Chapter Twelve
Arabella hastened down the stairs, eager not to miss the morning meal, or Calum for that matter. She’d slept far past first light, but surely she was not too late. She paused at the entryway of the great hall, panting from her mad dash. Aside from a few servants, naught but bare trestle tables and empty seats filled the chamber. Her shoulders and spirits slumped at the sight.
“Over here, Arabella.”
She glanced to the side of the hall where Mairi lounged in a huge chair in front of the lit hearth. A large, shaggy hound leaned against her legs while she scratched behind its ears.
And they complained Devlin was unsightly.
Arabella made her way across the hall, eyeing the mongrel as she passed. She gave the beast a wide berth, and settled onto a stool beside her new friend. Rubbing her hands together to chase away the chill in the air, she held them before the fire, absorbing the warmth.
“’Tis cold this morn.”
“Aye, I’m afraid it shall only get colder as winter approaches.” Mairi leaned forward and shooed the furry beast away. The dog moved closer to the hearth, its claws clicking on the stone as it moved to lie in front of the fire.
“I’m sorry to have overslept. I’d hoped to break my fast before our tour of the keep.” Arabella frowned at the flames, unwilling to admit she’d mostly wished to catch a glimpse of Calum before he went about his duties for the day.
“Not to worry. You needed the rest. I had Agnes save you some food.” Mairi motioned to Florie, who smiled brightly and darted into the kitchens. “Once you’ve eaten, I’ll show you my herb garden, and then we’ll visit with Aunt Elena. She’s working on a batch of salve to store for winter or she would’ve joined us.”
Within moments, Florie rushed into the hall with a bowl of pottage she handed over to Arabella. “Here you are, my lady. ’Tis still nice and warm.”
She accepted the fare with a gracious smile. “Thank you, Florie.”
The blonde nodded and proffered a toothy grin before addressing her mistress. “Lady Mairi, Heartha asked if you’d bring Lady Arabella by her cottage later. She wished to check her measurements.”
“We’ll be sure to pay her a visit.”
The servant bobbed her head and returned to her duties.
Arabella glanced at Mairi, who explained. “Heartha’s the clan’s best weaver. I’ve asked her to fashion new gowns for you.” Mairi reached over and patted her shoulder. “Liam told me what happened with your others.”
“Oh.” Heat warmed her cheeks. “Thank you, but I imagine I’ll be traveling to the Fraser keep soon. Surely the Frasers’ weaver can supply me with a few.”
“Ah…” Hesitant, Mairi frowned and tapped her finger on the chair arm. “Well, as far as I’m aware, Fraser intends to stay on here for a time. So in that case, you’ll need new gowns.”
Arabella had not heard otherwise from her uncle, or Calum. In fact, she’d barely just arrived at the MacGregor holding and had little chance to speak to anyone at length aside from Mairi. After the evening meal, the two of them had spent the remainder of the night talking in Calum’s bedchamber. To her good fortune, she and Mairi shared many common interests and formed an immediate kinship. ’Twas a rare and refreshing change for her.
Once Arabella finished her repast, Mairi rose to her feet and smiled. “Shall we?”
Anxious to see more of the keep, she trailed her new friend through the great hall into the kitchens. Absorbed in taking in the new surroundings, she failed to notice Mairi had halted in her tracks until she slammed into the back of the woman. Arabella stepped around her to ask why she’d stopped and came up short at a large, wooden ladle jammed in close proximity of her nose.
A short, decrepit woman with wiry, gray hair stood at the other end of the spoon. Deep wrinkles added to the force of her scowl. A full head shorter than Arabella, the old crone blocked their path.
“The pair of you better not come running in here messing up my kitchens.”
“Holy Mother Mary, Agnes. We’re merely on our way to the garden.” Mairi heaved an exasperated sigh. “We’re not going to mess up a thing.”
“Best not, or I’ll turn you both over my knee.” Agnes squinted her beady eyes with the threat, and then hobbled over to a bubbling pot over the fire.
Startled by the dour woman, Arabella glanced askance at Mairi, who rolled her eyes and motioned her to a hallway off the side of the kitchens.
“Who the devil was that?” she whispered.
“Agnes, our cook,” Mairi muttered. “Seems she’s in good spirits today.”
Arabella exclaimed, “Good spirits?”
“Aye, you should meet her when she’s in a foul mood.”
“I’d rather not. In fact, I believe I’ll not venture into the kitchens alone in the future,” Arabella assured her.
“Sound decision.” Mairi chuckled.
With each step deeper into the passageway, the air grew cooler. At the end, Mairi unbarred a heavy door, stepped out into the morning sun, and waved Arabella through. As her friend bid, she strode outside and paused long enough to take in the charming sight.
Vine-covered stone surrounded a lush garden filled with herbs and protected the patch of thriving earth from the chilled autumn winds. Breathing in the fresh, wholesome scents of rosemary and mint hanging in the air, she wandered through the garden, running her fingertips over leaves and blossoms.
Memories of her mother’s garden at Penswyck surfaced. The image of her mother’s bright crown of red curls and loving face filled Arabella’s mind for a fleeting moment, then faded. She struggled to grasp ahold of the likeness once more, but the memory retreated into black oblivion as though it never existed.
Tears slipped from her eyes and she crushed the leaves in her hand. Fleeting glimpses—short snatches of happier moments in her life—’twas all she had left anymore.
“Are you all right?” Mairi’s hesitant voice cut through her grim thoughts.
She sniffed and proffered a faint smile. “Aye, ’tis just your garden reminds me of my home.”
Mairi laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I understand, you know. This was my mother’s garden before she died in childbirth with me.” Her hand slipped away and she ambled through the garden, plucking at leaves as she passed. “For as long as I can remember, my father used to bring me here. We’d spend hours here in the garden, and he’d tell me such wonderful tales of her and how much she loved me and Calum. It might sound foolish, but I feel close to both of them here.”
Arabella’s heart tugged at the other woman’s words. She moved to Mairi’s side and wrapped her arms around friend.
“Thank you for sharing this place with me, Mairi. Your love for your mother and father show in the care you’ve taken with this garden. They would be honored to see how well you’ve tended it.”
Mairi drew away, tears brimming in her eyes, and choked out a laugh. “You know, you’re quite the charmer. I wonder if my brother knows that.”
Arabella snorted and rolled her eyes at the statement.
Giggling, Mairi grabbed her hand. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the keep.”
Much later, Arabella found herself wandering along the travel-worn paths of the adjoining village. The small settlement flourished with activity. Clan members ground the last of the harvested grain for the year at the mill, readying their stores for the long winter ahead. The armor smith pounded horseshoes, while weavers spun wool into fabric at looms. Even the clan elders busied themselves, barreling drams of whisky, skinning hides, or sampling the alewife’s latest batch of brew. Each Macgregor she met exchanged kind words and friendly greetings.
On the village’s edge, she and Mairi arrived at a thatched cottage cloaked in the scents of healing herbs and medicinals. The dwelling’s sides boasted opened windows and doors, permitting a steady flush of air. To Arabella’s surprise, a tiny stream trickled alongside the cottage, supplying a constant source of fresh water. Even with a limited knowledge of healing, she appreciated the evidence of cleanliness.
Inside, Elena stood in front of a wooden table laden with jars, pouches, mortars and pestles, and stacks of drying herbs. The older woman wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and waved them in.
“Do not just stand there. Come inside. I wished to finish this batch of salve today, and now I can since I have a pair of helpers.”
Within moments of entering the cottage, Elena set them to work.
She passed Mairi a bundle of foxglove. “Pluck the leaves from these, dear.” Then she dropped a bunch of dried rowan berries in a stone bowl and passed Arabella a grinder. “And for you, lass, crush these into a fine powder.”
Elena beamed a bright smile and returned to mixing the contents of a shallow basin. “What mischief have you two gotten in to this morn?”
“Arabella and I toured the keep and village, and she met several of the clan.”
“Everyone’s been so kind and welcoming,” Arabella said. “I admit I’m rather impressed with how well the holding runs.”
“Aye, we MacGregors understand the importance of hard work, and my nephew is a fine leader. He learned well from his father and Hammish.” Elena winked.
Arabella glanced up from the bowl. “My uncle?”
Elena nodded. “Aye, the same.”
“How? I mean, what did he do?” Arabella asked.
Mairi paused in plucking leaves. “Many years ago when I was not much more than a girl, an enemy clan led a raid on our village late one eve. My father and Calum rushed to protect our people, but my father had taken a grievous blow. The enemy moved in to finish him off, but Calum threw himself over our father to shield him from losing his head.”
Elena added solemnly, “Alas, my nephew felt the sharp bite of the enemy’s axe that eve.”
Horror-struck, Arabella covered her mouth with her hand.
“Cormac did not make it through the night, and many feared Calum would soon follow his father.” Elena rested her wrists on the rim of the basin. “I worked my hardest to clean his wounds, stitch him up, and keep infection from setting in, whilst your uncle did his best to hold our clan together through the troubling time. Fortunately, Calum began to heal from his wounds. I’ve no doubt there were days he would’ve welcomed death, but Hammish stuck by his side, stirring his anger, provoking him to lead our clan. He gave Calum a purpose to keep living and be the man he is today.”
The older woman smiled. “As it happens, ’twas just the push my nephew needed. I may not like Hammish, but I’m grateful for what he did for Calum.” Elena’s expression turned thoughtful. “He was a young man to accept such a heavy burden. Others might’ve avoided their duties, but he did not. He fell into the role thrust upon him with confidence. Our clan may not be the wealthiest by any means, but Calum’s kept us well-protected and fed for years. He’s a good man, my nephew is.”
Arabella’s chest ached at the thought of a younger Calum faced with such pain, loss, and responsibility. He was a warrior, through and through.
Perhaps, ’twas a reason she’d formed an immediate kinship with Calum and Mairi. They shared so much in common. A ravaging fever had claimed her mother and father when she’d been naught more than a girl, leaving Iain to assume leadership of Penswyck at a young age, much like Calum.
She murmured, “He was so young.”
“Aye, a man but still a lad.” The older woman laughed. “Of course, he’ll always be a lad to me. Just as my Liam will.”
“What happened to the clan that attacked?”
“The enemy paid for their offenses. Hammish made sure of it.” A ruthless gleam flickered in Elena’s gaze.
Arabella nodded, pleased to learn her uncle exacted revenge on Calum’s behalf. She thought on another matter entirely. She had not forgotten Elena’s cold reception at the evening meal.
She narrowed her gaze on the older woman. “Why do dislike my uncle so?”
“Dislike?” Mairi snorted. “Try despise. For as long as I can remember, the two have never shared a kind word, much less been in each other’s company for any length of time.”
“Hush, you.” Elena grabbed a twig from the table and threw it at her laughing niece who ducked.
“’Tis true,” Mairi insisted.
Elena heaved an exasperated sigh and slapped her palms on the table. “All right, I confess. Hammish and I’ve had our differences in the past, but that’s another tale altogether. Besides…” The elegant woman speared Arabella with a dazzling smile. “I’d much rather hear what you think of my nephew.”
Heat rushed to Arabella’s cheeks and she glanced away from Elena’s interested stare to the mortar’s ground contents. “Why?”
“Oh come, lass. I noticed the way the pair of you looked at each other last eve.” Elena prodded.
Saints alive! She could scarcely admit to Calum’s aunt and sister she’d thought of little else but his kisses. Even now, remembering the last in his bedchamber brought an odd flutter to her stomach. “’Tis naught, I assure you.”
“Humph, well, I’d an inkling the two of you might…” Elena shrugged when Mairi flashed her a sharp glance.
Arabella’s heart skipped a beat at the glimpse the two women shared. She peered at Elena, suddenly eager for her to finish the statement. Resisting the urge to shake the words from her, she strove for an air of coolness. “Might what?”
The woman merely shrugged again. “Oh, I’m just being foolish, dear. Pay me no mind.”
Tell me, she wanted to scream in frustration. Pay her no mind? How could she pay her no mind when the woman’s words set the cogs in her head in motion? For the remainder of the day, she would consider what Elena had left unspoken. Irritated, she glanced away from the pair and grudgingly continued to crush rowan berries.
No matter how hard she tried to focus on the task, her mind strayed to thoughts of Calum—the care he’d shown her, his thoughtfulness, his embrace. Last eve, his kiss had left her shaken and struggling for balance, but he’d been there to tether her to the earth with his touch. These desirous feelings he’d awakened—the pounding of her heart, the quiver in her belly—were too fresh, too new to sort through yet.
But what of Calum? Did he desire her, too? He had not spoken the words, but his actions…
Arabella set the pestle aside and blew out a disparaging breath. Now who was being foolish? Sure, he might desire her, but without a dowry, marriage was out of the question. Resigned to her fate, she glumly carried on with her chore in silence.
“You really do look just like your mother, dear.”
She glanced up at Elena’s words to find a smile curving the older woman’s lips.
Arabella returned her grin. “You mentioned the two of you were close.”
“Aye, since we were naught more than bairns learning to walk.” Elena propped her wrists on the side of the bowl. “It seemed we were always getting into some sort of mischief. I remember the time we clipped each other bald with one of the maid’s sewing shears.”
“Bald?” Arabella gaped. “What happened?”
“The maid left two unruly, little girls alone with her sewing is what happened. And we were not completely bald, but close enough by the time the woman remembered she should not have left us alone. Granted, we could not have been more than four or five summers. We truly did not know any better. If you could’ve seen the looks on our mothers’ faces. I’m certain both women cried that eve.” Elena snorted. “Cormac and Hammish, on the other hand, teased us unmercifully about it for years.”
Laughing, Arabella admitted, “I might’ve as well.”
Elena smiled fondly. “Arianna was my dearest friend. I was overjoyed when she wed your father because I knew how much the two truly loved each other, but I missed her something fierce when they left for England.” Grief tugged at her features. “Not a day passes that I do not think of her.”
Swiping at her welling tears, Arabella moved around the table to stand beside the older woman. “I think of her each day as well.”
Elena swept her in a tight embrace and Arabella held on to the other woman, comforted in the knowledge her mother had such a steadfast friend.
“I vow you two are going to make me cry, too.” Mairi huffed a sigh.
Dissolving into laughter, Arabella placed a kiss along the older woman’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“I’m certain we shall have much more time to speak, my dear.” Elena’s hold tightened and she patted Arabella’s back before pulling free.
Dashing away stray tears, she returned her attention to her mixing bowl. “Come, lasses. This salve is not going to finish itself.”
Much later, after the ointment was finished and packed away in jars, she and Mairi bid Elena farewell and slipped out into the village, passing the training fields on their way to the keep. The glint of weaponry and flash of tanned skin drew Arabella’s notice. She paused to take in the display while Mairi continued on without her.
Scores of warriors, MacGregors and Frasers alike, practiced in the ebbing sunshine. In the middle of the grounds, men sparred with swords and axes, while archers fired at target mounds lining the edge of the fields near the forest.
In the midst of the action, she caught sight of her uncle fighting amongst men half his age. Brawling with Calum’s first commander, he slammed into Marcus, knocking the other man to his knees. Marcus countered by sweeping Hammish’s legs from beneath him. She gasped as he landed with a solid oomph, flat on his back. Marcus helped him to rise, and then the pair cuffed each other’s shoulders before her uncle lumbered from the fields. He winked at her as he headed into the village.
Shaking her head, she glanced over the other warriors, hoping to catch a glimpse of Calum. When she found him, her eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Clad in naught but braies and boots, he sparred with Liam.
Sweat gleamed across his bare back. His muscles flexed with each swing of his sword as he advanced on his cousin. He defeated Liam with a swift, smooth move that left the tip of his weapon pointed at his kin’s neck. Liam spat out a harsh curse and Calum threw his head back, releasing a roar of laughter that rose from the men. He lowered his sword and extended his hand to his cousin, which Liam accepted with a laugh.
Arabella grinned at the pair. At times, the two men acted as though they were naught more than young lads. Once Liam wandered off to find other sport, Calum ran the back of his arm over his damp brow, turned to leave the fields, and froze when he spotted her.
Snared by the sight of his solid form, she took in the expanse of his bare skin. The marks on his face spanned down his neck to the side of his chest in a trail of angry, blemished flesh. Her breath caught with the thought of the pain he’d endured.
Slowly, she let her gaze drift to the breadth of his massive chest and sprinkling of dark hair, damp from his labors. A track of black spanned his chest down to his lean belly, disappearing beneath his braies. As Arabella imagined where the path ended, moisture gathered in her mouth and a spark of heat lit deep in the pit of her belly. Her breath had quickened to the point she panted. The notion of glimpsing Calum’s manhood set her aflame. Her face heated, from her neck to the roots of her hair.
Faith, what was the matter with her?
She’d never paid heed to any man in such a manner. Why now? Why him? For the life of her, no matter how hard she tried, she could not dislodge her gaze from that vexing dark patch of hair.
The bellow of her name shattered her focus and drowned out the sound of her own labored breaths. Startled, her gaze snapped to Calum’s, who stood a few feet from her.
Holy Mother, when had he moved? Moreover, how long had she stood there eyeing him as he called her name?
Arabella opened her mouth to force words past her lips, but naught came out. Instead, she stared at him, her mouth gaping open and her face burning from mortification.
One dark eyebrow hitched upward. “I said, are you enjoying the view, lass?”