Читать книгу Highland Barbarian - Hannah Howell - Страница 10

“Do ye nay join the hunt?” Cecily asked Artan as she sat down opposite him and began to help herself to what remained of a lavish morning feast.

She was surprised to find the man in the great hall. After waiting so carefully before coming to break her fast, wanting to be sure all the guests had ridden out on the hunt, Cecily had anticipated a few moments of peace. She thought it rather contrary of her not to be annoyed that he was there. She had to forcibly quell a blush when she began to wonder if he would give her another kiss, perhaps one that lasted a great deal longer than the one he had given her last night.

“Nay,” replied Artan. “I have seen such hunts before. ’Tis nay more than a wasteful slaughter. Too many of the fools cannae e’en make a clean kill. Aye, and they are often so noisy, most of the game they seek has had ample time to flee them. Better a few skilled men be sent out to bring home some meat for the table. These courtiers wouldst probably starve if they truly had to hunt for their supper.”

Cecily blinked in surprise. He had delivered that harsh denunciation of the hunters in such an amiable tone of voice, it had taken her a moment to realize just how harsh it was. It was all quite true, of course, and she had often thought the same, but she never would have expected a man to share her opinion.

“There are a few skilled hunters going along.”

“Aye, to give whate’er poor beastie the fools maim the mercy blow.”

She winced and nearly nodded her agreement. Only a fleeting sense that she would be insulting her guests, her kinsmen, and her betrothed with one small gesture caused her to hold back her words. A quick glance into Artan’s silvery blue eyes told her that he would not be surprised to learn that this particular group of people were worse than others.

“Weel, since we are both here and dinnae wish to go hunting, mayhap ye would like to ride with me?” Artan asked her. “I have ne’er visited the Lowlands, and I doubt I shall return. I wouldnae mind being shown the lands around Dunburn by one who kens them weel.”

“We shall have to stay out of the way of the hunters.”

Cecily knew her words were an acceptance of his invitation and wondered what had possessed her. While it was true that it was her duty to help entertain the guests, she doubted going out riding with Sir Artan, alone, would be considered appropriate. Anabel was always most strict about her daughters and Cecily, never allowing them to be alone with a man. Cecily supposed she could ask young Peter at the stables to ride with them, but she doubted that would fully satisfy Anabel. Or Sir Fergus.

Rebellion stirred to life within her heart and she found it a heady feeling. None of the others cared whether she was entertained or not, and not one of these guests was her friend. Soon she would be married to Sir Fergus, and Cecily doubted she would find much entertainment or many friends when she went to live with him. She had to admit that she would not be at all disappointed if her actions caused an end to the betrothal, either. For once she was going to do exactly what she wanted, and she wanted to go riding with Sir Artan. She found herself smiling at him a lot as they finished their meal.

Artan was pleased as he escorted her out of the great hall. He had feared that the uncertainty he had read in her expression would cause her to refuse to go riding with him. Then a look of determination had entered her fine eyes, and even though she had obviously startled herself by doing so, she had agreed. The lass was not fully broken to the harsh bridle Lady Anabel and Sir Fergus wished to put on her.

As they approached the stable, Artan frowned. He had that odd tingle in his spine, the one he usually felt when danger was at hand. Since the bailey was almost completely deserted, he fixed his gaze upon the stable and felt that sense of impending danger sharply increase. He turned to smile at Cecily. If there was some danger inside the stables he did not want her caught up in it.

“Wait here, lass,” he said, “and I will bring ye your horse.”

“I can saddle my own horse, sir, and truly, I dinnae mind doing so.”

“And ’tis a good thing for a lass to ken, but my mother trained me to be courteous and do such things for ladies.”

Cecily smiled faintly and nodded. She would prefer to stay outside in the warm sun anyway. After Old Thomas the stable master had died three years ago, the cleanliness of the stables had slowly declined, and she much preferred the fresher air of the outdoors as well.

She stood enjoying the unusual warmth of the day and wondered why she was suddenly so rebellious. The way she was acting, especially since Sir Artan had arrived, was most unlike her. Cecily had thought herself resigned to the marriage her guardians had arranged, but it seemed she was not. Whenever she looked at Sir Artan Murray, a little voice in her head urged her to do as she pleased and not as she should, to remember that soon she would be married to Sir Fergus.

An odd series of thumping noises from the stables drew her out of her dark thoughts about her future as Lady Ogilvey. Cecily frowned toward the shadowy opening to the building. The noises had sounded not unlike bodies hitting something hard, a sound she had, thankfully, only heard a few times. They certainly did not sound like the kind of noises one would make while saddling two horses. Although she could not think of any danger Sir Artan might face inside the stables, she felt a little concerned for his safety and took a few steps toward the stables.

“Sir Artan?” she called. “Do ye need help?”

“Nay, lass,” he called back. “Ye wait right there. I will be out in a moment.”

He certainly sounded hale and hearty, she decided. Cecily did not feel particularly calmed, however. She decided to give the man a few more moments to appear, and if he did not, she would seek him out. Keeping her gaze fixed upon the opening to the stables, she waited and tried to stir up her courage just in case she would have need of it.

Artan looked at the three unconscious men scattered around on the stable floor and shook his head. He recognized two of them from last night. Sir Fergus was obviously not going to give up on his quest to make Artan leave Dunburn. As he finished saddling the horses, Artan decided he had best work very hard at convincing Cecily to leave Dunburn with him and at uncovering whatever secrets her guardians were keeping. If Sir Fergus kept increasing the number of men he sent to attack and pummel him into an ignoble retreat, the fool might actually reach a number Artan could not defeat on his own.

Leading the horses outside to where Cecily waited, Artan returned her concerned look with an easy smile. She frowned as she looked him over, glanced again at the stables, and then met his gaze. It was obvious she was curious about the noises she must have heard coming from the stables. Fortunately, what few bruises he might have gathered in the brief fight were well hidden by his clothes.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

“What was all that noise?” she asked as he helped her mount her mare.

“What noise?” He mounted Thunderbolt and started toward the open gates.

“A thumping noise. It sounded verra much like a body hitting the wall.”

“A body hitting the wall? Ye have heard that noise often, have ye?”

Instinct told her that he was trying to distract her, and Cecily told herself that was why she felt a strong urge to wipe that grin off his handsome face. “I havenae heard it that often, but often enough to ken what it sounds like.”

“Much like Thunderbolt here giving his stall a wee kick in his eagerness to get out, I suspect.” Artan patted his horse’s neck in silent apology for that slur upon his good behavior.

Cecily found herself ready to question that answer and was appalled. She could almost hear Anabel screeching in her ear, telling her repeatedly that a woman never questioned the veracity of what a man told her. Of course, Anabel also said that that did not mean they were telling the truth, that men rarely told the truth. What appalled Cecily was that she seemed to have taken that cold advice to heart, for there was no reason for her to doubt Sir Artan’s words. She promised herself she would shake free of such an unkind and unjust opinion and turned her attention to showing Sir Artan the lands her father had loved so much.

Artan studied the land Cecily spoke of with such affection and wondered how she would like the rougher, stronger beauty of the Highlands. Dunburn had good lands, he mused, despite looking a little too soft and civilized. It was not being husbanded well, however. The occasional frown he caught darkening Cecily’s sweet face told him she was becoming aware of the creeping neglect of the lands. It had obviously been quite a while since she had ridden the lands of her father, and he wondered if she had been purposely kept from doing so.

When they paused by a clear, swiftly running burn Artan recalled crossing when he had come to Dunburn, he listened to Cecily describe the many hours she had spent in the shelter of a cluster of trees near the bank. Her voice carried the soft touch of fond remembrance followed by a hint of sadness as she spoke of the times she had brought her brother here with her. Artan dismounted, then helped her dismount. He followed her into the shady bower formed by the trees.

“I havenae been here for such a long time,” she whispered.

“Because the memories hurt?” he asked as he put his arm around her shoulders.

“Partly. Also, Anabel doesnae allow me to ride about on my own, and when I do go for a ride, whate’er guardian she sets at my heels has obviously been given verra specific instructions as to where I am allowed to go. I think the chance of painful memories being stirred up was one reason I didnae fight the restriction much.”

“We can leave if ye wish.”

“Nay, it has been a long time, and e’en though memories of that happier time and poor wee Colin cause a pang, there is more joy in the memory than pain. ’Tis wrong to clutch grief close for too long or to try to dismiss all memories of lost loved ones just to save oneself the pain of thinking of them.”

Artan placed two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. He kissed her lightly, intending it to be a gesture of comfort. When she slid her arms around his neck and pressed her slim body closer to his, however, comfort was soon lost in a swiftly rising lust.

Cecily clung to Artan, parting her lips at the first touch of his tongue so that he could deepen the kiss. A shudder tore through her body as he stroked the inside of her mouth. She tentatively touched his tongue with hers and the low, almost feral, growl he gave encouraged her to be more daring, giving back as much as he gave.

It took every ounce of willpower Artan had to pull back from the heated embrace. He was delighted by the soft mew of objection she gave and the way she tried to pull him closer again, but he held firm. He would not take her here, out in the woods in the middle of the day with far too much chance of being discovered. Cecily might not know it, but that was exactly where such heated kisses would take them.

For a moment, he paused as he brushed a kiss over her forehead. If they were caught rolling about on the banks of the burn, her betrothal to Sir Fergus might be ended. It would mean he did not have to exert himself to do any wooing, simply pack her up and take her to Glascreag. Then he considered how humiliated she would be and knew he could not do it. There was also the chance she would not be cast out, even by her betrothed, but her life would undoubtedly be made very miserable indeed. Nor would he have the chance to find out exactly what was going on at Dunburn. Nay, he thought as he took another step back from the temptation of her mouth, this had to stop for now.

When he saw her start to realize what they had been doing, that realization bringing a deep blush to her cheeks and a look of shame into her eyes, he gave her his best cocksure grin. As he had suspected, it worked on her as it so often had on his sisters. The hint of shame was rapidly replaced by anger. Before she could show him just how sharp her tongue might be, Artan felt something brush past his face. Even as he started to pull Cecily into his arms to shield her with his body, an arrow embedded itself in the tree.

“Artan!” Cecily cried, terrified that he had been hurt or soon would be.

He did not answer but nearly threw her to the ground and sprawled on top of her just as a second arrow thudded into the tree. The sound of a horse rapidly fleeing reached his ears, but he could not see anything. After a few moments, Artan cautiously rose to his knees, but he still kept Cecily sheltered beneath him.

There was no doubt in Artan’s mind that someone had just tried to kill him. The only thing that really puzzled him was that they would try to do so when Cecily was with him. He had to believe that her presence was not expected. There was no benefit he could see to killing her; but then he had not yet uncovered the secrets he knew her guardians and, perhaps, even her betrothed were keeping.

As he slowly got to his feet and pulled Cecily up alongside him, he thought about how determined her guardians were that she marry Sir Fergus. And although there was certainly no hint of love there, how determined Sir Fergus was that nothing and no one stop this marriage. He would give himself three more days to ferret out the truth; then he would get her away from this place whether she agreed or not.

“The hunting party?” Cecily asked in a shaking voice, giving in to the urge to hug Artan out of a deep sense of relief that he was unharmed.

“Mayhap.” Artan kept a close watch for any sign of the one who had shot the arrows as he began to walk Cecily back to their horses. “They must have realized their error when ye screeched out my name.”

“I ne’er screech.” The soft chuckle he gave did a lot to soothe her lingering fears. “They cannae be such poor hunters. Ye look nothing like a deer.”

“We were within the wee leafy bower. It could have confused someone.”

“Someone who thinks deer come to drink at the burn on horseback?”

“Weel, I didnae say that the someone couldnae be a complete idiot.”

Cecily opened her mouth to say more, then quickly closed it. She simply did not believe this was a hunting accident and did not think he did either. Yet what else could it be? She had no enemies. Sir Artan might well have a few, but she doubted an enemy would follow him to Dunburn, lurk about waiting for him to venture outside the protective walls, and then shoot arrows at him. And if someone was after him, she doubted an enemy who was so persistent, so blindly determined, would miss him—twice.

Something was not right here, she decided as he swung her up onto her saddle and she took the reins into her hands. There was a hard look in Sir Artan’s fine eyes that told her he felt the same. Cecily suspected he had a suspicion or two but suddenly knew he would not tell her what they were, not yet. He would not throw out unproven accusations. She was not sure how she knew that; she just did.

“Mayhap ye ought to leave Dunburn,” she said quietly once they were both mounted and headed back to the keep.

He was pleased to hear the sharp reluctance in her voice when she made that suggestion. “And miss your wedding?”

Despite the attack and all the fear it had bred, Cecily could still feel the warmth of his kiss, still taste him on her mouth. Not once since the day Anabel had informed her that she would marry Sir Fergus Ogilvey had Cecily felt such a fierce reluctance to do so. Now that she had been held in Sir Artan’s strong arms, had tasted the sweet fire of his kiss, the thought of giving herself to Sir Fergus made her feel distinctly ill. Before Sir Artan had arrived, she had thought she could make herself content with her lot. Now she doubted she could ever achieve that. Since the day she had learned her fate, her marriage had loomed as a necessary duty. Now it looked as if she were marching straight into purgatory.

“Ye best tell me exactly what happened today.”

Artan blinked, groped for the linen cloth on the floor by his bath, and wiped the soap from his face. He looked at the plump, middle-aged woman standing by his bath, her hands on her hips and a fierce scowl on her round, pretty face. How she had gotten into his bedchamber he did not know. He had not heard a thing. Either she was very skilled at stealth, or he had been dangerously lost in his thoughts.

“And who are ye if I may be so bold as to ask it?” he asked.

“They call me Old Meg. I was Cecily’s nurse and many another thing until that she-wolf Anabel threw me out of Dunburn.”

“Ye obviously didnae go far.”

“When I heard that my wee lass was to be married off, I came back. I ken weel how to get in and out of this place without being seen.”

“Why did Lady Anabel throw ye out?”

“I caught her thrashing the lass until the blood ran. The bitch quickly proved that she can wield the stick but cannae bravely face a taste of it herself.” She nodded in approval at the look of fury on the young man’s handsome face. “’Tis said old Angus MacReith sent ye.”

“Aye, he did.”

“Why? He hasnae had aught to do with the poor lass since her da and her brother were killed.”

“Ah, now there is an odd thing. He claims he has often written to her asking her to come to him at Glascreag.” There was only a moment’s look of confusion on the woman’s face before fury hardened her pleasant features. “Now if ye would be so kind as to turn your back for a wee moment so I can get out of this bath, dry myself, and put some clothes on, we can have ourselves a fine long talk about all of this.”

By the time Artan was dressed, it was obvious by the tapping of her foot that Old Meg was losing all patience. He quickly poured them each a goblet of wine and handed her one. In between sips of the hearty wine, he told Old Meg all of his suspicions, the attacks that had been made on him, and what had happened at the burn. However, he did not tell her about the kisses and the bargain Angus had offered him. Such things had nothing to do with the trouble facing Cecily now, and he believed they should remain private, strictly between him and Cecily. The faint hint of suspicion in her dark eyes told him she knew he held something back, but to his great relief, she did not press him for more.

“It seems they dinnae want any emissary of Angus’s here,” Old Meg murmured. “They have done their best to see that old Angus has naught to do with the child. Ye are right to think there is something they are hiding. I have always thought so. I have ne’er believed Cecily’s father would leave her with naught. He was the type of mon to leave verra careful instructions and to make sure none of his family were left at the mercy of others. Nay, and he ne’er liked or trusted Anabel and Edmund either. So what do ye plan to do?”

“Find out their secrets.”

“But they mean to wed her to that worm, and e’en ye think he has had his hand in this somehow.”

Artan nodded. “And Cecily willnae be marrying him.”

“How can ye stop it? Ye are but one mon.”

“If I have to, I will bind and gag the lass and take her to Glascreag flung o’er my saddle.”

Old Meg studied him intently for a moment, then nodded. “If that is what is needed to save her, I stand ready to help ye.”

Artan smiled and touched his goblet to hers in a silent toast, welcoming his new ally.