When he was finally able to move from where he had sprawled at Cecily’s side, Artan fetched a scrap of cloth, dampened it in a bowl of water left for the morning, and washed them both clean of the stain of her lost innocence. He returned to the bed and pulled her into his arms. As the last of passion’s haze cleared from his mind, he found himself wondering how long he needed to allow her to heal after her first time with a man. Artan prayed it would not be too long, for he was already hungry for her again.
Artan felt like patting himself on the back. He had breeched his wife and there had been no tears and no cries of pain, only of pleasure. Loving her with his mouth had been an inspiration brought on by a need to kiss every beautiful soft inch of her, to mark her in ways he had never marked a woman before, and a sudden memory of something he had once done half-heartedly when playing those love games with the blacksmith’s daughter. It had worked, sending his little wife into such a state of desire she had barely flinched when he had broken her maidenhead. He began to think he had suffered more than she had.
He briefly grinned into her hair as she rested her cheek against his chest. Artan realized that he liked loving his wife that way. He especially liked the way she went wild in his arms and made soft, moaning noises. There would be more of those intimate kisses. Artan would not allow her to grow all shy and uneasy over such an intimacy. He had every intention of doing it again. It enflamed him almost as much as it did her.
“Artan?” Cecily asked a little timidly as she stroked his chest.
“Aye, wife?” He decided he liked the sound of that word.
“Am I supposed to make so much noise?”
Knowing that laughing now would hurt her feelings, he bit the inside of his cheek until the urge passed. “Ye can make as much noise as ye want. I do and I will.”
“’Tis just that it isnae anything like Lady Anabel said it was supposed to be.”
He did not like the idea that Lady Anabel had advised her on how to behave in the marital bed. “It is what ye make of it. Ye can have a cold bed or a verra warm one. I prefer a verra warm one, thank ye.”
“Weel, I wish to do what ye like, because then ye may nay have the need of another woman.”
Artan grasped her by the chin and turned her face up to his. “I am your husband. We have made promises to each other e’en if the marriage is only a handfasting. We will have our vows afore a priest as soon as can be and I will mean those vows, too. I will be faithful.”
That delighted her, but she wondered if he really knew what he was promising her. “Anabel says men cannae be faithful.”
“Neither can she it seems.” He kissed her. “This is all I need. Men who say they need more either have a wife they loathe or are making excuses for their own inability to hold fast to a vow made before God.”
“So Sir Edmund—”
“Is naught but a rutting swine. The mon killed three of his own kinsmen for the sake of money. I think that settles the matter of his morals. He doesnae have any.”
“Ah, of course. I think it is going to take a wee while before the truth of that truly settles in my mind and heart. ’Tis too horrible, and I think I keep shoving it into some dark corner of my mind.”
“Then mayhap I need to fill your poor wee mind with something else,” he murmured as he gently pushed her onto her back and settled himself comfortably in her arms.
“And what would that be?” she asked as she looped her arms around his neck.
“Weel, it will depend upon how sore ye are?”
“Oh, the few blows dealt by Sir Fergus dinnae bother me any.”
Artan touched the bruise upon her cheek. “I wasnae talking about these abominations.”
“Oh.” Cecily felt herself blush, but still took a minute to think about how she felt and was a little surprised to find that she did not feel much of anything at all. “Nay, nothing.”
“Ah, lass, ye cannae believe how glad I am to hear that.”
“I think I am rather pleased myself,” she murmured, and slowly eased her hand down over his hard stomach and gently wrapped her fingers around his hardness.
Artan closed his eyes and savored the feel of her soft little hand stroking him. “I was a wee bit worried about hurting ye,” he said in an increasingly husky voice.
“Nay as worried as I was,” she said, and smiled when he laughed. “What do ye call it?”
“Mine,” he replied, and winked at her when she giggled. “And now yours.”
Artan proceeded to make love to her. The last time the fear of hurting her had lingered in his heart and mind, controlling him in some ways. Now he could simply make love to her. He quickly discovered that she, too, seemed more at ease now that that hurdle had been leapt. In far too short a time he knew he had to be inside her and sensed that she had reached that point as well.
Turning onto his back, Artan pulled her on top of him. He smiled a little at her look of confusion and then showed her what he wanted. As she eased her body down on his he was sure his face held the same delighted expression as hers did. She quickly learned the perfect way to ride her man, and it was not long before they were both shuddering from the strength of their release. He held her close as she collapsed on top of him, breathing as heavily as he was.
When he felt sleep creeping up on him, he gently set her back on the bed and fetched a cloth to clean them off. Afterward, he climbed back into bed and pulled her into his arms, her back tucked up against his front. He would not be surprised if he soon found it hard to sleep unless she was in his arms like this.
“Is our wedding night over?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I fear so, wife. We have both had a verra busy day. Aye, and we had best be returning to our journey ere the sun finishes rising.”
Cecily groaned but made no other complaint. “Aye, between ye fighting off an army and me being kidnapped by Sir Fergus and then running away as fast as we could, it has been a verra long day.”
“It wasnae exactly an army, although I was hard-pressed. I fear the Donaldsons and the Ogilveys dinnae have too many well-trained fighting men.”
“There isnae such a great need for them where I live.”
“Weel, it worked in my favor. I am nay sure insulting Sir Fergus as ye did worked in your favor, however.”
“Nay, but at first I was just so verra angry. I also thought ye might be dead and, weel, getting angry with him was better than thinking about that. After a slap and a kick, I decided it might be better to temper my words. Then I saw your knife.”
“Ye saw it?”
“A wee bit of light glinted off it at first and then I lost it, but by looking verra carefully, I caught sight of it again.” She sighed and stroked the arm he had wrapped around her waist to soothe the fear for him that was still too fresh. “I hoped it was ye coming to rescue me if only because it meant ye had survived Sir Fergus’s attempts to kill ye yet again. But I felt that anyone trying to slip into his tent so stealthily couldnae mean him any good.”
“And that made whoever it was your friend.”
“Weel, at least someone who would help me. To keep Sir Fergus from seeing the knife, I kept his attention on me.”
“If it hadnae been me ye could have been killed.”
“I was so hoping it was ye, but I also hoped that whoever it was might be a thief, but he wouldnae just stand there and let a mon kill a woman. Truth is, I suspected him to slap me or kick me again, nay try to strangle me.”
“Weel, ye did tell him that his manhood was the size of a bairn’s. Tends to enrage a mon.”
“I thought that was a verra good insult. I worked hard to think of that one and have been waiting to use it. I thought up the spineless cretin one right then. It has a nice flavor, so I think I will keep it.”
“Ye think up insults?”
“Weel, I am too small to fight anyone and have ne’er learned to use a weapon, so I decided I needed a good supply of insults. Something to make me seem fie
rce and daring. I also think of them when I am angry but cannae show it. That happened a lot at Dunburn.”
He could not help it, he laughed. “’Tis a strange game to play, lass, but there is nay harm in it. And ye do come up with some verra good ones as I recall from that time I took your gag off after I kidnapped ye.”
She smiled faintly and closed her eyes. He had laughed but he had not ridiculed her for her somewhat peculiar game. That was a good sign.
Cecily then thought of his vow to be faithful. She desperately wanted to believe in it, and his scorn of men who break their vows made her inclined to. Yet it went against everything she had seen at Dunburn. She hoped it was the truth, that he was different from Sir Edmund and his ilk, for she knew that if he were unfaithful it would crush her.
Artan felt her body grow heavy against his and held her a little tighter. She was a lass with a lot of twists and turns and, he feared, a lot of bruises on her heart. From the things she had said about her life at Dunburn, she had been kept apart from everyone. She had come home, grief-stricken and probably terrorized after seeing her father and brother killed, and been given nothing but criticism, lies, and cold indifference from that day onward. He was surprised she had grown up to be the sweet woman she was.
And now she was his. He would have a marriage before a priest as soon as he was able to arrange it. Handfast was all right, but he wanted her bound to him as tightly as possible. Artan was not sure he understood why that was so important to him, but it was and he accepted it. Cecily Donaldson was his mate and tonight had proved it. He slid his hand up to rest it over her breast and she murmured a sound of pleasure and snuggled closer as he closed his eyes. This was how he wanted to go to sleep every night, he decided and smiled.
Chapter 13
Hot. She was so very, very hot. Cecily woke to find Artan heartily kissing her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she proceeded to kiss him right back. The feel of his body pressed so close to hers had her trembling with desire. Even after three days of being his wife, she was still astonished by how a man so much bigger and stronger than she was could make her feel so safe and cherished even as he made her wild with need.
She pushed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. Cecily was a little surprised at how bold she felt as she sat astride him almost idly rubbing herself against his erection. There was the hint of the coming dawn in the sky, and before the sun rose she fully intended to live out some of the heated dreams she had enjoyed, all of them featuring a naked Artan completely at her mercy. What she wanted to do was shower praise upon that big, strong body of his from his lips all the way down to his long toes. Cecily hoped she did not shock him, but mostly, she hoped he would not try to stop her.
Artan growled softly as Cecily kissed the hollow at the base of his throat. There had been a look of determination upon her face that made him wonder what she intended to do. His little wife was proving to be a very passionate lover, and he was more than willing to let her play her games. When he realized where her kisses were headed, however, his eyes widened and his whole body tensed in anticipation.
The feel of her hair caressing his groin as she kissed her way down his leg made him shudder. By the time she began to kiss her way up his other leg, he was close to demanding that she cease playing with him and give him what he now craved. Only the chance that she was not intending to do that, that she was too innocent to even know he might like it, held him silent. In his entire life he had only been given the pleasure twice, once by Mattie and once because he had paid for it. He could not demand such a thing of his gently bred wife.
When he felt the soft warmth of her lips touch his erection, he trembled as much with relief as with passion. He threaded his hands in her thick hair to hold her there. He attempted to tell her just how much he liked what she was doing but did not think he was very coherent. When she slowly took him into her mouth, he prayed for the control to enjoy this pleasure for a long time. Hours would be nice, he thought a little wildly.
A few moments later he knew he had no control left. He grabbed her beneath her arms and pulled her up his body until she sat astride him. The flush upon her cheeks, the turbulence in her eyes, and the damp heat of her pressing against his manhood told him she had been stirred by loving him, and he wasted no more time before burying himself deep inside her.
It was a long time after their shared release before Artan found the strength to move. He lifted his head enough to look down at the woman sprawled on his chest and grinned. With everything she did Cecily ran the risk of turning him into a very vain fellow. No other woman had ever made him feel so wanted, so handsome, or so desirable. Sir Fergus was a fool. The treasure of the Donaldsons was not chests of gold or rich lands, it was little Cecily. He kissed the top of her head and gently moved her to his side, grinning at the way she blushed and was unable to meet his gaze.
“Ye shouldnae give a mon so much pleasure in the morning, wife,” he said as he stood up and stretched, “especially when he must needs have the strength to ride for miles.”
Cecily rolled her eyes as she hastily donned her shift, but she inwardly grinned. His words were no soft vows of love and passion, but they soothed all her fear that she had shocked or disgusted him. That pleased her, for she had discovered that feeling such a man trembling beneath her hands and her mouth had stirred her passion in a way she had every intention of enjoying again.
Hurrying away to see to her personal needs, she struggled to subdue that part of her that was disappointed over the lack of love words. It was too soon. She knew she loved Artan, had suspected it long ago, but she also suspected men like Artan were very slow to admit to such feelings. He desired her, would always protect her, spoke to her in such a way that she knew he trusted in her mind, and he made her feel safe. He had also sworn to be faithful. It was foolish to bemoan the fact that he did not proclaim undying love for her. Most women would be in the chapel every day on their knees thanking God for such a husband. Since she had left Dunburn with Artan she had felt stronger and braver. There was no need to be greedy as well.
When she returned to camp, Artan handed her some bread and cheese. She noticed that Thunderbolt was readied for the journey ahead. It suddenly occurred to her that her husband was very efficient and had shown many a skill that had made their journey easier. All part of his training, she supposed. He draped an arm around her shoulders and she looked up to find him grinning at her.
“What has amused ye?” she asked as she accepted the wineskin he offered her and had a drink.
“Nay amused actually,” he replied, “just pleased. We shall reach Glascreag ere the sun sets today.”
“And no sign of Sir Fergus and his men?”
“None at all; but I doubt he turned tail and ran home. He may nay have as many men with him as he did before, however.” He frowned. “Unless he joins with one of the ones about here who wouldnae mind seeing Angus brought low.”
“Uncle Angus has enemies, does he?”
“Aye, a few, but dinnae fret. They havenae won against him yet.” He gave her a brief kiss, hooked the wineskin onto his saddle, and then lifted her up onto Thunderbolt’s back. “I dinnae think any alliance Sir Fergus will make here will last long. E’en our enemies are smart enough to see what a coward and a fool that chinless knight is. It willnae be long before he discovers his allies have slipped away home and left him to his fate. And none of them are any fonder of Lowlanders than Angus is,” he added as he swung up into the saddle behind her and took up the reins.
Cecily nearly cursed. “I dinnae understand why ye are all so scornful concerning Lowlanders.”
“’Tis simple, wife. They are too akin to the English.”
She nearly growled and decided such nonsense deserved no response, so she turned her attention to studying the lands they rode over. There was a beautiful harshness to the scenery. Cecily discovered that she felt a deep appreciation for it even though it looked as if it made the people who lived on it work very hard for their
survival. She supposed one reason the Highlanders scorned the Lowlanders was because they lived in a softer, kinder land.
Settling herself comfortably against Artan’s chest, Cecily began to wonder about her uncle. She had not seen the man for twelve years. Due to the need of her guardians to keep her and Angus MacReith apart, she had had no contact with him at all. It was sad that her closest kinsman should be a complete stranger to her. She should ask Artan about Angus, she thought, and she would, right after she had a little nap. Having a passionate, demanding husband was exhausting, she thought, smiling faintly as she closed her eyes.
She was smiling in her sleep again, Artan thought as he studied Cecily’s face and he grinned. He was still fairly sure he did not want to know what she was smiling about, but he hoped she was having a very good, very passionate dream about him. The way she awoke in the mornings, all warm and eager, made him think she did have dreams about the passion they shared. It would certainly explain what she had done to him this morning.
He was a very lucky man, he decided. His wife made no complaint about day after tedious day of travel. She could peacefully endure long silences, not pestering him to fill every waking moment with talk. It appeared she had completely forgiven him for kidnapping her, even before she found out that he had been telling her the truth about Sir Fergus and the Donaldsons. And then there was her passion, he thought, knowing he was grinning like a very satisfied man. He had never enjoyed a passion as sweet and fierce as the one he shared with her.
There was a shadow on his happiness, however. He had yet to tell her about the bargain Angus had made with him. That was a mistake and he knew it, but he did not know how to fix it. They would be at Glascreag by the end of the day, and he was thinking it might be best to wait until they got there. Perhaps if she could see what they would share it would make it easier for her. He hoped he could think of a way to give her a few hints first, however; a little something that would settle in her mind and not make the truth such a complete shock. That required a guile he was not sure he possessed, not with her, but it was the only idea he had had and he decided to stay with it. When she woke from her nap, he would begin to gently ease her toward the truth.
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