Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  She wanted him to stop it, to stop prodding at her memories and stop dragging forth thoughts and feelings she had buried as deep as possible. Cecily understood what he was doing, that he was trying to get her to see the truth for herself. It was getting harder and harder to deny it all as only his truth and nothing more. Almost everything she recalled seemed to add weight to his claims, making it increasingly difficult for her to defend or excuse her guardians or her betrothed. What was worse, however, was that it was also showing her how much she had denied, how often she had lied to herself, and how much she had forced herself to forget and ignore. It was slowly making her see just what a sad, miserable life she had been living for the past twelve years.

  At times it made her very angry with him even though she knew he did not deserve that anger. The tales he told her about his life and family, tales filled with crowds of loving relations, only added to her anger and misery. Despite the loss of her mother, she had had such a life with her father and brother before it had been brutally stolen from her. She had begun to realize that even the people of Dunburn, everyone from the maids to the swineherd, had been taken from her as well. From the day Old Meg had brought her home from that tragedy, everyone had been kept from her. Old Meg had been the last to be taken away, and after that, Cecily realized, she had been utterly alone.

  There had to be a reason for that. What troubled Cecily was that she could not come up with a good one, one that explained everything so clearly it proved that Artan was wrong. More and more a little voice in her head whispered the question: Had she been living with, and bowing to, her family’s murderers? It made her feel cold to the bone to think it might be true.

  She leaned back against Artan and closed her eyes, smiling faintly when she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. The anger and hurt she had felt when he had kidnapped her was almost gone, leaving only a small, lingering mistrust of his desire for her. He had, after all, used passion to capture her, and she was uneasy whenever the desire between them began to stir to life again. She grimaced as she forced herself to admit that that desire never really rested.

  And just why was she denying it? she asked herself. He spoke of marriage, so even if her betrothal to Sir Fergus came to an end, she would have a husband. And a far better one than the man her guardians had chosen for her, she mused. The desire she felt for Artan was like a living thing inside her, a very hungry, demanding living thing. If Artan was right, she was in a fight for her very life. So why was she denying herself what she so badly wanted? Cecily began to wonder if she was pushing him away to punish him for what was beginning to look like a very minor sin against her. Either that or she was punishing herself for wanting a man other than the one to whom she was betrothed. Neither was really acceptable. On the other hand, she was wary of her own arguments, afraid she was just finding ways to convince herself that it was acceptable to take what she wanted.

  It was time to stop playing that game, she decided. The more she thought on her life, the more she was inclined to take what she wanted and enjoy it to the fullest. Artan was offering to marry her, and even if she could not decide on that just yet, she could certainly help herself to everything else he offered her. It was only her word that held her to Sir Fergus, and although she did feel a pinch of guilt for betraying the promises she had made at their betrothal ceremony, it was only a pinch and she knew it would not stop her.

  Letting the rhythm of the horse and the pleasure of being lightly embraced by Artan as they rode relax her, she settled herself more comfortably against his broad chest. All problems aside, this was where she wanted to be, and it was time to stop fighting him and herself. As soon as she rested a little, Cecily decided she would let the man know that she would not push him away again. Feeling a now-familiar hardness pressing up against her backside, she smiled. She suspected she would not have to do much to make him accept her change of heart.

  Artan peered down at the woman sleeping in his arms and wondered why she was smiling, then decided that it might be best if he did not know. Her anger had definitely softened toward him. He was sure that she no longer thought he was lying to her even though she still had not fully accepted the truth of what he said. That contradiction did not make much sense to him, but he suspected it did to her. It was, however, one step closer to having her fully accept the cold, hard truth about the Donaldsons and Sir Fergus.

  At the moment, his strongest reason for hoping she would quickly accept the truth was that it would make her cease holding fast to promises she had made to Sir Fergus. Artan loathed the idea that she might feel bound to the man in even the smallest of ways, and the man’s crimes had little to do with that feeling. He admitted to himself that he simply loathed the idea of her feeling bound to anyone but him. He also wanted her to accept him as her lover, the sooner the better, as he seemed to be in a permanent state of aching need. He could wait a little longer for her to accept him as her husband, but he was not sure he could endure another night of lying beside her rigid with need but unable to slake it. Artan would not be surprised to discover that something like that could quickly turn a man into a dribbling madman.

  He sighed and nudged Thunderbolt into a slightly faster pace. For a man who could go without a woman for long stretches of time, he was proving to have very little control around Cecily. Artan was not even certain that the problem would fade once he knew he could bed her any time he pleased. It could be that it was simply Cecily who kept him in a state of permanent rut, and he was not sure he liked that. If the woman ever realized the power she held in her small hands, he could find himself in dire trouble.

  Shaking aside that troubling thought, Artan suddenly recalled a small loch he had paused at on his way to Dunburn. If all went well they would be passing by the place just as the sun hit its zenith. Artan decided that would be the perfect place to stop for a rest and, if he was very lucky, a little lovemaking. They could also bathe in the water. Naked. When that thought made him painfully hard, he grimaced and tried to fill his head with thoughts of the journey ahead and how to continue to avoid the men following them.

  Cecily looked around as she stretched and idly rubbed the small of her back. It was a lovely place, the water of the small loch clear and bright and land surrounding it lush with flowers, mosses, and trees. She slipped off her boots and hose and approached the edge of the water. It chilled her toes as she idly trailed them through the water, but the heat of the day made that chill welcome. When Artan threw a blanket on the ground and placed a few of their dwindling food supplies on it, she smiled at him.

  “’Tis a beautiful place,” she said as she walked to the blanket and sat down.

  “Aye,” he replied, tearing off a chunk of their last bit of bread and handing it to her. “I thought that when I stopped here on the way to Dunburn.” He cut the last of their cheese in half. “I spent the night here and had a fine meal of fish fresh from the cold waters of the loch.” He frowned at the loch. “Mayhap I ought to try and catch a few fish now.”

  “By the look upon your face I must assume that ye think it would take longer than ye wish.”

  “It did so the last time, and I am loathe to lose any time past what is needed to rest us and Thunderbolt.”

  Cecily nodded and slowly chewed on the slightly stale bread. “I dinnae suppose one can catch a roasted chicken in that loch.”

  Artan grinned. “Nay, nor a fine apple pudding either.”

  “Ah, weel, ’tis still lovely e’en if it is useless. ’Tis cold, though.”

  “So ye willnae wish to be swimming in it, aye?” He allowed himself a fleeting moment of regret for the loss of a nice dream of them swimming naked together. Considering how chill the water was, that was probably for the best, as he would not appear at his manliest in such water.

  “I cannae swim.” She sighed. “Da meant to teach me when we returned to Dunburn after visiting my uncle for he had heard that I spent a great deal of time by the burn. He feared I might drown if I played too close to the w
ater and fell in.”

  “I could teach ye, but nay here and nay today. When we are at Glascreag. There are several places where I can take ye to teach ye how to swim.”

  She looked at him and suddenly felt incredibly sad. “I may nay be staying long at Glascreag.”

  “Ye will be.”

  “And ye say I am stubborn,” she muttered. “I may be leaving with the Donaldsons and Sir Fergus when they arrive at my uncle’s gates.”

  “E’en if ye cannae believe what I say about them and their plans, why return with them? Ye dinnae like them, dinnae like Sir Fergus, and ye are nay happy at Dunburn.”

  “True. All of that is verra true, and I think ye will understand if I dinnae thank ye for making me see that. Howbeit, unless I accept all your talk about lies, deceptions, thievery, and plots to murder me, I must look at promises made and duty owed.”

  “Do ye nay owe your mother’s brother a duty as weel?”

  “I do and I begin to believe the Donaldsons did purposefully keep my uncle and I apart. My duty is to see that that ne’er happens again. I am nay sure what the laws are concerning guardianship, but it might cause my uncle a great deal of trouble if I did try to stay at Glascreag. I am worried enough about the trouble ye and I are about to bring to his gates, but that can be turned aside by my returning to Dunburn with the Donaldsons and Sir Fergus.”

  “Angus willnae care about that. He would drag himself out of his sickbed just to have a chance to fight some Lowlanders.”

  “Weel, I shall be sorry to deprive him of his fun, but I willnae allow it. Others are always hurt in such battles, innocent ones and ones who have no part in whate’er argument set the men at sword point with each other.”

  Artan had to chuckle over her dry tone of voice. She made denying Angus the chance to fight sound like she was denying a child a little treat. The rest of her argument was sound, however. Artan could agree with it even if such concerns did not always stop him from joining in a battle. His concession to such things was to do his best to make sure neither he nor any men fighting at his side were guilty of hurting the innocent caught up in the midst of a battle.

  Her talk of leaving Glascreag shortly after she arrived did not trouble him much. He was confident she would see the truth by then, and if she did not, he would simply secure her somewhere within the keep until she did. Also, he could stop worrying about it altogether if she married him. Cecily would feel bound to him by the exchange of their vows and he knew she would never walk away from him then.

  Not even when she discovered what secret he had been keeping from her, he thought, and silently cursed his own cowardice. They had spent hours talking about her past and his, yet he still hesitated to tell her about what Angus had offered him. There was a contrary part of him that felt it should not matter. Many men married for gain, and it made no difference to what they felt or did not feel. In this instance, it was also mostly for her that the offer was made. Angus could not leave the lairdship of Glascreag and its people to a small, bonnie lass simply because all the surrounding clans would see it as an invitation to take Glascreag. He needed to have a strong man at the head of the clan. A marriage satisfied both that need and the one that the man had to leave something to the child of his sister, one of the few remaining close kin he had. It made perfect sense and should not trouble her that it was so or make her think it lessened what Artan felt for her.

  That, of course, was the way a man felt. Artan could not depend upon her feeling the same. Worse, he was not skilled enough with sweet words to convince her that he did feel something for her, something far above and quite separate from what he gained by marrying her.

  He shook aside that concern. If he could not find the right moment or the courage to tell her about Angus’s bargain before they reached Glascreag, he would deal with the matter when they did arrive. His only concern should be that she did not find out about it from anyone else.

  Knowing they could not linger here too much longer, Artan stood up and pulled her up to stand beside him. “We shall need to leave soon, and I intend to wash some of this dust off. Do ye feel the need to do the same? I can swim verra weel, so ye dinnae need to fear ye will drown if ye tumble in.”

  “That is a comfort,” she murmured as she frowned toward the water, then nodded. “Aye, I think a brief wash in even that cold water will be welcome. I cannae e’en convince myself that, since we will be back on the horse and riding until the sun sets, ’tis all a bit of a waste of time.”

  He laughed and began to pull off his boots. It pained him to do so, but he cast aside his plan to steal a few moments for some lovemaking. There was a sense of unease growing inside of him, a warning of trouble, and he would heed it. A quick cleansing and they would be back on Thunderbolt and leaving this place. When he finished pulling off his shirt and saw that Cecily had stripped down to her shift, he almost changed his mind, but pushed aside the urge to give into temptation. He could not ignore his instincts and they were indicating that this place was not a safe place to linger for too long.

  Cecily squeaked with shock when she stepped into the cold water. She had to laugh at the dramatic shudder Artan gave when he strode into the water. Despite his assurances that she was safe, that he could swim very well and could rescue her if it was needed, she stepped farther into the water very cautiously. When the water reached her knees, she stopped, unwilling to go any farther. Crouching down, she slowly washed the dust and the scent of horse from her skin. Her shift was soon soaked, but she did not care. It too needed a rinse and it would dry quickly in the heat and the sun.

  “Hold your head back, lass, and I will rinse your hair for ye, if ye wish it,” said Artan.

  “Oh, aye, I should like that.”

  Artan tried not to stare while he washed her hair with the clear water of the loch, but it was hard. The water had turned her light shift so thin he could see all of her charms. The moment he finished with her hair, he strode farther out into the water and dove in. The cold of the water was so sharp it made him grit his teeth, but it did the job he intended it to do. He was no longer hard with lust.

  For a little while, Cecily watched him swim. The fear she had felt when she had seen him dive into the water eased as she saw that he had not succumbed to an idle boast when he had told her he could swim very well. It was fascinating to watch his strong body move along so gracefully in the water, but the cold soon drove her back onto the bank. She was not surprised when he soon joined her there. Even he had to feel that cold after a while.

  “I need to skip into the trees for a moment,” she said as she used the blanket he had handed her to rub herself dry.

  “Skip away, but nay too far,” he said as he donned his shirt and began to pull on his boots.

  Cecily threw her gown on over her damp shift, then sat down to put on her shoes and hose. She grimaced at the odd feeling of wearing damp clothes beneath dry ones as she stood up and hurried off into the trees. Uncomfortable though it was, she could tell even now that it would prove cooling for a while.

  She was just straightening her clothes when a sound made her tense. Without thought, she hurried back toward Artan. The moment she cleared the trees she knew she had made a serious error. Artan was surrounded by armed men and it did not appear that the men were graciously asking for his surrender. Fergus had found them.

  Taking a few steps back into the shadows, she struggled to think of what she could do to help him. About the only thing she could think of was running toward the men and drawing their attention long enough to give Artan a chance to flee. It was a mad idea and she did not have much confidence that Artan would flee, but it was the only idea she had. When Artan gave an ear-splitting bellow and attacked the men, she decided she had to do it if only to save the fool from his own idiocy. Just as she started to move, however, she was grabbed firmly from behind. Before she could act, there was a blinding pain in her head and all she knew was blackness.

  Chapter 11

  Someone was groaning. A moment
later, Cecily realized that someone was her. Her head felt as if some little demon sat on her shoulder and was beating a brick against her head. Had she fallen out of the saddle? That would be highly embarrassing, she thought.

  Then her memory returned; her mind was swamped with images she wished she could banish forever. Her last sight of Artan filled her mind’s eye and made her whole body ache with grief. He had to be dead. No man could face so many men determined to kill him and survive. There had to have been a dozen swords aimed at him. Even so, a small part of her refused to give up hope. She decried it as foolish and blind, but that tiny flicker of hope remained.

  Cautiously, she opened her eyes, wincing slightly as even the dim light surrounding her made her head throb. She was in a tent and a rather lavish one as well. It was as she started to sit up that she realized she was bound at the wrists, but then quickly discovered that was not the worst of it. The other end of the rope was secured to a stake stuck in the ground in the middle of the tent. She had the wild thought that there must be something in a man’s character that compelled him to put a woman on a leash. Odd though it was, that thought caused her growing alarm to fade and anger took its place. That anger also pushed her fear for Artan aside, and she decided to cling to it.

  Her head hurt and she was beginning to be aware of other aches and bruises indicating that her journey to this place had not been an easy one. Her clothes were torn in several places and covered in dirt. She was leashed to a stake like some beast, and she desperately needed a drink. Cecily badly wanted to kill someone or, at the very least, beat someone bloody.

  Sir Fergus entered the tent at that moment and she fixed all of her fury on him. Somehow it did not surprise her that the man would travel with a tent worthy of royalty. The fact that he looked as clean as he did when he sat at the table in the great hall of Dunburn only added to her anger. Even the man’s thinning hair looked well combed. When he poured himself a tankard of wine, not offering her any, and sat on a stool to watch her, Cecily suspected the pounding in her head now had less to do with the fact that someone had struck her and a great deal to do with the fury pounding through her veins.