He stepped back into the shadows so she would not see him and wake fully. She rolled on to her side and whispered into the dark corner. Her brother’s name floated in the air between them.
Just where it would always be.
Brodie stood and walked out, nodding to Jamie as he left. Seeking a place in Rob’s tent, he would get a few hours’ sleep before dawn came.
And on the morrow, he would hear counsel from his closest friends and supporters over their path forward. The events and bloodshed of this day had shaken his resolve—not in his determination to bring down his treacherous cousin, but in how he would go about it.
Something must change.
* * *
The sun shone bright and clear, its light piercing the darkness of night and of the cave and waking her. Arabella discovered that unaccustomed hard work demanded its price and, for her, that cost was that every one of her muscles ached. As she rose from the pallet, tossing aside blankets she did not remember placing there, her arms and back screamed in protest. She forced herself to move, stretching her arms over her head and bending to ease the tightness in her back and hips.
She was no stranger to work, but attending to the needs of so many was new. Her father’s healers dealt with the worst of the wounded after an attack or skirmish. Aided by servants, Arabella’s responsibilities had been but to monitor their efforts and offer comfort to the wounded.
Here, she’d lost count of how many wounds and cuts she’d cleaned, stitched and bandaged. How many doses of Margaret’s potions and pain medicaments she’d administered. How many pieces of cloth she’d torn into bandages. She’d given no thought to the cause of this until she’d overheard some of the men talking outside Margaret’s tent.
An ambush. A rescue gone bad. Caelan’s attack using villagers as shields. If not for Brodie, more would have died.
A terrible feeling in the pit of the stomach told her she, and many others, might have been fooled by Caelan Mackintosh.
‘Lady?’ Arabella went to the opening where Rob stood waiting.
‘Aye?’
‘Good morrow, my lady,’ he said as he entered. She expected he would carry the customary morning bowl of porridge but he was empty-handed instead. In the light of day, she noticed the bruises on his jaw and under his eye. He’d fought, as well.
‘And to you,’ she replied. Before she could ask his purpose, if not to bring her food to break her fast, he spoke.
‘Brodie said that if you give your word not to try to escape, you can have the freedom of the camp, lady.’
Startled, she met his gaze and found all seriousness there. This was an unexpected offer...and chain of a sort.
‘He would accept my word?’
‘Aye. He said so himself when he sent me here.’
After spending so many days within dreary tents and this cave, and on an especially sunny day, it would be a welcomed change to be outside. But she would have to give up any attempts at escape.
‘Can I trust him when he says he intends to release me?’ she asked, watching Brodie’s closest friend carefully. Without a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. Could she trust him?
She would learn nothing sitting inside every day until she was released or rescued. Her father must be searching for her. He would not allow this action, this insult, to go unanswered, for it was not his way. She must be ready for whatever happened and being kept here would not work.
‘Aye. He has my word.’
Rob nodded and escorted her outside. An unusually warm day greeted her, the sun shone from a cloudless, brilliant sky, promising to dry up the mud and remove the chill from the air. They walked along the path and were met by nods from those they passed.
‘Margaret asked that you see her, if you would?’ Rob said, as he pointed in the direction across the camp. ‘You can break your fast there, as well.’
Arabella nodded and began to walk away when he stopped her.
‘Lady, there are some here who do not welcome a Cameron within our midst, even one brought against her will.’ Rob glanced around and then back at her, his brown eyes intense. ‘So have a care as you go.’
‘Old ways die hard,’ she whispered.
Decades and generations of feuding did not fall away easily. Old attitudes took years to form and even longer to dissipate. Even marrying a Mackintosh would not smooth over all the hurt and deaths of their feud.
‘Just so.’ He nodded then and waited as she walked away.
