Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  “If what ye have told me about him is true, then, aye, I willnae be marrying the mon. I have yet to decide that it is true, however.”

  “Ye are a stubborn lass,” he muttered, and had a big drink of wine to still his annoyance.

  “I cannae believe something just because ye tell me it is so.”

  “Why not? Ye can trust me.”

  “As I did when I went to the burn?” She held up her hand to silence his angry protests. “I ken that ye believe ye are helping me. I may e’en go so far to say that ye truly believe all ye say. Howbeit, I have lived with these people for twelve long years, and although I willnae say it has been pleasant, I cannae think of anything that happened in those years to make me believe they want me dead.”

  “And I think ye were kept verra sheltered from the truth.”

  Cecily sighed and had to acknowledge that. “Mayhap I was. I do ken that I wasnae allowed to mix with servants or go anywhere. That feast ye walked into was one of the first I have e’er been allowed to attend.”

  “And ye ne’er questioned why ye were being kept so close, as if ye were some secret no one should ken about?”

  “I assumed it was because I was only a child and then because I was ill-mannered, something Anabel was always accusing me of being. The first thought that came into my head was not that they had had a hand in the death of my father and brother or that they planned to kill me. ’Tis still not the first thought.”

  Artan quelled the urge to ride back to Dunburn and strangle Anabel. “I have not made this all up in my head. I heard the three of them talking. So did Old Meg.” Seeing the stubborn look on her face, he sighed. “Think on it some more, then. But think on this as weel and see if ye can come up with an answer. If Anabel and Edmund consider ye such a burden, why didnae they send ye to Angus? Why did they work so hard to keep ye and your uncle apart?”

  It was not something she wanted to think about, but Cecily just nodded. “I will think about it as we ride to Glascreag. Then if I still cannae believe all ye say, I shall make a short visit with my uncle and ride away with Sir Fergus when he arrives at Glascreag. I am betrothed to be married and I cannae just walk away from that. ’Tis a bond, isnae it? And I willnae be the one to break it unless I have a verra good reason.”

  “I dinnae think ye were worrying much about that bond when ye came down to the burn to meet me.” He could tell by the narrowing of her eyes that he might have been wiser not to remind her of that just yet.

  “’Tis clear to me that I am paying a penance for that sin.”

  He rolled his eyes; then he collected up what was left of the food he had unpacked and returned it to the saddle pack. It was going to be a hard battle to get her to accept what he was telling her. He would be deeply insulted by her refusal to accept his word except he knew he forfeited some of her trust by kidnapping her. Until she believed what he said about Edmund, Anabel, and Fergus, she could not accept that he had good reason for such trickery.

  “Do ye swear on your honor that ye willnae be trying to run away if I dinnae tie ye tonight?”

  “I swear. I told ye, whate’er else I might think of your actions and what ye tell me, I dinnae think ye deserve to die for it all. If naught else, ye are just doing what my uncle asked ye to. And, mayhap, ye truly believe ye are saving my life. I will stay and travel with ye to Glascreag without any further protest.”

  Artan nodded and watched her walk away until she disappeared into the shadows. He was going to have to start wooing her if he had any hope of her being receptive to the idea of marrying him by the time they reached Glascreag. Although he really did not want to use the passion they shared against her, he would. As far as he could see, it was the quickest, if not the only, way he could rid her of the anger and mistrust she now felt for him. Worse, he could not tell her about Angus’s offer until he did and he did not have all that much time to find the right moment to tell her.

  He winced. There was probably no good time to tell her such a thing. She would undoubtedly see him as little better than Sir Fergus, marrying her for what he could gain. It stung his pride to even think of being compared with that swine, but he could understand why she might think it. The only advantage he had beside the passion they shared was that she felt safe with him. Despite everything he had done, she obviously trusted him not to hurt her.

  What he really needed to do was get her bound to him as quickly as possible, he decided as he made up a bed for them on the soft grass. The moment Cecily accepted the fact that she could not marry Sir Fergus, Artan knew he had to try to get her to marry him, and he had better have some good reasons to make her. At any point along their route to Glascreag he could handfast with her. Once they reached Glascreag and settled the problem of Sir Fergus they could have the marriage sanctioned by a priest. He felt confident that Cecily would never walk away from such a bond, and that would give him all the time he needed to soothe her hurts and her anger.

  When he saw her walking back from the trees, he breathed an inner sigh of relief. Although he had accepted her word of honor, he had obviously had a lingering doubt or two. Artan saw her glance at the bed and scowl. Taking the coward’s way out, he strode off into the trees so that he did not have to answer any questions about why he had made up only one bed.

  Cecily watched him leave, then glared at the bed. She supposed there was not much choice, if only because they had only two blankets. Despite the fact that it was summer, there could still be a sharp bite to the air at night. The deeper they rode into the Highlands, the more true that would be. Since she did not want to shiver all night and she doubted he would want to either, there really was not much choice.

  Slipping beneath the blanket, she waited for him to return. She had never spent the night outside, and she definitely did not want to do it on her own. She would just make it very clear that she no longer sought what she had when she had met him at the burn. A warmth spread through her body, putting the lie to her words, but she ignored it.

  She tensed when Artan returned and stood by their rough bed. He removed his weapons and set them within easy reach before he slipped beneath the blanket at her side. Cecily tensed when he curled his arm around her waist and pulled her close, her back tucked up snugly against his front.

  “Now, lass, there is nay need to go so stiff,” he murmured. “I willnae be doing anything save for sleeping.”

  “Ye had better not.” She frowned, certain he was nuzzling her hair.

  “A shame, for I thought ye rather liked what I did.”

  “I liked it until I realized it was all a trick to make me easier to kidnap.”

  “Ach, lass, that isnae how it was at all.” He gently kissed the hollow by her ear. “Did ye think I could lie with my body? Didnae ye feel how I wanted ye?”

  “Men’s bodies can feel lust for anything in petticoats. There doesnae have to be any honesty in it.”

  Artan tsked and lightly bit the nape of her neck, pleased when she shivered in his arms and did not pull away from him. “Do ye now mistrust every word I say?”

  Cecily wondered how he could make her feel guilty, but he did. She did not really believe she was being too harsh. If some woman had done the same thing to him, Cecily felt sure he would be out for someone’s blood. She did not know why he should think she should be more forgiving of betrayal than he would be.

  “Nay every word, but dinnae think that means ye can try to seduce me with false promises and flatteries.”

  “Now why would ye think anything I said or did that night whilst we were in each others arms was a lie?”

  “Because ye needed me there and ye needed me senseless so that ye could easily kidnap me.”

  He sighed and slowly rubbed his hand over her belly. “I hadnae intended to do what we did. I had thought to just kiss ye and hope ye didnae notice that I was binding your wrists. Ah, but then we started kissing, and I forgot about what I was supposed to do.” He could sense her doubt in the hint of tension in her body. “Sile mine, do ye rea
lly think any mon who is but using your passion to his advantage would stop ere he took your maidenhead?”

  There was that to consider, she mused as she hunched her shoulders so that he could not make her senseless with his hot, nibbling kisses on her neck. Cecily did not think any man could pretend to be as aroused as she had thought he was, yet he had not completed the act. He had known she was willing, the very fact that she had met with him had told him that, but he had not taken what she had so clearly offered. Then again, she thought she would have preferred him to knock her over the head than do what he had done.

  “I have no idea how men think,” she muttered.

  “I will tell ye how I think. I think I cannae keep my hands off ye. I think ye taste as sweet as sun-ripe berries. I think I mean to keep ye for my own.”

  “Keep me for your own?”

  “Aye, my own, my mate, my wife.”

  For a moment Cecily was so stunned she could barely breathe. If he had always wanted her for his wife, why had he not mentioned it back at the burn? A part of her wanted to get up and dance and sing, and then say aye. Another part of her wondered what game he was playing now.

  “Your wife?”

  “Aye, my wife.”

  “I am betrothed to Sir Fergus Ogilvey.”

  “Ye willnae be for verra long.” He held her close and closed his eyes, afraid that if he did not stop kissing her and touching her, he would lose all control. “I swear to ye, lass, the mon is all I have told ye he is and nay doubt a lot worse.”

  “Ye will forgive me, please, for nay wanting to believe that people who have cared for me for so long would betroth me to a monster.”

  “And forgive me, lass, for saying that those people didnae care for ye in any way. They put ye under their boot and did everything they could to keep ye there. Aye, e’en to making the one person who truly cared for ye leave when they threw Old Meg out of Dunburn.”

  “Old Meg beat Lady Anabel,” she murmured, a little unsettled by his sharp words. “I but thank God they didnae hang her.”

  “And were ye nay surprised that they didnae?”

  “Aye,” she answered carefully, “I was, but I had begged them for her life.”

  “Which they so graciously gave ye, thus making ye feel e’en more indebted to them.”

  She blinked as the hard truth of that hit her squarely. It had made her feel indebted to them. Whenever she had felt the stirring of anger or rebellion, she had thought of how they had let Old Meg live and she struggled to subdue such feelings. It was hard to believe that they had planned that, though. Anabel had certainly seemed very eager to see Old Meg dead.

  Cecily began to see that she had not yet thought enough on all Artan had told her. She needed to search through her memories of her time beneath Lady Anabel’s rule much more carefully. It was still hard to believe they would want her dead, that they had actually had a hand in the murder of her father and Colin, but it was time to stop simply refusing to even consider it. She had told Artan she would think about all he had accused Anabel, Edmund, and Fergus of, but she saw now that she had not really done so.

  “Mayhap,” she murmured. “Did ye e’er think that I am reluctant to believe the things ye say because it means I have been living with people who dinnae care for me at all and ne’er will, people who may actually have been wishing I was in a grave alongside the rest of my family? ’Tis nay an easy thing ye ask of me.”

  He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “I ken it, lass. I just dinnae want ye to ignore the possibility that I am right, because if ye do, it could mean your life. And that, my Sile, is too high a price to pay for loyalty to people who have ne’er given ye any.”

  She nodded slowly. He was right. He was also putting his hand on her breasts, she realized and gasped. She grabbed his hand and quickly moved it away.

  “There will be none of that.”

  “I was just getting comfortable.” He grinned when she snorted, the sound rife with mockery.

  Held in his arms, Cecily realized she felt safe and warm. She did not know if she wanted to curse or weep. The man had tricked her, kidnapped her. She should not be lying in his arms thinking foolish things such as how she would like to go to sleep every night with him at her back. She was indeed a fool, a sad, besotted one. All she could do was pray that Artan did not discover just how weak her will was.

  Chapter 10

  Hot. She was so very hot. Cecily struggled to wake up, to shake free of dreams of a man with a lovely broad, smooth chest and kisses that made her toes curl. When she finally came to her senses, she found herself clinging to Artan and being heartily kissed. Worse, she was kissing him back—again—just as she had done last morning and the morning before that. For a moment she even had the traitorous idea of pretending she was still asleep so that she could continue to enjoy his lovemaking and not feel guilty about it, but she quickly banished that disgraceful plan and pushed against Artan’s chest.

  The man was driving her mad with his kisses, she thought as she met his slumberous gaze. Every chance he got he kissed her or touched her. It was bad enough they were running from Sir Fergus’s dogged pursuit without Artan turning everything into a part of his continuous seduction. The fact that she spent long hours sitting in his arms as they rode toward Glascreag only made it easier for him. It was getting so that he could have her knotted up with desire with only one brief glance from his silvery blue eyes.

  “There will be nay more of that,” she said for what she felt must have been the hundredth time.

  “Cannae a mon woo the lass he means to wed?” Artan asked as he sat up and stretched.

  Out of the corner of his eye Artan caught Cecily staring at him, her gaze moving over his body with what could only be called greed. If he did not feel the same way about her lithe body, he could begin to feel quite vain. In some ways he already did, for what man would not when the woman he wanted eyed him much as a starving man eyes a meal.

  He stood up and stretched a little more, mostly to give her a good eyeful of what she was denying herself. If she ever figured out what he was doing and decided to retaliate, he could be in serious trouble. Just the thought of Cecily flaunting her slender beauty in front of him was enough to make him sweat. He would have to be very careful to keep her unaware of his games, or she could find out just how easily he could be captured if she tried a few games of her own.

  Cecily bit back a curse and scrambled to her feet. She winced and rubbed at her lower back. Although she was beginning to become accustomed to spending so much time on the back of a horse, sleeping on the ground made her feel like an old woman in the morning. She walked toward the shelter of some trees to tend to her needs, hoping that just walking around would ease some of the stiffness from which she was suffering.

  By the time she returned to their rough camp, Artan had the horse readied and handed her an oatcake. Cecily prayed they would reach Glascreag soon. She desperately wanted a lavish hot meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed. When she realized that her vision of a big, soft bed included a big, hard Artan lying in it—naked—she almost screamed. Now she was not even free of his seduction in her own mind.

  “If all goes weel, we should reach Glascreag in about three more days,” Artan said as he handed her the wineskin.

  She frowned, took a drink, and handed the wineskin back to him. “I can recall it taking much longer.”

  “Aye, but I suspicion ye were traveling at an easy pace and staying to whatever roads and trails ye could find. Old Meg took ye back to Dunburn on much the same route as we are taking, so it would have been quicker.”

  “I dinnae recall much about the journey with Meg,” she said quietly.

  “Ah, nay, ye wouldnae would ye. ’Twas a sad and frightening time.”

  “Verra much so.” She shook off the old memories and the grief that came with them. “Aye, we traveled the roads at a much slower pace, but I also think children find such journeys tedious.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Despite how eager I
was to get to Glascreag to start my training, I quickly found it tedious as weel. Ready?”

  “To get on that horse and ride all day?”

  “Aye,” he replied, his voice choked with laughter. “Mayhap today we can take a longer rest when the sun is high.”

  “In a village?” Cecily had seen several in the distance and longed to stop in one, but Artan had ridden right past them, clinging firmly to a more hidden route.

  “Nay, but there are other places that should be safe. Of course, if ye are ready to marry me I would be willing to risk entering a village. The verra next one in truth.”

  “That is bribery.” She should be angry, Cecily told herself, not amused.

  “Aye, it is, indeed.”

  “Why do ye keep speaking of marriage? I am nay free.”

  “Ye could be,” he drawled and put his hand on his sword.

  “Ye cannae kill Sir Fergus just because I am betrothed to the mon.”

  “It sounds a good reason to me,” he said as he grasped her by the waist and set her in the saddle.

  Cecily hid her frown as he mounted behind her and took up the reins. He had sounded perfectly serious. It would be quite a heady thing if she thought for one moment that he was so deeply jealous of Sir Fergus that he wanted the man dead, but Cecily doubted that was the case. There might be a small amount of jealousy or possessiveness behind those words, but mostly, she suspected Artan would like to kill the man for many another reason. Sir Fergus had apparently been behind the attacks on Artan at Dunburn, and Artan did seem to be convinced that the man wanted her dead.

  Gazing a little absently at the country they rode through, Cecily thought yet again on everything Artan had told her. She no longer thought that he was lying to get her to go to Glascreag with him, but she was convinced that he had told her what he believed was the absolute truth. The part of her that believed him was getting stronger every day, and not just because Artan’s kisses gave her a fever of the brain. He was slowly pulling out of her all manner of memories concerning her time beneath the rule of Sir Edmund and Lady Anabel, as well as what few memories she had concerning Sir Fergus.