‘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.’
