by Diane Gaston
‘Here now, child,’ her aunt said, stepping behind her. ‘Let me help you ready for bed.’
‘Nay. I can call for Ailean to help me.’ Her younger cousin served as her companion and her maid when needed.
‘Hush now,’ her aunt said, unlacing her ties and loosening the gown and tunic she wore. Soon Arabella stood in only her shift. When her aunt began to unravel the long braid of her hair, she sighed. ‘Sit,’ her aunt directed.
First, her aunt slid her fingers into the woven tresses and then she used a brush to ease out the snarls and knots. Each moment eased the tension within Arabella and allowed the exhaustion to creep closer to controlling her. Her eyes drooped closed and her body began to relax. All her worries drifted away with each long stroke of the brush through her hair.
‘What are the plans on the morrow?’ Forced to think of her future and the uncertainty of it, Arabella sighed again.
‘A ride with Caelan in the morn and one with Brodie after the noon meal. Worry not, Aunt Gillie, Ailean will accompany me at all times when we leave the keep.’
‘I do not worry over your safety, child. I worry over your heart.’ The brush stopped and her aunt stepped away. Arabella turned to face her and found a sadness in her eyes she’d not seen before. ‘Do not let your heart be engaged with either of these Mackintoshes until their elders decide on which will be tanist here. It will only lead to heartbreak and pain in the years to come.’
‘Aunt Gillie, what—?’ This was something unexpected. Something surprising and clearly with more of a story than she’d heard about.
‘No matter, Arabella,’ her aunt interrupted before she could complete her question. ‘I think I am more tired than I thought. I will seek my bed now.’
Without another word, her aunt placed the brush on the small table there, turned and left the chamber. Granted, the warning was one she’d heard before, but her aunt’s words about heartbreak hinted at something more personal. She would pursue this on the morrow, but a soft knock foretold of Ailean’s arrival. Arabella soon lay in the quiet darkness and pondered the differences between the two Mackintosh cousins and her future as the wife of one or the other.
Her aunt’s counsel did not take into account how she truly felt about the one thing that would not change—no matter which she married, she was giving herself to her enemy. She would become part of the clan that had massacred her family over the past several generations and bear children to it. There were hopes that this feud would now end with her marriage to the next Mackintosh chief.
No matter, Arabella would be marrying her enemy very soon.
* * *
Brodie held out the cup to one of the women serving at table and watched as she filled it. Nodding his thanks, he continued to observe every Cameron in their hall. They came under a flag of truce and accepted the hospitality offered, but Brodie did not trust a one of them.
As he glanced from Cameron warrior to Cameron warrior, he knew that some of them had killed Mackintoshes during their past skirmishes and battles. And some of the older ones did not want this truce or the coming treaty at all. Reasons not to trust them.
Not even the golden-tressed heiress of their clan did he trust. The chamber where the feast to welcome her had been held began to empty now that Lady Arabella Cameron had retired for the evening. Glancing around the hall, he met the gaze of each of the men he’d positioned wherever the Camerons sat.
Let their bard and hers pay homage to her beauty. Let his cousin fall all over himself flirting with the lass. Brodie saw to his duty of securing the safety of his clan while others played the courtier or ignored the dangers. When each of his men nodded their reply, he turned his attention to his uncle and cousin and their guests.
Content to observe and not get involved in the discussions, Brodie noticed the way The Cameron and his eldest son, Malcolm, sat and spoke and the way they watched him, too. It confirmed his belief that there was wariness on the part of both families. And possibly treachery, at which the Camerons excelled. His uncle stood and everyone at the table did, as well—a signal that the feast was over.
Brodie put his cup down and walked to his uncle’s side as the Camerons followed their escort to the chambers assigned to them in the north tower. Keeping them together, in several chambers in the one tower, made it easier to keep a watch on them. And to keep them isolated in case of trouble. He smiled at that.
‘You will escort the Cameron lass after the noon meal,’ his uncle said, gaining his full attention now.
‘Nay, Uncle. I have to see to—’ Brodie began to explain.
‘You will escort the lass, Brodie. That is your duty on the morrow.’
They’d already argued this point many times before the Camerons arrived on their lands for this visit. Brodie thought it premature for any of this, while the elders sided with his uncle. They thought it a way to assess the two cousins before making their choice.
After facing whatever tests the elders had planned, one cousin would be proclaimed tanist and heir to the chieftain of the Clan Mackintosh. With no other living male relative eligible, either he or Caelan would govern the Chattan Confederation after his uncle died. One of them would be selected by the elders to control the people and the lands and wealth of their clan.
He owed much to Lachlan for raising him after the death of his parents. The laird had taught him the skills he needed to live and to lead. So, even if he disagreed with his uncle, he would do as he asked, or ordered.
Now, his uncle had added courting the Cameron lass to the list of accomplishments required for the one deemed worthy to lead the clan. Glancing up, he saw his uncle’s determined eyes and the look of merriment and victory in his cousin’s.
Oh, aye, Caelan had a way with women, his soft words and caresses wooed many to him and his bed. Practised in collecting and discarding any willing woman, his cousin would use all his experience to soften the Cameron lass’s heart. Brodie held no hopes that the woman who would, who could, be the means of ending the generations-long feud between their families would be anything but attracted to his cousin.
‘Aye, Uncle.’ Brodie would rather be attending to training the new guards or organising the defences of their borders than in this useless bit of courting. But, from the glare of his uncle’s expression and the way he crossed his arms over his massive chest, Brodie knew he would be spending time with the lass, Arabella.
‘Try not to put her to sleep,’ Caelan taunted as he walked away.
As much as Brodie wanted to argue or come back at his cousin with some witty or even caustic reply, he could think of none. He was not known for his wit or sense of humour. He was also not known for his easy manner with women. Brodie let out his breath and strode through the hall into the corridor.
What he did do well was protect his clan and their holdings from the constant incursions by their enemies. He’d wanted an end to this feud for a very long time, even before his parents were murdered in an ambush in the hills around Loch Arkaig. With every new fight or battle that led to losing more of his family, his desire to find a way to peace between the Mackintoshes and Camerons had grown. And if it could be ended without destroying all of them, well, that was even better. He preferred peace through negotiation, but he would take it in any way they could obtain it.
Even if it meant he married the lass who wore a false smile like it was her second skin.
So, in spite of his suspicions and the cynicism he now carried with him as a constant companion, he would follow his uncle’s orders and see to taking her on a tour of some kind. Then he would focus his attentions where they mattered—on being the one chosen to lead the clan next.
And, if that included marrying one of their enemies, so be it.
Copyright © 2015 by Theresa S. Brisbin
ISBN-13: 9781460379660
Bound by Duty
Copyright © 2015 by Diane Perkins
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