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    Arabella shook her head but when he met her gaze and regret filled his, she began to scream. Someone, someone strong, grabbed hold of her and held her in her seat until she stopped.
    ‘Euan, come and let us speak of this privately,’ The Mackintosh said.
    She noticed her father did not refuse. The two chieftains strode into a small chamber off the corridor and the door slammed behind them. An uncomfortable silence descended over those left waiting, pierced only by the loud, arguing voices of the two men. With each curse that echoed out of the chamber, the tension grew.
    She could not help but stare across at the man accused of killing her beloved brother. The realisation of his death struck her, making her sick to her stomach. Arabella began to retch. The hands on her shoulders released her and she fell to her knees, her empty stomach heaving again and again.
    Her brother was dead. She’d sent him to his death.
    She turned back to look on his body and then at the man who’d struck him down. Brodie’s face might as well have been carved from stone, for there was no emotion there now. Whatever regret she thought she’d seen was gone, replaced by that empty expression. The only movement she could detect was that of his jaws as he clenched his teeth shut.
    Her heart hardened against him in that moment. She would find a way to avenge her brother’s death. Finally, her father and The Mackintosh returned. Now there would be justice for her brother’s death.
    ‘Did you kill the Cameron’s son, Brodie?’ the Mackintosh laird asked his nephew. Part of her wanted him to deny it. The part of her that was beginning to like this man wanted him to declare it a lie. She waited.
    ‘I...’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘I do not know. I do not remember.’ Those gathered groaned and shouted at his words. How could he not remember taking her brother’s life?
    ‘There were witnesses?’ her father asked. The Mackintoshes parted and Caelan and another man walked forward. ‘What say you?’
    ‘We were across the fire from them, my lord,’ Caelan said. She could hear the resistance in Caelan’s voice—he did not want to be the one who accused his cousin.
    ‘What did you see?’ her father demanded once more, walking closer to them both. ‘I want the truth of this!’ he shouted.
    The Mackintosh stood at his side and nodded at the two. It was clear to her that Caelan was trying to protect Brodie in this. She clenched her hands into fists, awaiting the telling of her brother’s last moments. The hall grew silent in anticipation, too.
    ‘We were all drinking,’ Caelan explained. ‘All of us. Brodie drank more than was usual for him.’
    ‘They seemed to be just talking, but then they began arguing,’ the other man said. ‘Over her, over Lady Arabella.’
    She gasped as everyone turned to look at her and then Brodie. They had argued over her? Arabella met his gaze and could not hold it. Dear God, what had been said between them?
    ‘Why did no one intervene?’ The Mackintosh asked. ‘You all know how important the truce is. How violating it would not be tolerated and could result in further bloodshed.’ The other man looked at Caelan and back at his chieftain before saying anything.
    ‘It happened so quickly. We were all...’ He gestured as though trying to think of an explanation.
    ‘Drunk?’ her father offered. ‘Too drunk to use reason? Too drunk to stop yourself from killing my son for defending my daughter’s honour from insult?’ Her father charged Brodie then, only being caught and held back at the last moment.
    ‘Aye, too drunk to intervene, my lord,’ Caelan replied. ‘The daggers were drawn so quickly we did not see them at first, but then Malcolm fell.’
    ‘He was dead before we could get to him,’ the other whispered. The man looked as though he had more to say but her father interrupted before he could.
    ‘I want him executed.’
    Complete silence met those stark words.