Torn Between Two Highlanders (Sword and Thistle 2)

“You speak very passionately about him,” Heather said.

She did. Did that mean Malcolm was her choice?

Arabella sobbed, wishing she could make sense of it.

“What a fortunate girl you are,” Heather finally said.

“Fortunate?” Arabella cried into a kerchief. “I love Malcolm. And I love Davy. Either man I choose, I will be hurting the other. My heart hurts. It actually hurts. It feels as if it is being torn in two.”

“That is because two very strong men are pulling upon each side,” Heather said. “But how many girls are ever presented with such a choice? How many girls can say that they are loved by not one man, but two?”

That made Arabella hiccup with surprise. She hadn’t thought of it that way. And now that she did think of it in this way, she felt like an ungrateful wretch. She’d known pleasure and excitement and happiness beyond anything her imagination could have conjured up, even on her long walks in the wild. If she died tomorrow, she would not regret a moment of being with either of the Macrae clan warriors. She certainly would not regret being with both of them.

“Heather, you didn’t seem nearly as scandalized as you should have been, when I told you what I did with them. Did you know such things were possible?”

Heather raised a brow. “No, I didn’t. But there were a great many things I did not know were possible that my laird has taught me about. I might even be brave enough to ask him of this.”

“Don’t!” Arabella couldn’t imagine what the laird might think of her, and worried he might punish Davy and Malcolm for it. Or, if she were more honest with herself, she was worried that he would simply dismiss her as a strumpet and forbid a marriage with Davy.

Did that mean Davy was her choice? Arabella was so confused!

Worse, she felt like a selfish chit. The whole castle full of people was determined to show fortitude while fending off the invaders. Women cooked, and cleaned, and kept careful record of the stores. Men manned the walls. Drilled in the courtyard. Some of them had been in skirmishes, and were wounded nearly as grievously as Malcolm had been.

And here was Arabella sobbing about her heartache.

Well, that could not be borne.

Since Davy and Malcolm were busy almost all the time now with the laird and his men, she decided that she must find a way to keep busy. Make herself useful. She knew better than to offer her services in the kitchen, and Heather suggested, “You can help Brenna on her rounds.”

Arabella flamed red with the memory of the serving girl watching her be carried off over the shoulder of her lover. “Brenna thinks I’m a prostitute.”

“She thinks I’m one too,” Heather replied. “But she’s very sweet if you can get past her disapproval. She was the first person here to be nice to me.”

At the thought of what Heather might have faced upon coming here to the castle, Arabella felt even more selfish. She should’ve asked what Heather had been through when she first came to serve the laird. Whereas Arabella had given her maidenhead freely, Heather had been claimed under duress.

“I’m a horrible sister,” Arabella uttered, grasping hold of Heathers hands. “Please forgive me. Forgive me. I should have never let Papa cast you out and call you names. I should have never—”

“Arabella,” Heather said, softly. “I’m happy now. So much happier than I thought I could be. The laird is an extraordinary man and treats me kindly.”

“But he will never be your husband,” Arabella said.

Then wished she hadn’t said it.

Her sister’s beautiful violet eyes pinched with pain. “I know…but I would rather be his harlot than the honest wife of any other man. That is me. But you, Arabella… Davy is offering to marry you. You can have respectability and love,

if you think he truly does love you.”

“He does,” Arabella said, firmly.

“Can you be sure? Davy is a wee bit—well, he doesn’t strike me as a very serious man.”

“He only seems that way!” Arabella protested, squeezing the turnip flower in her palm. “He wants to make everyone happy. He is always thinking of others before himself. That’s why he jests and smiles and laughs in the face of danger and—”

“You love him,” Heather said, with a wry smile.

“I told you I did,” Arabella growled. “Is that why you keep insulting them? To see if I will leap to their defense.”

“Aye, and you leap every time.”