Читать книгу Highland Barbarian - Hannah Howell - Страница 9

Cecily glanced at Fergus. He sat across the table from her. As her betrothed, he should have been sitting next to her. Instead, he sat opposite her, scowling at the man seated on her right, the man who had somehow managed to usurp Sir Fergus’s rightful place. She had the uncomfortable feeling that one reason Sir Artan sat at her side was because Sir Fergus had been too cowardly to stand firm and claim his rights. And it had all been done without a word spoken. It seemed her betrothed was not only chinless but spineless.

As covertly as she could, Cecily peeked at the man seated next to her on the bench as he selected a slice of roast goose and set it on her plate. For a leanly built man he took up a lot of room. Every time his muscular thigh had brushed against her, she had shifted away from him until she now teetered on the far edge of the bench, but his thigh was yet again pressed close to hers. Cecily briefly considered nudging against him to see if he would shift away from her, but quickly dismissed that thought. She had the oddest feeling that he would not move an inch and she would end up sitting on his lap. And why the thought of sitting on Sir Artan’s lap should make her feel all warm and anxious she did not know. Deciding that might be what temptation felt like, she forced her attention to the large amount of food the man had piled onto her plate.

“Eat up, lass,” said Artan. “Ye will need your strength.”

Hastily chewing on a piece of meat she had put in her mouth, Cecily wondered what he meant. She frowned at the amount of food he had put on her plate and began to feel insulted. Cecily knew she was not very big, but she was no puling weakling either.

“Why do ye think I should build up my strength?” she asked.

“’Tis clear to see that this celebration is going to keep ye busy from sunrise to sunset for at least a fortnight. Aye, and then there is the wedding itself and, of course, the wedding night.”

The wedding night, Cecily thought and silently cursed. That was something she had tried very hard not to think about. She did not thank Sir Artan for reminding her of it either. Desperately, she tried hard to think about something else, anything else, so that she could return to that comforting state of blissful ignorance.

“Is my uncle really dying?” she asked and ignored the knowing look he gave her.

“He is ill and he is carrying three score years.”

Cecily frowned and wondered why that news made her eyes sting with tears. She had not seen her uncle for years, and he had shown little inclination to have anything to do with her. Over the years she had done her best to convince herself that it did not matter, that it was only to be expected for she was not a male who could become his heir. Obviously, she had failed in that endeavor, for she felt honestly grieved that her uncle may well be dead soon, that she would never have the chance to see him again.

“’Tis but natural for a mon to wish to have his loved ones close at his side when he is at the end of his life,” murmured Artan, sensing her upset and hoping to take advantage of it in convincing her to leave Dunburn willingly and soon.

“Loved ones?” Her voice was so tainted with bitter anger that even Cecily winced at the sound of it. “He doesnae see me as a loved one. If he did, he would have written or e’en come to visit.”

“And why are ye so sure that he hasnae written?”

“Because I have ne’er seen e’en the smallest, most crudely written letter. Nary a word. And he has certainly ne’er come to visit with me or asked me to come to him.”

Artan sensed a deep hurt behind her sharp words and inwardly cursed. Unless he had proof to give her, hard proof that her guardians had kept her apart from Angus, it would be difficult to free her from their grasp. It would not be easy to get any proof. Still, he mused with an inner smile, at least searching for that proof would give him something to do while he was at Dunburn.

“’Tis odd,” he murmured, “for I ken weel that he tried.”

“Tried to write or tried to visit?”

“Write. I fear he wouldnae come here unless ye were on your deathbed or in grave danger. He has no liking for the Lowlands.”

“So gently said. He loathes this place and has nary a kind word to say about Lowlanders.”

“He liked your father, didnae he?”

“Aye,” she said softly, “he did.” A sudden onslaught of cherished memories made her smile. “Uncle Angus always spoke as if Papa were of the Highlands, and thus ne’er tempered his opinion of Lowlanders. Why, I think only the English enrage him more.”

“The English enrage everyone.”

Cecily hastily swallowed the urge to laugh. The man spoke as if he was reciting one of God’s own laws. In many ways, he sounded very like her uncle, and she suddenly wondered exactly what his relationship was to Angus MacReith. Her uncle would not send just anyone as his emissary.

“How are ye related to my uncle? Or, are ye e’en a kinsmon?” Again, Cecily was not sure why the thought that he was a very close relation should trouble her so. She should be glad to have found other family.

“I am but a distant cousin. My mother is Angus’s cousin. I believe I am a step or two more distant than Malcolm.”

“Malcolm?” Cecily struggled to recall a cousin named Malcolm. “I cannae really recall a Malcolm.”

“Brown hair, thin, pointy wee face and little eyes? Makes one think of a weasel, a verra cowardly weasel.”

Even that harsh description did not immediately rouse a memory. Cecily did her best to think through that last visit to Glascreag. She was a little surprised at how clear those memories were after so long, especially when the visit had had such a tragic ending. Slowly, a particular memory became clear. There had been a feast and other kinsmen had attended. Her uncle had intended it for these more distant relations to meet Colin, who would be his heir. Recalling that feast brought to mind a well-rounded woman and her son, both of whom had so obviously disliked the idea of Colin as heir that even she, as a child, had sensed it.

“Lady Seaton and her son.”

“Aye, Malcolm Seaton. His mother was also a cousin to Angus, and she has always expected her son to be Angus’s heir.”

“He was, if I recall right, an irritating young mon.”

“Aye, ye recall right. He still is. Sly, manipulative, weak, and dishonest.”

“Oh dear. Uncle Angus must be most dismayed that such a mon will take his place as laird one day.”

“Aye, ye could say that.”

Artan tried to think of something else to talk about, for this topic was too close to the reasons why he was at Dunburn. If he thought for even a minute that the truth would cause her to come with him back to Glascreag, he would tell it. Instinct told him she would not take it well, however. Women tended to take offense at the thought that they were being married for the land or coin they would bring to the marriage, even though that was the way of the world. Once such knowledge was in their hands, they were reluctant to believe any protestations to the contrary. It was true that he had an eye to being made Angus’s heir, but he would not marry simply because of that. Unfortunately, once Cecily found out about the arrangement with Angus, she would always question his reasons for wanting her as a wife.

Of course, he was still not absolutely certain he would do as Angus wished. Cecily was lovely, and just hearing her voice seemed to stroke him and rouse his lusts. There was more needed in a marriage than property and prettiness, however, and he was not yet completely sure he could find that with Cecily. What he needed to do was steal a kiss or two, he decided. He knew well that a man could be aroused by the look of a woman only to find a deep coldness in her arms.

Subtly glancing at Sir Fergus, Sir Edmund, and Lady Anabel, Artan suspected that it would be difficult to woo Cecily in even the smallest way. Not that he was particularly good at wooing, he mused. His best chance to draw Cecily back to Glascreag was in proving that her guardians and her betrothed were not worth her loyalty. He also needed to hold fast to Cecily’s interest so that she would remain close at hand in case she continued to bow to the will of the others and he had begun to run out of time. The more he saw of these people, the more he felt sure that it would be best if Cecily went to stay with Angus. If she did not agree to go with him and the wedding drew too near for comfort, he would simply pick her up and take her away from here.

Now that he had a firm plan, Artan relaxed. He found the company poor, even annoying, except for Cecily, but the food and wine were good. Anabel sat on his right and he knew she was angry. He could almost feel her glare boring into his skin. His sisters had always accused him of being completely insensitive, but Artan decided it was probably a good thing under these circumstances. If he had any tender feelings, they would be sorely abused by lingering in a place where he was so clearly unwanted. He almost grinned as he refilled his plate with food. If these people thought he would give up and return to Glascreag liked a whipped cur just because they scowled and were rude to him, they were doomed to defeat.

“I dinnae recall ye from Glascreag,” she said quietly, hoping she did not sound as suspicious as she suddenly felt.

“Weel, I wasnae at Glascreag when ye were. My brother and I fostered with Angus. At that time we had returned to Donncoill and our family as our Grandmere was ill.”

“Oh, I am so sorry. ’Tis always hard when the old ones falter, e’en when ye ken it must happen. Did she recover?”

“Aye, she did, although it was a close run thing, but ye have the right of it. She is three score and ten and my grandsire is four score years. Their time is near, but one can only give thanks for each day they are still at hand and pray that when the end comes ’tis easy. ’Twill be a great loss for the clan, but they have both lived a good life.”

Cecily nodded. “Kenning that can be a great comfort.” She hesitated a moment, then quietly asked, “Has my uncle lived a good life?’

“He has. He is a fine, strong warrior and has held his land against all comers.”

That was not quite what she had wanted to hear, but she could tell that Artan thought it was high praise indeed. Cecily realized that, as a foster son, Sir Artan would share some of the same characteristics as her uncle. Coming to know Sir Artan would be somewhat akin to coming to know her uncle.

A tickle of unease went through her as she covertly watched Sir Artan eat. He had a prodigious appetite, but his manners were excellent. The man spoke scathingly of courtiers, but in his looks and his table manners, it was evident that he could hold his own against any of them. She did not understand why she suddenly felt it might be dangerous to come to know Sir Artan well. Then he glanced at her and smiled and she felt as if something inside of her had melted. There was the danger. For the first time in her life she was truly attracted to a man. Considering how he had first entered Dunburn, a nearly unconscious man dangling from each hand, she found that astonishing.

“Do ye want some more food?” Artan asked her, wondering why she looked so stunned. Looking at her plate, Cecily was surprised to discover that she had eaten everything on it. She had never eaten so much at one sitting. Taking a meal with her kinsmen and her betrothed had always killed her appetite. Even before her betrothal, eating beneath Anabel’s constant watch had always been difficult. This night she would not have need of the plate of cold meat, bread, and cheese the kindly cook always set aside for her to steal away with and eat in the private comfort of her bedchamber.

“Nay, nay. ’Twas ample.” She cautiously peered around him and breathed an inner sigh of relief to find that Anabel had not noticed her gluttony. The woman had been too busy glaring at Sir Artan to notice anything else.

“An apple then?” he asked as the fruits and sweets were set out.

“Aye, that would please.”

Her eyes widened slightly as he produced a gleaming knife from inside the sleeve of his shirt. He chose a large apple from the basket a small page held out. In a few swift, clean moves, he cored and sliced the apple, setting each piece upon her plate. After doing the same for himself, he returned the knife to its sheath that she suspected was strapped to his forearm. Sir Artan Murray was a well-armed man. He had also not offered to provide the same service for Anabel. Obviously, his manners were not quite as good as she had first thought. To stifle a sudden urge to giggle, Cecily quickly stuffed a piece of apple in her mouth.

“Did ye enjoy fostering with my uncle?” she asked after swallowing the piece of apple and telling herself that the intense curiosity she felt concerned her uncle and not Sir Artan.

“Och, aye. My clan doesnae often foster out their sons, ye ken. We have a bounty of lads, however, and Angus wrote to my mother asking if any of the Murray lads would be of a mind to foster with him. He preferred one of her own sons as we are blood kin to him, but said he would be pleased to take any lad. Lucas and I decided to go, as did our cousins Bennet and Uilliam, my uncle Eric’s sons.” He smiled faintly. “Angus was fair pleased when he found himself with four lads to train. Donncoill and my uncle’s lands are a wee bit too peaceful for some lads,” he drawled and winked at her.

“Can a place e’er be too peaceful?”

“Och, aye, especially when ye are a young lad who dreams of becoming some great, fearsome warrior.”

Cecily had to smile. There was a touch of self-mockery in his deep voice that charmed her. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Sir Fergus glaring at her, but ignored him. Although some of the stricter rules of conduct had eased because there were so many people staying at Dunburn, it was usually considered poor manners to talk across the table. Sir Fergus had made no attempt to breach that barrier and she saw no reason why she should do so. There was also the simple fact that if Sir Fergus had wished to sit with her and speak to her, he should not have so quickly relinquished his seat.

“Aye, if I recall, Glascreag provides a suitable wild, mayhap e’en dangerous place for a lad to prove himself.”

“It does, indeed.”

Although a small voice in her head warned her that she would suffer for almost completely ignoring her betrothed and Anabel, Cecily kept her attention fixed upon Sir Artan. He was such a change from her usual companion at a meal that she could not help but revel in it. The way he spoke of Glascreag and Angus MacReith revealed a deep affection for both, and she wondered what it would be like to feel such a bond to the place where one lived and the people there. Once upon a time she had felt such a thing for Dunburn and its people, but that had died along with her family. No matter how hard she had tried, she had failed to regain that deep, comforting sense of belonging.

As soon as the meal was done, Cecily decided it would be best if she made her escape. She did not want to confront either Anabel or Sir Fergus. For once she was confident she had done no wrong and she did not want to listen to any lectures. If nothing else, she did not want to be made to feel she had erred. The sense of confidence she now felt was a rare thing and she wanted to savor it.

It did not really surprise Cecily to find herself escorted to her bedchamber by Sir Artan. She did not even attempt to figure out how the man had managed to be at her side. He had undoubtedly used the same methods he had used to usurp Sir Fergus’s place at the table. The fact that she did not have to endure a lecture from Sir Fergus or a kiss was reason enough for her to be heartily grateful for Sir Artan’s guile.

At the door to her bedchamber, she turned to wish Sir Artan a good sleep, only to catch him staring at her in a very intense manner. Cecily clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides to resist the urge to check the state of her hair and gown. “I thank ye for your escort, Sir Artan. ’Twas nay necessary, but it was most appreciated.”

Artan looked into her lovely eyes, saw her uncertainty, and decided he needed to do one more thing before he was absolutely sure of his next step. Placing his hands on the door on either side of her, he took a step closer until their bodies almost touched. He took the sound of a slight hitch in her breathing and the widening of her eyes as a good sign. As he slowly lowered his head, he watched her face, her rapidly changing expressions telling him that she knew what he was about to do. The fact that she made no move to halt him or flee encouraged him.

The moment Sir Artan’s lips brushed over hers, Cecily felt a warmth flood through her body with such speed and fury she felt dizzy. Sir Fergus’s lips had never felt so warm or soft, or so gentle. The only feeling her betrothed had ever stirred within her was one of disinterest touched with revulsion and fear. At first, the gentle prodding of his tongue against her lips puzzled her. Then he sucked on her bottom lip and she gasped over the flurry of feelings that raced through her. The moment her lips parted, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, and in but a heartbeat, she felt herself shudder beneath the strength of what his stroking tongue was making her feel.

When he started to pull away, she grasped him by the front of his shirt and tried to pull him back. His soft chuckle brought her to her senses and she quickly released him. Even as she stared at him in astonishment, he opened the door to her bedchamber and gently nudged her into her room. Dazed, she watched as he slowly smiled.

“Good sleep, Sile,” he said before closing the door.

Cecily touched her lips with her shaking fingers. Her heart beat so fast and hard she was surprised she could not see it beneath her bodice, could not see the material moving to that erratic rhythm. Kissing one man when she was betrothed to another had to be a grave sin. At that moment, with her blood afire from a riot of feelings, she simply did not care. Cecily just hoped she would not have to pay too great a penance.

Whistling softly beneath his breath, Artan headed toward the bedchamber allotted to him. The kiss he had just shared with Cecily had marked the path he would now walk and marked it very clearly. There was a fire beneath that shy beauty of hers and it had flared up quickly, stirred to bright life by his kiss. That she had stirred a similar fire within him was even better. She would be his.

When he saw Sir Fergus Ogilvey standing outside his bedchamber door, Artan almost told the man about his decision. Only the instinctive knowledge that there were secrets at Dunburn that needed uncovering held him silent. He did not think it was just his dislike of Sir Fergus that made him believe the man was part of those secrets. Artan stood in front of the man, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared down at him. The way the man’s upper lip beaded with sweat gave Artan some satisfaction. The fact that Sir Fergus stood firm despite his obvious fear would have earned the man some respect if Artan had not seen two very large men lurking in the shadows just a few steps away.

“Step aside, lad,” he told Sir Fergus. “I seek my bed and ye block the route to it.”

“I think it would be wise if ye left Dunburn in the morning, Sir Artan,” said Sir Fergus.

“Och, do ye now. And why do ye think I should do that?”

“Because Lady Cecily Donaldson is to marry me and I will tolerate no interference.”

It was the very firmness of that statement that warned Artan, that and the slight sound of a booted foot sliding stealthily over the stone floor. He was ready for the men when they attacked, and it was a short fight. The men obviously had not been ready for him to anticipate the attack. Artan looked at a pale, wide-eyed Sir Fergus, who stared at his fallen men in dismay and then looked at Artan.

“Move,” Artan said, and nodded in satisfaction when the men fled.

Once inside his bedchamber, Artan securely latched the door. If it had been jealousy that had stirred Sir Fergus’s anger, Artan might have shrugged it aside, but he sensed that it was not. That also meant that this would not be the man’s only attempt to force him to leave. Artan smiled as he got ready for bed. A woman to woo and a threat to avert. This visit to Dunburn had definitely just improved.