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

by Celeste Barclay

  “Walk with me?” Lachlan whispered. Arabella nodded. They crossed the bailey and left the keep through the postern gate. They walked in companionable silence, holding hands until they reached the cliffs overlooking the North Sea. Lachlan turned to face Arabella as she gazed up at him, thankful that his towering height blocked the sun that would have otherwise blinded her. Lachlan reached into his sporran and withdrew a green ribbon that was nearly the same shade as her eyes. He held it up for her to see, rubbing his thumb over a spot. He stared at it for a long moment before handing it to her. “I know I’ve said it before, but I dinna think I’ll ever stop saying it. I’m so proud of ye, Belle. Ye’ve fought to cease yer drinking, and there are many lesser men who never try and never succeed. Ye didna give up, even when ye were tested over and over. I ken it hasnae been easy, but ye have the determination of a warrior. Ye’ve fought yer battles and found victory.”

  Lachlan tucked hair behind Arabella’s ear, but the breeze defied him, making the hair whip around Arabella’s face once more. They shared an amused smile before Lachlan continued.

  “I thought for sure ye would beg and plead for even just a wee drop to help ye through, but ye havenae asked for aught. Nae ma time, nae ma patience, nae ma love. But ye ken I give all of those willingly, and I ken ye appreciate it.”

  “I do. More that I ken how to say,” Arabella responded. “I never want to take you for granted, but I want to prove to you, Lach, that I’m strong enough to be your wife.”

  “I never doubted that,” Lachlan insisted.

  “Then prove I’m worthy enough.”

  “Ye went through a rough spell, but I never thought ye were weak or unworthy. Ye made a mistake. I told ye once before that I can be disappointed in yer choice without being disappointed in ye as a person. I am proud of ye, and I dinna want ye to feel like ye must prove aught to me.”

  Arabella nodded, uncertain what to say. She believed Lachlan and that he believed what he said. But she still didn’t have that much confidence in herself. She was still riddled with self-doubt and anxious about making a good impression with those around her. However, she still feared her imperfections would keep that from happening. But unlike before, her doubts didn’t consume her; they didn’t make her want to run and hide. She felt strong enough to face them, live with them, without the crutch that whisky had become. She knew she owed a part of that to Lachlan for the things he’d done like rescuing her from Stirling Castle’s gaol, taking her away from Inchcailleoch Priory, freeing her from Beathan, and staying with her in the cave and in their chamber throughout her battle with withdrawal. But more than anything, she felt she owed him for his unwavering faith in her and for being at her side through it all.

  “Belle,” Lachlan drew her away from her thoughts as he gave the ribbon she held a brief tug. “It’s been a fortnight since the last time ye had a drink. Ye havenae asked for any, and I ken ye havenae tried to sneak any.”

  “Because I’ve been too poorly to do much more than lay abed,” Arabella mumbled.

  “Be that as it may, ye still reached a fortnight without a drink. I want ye to have this ribbon as a reminder of yer accomplishment, of how far ye’ve come,” Lachlan explained as Arabella looked down at the emerald ribbon in her hand. The ends fluttered in the wind coming from the sea. “I thought mayhap every month I could give ye a ribbon to remind ye of yer success. If ye’d like.” Lachlan grew uncertain when Arabella didn’t react. She stared at the ribbon for a long time before looking up at him.

  “And if I fail?” She whispered. “If I can’t go without it after all? If I’m weak?”

  “I pray that doesnae happen, but I understand it can. I hope that if ye feel tempted ye will seek me out, or Mama or Da. If ye slip, we will stand around ye and catch ye.” Lachlan shrugged as he lifted the end of the ribbon. “Then we start counting over and use a different color ribbon.”

  Arabella bit her tongue to keep from responding that she’d have a rainbow of ribbons if that was the case. She wanted to believe that she would never drink again, but she was also afraid to think that. But in the meantime, she drew strength from Lachlan’s certainty.

  “Thank you, mo ghràidh.” She’d been practicing more each day, the other women helping her. Brighde was a Lowlander by birth, so she shared some tricks she’d used to help her learn Gaelic. Arabella held out her wrist. “Would you tie it for me? I would keep it with me as a reminder, just as you do your carving.” Lachlan had shown her the carving one evening while they’d rested in bed between her sweats and shivers. Lachlan nodded and wrapped the length of ribbon around her slender wrist. They kissed on the top of the cliffs, the sea crashing beneath them, seals calling to one another, but the world around them slipped away until it was just the two of them.

  Arabella caught sight of Lachlan’s smile as she walked toward him, the Sutherlands parting as she made her way to the kirk. They’d been back at Dunrobin for a fortnight, and now they were celebrating their wedding before the kirk and their clan. It had surprised Arabella how easily she’d started thinking of the Sutherlands as her clan. They’d welcomed her much like Lachlan’s extended family had. The clan shared in the newlyweds’ excitement, and they anticipated the feast that would celebrate Lachlan and Arabella’s official church wedding. As she neared the steps, she noticed Amelia and Hamish stood with Blair and Hardi to her left. Across from them, holding her infant daughter, Maude stood with Kieran, who held up their twins, so the toddlers could see. She’d passed the Sinclairs who stood on both sides of the path.

  But once she stood before Lachlan, her focus was solely on him. As they took each other’s hands, the priest wrapped an emerald ribbon around their wrists, binding them. It was the ribbon Lachlan presented her that morning to commemorate her first full month without drinking. Her original green ribbon encircled her neck, a bow tied at the side.

  In just a fortnight, she’d discovered she had more confidence than she imagined she could possess. They’d arrived at Dunrobin to find two missives waiting for them. King Robert sent a missive wishing them well, but demanding an explanation about why yet another Gunn died at the hands of the Sutherlands and Sinclairs. The second missive was from Mitcholm. It also wished them well, alluding to his pleasure that Arabella would one day be a countess. But it hinted at a warning that he’d washed his hands of her and that she shouldn’t return if her marriage failed. Lachlan sent a return missive saying that the Johnstones were to keep Arabella’s dowry or they could donate it to the priory, but since Arabella was now a Sutherland, they were in no need of anything from the Johnstones. She’d worried that Amelia and Hamish would be angry at Lachlan’s response and they would expect payment for taking her into their family. They quickly disabused her of that idea once they got past the horror that she feared their rejection. The remaining time had been a whirlwind of meeting various clan members, riding out to villages so Lachlan could introduce people to their future Lady Sutherland, and preparing for the wedding.

  As Lachlan and Arabella stood together reciting their vows, Arabella was overcome with a sense of lightness. It was as though someone lifted a heavy weight from her shoulders that had been crushing her. As she looked into Lachlan’s eyes, she saw nothing but a future with him. Her past faded away as though it were only made up of dull memories from long ago. When the priest pronounced them married, they filled the kiss the shared with hope and tenderness. It was the most perfect moment of Arabella’s life.

  Epilogue

  Arabella handed Lachlan the mug of whisky as she listened to him complaining about the Gunns demand for recompense. It had been nearly a year and a half since she slayed Beathan, but the Gunns still clamored for vindication. Hamish had offered to meet them again on the battlefield to settle their differences, but as expected, they shied away from the challenge. They wanted to reinstate their Viking forefathers’ weregild, insisting the Sutherland and the Sinclairs pay blood money. As Arabella took a seat beside Lachlan in Hamish’s solar, Lachlan explained that the Gun
ns argued the Sutherlands and Sinclairs had unjustly murdered Tomas, James, and Beathan over the past several years. He shared that he and Hamish had shared a raucous laugh before Hamish tossed the missive into the fire.

  “They are out of their heids if they think we’ll pay a penny. They’re lucky we havenae overrun them and taken everything from them after what they’ve put our family through,” Arabella mused. She no longer noticed when Highlander phrases slipped into her speech. She rubbed her swollen belly as Lachlan continued to tell her about his meeting with Hamish as he sipped his whisky. The drink’s scent had once filled her with anticipation, but now it did nothing but occasionally make her feel queasy. It had taken months before Arabella could convince Lachlan that it didn’t bother her if he drank in front of her. She smiled to herself as she recalled that he’d finally relented days before she learned she was expecting. She’d teased that it was a good thing he’d given in because he needed to calm his jittery nerves about becoming a father.

  “Their feathers will settle soon enough, and they’ll turn to the Oliphants to cause trouble with. Ye would think they wouldnae be so daft as to keep antagonizing us when the Sinclairs, the Mackays, and the Sutherlands surround them. Where do they have to go but into the sea?” Lachlan shook his head as he reached out his hand to rub Arabella’s belly. “How are ye and our wee lass today?”

  “I don’t ken how you can be so certain it’s a girl. What if you have a son?” Arabella asked over dramatically.

  “As long as they look like ye, I dinna mind if the bairn is a lad or a lass,” Lachlan repeated for the hundredth time.

  “And if I want a bairn who looks like you?” Arabella countered as she did each time. Lachlan plucked her out of her seat, just as he had often done before she’d grown round. He settled her on his lap, his hand on her belly. She covered his and leaned her head against his shoulder. They sat in silence as they enjoyed feeling their child’s kicks. While the half-filled mug that sat on the table beside Arabella no longer tempted her, she’d come close to succumbing to temptation more than once during the early days at Dunrobin.

  She’d been devoted to Lachlan for what felt like forever, but the moment the midwife confirmed she was with child, the thought of drinking again never came back. As the midwife finished her examination, she’d realized as she lay on the bed she shared with Lachlan each night that she had a new purpose. Discovering she would be a mother made her see in an instant that her life was no longer just about her. Even as close as she was to Lachlan, she wasn’t bound to him as she was a child. With sudden clarity, she knew every choice she made needed to be one that would protect and nurture her children. That would never be possible if she returned to drinking.

  Instead, she had a collection of nineteen ribbons of varying shades of green to celebrate her first fortnight and every month since. She wore at least one each day to remind her of what she’d overcome and to remind her of what she had to look forward to.

  Lachlan and Arabella sat together, musing about their unborn bairn and sharing news from different members of their clan. To others, it might have appeared mundane or ordinary, but to Lachlan and Arabella, it was perfection.

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  The Highland Ladies

  A Spinster at the Highland Court BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  Elizabeth Fraser looked around the royal chapel within Stirling Castle. The ornate candlestick holders on the altar glistened and reflected the light from the ones in the wall sconces as the priest intoned the holy prayers of the Advent season. Elizabeth kept her head bowed as though in prayer, but her green eyes swept the congregation. She watched the other ladies-in-waiting, many of whom were doing the same thing. She caught the eye of Allyson Elliott. Elizabeth raised one eyebrow as Allyson’s lips twitched. Both women had been there enough times to accept they’d be kneeling for at least the next hour as the Latin service carried on. Elizabeth understood the Mass thanks to her cousin Deirdre Fraser, or rather now Deirdre Sinclair. Elizabeth’s mind flashed to the recent struggle her cousin faced as she reunited with her husband Magnus after a seven-year separation. Her aunt and uncle’s choice to keep Deirdre hidden from her husband simply because they didn’t think the Sinclairs were an advantageous enough match, and the resulting scandal, still humiliated the other Fraser clan members at court. She admired Deirdre’s husband Magnus’s pledge to remain faithful despite not knowing if he’d ever see Deirdre again.

  Elizabeth suddenly snapped her attention; while everyone else intoned the twelfth—or was it thirteenth—amen of the Mass, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had the strongest feeling that someone was watching her. Her eyes scanned to her right, where her parents sat further down the pew. Her mother and father had their heads bowed and eyes closed. While she was convinced her mother was in devout prayer, she wondered if her father had fallen asleep during the Mass. Again. With nothing seeming out of the ordinary and no one visibly paying attention to her, her eyes swung to the left. She took in the king and queen as they kneeled together at their prie-dieu. The queen’s lips moved as she recited the liturgy in silence. The king was as still as a statue. Years of leading warriors showed, both in his stature and his ability to control his body into absolute stillness. Elizabeth peered past the royal couple and found herself looking into the astute hazel eyes of Edward Bruce, Lord of Badenoch and Lochaber. His gaze gave her the sense that he peered into her thoughts, as though he were assessing her. She tried to keep her face neutral as heat surged up her neck. She prayed her face didn’t redden as much as her neck must have, but at a twenty-one, she still hadn’t mastered how to control her blushing. Her nape burned like it was on fire. She canted her head slightly before looking up at the crucifix hanging over the altar. She closed her eyes and tried to invoke the image of the Lord that usually centered her when her mind wandered during Mass.

  A Spy at the Highland Court BOOK 1.5 SNEAK PEEK

  A Companion to the Series

  Dedric Hage watched as the English king continued his royal rage as courtiers and advisors eased away from their irate sovereign. His Majesty’s face was mottled with red splotches that only accentuated his fair complexion, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as his rant amplified. King Edward stalked about the chamber on the long legs that earned him the moniker “Longshanks.”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn who oversaw the attack. It failed!” He railed against the last advisor who tried to reassure him that the recent loss was not the end of his campaign against the Scots. “Failure is failure. That usurper believes he’s gotten the upper hand, and he will continue worming his way further into England now that he thinks he has outsmarted me. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  King Edward muttered his final comments as he sank back into the engraved and carved chair that sat on a dais. His bile spewed the king retreated into his own thoughts as the rest of the chamber was left wondering what to do next.

  Dedric had seen this pattern countless times over the course of his life. He was all too familiar with the king’s mercurial temper and unpredictable outbursts, but he also knew Edward was one of the best strategists and logisticians to have every lived. While he might not like the man, he respected him. At times. Ric watched as the king scanned the crowd, assessing each knight present until his eyes settled on rich, who wished he could melt into the curtains and watch the people in the gardens below.

  “Sir Dedric, approach.”

  A Wallflower at the Highland Court BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  The din of music and loud conversation–along with the pervasive odor of too many unwashed or over-perfumed bodies crowded into Stirling Castle’s
Great Hall–gave Maude Sutherland a pounding headache. As she observed the dancers from her position at the side of the chamber, part of her envied the other ladies-in-waiting who twirled with ease and confidence, but mostly she wished for nothing more than the blessed silence of her chamber. While Maude propped up the wall, she spied her younger sister, Blair, who moved through the country reel with what must have been her seventh partner that evening. Though she was only an observer, sweat trickled down Maude’s back and between her breasts. A warm snap—unseasonable for spring in the Highlands— had the doors to the terraces wide open. This should have been enough to ease Maude’s discomfort, but the breeze did little to offset how her thick brown hair trapped the heat on her head and neck. Unlike most maidens, Maude wore her hair up almost every waking moment. She possessed a massive amount of thick, coarse, mousey brown hair that was unruly even on the best of days. By evening the weight of the hair, regardless of whether it was up or down, pulled on her neck and contributed to her headache. She would have loved nothing more than to cut it all off and wear it short like her father, Laird Hamish Sutherland, or her brother, Lachlan. She envied them the freedom to wear their hair however they wanted.