The castle was crowded, many villagers having come inside the walls for protection. And Arabella soon learned it was her abduction that had served as the warning in the countryside, spoiling the surprise attack.
At least it had served some purpose, she thought.
Though, in truth, it had served more than one. She would never have spent time with Malcolm or Davy if she hadn’t been taken. Never have known of their bravery. Never become so attached to them. And she was attached. She had taken them together, because she wanted no man to feel a claim on her.
But she hadn’t considered that she might feel a claim on them.
And she must feel it. Otherwise, why did her heart ache so much to be suddenly apart from them? In Heather’s chambers—yes, she had chambers, more opulent by far than the cottage where they’d come of age—a servant brought hot water.
A servant! Arabella could scarcely imagine how this had come to pass.
The servant bathed Arabella and asked to take away her filthy clothes. Conall’s clothes, really. Was he here, in this castle? Had he told everyone of her shame? These questions only plagued Arabella for only a moment before she decided that she just did not care. She cared more about the fact that Heather seemed to be extraordinarily well treated, with jewelry and a maid at her service.
Did the Macrae treat all his harlots so well?
“This might fit you better,” the servant said, offering Arabella a dress.
“It’ll be perfect, Brenna,” Heather said to the servant girl, then pulled Arabella into another embrace, as if she couldn’t get enough of her. “My sister. My sweet sister.”
Not so sweet anymore, Arabella thought.
But it wasn’t a shameful thought. In truth, she was rather proud of herself as she told Heather how they had ridden out in snowy forests, stolen a fishing boat, braved the waters of the loch, and ducked flaming arrows…
Heather’s hand fluttered to her throat. “The risk!”
“But I came through it well,” Arabella insisted. “More than well. I’m only worried for Papa and the little ones.”
“They’ve gone into the mountains for safety,” Heather said. “Papa ought to have come here, but you know he would not trust the laird with his safety.”
“Do you?” Arabella asked.
She watched her sister’s expression melt into sweetness itself. “Oh, aye, Bella. I trust him more than any man who ever lived.”
“After what he did to you?” Arabella asked, unwilling to believe it. “After he made you promise to be his whore, to belong to him, until he should tire of you like a cast off shoe?”
Heather’s violet eyes misted with emotion. “What he did was bring me happiness. So much happiness. I cannot explain it all now, but he is a man with a lion’s heart. And he and his warriors will beat back these invaders from the castle. You must believe it. You must have faith in him.”
Arabella did not know if she could have faith in John Macrae.
But she had faith in her sister and two of his warriors.
Faith, deep and abiding.
And it would have to be enough.
~~~
How strange it was to awaken in a bed by herself, not tangled together with the two men who had given her such exquisite pleasure. It had only been one night, Arabella thought. But somehow, when she opened her eyes, she expected to be back in that cottage, trapped by the snows. Warm hands on her. Warm mouths seeking her neck, her nipples, her cunny…
Instead, she’d awakened in her sister’s chambers. In Heather’s bed. And where Heather was…well, she could guess. It was no secret anywhere in the castle that her sister spent the night, and every night, with the laird. And yet, that was still less scandalous than what Arabella had done. Less scandalous by far than her new fantasy….with an imaginary bed, big enough for Malcolm and Davy both, without squishing her too much in the middle.
Though she supposed that would never happen again.
It was a night they wanted from her, and a night she gave them.
A knock upon the door interrupted her thoughts, and Brenna, the serving girl, was standing there. “Do you need help dressing?”
“Dressing?” Arabella asked.