by Cathy MacRae
“Well, they are not exactly used to playing,” Arbela cautioned. “They are Aidi, good hunters and bred for protecting sheep.”
“Like Da’s sheepdog?”
“Not exactly. They can herd, but they are better at protecting the flock against wild animals.”
“Like wolves?”
“Or perhaps lions—or bears,” she teased.
“What’s a lion?” Bram asked, a puzzled frown on his face.
“Finish your porridge and I’ll tell ye about the large cat with a mane of hair all around its neck.”
“A mane? On a cat?” Bram laughed.
Arbela pointed to his half-empty bowl. “Eat. Special tales are better on a full stomach.”
“Ye are making that up,” he accused her, but he grinned and gobbled a glob of porridge atop a chunk of bread that threatened to leak from the edges of his mouth. Arbela motioned to a serving girl to clear their table and pretended not to notice when Bram slipped a handful of the thick bread to Toros who waited eagerly beneath the bench.
Realizing Bram was not going to finish his porridge, Arbela moved them to a seat by the great hearth. Pulling a half-burned stick from the embers, she set it carefully aside to cool. Bram settled next to her, and Toros and Garen took their places beside them.
“Have ye ever seen a lion, Bram?” she asked.
The child shook his head. “Nae. I dinnae know what a lion is.”
Arbela wrapped a linen napkin from the table around the unburned end of the stick and picked it up. With quick strokes, she sketched a rudimentary lioness on one of the stones of the hearth.
Bram crept close. “That just looks like a big cat. It doesnae have a mane!”
“Ah, but the lion did not always have a mane,” she said.
Bram’s eyes widened. “He dinnae? How did he get it, then?”
“Well, the lion is a large animal, bigger than a wolf, and as fierce as a bear. Because of this, he is known as the king of all the animals. But one day, Horse came prancing into Lion’s territory, tossing his head and telling all the other animals how grand it was to have a mane.
“Lion thought the mane was spectacular, and decided he wanted one for himself. He announced to the animals that they would provide him—their king—with a mane. Well, the animals were very unhappy. How could they give Lion a mane? They discussed it among themselves, and the next morning, approached Lion with all manner of leaves and twigs, and arranged it around his head, using mud to make it stick.” She drew stubby lines from around the lion’s head, sketching in a few leaves to add to the silliness. Bram giggled.
Arbela waved her arms in the air. “Lion was thrilled! He had a mane—and it was better than Horse’s! He stalked about, boasting about his new mane. And it looked glorious—until the sun dried the mud and it all fell off.”
Arbela rubbed her drawing with the cloth, erasing the twigs and leaves. She then dropped her hands into her lap and fell silent.
“What happened?” Bram asked. He edged closer. “Was Lion angry?”
“Yes,” she whispered loudly. “He was SO angry! He roared and roared and rushed about in such a state, until he ran headlong into a tree with silky golden leaves.”
Bram’s gaze followed her hands as she drew a flowing mane about the lion’s head and neck. “What happened then?”
Arbela sat back on her heels to survey her artwork. “He hit the tree so hard, it fell on top of him. All the animals rushed to help him, but he crawled from under the tree and shook to rid himself of his headache.”
“Did the golden leaves fall off?”
“They did not! Miraculously, they stuck to him. Lion was so proud, he tossed his head over and over, just to feel the sweep of his glorious new mane. And because Lion is, of course, King of the animals, everyone knows his golden mane is the mark of royalty.”
Bram laughed. “That was a good story! Tell me another one!”
“Arbela!”
She glanced up as Alex called her name. His hooded look gave her pause. “What is it, Alex?”
He shook his head, a smile ghosting his lips. “Da wishes to speak to ye in his solar. I can see to Master Bram. Looks like Toros and Garen are guarding him well.”
“I dinnae need a guard,” Bram informed him. “I’ve five summers and I’m braw. The dogs protect sheep.”
“They certainly do,” Alex agreed. “But I saw one put Arbela on her butt…er, backside the other day.”
“Tell me!” Bram crowed. Arbela rolled her eyes and stalked to the laird’s solar.
“Boys!” she muttered. She braced a hand on the closed door and tapped gently. A voice bade her enter, but it wasn’t her father. A flash of caution slid through her. She opened the panel, but did not step inside the room. Light from the fireplace and a large candelabrum lit the room, and she stared at the only person within.
“Yer da stepped out,” Caelen told her. “But I believe we should talk before he returns.”
“Oh?” Arbela arched a brow. “What could we possibly have to discuss?”
Chapter 10
Light-headed, as if he’d just purchased the Lusitano stallion outright—and spent far more gold than he had a right to—Caelen sipped a glass of warmed ale as he waited for Alex to return with Arbela.
She arrived at the threshold, dressed as she’d been at the archery field at daybreak. Her choice of leather trews and a vest over a pale pink tunic still startled him. The supple leather clung to her generous form, tailored to fit her slender waist between the swell of her bosom and hips. Black hair down to her hips shone like a raven’s wing, the braid thicker than his wrist. Dusky skin and full lips beneath dark, tilted eyes added to her exotic appearance.
“What could we possibly have to discuss?” she asked, her expression cool and aloof.
Left on his own to convince her they should wed, Caelen struggled for the right words and tone. “Ye look lovely, Arbela.”
Her brow arched higher and Caelen hid his scowl. Could she not accept his compliment? Ruthie had sought them endlessly. He turned his attention to the archer’s thumb ring she absently rubbed. It was something he’d never seen before. Perhaps he could study it more closely—later.
“Ye shot well today.” That should please her. But her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“What do ye wish to say?” she asked, her voice silky smooth.
Caelen propped his hands on his belt, then realized he loomed over her, and that hardly engendered the agreeable attitude he sought. Rather than causing her to step back or duck her head in deference, her only response was to tilt her chin to stare up at him. He did not wish to approve of her, but a small part of him did. She’s a strong lass.
“Mayhap we should go where we willnae be disturbed,” he suggested, motioning at the door.
Her chin took on a stubborn angle. “I will wait here for my father.”
“He willnae return until I’ve spoken with ye.” He again motioned to the door.
She refused to budge. “Oh? Why is that?”
Her stiff tone annoyed him, but he held his temper. “What I wish to say to ye is private.”
Arbela raked him with a searching look. “I need to turn Voski out in a paddock. Mayhap ye could walk with me.”
She led the way along the passageway. They crossed the hall, and Caelen noted Bram chatting excitedly with Alex, pointing to a stone near the hearth. The dogs Arbela had with her earlier in the day took notice of her. With a motion of her hand, she brought one of the dogs to her side. The other remained with Bram and Alex.
“Why do ye bring one of the dogs with ye?” Caelen asked.
Arbela glanced at the sable dog, its coat rich with colors ranging from dark gold to russet against a nearly black background. Its head rose a bit taller than Arbela’s knee, its build muscular and athletic. “She guards me. If I did not allow her to come, she would be unhappy.”
He glanced at the black-coated dog sitting next to Bram. “The other doesnae fash?”
Arbela stole a look over her shoulder. “He is protecting Bram.”
“What sort of dogs are they?”
“Aidi. They are bred to guard flocks of sheep and other livestock. They are fierce, loyal, and highly intelligent, and have an excellent nose for tracking.” She brushed the dog’s head affectionately. “I’ve raised this pair since they were weaned.”
She had a way with horses, dogs, and apparently young lads. This alone was more than Ruthie had brought to their marriage.
They finished the short walk to the stable in silence. “Thank ye for keeping my son company whilst I spoke with yer father.”
Arbela grabbed a silken headstall from a peg near the door. “He is a charming boy. I enjoyed our time together.”
She opened the top half of the door and the golden stallion shoved his head into the hall. Arbela’s lips curved into a smile and she stroked the shimmering coat. “Ye are a charming boy as well, Voski-jan.”
Caelen marveled at Arbela’s firm yet casual handling of the horse that towered over her. His head, carried high on a long neck, reinforced Caelen’s opinion of the animal’s temperament, and blinked his surprise when the beast nipped Arbela’s sleeve and received nothing more than a murmured reprimand for his behavior. She pulled his head to her chest and slipped the headstall over his ears, then released the door latch.
The stallion bolted from his stall, making a show of fighting the control of a mere wisp of a lass. Snaking his head low to the ground, he then rose on his hind legs before deigning to stand on four feet like a horse should. His antics caused Arbela to simply step out of his way, allowing him to dance on the end of his lead until he’d blown off his excess energy.
“He needs a good bit of exercise every day,” she commented, though it scarcely sounded like an apology.
“My ponies arenae so active,” Caelen muttered, careful to remain beyond reach of the dancing hooves. “They are sturdy and reliable.”
“Voski is bold and brave and fierce. Yet he is a prince with children. Believe it or not, he can be quite gentle.” Arbela’s face softened as she gazed at the horse. “His kind was bred in the desert mountains and none compares to their size, strength, speed or beauty.”
Caelen eyed the stallion as Arbela led him to a paddock set back from the stables. She fussed with the horse, murmuring to him in an unknown language before she set him loose. Voski flew across the small field, tail high, coat aglow with a sheen Caelen had never seen on an animal before. Resembling the burnish of a priceless piece of gold, each hair seemed to quiver with life.
Drawing back to his purpose, Caelen glanced about for inspiration, gaze alighting on a patch of small white flowers near the base of a tree. He quickly stooped and plucked several stems, twisting them together, their creamy faces clustered in a wee bouquet. Crossing to the paddock gate, he held out his woodland offering.
“For ye, M’lady.”
Arbela gave him a puzzled look—one that did not hold even a hint of feminine fluster.
“What is this, Caelen?” she asked, her dark eyes flashing.
“I wish to speak with ye,” he grumbled.
“Then I ask ye to speak plainly,” she insisted.
“I have complimented ye and offered ye flowers.” Caelen’s tone paused just short of complaint. “Other women like such things.”
Her chin rose. “I am certain ye have noticed—I am not like other women.”
Something tugged in Caelen’s chest, but he shoved it aside irritably. This was not progressing as he thought it would.
“Ye wish only for plain speaking? As if ye were a man?”
“Why do men think only they may speak so?” she asked. “I have no reason to lead ye about with pretty words, and I daresay ye have no reason to play at such with me.”
Caelen laid the flowers aside. “I have no true right to speak of such things to ye, but I would ask ye hear my words before ye reply.”
She nodded and leaned against the rail fence.
Caelen marshaled his thoughts and spoke plainly. “I would like ye to marry me.”
Arbela gaped at him, her wits scattered. Only a few months earlier, she’d received an avowal of love from a young man she cherished as a brother, and now faced an offer of marriage from a man she’d only just met—and challenged to a duel. Nothing in her life thus far had prepared her for such events, for she felt certain these words were not meant to be met with swords or flaming arrows. Flustered, an uncomfortable state for her, she groped for the words she needed. Not only did she simply not wish for a husband, she certainly did not wish to bind herself to this man.
“Is this why ye wished to speak with my father?” she asked as soon as her tongue could shape the words.
Caelen peered at her from beneath thick brows. “Nae. We hadnae finished our talk of alliance. He is the one who mentioned marriage.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. Father already plans my betrothal? Panic threatened. She swallowed, pushing past the rising fear. “If he has spoken truthfully of me, ye know I am not a biddable woman, nor do I willingly seek the authority of a husband.”
A corner of Caelen’s mouth quivered, but his eyes remained impassive. “Neither he nor ye have ever given that impression.”
“Then what about me gives ye reason to think ye want me as a wife?”
“I know ye dinnae wish to marry. Howbeit, ’tis a woman’s lot to wed—to form an alliance between clans, to run a home—to bear children.”
“Is this to settle the bond between our families?” Arbela asked, shrewdness winnowing through Caelen’s flowery words. “I am to be nothing more than a reminder our clans will remain faithful?” Resentment replaced fear, and Arbela ground her teeth. Garen whined at her side, and Arbela knew her hostility upset the dog. She patted the furry head and the dog subsided.
Caelen, also, appeared anxious, running a palm across the back of his neck. “Yer da cares for ye more than that, it would seem. So does yer brother, if his words of warning are to be believed.”
Curiosity piqued her attention. “What did Alex say?”
“He warned he’d gut me like a fish should I ever mistreat ye.”
The tightness in her chest loosened. “He means it.”
“Och, aye, he does,” Caelen agreed. “Lass, I cannae think of two people less likely to seek marriage than ye and me. My first wife wasnae a pleasant woman to be around, and I willnae willingly bind myself to such a life again. Ye and I each have something the other wants.”
“Oh?” Despite her convictions otherwise, his words piqued her willingness to hear more.
“Between us, we would have a marriage in words only. I dinnae seek a wife and ye dinnae seek a husband. Howbeit, I need a woman to care for Bram and his nurse is aged. He seems to like ye. I also need a woman to run my home, tend to the duties therein. And yer da has promised an alliance between our clans, as well as men and tools to help rebuild the keep and protect my borders.”
He paused, and Arbela considered his words. “Ye have quite a bargain to strike, Laird MacKern,” she noted drily. “How does this benefit me?”
“I would make no demands on ye. Ye would be free to dress and act as ye will. Ye will marry as yer da wishes, and secure yer future. Make no mistake, there are few men who would permit such freedoms once the vows are spoken. My land isnae so far ye couldnae visit yer da when ye wish, though I will require ye care for and protect Bram.”
Arbela released a small breath. “I would marry—and yet, be free to do as I wish?”
“Ye would first and foremost protect Bram. Ye know his mother’s da seeks to take him from me. I dinnae wish the lad closed up within the castle, but there can be no chance of MacGillonay kidnapping the bairn.”
Caelen’s gaze shifted from serious to piercing. “And ye willnae fill his head with anything but Christianity.”
The implied charge caught Arbela off-guard. “Do ye question my faith?”
He gave a slight nod to her clothing. “I cannae conce
rn myself with the manner in which ye dress, as long as ’tis modest, but yer appearance isnae like those of other Christians here. I willnae have Bram raised a Saracen.”
“I have walked the very streets our Lord once trod.” Fury bubbled out of her mouth before she could halt it. “As a child, I was blessed by the Bishop of Antioch, and have touched Holy Relics. My father fought with King Richard to regain the city of Jerusalem and he was present when Saladin and King Richard created a truce. My mother’s country is one of the oldest Christian nations in the world, and the first ever to adopt Christianity as its religion. How dare ye question my faith?”
Caelen did not respond and tears of fury pricked the back of Arbela’s eyes, hot and prideful. “I will not marry ye.”
Caelen faced the paddock as Voski trotted over. “I dinnae mean disrespect, but ye are foreign to me. For all that yer da is Scots, ye have been raised verra different from anything I’ve known—or imagined. I dinnae ask for anything more than yer word ye will protect my son, keep my home running smoothly, and raise Bram in a Christian manner.”
Her heart racing, Arbela sought to still her shaking hands by stroking Voski’s neck. Caelen spoke the truth. If her fate was to marry, how could she do better than marry for the sake of a boy who needed a mother—and whose father wanted nothing more than a business arrangement?
“If I agree….” Her voice trailed off, unwilling to commit to this tremendous step. The temptation of having a marriage in name only was powerful. Rather than being the property of a man, subject to his whims and chained by the traditional roles demanded of women, she’d be free to pursue her life as she saw fit. And Bram. What a delightful child. Would it not be a boon to step into the boy’s life at a time when he still needed a woman’s touch, but would also benefit from her knowledge as a warrior?
To hear MacKern speak, he likely lived in a hovel. Nothing more than a pile of stones, much like the many tower houses they’d passed along the coast once they sailed into this land called Scotland which the sun had apparently forsaken. Though her home in Batroun had been well kept, it had been nothing like the sprawling MacLean keep. She had no need for so many servants or so much space. In fact, she found the attention quite stifling. A more modest home would prove no hardship. Caelen obviously wished her approval—and likely her father wished it also—which put her in a position to negotiate.
