursue this on the morrow, but a soft knock foretold of Ailean’s arrival. Arabella soon lay in the quiet darkness and pondered the differences between the two Mackintosh cousins and her future as the wife of one or the other.

Her aunt’s counsel did not take into account how she truly felt about the one thing that would not change—no matter which she married, she was giving herself to her enemy. She would become part of the clan that had massacred her family over the past several generations and bear children to it. There were hopes that this feud would now end with her marriage to the next Mackintosh chief.

No matter, Arabella would be marrying her enemy very soon.

* * *

Brodie held out the cup to one of the women serving at table and watched as she filled it. Nodding his thanks, he continued to observe every Cameron in their hall. They came under a flag of truce and accepted the hospitality offered, but Brodie did not trust a one of them.

As he glanced from Cameron warrior to Cameron warrior, he knew that some of them had killed Mackintoshes during their past skirmishes and battles. And some of the older ones did not want this truce or the coming treaty at all. Reasons not to trust them.

Not even the golden-tressed heiress of their clan did he trust. The chamber where the feast to welcome her had been held began to empty now that Lady Arabella Cameron had retired for the evening. Glancing around the hall, he met the gaze of each of the men he’d positioned wherever the Camerons sat.

Let their bard and hers pay homage to her beauty. Let his cousin fall all over himself flirting with the lass. Brodie saw to his duty of securing the safety of his clan while others played the courtier or ignored the dangers. When each of his men nodded their reply, he turned his attention to his uncle and cousin and their guests.

Content to observe and not get involved in the discussions, Brodie noticed the way The Cameron and his eldest son, Malcolm, sat and spoke and the way they watched him, too. It confirmed his belief that there was wariness on the part of both families. And possibly treachery, at which the Camerons excelled. His uncle stood and everyone at the table did, as well—a signal that the feast was over.

Brodie put his cup down and walked to his uncle’s side as the Camerons followed their escort to the chambers assigned to them in the north tower. Keeping them together, in several chambers in the one tower, made it easier to keep a watch on them. And to keep them isolated in case of trouble. He smiled at that.

‘You will escort the Cameron lass after the noon meal,’ his uncle said, gaining his full attention now.

‘Nay, Uncle. I have to see to—’ Brodie began to explain.

‘You will escort the lass, Brodie. That is your duty on the morrow.’

They’d already argued this point many times before the Camerons arrived on their lands for this visit. Brodie thought it premature for any of this, while the elders sided with his uncle. They thought it a way to assess the two cousins before making their choice.

After facing whatever tests the elders had planned, one cousin would be proclaimed tanist and heir to the chieftain of the Clan Mackintosh. With no other living male relative eligible, either he or Caelan would govern the Chattan Confederation after his uncle died. One of them would be selected by the elders to control the people and the lands and wealth of their clan.

He owed much to Lachlan for raising him after the death of his parents. The laird had taught him the skills he needed to live and to lead. So, even if he disagreed with his uncle, he would do as he asked, or ordered.

Now, his uncle had added courting the Cameron lass to the list of accomplishments required for the one deemed worthy to lead the clan. Glancing up, he saw his uncle’s determined eyes and the look of merriment and victory in his cousin’s.

Oh, aye, Caelan had a way with women, his soft words and caresses wooed many to him and his bed. Practised in collecting and discarding any willing woman, his cousin would use all his experience to soften the Cameron lass’s heart. Brodie held no hopes that the woman who would, who could, be the means of ending the generations-long feud between their families would be anything but attracted to his cousin.

‘Aye, Uncle.’ Brodie would rather be attending to training the new guards or organising the defences of their borders than in this useless bit of courting. But, from the glare of his uncle’s expression and the way he crossed his arms over his massive chest, Brodie knew he would be spending time with the lass, Arabella.

‘Try not to put her to sleep,’ Caelan taunted as he walked away.

As much as Brodie wanted to argue or come back at his cousin with some witty or even caustic reply, he could think of none. He was not known for his wit or sense of humour. He was also not known for his easy manner with women. Brodie let out his breath and strode through the hall into the corridor.

What he did do well was protect his clan and their holdings from the constant incursions by their enemies. He’d wanted an end to this feud for a very long time, even before his parents were murdered in an ambush in the hills around Loch Arkaig. With every new fight or battle that led to losing more of his family, his desire to find a way to peace between the Mackintoshes and Camerons had grown. And if it could be ended without destroying all of them, well, that was even better. He preferred peace through negotiation, but he would take it in any way they could obtain it.

Even if it meant he married the lass who wore a false smile like it was her second skin.

So, in spite of his suspicions and the cynicism he now carried with him as a constant companion, he would follow his uncle’s orders and see to taking her on a tour of some kind. Then he would focus his attentions where they mattered—on being the one chosen to lead the clan next.

And, if that included marrying one of their enemies, so be it.

Chapter Two

It was going better than Arabella had expected when she left the keep in the company of Caelan Mackintosh. With Ailean and a Cameron and Mackintosh guard accompanying them, she rode at Caelan’s side out through the gates and along the road through the village. Though she smiled, this morn it was because he made her smile. And laugh. And truly enjoy herself.

His compliments were not as overwhelming as she usually heard, but he placed them well and not too often. Caelan even brought a smile to Ailean’s face and that was no easy task when dealing with her dour cousin. They rode along the road to the east and then followed the path of a large stream into the forest. For a time, they’d walked along the stream, leaving the others a short distance behind but always within sight.

* * *

When they returned for the noon meal, Arabella was amazed that the hours in his company had passed so quickly.

‘I hope it has been a pleasant outing for you, Lady Arabella,’ he said, lifting her hand to his mouth and touching his lips on her skin. ‘Ailean, your company added much to the morn,’ he added with a nod to the now blushing and stammering woman. Caelan had won over at least one Cameron lass and was well on the way to another.

‘It has been, sir. And a welcome change to have a clear and sunny morn after the recent storms,’ Arabella said.

‘Almost as though the fates were smiling on us.’

Her aunt called out her name and she nodded at her. Time to move on to the next of her duties. At least the day had begun well.

‘I will let you see to your duties,’ she said, nodding at him.

His blue eyes sparkled and the appealing dimple in his chin when he smiled at her drew her attention. Attractive, hospitable and charming were not such bad traits for a potential husband, she decided as she walked up the steps to the doorway and entered behind her aunt. They did not speak until they reached her chambers and Devorgilla sent Ailean on some errand so they had a measure of privacy.

‘From the colour in your cheeks and the light in your eyes, I would guess that this morning went well?’ her aunt asked. A bowl of water awaited her and Arabella accepted the washing cloth.

‘It did. He is...acceptable,’ she said. Dipping the cloth in the water, she smiled as she cleaned her face and then hands.

‘Acceptable? Only that, then?’ her aunt prodded. ‘Of the two, Caelan seems the more pleasant.’

‘Aye, Aunt.’ She handed the cloth back and removed the circlet that held her veil in place. ‘You told me not to favour one over the other, so I am trying to follow your advice.’

At her aunt’s direction, she sat so Aunt Gillie could gather her loosened hair back into a braid and to right her appearance before the noon meal. ‘Though I suspect I am a bit optimistic over my chances for a happy marriage with one more than the other.’ Her aunt shushed her as she tugged at the length of her hair.

‘That is not why this match will be made, Arabella. Keep that firmly in mind as you spend time with these men. Their clan’s elders will make their decision and you will marry their choice.’

Arabella felt the pleasure of the outing dissipate with each word of warning uttered by her aunt. She understood her duty and would do it, but that did not mean she could not enjoy these small moments when all the decisions seemed distant yet. A knock interrupted any reply she would have made. Ailean opened the door and entered.

‘They are calling for the meal now,’ her cousin said.

‘Come, Aunt Gillie. We must not have them waiting on us.’ She stood and shook out her gown.

Ailean led the way down to the hall, for her cousin was becoming familiar with the corridors and stairways of this large, stone keep. Arabella tried to clear her thoughts and not be worried about the next part of her day...with Brodie Mackintosh. He was the exact opposite of his cousin—dark and forbidding to Caelan’s light and smiling countenance. When Caelan laughed and spoke easily with her, Brodie simply stared intensely and with an air of disapproval she could not explain. It was as though he looked at her and found her wanting.

So, it was a relief when his uncle announced that he would not join them at this repast. At least the meal would be pleasant.

And it was. Caelan sat a few seats away from her, next to her brother, and continued to pay attention to her. Her father smiled more and The Mackintosh did, as well. Each day they spent here seemed to ease a bit of the tension that had filled the air on their arrival four days before.

But soon, too soon, the informal repast ended and it was time for her to spend the afternoon with Brodie. She took a deep breath and nodded to her aunt and her cousin. The laird directed one of his servants to escort her to the yard and she noticed that Caelan began to offer, but was stopped by a shake of his uncle’s head. So Arabella stood and followed the man out of the keep and into the yard. When she noticed Brodie standing next to their horses, she waved the man off and walked towards him.

* * *

Brodie leaned down and tightened the belt under the horse’s belly, making certain it was secure. He stroked the animal, not one of theirs, but a beautiful beast, anyway. The Camerons could pick horseflesh and had some of the best in the Highlands. He whispered nonsense as he calmed the horse and finished his task. Or he would have if his friend Rob had not interrupted him.

‘So, she is quite the beauty, is she not?’ Rob said from the other side of the horse. Glancing down at the horse’s rather obvious attributes, Brodie frowned at the man.

‘Aye, he is,’ he said, shaking his head as he checked the other belt and the reins.

‘Are you daft or just trying to be difficult, Brodie?’ Rob leaned in closer, his face just above the horse’s back. ‘The lass. The lass is a beauty.’

‘Oh. The lass. Aye,’ he mumbled out and saw to his task. He was beginning to think that asking Rob to accompany them on this ride had been a mistake. He should have asked one of the men on duty instead of his friend.

‘Come now, you have to admit that it would not be difficult to marry her? To have her in your bed? To see that hair loose. Those eyes? That mouth?’ Rob said in a low voice and then laughed at him. ‘I would not mind ending up with her to wife when this bargain is struck.’

‘A beauty? Aye, she is beautiful,’ Brodie admitted aloud to his friend. Stepping back and giving the horse one more look, he shrugged. ‘To be honest, Rob, I’d rather end up with another dozen head of cattle or horses like this one than her. Cattle and horses would be more useful to us, to me, than a woman who lives by her beauty.’

From the frozen expression on his friend’s face and the sudden silence of those closest to them in the yard, Brodie knew she was there behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment and then let out his breath. His words had been harsh. Not meant for her to hear. She had heard and he needed to apologise. His uncle would have his ballocks if he did not make this right. Trying to think of the right thing to say, he turned slowly to face her.

If he had delayed only a moment more, he would have missed the fleeting dimming of her eyes and the slight downturn of the corner of her mouth. His stomach clenched at the sight. Then she smiled that empty smile of hers and walked up to him.

‘It is kind of you to escort me around your lands,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I know you have other duties to see to and appreciate your time.’

‘Lady Arabella,’ he began. Then...nothing.

Not the wrong words. Not the right ones. Simply no words.

‘What do you think of him?’ she asked, coming alongside of Brodie. ‘Is he not magnificent?’ She was being gracious and giving him a way out of the insult he’d just paid her. He took it.

‘Aye, he is. Strong and lively,’ he said, slowly sliding his hand over the horse’s withers and nodding. He glanced at the horse’s legs. ‘Stamina, too, I think.’

‘Oh, he can ride for days,’ she said, walking to the horse’s head and rubbing it. ‘He has taken me on many journeys.’ She stepped back and met his gaze. He searched for some sign of hurt feelings or insult, but her blues eyes were empty of any emotion. ‘Should we be on our way?’ she asked, looking at the gathering clouds over them.

‘Mount up,’ he called out to the rest of their travelling group as he assisted her onto her horse.

Once she had settled, he handed her the reins and mounted his own horse. She sat as though born in the saddle, completely in control of the huge stallion. He could not help but stare at the way she looped the leather straps over and around her hands, keeping them at the right tension so that the horse had some freedom, but also could feel her commands. Brodie led them out of the yard, through the gates and in the opposite direction from where Caelan had taken her that morn.

Rob knew where they were going, so he rode ahead and the Cameron guard rode behind them. The lass’s cousin, a young woman named Ailean who wore the frown and had the bearing of an old spinster, positioned herself at Arabella’s side, directly behind him. They’d crossed the stream a mile or so from the keep and continued towards the mountains that ran across their lands, from the loch to the sea. A few minutes after he heard whispering between the two women, Brodie found the lass riding alongside him.

‘So, Brodie, where are we going?’ she asked in a soft voice, her gaze not leaving the uneven road in front of them.

‘You have seen our lands near the loch. We are going to a place up on the mountain for a different look.’ It was his favourite place on all their lands, but he did not say that. ‘A short distance ahead, we’ll take the path up the mountainside.’

She did not drop back to ride with her cousin then. Nay, the lass continued to match his pace and remain there next to him. Which was probably what she had done with Caelan. Unease built in his gut—he’d rather fight a small army of Camerons than have to deal with this one. Worse, she did not even acknowledge the insult paid her—which made it the only thing he could think about as they travelled high up on the path.

After one curve in the road, they entered a clearing, an outcropping that positioned them high above Mackintosh lands. The view was one he liked, one he visited often when he needed solitude. The clouds were low and heavy right now, but when the sun shone and the breezes blew, you could see for miles and miles, across the hills towards the sea and back to the loch.

‘Beautiful.’ Her breathless voice startled him, for he had forgotten for a moment that she was there.

‘Aye.’

He dared a glance and found her usually empty gaze now filled with wonder at the sight before them. Brodie thought, for one daft second, that she might appreciate not only the view but the lands themselves. Lands much larger than those of the Camerons even if you considered the lands they stole all those generations ago. As quickly as it had appeared, her gaze changed at the sound of the others arriving. And the dreaded smile returned.

‘I am confused as to our orientation,’ she said. ‘The loch is...where?’

Brodie turned in his saddle and pointed to the right. ‘Loch Lochy is about five miles that way. Arkaig is north,’ he said. ‘And the sea is about thirty miles to the west.’

‘And Mackintosh lands?’ she asked, glancing from one horizon to the other.

‘To the loch and as far as you can see to the west,’ he said, not keeping the pride from his voice. ‘And miles to the north and south, as well.’ She stared out at the distances in the directions he’d indicated and nodded.

‘You were correct then, sir,’ she said softly, meeting his gaze then.

‘Correct, Lady Arabella?’ He tugged the reins slightly and turned his horse to face hers. A step or two closer and their legs nearly touched. ‘Correct about what?’

Brodie could not remember a single thing he’d said to her other than the direction of their lands. And he knew he was correct about those. He knew their lands in the light of day or dark of night.

‘That additional cattle or horses would be useful to you. Mayhap you should add that to the list of Mackintosh demands in the negotiations before it is too late?’

God save him, but her eyes blazed like icy fire for a moment and the smile left her face. Only when Rob snickered behind them did she regain control over her expression. It was the most he’d heard her say and the only time he thought he might be seeing the lass herself and it was gone. The ice maiden sat smiling at him for a moment more. Then, with a slight motion of her hand, she directed her mount around him and out of the clearing. The rest of them scrambled to follow her, leaving him alone to look out over their lands and ponder the mistakes he’d made so far.

First, he’d been so busy trying to ignore her and the possible match that he had not paid enough attention to her and had missed her true nature. For the man who oversaw the Mackintosh clan’s spies, that was a huge failure.

Second, Brodie had failed at doing what he did best—notice things that affected the clan’s security and preparedness for battle. He’d seen only what the lass wanted him—them—to see: a woman who had no mind of her own and did as she was told.

And last, and worst for his peace of mind, discovering that she was not a mindless, empty-headed beauty pleased him in some way he did not wish to think on or even acknowledge.

Riding out of the clearing and on to the road leading down the mountain, Brodie understood he would need to keep a closer watch on her. Why that brought a smile to his own face, he knew not. He caught up with them and placed himself at her side, edging her cousin ahead with Rob and the guards. He still needed to offer an apology for his coarse words of insult.

‘Lady Arabella,’ he said, slowing his horse’s pace so that there was some distance between them. ‘I would speak privately with you.’

When her maid glanced back across that growing space, the lady waved her off. The lass matched his horse’s gait and they rode for a short time in silence as he tried to choose his words more carefully than he had earlier. Once again, she saved him.

‘Sir...Brodie,’ she began quietly without looking at him. ‘I have been raised to carry out my duty for my family. Marrying whoever is named as the next chieftain of your family is that duty. And I will carry it out, no matter my personal feelings on the matter. I assume you will do the same?’ Her blue eyes rose until they locked with his.

‘I will carry out my duty,’ he said, nodding. Brodie could not be certain what his personal feelings were on the matter when she stared at him so, but later he would sort through it all. For now...

‘Lady Arabella, I...’ He stumbled over the words he now wanted to say. ‘I should not have said such things about you.’

‘Did you mean it? About needing cattle or horses more than me?’ she asked. Neither her tone nor her expression gave away her feelings on his words.

‘Do you wish to hear the truth?’

‘I prefer the truth. I hear so little of it.’

‘Aye, we need more cattle.’

Silence sat between them, but neither looked away.

‘Then the good thing about getting a wife is that she’ll be bringing the gold with which you can buy more cattle.’

The lass shifted in her saddle then, he could tell she was going to move away. Brodie reached out and touched her hand. She startled at the contact of their skin yet did not pull away.

‘Aye. But I still should not have said that.’

‘Aye,’ she agreed as she lifted her hand from beneath his and gathered the reins. ‘You should not have.’

Now, as she rode towards where the others were, he laughed aloud for the first time in a very long time. Arabella glanced back and nodded at him, wearing the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face.

There was more to this lass than he had thought. Mayhap marrying her, if he had to, would not be so bad at that?

Chapter Three

Malcolm approached the table, making his way through the crowd of Mackintoshes gathered for the meal. More than once, she noticed that he stopped to speak to one or another young woman. Her brother had that effect on women. Tall and handsome, he drew many an eye as he moved on towards the dais. He smiled at her as he took his place next to her.

‘So, two more days and we will be gone from this place,’ he whispered to her as his cup was filled by a very attentive and buxom serving woman.

‘Two more days and, aye, we leave,’ she said. ‘I, however, will be brought back to remain here for ever in a few short months.’ He stared at her, perusing her face and then her eyes.

‘Are you unwilling to marry here? Have you changed your mind?’ He lifted her chin and narrowed his gaze. ‘Tell me the truth.’

This was the only person with whom she could share her true feelings. They’d shared their mother’s womb and spent much of their lives together since their birth.

‘Willing or not, I will do what is expected of me. You know that,’ she whispered. ‘I just wish I knew more about the two of them. I wish I had more time. I wish...’

She stopped. Her wishes meant nothing in the negotiations or what would come after it. Her throat burned with unexpected tears and she lifted her cup and drank some of the ale to wash them down.

‘What can I do to ease your burden and your worries, sister mine?’ She knew he would help her, if he could.

‘Marry the one selected as tanist?’ she suggested. Malcolm laughed loudly at the inappropriate comment, loudly enough to draw attention. Her aunt frowned a warning, the one that meant her behaviour was unseemly.

‘Think not that I shall escape a marriage bargain like yours,’ Malcolm said. ‘If there had been a daughter, have no doubt that I would have been offered like the sacrificial lamb that you are.’ He leaned in and added, ‘And think not that I can avoid being sold to the next highest bidder.’

Someone, one of his friends, called out his name and Malcolm emptied his cup before leaving her side. At the last moment, his expression grew serious.

‘Truly, is there aught I can do to ease your mind on this marriage and the bargain made?’

‘Find out what manner of men they are.’

That was her real question. She saw only what they showed her, just as they knew little or nothing about her. But as her husband, either man would have complete control over her—her body, her wealth, her future. They had nothing to fear going into a marriage for they lost nothing while she, as the wife, had many concerns. Concerns she could not voice or discuss, but ones that made her lose sleep.

‘Find out...what?’ he asked, nodding again to his friends.

‘What kind of men they are. How they treat other women. How they are thought of by their clan. That sort of knowledge.’

‘How big their co—!’ She smashed her hand against his mouth before he could finish the word. The heat of a blush filled her cheeks. Only her irreverent brother would say such a thing to her. But, he revelled in shocking her.

‘Malcolm!’

He lifted her hand from his face and kissed the top of it. Standing then, he bowed to their father and the Mackintosh chief and, with a wink, he was walking away. Soon, friends surrounded him and Arabella smiled. He meant what he’d said—he would seek what she needed to know. He would not fail her and would help her prepare for this new life she faced.

When Arabella turned her attention away from her brother, Brodie caught her eye. He never seemed at ease. Always watchful as he glanced around the chamber out of the corner of his eye, he kept everyone under his inspection. She thought she’d witnessed a few surreptitious nods and signals between him and several other men scattered around the gathering.

There! He’d done it again—exchanged some hidden message with a tall man standing in the back of the hall. She sipped from her cup and observed him over the rim. He repeated his actions—making contact, signalling in that same way, then moving on to the next one—over and over until his gaze moved back to the front of the hall...and to her.

Tempted to look away, instead she nodded to him and watched as he approached. Taller than his cousin, he wore his dark-brown hair long, tied back only at his temples. Though she rarely saw him smile, there were lines around his brown eyes and his mouth that spoke of the habit. His long legs covered the distance between them in a few paces and he stood before her, with his arms crossed over his chest, studying her much as she did him.

Their encounters since that day when they had ridden into the hills, when he had voiced his desire for more cattle rather than her, had been an interesting mix of politeness and challenge. Just last night, at their evening meal, he’d slipped in a question about crops and only the quiet ‘harump’ reply indicated his surprise that she could speak on such things. This morning, in the yard, he’d asked permission to ride her horse. He’d said the beastie needed a good run after being stabled through much of their business, but she recognised an appreciation for horseflesh that matched hers.

He stood there now, waiting for her permission to join her at table. She placed her cup on the table and nodded. Brodie sat in the chair vacated by her brother.

‘My thanks for permitting me to take the horse out, Lady Arabella.’ He smiled then and the combination of male beauty and the way his face lit with it made her breathless. How had she ever thought him intimidating and foreboding?

‘What did you think of him?’ she asked, waiting for his cup and hers to be filled. ‘How far did you ride?’

‘Several miles past the clearing,’ he said. ‘Into the hills and beyond. I gave him his head and he took it.’ Brodie laughed then and she noticed as many in the hall turned at the sound. ‘He tempted me to continue, but I did not want to overtire him with your journey home coming so soon.’

‘I have yet to tire him out,’ she admitted. ‘Most times I am the one to surrender.’ She laughed. ‘Even my brother, Malcolm, cannot, so I know my skills are not so shoddy.’

He remained at her side, both of them watching as people gathered in small groups before them, clearing the space so that dancing could begin.

‘Do you have any mares here he could be bred with?’ she asked. The horse had wonderful traits that could be passed on to his get. Brodie choked then and coughed to clear his throat.

‘Lady,’ he whispered. ‘’Tis unseemly a topic...’

She turned to face him, shaking her head and putting her cup down.

‘He is mine and will remain mine, sir,’ she said. ‘Even after my husband is given control over everything else I bring to this marriage, that horse is mine. Since you were interested in him, I thought offering him as stud would give you his offspring.’

Arabella knew her aunt and her father would be horrified, almost as much as Brodie was, to hear such words—or even the knowledge of such things—from her. She waited on his response.

He laughed.

Laughed. Raising his cup, he smiled and nodded to her.

‘Then I accept your gracious offer, my lady,’ he said. ‘And I know just the mare to choose for him.’

Watching his eyes change from surprised to curious and then to appreciation made her wonder if marrying a man like him would not be the terrible thing she’d thought it would be. Shocked that she could contemplate such a thing without the fear she’d felt for so long, she listened as he spoke on the topics Caelan never did—lands, farming, animals and more.

Now at a greater ease with him, Arabella wanted to ask him another question, one about the hand signals. Caelan’s arrival and interruption prevented that.

‘The music is starting, Arabella,’ he said. ‘I know my cousin cares not to dance, but that you favour it. So, may I?’ He held out his hand and waited for her to take it.

She did not. For the first time during her visit, her curiosity won over her need to be gracious. Smiling as always, she shook her head and did not take his hand.

‘My stomach is bit unsettled and I would like to wait before dancing,’ she said. ‘It must be the travelling and the excitement.’ When both cousins wore a similar frown at her words, she added, ‘Caelan, I am certain this will pass shortly and I will seek you out to accept your kind offer.’

‘Should I call your cousin or aunt?’ Brodie offered.

‘Nay. I just need to sit for a short time.’ She’d thought Caelan would be the one to offer such aid, so Brodie surprised her. Now, glancing at Caelan, she saw that he edged away from her and his usual pleasant expression had turned slightly grey.

‘Very well,’ he finally said. ‘I will wait over there.’ He pointed to a seat at the other end of the table. And then he walked to it quickly.

Such behaviour came as another surprise. She did not know what to say about it, but Brodie explained.

‘My cousin fears illness. He avoids being around those who are ailing or sick. He has since he was a child.’ A hint of amusement filled his words. He turned to her then, examining her face with that intense stare she’d seen before. ‘Truly, do you have need of assistance? One of your women? Our healer?’

Arabella could not resist a bit of mischief now, though he was being attentive and kind and, for once, not his irritating or insulting self. She looked up at him through lowered lashes and used her most feminine voice—the one that usually had any man she aimed it at doing her bidding.

‘There is something you could do,’ she whispered to him. Dropping her hand between them where no one else would see, she shaped her fingers into one of the gestures she’d witnessed. ‘You could tell me what this means?’

His gaze followed hers down to her hand and then came back up to stare at her. Then down once more as though he did not believe what he saw there.

‘I have my suspicions, but thought I would ask you since I saw you do it earlier.’ His gaze narrowed for a moment and then something that resembled respect filled it.

‘Do you think yourself clever, Lady Arabella?’

He reached down and eased her fingers out of the gesture. His hand was warm and strong and almost twice the size of hers, yet he did not use that size and strength against her. A shiver shook her at the thought of such a thing.

‘You are ill,’ he said, releasing her hand and turning to call someone. She grabbed his hand to stop him.

‘I am not ill. I only wished to ask you about those gestures. What are you signalling to the others?’ she asked.

‘Others?’ he asked in a rough tone. ‘What others?’

He would not tell her. She had witnessed something he did not wish her to see. His reaction told her the truth—they were messages or words about her. Mayhap more insults about her between him and his friends? The thought of that burned her. Knowing only one way out of this situation, she lifted her face and smiled at him.

‘Forgive me, sir, if I have overstepped the bounds of hospitality. I think my stomach has calmed now. I will seek out your...’ She began to rise, but he took hold of her hand and held her there. ‘Sir?’

‘Brodie is my name,’ he whispered harshly. ‘And do not do that.’ She did not force her way to her feet but remained seated there at his side. With her hand trapped within his.

‘Do not do what, sir?’ she demanded in a whisper that matched his. All the while, the smile remained in place. If anyone glanced at them, nothing would look amiss.

‘Smile like that.’

‘I do not understand. I am simply smiling,’ she said through her teeth.

‘Smiling like a simpleton, aye.’ He yet held her hand in a firm grasp, one at odds with the anger she felt in him. She let her face relax and nodded her understanding. ‘Better.

‘I can only say this. Aye, you did see...what you saw. I am in charge of the guards. My uncle wanted them to keep watch discreetly. We use the signals rather than...’ His grip eased but she did not pull away.

Not even when she felt his thumb begin to stroke her palm and wrist.

Not when heat crept through her veins and across her skin.

Not even when her words jumbled and she could not remember the question she wanted to ask him next.

‘I doubt that anyone else, other than possibly your father, noticed them. Yet you did.’ His eyes darkened then, changing from the deep brown they usually were to something closer to black. ‘I would ask that you not share what you have seen.’

If she exposed his methods to the rest of her clan, it would render them useless. He was asking for her co-operation. It gave her some bargaining power and she almost laughed at that.

‘I will not,’ she said. Some tension lessened and he released her hand. ‘If...’

‘If?’ The narrowing of his eyes and flaring of his nostrils warned her to proceed with caution, much as the same reactions in her horse did. It must be a male custom.

‘If you tell me what this—’ she made the gesture in the space between them again ‘—means?’ He did not look down and he did not respond for a few seconds and she wondered if he would call her bluff. Or just refuse her outright?

‘All is well.’

‘Ah, so there is no danger tonight? No threats from the Camerons?’

‘I would not say no danger,’ he said, softly, his breath touching her ear, and she shivered once more.

‘And if there was a problem?’ The devil sat on her shoulder now, urging her on.

He let out an aggrieved breath and shrugged. He formed the sign with his hand to show her. ‘Trouble is coming.’ A different signal then. ‘Trouble. Take cover.’

‘I will not share that knowledge with anyone,’ she said. Arabella stood then, as Brodie did at her side. ‘I should go now. My aunt has noticed our conversation and I do not wish to be questioned on it.’ She walked around the table and approached Caelan.

It took little cajoling or encouragement on her part to make Caelan smile and invite her to dance. As they walked, side by side, to the place cleared in the middle of the hall, she could not help herself. She glanced around the large chamber to see if those same men still stood guard. Then she looked to their leader to see if he signalled any of them. Brodie stared back at her, never looking to any of his men.

Worried that he was angry, she was glad to see the slight smile curve his lips then. She smiled back at him, over Caelan’s arm, and felt as though something had eased between them.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed quickly and when her aunt mentioned that she seemed at ease with both of the cousins, the truth struck her. There was much more to Brodie Mackintosh than she had first thought. And the thought of marrying him no longer threatened like a dreaded outcome.

Nay, she thought as she reviewed the events of the last several days, it would not be as difficult to find herself married to him as she’d first thought. So, for the first time since her arrival there, she looked forward to their next encounter.

* * *

Brodie sat in stunned silence for a few minutes after Arabella left the seat next to him. He thought he was beginning to get a glimpse beneath the facade she wore, that damned smile and the cursed frozen expression of graciousness. He’d told himself countless times that he was only seeking out any possible dangers to his clan, but the way his body responded to her furtive whispers told him she was the danger.

No matter how many times he told himself not to engage her in the silly bantering that Caelan did, and not to let himself get too close to her, and especially not to want her for himself, he failed. And from the insistent press of hardened flesh against his trews, he’d failed terribly.

Watching as she’d dropped her hand between them and then shaped her fingers into the sign he’d used to his men had caused two things to happen. The first was shock over his complete underestimation of the lass’s intelligence and her skill in observation. Then a desire struck him as lightning in a storm, forcing aside his hard-fought indifference and leaving behind a clear, strong need to know her better. To know her at all, since he was now certain he knew little of the true Arabella Cameron.

Now the danger he felt growing was within himself. She put his sense of balance in jeopardy and the promise he’d sworn to support the next chieftain selected by the elders. Right now, as this unexpected need for her rose in his blood, Brodie was thankful that she would be gone in just two days and the elders would make their decision in a calm and reasoned manner.

And if they chose Caelan and she came to the Mackintoshes as his bride, Brodie would find a way to accept it. Now he realised, as he tried—and failed—not to stare as she danced with his cousin, it would be difficult to do.

He strode from the hall and sought out a place far from her presence, knowing his men were still on watch. The next two days promised to be two of the longest in his life.

Chapter Four

The flames rose higher towards the night sky as the men circling it sat and drank. Against his judgement and as his uncle had ordered, Brodie posted no guards around the gathering or on the path to this clearing. Caelan and two of his friends sat across from him and Rob. Arabella’s twin brother and two other Camerons made up the third side. In spite of the air of companionship and reverie, there was no lack of suspicion among the group.

‘You are younger than your sister?’ he asked of Malcolm Cameron. He wanted to know more about the lass, no matter how he fought the urge.

‘Aye,’ the younger Cameron replied. ‘Only by a few minutes, but she is the elder.’ Those minutes mattered not when there was a son to inherit the titles and most of the wealth.

‘You fought well today,’ Brodie said. ‘Who taught you the sword?’

‘My uncle Niall trains the young warriors. I know you held back in the yard,’ he replied. ‘Your control was well honed. Who taught you?’

Brodie got to his feet and walked over to sit nearer the young Cameron. Others talked amongst themselves and he did not wish everyone to hear his every question. ‘My uncle Grigor,’ he said, sitting down on the log there. ‘I have heard the story of Niall and Grigor meeting in battle. Mayhap fifteen years ago?’

Malcolm shrugged and shook his head. ‘Where was this?’

Malcolm held out a skin of ale and filled Brodie’s leather cup and then his own. There had been skirmishes and battles between their families for generations and, unless this treaty was successful, there would be more.

‘On the other side of the loch,’ he said. ‘’Tis said the fight lasted a day and a night.’

‘Yet both survived?’ The brother’s eyes glinted with suspicion.

‘’Twouldn’t be a good story if they died,’ he said, laughing. Raising his cup, he cheered, ‘A Mackintosh!’

‘A Cameron!’ Malcolm added his own.

The others joined in the boisterous battle cries and then drank deeply. Caelan retrieved another skin and began to pass it around. This looked more and more like a drinking challenge each minute. Mayhap that was his uncle’s intent? After things calmed, he turned his attention back to Arabella’s brother.

‘So who taught her to ride that beast?’

If he had not been watching the man’s face, he would have missed the darkness that filled his eyes and the stark pain. But Brodie saw it and a tightness filled his gut for a reason he could not explain.

‘She wasna supposed to ride it. The horse nearly died at birth, but she nursed it to health. Then, when it grew to the size it is now, my—our—father forbade her to ride it.’ Malcolm drank deeply then, as though preparing for the telling of some terrible bit. ‘He tried to train it and decided to break it when it would not come to heel. That horse threw every rider that tried, so my father ordered it destroyed.’

‘What stopped him from doing so?’ he asked, almost afraid now to hear the answer, for he knew the lass was in the middle of it.

‘Bella did. She stood in front of the horse and refused to allow it. My father bellowed and shouted and threatened her and the horse, but she would not relent.’

‘What did he do?’ The Cameron was not known to be a soft man or one that would let a defiant daughter stand in his way. Or a defiant anyone.

‘He told her the only way to save the horse was for her to mount it or he would break both of them.’

Even though Brodie knew the outcome, he found himself holding his breath. He knew Euan to be a harsh man, but this surprised even him. From the tremor in Malcolm’s voice, he must have witnessed this.

‘So, she whispered to the horse, climbed on his back and claimed him as hers.’

‘I know him well enough to know that your father would not have let her disobedience go unpunished.’ Why he said that, Brodie did not know. He just needed to know.

‘He did not. She could not move or sit for more than a week.’

Brodie reached for the skin being passed around, filled his cup and emptied it. The wine did not ease his concern but it did send a burst of warmth through his body. Damn, the lass who seemed so compliant, so gracious and always smiling and obedient had a spine of steel.

He did not pursue anything more about her with her brother, for the wine affected him more than it did usually. The other questions he had dissolved in the face of its growing effects. The flames flared and the conversation grew louder and more boisterous. Brodie tried to rise, but his legs would not follow his will. Glancing around, he noticed that Rob’s head bowed in sleep, like the Camerons sitting nearest to him and Malcolm.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, fighting the dizziness and the need to close his eyes. Struggling against the growing lethargy, he called out to Caelan but his vision grew dark and he felt himself falling...falling...falling.

* * *

His head pounded.

His mouth felt as though filled with sand.

His eyes would not open.

Brodie lifted his hand to his face, trying to wipe away whatever kept him from waking. But his hand was wet and it did no good. Dragging his arm, his sleeve, across his face, he could finally see...

Blood. It was everywhere. His sleeve and shirt were soaked with it.

Was it his?

Pushing up on to his knees and then to his feet, he looked in horror at the body lying there.

Malcolm Cameron was dead with Brodie’s own dagger sticking out of his chest.

‘Christ! Brodie.’ Caelan’s voice broke into the thick haze yet filling his mind. ‘Why did you kill him?’ His cousin grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him fiercely. ‘What were you thinking?’ More shouting and more voices clamoured around the clearing as Brodie tried to make sense of the scene before him.

And he failed.

He remembered nothing of the night after talking with Malcolm about Arabella and then a dark void. Looking around, he watched as the others got to their feet. Rob shrugged at him. Brodie did not remember ever getting this drunk before—and he’d had many, many nights of drinking to try.

A large group of men swarmed into the clearing, surrounding all of them with drawn swords. As he staggered forward, unable to regain his footing, his father and the Cameron chieftain dismounted and strode towards him.

‘Why?’ Euan Cameron demanded, grabbing his throat and pulling him forward. ‘Why did you kill him?’

Brodie searched for words, searched for the truth of what had happened and could not find them. His uncle pulled him free and shoved the older man back.

‘We do not know what happened, Euan. Hold until we do,’ he ordered.

The Cameron dropped to his knees next to the bloodied body of his son, staring into unseeing eyes as they all watched. Brodie wiped his hands against his trews, trying to remove the blood there as he looked around at the others there. The only ones who appeared recovered were Caelan and his two friends.

‘What happened?’ he asked, his dry throat made his voice rough. ‘How did this happen?’ He gestured to Malcolm there. Caelan and one of his men walked closer.

‘You do not remember?’ his cousin asked. ‘Truly?’

Brodie squeezed the bridge of his nose and pressed against the throbbing pain in his forehead and brow. The aching there and the queasiness in his stomach forced all rational thought aside.

‘Nay, Caelan. I remember it not. Did Malcolm attack me?’

He had killed a fair number of men, in battle or other skirmishes, but he did not kill without thought. And he had no reason to this time.

‘Attack you? Nay,’ Caelan whispered so that only he could hear. ‘You asked him about Arabella. Then you began to argue. Daggers were drawn and you struck first.’

‘Take him,’ the Cameron ordered his men. ‘He owes his life for killing my son and heir.’ The Cameron men tried to surround him.

‘Nay!’ his uncle Lachlan called out, stepping next to him. The other Mackintosh warriors formed line behind them. ‘You are on my lands and have no power here, Euan.’

‘So this is Mackintosh hospitality then,’ Euan said through clenched jaws. ‘We came under truce. We came in good faith. And yet my son lies dead at the hand of your nephew.’

His uncle crossed his arms over his massive chest and shook his head.

‘We will sort this out back at the keep, Euan. Bring your son and meet us there.’ Lachlan nodded at him. ‘Bring Brodie.’

Two of his uncle’s guards took hold of him, dragging and guiding him along the trail that led back to the keep. He turned back to look as the Cameron wrapped his son’s body in a length of plaid.

‘Caelan. Rob. I would have a word with you two.’

His uncle would want to know the truth before it was spoken in his hall, before their kith and kin.

Before he was branded a murderer.

The worst part was he could not even defend himself, for his dagger lay embedded in Malcolm’s chest and the man’s blood covered him.

* * *

Arabella heard the commotion below in the hall. The sun had not been up for long so it was not even time to break their fast yet. Her aunt came into the chamber with a haunted expression in her eyes.

‘Dress. Now.’

‘What has happened?’ Arabella asked, as she pulled a shift over her head and a loud roar sounded below. ‘Is it my father?’

With Ailean’s help, she had her tunic and gown in place and her hair pulled into a hasty braid. It would do. Her stockings and shoes were next and then she turned to face her aunt. ‘What is happening?’ she asked once more.

‘Lass,’ her aunt began. Taking Arabella’s hand in hers, she patted it gently. ‘Nay, not your father. Your brother is dead.’

The room spun before her, with tiny sparkles of light dancing in her vision. If her aunt had not wrapped her arm around her shoulders, Arabella would have fallen.

‘Malcolm is dead? How? When?’

It could not be true. Malcolm was her twin, flesh of her flesh, her first protector and friend. They’d just spoken last evening before he went off with the other young men. At her behest. She shuddered against this news, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

‘I know not the details. We will learn it below,’ her aunt said quietly. ‘Are you ready now? You must be strong. You are the only daughter, only child, of Euan Cameron and must be strong.’

Arabella could only nod, for no words would come.

‘Take a deep breath and we will go.’

She did as directed and soon found herself entering the hall, so lost in her thoughts and memories of Malcolm that she remembered nothing of their path there. Glancing across the large chamber, she noticed the divide immediately. Her kin stood to one side, the Mackintoshes the other. And in the middle, on a table, lay her brother.

Arabella pulled free of her aunt’s hold and ran to him. Only his face could be seen from the shroud of plaid that cocooned him. She touched his cheek and whispered his name.

He could not be dead. He was not old enough to die. He could not. She stroked his face and said his name, willing him to open his eyes and bring this farce to an end. When he did not, she lost any shred of control she thought she had.

‘Arabella,’ her father whispered to her, softer than he had ever spoken to her. ‘Child, come away,’ he said, pulling her by her shoulders from her brother’s side towards a chair in front of the dais. She did not want to leave his side, but her father’s strength forced her away. He placed her in the chair and stood in front of her, blocking her from the sight.

‘Father, how did he die?’ she pleaded for an answer.

‘Murder.’

Chaos ensued his claim, shouting and yelling, men surging and being held back, insults delivered across the ever-shrinking chasm dividing the two clans there.

‘Who would murder Malcolm?’ she asked aloud, but no one was listening. The crowd shifted then and she noticed Brodie Mackintosh standing near the dais, covered in blood.

No. It could not be him.

Not him. He knew his duty. He was known for his honour.

She was beginning to like...

Arabella shook her head but when he met her gaze and regret filled his, she began to scream. Someone, someone strong, grabbed hold of her and held her in her seat until she stopped.

‘Euan, come and let us speak of this privately,’ The Mackintosh said.

She noticed her father did not refuse. The two chieftains strode into a small chamber off the corridor and the door slammed behind them. An uncomfortable silence descended over those left waiting, pierced only by the loud, arguing voices of the two men. With each curse that echoed out of the chamber, the tension grew.

She could not help but stare across at the man accused of killing her beloved brother. The realisation of his death struck her, making her sick to her stomach. Arabella began to retch. The hands on her shoulders released her and she fell to her knees, her empty stomach heaving again and again.

Her brother was dead. She’d sent him to his death.

She turned back to look on his body and then at the man who’d struck him down. Brodie’s face might as well have been carved from stone, for there was no emotion there now. Whatever regret she thought she’d seen was gone, replaced by that empty expression. The only movement she could detect was that of his jaws as he clenched his teeth shut.

Her heart hardened against him in that moment. She would find a way to avenge her brother’s death. Finally, her father and The Mackintosh returned. Now there would be justice for her brother’s death.

‘Did you kill the Cameron’s son, Brodie?’ the Mackintosh laird asked his nephew. Part of her wanted him to deny it. The part of her that was beginning to like this man wanted him to declare it a lie. She waited.

‘I...’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘I do not know. I do not remember.’ Those gathered groaned and shouted at his words. How could he not remember taking her brother’s life?

‘There were witnesses?’ her father asked. The Mackintoshes parted and Caelan and another man walked forward. ‘What say you?’

‘We were across the fire from them, my lord,’ Caelan said. She could hear the resistance in Caelan’s voice—he did not want to be the one who accused his cousin.

‘What did you see?’ her father demanded once more, walking closer to them both. ‘I want the truth of this!’ he shouted.

The Mackintosh stood at his side and nodded at the two. It was clear to her that Caelan was trying to protect Brodie in this. She clenched her hands into fists, awaiting the telling of her brother’s last moments. The hall grew silent in anticipation, too.

‘We were all drinking,’ Caelan explained. ‘All of us. Brodie drank more than was usual for him.’

‘They seemed to be just talking, but then they began arguing,’ the other man said. ‘Over her, over Lady Arabella.’

She gasped as everyone turned to look at her and then Brodie. They had argued over her? Arabella met his gaze and could not hold it. Dear God, what had been said between them?

‘Why did no one intervene?’ The Mackintosh asked. ‘You all know how important the truce is. How violating it would not be tolerated and could result in further bloodshed.’ The other man looked at Caelan and back at his chieftain before saying anything.

‘It happened so quickly. We were all...’ He gestured as though trying to think of an explanation.

‘Drunk?’ her father offered. ‘Too drunk to use reason? Too drunk to stop yourself from killing my son for defending my daughter’s honour from insult?’ Her father charged Brodie then, only being caught and held back at the last moment.

‘Aye, too drunk to intervene, my lord,’ Caelan replied. ‘The daggers were drawn so quickly we did not see them at first, but then Malcolm fell.’

‘He was dead before we could get to him,’ the other whispered. The man looked as though he had more to say but her father interrupted before he could.

‘I want him executed.’

Complete silence met those stark words. No one moved or spoke or even whispered.

‘Euan, you agreed to settle this,’ The Mackintosh said softly.

Her father let out a breath and returned to where the Mackintosh chieftain yet stood. Would he order the execution of his nephew?

‘Aye, Lachlan, I did agree. Get to it then,’ her father said. What was this devil’s bargain? What about the negotiations already completed?

‘With witnesses that can speak of your guilt and with you not being able to refute their words, I find you are guilty of murder.’

A gasp went up, echoing through the hall. Whether the Mackintoshes believed him guilty or were shocked that his uncle declared him to be, she knew not. Next would come the...

‘I sentence you to be outlawed from this clan and our allies. From this day forward, you are no longer kith or kin to the Mackintoshes or any of the Chattan Confederation.’

A few shouts erupted from the crowd—even Caelan called out against this punishment. The pronouncement shocked even her but she listened to the rest of it.

‘You are no one. Your name is gone. Anyone who kills you does so with impunity and without fear of punishment or retribution. All ties of blood or marriage are torn asunder from this moment on.’ His uncle’s voice wavered then and Arabella found her throat and eyes burning with tears. For Brodie? For Malcolm? For them all? She knew not which.

She waited for him to argue, to plead for mercy or appeal in some way, but he did nothing. His face lost all its colour and other than a slight shake of his head, he remained wordless.

The Camerons there did not remain silent, the cheering began and spread through the warriors. They would have the chance to avenge their kinsman’s death with no repercussions at all. She could see the lust for it in their eyes. It would not take them long to hunt him down and hang him like the mad dog they thought he was. She shuddered.

‘You have two hours,’ the chieftain continued. ‘You leave with what you have on your back and nothing more.’

‘Uncle...’ Brodie finally spoke. When he would have said more, his uncle backhanded him across his face, sending him reeling back.

‘You are not of my family, so do not call me that again. Go. Now. And never return here.’

She wanted to scream. She wanted...something. None of this felt real. Surely someone would wake her from this nightmare and tell her it was the stuff of dreams. Glancing over at her dead brother, she had to accept it as it was.

They released Brodie and he staggered through the hall and out into the yard. Though some looked as though they would speak to him, none did. Several minutes passed before her father and The Mackintosh spoke again.

‘I declare Caelan Mackintosh to be tanist of the Clan Mackintosh and heir to me personally and to the chief’s chair,’ he called out.

‘And I declare a betrothal agreement has been reached between us. My daughter, Arabella, will marry Caelan,’ her father replied.

Her father motioned to her to rise and come to him. Marriage? They thought of marriage now while her brother lay unshriven and unburied there between them? She struggled to her feet, helped and escorted by her aunt. Her father took her hand and the Mackintosh took Caelan’s and joined them. She could not breathe. She could not think. This was indecent and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

‘The marriage date will be set and our clans will be joined. The feud will end,’ her father said loudly. Releasing their hands, he walked away, calling out orders to ready for the journey home.

Lost, alone and in pain, Arabella did not know what to do.

‘Come, Lady Arabella,’ Caelan said softly, placing his arm around her shoulders and guiding her away. ‘Let the servants see to the tasks at hand and I will see you to your chambers.’

‘My thanks, Caelan,’ she whispered. She appreciated his strength right now. She needed something, someone, to hold on to and he was there for her. At her side where Malcolm had always stood.

‘This is not the way I wanted to win your hand in marriage, my lady. But we shall find a way through this. Together.’

Overwhelmed by the grief and shock, she allowed him to escort her to her chambers. In just a few hours, her entire world and family and dreams had been turned asunder. There would be a burial on their arrival back home. And a wedding to plan after that.

The only thing she could count on now was that she would be marrying Caelan Mackintosh. At least she’d learned the truth about the real nature of his cousin before she’d found herself married to such a despicable man.

Chapter Five

Four months later...

Arabella walked around the large chamber and came to stand next to the window in the north wall. Her father had slept in this room during their last visit here, but he slept below in a smaller one now. Ailean and Aunt Gillie occupied the chamber outside this one.

The storms battered the stone keep with relentless winds and rain. This one had begun as soon as they passed under the gates and entered the yard three days ago. It was as though the weather felt her sadness and responded in kind. She sighed then, peering through the rain down into the yard.

The last time she’d seen Malcolm alive was there, in the yard, fighting with his friends against some of the Mackintosh warriors in a training exercise. It was all in the spirit of the approaching treaty, when they would become allies instead of enemies. Wiping the tears from her cheek, she turned and glanced around the chamber.

It had been four months yet the pain and tightness in her chest crushed her now just as it had then.

Malcolm dead. His murderer exiled and still uncaptured. The Mackintosh chieftain dead. And, on the morrow, she would wed Caelan Mackintosh, the new chieftain, and seal their treaty. And any sense of excitement or anticipation had died along with her brother.

‘Arabella?’ She’d not heard Ailean open the door.

‘Aye, I am ready,’ she said. Accepting the gold circlet that Caelan had presented to her on her arrival, Arabella placed it on her head as Ailean adjusted her hair. She took a deep breath and tried to let the sadness leave her as her breath did. Attending a feast to celebrate your marriage was not the time to be crying and mournful.

Caelan stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs, smiling and nodding as he saw her. Ailean stepped aside and allowed Caelan to walk at Arabella’s side. He took her hand in his and entwined their fingers in an intimate way. Lifting their joined hands to his mouth, he kissed hers and smiled again.

‘All will be well, Arabella,’ he whispered. ‘I know that you are feeling the loss keenly right now, but I hope it will pass.’ She felt a fool then, forgetting for that moment about his loss.

‘My lord, your pardon please,’ she whispered back. ‘You have suffered your own loss and I have not offered my condolences.’

His eyes lost their merriment and he nodded. They entered the main hall and he escorted her to the table on the dais. Her father stood there waiting and nodded to both of them. Caelan introduced her to the chieftains of the other branches of their Chattan Clan, some young, some old, but none appeared happy. When they reached their places, he waited for her to sit and then raised his cup.

‘To Arabella Cameron, soon my wife—’ Boisterous and bawdy cheers interrupted his words and he laughed. Then growing serious, he added, ‘And to the alliance our clans gain by this marriage.’

The hall erupted in cheering and clapping then, though some did not enter the frivolity. Some of the Mackintosh elders did not seem pleased...by her or the alliance.

When he said those words, she realised that her attempts to remain gracious during that earlier visit were completely missing now. And it was critical to both families that this marriage happen and this alliance be confirmed. There had been more outbreaks and skirmishes since her brother’s death and there would be more unless...

Unless she saw her duty through in good faith and humour.

Once the crowd calmed and Caelan sat beside her, she rose, cup in hand, and nodded at him.

‘To my lord, Caelan, The Mackintosh, soon to be my husband,’ she called out. She drank from the cup as they cheered and then raised it again. ‘To our alliance!’

Caelan stood then, took her hand in his and raised them. After a few moments, he lowered them and leaned closer. His intention clear, he did not pause. He kissed her, on the mouth, and though the action surprised her, the kiss was as expected.

Nice. Calm. Friendly.

She watched his eyes and closed hers for a moment before he ended it. The first true kiss between them and not a hint of the things the married women whispered about in it. For part of her, that was fine and good. Since Malcolm’s death, Arabella had been empty. She’d cried for days once they’d arrived home and through his burial for she felt as though part of her had died.

Then nothing. Empty.

Caelan waited for her to sit and then nodded at the servants to begin serving the meal. Since his uncle’s unexpected death two months ago, he had assumed the chieftain’s chair and inherited his titles and lands. Coming on the heels of... She could not keep her gaze from going to the other end of the table where Bro...he would have been seated.

The feelings she’d denied for months now began to bubble up within her then. Sorrow, loss, pain and hate pierced her heart and made her want to scream. Or run. Or both. Then Caelan reached over and covered her hand with his.

‘Hush now, Arabella,’ he whispered to only her. ‘I know how difficult it is to sit at this table in this hall. I must force myself every day to sit in my uncle’s chair and not to expect his entry into the hall. It will pass. For you and for me.’

Fighting back the tears, she nodded and he squeezed her hand once more before releasing it and turning back to speak with her father. Caelan was being kind in his understanding and she knew that she would do her duty and make this marriage work. She owed it to her father and to her brother who’d died because of her.

As they ate, she glanced around the hall. She noticed that not everyone was joining in the celebration. She searched for other Mackintoshes she might remember from the last time and could find none. What was his name? she thought as she looked for the man who’d ridden with them that one day to the clearing? Rob.

Arabella tried to be discreet while looking around. She realised that many people were not here. The hall, filled to the doorways and rear wall during previous feasts, stood half-empty this time. She knew that the number of Camerons was the same—well, but for one—so where were all the Mackintoshes?

‘I thought you would appreciate it if we kept the ceremony small. Considering...’ Caelan did not finish his words.

She sighed then. Their families had always had a history of pain and loss, caused by the other clan and visited on each other with severity and regularity. This was the way to end it. There would continue to be deaths and loss if she did not enter this marriage willingly. She’d been raised to this and not even grief would prevent her from bringing about peace between them.

‘I thank you for thinking of such concerns, Caelan,’ she said, nodding.

‘Are you anxious?’ he asked.

‘Aye,’ Arabella admitted to him. ‘But my aunt Gillie told me that it is customary for the bride to be a bit nervous the day before her wedding.’

She did not want him to think she was not willing to fulfil her part of this treaty. She would do her duty even as he did his, in the midst of sorrow and loss, but with a hope for peace between their families. So, in the long view of this situation, she was glad it was him she would marry. He was kind and polite and even caring towards her and she would do whatever she needed to do to make this a good marriage.

‘Ah, and so comes your aunt to claim you,’ he said, standing at her aunt’s approach to greet her. ‘Is it time then?’ he asked.

‘Aye, my lord,’ Aunt Gillie did her best curtsy before them. ‘You will see her on the morrow.’

‘Sleep well, Arabella. I will see you at the church.’

He leaned over and kissed her, on her mouth, much to the delight of those watching. They clamoured for more so he took her in his arms and kissed her again. Arabella tried to relax in his arms, knowing most of this was simply to demonstrate his willingness to accept her as his bride. He eased his embrace but held her close for a moment more before letting her go with her aunt.

‘That bodes well,’ Aunt Gillie whispered as they left the hall. ‘I worried that this time apart would sour things between you.’

It took little time to ready herself for bed, but nothing she did seemed to bring on the sleep she needed that night. The morrow promised to be a long, emotional day and Arabella wished to greet it in good humour and without the dark smudges of sleeplessness that appeared under her eyes when she did not rest well.

* * *

As the sun’s first light tried to chase away the fog, she yet stood by the window, staring across the yard and into the distance. Unable to sleep, she’d climbed from the bed some time ago and pulled on an old tunic and gown against the morning chill. This time of day was her favourite, just before dawn while quiet still ruled the land and the people. Stiff-limbed now from standing too long in one position, Arabella was about to turn away when one single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated a spot on the hillside she could see.

The clearing.

The place Brodie had taken her to show her the extent of the lands that she would claim as wife to the next Mackintosh chieftain. She began to shudder before she knew it—her mind recognising the person who stood there now, outlined by the sun’s light. Her breath froze and she squinted to be certain.

It could only be him. Standing there, so close to justice and yet no one knew. If she called a warning, he would flee before... Another shiver, this one bone-deep, shook her.

Even knowing he’d killed Malcolm, there was a part of her that did not want to see him dead. At least not until she learned his motives for taking her brother’s life. At least until she knew the part she’d played by sending her brother to that gathering of men. She wanted to hear his explanation.

She moved around the chamber in silence, finished dressing and then crossed the outer chamber, passing the sleeping figures of her aunt and cousin. She was careful going down the stairs and through the keep and made her way to the stables. With a quiet word to a young boy there, she readied her horse as she usually did and climbed up on his back. Arabella was at the gate when it opened for the day and rode through it without a word, her cloak and hood pulled tightly around her.

Urging her horse faster, she leaned down low and pressed her knees to his sides. They covered the ground quickly as the horse’s strides lengthened and his speed increased. With barely a tug on the reins, she guided him away from the keep and up the road that would curve around the mountainside to where he was.

She would finally get the answers that would allow her own guilt to ease. She would get the opportunity to confront the man who had killed her brother. She would...

Empty.

As she rode through the final line of trees into the clearing, she found no one there. Searching the area, she saw and heard nothing in the stillness of the early morning to indicate that anyone had been there.

Letting out the breath she’d been holding, she walked the horse around the level place, allowing him to cool down from their strenuous ride here. Keeping her gaze on the path, Arabella waited and listened.

The ride back was slower as she faced the truth that it was not Brodie’s guilt but her own that had sent her on this mad quest for the truth. Her heart hurt as she knew that she had sent her brother to his death. She had been the catalyst for the chain of events that caused him to die. If she had not asked him to find out more about Brodie and Caelan, to take their measure, there would have been no fight, no words, no altercation that ended with a dagger in his chest.

Somehow the horse found its own way back to the keep and she rode through the gates to the stable. And she had no idea when the two guards that rode at her side had appeared.

The only thing she could do now to honour her brother’s death was to fulfil the purpose of their visit—to seal the bargain and end the feud. And she would.

No one could give her absolution for her part in sending him to his death.

* * *

‘Get back!’ Rob whispered harshly. His friend grabbed the back of his leather jack and pulled him deeper into the cover of the thick trees there. ‘Are you daft?’

‘They did not see me,’ Brodie said, tugging free.

He could not believe the sight of Arabella, riding at a full gallop on that beast of a horse up the road on the mountainside. She rode right into the clearing and he almost, almost, walked out to see her. A few minutes passed in the grey silence before she travelled back down towards the road to the keep. This time her mount walked and she stared off into the distance as they went by the copse of trees that hid him and Rob from view. He might have grabbed her then but for the two armed guards who rode up to meet her. And he knew that others would follow too closely now.

‘Have you changed your mind then? You’ve given up your mad plan?’

‘Not at all,’ he said, pushing through the branches and walking away from the road. He made his way back to where three others waited for them. ‘We stay true to the plan and do not let ourselves be distracted by surprises.’

‘And the lady? Is she not simply a distraction in all this?’ Rob asked from behind.

They’d argued this point many times over the past two weeks as the wedding date approached. Brodie would not be swayed from his intention—kidnapping Arabella to prevent the marriage. He turned so quickly that Rob nearly ran him down.

‘Aye, she is the distraction. Caelan uses this wedding to disguise his true intentions. Everyone is so very busy looking at the beautiful bride that no one sees his true motives or actions.’

Rob ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, a familiar gesture his friend did without even noticing it. ‘You are certain?’

He’d learned much during his past four months of exile and every bit of it pointed to his cousin’s very comprehensive and long-planned plot not only to take over the chieftain’s chair but to destroy the Camerons. Caelan’s goal was not peace and compromise, but complete destruction of the other clan.

And though he loved power and control as much as most men, the other clan had much to offer both in terms of goods and trade and stability in the area. He saw no reason to destroy an entire clan when there was gain to be had in letting them live.

He smiled, grim and dark, at his friend. ‘Aye. Completely certain.’

‘And you must seize the lass? There is no other way?’

‘The wedding and the treaty must be stopped, Rob. We have discussed this and you know what he’s done. You, your sister, the others, would not be here, outcast and exiled, if you did not believe me. And believe we must take action.’ They reached the others then and Brodie waited for them to gather closer.

‘Go now and take your positions,’ he said. ‘The gates are open and many from the village will be entering now.’ He drew in the dirt at his feet and continued, ‘Hamish. Duncan. Ready the horses at the stables.’ Nodding to Jamie, he said, ‘Jamie, you trail us and warn us if need be.’

Brodie brushed the dirt from his hands and stood back.

‘The kitchens will be the busiest place. Most of those attending the wedding will go on ahead and be waiting by the church.’ The small stone building sat near the southernmost corner of the wall enclosing the keep, yards and other outbuildings. ‘Her father and few others will remain in the keep to escort her there when ready.’

‘But she’ll not be ready,’ Rob said.

* * *

They spent a short time going over the plan and then once more before they split up to enter the gates separately and disguised, so they would not be recognised. The sun was up in earnest when Brodie and Rob entered a little-used door and made their way up the stairway leading to Arabella’s chambers.

Surprise was on their side as they opened the door and met her aunt and maid. In the few seconds before they recognised them, Brodie and Rob were able to get control over them and keep them from screaming out an alarm—to either the guards below or the woman in the other chamber.

Once the two women were gagged and tied, Brodie lifted the latch and pushed the door to Arabella’s chamber open. Moving quickly inside while Rob stayed in the outer room, he found her standing, back to the wall, with a very interesting dagger in her hand. Aimed at him.

Chapter Six

‘It was you!’ she said, turning her body to face him as he approached.

‘Aye, my lady,’ he said softly, easing his way across the distance between them. The one thing he needed to prevent her from doing was screaming and bringing the guards in on them. ‘Did you see me then at the clearing?’

Keep her talking. Move ever closer. He thought those words over and over as he did both. Another step and pause.

‘I saw you from the window,’ she said, her gaze skittering over to it and back to him. ‘But, the clearing was empty.’

‘I am here now,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. ‘Give me the dagger, Arabella. I will not harm you.’

She stared at him then, with bleak and empty eyes that filled with tears. ‘Is that how you killed Malcolm then? Tricked him into giving up his dagger and used yours on him?’

Christ! He wanted to deny it, but could not. He still remembered nothing of her brother’s death. Rob scuffed along the wooden floor and whispered a word to hurry him along.

‘Give me the dagger, lass,’ he ordered softly.

She raised her hand as though preparing to defend herself but it gave him the chance he needed. With a quick stride, he was in front of her, grasping the hand that held the weapon and twisting it down until she dropped it. Arabella gasped and opened her mouth to scream. It took but a second to cover it and nod to Rob.

Brodie wrapped the length of cord around her wrists after Rob gagged her with a piece of cloth. He wanted to laugh as his friend apologised, but this was too grave a time for any humour. Within minutes, she’d been secured—hands, mouth, legs.

‘We are taking you from here, Arabella,’ he said, as Rob threw a tapestry pilfered from another wall on the floor before them. ‘Fight not and you will not be hurt.’

He might as well have thrown water on an angry cat, for she bucked and twisted, trying to free herself. With quick, efficient movements, he and Rob placed her on the tapestry and rolled her inside of it. They carefully lifted the tapestry and the lady and carried her from the chamber, closing the door tightly behind them. Her father would not seek her out until just before the ceremony.

Brodie and Rob walked quickly in the opposite direction and took the second stairway, the one used by servants now busy with wedding preparations, to the lowest floor of the keep. Once there, it took little time to find the secret doorway which opened into a long-forgotten tunnel. He’d played here as a boy and his uncle had planned to close it, but never had. Brodie doubted that anyone remembered this hidden path out of the keep that led to one of the storage sheds near the stables.

The plan in place worked exactly as he’d hoped—his men were in their positions and executed their parts precisely. Even better, those living or working within the walls or the keep were seeing to all of the arrangements for the day’s celebration. With most of them so occupied, no one took note of two men carrying a rolled rug away. Soon, with the tapestry laid across his lap, Brodie rode the lass’s horse out through the gates and into the hills. Rob followed him while the others parted ways and would meet them back at their camp in two days, each group taking a different route to avoid detection.

* * *

The horse had accepted the extra burden without effort and they rode for miles before Brodie realised that the lass had stopped moving beneath his hand that held her securely on his lap. He signalled to Rob and they slowed and then walked the horses a short distance before coming to a halt. Rob was at his side quickly and Brodie lifted Arabella down to him and dismounted. Rob tossed him the skin of water and saw to their horses while Brodie knelt down to release their prisoner. Easing her body and pulling the tapestry, he freed her and stepped back, waiting on her reaction.

There was none. Nothing moved. Her eyes remained shut. No struggle. Brodie leaned closer to check if she yet breathed and placed his hand on her chest to feel if her heart beat.

Alive, thank God, but unconscious. Pushing the hair out of her face, he slid his hand under her head. Lifting her, he loosened the gag over her mouth. He whispered her name.

‘Arabella. Wake up, lass.’ No response. He tapped her cheek and spoke again. ‘Arabella, wake up now.’

When nothing happened, he tugged the stopper from the skin and dripped a slight amount on her mouth and face. Her eyes fluttered then and she mouthed silent words before opening her eyes. It took a few seconds but Brodie could tell the moment she came back to herself. She pushed herself up to sit, or attempted to, before she realised her hands and feet were tied.

Brodie stood back, allowing her time and space to come fully awake. She struggled against the ropes and rolled over once, before calming a bit and meeting his gaze. The fleeting fear in her blue eyes quickly turned to anger and for some reason he was happier to deal with that. He held out the skin to her, allowing her the choice of it or not. She had not screamed and that was good, too. Arabella lifted her hands to reach for it and he crouched down closer and handed it to her. She took in two or three mouthfuls of water before stopping and holding it back to him.

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