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

by Celeste Barclay

  Och, bluidy hell! I’ve had more than I meant to. I’m on my way to being soused. It’s all right, Belle. If you remain quiet and pretend as though you don’t want to talk because you’re embarrassed from the rumors, and if you pay really close attention while you’re walking, no one will ken. Just keep quiet and walk properly.

  Arabella toppled sideways more than leaned, but she rolled onto her belly and fished out the three empty jugs and replaced them with three full ones. Once the loose stones were back in place, she struggled to pull herself to her feet as she suddenly felt incredibly sleepy. Climbing into bed and sleeping the day away appealed to her even more as she stood upright, and her eyes drifted shut and her head bobbed forward. When she bent forward to pick up the bottles, she feared she would fall flat on her face. She reached back for the bed and eased herself onto the mattress. When the room didn’t feel off-kilter, she used one hand to cling to the bedding while the other picked up the first empty jug.

  She went to her chest and lifted the lid. She assessed the clothing she found and knew the containers would make the stacks of clothes uneven, but she couldn’t think of any other resolution. She lifted out her stack of chemises and stockings, laying them on the bed. She laid the empty flask on its side. She slid her feet along the floor as she walked back to the other containers. Having learned her lesson the last time, she squatted to pick up the other two empty ones. She placed those in the chest and spread the stacks of clothes over them. Even to her bleary eyes, it didn’t look right. She prayed her father departed soon, or that Eliza was more loyal to her than to her laird. She returned to the other three jugs that still remained on the floor. She lifted the one she’d been drinking from and realized it was already half empty.

  That explains the state I’m in. How did I not notice? Because you’re a drunkard, Belle. You’ve grown so used to it that now not only don’t you notice the taste, you need more. This has to stop.

  Arabella’s self-recrimination gave her a moment of sobriety, so she hurried to gather the other two jugs. She looked at the wardrobe where she kept her gowns. She knew her satchels were in the bottom. If she could fit the jugs into her satchels and pushed them all the way to the back where they were less likely to rattle, she might succeed in hiding them. She tested the stoppers before kneeling down and placing them in the bags. She pushed her gowns apart and set the satchels all the way against the back. She fluffed out her gowns until they hid her contraband.

  There. That does it. Arabella turned away but stopped. Mayhap just one more sip. I feel much better than I did before. Another dram won’t make a difference.

  Arabella kneeled down again and drew out the bottle she’d already started. She took two quick swigs before putting it back. She went to the table that held the pitcher and ewer. Beside them were several sprigs of mint. She broke off two and chewed them quickly. She cupped her hand in front of her mouth and breathed on it. She could only smell the slightest hint of alcohol. She grabbed another sprig to chew as she made her way to join the ladies as they were leaving the keep for the queen’s morning constitutional. She felt like she’d lived an entire day already. She fell into place between Laurel and Caitlyn but kept quiet. As the bright sunlight dazzled her eyes, she regretted the extra drink she’d thought wouldn’t make a difference. She felt unsteady on her feet as she squinted to shut out the blinding light. A pounding head replaced the nice tingle in her cheeks. Despite the physical discomfort, she finally felt calm after days of anxiety.

  It was worth it. I can do this now. Even if I see my father or Beathan, I can make it through. And for now, keep quiet and speak only when spoken to. Mayhap no one will say aught to me, anyway.

  The thought had barely crossed her mind when Laurel linked her arm through Arabella’s and leaned over conspiratorially. “You made quite the announcement last night by entering the Great Hall with Lachlan and walking right past your father and Laird Gunn. I thought for sure either or both of them would have an apoplexy when they saw you. It made me wonder if the rumors were true. Are you and Lachlan—?” Laurel gave her a pointed look.

  Arabella feigned a look of innocence she’d perfected as a child. She would never tell anyone about what she and Lachlan shared in his chamber. She shook her head, but regretted it when it felt like a bell tower with her brain as the clapper rattling back and forth. “We did naught that left me any different from before my father arrived.”

  “Does that mean you two have been—well—since before then?” Laurel whispered.

  Arabella appreciated that Laurel kept her voice down, but despite that, they were drawing attention. Arabella shot Laurel a warning glance, but her friend appeared too eager to recognize it. Arabella grew suspicious, wondering if Laurel was the one feeding the rumors. They’d only become friends within the past two years; before that, Arabella had avoided Laurel. They weren’t close enough for Arabella to share her deepest secrets. They based their friendship more on length of acquaintance than being likeminded.

  “I am still a maiden if that’s what you wish to ken. I haven’t done aught with anyone to be ashamed of, nor am I guilty of aught with any mon,” Arabella assured Laurel. She was growing warm, and she knew it wasn’t from the outside temperature. The whisky swished in her empty belly with each step. Her heart was beating harder, but the walk was no more arduous than normal along the flat path.

  “Then why would anyone see you leaving his chamber?” Laurel pressed.

  “Who said that they did?” Arabella countered.

  “Mary Elizabeth,” Laurel answered. She’d named a lady-in-waiting who’d been at court for less than a year, but who had become the self-appointed leader. She had the same nasty and spiteful demeanor that Madeline MacLeod had possessed, and much like Mary Kerr, Madeline’s predecessor as the ringleader of the most vindictive of the ladies. Laurel had once been part of that circle, and Arabella feared she’d returned to her old ways. “Bella, if I don’t know at least some truth, I might say the wrong thing. I don’t want Mary Elizabeth to keep spreading these rumors. I’ll deny them if I can, but I don’t want to accidentally give something away. If I know what I’m hiding, then I know what not to say.”

  Arabella considered what Laurel said. It was reasonable considering they had grown closer, but she still didn’t trust the other woman enough to share anything private with her. She tried to come up with something to say, but her mind felt like it was suddenly drowning in a bog. Clear thoughts wouldn’t come to her, and her blinks grew longer as she wished she could catch a moment of sleep with each one.

  “Bella? You don’t look well. Your face has grown red, and you look like you’re overheated,” Laurel whispered. Even in a low tone, Arabella’s head rang. She didn’t dare shake it.

  “I feel a wee off today. That’s why I slept later than usual,” Arabella explained.

  “You don’t sound right either,” Laurel pointed out. “Do you need the healer?”

  “Nay, but I think I should return to my chamber. If I have the ague, I wouldn’t want to pass it to anyone.” Arabella was grateful to have an excuse to escape. She knew she needed to sleep off her overconsumption. She knew Lachlan would finish in the lists soon, and she wanted to flee before he found her. He would know immediately that she’d imbibed again.

  I want to hide from the mon I love. What have I—don’t, Belle. Don’t ask yourself that yet again when you already know the answer. You are the wretched failure Father said. You are a disappointment to Lachlan, just like you are to Father. He’s just being kind to you because he feels sorry for you. He must feel stuck. He doesn’t want to marry me, but he thinks he has to protect me. He doesn’t really want me. I’m useless to him, to Father, and to my clan. They’d be better off if I drank myself into oblivion and floated away on the River Forth.

  “Do you want me to walk with you?” The concern in Laurel’s voice drew Arabella back to their conversation. She saw the worry in the other woman’s eyes and knew she’d failed in her goal to remain unnoticed. Not onl
y had she drawn attention to herself, she’d done it in a way that would make others ask about her later.

  “Nay, I’m fine,” Arabella slurred. She gave her head a little shake and pulled away from Laurel. “Please let the others ken I’m not feeling well.”

  Arabella didn’t wait for Laurel to answer. She turned away, picking her skirts up and hurrying back to the castle. She made her way inside, and once she was alone, she leaned against a wall to catch her breath. Everything spun around her, and she wanted to retch. Keeping one hand on the wall to steady her and using the other to hold up her skirts, she made her way to her chamber. She darted to the chamber pot and barely made it before her stomach emptied of all the whisky that had swirled around inside her. She kicked off her slippers and barely made it onto her bed before her eyes closed.

  Twenty-One

  Lachlan left the lists feeling better than he had in days. He’d had a good training session, and despite his worries, neither Beathan nor Mitcholm showed up to spar. He’d released the pent-up frustration from the situation with Arabella and felt relaxed after days of worry about the woman he longed to see. He noticed the ladies-in-waiting lingering at the entrance to the garden while Queen Elizabeth stood speaking to some of her matronly attendants. She rubbed her swollen belly, and Lachlan wondered how long it would be until she gave birth. There’d been talk about both his father and his uncle serving as godfathers and his mother becoming the bairn’s godmother, but they had settled nothing. He turned away from the women but turned back when he heard his name.

  “Lachlan,” Laurel called once. She glanced around before making her way to Lachlan. While she glided gracefully toward him, her pace unhurried, Lachlan could see the strain on her face even from a distance. He didn’t need Laurel to tell him it involved Arabella.

  What now? Lachlan tensed. Lach! That’s horrible. Ye love her, and she’s in trouble. Be more gracious. But she’s been naught but trouble since I arrived. Can I really bring such a woman home as ma wife? How can ye doubt what ye’ve kenned for years? Because she’s nae the woman ye thought ye kenned for years. All the more reason to help her.

  Lachlan’s mind swirled with doubt and guilt as Laurel came to stand before her. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever the woman had to say. He already knew he wouldn’t like it.

  “Something isn’t right aboot Arabella. I don’t ken if she’s coming down with a sickness, but she wasn’t at all herself. She’s distracted, and she didn’t come to Mass or the morning meal today. When she joined us for the walk, her eyes were glassy, and she broke out in a sweat from a walk we take every day. And when she spoke, her voice wasn’t normal. It was as if each word came out slower and slower, like she really had to think aboot them. She wouldn’t let me summon the healer.”

  Lachlan knew she wasn’t ailing from some sickness, unless drinking too much could be considered one. Laurel might not realize she’d just describe an intoxicated person, but Lachlan did.

  “Where is she now?”

  “She went to her chamber to rest,” Laurel explained.

  “Thank you for telling me. I’m certain she will be right as rain soon enough,” Lachlan reassured. But he felt his temper boiling within. He nodded to Laurel and turned toward the keep. His bath and fresh clothing would have to wait. He had a wayward sweetheart to find. He prayed she made it to her chamber before someone found her. He wound his way through the labyrinth of passageways until he came to Arabella’s door. He didn’t bother to knock, pushing the door open, and stopping short when he found Arabella sprawled across her bed. He sniffed the air in the chamber and recognized the scent of strong whisky. He knew without tasting it that it was an inferior quality with a high-alcohol content.

  “Belle,” Lachlan whispered as he shook her shoulder. When she didn’t make a sound, he stared at her chest. When he saw it rise and fall, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He shook her shoulder more firmly, but she still didn’t move, not even a twitch. He spoke louder the next time. “Arabella.”

  He infused command into his tone and deepened it. She attempted to roll away from him, but his hand on her shoulder pinned her in place. He said her name again, shaking her shoulder roughly. He feared for a moment that he would hurt her, but his anger and worry soon made him forget his guilt.

  “Arabella,” Lachlan’s tone was demanding as he tapped her cheeks. He was careful not to be rough. He didn’t want to leave marks, and he drew a line at slapping any woman. “Belle.”

  Arabella’s eyes fluttered open, and he read the confusion in her expression. She blinked several times as her brow furrowed. She swept her eyes around the chamber but closed them with a wince. She waited a moment before she pried them open once more.

  “Lach?” Arabella’s voice was hoarse.

  “Aye. How much did you have to drink, Belle?”

  “Too much,” she moaned. But she tried to jerk upright when she realized what she confessed. She moaned again, and Lachlan watched as her face went ghostly pale. He rushed to the chamber pot, finding it filled with the contents from Arabella’s earlier episode. He had no choice and held it under her mouth just in time. She gripped it, her hands covering his as she cast up her accounts.

  When they both were convinced there was nothing left to come up, Lachlan set it aside and brought a wet linen square and a sprig of mint to Arabella. She wiped her mouth before folding the cloth over and wiping her face and neck. Lachlan took the cloth back as he traded it for the mint. He soaked the cloth once more, ringing it out and folding so he could place it at the base of her neck. She laid back and shut her eyes.

  “Go away.”

  “No,” Lachlan’s voice was resolute.

  “Leave me, Lach. Go back to Dunrobin,” Arabella hissed.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Lachlan realized he wouldn’t leave Arabella for anything in the world. He wasn’t prepared to give up and seeing her in her current condition only made him more resolved to stay. His earlier doubts fled as his heart ached for her. He’d never seen her in such a state, and it wasn’t just the aftereffects of the alcohol. She’d given up.

  “You can do better than a drunkard. You deserve better. Leave and find someone who deserves you,” Arabella muttered.

  “And if I refuse?” Lachlan countered.

  “Stop, Lach. I don’t want to fight you aboot this. Just go home. Go wherever. Just leave me alone.”

  Lachlan sat beside Arabella on the bed and slid his arm beneath her. When he rolled her toward him, she didn’t resist. He moved the still-cool cloth to her forehead and held it there. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t want to argue either. Instead, he offered her the strength that he had and that she needed. They sat like that as Arabella dozed. Lachlan kissed the crown of her head periodically as he stroked her hair, finding it calmed her. Eventually, she wrapped her arm around his middle. He knew she didn’t realize what she was doing, but she sought the comfort he offered.

  Arabella came awake feeling more like herself and knew she’d slept off the effects of the alcohol. Her chamber was dim, and she realized it was late afternoon. She’d been sleeping for hours. Something solid but comfortable sat propped beside her, her arm slung over it. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Lachlan. He continued to stroke her hair, and she closed her eyes again, reveling in the tenderness. She knew he’d noticed she was awake when he slid down so that they lay eye-to-eye.

  Arabella’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at Lachlan. His expression was so filled with worry that guilt swept through her. She tried to draw in a breath, but it felt as though her lungs had quit. Lachlan pressed a soft but lingering kiss to her forehead, and her sobs began. She cried for all the years she’d done her best to please everyone, for the rebelliousness that led her to turn to alcohol, the shame of now needing it, and the fear that Lachlan would leave just as she told him to.

  “I’m nae going anywhere, mo chridhe,” Lachlan promised as though he
’d read her mind. She fisted his leine as she clung to him. His burr somehow the most comforting sound she’d ever heard.

  “Lach, I have a problem,” Arabella confessed.

  “I ken, little one. I ken,” Lachlan whispered.

  “I don’t want to be like this, but I don’t know how to stop. Even now, I feel so miserable, and all I want is a drink to make me feel better, which only makes me feel worse. Does that make me hopeless?”

  “Nay. Ye need help, and I amnae going anywhere. I promise ye. I will do whatever I can, but I think the first step was ye asking. But I need to ken, do ye mean it? Or do ye fear that I will go, and ye’re saying it so I will stay?”

  “Both,” Arabella sobbed once more. “I want to stop, but I don’t know if I can do it without you. And I feel even worse that I want your help. I don’t want to trap you, Lach. Never have I wanted that.”

  “I’m nae trapped if I’m where I want to be,” Lachlan reasoned.

  “How can you still want me? How can you stay when I’m such a disappointment?” Arabella asked.

  “Because yer choices and yer actions can disappoint me without the whole of ye being a disappointment. I’ve kenned ye a long time, Belle. Never have ye been like this before. I’m scared and I’m angry too. I confess that I had a moment of doubt, but I kenned as soon as I walked in here that I canna and willna leave ye.”

  “My father has washed his hands of me. I wouldn’t blame you if you did the same,” Arabella whispered.