Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  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.

  Chapter 5

  “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 marr
iage 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.