The Highlander's Reward (15 page)

“Your threats do little to sway the outcome of this situation, my lady. God be with
ye.”

Magnus could no longer look at the woman. She would not cease her insults, he knew that much. She sounded much the same as when they were young children and he’d found more frogs than she.
’Twas no wonder the Ross had yet to find a man who would take her. He sent up a prayer to the Lord for having put Arbella in the midst of the fight, else he’d be married to the shrew.

She continued her tirade out of the keep, and Magnus did not envy Gav
in for having to take her home.

“Ronan, will ye go with
Gavin? Tell Ross we are still amenable to a Sutherland marriage, but that it will have to be with—”

Appalled was the only way to describe the matching expressions on Blane’s and Ronan’s faces. After her behavior he wouldn’t wish her on either of his brothers.

“Tell him we will always offer his daughter and the Ross lands protection and that I deeply regret the sudden change of events and will make it up to him somehow.”

He had no idea how he’d make it up to him, but he would have to figure it out. The Ross was just as hot-tempered as his daughter.

“Aye, and thank you.” Ronan actually embraced him in a bear hug, his voice weak with relief.

Magnus clapped him on the back. “Whatever hell they rain down upon us will be over swiftly compared to a lifetime of marriage with her.”

Blane just stood there shaking his head.

“There is much ye missed
, brother. Come with me to my study and I will tell ye all.”

As much as he desired to rush to his chamber, take Arbella in his arms and ease her anger, he knew he had to talk with
Blane first. And he had to send him back to England. He would not delay another promise made to his wife.

With a heavy heart, he led Blane into the darkened room and lit a tallow candle. Blane settled
weightily in the chair Ronan had occupied when he’d first warned of a backlash from Ina Ross being rejected.

“What the hell is going on?” Blane asked, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

Magnus sat on the edge of his desk and breathed out a heavy gust of air. He told Blane about leaving Lorna and passing the burned out ravaged village. Of his joining Wallace in the fight against the English at Stirling Bridge and then of spying Arbella in the midst of the fighting and finally about Keith’s attack.

“I couldna leave her to her own defenses. She was helpless.”

“And beautiful.”

“Aye.”

“And not a wretch.”

“Aye.”
He smiled thinking about her up in their chamber now, probably gazing out the window and waiting patiently for his return.

“Did a small part of ye think that marrying her was in your best interests too?” Blane’s narrowed gaze was accusing.

Magnus crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at his brother. Blane had the uncanny and frustrating ability to see into the darkest parts of a person’s mind. And he saw the truth there. Knew that Magnus had seen a way out of marrying Ina and taken it.

“By
avoiding answering my question, I see I am correct. Did she marry ye willingly? What of her family?”

Magnus grunted. “She said ‘aye’.”

“And her family?” Blane urged.

“Her father was fighting against us
, from what I gather. I’ve only now had word he is…looking for her.”

“He d
oesna know ye took her?”

“Nay.”

Blane laughed and shook his head. “So ye stole your bride like many a Highland brute?”

Now Magnus grinned with pride.
“Aye. Right from the bastard English.”

“If she heard ye say that
, she’d not gift ye with her favors for a month or more.”

Magnus’ nostrils flared. It’d already been too long. Ina’s arrival had seen to him not tasting the fruits of his wife’s offerings.

“Think ye he will find her?”

Magnus shrugged. “He may not now but he will after ye leave a message.”

“After I leave a message?” Blane raised a brow.

“Aye.
I need ye to leave in the morn and retrieve her sister from England. Leave a note that the women are here under our protection.”

“Ye would steal another woman? Am I to marry her?” he asked sarcastically.

“Ye could, I wouldna naysay ye.”

Blane barked out a loud, obnoxious laugh. “Like hell I will! I’ll retrieve her for
ye, because ye command it. I’ll leave the message. But I willna be marrying any English lass. I willna marry anyone right now.”

“Ye’ll marry soon enough.”

Blane grumbled under his breath and stood. “But I’ll not marry an English lass—you probably stole the only decent one.”

Magnus pushed off his desk and clapped a hand on his brother’s back. “Ye’re a good brother, Blane.”

“And ye’re a good laird,” Blane said with a hint of a grudge in his tone. “And good brother. ’Tis why the people respect ye so much. And why I willingly go yet again into the lion’s mouth.”

Magnus laughed. “Be honest, Blane
. Ye love the thrill of it, and ye love to laugh at the arses who believe ye to be an English noble.”

Blane grinned widely. “There is that.”

Magnus turned serious. “I thank ye for this. My wife is ill over her sister being at home alone and vulnerable. The poor lass probably has no idea what happened to her sister and her father.”

“What was Arbella doing in Stirling?”

Magnus narrowed his eyes, the image of her fighting off the warriors who grabbed at her from atop her horse fresh in his mind. “I dinna know. But I suspect she was there to marry.”

“Marry who?”

Magnus shook his head. “I dinna know. Most likely an English noble who was to meet them at Stirling.”

“Do ye think this noble will come looking for her
?”

’
Twas the thing he dreaded most. An angry English lord could attempt to bring hell down upon them. “Aye.” But he would protect her and his clan at all costs.

“She hasna told ye?” Blane raised a brow. “Ye have not demanded to know?”

“Ye’ve a lot to learn about women. When they dinna want to tell ye something, they willna.”

But his brother was right. He had to find out if there was anyone besides her father who might show up at Dunrobin.

Just like he’d harbored a betrothal, it appeared Arbella did too.

Chapter Fifteen

Seething anger was minimal compared to the rage that rocked Arbella like a tempestuous storm. She could murder the damn Highlander—if she were the murdering type.

Humiliation did not begin to describe what she’d felt when the Scotswoman claimed to be his wife and then spewed all sorts of venom from her bow shaped mouth. Had Magnus taken her to bed truly? W
as Arbella’s own marriage not in fact a marriage but a farce?

She gritted her teeth painfully.

Magnus had tricked her, plain and simple, and she’d fallen for it.

She’d gladly come to his bed. Willingly bared her soul for him to invade and capture the most intimate parts of
herself. How had she allowed such a thing to happen? To think she loved this man! No, she could not love him. ’Twas only the trick of his kiss and hands and the way he winked at her and did things to make her feel special. No doubt he’d done many of the same things to his true wife.

Well, she would no longer listen to his pretty words. No longer melt under the pressure of his sensual lips. She was leaving.

With that decision made, Arbella looked around the room. She had nothing, except the clothing that Lydia had procured for her. Her bags were never found, most likely looted by the dreaded Scots. Maybe even by Magnus and his own men.

She frowned, knowing that it wasn’t them, but wishing it were all the more. She truly despised the man now and one more notch in the
log of his mistakes would only give her a stronger case for leaving.

Truth be told
, she was on the verge of tears. Her hands shook, her stomach clenched painfully and her throat felt constricted. She’d never imagined in all her days she would be so sorely used, and when she’d looked at Magnus, she’d never thought it would be him doing the using. She’d actually imagined having a future of happiness with him. Even love.

She stared down at the worn rug over the wooden planked floor.
’Twas a simple rug, made of the Sutherland colors in lines and squares much like Magnus’ plaid.

They were so loyal to each other, to their roots. How could she not have seen that she was merely a pawn? She was English. That was the only thing that mattered to the Scots. When he’d seen her, Magnus had taken the opportunity to strike back at the enemy.
That was the only thing that explained his actions. He wasn’t evil enough to pluck her up to use for his own entertainment, although it appeared pretty close to that fact.

With nothing to gather save for a cloak and perhaps and hunk of bread and cheese from the kitchens, Arbella was
determined to escape Dunrobin.

Her father was scouring the country for her, or so Magnus claimed. If she were to leave these walls, it shouldn’t be hard to locate him. She only prayed
he wasn’t with Marmaduke Stewart. The last thing she wanted was to leave one sham of a marriage to head straight into another.

Arbella
wanted to go home to England. She missed Aliah, her room, her Irish wolfhound Frosty who she’d had to leave behind.

She would go back to England under the safety of her father’s
household and she would beg her father to never let her leave. She would tell him all and with luck he would have pity on her and let her remain unmarried for the rest of her days. And if he didn’t, she’d take vows and join the church.

She never wanted to put her heart on the line again.

Arbella took a step toward the door when it flung open. Magnus took up the expanse of the entryway, his face a muddle of emotions. Regret shined in his gaze, concern crinkled the corners of his eyes and marred his smile. There was even a hint of sadness and fear. As much as her heart skipped a beat when she looked at him, she refused to be a victim of his treacherous heart any longer. All she had to do was picture the raving, scorned woman below stairs.

“Arbella,” he started.

She shook her head and held up her hand for silence. “Do not try to explain your way out of this, Magnus.”

“But I must.” He stepped into the room, coming toward her.

She backed away, trying to keep some distance between them. Magnus stopped in his tracks, his frown deepening. At his sides, his fists clenched. He was frustrated, she could tell. So was she. Beyond frustrated, she wasn’t going to let his reactions and actions get to her. She’d allowed that to go on for far too long already.

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and called up a force of will she hadn’t used in a long time. “I will not listen. I am leaving.”

“Ye canna leave.” His voice sounded anguished and a tiny string tugged at her heart.

She sent a blast of imaginary ice around the organ.

“I have listened to your words, declarations,
lies
, long enough. You are free now, go back to your real wife.” Saying those words tore at her heart. Despite everything, she wished this had never happened.
She
wanted to be his wife.

“She is not my wife and never was. I put off her father’s attempts at a betrothal for years until my clan begged me to take a wife and secure our name. But even accepting that I would marry her
, I could not. And then I met ye, my angel.”

Arbella laughed. Not because what he said was funny, but because he appeared so genuine and her immediate reaction was to believe him.

“You are a good, warrior. So good. You almost had me, again.”

“’Tis not a falsehood, Arbella.
I lov—”

“Stop!” she shouted, shaking her head. “Do not say anything more.
’Tis over.” She had to leave. Now. ’Twas dangerous to remain. She could feel herself falling all over again. Especially at his near declaration. But she couldn’t let that influence her. She had to forge ahead.

She made a move to walk around him, but he gently gripped her arm, his eyes pleading. He stroked up to her elbow and pulled her into his embrace. Why she let him, she had no clue.

“Don’t,” she whimpered, resting her head on his chest.

“Dinna leave me.”

She pulled back a little, her eyes locking on his. She wanted to say she would stay. Wanted to kiss him fiercely with all the passion she possessed.

I
nstead she raised her arm and brought the edge of her hand down hard on the right side of his neck, hitting the exact spot Samuel had taught her—the knifehand strike. He’d showed it to her after coming home from the Holy lands, the move taught to him by an ancient Japanese man who had come as a servant with one of the other knights.

Magnus stared at her for a blink of an eye and then dropped to his knees. She tucked her hands beneath his underarms
, groaning at his heavy weight, and then slowly lowered him to the ground as best she could.

“You’
ll wake soon, my laird. With a headache most likely and you’ll definitely be angry. I’m sorry. But ’twas the only way for me to escape you.”
And your heated kisses.
With those words uttered, Arbella stole into the corridor and headed down the stairs, hoping not to encounter anyone.

Luckily it appeared that everyone had things to keep them occupied and she ran into no one until she came to the great double doors leading outside.

“Where are ye going?” Heather asked, skipping towards her. “For a walk? Can I join ye?”

Arbella bristled at being stopped. She didn’t want to speak with anyone, she just wanted to escape and she didn’t know how much time she had before Magnus roared back into consciousness. But she could not be cruel to the girl. Heather was not the cause of her pain.

“Actually, I really just wanted to be alone. Mayhap later this afternoon?”

Heather
nodded, her disappointment showing. “I’m sorry for what ye saw this afternoon. Ina has always been a spoiled little brat. Magnus was loathe to marry her, but ’twas a good match for our clans. Thank the Saints he married ye first. I can see ye will be good for all of us. Ye’re so kind and gentle, ye keep us centered.”

Arbella did not know how to respond. If she hadn’t left Magnus lying in a heap on his chamber floor, she might think he’d sent his little sister to tell her just that.
To try and keep her here and make her believe that he’d not been with Ina.

A little worm inched its way into her mind, encouraging her to listen to Heather’s words, to go and listen to Magnus, but her decision had already been made. It was best for her to go home
, to leave this place. To leave Magnus and whatever trickery he’d resorted to in his sordid life.

“Thank you,” she muttered,
then no longer able to look the girl in the eyes, she opened the great doors and hurried down the stairs.

She quickly found the stables, filled with several dozen horses. She had not a clue which horse would be best for her to ride. If she’d been at the Mowbray estate she could
easily choose half a dozen, but here, she’d only ever ridden Magnus’ horse—and she wasn’t going to choose that one. She remembered all too well how Beast had obeyed Magnus’ commands while she issued her own.

“Can I help
ye?” a groomsman asked.

Arbella gave him her most disarming smile. “Yes. I would like to go for a ride, but I’ve no idea which horse would be best suited for me.”

The man frowned and glanced around. “Most likely one of the mares. Do ye have an escort?”

“Oh, no, I’ve no need of one. I’m just going
for a short ride around the wall.” She would certainly never tell him where she was really going.

The groom scratched his head and looked down at the packed earthen floor. “Let me ask the stable master
which he thinks is best.”

He shuffled off leaving Arbella with the idea he was going to tattle on her.

She hurried to look in the various stalls, trying to ascertain which was a mare and which a stallion. If she was going to get out of here she’d have to do it on her own. She found one mare who nibbled on her fingers and nickered into her hair.

“You’ll do just fine, my pretty.” The mare reminded her of Bitsy, leaving a pang of sadness in her heart. Her mare had most likely been eaten by the rebels.

“My lady,” an older man addressed her.

She turned to see him striding toward her, dressed in the same
colored plaid many of the clansmen wore.

“Could you saddle this mare for me?” she asked, sounding nonchalant. She stroked the horse
’s nose and avoided eye contact with the man.

“I’m afraid I canna, my lady.”

Irritation flared, but she tamped it down. “Why ever not? I wish to ride.” Her escape was taking entirely too long. If she had to, she would give this man the knifehand strike too. She turned toward him, intent on doing just that when the groom came back into view. She couldn’t take them both out.

“The Sutherland issued an order that ye weren’t to ride without an escort.”

An idea materialized. “Then why not have the groom, what’s your name, lad?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.

“Hamish, my lady.”

“Why not let Hamish escort me?”

“I’m afraid he canna. The laird specifically said he or his brothers were the only ones allowed to escort
ye.”

Arbella let off a fling of curses in her mind that were entirely unladylike and
undignified. She offered another sweet smile and said, “But the laird told me to come here and pick a horse to ride. He said I could.”

The stable master looked ready to acquiesce and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. But I willna have the laird testing me.
Me thinks that is what is happening here.”

Arbella wanted to stomp her foot. Instead she glared at the men and stalked away before she said something she’d regret. If they wouldn’t give her a horse then she would walk to England.