By God's Grace (5 page)
Authors: Felicia Rogers
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Duncan watched as the skinny lad raced up the hill past the others, listened at the melodious way the pipe music flowed from the lad's instrument, and gripped the edge of his seat as the Kincade lad and his horse surged ahead and brought his clan to a third and finally victory. Duncan's fate was sealed. The Kincade clan had won the right to pick his bride.
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Arbella slid off the horse. Goldie received a gentle pat on the nose and gave Arbella a nudge in return. So absorbed in the rush felt from the win, the gathering crowd had yet to be noticed. Suddenly it felt as if a million eyes were upon her. A crowd of giant-looking Scotsmen stared, all wearing toothy grins.
One elbowed another in the ribs. “The little skinny lad did it. Do ye believe it?”
“Nay, I don't believe it, but if ye elbow me again I believe I'll break yer arm.”
“Humph, I canna help it if ye are not impressed. I was impressed. Why the lad whooped us all, and he don't even have hair on his legs!”
Mumbling, one said, “These games weren't very manly. How come we didna throw heavy stones or hammers? How come we didna have some good old-fashioned wrestlin'? If ye ask me, I feel like I been at a knittin' contest!”
The Scot laughed. “Ye know each clan suggested three events, and these had the most support.”
“I believe it was manipulated.”
“Manipulated, huh? Mighty big word for someone such as yerself. It is interesting ye think it was manipulated. Are ye going on the fact ye didna win?”
“But of course that's what I am going on!”
The two men had no idea how right they were. Jamus Kincade had explained the events were rigged. Every favor owed to him and to the clan had been called in to get these three specific events chosen. The Sinclair elders discovered what he was up to, but they didn't interfere. In their opinion, as long as Duncan had a wife before the tournament ended, they were unconcerned how it occurred.
The two Scots stared in her direction. Arbella lips twitched, threatening to send a feminine smile. But instead her lips twitched downward, her face morphing into a scowl. The group of Scots was impressed with the Kincade lad's abilities. They walked forward in an effort to hoist her upon their shoulders and carry her. But she stopped them by running on trembling legs to the middle of the field. Breathing a sigh of relief, Arbella knew if they hoisted her upon their shoulders, they were sure to notice certain differences under the kilt.
When Arbella escaped their grasp, one of the group bellowed, “Get âim!”
They ran in pursuit. What would they do if they caught her? Glancing back, the group was hot on her heels. Now what to do?
Then she spotted them â the identical brick walls. With a sudden burst of speed, Arbella ran behind Tavis and Tavish. The Kincade clan surrounded her. The group of tournament participants came to a stumbling halt as Tavis put his arm straight out. “Ye will leave the lass â I mean lad â alone. He is able to present himself to the Sinclair Laird without yer assistance.”
The crowd bickered with the twins until Duncan's booming voice interrupted. “I agree. If the lad can beat ye all, then the lad can present himself without yer help.”
Arbella swiveled at the sound of Duncan's voice. Jamus stood close by. Her hand was grasped with a reassuring squeeze.
Arbella studied Duncan. Physically he had changed little in the last ten years. His brown hair was worn a little on the long side and pulled back with a ribbon. Green eyes shone with a type of private amusement. The body before her was fit and trim without one inch of fat. Arbella's blood flow increased. Time had not dimmed her attraction.
Arbella stumbled forward. Duncan's brow rose. Did the nervousness show? Could her legs be seen shaking beneath the kilt? Arbella straightened and pulled her shoulders up and back. With a step, she moved in front of the crowd now standing alone. With a deep breath, she glanced back at Jamus for affirmation that now was the time. Jamus nodded. Arbella took one calming inhale and plunged into the planned speech.
“Laird Sinclair, I appreciate the privilege to compete in your tournament. I accept my right to name your bride from clan Kincade.”
Duncan stood. The corner of his lip twitched upward. “Congratulations, lad Aonghas, on yer victory in these games on this St. Michael's Day Festival. I am ready at yer convenience to hear yer choice for my future bride.”
She cleared her throat. The need to be clear and concise when she spoke was of the upmost importance. Chaos would ensue after the unveiling, yet there must be no doubt as to what was said before the pandemonium ensued. Like a dream, the act was performed.
Slow and deep breathing to calm the nerves, her hand was placed on the head covering. Now it was time for the speech. She'd rehearsed this part time and time again in Annot's room of torture. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself back there. A pent-up breath was released. “The Kincade clan chooses,” she paused, ripped off the fabric covering, and shook out her dark brown, waist-length hair. “They choose me, Arbella Kincade, as your future bride.”
After the announcement the silence was deafening. Jamus's eyes widened. Tavis and Tavish stood beside her in a rigid pose. All the men on the field held their breath.
Duncan hadn't moved. Then above the silence was heard, “Seize her! Throw her in the dungeon!”
The nearest tournament participants grasped Arbella's arms in a vice-like grip. In Jamus's direction, she sent an awkward glance. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
Men propelled her away. Grant asked Duncan, “My laird, was that necessary?”
“Aye, it was necessary. Clan Kincade has made a mockery of these proceedings. Have Jamus meet me in the main hall without delay.”
The last thing Arbella saw was Duncan as he stalked to the hall and left the gawking crowd behind.
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Two men plopped Arbella in a cell. The creaking sound of rusted hinges, the squeaking noise of a key twisting in the hole, the door was indeed locked. Arbella rubbed her aching bum. A glance revealed a closed room about ten by ten in size. No windows and little visible light. The only piece of furniture in the room was a wooden bunk. A sigh escaped her parted lips as Arbella sat on the uncomfortable slab. Anticipating a lengthy stay, she removed her shoes. How men found those things comfortable, she would never know.
A timid tap on the cell door caused her to stop undressing. With a shrug, Arbella said, “I don't know why you are knocking. It is not like I can let you in.”
From outside she heard a mumbled, “Oh, right.”
Keys rattled.
Arbella settled in a relaxed position, hoping the visitor wouldn't feel threatened while entering. Arbella's eyebrows rose as a young girl came in and shut the door.
She stopped, placing her hands in front of her, and bowed her head. “Miss, Laird Duncan sent me to help ye with ye needs.”
Arbella restrained a laugh at the absurdity. To keep from hurting the young girl's feelings she asked, “What is your name?”
“Tamara.”
“Tamara. What a beautiful name. Thank you for coming to help. I could use it.”
Arbella pulled up her shirt, turning her back to Tamara. “Could you help me with this? If you can just start unwinding it, I am sure I can finish.”
Tamara's jaw dropped. “Ye bound yerself?”
Arbella snickered. “Aye, I did. I seem to be just a little too well-endowed to pass for a lad, and binding was the only way to hide my identity for the games.”
Tamara shuffled toward her. “Ye were verra brave to compete, my lady.”
Chortling, she said, “Aye, 'tis one way of looking at it. Another way would be that I was very foolish, for look where it has landed me.”
“Aye, ye are in the dungeon, but ye must ask yerself how many prisoners get their own attendant?” A twinkle flashed in the young girl's eyes as she spoke.
“Thank you. You are right. I should be looking at the bright side of this situation. At least the dungeon is a closed affair, and I don't have other prisoners staring upon me as I undress. Plus, as you said, I have my own attendant. Surely God is watching over me, or I would be in more dire straits.”
Tamara continued to help. At one point, the girl left the room, coming back with a gown for Arbella to wear. It was a tad small, but it would suit better than the tunic and kilt she currently wore.
Arbella expected Tamara to leave when she finished helping, but instead the girl sat down on the bench. “All right, I am ready. What's yer story?”
****
When the Kincade lad stepped forward, Duncan resisted the urge to cringe. Summoning confidence to keep his voice steady during speech, his mind wondered to the night before. Had there been any lasses presented from clan Kincade?
Then Arbella revealed her identity. Arbella. Could it be the same Arbella from his past? Surely not. How old would she be now? Perhaps twenty or a little past. What had Arbella had looked like the last time he had seen her?
It had been at least ten years ago since the last visit. The lass had been a tall, thin, lanky, flat-chested girl of thirteen. Freckles dotted a youthful face. Her brown hair was pulled back by a dingy ribbon. The whole visit the lass did nothing but stare at him.
Duncan couldn't say he wasn't used to stares from women, but Arbella's glare seemed to touch one's very soul. It was if the young girl saw something in him no one else could see.
Every year Jameson and Arbella came for a month-long visit. Arbella's father, Jameson, and Duncan's father, Fletcher, had been friends forever, or for at least as long as he could remember. When Arbella was born, her mother, Marie, succumbed to death. Duncan's mother, Rose, had just delivered not three months before and offered to be Arbella's wet nurse. In Jameson's grief over Marie's demise, he'd readily agreed. Arbella moved into the Sinclair keep and became part of the family.
Duncan was seven when he was graced with two whiny sisters. In the beginning, he avoided them. At some point, when Arbella and his sister, Alison, toddled over, tugged on him, and said “Uncan,” he gave in. His heart then lay in the palm of their collective hands.
Much to Rose's disappointment, Jameson held no intention of leaving Arbella forever. When the girl was five years old, Jameson returned to collect her. He'd come for short visits several times a year, but Arbella never left with him. But this year, she would leave with him for good. Arbella had grown to know and love her father during the brief visits, but when it was time to leave, it was obvious the child considered the Sinclairs her true family.
Duncan would never forget the day she left. She ran toward him on skinny legs, her arms lifted high in anticipation of being picked up. Duncan, who could never deny either one of the girls any of their desires, hoisted the small body into his arms. Brown eyes brimmed with tears as Arbella begged, “Save me, âUncan'.”
He squeezed her tight and released Arbella into Jameson's control. The shy little girl glanced back at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She buried her head beside her father's neck and bawled.
The scene haunted Duncan for years. Tears from Rose and Allison were commonplace as they walked the grounds after Arbella's departure.
Raking a hand through his hair, he pulled the ribbon loose. The strip wound through his fingers, and Duncan brought it forward. The fabric was of the finest quality. The color was green. The edges were frayed, yet he wore the piece anyway. It had been a gift. A gift from Arbella.
Fingering the material, Duncan's mind wondered. Did the lass remember giving him the ribbon? During the games, had she noticed he wore it?
Grant and Bryce brought Jamus into the great hall, interrupting his thoughts. “Sorry, my laird. He was willing to come, but he had to calm the Kincade clan before leaving. They are not verra happy ye placed Arbella in the dungeon.”
Duncan grunted. To be truthful, he wasn't happy Arbella was in the dungeon either. He planned to rectify the situation soon.
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Jamus was an elderly man, slightly stooped with age but still exhibiting an aura of strength and vitality. He stood tall and erect. Was he waiting to see if Duncan would show superiority? Perhaps he thought he, too, would be chastised for entering a woman into the tournament. Whatever Jamus expected would only make his treatment more of a surprise.
Duncan stalked toward Jamus, grasped his hand, and pulled him into a crushing embrace. “Jamus, it has been too long. How are yer brothers, Jonas and Jameson?”
His expression changed, his gaze downcast. “I am afraid they have perished.”
Duncan took a step back. This meant Jamus was the only surviving member of the once mighty Kincade three. With a sigh, he asked, “When did Jameson expire? Was my father informed?”
Jonas backed up. Leaning against the stone fireplace, he stared into the flickering flames. “Aye, Duncan, word was sent. It has been right on ten years now.”
Ten years, thought Duncan. This meant he died after Jameson and Arbella's last visit. Had she been alone this entire time?
Duncan cleared his throat. “I am sorry to hear of yer loss, but I believe we need to discuss what has occurred this day.”
“Aye, mayhap we should, but I would appreciate having speech in private.”
“Of course. Grant, ye and Bryce go check on our other female guests. I am sure they could benefit from yer comforting presence.”
Grant protested. “But my laird, this is one of the Kincade three. It is not wise to be alone with him. It is said the intensity of his stare alone can snap a man's neck.”
Duncan held his laughter in check. With a stern expression, he asked Jamus, “Do ye promise to restrain yer vision?”
