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When the door did not open, she banged upon the wood once again. But her answer came from behind her, from the pasture, where her betrothed stood, tending his sheep. He smiled widely, without a trace of alarm. “Is that my Arabella? To what do I owe this surpri—”
“Are you alone?” she asked, and turned fully in the light, revealing herself to be unkempt, half-dressed and bloody.
Conall startled. “What the devil happened to you, lass?”
“Are you alone?” she asked again, hysteria in her voice.
“Aye, I’m alone.”
“Thank God,” Arabella cried, falling to her knees in exhaustion and relief. Conall came running to steady her. And she needed steadying because she was going to faint. She was going to swoon away…but before she did, she whistled for Davy and Malcolm.
Just as she’d promised.
~~~
Arabella didn’t remember how they got Malcolm into the house—they must have carried him there and put the badly injured warrior into Conall’s bed. Of course, she scarcely remembered how she came to be curled up in a blanket by the fire, cleaned up of blood and dressed in some ill-fitting men’s garments, borrowed from her betrothed. The trauma of everything she’d seen—and everything she’d done—seemed to have jolted her mind, so that when she tried to remember certain things, she only saw a blinding bolt of lightning. She had some hazy memory of telling Conall everything in a rush. Telling him about the kidnapping and about the battle, though, for some reason, she said nothing about the yew berries.
She also remembered tending to Malcolm.They’d cleaned him up. They’d changed his bandages. Wrapped him in blankets. Roused him and made him drink some liquor before he drifted off again. “I can make a willow bark tea to ease his pain, but it might otherwise be in God’s hands now.” Having said that, she’d left Davy sitting vigil at the bedside of his dying
friend, to join Conall at the fire.
And now, the lad she was to marry, stared hard at her. “Did those animals violate you, Arabella?”
“No,” she whispered, with a distraught shake of her head. “Not for lack of trying, but they all died before they could.” She didn’t tell him how they died and realized now, it was not careless omission, but purposeful. She feared telling anyone—even her betrothed—what she’d done. It was one thing for a brawny warrior to save a girl from her fate by spilling blood on a sword, but for a girl to have saved herself with poison of the yew berry? Well, how would she ever forget the fearful way Malcolm had made a sign of the cross over himself and pronounced her a witch?
Conall leaned forward in his chair, then gave a brief squeeze to her hand before seeming to decide something in himself. “I believe you. But no one else will. You’ll have to bear the shame of it. The wedding—well, we’ll have to wait on it now—but I’m willing to marry you anyway.”
“Thank you,” she said, because she thought it’s what she was supposed to say. And because the idea of waiting was strangely appealing. After today, she couldn’t quite imagine making herself pretty and saying vows.
Still, she got the distinct impression that Conall expected more lavish gratitude. “We’ll wait a few months,” he continued. “Until it’s plain to anyone that any child you bear is mine.”
A slow anger started to burn in her belly. She hadn’t expected to marry a warm man. After all, her father wasn’t a warm man. But she had hoped her betrothed might have some kinder words for her than that. And the more she thought about it, the more her indignation burned. “So you’re saying that I’ve been ruined, anyway. That whether they took my virtue or not, everyone will believe they did. It worries you what people in the village might say should they hear I was stolen away!”
“Of course it worries me,” Conall said, narrowing his eyes. “It should worry you, too, Arabella. After your sister’s disgrace, and now this. You were alone with those men for—”
Davy stepped into the room, tossing back a fiery lock of hair from his eyes. “I thank you for giving shelter to me and my friend, but now that he’s settled, I’m going to have to trouble you again. The Donalds and the MacDonalds don’t behave so brazenly unless they’re planning an attack. The hills are likely crawling with war bands, ready to descend. I can’t leave my friend, so you’ll need to ride to the castle. Tell the laird we’ll return to fight at his side as soon as Malcolm can ride. Meanwhile, you’ll be safer behind castle walls.”
Conall nodded, gravely. “Come, Arabella. We’ll leave at once.”
But just as Arabella started to rise, Davy said, “The lass should stay.”
Arabella blinked.
The warrior continued, “Tell the laird that we rescued his harlot’s sister from—” Davy cut himself off, with a quick look to Arabella, then cleared his throat. “We’ll bring her along when we can.”
“You just said it was safer behind castle walls,” Conall argued.
“Aye, but getting there is the trick. If you’re stopped by enemy warriors, riding together…” Davy didn’t have to spell out what kind of trouble that might mean. That Arabella might be captured and used in front of her betrothed this time. “You’ll have to go without her and get help if you can.”
Conall narrowed his eyes again. “You want me to leave her alone with you—after all she’s been through?”
Davy might have punched Conall in the mouth for the insult to his honor, but instead, he chuckled. “Do you think we tore her from the clutches of those brutes just to do harm to her ourselves?”
Hearing them argue, Arabella announced, “I’m staying.” It was foolish, and maybe prideful, but she was so angry with Conall at the moment, she didn’t want to go anywhere with him. “I’m too tired to ride another mile, and Malcolm needs healing.”
“You’re going with me,” Conall replied, grasping her wrist.
Arabella had enough of being manhandled for one day. For one lifetime. Maybe it was the fact that she was wearing men’s garments that emboldened her, but she yanked her arm back from his grasp. “Don’t tell me what I must do. I’m not your wife yet, Conall.”
