‘Have you seen or heard him punish any man, woman or child since you arrived here, lady? My tent is in the middle of everything—did you hear him yelling or beating anyone? Did he raise his hand to you?’
She’d overheard her father and Caelan discussing Brodie’s brutal attacks on the outlying village. And about his ruthless control over the band of brigands he used to defy and harass the Mackintoshes. Yet, here, being held as his prisoner, she’d seen none of that.
He could have used brutality against her, to pay her back for whatever blame he held against her father and Caelan. And he did not. He made certain she was fed and warm and gave her charge to a woman he had to know would defy his orders and keep her well. Other than those kisses and the desire she saw burning in his eyes, he’d not abused her and had surely not forced himself on her.
‘Nay,’ she said, glancing away. Sometimes it was hard to accept the truth and easier to believe the lies.
‘Just so.’
She tugged and pulled at some loose threads and avoided meeting Margaret’s gaze for a while then. They traded some of the pieces back and forth, for her skills lay in the intricate, fine stitches while Margaret’s were in adjustments and cutting to size. It was Margaret who spoke first.
‘My lady, a question, if you do not object?’ She shook her head and Margaret swallowed several times and cleared her throat before continuing. ‘The scratches on Brodie’s face...did he...?’
Arabella felt the heat of mortification fill her cheeks. She understood what the woman meant. It must look as though she had fought off his advances rather than that she had attacked him.
‘He did not,’ she said. If her tone was too vehement, she could blame it on her embarrassment and the guilt that yet pierced her over allowing him to kiss her. ‘If the truth be told, I did it when he stopped my escape.’
* * *
They worked for some time, the rest of the afternoon, and ate together when one of the men brought food. Then, when Margaret prepared to take her leave, she explained that Brodie would be gone for some time.
‘Did he return to Drumlui, Margaret? Will he seek to ransom me back? Certainly gold or supplies would go far in seeing to your survival here?’
‘Oh, my lady, this is about far more than gold or supplies,’ Margaret said. Surely this woman was not involved in whatever Brodie planned? Or was she?
‘What do you know of his plans?’ she asked, walking to Margaret’s side and lowering her voice so that the guards just outside would not hear her words. ‘Why will I not be ransomed?’ Margaret pulled away, but Arabella grabbed her and held her fast. ‘Why will he not bargain to return me?’
‘Because returning you to Caelan would mean your death, just as it would for anyone here who returned to Drumlui.’
Arabella stumbled away from the woman and her words. It could not be true. Caelan wanted to marry her. Caelan wanted peace. ‘It cannot be true,’ she insisted. Even if it were, why would he care if it meant her death for she was nothing to him?
‘Lady,’ Margaret whispered to her, ‘we women are kept out of such matters for ours is not the choice, until it is too late. My husband died and I was forced from my house by the new chieftain before I accepted the truth of it.’
‘Your husband?’
‘Aye. Killed in front of me for questioning Caelan’s right to our home. Worse, Rob had tried to convince Conall to leave before that and he would not listen. He believed Caelan was a fair man and an honourable laird.’
Her mind filled with questions and possibilities and doubt as Margaret whispered her tale of sorrow. Arabella prided herself on being intelligent and curious and yet she had missed this entire side of Caelan. Raised to be beautiful and trained to be gracious, the perfect wife to a nobleman who would need her wealth, her honour and the children he would breed on her, Arabella was never supposed to look too closely at her prospective husband. Chosen by her father and his elders, the flaws mattered not, only her obedience did.
‘I...’
Words would not come from the chaos that swirled in her thoughts. Could this woman and the others be telling the truth? Had she, and her father, been played as fools this whole time?
‘Margaret!’ A man called her from outside. ‘You are needed.’
She left without another word, but a string of murmured oaths told Arabella how upset Margaret was. Brodie had told her quite openly not to answer Arabella’s questions and now, in one outburst, she’d said more than Arabella knew from all those months before and after her brother’s death.
Standing alone once more, Arabella wrapped her arms around herself and listened. Though the sun had set, the camp was still awake and busy. Because Brodie and others were gone? She suspected so from Margaret’s words. She picked up a woollen blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders before sitting just next to the cave’s entrance. She could not be seen from outside but she could hear people and snatches of their conversations as they passed by.
She needed to learn more. Once Brodie returned she would speak to him and ask for the true reasons for his actions. Mayhap if she knew more, she could sort this out and come up with a way to mediate between Brodie and his cousin. And get word to her father to be on his guard.
* * *
As Arabella sat there over the next hours, bits of memories and conversations returned to her. Soon she realised she had indeed been oblivious to many facets of her betrothed’s true personality and methods of ruling. Oblivious to what was truly happening around her.
* * *
The night had flowed into the next day and even into another before Brodie returned to the camp. And with him, he brought proof that she would not be able to ignore or explain away.
