Arabella stood there, alone for at least the moment, breathing in deeply of the cool air. Glancing across the area, she noted the cluster of tents and shelters erected towards the cliffside and more back along the path to the cave. Several fires burned in pits and women stood cooking around them. Children, a surprising number of children, played nearby.
The encampment stood surrounded by a thick growth of trees, hidden from view of those below. Above them was only the highest of the mountains in the area. From what she could tell, they faced north, but whether Drumlui Keep was to the north or south of them, she could not tell. A woman waved her towards one of the fires and held out a bowl to her as she approached. The woman looked familiar, but she could not remember her name.
‘Good morrow, my lady,’ she said, offering a cup to her, too. ‘I am Bradana. Ye treated my husband, Duncan.’
‘How does he fare?’ she asked, smiling as two little boys played around their mother’s skirts, peeking at her and hiding when she glanced back. She scooped the hot porridge up and ate several mouthfuls of it as they scampered about.
‘He is complaining this morn, so he must be improving,’ Bradana said. ‘’Tis the way of men, is it not?’
‘Aye, it is.’ She smiled at the wee ones as they played their game. She finished the last of the thick porridge and handed the bowl back.
‘Have ye need of a cloak, my lady? This bit of warmth will disappear by day’s end and ye will catch a chill.’
‘Brodie gave me a cloak, Bradana. I left it behind but I will fetch it later. My thanks for your concern,’ she said, drinking the water and giving the cup back to her, too.
She walked on and found her way to Margaret’s. She called out softly before lifting the flap of the tent and entering. Magnus lay sleeping and Margaret tended to him. Soon, she followed Margaret throughout the camp, seeing to those injured yesterday. If it was strange to see Arabella Cameron there, or having her help these rebel Mackintoshes, no one said anything. Though she feared some retaliation or insult, none came.
* * *
The morning passed quickly and all the injuries had been checked and new ointments and bandages applied. The only one she had not seen yet was Brodie. Had he ridden out again? Arabella kept watching to see a glimpse of him as they moved all around the area, but he was not there. When Margaret said she did not need her any longer, Arabella went looking for her horse.
Remembering the path she’d taken the night she tried to escape, she circled the tents and walked towards the makeshift yard where the horses were kept together. Had Brodie ridden the black back to Drumlui? She walked to the fence and spotted her horse there. Recognising her, the black came at her call and nuzzled her hand.
‘Poor lad! Did you think I’d forgotten you?’ she joked, stroking his nose. Reaching inside the pocket of her gown, she drew out a piece of carrot she’d got from one of the women and held it up on her palm to him. He gobbled it down and pushed her hand, demanding more. ‘Next time, lad. Next time.’
‘I think you could forgive me for taking you, but not the horse.’ She turned and discovered Brodie standing with his back against a tree there, watching her.
‘You may be correct in that,’ she admitted. ‘Are you giving him a chance to run? He gets restless if he does not.’
The horse under discussion nudged against her shoulder just then, sending her stumbling a few steps. Laughing, she regained her balance and walked back to the fence. She heard Brodie walk to her side and glanced out of the edge of her eyes when he stood next to her.
‘I have been tending to him, lady. And he proved the difference between life and death over these last few days.’
‘You did ride him back to Drumlui, then?’ she asked, facing him. She sensed a readiness in him to reveal some of his story.
‘Aye. He is stronger than any horse I’ve ridden. And has the heart to give his all.’ Arabella watched as Brodie reached out his large, strong hand and stroked the horse’s side. ‘He saved Magnus and me.’
She turned back towards the yard and kept her eyes focused on the horse as she took in a slow breath and let it out. ‘How did he do that?’
‘He was strong enough to carry both of us. Magnus could not ride on his own when we got him out. Then when we were trapped between the villagers and Caelan’s men, he got us through. Carried us all the way here.’
‘So the villagers are against you now?’ she asked. Glancing at him, she saw his jaw clench and grind as he heard her words.
‘Nay, not all of them, lady. Most of them have avoided taking sides in this.’ He paused then and she thought him done. But he was not.
‘Some were ordered to stop us as we escaped through the village. So they took up what weapons they had—pitchforks and shovels and the like—and got between us and the road out. We could not fight them, would not fight them, but it slowed us up enough for Caelan’s men to catch us there. Then, they attacked all of us, my men, the villagers, anyone in their path, without regard for their part in any of this.’
She must have gasped for he turned to her and she saw the bleakness in his gaze and feared the rest of it.
‘Some were trampled. Some were struck down because they were in the way. Four, possibly five, died there.’
He stared at her, as though willing her to make the connection he wanted her to see. If she believed his words, Caelan had caused these deaths and more. Where was her father during this?
‘Did my father take part in this? Did he send Camerons, too?’ she asked. She needed to understand.
‘Your father? I did not see him. Magnus said he might have left for Achnacarry Castle some days ago.’
‘Left? He left me here?’ she asked. Her heart pounded in her chest as the pain of being abandoned struck her.
