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

by Celeste Barclay

  She pulled out the jug she’d drained before going to the Great Hall and set it on the floor before moving aside the one that she’d finished the night before. She had one more hidden in the hole she’d discovered several months ago. She sighed as her fingers wrapped around it, but it was a whimper that she made next when she shook it and no liquid swished inside. She sat down heavily as she banged her head back against her bed thrice.

  Sard! Now what? I can’t ask Edwin to fetch more yet. It’s too soon. But what am I going to do? I need more. Need more? Have I turned into a bluidy drunkard? Nay. I just like a little tipple here and there.

  Arabella felt her heart speed up as her agitation grew with each thought. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep if she continued to get more worked up. Her eyes prickled with frustrated tears. On trembling legs, she rose and stripped offer her gown before releasing her hair from the combs which kept it swept up. She crawled into bed and pulled the covers practically over her head as the tears fell. She cried from loathing the person she was becoming, the angry words she’d spewed at Lachlan, the hurtful things he’d said, and her frustration that she held from not being able to slip into an oblivion where no dreams of a dark-haired Highlander could plague her.

  Seven

  Arabella awoke with an aching head and a heavy heart. She slipped from her bed and tiptoed across the chamber, glancing at Rebekah to ensure her roommate was still asleep. She was grateful to Eliza, her ever-efficient maid, for the ewer of fresh water that sat on the table beside her combs and ribbons. She dipped a linen square into the icy water and folded it before slipping back into bed. She cringed when the bed creaked under her weight, but her roommate’s light snores didn’t pause. She placed the cool compress over her eyes as she tried not to think about the previous night. But try as she might, her mind insisted upon reliving every moment of the tense conversation with Lachlan.

  She’d never imagined that a kiss, let alone all the ones they shared, could be so passionate. They’d both been angry and hurt, but neither shied away for once. She felt a certain freedom in finally showing Lachlan that she wanted him, and she reveled in knowing he felt the same. But it was agony to know that she couldn’t have a future with him. She feared that his emotions were rooted more in lust than love, even if he’d told her he didn’t care about her appearance. She wanted to believe that he felt as deeply for her as she did for him, but she knew it would pain her even more if he did. She dreaded a future with a man other than Lachlan, and his comment about Beathan terrified her. She would go to her husband’s bed willingly, whoever he might be, because it was her duty. But she didn’t want to be forced. She didn’t want to be abused. She pushed her mind away from Beathan and the possible betrothal. It hadn’t happened yet, and she wouldn’t buy trouble where there was none.

  But her mind jumped to Lachlan’s musings about being with other women. It stung to think he wasn’t chaste like she was. But how could she expect him to be? It hadn’t been love at first sight, even if there had been an attraction from the start. It had taken time for her feelings to develop into the strong ones she possessed now, and she suspected it had been the same for Lachlan. They had no commitment between them, and until two nights ago, neither intended to act upon their emotions. She couldn’t begrudge him for living his life. But she envied him the touch, the release, the distraction. He was a man, and no one would question him arriving at his wedding without his virginity. Arabella had no such freedom. But she wouldn’t deny the pleasure she derived from knowing that while his body was with another woman, his mind and maybe his heart were with her.

  As the pain behind her eyes eased, she lifted the cool compress from her face. She once again crept to the ewer and poured more water into the basin. She splashed the chilly water on her face and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She soaked the cloth once more before climbing back into bed. She knew it was still early, but she no longer felt sleepy. She hadn’t woken so early since before she’d discovered the soporific effects of alcohol. Once more her mind replayed the events from the night before. She could feel Lachlan’s body against hers and taste his tongue in her mouth. Her body grew warm as the ache returned to between her legs. She understood what her body wanted. So many years at court had given her an education on how men and women enjoyed one another’s bodies. She might still be a maiden, but she’d heard and seen enough to know her body was keenly aware of Lachlan’s masculinity.

  Rather than torture herself, she opted to dress and slip from her chamber. She would find her guards before they went to the lists and ask them to accompany her on a ride. Fresh air and the wind through her hair would wipe her mind clear of her troubles. As she approached the barracks, an all-too-familiar form walked out of the door. Lachlan, accompanied by his four guards, turned toward the lists. She knew the moment he spotted her. His back went rigid, and his head snapped up. He offered her a curt nod, but did nothing to change his course. Arabella could do nothing more than return the brief acknowledgement before continuing toward the barracks. She knocked on the door and stepped back. She recognized the swath of Kerr plaid slung over the man’s shoulder who answered.

  “Aye?” The man greeted her. She knew when he recognized her because his eyes widened. “I beg your pardon, Lady Arabella. If you’re in search of your men, they’ve already gone to the lists.”

  “Thank you.” Arabella turned in the direction that Lachlan had travelled and found him watching her. If she wanted to go for a ride, she had no choice but to search for her guards at the lists. She clamped her jaw shut as she prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation. When she was within speaking distance, Lachlan turned away and walked through the entrance to the lists. Arabella’s stomach clenched with a sharp pain that nearly made her double over. The air she inhaled burned her nose and throat and seemed to get lost before it found her lungs. Lachlan had snubbed her in the most obvious way.

  “Lady Arabella?” A voice called to her. She shifted her gaze from Lachlan’s back to the men approaching. It relieved her to see her guards moving toward her. When they left the lists and stood before her, she doubted whether she wanted to go for the ride after all. The desire to flee back to her chamber and hide there until the day she drew her last breath consumed her; from the pain in her chest, she suspected it would be that very morning. Guilt tugged at her for drawing her men from their training, but she would appear a fool now that they waited for her to speak.

  “When you finish training, I would like to go for a ride, please.” The men before her might have served her, but they were still clan members, and she was always mindful of treating them with respect.

  “Would you rather go now, my lady?” her guard, Duncan, asked.

  Arabella bit her bottom lip as she peered past the men to the lists. “I don’t want to take you from your training. I can wait.”

  “It’s nay trouble, my lady,” Duncan assured.

  “Very well. If you don’t mind.” She smiled, but then wanted to grimace when she saw the men’s inevitable reaction. She was their laird’s daughter, but none were much older than her, and she recognized their appreciative expressions. They didn’t offend her, but she was tired of having to always be mindful that she never gave the wrong impression to any man. She turned toward the stables, not waiting to see if the men followed.

  Arabella asked a groom to saddle their horses as they milled about in the bailey. She darted a glance toward the lists, and it surprised her to find Lachlan watching her. She was too far to read his expression, but she would recognize him anywhere, even if the Sutherland plaid didn’t give him away. She grew warm, and her skin prickled. She knew he could see her no more clearly than she could him, but the scrutiny set her on edge. She willed the grooms to hurry and barely waited for her men to mount once she was in the saddle. She charged through the gates, forcing herself not to look in Lachlan’s direction one last time.

  Lachlan watched Arabella surrounded by her men; for the first time, he had a consuming wave of je
alousy wash over him. He knew they were her kinsmen and her guards, but knowing she would spend time with other men away from the castle made him want to roar with envy. He wanted to be the one taking her for a ride. Of more than one sort. His cock throbbed with frustration as he recalled the night before for the umpteenth time that morning. He’d barely slept, restless even after bringing himself to release each time his rod swelled. He was grateful that he didn’t have a roommate, or he wouldn’t have been able to ease his discomfort. He wondered if Arabella had suffered even a smidge of what he had. He wondered if she knew how to touch herself to bring about a climax. If she didn’t, he found he wanted to be the one to teach her how. He already knew the ways he wanted to do it for her. He’d fantasized about it countless times.

  Lachlan forced himself to focus upon the man who now stood before him, ready to cleave him in half if he remained distracted. Even with a blunted sword, it would be painful if his opponent got the better of him. As he swung his sword and blocked his partner’s thrusts, he found his mind easing and his body loosening. He centered himself, and by the time practice was over he felt more relaxed. He even realized he’d gone hours without thinking about Arabella or what had passed between him. But the moment he stepped out of the lists, his mind returned to her. He wondered if she’d returned from her ride yet. He was torn between wanting to rush to her side to ask where she’d gone and what she’d done, and wanting to hide from her to avoid the discomfort of seeing her and not having her. He wanted to avoid an uncomfortable conversation, even if they ignored the encounter in the passageway.

  It was nearly time for the noon meal, and Lachlan stepped into the barracks to complete his rushed ablutions rather than winding through the castle to his chamber. He heard three Lowland voices as he stood beside his guards at the bucket of water and passed the bar of soap. He knew immediately they were Arabella’s guards.

  “She never rides recklessly, but you would think the Devil bit her arse,” one man said.

  Lachlan wasn’t happy to hear what she’d been doing, or that her guards discussed her where anyone could overhear.

  “Aye. She’s lucky she didn’t break her bleeding neck or cripple her horse. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, but I want no part of this. She asks too much these days. Her father will murder me if he ever finds out that I get her—” the second man trailed off when Lachlan stood with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

  “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to gossip like fishwives. Somewhere that all and sundry don’t get to listen,” Lachlan growled. The men’s heads whipped around until all three faced him. Their embarrassment was obvious, and Lachlan drew it out by not budging. He stood with his arms crossed and the most menacing gaze he could muster. “If you don’t want the lass’s father to ken, I would keep your gob shut.”

  “Aye, Sutherland. As you say.” The third man cleared his throat, and the three Johnstone warriors hurried to finish dressing before trying to squeeze past Lachlan, but he filled the doorway to the room the men were in. He caught the eye of the man who nearly admitted he supplied Arabella with alcohol. He titled his head from one side to another, knowing that it would crack in both directions.

  “I know what you’re doing.” Lachlan said no more. The warning was implicit in his tone, even though he said nothing else. He turned and walked away. His anger percolating just beneath the surface as he made his way to the Great Hall. His eyes swung toward the feminine chatter to his left, and he recognized the ladies-in-waiting. He noticed Arabella standing with Laurel Ross and Caitlyn Kennedy. She had her back to him, but almost as though she sensed him entering the gathering hall, she shifted so she could look back.

  It was Arabella’s turn to give him the cut, as she spared him not even a nod before returning her attention to the other women. Lachlan knew he deserved it, but he’d been in a hurry to avoid her that morning lest he make a fool of himself by falling to his knees and begging for her attention. He made his way to the table where his men already sat before enduring what felt like the longest midday meal of his life.

  With no reason to linger at court other than his wish to spend time with Arabella, he had nothing to fill his afternoons. He opted to go for a ride much like Arabella had, and he found himself riding like a daredevil, much like her guards had described her. But his time away from the castle ate away the hours until the evening meal forced him to return to the Great Hall. While he never looked directly at Arabella, he was aware of her presence the entire night. She never turned to him or acknowledged him. It stung, but he knew he was acting no better. They studiously avoided each other, and he never approached her for a dance. Lachlan abandoned the gathering early. His moroseness must have shown since each of his dance partners scurried away as soon as their set ended. He noticed that Arabella avoided dancing as often as she could, finding ways to entrench herself in conversations with the other ladies.

  So began their game of pretending to be strangers to one another. They avoided one another for the next three days, ensuring they never ran into each other in the Great Hall or partnered for any of the dances. Lachlan entered the lists as one of the first men to arrive, certain he could make his way there before Arabella began her day. She took seats at the dining tables that placed her with her back to Lachlan.

  By the third evening, Lachlan was miserable, and he could tell Arabella grew more tense with each day. He couldn’t tell if she’d continued drinking, but her drawn face and pinched expression made him think she wasn’t. Not if she claimed the whisky settled her and made her relax. He wondered if he’d been the reason she ceased or if she’d no longer been able to procure her secret vice. He felt driven to drink, and he needed to escape the castle. His frustration tempted him to find solace in a woman’s arms at one of Stirling’s taverns, but he abandoned the idea as soon as it came to him. He didn’t want another woman, even if he was able to pretend she was Arabella. He intended to take a page from her book and drown his sorrows in a barrel of whisky.

  When his men finished eating, he surprised them by offering to treat them to several drams at one of the taverns in town. The men’s enthusiasm cheered him as they made their way out of the keep and walked into the surrounding town. The thought of finding a woman once more floated through his head, and he decided to go where the night took him. They entered the Merry Widow, the unofficial name for a tavern renowned for being the location of illicit liaisons among the experienced women at court. Perhaps he would find his own merry widow for the night.

  Eight

  Arabella pulled her cloak closer around her neck as she adjusted her hood with the other hand. She kept her head down to ensure the light breeze didn’t blow back the cowl that would reveal her auburn tresses. She didn’t intend for anyone to discover her as she secretly ventured into Stirling. She’d slipped into her plainest gown, one she used for traveling, and removed all of her jewelry. She attempted to look as little like a lady from the royal court as she could. She wound her way through the streets to the tavern where she knew her guard could buy her flasks of whisky.

  When she arrived at the Picked Over Plum, nicknamed such for the aged whores who worked there, she made her way around to the back of the building. She would never be brazen enough to enter through the main door and wander up to the counter to make her request. She took a deep breath before raising her fist to knock on the door. It swung open to a grizzly man who grunted at her.

  “What have we here? You’re a ripe one, I’d say,” the man sneered as he reached out to push back Arabella’s hood. She jerked away, but the man followed her outside as she tried to retreat. “Changed your mind aboot whoring, have you? I don’t think so, lass. You’re too fine to let go.”

  Arabella feared she’d wet herself, she was so terrified. She never imagined this would be the response she would receive. She’d sorely underestimated what went on at the tavern if her mere presence as a woman meant the man assumed she was a whore.

  “I’m only here to buy whisky for
my mistress,” Arabella clarified.

  “Then she should come in and make herself comfortable. Perhaps she’d find more than just the whisky to her liking,” the man cackled. Arabella understood he referred to the whores, and it wasn’t the first time she’d heard of women fornicating together. She was only interested in the whisky.

  “She sent me to buy whisky,” Arabella insisted. She drew a sharp blade from within the folds of her cloak. She and the man knew he could disarm her, but the blade was long and sharp. She would do some damage before he took it from her.

  “Bah. I don’t need a virgin here. And I don’t sell whisky for the taking. Go back to your mistress before a mon takes what you aren’t offering.” With a lip curled in disgust, the man turned back to the door, leaving Arabella alone in the dark.

  Now what? Where else do I try? The Wolf and Sheep or the Merry Widow? If you had any sense, you’d return to the castle and never take another sip of whisky again. But I can’t do that. I need more.

  Need more? Listen to me. I am a drunkard. But I don’t bluidy well care. I already knew that anyway. They don’t call it uisge beatha for no reason. It is the water of life, or at least mine. I must get more. I can’t face seeing Lachlan for another day or the questions that are pressing me to explain why I’m acting different if I don’t get something to calm my nerves. What do I care if he’s disappointed in me? He’s not my husband and never will be. Like I told him, I’m not his problem. Then why am I so anxious each time I see him?