The Highlander's Crusader Bride: Book 3 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  “Ye dinnae have to decide this day,” he added. “Think on it. Let me know if ye can tolerate my presence in yer bed.” Caelen strolled back to the horses, a tuneless whistle on his lips, while Arbela stared after him, a thousand questions running through her mind, and all of them leading to the image of his naked body, kissed by firelight, a memory she had been unable to dismiss.

  Chapter 27

  Bram outpaced Arbela to the high table.

  “Look!” he exclaimed, snatching something yellow from Arbela’s place. He spun about, thrusting a flower toward her. She slowed her pace to a halt, puzzled at the offering.

  “What a beautiful flower, Bram-jan,” she said. “Who left it there?”

  He shoved it into her hand and, abandoning the topic with a shrug, climbed into his chair. “Come on, Bela,” he said impatiently, motioning to her seat. “I’m hungry.”

  Offering a nod of appreciation for his remembering to wait to eat until she was seated, she took her place and quickly blessed their food. Bram plowed into his stack of oatcakes, dribbling honey over them before passing the platter to Arbela.

  “Are ye certain ye do not know where this flower came from?” she asked, fingering the flat yellow petals with the darker raised center, much like a tiny bowl nestled atop a delicate golden plate. The sturdy stem was long and devoid of leaves.

  “He doesnae know…but I do,” Caelen murmured near her ear as he took his seat.

  Arbela sent him a startled look. He grinned at her, his eyes dancing merrily.

  “I know ye said ye arenae like other women and dinnae like flowers, but I saw this one and thought ye might like it. ’Tis the last of its kind until next spring.”

  “I…thank ye,” Arbela stuttered, remembering the only other occasion he’d given her flowers. “I like flowers,” she amended. “I simply wished for ye to speak to me, not indulge in empty flattery.”

  “’Tis naught but a flower, Arbela,” Caelen said. “And I thought of ye.” He motioned for the platter of oatcakes which had managed to make its way down the table, turning his attention to his morning meal.

  Arbela accepted the food he placed on her trencher and dipped her oatcake in the loch of honey floating on Bram’s plate. Bemused by her husband’s unusual gesture, she slanted Caelen a glance. He talked and laughed with the others at the table, paying her no particular attention, but her heart warmed just the same.

  I may enjoy the flower and the harmony it evokes. She chided the tiny flame of resistance that threatened to spoil the moment. A single flower does not indicate a list of conditions unmet.

  Standing the flower upright in her empty mug, she directed one of the serving girls to add water—and bring another mug.

  “It brightens the table,” Caelen commented as he finished the last of his meal. He rose and leaned close. “As does my lovely wife.”

  He was gone before she recovered her wits enough to form a single word.

  * * *

  Caelen relaxed against a cleft in the rock and pulled a strip of dried meat from his sporran. Around him, others who had accompanied him on a hunt for fresh meat for the table reclined, taking the opportunity to eat a light meal.

  “Do ye believe we will see any wolves today?” Rory asked.

  “I had hoped we would. Coll’s complaints that something made off with two of his sheep last week makes me think one roams the hills. But our party makes enough noise to frighten the beast away.”

  “Och, it hasnae hindered our hunting,” Rory noted with a nod to the pack horses waiting patiently beneath a sprawling oak tree. Each sported numerous rabbits and a hind strapped to their trappings. Enough to feed the clan for a week or so.

  “Yer wife has been a boon, Laird,” a man offered from his patch of shade. “I dinnae only mean the wherewithal to repair the wall or the help and knights that came with her.”

  “Nay,” the stocky man a few feet away added. “She has a rare way with the weans. My Ewan said she set the lads straight on her heritage a few weeks ago.”

  A collective laugh swept the glen. “I’ll not lie to ye. ’Twas a relief to know she is a Christian,” the first man said. “I was a wee bit disturbed to find our laird married to a lass who had lived among the Saracens all her life.”

  “Och,” the stocky man interjected, waving his waterskin in the air. “She’s a fair hand no matter from where she hails. I’ve noted a bit more respect in my lads of late, and a hustle to get their chores done of a morning. Despite her outlandish dress, I believe ye picked a bonny bride.”

  “I thank ye for yer approval.” Caelen laughed. “’Tis good to know my wife meets yer standards.”

  “She has all but destroyed our standards,” Rory noted. “’Tis a rare treat to find beauty, courage, and wisdom in one woman.”

  The conversation turned to the attributes of women, giving fair nod to the remarkable women they’d each married. Caelen listened with half an ear, his mind on the fact that Arbela had married him. He knew he was no great catch. His clan was poor, though the view from Dunfaileas was unparalleled—in his opinion. His people were warm and caring, though she had not known that when she’d accepted his offer.

  What could she possibly see in him? He was above average height, his muscles largely in his shoulders and back, and he’d long ago adopted a close-shorn head rather than deal with the mass of hair he’d been born with—that tended to curl, which he’d never admit. No one would mistake him for handsome.

  He was at ease with his men, and courteous with their families, but close attachments were something he had never experienced. His father had considered it a kindness to mold Caelen into the tough, fearless man he felt necessary to lead a clan. He’d shaped him with scorn and a decided lack of acceptance, denying Caelen’s mother an opportunity to offer her reassurances—or love.

  Caelen drew the end of a slender stick through the soil at his feet, nonsensical patterns that were nothing more than an outlet for the endless energy he felt. It had been a punishable sin to sit idle before his father, and the habit of constant motion had waned little. He smiled when he thought of how he saw this part of himself in Bram.

  “I wouldnae give a pinched penny for our lives, had Arbela not come back as she did,” Rory declared. The men laughed.

  “How did it feel to have yer wife rescue ye, Laird?” one tossed out.

  “I’d be embarrassed that a wee slip of a lass managed to best a man ye’ve spent the better part of six years feuding with,” said another.

  “Will ye be taking lessons from her, then?” chimed in a third.

  Rory sent Caelen a long-suffering look. “To think of all the advice I could offer—yer bonny wife awaiting ye at home, yet here ye sit with men who will show ye no mercy.”

  “What are ye hinting at, Rory?” Caelen asked.

  Rory shrugged. “If she were my wife, I imagine I’d have a bairn on the way by now, or at least making certain we knew how ’twas done. Though I admit, she might be a wee bit formidable to the wrong man. The flower was a nice touch at this morning’s meal. Makes me hopeful wee Bram will have a brother soon.”

  “Or sister,” Caelen returned without heat, choosing to ignore Rory’s meddling. He wasn’t certain why he’d chosen to pick a flower for Arbela this morn whilst out checking the mares and foals in the far paddock. The daffodil, the last in a pile of what was quickly becoming little more than thick grass, struck him as the way Arbela stood out among other women. Women who no longer held any interest to him.

  He could hardly credit his action to his immense gratitude for her timely entrance to the castle as MacGillonay’s anger had peaked and the lives of all remaining MacKerns hung in the balance. Tactically, her attack was brilliant. He’d never thought on such practices as those she’d brought into play, but they’d served her well. Served them all well.

  Nor could he lay his sudden interest solely in the fact she’d first protected Bram. She had agreed to this in their first talk of marriage. It had been one of the most importa
nt points as far as Caelen was concerned, and he had no reason to fault her dealings with the lad. If he was entirely truthful, there was perhaps the expectation she would fail in her promises to him. Ruthie had.

  Caelen swore under his breath. He should know better by now than to compare Arbela to his deceased wife. Arbela was strong, undemanding, clever, and loved Bram unconditionally. Caelen had promised her space to live her life as she pleased, reaping far more from this marriage than he gave.

  And now he found himself attracted to her. Curse his luck. Against his better judgement and the intent to never give a woman a permanent place in his life again, somehow he’d done just that. His wife had made her expectations known. Changing them would be a challenge.

  One he was willing to accept.

  * * *

  Arbela glanced up as Caelen entered Bram’s room. Bram gave a shout of pleasure and rushed to his father’s side, excited by his unexpected appearance so late in the evening. A full day had passed since he’d given her the flower, and she could scarcely account for the flutter of her heart now. The simple gift should not affect her so.

  “Is it not time for yer bedtime story?” Caelen asked, giving Arbela a wink over Bram’s head. Her heart tripled its beat. Foolish.

  “Can I stay up later?” Bram asked, his voice sliding into a pleading whine as he leaned back, swinging at the end of his da’s arm. “I dinnae wish to go to sleep now that ye are here.”

  “I dinnae come here to disrupt yer routine,” Caelen chided gently. “I happen to know Arbela tells the best stories, and ye should be grateful for her attention.”

  Arbela lifted an eyebrow and Caelen nodded. “Hop into bed, Bram. Yer ma is waiting.”

  This time her heart squeezed tight, and tears prickled her eyes. She forced a merry smile.

  “Jump in, Bram-jan. I have a special tale of an ungrateful tiger for ye this night.”

  It took less than a moment for Bram to realize he was outflanked, and he scrambled onto his bed, leaping about as if he was the tiger. He batted at the covers with riotous growls and eventually allowed himself to be tucked beneath the plaides.

  “There once was a village beset by a ferocious tiger,” Arbela began. “The people got together to discuss what they should do. I am too fearful to allow my children out to play, said one woman. We’re all frightened, said another. And he ate one of my legs! a man cried. It was at last decided they would dig a deep hole and trap the tiger. The people dug several deep pits along the village path, then went inside and waited.

  “The next day, a young man decided to visit his uncle who lived in the village. As he walked along the road, he heard a great commotion. I wonder what that is about? he thought. Whatever it is, it does not sound very happy. He left the path in search of the reason for the noise, and found a tiger at the bottom of a deep hole.

  “Help me! the tiger cried. I cannot get out of this pit! Why should I help ye? the young man asked. O, please help me, the tiger said. I would be very grateful. I do not wish to remain here.

  “The young man was a kind person. He found a large stick and shoved it into the hole, allowing the tiger to scramble out. There ye go, he said. Nicely done. I’ll be on my way.

  “Not so fast! growled the tiger. I am going to eat you. The young man was startled. But ye said ye would be grateful if I let ye out. I am very grateful, the tiger replied. But I am a tiger and people dug this trap for me. Now I will eat you. Wait! The young man cried. Let us ask for someone else’s opinion if it is right for ye to eat me.

  “Tiger agreed, and they soon came upon a small rabbit and told him their tale. Rabbit wrinkled his nose. Before I can say yea or nay, I must see exactly what happened. So, they walked back to the hole where Tiger had been imprisoned. Rabbit peered over the edge. Ye were down there? he asked. Tiger nodded. Show me, Rabbit said. Tiger, eager to eat the boy, leapt into the pit. Was the limb there when the boy walked up? Rabbit asked. No, the boy replied as he pulled it back out.

  “Rabbit leaned over the edge. It is my decision it is not fair for the tiger to eat the boy. Just because ye are angry with the people who dug the pit does not mean it is fair for you to eat him. Ye should have been grateful for his help.

  “And with that, the rabbit hopped away, and the boy hurried to the village, leaving the tiger howling in the pit.”

  Bram clapped his hands. “Funny rabbit! He tricked the tiger back into the pit.”

  “Aye,” Arbela replied, leaning over him to kiss his forehead. “Do ye believe it was right for the tiger to want to eat the boy because he was angry someone had dug the hole?”

  Bram snuggled beneath his blanket. “It wasnae the boy’s fault the tiger was trapped. The tiger should have been kinder.” His eyelids fluttered.

  Arbela patted his head and rose, indicating Caelen should leave the room with her.

  “He will sleep,” she murmured as she closed the door. “He settles as long as Toros remains at his side. And Aunt Zora is there should he need more.”

  “Ye are a rare woman, Arbela,” Caelen said. “What ye have wrought in Bram is remarkable.”

  “He is a wonderful boy,” she returned. “I can hardly claim credit for his natural curiosity and the manners already instilled in him.”

  Caelen scowled and shoved a palm over his head. “Ilene—”

  Arbela held up a hand to halt his words. “I was told she has been sent away. Kinder than a traitor’s death, though as infatuated with Bram as she was, she may feel otherwise.”

  “She had kin who would take her. I doubt she has many years left. She can do no further harm.”

  “Thank ye for stopping by this eve,” Arbela said. “Bram is always happy to spend time with ye.” She angled her head. “Did ye have another reason?”

  Caelen shifted his weight then leaned against the wall, his shoulder on level with her head. His scent drifted to her, and she realized he’d taken time to bathe.

  “I wished to speak with ye. We’ve had little chance these past weeks to spend time together.”

  “I would not take it amiss if we repaired to your room,” Arbela said. “There are often unseen ears in passageways.”

  Caelen pushed from the wall and crossed to his door. “Please,” he murmured, motioning her through the open portal. “Ye know this is our room, not merely mine.”

  “Clearly, I misspoke,” she murmured, still uncomfortable in a bed she had taken from its rightful owner. She did not consider the issue between them settled.

  “One bit of business is rather serious,” Caelen stated as they settled into seats by the hearth. Arbela raised an eyebrow, inviting explanation. “There appears to be a wolf in the area. A few sheep have been taken, and the shepherd is understandably upset.”

  “I can offer Toros and Garen for a few days. They are bred as protection for a flock. Though they will not track a wolf down, they could mayhap deter one until he moves on to easier prey.”

  “A solid idea. I will mention it.”

  “I have one for ye,” Arbela countered. “Da had offered ye a place in his shipping business, and all that remains is to discover what we can offer as trade goods. I had thought on this earlier, but when I arrived through the kitchen storerooms and found the barrels of whisky, I realized what ye have in plenty that others will want.” She smiled. “Minus whatever the MacGillonays drank, that is.”

  “Ye believe we can turn a profit on our whisky?” Caelen asked. “I would like that, indeed.”

  “I see no reason why not,” she replied. “We can discuss a name to sell it under, and mayhap a brand stamped in the barrel heads would set it apart.”

  “Ye are a talented woman,” Caelen murmured. “I see so much more to ye than that day I offered for yer hand. I know we did not marry under the best circumstances.” He leaned forward, his gaze intent.

  “But I am glad I married ye.”

  Chapter 28

  The fire in the chamber burned low, but Arbela’s cheeks burned.

  “I scarcely know
what to do or think,” she admitted, hating the sensation of being in a position not of her control.

  “What have I done to cause this?” Caelen asked. “What makes ye hesitant to take up my offer?”

  “Things have changed,” she replied, though she hated the vagueness of her words.

  “We are the same people who said our vows nearly two months ago,” Caelen argued. “Tell me what has changed.”

  “We are not the same,” she disagreed. “Ye have done things of late I am at a loss to explain.”

  “Mayhap ye could tell me,” he encouraged, “and I can offer insight.”

  “Ye have complimented me,” she began.

  “Unforgiveable,” he murmured as she took a breath.

  She cast him a quelling look and the upward quirk at the right side of his mouth smoothed away, though the twinkle in his eyes remained. “Ye thanked me for simply doing what I agreed to,” she added. “Gave me a flower. Assisted in Bram’s bedtime routine the past few nights. And offered to share your bed and room in the nicest terms possible.”

  She sighed. “I asked ye once to speak plainly, and I would offer ye the same courtesy. In light of the changes ye have wrought, pleasant though they may be, I must ask if ye expect me to change my end of our bargain.”

  Caelen rubbed his chin, appearing lost in thought. Just as she imagined she’d be reduced to tapping her toe on the floor in impatience, he turned a quizzing gaze on her.

  “In all the things ye enumerated to me, of which I admit I am guilty, there is one I have neglected.”

  “Oh? Pray tell me what it is,” she invited.

  Caelen took on a thoughtful mien. “Ye accused me of complimenting ye, and I admit I did. However, ye deserved it as I cannot remember a lass who has done so much and received so little in return.”

  Arbela opened her mouth, but Caelen held up a finger, silencing her, though it went against her nature to let the point pass.

  “I told ye why I gave ye the flower. It brightened our table—almost as much as ye did.”