A Beauty at the Highland Court: A Star-Crossed Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 7)

by Celeste Barclay

  “That’s it?”

  “I haven’t wasted away yet, Lach,” Arabella chuckled.

  “But you are thinner,” Lachlan blurted before snapping his mouth shut. Even in the dark, Arabella could tell he was blushing.

  “Most would say that’s a good thing,” Arabella whispered. She was unprepared for Lachlan to step closer. If it had been any other man, she would have felt crowded. But it was Lachlan, and she yearned for him to pull her into his embrace. He never had, and he never would. Dancing was the closest they ever came to Arabella being in his arms. She swallowed the lump in her throat, resigning herself to not receiving the consolation she realized she needed.

  “Bella, you haven’t an ounce to spare. I noticed earlier that you look like you’re withering away, but I didn’t dare say aught. But you worried me when you arrived with rosy cheeks, a red nose, and glassy eyes. I thought you might be suffering from the ague.”

  Arabella’s fingers flew to her nose. She hadn’t thought that her nose would be evidence of her imbibing. She wondered if that happened every time she drank and if others noticed. She assured herself that it mustn’t or someone else would have pointed it out.

  “Bella,” Lachlan squeezed her hand before bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the satiny skin, and it was the first time his mouth made contact with any part of her. “I wish you trusted me enough to tell me what’s wrong. Will you at least speak with Blair? Something isn’t right.”

  Arabella nodded, ensnared by the intensity of Lachlan’s gaze. The inky summer night with only torchlight for illumination made it difficult to see his whisky-hued irises, but Arabella knew that staring into Lachlan’s eyes was like looking into a barrel of aging liquor. In the daylight, it suffused the same warmth into her as the drink. But in the dark, it sent a shiver along her spine, their potency as strong as the drink.

  “There wasn’t much time to talk today, but I am looking forward to seeing Blair this sennight. I’ve missed her and Maude dreadfully.” As though her words were a bucket of icy water, Lachlan stepped back and released Arabella’s hands. The reminder that the woman he desired above all others was a dear friend to his sisters brought reality crashing back down. Lachlan nodded as he cast a glance over his shoulder.

  “We should return before too many people notice we’ve both disappeared,” Lachlan suggested.

  “Aye.” Arabella agreed, but she couldn’t make her feet move. She bit her bottom lip as she worried that she’d driven a wedge between them. If he was to be here such a brief time, she didn’t want to squander it with ill temper. “Lach, I’m sorry for being so rude. I ken you’re speaking to me as a friend and with good intentions. I’m testy of late, and you stepped in front of my target, I guess.”

  Lachlan paused and waited to see if Arabella would offer more. She sighed and relented. She could at least tell him part of what caused her such upset. She wouldn’t confess to her secret habit because she still didn’t think it was any of his business, but she could tell him part of what drove her to drink.

  “My father has made it clear that it’s time I marry. I never opposed him, but he acts as though I’ve failed him and my clan. I’ve been here almost the longest now, and I have drawn no proposals he’s been willing to accept. He says I haven’t been trying hard enough. ‘God didn’t give you a bonnie face just for it to be useless’.”

  Arabella shuddered as she recalled her father’s last visit to court nearly a year ago. She knew there had been many offers for her hand over the years, but none were acceptable to her father’s matchmaking and political intentions. He blamed her for not charming men she never knew came to court, and he’d hinted more than once that she should have used her attractiveness to trap a man alone, forcing him to marry her.

  “Bella—”

  “Belle,” Arabella whispered.

  “What?” Lachlan squinted as though seeing her more clearly would make the single word make more sense.

  “I don’t like the name Bella. I never have,” Arabella offered as though it explained everything.

  “I don’t understand,” Lachlan admitted. “It’s part of your name. Do you not care for your name?”

  “Not particularly. ‘Yielding to prayer.’ I don’t mind its meaning, and the Lord honestly kens I have yielded hours of my life to prayer, since the queen is so devout. But I just have never liked Bella. I ken it’s Latin, but I don’t speak Italian or Spanish and neither does anyone I ken. We speak French and Scots. You and your family and Laird Cameron all speak Gaelic. I don’t see why it and Isabella are so popular. Since I speak French and so does my family, Belle makes more sense. And there have been entirely too many Arabellas and Isabellas all nicknamed Bella since I’ve arrived here. I detest being called Bonnie Bella. I’d like to give the next person who calls me that a bonnie black eye.”

  Lachlan’s deep chuckle rumbled in the quiet night air. Its pitch was like thunder, but rather than ominous, it was contagious. Arabella giggled before catching herself.

  “I don’t think you’d care for the Gaelic version of ‘yielding to prayer.’ It’s toradh gu ùrnaigh.”

  “I agree. I don’t care for that,” Arabella giggled again.

  “I think you prefer Belle because you’re a wee rebellious. You don’t want to be what everyone expects.” Lachlan cast a shrewd look over the silhouette of Arabella’s visage. “You are more than what people expect.”

  Arabella gasped. No one had ever seemed to expect her to be more than pretty. That expectation often felt suffocating, but she wanted people to know her for more than her appearance. It felt as though nothing else about her meant much to most. She knew her friends like Blair and Maude saw more to her than her auburn hair and green eyes, but she was certain it took a while for at least Maude to move past Arabella’s appearance. She’d seen the insecurity in Maude’s eyes countless times, and other people pointing out the differences in their looks only made both women feel worse. Maude felt inadequate, and Arabella felt guilty and resentful. Maude had become a respected healer at court, and her value was seen more for her knowledge than the superficial. Arabella wished the same were true for her.

  “I take it I might be a little right,” Lachlan broke into her thoughts once more.

  “How did you become so insightful?” Arabella whispered.

  “How many years have I known you? You have been by my sisters’ side each time I visit. I think we’ve spent enough time together to say we’re well acquainted, Belle.”

  Arabella felt the heat rise from her belly into her chest as her preferred nickname rolled off Lachlan’s tongue with a pronounced burr. He slipped his hand to her waist but did nothing more. When she didn’t pull away, his fingers flexed, encouraging her to step closer. It was the slightest nudge, but all she needed. She stepped into his embrace as his hands came around her waist. With nowhere to put her hands but at his waist, she noticed she clung to his leine. She could feel the heat building between them. She always tended toward being too warm, and it felt like an inferno broiling her. She tilted her head back and caught Lachlan observing her. She didn’t understand his expression, but she understood what she wanted.

  “I don’t think you’re so tipsy anymore,” Lachlan murmured. “Will you remember this in the morning?” Without waiting for her response, he brushed his lips against hers. Arabella swayed against Lachlan’s much larger frame, finally where she’d longed to be since she first met him. There was open passion here rather than the desire they ignored when they danced. She opened her mouth to his pressing tongue and moaned when she felt it pass her teeth before swiping along hers. She felt intoxicated all over again, and she preferred this to whisky. She prayed she wouldn’t wake up with the same regret and headache that she did when she drank.

  Lachlan was certain his knees shook. He feared Arabella would hear them knock together and discover how nervous he was. He wasn’t without experience, but he’d longed to kiss Arabella for more than five years, and his head felt as though it floated ab
ove his shoulders as fantasy became reality. He struggled not to press for more, knowing that Arabella wasn’t familiar with such intimacy. As her tongue flicked out to meet his, the threads of his control frayed further. The feel of Arabella pressing her breasts against his chest as her mouth opened wider hinted at her curiosity. Lachlan tightened his hold around her waist, and Arabella sighed at they stood with their torsos fused together, only their clothing keeping them apart.

  A musical crescendo broke the spell they found themselves under, and both heads turned toward the open doors. For the first time, they both seemed to realize the precariousness of their position. Anyone could spot them, and there would be little choice but for them to marry. Both secretly thought that wouldn’t be such a horrendous outcome, but the scandal would mar both of their families’ names. Lachlan eased his hold and took a step back. Arabella nodded as she sucked air into her dry lungs. Without a word, no acknowledgement of what they’d just shared, they returned to the Great Hall.

  Five

  Lachlan stood to Blair’s left while Hardi stood as her champion to her right. They were in the king’s private solar, and Lachlan appreciated that Robert the Bruce, godfather to Blair and her siblings, opted for a private audience. As Lachlan listened to Blair and Hardi regale the king with details of the plot to not only usurp the lairdship from Hardi, but for enemy clans to invade through a secret tunnel, Lachlan’s mind wandered back to the previous night. He could still feel Arabella’s lips against his, like a phantom pain, except the sensation was one of pleasure. Despite breaking his fast, he could still taste her mouth, and his tongue ached to explore every inch of her.

  He’d said a hasty goodnight to his family and Arabella before hurrying back to his chamber, where he’d stripped bare and taken himself in hand twice before he felt soothed enough to sleep. It was the same predicament he always found himself in when he was near Arabella, but the sampling only made the agony of not having her worse. It was the epitome of bittersweet.

  Now standing before the king, he appreciated the yards of wool and heavy leather sporran that hid his arousal from everyone’s eyes. He was torn between wanting to endure more torture by finding Arabella or racing back to his chamber to ease his need with his hand and memories of the night before.

  “Lachlan, what say you?” King Robert asked. Fortunately, he’d been paying just enough attention to keep track of the conversation and had an answer prepared. From the speculative look on the king’s face, he was aware the discussion didn’t hold Lachlan’s full attention.

  “We were fortunate to arrive when we did, Your Majesty. Blair and Hardwin devised a brilliant strategy to outwit and foil their attackers. The battle was avoided, but the MacLeods and Sutherlands were only too happy to stand witness to the truce the Camerons signed with the Mackintoshes, Shaws, and MacThomases. It is unfortunate that those clans lost any mon, but such was their choice when they plotted against my sister and brother-by-marriage. Perhaps the Clan Chattan Confederation will think twice before setting their sights on the Camerons.”

  “And do you think the peace will hold between the Camerons and their enemies?” King Robert pressed.

  “Aye. The fear and awe on their faces was genuine when they emerged from the tunnel to discover the Sutherlands and MacLeods camped within spitting distance. There can be no doubt which clans stand beside the Camerons. Perhaps they didn’t understand what it meant to plot against the clan that now includes a Sutherland, but they do now.”

  “So the Sutherlands are prepared to march into battle to protect the Camerons,” King Robert mused.

  “I will protect my sister and her future bairns, but the Camerons don’t need our protection. They have our support,” Lachlan clarified as his eyebrow arched and his chin came up.

  “Don’t be testy,” King Robert warned with a grin. The monarch cast his amused expression at Blair. “I expected Lady Cameron to have something to say aboot who protects the Cameron.”

  Blair’s cheeks sucked in as though she’d bitten into a lemon, but she remained silent as she glared at her godfather. The nuance of his phrasing didn’t escape her, and she knew he was taunting her about Hardi and not their clan. This only made King Robert laugh harder. Blair did little to hide her protectiveness of her husband, and Hardi basked in his wife’s attention. While such comments were an annoyance, neither Blair nor Hardi intended to change the dynamic of their relationship. Hardi admired his wife’s sharp mind and gumption as much as he appreciated her loyalty and kindness when she taught him to read and write. Blair never doubted Hardi’s ability to defend himself by word or deed, but she tolerated no belittling or besmirching of her husband’s name because he didn’t come to his position with the training most lairds received.

  “Your Majesty, the MacLeods of Lewis are of a like mind. They stand beside the Camerons,” Lachlan drew them back to discussing the truce. “While they are a greater distance from Tor Castle than we are, they are also prepared to bring warriors to fight alongside the Camerons should there ever be a need.”

  King Robert steepled his fingers as he considered the three young people before him. He’d known Lachlan and Blair since their births, and he’d met Hardi when the young laird arrived at Dunrobin to foster as a ten-year-old boy. Between the Sinclairs and the Sutherlands, a web of alliances had formed in the Highlands that could have threatened a lesser king. But the Sinclairs and Sutherlands were as loyal as any clan could be, and the Bruce was grateful for his ties to them. There had been less strife in the northern Highlands since the Sutherland and Sinclair siblings married. After years of living in mud and grime as he clawed his way onto his throne and defended his country from the English, Robert the Bruce was ready for peace and tranquility among the more contentious Highlanders. He needed a unified country if he hoped to preserve Scotland’s independence. His mind wandered to an unresolved matter, and he seized the opportunity to ask for trusted opinions.

  “How do things stand with the Gunns?” King Robert’s abrupt change of topic made the others jump.

  “As they always do. We get along well enough, but we like them aboot as much as they like us,” Lachlan explained.

  “Which is not at all,” Blair muttered.

  “It’s been years since Siùsan’s ordeal,” King Robert pointed out, referring to the kidnapping and abuse Callum Sinclair’s wife suffered at the hands of her stepmother’s family. Siùsan Mackenzie was the neglected oldest child of Laird Mackenzie, and the man never noticed how his second wife’s brother coveted Siùsan. When she and Callum travelled to visit her mother’s clan, the MacLeods of Assynt, Siùsan was kidnapped by James Gunn, the younger brother of the then-Laird Gunn. He died for his choices, and it wasn’t long after that Laird Tomas Gunn died for taking the wrong side against the Sinclairs.

  Tomas Gunn allied himself with a border laird and a man with loyalties to England who conspired to kill Brighde Kerr, Alexander Sinclair’s wife. Brighde’s father and her suitor concocted a plan to split riches that would only become theirs if Brighde died. Tomas Gunn died on the battlefield at Tristan Mackay’s hand. Thus, the Gunns were as problematic for the Mackays as they had been for the Sinclairs.

  “It wasn’t just Siùsan,” Blair reminded. “They tried to kill Brighde, and then they tried to take her from Alex. And we all heard aboot what happened with Cairstine.”

  Blair shuddered as she thought about the former lady-in-waiting. She’d been part of the group of women who plagued Maude, but they discovered that Cairstine’s attitude was a facade to push away potential suitors. Arlan Gunn had attacked her years earlier, and because of his assault she believed she was unsuitable to become any man’s wife. It was with support from Eoin Gordon, who pretended to be her betrothed, that Cairstine Grant discovered that Arlan’s attack didn’t define who she was. She and Eoin were happily married, and the couple was deeply in love. But Arlan and his father, Laird Farlane Gunn—Laird Tomas’s younger brother—died for their roles in Cairstine’s abuse.

  In a
handful of years, James, Tomas, Farlane, and Arlan died because of their nefarious connections and the sides they chose. Clan Gunn had been in turmoil for more than a year as they attempted to rebuild from their losses in battle and the decimation of the lairds’ family. Beathan Gunn was Arlan’s younger brother, but he held little in common with the former heir. As the new laird, Beathan was making strides in redeeming his clan to their neighbors. He’d brokered peace with Clan Keith, and he’d gone out of his way to build accord, rather than just tolerance, between his clan and the Sinclairs and Sutherlands. He wasn’t yet on steady footing with the Grants or Gordons, but those two clans lived a fair distance from the Gunns, whose territory was in the far northern reaches of Scotland.

  “Young Beathan is proving to be a promising leader, and his clan has prospered over the year that he’s been in charge. He couldn’t be more different from his brother, father, and uncles. He’s not hotheaded or impulsive. He doesn’t feast off of rancor and acrimony. He’s done much to foster good relations with your Uncle Liam, and both Callum and Alex see the potential for even an alliance in the future. I don’t think their father is quite so convinced.”

  Lachlan, Blair, and Hardi said nothing. The brother and sister didn’t trust their neighbors after the trouble the Gunns caused their cousins, and Hardi wasn’t familiar enough with any of the players to hold an opinion. The king looked at Blair before continuing.

  “Do you think Lady Arabella can withstand the weather in Caithness?” King Robert asked.

  “Lady Arabella?” Blair furrowed her brow, uncertain why the topic changed until she realized the subtly of the question. “Are you marrying her to Beathan Gunn?”

  “No!” Lachlan blurted. All eyes swung toward him as he racked his mind for something to say. “Lady Arabella is from the border. She lived through constant skirmishes and attacks. The Gunns aren’t much better. Beathan may be trying, but his clan still believes in raiding the Sinclairs. He hasn’t curtailed their thievery nearly enough, and there have been clashes along their border with the Sinclairs and the one they share with the Mackays. Da and Uncle Liam have discussed this on more than one occasion. It’s why Uncle Liam doesn’t completely trust him. For a clan boxed in by two of the most powerful clans in the Highlands, they haven’t the sense God gave a gnat to know they shouldn’t keep antagonizing all of us. They may be proud of their Viking heritage and claim their name means ‘war,’ but they’re far too fond of conflict to ever have stability.”