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“For the laird,” she said. “He wants you to appear before him.”
Arabella gulped, a shudder of dread working its way down to her belly. It was all well and good for her sister to praise the laird. For Davy and Malcolm to praise him too. But what Arabella remembered of John Macrae was his cold promise to execute her Papa—a thing she wasn’t sure she could forgive.
Still, Arabella was a crofter’s girl. She had no right to judge the laird or question him. She was only meant to say “Yes, my laird” and “No, my laird.”
And that was only if she was spoken to.
So why let herself get so roiled up inside with rebellious thoughts?
“He’s waiting for you in his library,” Brenna explained. “You might want to let me do your hair…better than how you have it now.”
“I can do it myself,” Arabella insisted, taking a brush from the table. She
hadn’t ever had a servant before, and she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of having one now. Worse, Brenna obviously wanted to make her a pretty lady in a pretty gown with pretty hair. Arabella was already missing her men’s garments.
When she was presentable—though Brenna may have disagreed—Arabella followed the maidservant through the castle to the room where the laird sat amongst maps and swords and soldiers. It was a war room, of sorts. And at his side were two warriors who looked up at her, each with a different expression of pleasure. Davy with a warm and radiant smile of welcome. Malcolm with a searching look in his dark eyes, as if it distressed him that he could not simply grab her and pull her into his arms.
Of course, Malcolm wouldn’t do such a thing. Not in front of the other men. Not in front of his laird. But it made her happy to think he wanted to. And his presence made it easier to look up on John Macrae and Heather, who stared adoringly at her laird, as if she belonged at his side.
The Macrae was a handsome man. A commanding chieftain. A man with an aura of power about him. And Arabella would be lying if she said it did not frighten her a little when he ordered everyone to go. Everyone but Heather, Malcolm, and Davy.
Then John Macrae said, “You must be Arabella.”
“Aye, my laird,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.
“I’m told you’ve suffered quite an ordeal.”
She glanced up at Davy, who gave her an encouraging nod. Malcolm narrowed his eyes, as if to tell her that she need not share any of the details of her ordeal unless she wanted to.
Arabella swallowed. “Aye, my laird. I was taken by brutes but saved by your men.”
“As simple as that?” the laird asked.
She didn’t know what he was driving at. “They took me to keep my Papa from warning you of an attack.”
“That isn’t what I mean,” the chieftain said. “Bodies of the Donald men were found before the three of you went missing, you see. But some of them seem to have died from a mysterious ailment. Some say poison. Some say witchcraft.”
Arabella’s sister gasped at the word witchcraft.
Arabella did not.
“It was poison,” Arabella said, too weary to lie.
Hoping the truth would save her.
The laird frowned. “Pity.”
“T’was berries of the yew tree,” Arabella explained. “They meant to rape me, my laird. I couldn’t see my way clear to let them do it without making them suffer.”
At the fierceness of her words, the laird’s eyebrows rose. He gave a quick glance to his men, before turning his eyes to Heather. “Are all the women in your family such spitfires?”
“Aye, my laird,” Heather said with an adoring smile. “We are.”
Now that was nonsense, for unlike Arabella, Heather had been nothing but an obedient girl all her life. Not a spitfire at all. Unless things had changed very much…well, Arabella could see that things had changed. Heather seemed more in possession of herself. And with all her new finery, almost a lady, if she were not a harlot. Perhaps it was true that she and the laird were sweet upon one another, because she could swear that she saw John Macrae smile back with adoration of his own.
Then the laird rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re sure you’re not a witch, Arabella? Because I could use one. The walls of this castle are near impregnable. And the castle is well-stocked to wait out a siege until our allies come to our aid. But in the meantime, a magic spell to drive off the invaders would be welcome. I would pay you well and provide whatever supplies you needed to work a curse.”
Even though Davy had told her the laird might react this way, Arabella hadn’t believed him. And now she stared at her chieftain in shock. “If a churchman heard you, my laird…”
