He nodded and a smile brought the edges of his mouth up. ‘Aye.’
‘That quickly? You can forgive me?’
‘You loved me even believing I killed him. If you could do that,’ he whispered, ‘how could I not forgive you?’
He leaned over to kiss her but the door burst open and people poured in. Still groggy, she shook her head as she watched both Camerons and Mackintoshes fill the chamber. If anyone thought it amiss that she lay there with him, no one, not even her father, objected.
The strangest thing was that her father helped her off the bed and hugged her fiercely, whispering endearments and promises in her ear. From the satisfied look on his face and the way he nodded and smiled at her, she knew Brodie had something to do with this, as well.
From what she could see and what she’d heard, he would need some time to remain abed and heal. But the daft man tried to stand up when Grigor arrived in the chamber.
She understood—a man stood when his chieftain entered a room and so Brodie tried once more to push his beaten body from the bed only to be pushed back by the elder.
‘Rest now. You deserve it, Brodie.’
Grigor glanced around the chamber and nodded. To a one, the Mackintoshes dropped to their knees around the bed. Brodie began to object then, but Grigor silenced him with a gesture.
‘While you have been here,’ he said, ‘the elders have finally been tending to clan business. We examined the documents and the rest of the evidence you gathered and settled the matter of inheritance. Well, most of the elders did. Some left in haste during the night.’ Some of the men laughed and she did not doubt that a few of the elders had been urged along in their leaving.
‘With Caelan’s death, the seat was opened. The council has voted and appoints you, Brodie Mackintosh, as chieftain.’
Brodie began to object, to offer his loyalty to Grigor as he’d planned to do, when Grigor went down on his knee and bowed his head in obeisance, ignoring him. He struggled to rise from the bed when the chanting began.
‘A Mackintosh! Loch moigh!’
Arabella knew it was the Mackintosh battle cry and it rose and echoed throughout Drumlui Keep. She leaned over and whispered to him.
‘You kept your faith in them. Let them keep faith with you, Brodie.’
He fell back, taking her hand and entwining their fingers as he liked to do. When he pulled her closer to kiss her, she saw that his lips were split and bruised. So, she kissed him on the one place on his forehead that was not bruised.
* * *
It took several weeks to sort through the clan’s business and set things to rights. Messengers came and went from Drumlui as Brodie made new alliances, strengthened others and severed a few rotten ones. Her father counselled him, as did Grigor, and Rob and some other trusted warriors. Caelan had caused such damage in trying to seek vengeance and it would take time to correct it all. But they would have that time.
Her father told her the rest of it when she left Brodie to rest. They grieved together for the loss of their Malcolm, now knowing the truth of how he’d died. And he spoke of her mother for the first time, explaining and apologising for the distance between them.
She also discovered that she had been betrothed to Brodie as part of the new contracts and agreements. Arabella smiled at that arrangement, wondering if he would ask her himself before they married.
* * *
A week later, she learned the answer when she arrived in the hall for their noon meal.
‘My lady.’
She turned to find the women who’d lived in the camp there. Margaret, Bradana and the rest. She hugged them all, asking about the children and their husbands.
‘Brodie sent word for us to return,’ Margaret explained.
‘He did not want to accept it,’ she told them. They laughed over his stubbornness until he left the table and came to them.
‘Welcome home, Margaret,’ he said. ‘Does Rob know you are here yet?’
‘He does now,’ Arabella said, watching as Rob strode across the hall to his sister and grabbed her in a fierce embrace.
‘Bradana, I wondered if Fia would like to serve as my maid,’ Arabella asked. The girl was pleasant and it would give her a respected place in their household.
‘Oh, my lady! She will be so pleased,’ Bradana said.
‘And I have asked young Alan to serve me,’ Brodie said.
Already there were signs of a blending of their kith and kin. A good sign. Brodie moved to her side and then gestured for quiet.
‘I know that we are betrothed, Arabella, but a wise woman once told me that I should say the right words to you and I have not had the chance,’ he said. Margaret laughed the loudest and nodded at him, telling her and everyone just which wise woman had spoken her piece to him.
‘You had every reason to hate me, but you did not. You had every reason to fear me, but you did not. Instead, you made me question myself and everything I believed.’ Tears filled her eyes as he spoke of things she never thought to hear. ‘You loved me in spite of what you believed. You loved me in spite of being enemies. You had faith in me when I did not.’
He paused then and looked to her. ‘So, I will give you the only thing I can give you. Freedom. ’Tis your choice. You are not bound by any contract to me unless you wish it to be so.’ He kissed her then, taking her breath and her wits. ‘But I hope you will choose me.’
Before she could say anything, a woman called out, ‘Ye daft man, she chose you a long time ago!’
He waited, watching her and giving her the freedom of her own mind, though it was, as had been said, a choice she’d made some time ago. That night when she’d gone to his cave to betray him and instead had given him her love.
‘You are my choice, Brodie.’
‘You heard her, Father,’ Brodie called out to the priest she had not seen there earlier. ‘A wedding it is.’
The hall erupted into cheering and Arabella found herself carried to the dais in Brodie’s arms and placed before the new priest sent to serve God’s people in Drumlui.
‘I had faith you would say aye.’ He winked at her as the priest began the ceremony and they exchanged vows there before her family and his.
The noon meal became their wedding feast and Arabella enjoyed it more as she watched Brodie finally accept his place there. It was hours before they were able to make their way to their bedchamber.
And, hours more before she could move or think or put words together.
* * *
He turned to watch her as she slept, still not able to believe she was his in every way that meant anything. Oh, the contracts covered the law and the Church, but she had chosen to say aye to him and the love he brought to her. Lifting her hair out of her face, he counted the seconds of each breath she took and smiled as she mumbled under her breath.
Apparently, ’twas a bad habit she’d picked up while his prisoner. As was her habit of questioning him every chance she could. He did not mind her earlier questions at all for they were about the ways he wanted to take her. She’d remembered that comment and brought it up all through the day, leaving him hard for all those hours between the wedding and their leave-taking. But she had paid for it once they reached their chambers.
Or had he paid the price?
It mattered not.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked in the husky voice of sleep that made his body respond...again.
‘Just waiting for you to wake,’ he said, kissing the tip of her nose. He hesitated for a moment, thinking that she would tell him no since he’d wakened her several, well, four times this night already. Lucky for them that they had married in late autumn when the nights grew very long, giving them plenty of time to be abed.
‘I wonder if I should tell you of my wicked dreams this time?’ she asked, leaning up on
her elbow and stretching out alongside him so their bodies touched.
‘When did you begin having wicked dreams?’ he asked, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her.
She might be the death of him if she continued to accept his every overture, but right now, as his body and heart and soul warmed next to her, he cared not.
‘Well, there was this cave in my dream...’ she began. As she whispered, she touched. As she touched, she loved him and healed him of the betrayals and hurts of the past.
And he loved her more than all the horses and cattle they’d bought with the gold from her dowry.
Epilogue
Six months later
‘You are kin.’
‘Not close enough for this,’ Rob said. Crossing his arms over his chest, he was the image of defiance and refusal.
‘Now you know how women feel,’ Arabella said with a laugh. She remembered her brother’s words saying he would be bought or sold just as she was being and laughed again at his disgruntled, insulted expression.
‘Margaret thinks it a good match,’ Brodie said with a shrug. Arabella liked that he relied on the women who’d helped him during his struggle and not just the elders and other men.
‘Make certain to promise enough cattle this time,’ she offered. It was a joke between them now. Whenever difficulties arose, horses and cattle were pledged.
‘I do not think you are taking this seriously, lady,’ Rob pointed out. ‘And neither of you are taking my objections seriously, either.’
‘Rob, it was your idea that I should be made chieftain, so you now must put up with the consequences.’
‘I offered you my loyalty. I offered you my service and my sword, Brodie,’ Rob said. ‘But I do not remember saying you could sell me to another clan.’
Brodie glanced at her and then walked to where she stood looking out the window of their chamber. Though she felt large and cumbersome, he never failed to touch her or place his hand on her growing belly to wait for movement beneath it. And she did not mind at all. Wrapped in his arms, she leaned her head back against him as the battle raged on between Brodie and his best friend.
The matter at hand was a betrothal being discussed by one of the clans newly allied with the Camerons and Mackintoshes. Being unmarried and a blood relative of the chieftain, Rob was the perfect man to be named. However, he was too busy enjoying his life, flitting from woman to woman, bed to bed.
‘I am not selling you,’ Brodie said. ‘I am asking you to go and meet the young woman. If you think you suit, then we will make an offer.’
‘’Tis not as though you will have to leave your home and move to hers. Your place here is secure,’ Arabella added.
‘Is it?’ Rob asked. Arabella left Brodie’s embrace and went to their friend. Touching his hand, she nodded.
‘Of that, have no worries. You kept him alive for me. For all those dark months. Your place here and in our hearts is safe. Always.’
‘Damn it to hell, Arabella!’ Rob cursed. ‘How am I supposed to refuse it now?’ He turned and strode out, still cursing under his breath as he left. They waited a whole minute before they burst out laughing.
‘Do you think it a good match, Brodie?’ she asked. ‘Is that what Margaret said?’ She’d not spoken to the woman about this possible marriage, waiting for Brodie to broach the topic with his friend first.
‘I did not ask her.’ When she stared at him, he laughed. ‘I only said that to confound him.’
‘You torment him so,’ she said. ‘Tell me true, is this good for him?’
‘I need someone I trust to make this alliance. I need kin. I need Rob.’ He’d taken to his duties and responsibilities quickly and she marvelled at the wisdom he showed in branching out their clan’s interests and connections.
‘After all his moaning and cursing, you know he will do it.’ She kissed him. ‘For his clan and for you.’
* * *
Many miles to the north and west, at the very edges of the Scottish Highlands, a young woman received that same news—of a possible betrothal to a Mackintosh—and was so unhappy about it that she ran away the very next morning...leaving her parents to face that Mackintosh when he arrived some weeks later.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from FROM WALLFLOWER TO COUNTESS by Janice Preston.
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Prologue
August 1810
The single state had much to recommend it, Lady Felicity Weston mused as she crossed the landing of Cheriton Abbey on her way downstairs for dinner. She was beholden to no man: no man to criticize her appearance; no man to dictate her activities; and, most important of all, no man to threaten the barriers she had erected around her heart.
Her life was content.
As she reached the head of the imposing staircase, Felicity froze. A man, dressed in shirt and breeches, was bounding up the stairs two at a time. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing tanned, muscular forearms. He wore no neckcloth, his open shirt collar exposing the strong column of his neck. With his thick brown hair wet and dishevelled he looked virile and slightly dangerous. Felicity’s mouth dried. Just two steps down from where she stood, he glanced up and slammed to a halt.
Felicity’s stomach flipped as she recognized the Earl of Stanton.
One of the most eligible bachelors of the ton, Stanton was a catch coveted by zealous mamas and ambitious daughters alike. And admired even by disregarded, unprepossessing spinsters who had watched his star from afar and had once—for one brief, uncharacteristic flight of fancy—wondered what it might be like to catch the attention of such a man.
Of all the men in the ton, it was Stanton who had drawn her eye, time and again, during her come-out five years before. But he had never noticed her.
Never asked her to dance.
Never escorted her to supper.
And that had suited her—even then—perfectly. She had seen little of him in the intervening years but she might have guessed Stanton would be amongst the guests at Cousin Leo’s house party. They were close friends.
His chest expanded as he hauled in a breath, his chocolate-brown eyes regarding her with apology but no hint of recognition.
‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice was a rich baritone. ‘I’m aware I am a little late, but I did not think anyone would be coming downstairs for dinner quite yet.’
He swept long fingers through his hair then climbed the remaining stairs to Felicity’s level. Up close, he smelled of rain and horses and leather...and very male. Felicity stepped back involuntarily. His lips twitched.
‘I apologize for my unkempt appearance. I was drenched coming up from the stables and I left my coat downstairs, where it might drip with impunity.’ He sketched a bow. ‘Stanton, Miss...?’
A craven impulse to proffer a false name was swiftly quashed. Much good that would do her if they were to spend the weekend at the same gathering. Besides, Felicity was in no mind to turn into a simpering miss over an attractive gentleman in his shirtsleeves. Her gaze lowered without volition, drinking in the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of those arm
s. She raised her eyes to his, and caught his expression of wry amusement.
She straightened, lifting her chin. Arrogant wretch. She would do well to remember arrogance was a trait that often went hand in hand with wealth, status and a handsome face.
‘Felicity Weston, my lord.’
She was unsurprised by his perplexed frown. She attended society events rarely now and knew she had faded from memory. She had become accustomed to such a reaction upon introduction and it no longer embarrassed or hurt her, it simply was. People inevitably struggled to place her within the Weston family, not quite believing she was so closely related to her handsome parents and siblings.
Her sense of the ridiculous bubbled to the surface, prompting her to bestow a kindly smile upon his lordship.
‘It is a thankless task, I fear, to try and second-guess my position within the Weston clan. Allow me to enlighten you: I am the sister of Ambrose, Earl of Baverstock.’
‘Sister?’
‘I am afraid so. Quite shocking, is it not?’
‘Not at all,’ came the swift rejoinder. ‘My apologies for my shocking lapse in memory.’
‘Oh, I do not take offence, I can assure you. Yours is a reaction I am quite accustomed to. Indeed, I believe I should almost miss it if I failed to provoke such a response. For otherwise, you see, I might be quite overlooked.’
Stanton held Felicity’s gaze in silence, then his eyes narrowed. ‘You are—’
‘Unbecomingly frank?’ Felicity tilted her head and raised her brows.
‘Frank, yes. Unbecoming?’ He stepped closer, his gaze locked on to hers. His voice deepened. ‘Hmmm. Unusual, perhaps.’
Felicity battled her instinct to retreat, ignoring the flutter deep in her belly, knowing this kind of intimate verbal sparring was a game to men like Lord Stanton.
‘I shall accept that as a compliment, my lord. After all, one would not wish to be considered in the common way.’
Stolen by the Highlander Page 22
