Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  “It looks a great deal bigger than I remember,” Cecily murmured as she caught sight of Glascreag in the distance.

  “Usually a child’s eyes see things as a great deal larger than they are, and so we are often shocked to see that they arenae so big once we are grown. Mayhap ye didnae really pay attention until ye were inside the gates.”

  Cecily laughed. “A verra big possibility.” She frowned. “And this is to be left to Malcolm?”

  “Aye, he is Angus’s closest male kin.”

  “My memories of Malcolm are verra dim, but I just cannae see him as laird here.”

  Neither could Artan, and he was hoping she would remember that opinion when she found out the truth. He also hoped she would recall it when he explained that it was the thought of Malcolm becoming the laird that had made him even consider Angus’s offer. Making her think of Malcolm as laird had been the only guile he had been able to think of. It was a weak ploy to win her sympathy for both him and Angus when he had to tell her about the bargain, but he had decided that a weak one was better than none at all.

  It was as they rode in through the gates of Glascreag that Artan began to feel a touch of panic. A huge crowd had gathered. He would have to get Cecily to their bedchamber as quickly as possible. If he still could not spit out the truth, he would go to Angus’s room and tell the man to be silent about the bargain for a little while longer. Artan prayed the old man had not told anyone else about it.

  Like Malcolm, he thought as that young man moved toward them through the crowd as Artan dismounted and then helped Cecily down. By the time he had accomplished that Malcolm was standing right in front of them. He could be ignored. When he saw how Malcolm was looking at Cecily, however, he decided that his cousin should be beaten, at least just enough to wipe that lecherous smile off his face.

  Just as he stepped toward Malcolm, Artan felt Cecily’s hand tighten on his. He sighed and reluctantly halted. Greeting Malcolm by planting a fist in his teeth might make Artan happy, but he knew it would upset Cecily. This was her first time at Glascreag since she was a small child, twelve long years ago, and she was nervous. He would not add to that by turning this meeting with her kinsman into a brawl.

  “Malcolm, this is Cecily Donaldson.” Artan decided to wait to announce his marriage until he could speak to Angus. If nothing else, Angus would not like it if everyone was told about such an important event before him. “She visited here with her father and wee brother about twelve years ago. She is Angus’s niece.”

  “Ah, aye, I remember. The Lowlander,” Malcolm said.

  Glancing at his wife, Artan almost laughed. Now she looked like she wanted to hit Malcolm. Cecily was proud of her father and the place where she had grown up despite all the tragedy and problems that had beset her in her own home. She knew, however, that the Highlanders considered it an insult.

  “That isnae important now, Malcolm,” Artan said. “Now I think Sile would like to clean off the dust of a long journey and mayhap e’en steal a wee rest ere we all gather in the great hall to dine.”

  “Sile would like to ken why ye introduced me as a Donaldson,” she said softly.

  “Angus wouldnae like it if we announced our marriage right here in the bailey. He is the laird, ye ken, and your uncle.”

  “Ah, of course. He should most certainly be told first.”

  Artan hoped she would be so quick to understand later. Continuing to walk toward the keep, he ordered a man to see to his horse. A few steps later he ordered two youths to bring his saddle packs and Cecily’s bag to his bedchamber. He inwardly cursed when he realized why they were grinning so widely as they ran off. As far as they knew, Cecily was just some woman he had brought back to Glascreag. Instead of a proud husband, he was now seen as a rogue. By the time he opened the door to the keep and pulled Cecily inside, it felt as if every MacReith for miles around had tried to talk to him, slowing him down every step of the way.

  “I think some of those people were verra anxious to talk to ye, Artan,” Cecily said, wondering why she felt Artan was trying to hide her away as quickly as possible. “It might be important. I can wait.”

  “Nay, lass, if ’twas truly important they would hunt me down. Ye dinnae see anyone charging into the keep after me, do ye?”

  “Nay, true enough, and ye are right. If it was truly important, a matter of life and death, they would persist.”

  “Now, let us get ye to my bedchamber and I will see that a hot bath is readied for ye.”

  “That would be most welcome. At times I feel as if the dirt and dust of travel has buried itself deep into my skin. And I really should be clean ere I go to visit Uncle Angus in his sick bed.”

  “He isnae in his sick bed,” Artan said, watching the man coming down the stairs with a wary resignation.

  “Where has he gone? Oh, Artan, did someone out there tell ye that he has died?”

  “Nay, lass, he isnae dead,” Artan replied, ruefully admitting that, in a few minutes, he might be heartily wishing that the old man was cold in his grave. Worse, Artan feared his wife might be wishing the same fate for him.

  Angus stopped a few steps from the bottom of the stairs. He stared at Cecily and a hint of moisture gleamed in his eyes. He took another step down and touched her hair.

  “Ye look just like your mother, lass,” he said in a quiet, husky voice. “Aye, ye are my wee Moira reborn.”

  “Thank ye, Uncle.” Cecily could sense a true emotion in the man, a true joy to see her, and she felt a lot of her uncertainties vanish. “I have ne’er had a prettier compliment or a kinder one.”

  Angus suddenly hopped down and swept her into his arms. Very strong arms for a dying man, she suddenly thought. She glanced at her husband and saw that he was watching Angus with a look of amusement well combined with irritation. She suddenly recalled that Artan had said he had come to fetch her because Angus was dying. Her uncle had obviously been plotting. She knew enough about healing to recognize a strong, healthy man when she saw one.

  “Angus, if I could speak to ye for a moment?” Artan asked, clinging to a rapidly dwindling hope that he could yet avoid disaster.

  “Later, lad. It can wait.”

  “Oh, nay, it cannae. I really need to talk to ye.”

  “Ah, to plan the wedding, eh?” Angus slapped Artan on the back and smiled at Cecily.

  In an attempt to startle Angus into silence, Artan snapped, “We are already married. We were handfasted in a wee village four days’ ride from here. Now, could we please go somewhere and talk about this?”

  “No need to creep away. No shame in a handfast marriage, but I will see it done right, by a priest. Cannae have anyone asking questions about my heir’s marriage, can I?”

  Cecily frowned. “But, Uncle, Malcolm is your heir. I am married to Artan.”

  “Aye, I ken it, lass, and that now makes Artan my heir. He and I talked on it ere he went to fetch ye. Now I dinnae have to have Malcolm as my heir.” Angus rubbed his hands together in an expression of pure delight. “This cheers an old mon’s heart, that it does. I can rest easy kenning that when I am gone a good, strong mon will step into my place and keep Glascreag strong. And e’en better, the bairns ye two make will have more MacReith blood in their veins than any spawn of Malcolm’s would.” He frowned at Cecily. “Are ye weel, lass? Ye have gone all pale.”

  “Have I?” she murmured.

  Cecily was a little surprised she was still standing and not lying in shards upon the floor. She felt as if she had shattered into hundreds of little sharp pieces. Finally able to move, she slowly looked at Artan. Artan her husband, her lover, her betrayer.

  Artan saw the pain in Cecily’s eyes and almost embraced her in a desperate attempt to ease it. Only a strong instinct for survival stopped him. “Now, Sile, I can explain this.”

  “Can ye? Explain what? Did ye speak to Uncle of marrying me in order to be made my uncle’s heir?”

  He knew there had to be something he could say to soften the hard edges of th
at question yet still be the truth, but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse, “Aye.”

  She had not really thought it possible to hurt any more than she did already. Somehow she was not surprised that Artan found a way to prove her wrong. “And when did ye think ye might tell me?”

  “Weel, I have been trying to think of a way since the day we left Dunburn, but I couldnae think of the right words.”

  “Nay, I suspicion ’tis difficult to ask a lass, ‘Please marry me because I really wish to be a laird.’”

  “It wasnae like that.”

  “Nay? Ye lied to me.”

  “I didnae lie. I just didnae tell ye all the truth.” He could tell by the look in her eyes that that sounded as bad to her as it did to him.

  Cecily leaned toward him and said quietly, “Sometimes, Sir Artan, nay telling the truth is as near to telling a lie as to make no difference at all. I believe this is one of those times.” She straightened up, turned toward the stairs, and started to climb them, wondering why it felt as if she were climbing a mountain. “If ye would excuse me, I believe I shall go to my bedchamber to bathe and rest.”

  Artan did not like the sound of that my. “I will join ye later.”

  “Nay, if ye wish to sit in a laird’s chair.”

  “I think your wee wife just threatened ye,” said Angus, smiling faintly.

  “Aye, she did.” Artan sighed. At a complete loss as to what to do, he turned to Angus. “Ye and I need to go to the solar and talk. There is a lot ye need to know.”

  “Arenae ye going to go and soothe the lass?”

  “I think I will give her temper some time to cool first.”

  Several hours had passed before Artan found the courage to go up to his bedchamber, the one that Cecily had claimed for her own. He cautiously opened the door, faintly relieved that she had not locked it against him, and called out her name. He ducked just in time to avoid being hit square in the face by a large ewer. It hit the door he crouched in front of and shattered, soaking him with the water it had held. Artan quickly retreated even as he wondered how she had managed to hurl a full ewer of water at his head and spill so little of the water. Maybe a night of sleeping alone would make Cecily willing to listen to him.

  Cecily stared at the door her lying, betraying slug of a husband had just fled through. She had spent hours all alone crying until her chest hurt. Now she was angry, at him and at herself. She had been foolish enough to think he had wanted her, just her, and that there was little gain in his marrying her, and all that time he had been thinking of becoming the laird of Glascreag. Until she got her raging emotions under control, she did not want to see him or talk with him. She knew all too well how easily he could sway her back to his side, and she would not play the fool again. She needed to stay away from his silvery blue eyes and his strong body until she found the strength to treat his words and kisses with the cynicism they so richly deserved.

  She also needed time to build a few more layers of ice around her poor, shattered heart.

  Chapter 14

  “Ye should have told her.”

  “I ken it,” snapped Artan, glaring at Angus, who sat in the laird’s chair at the head of the table and looked remarkably healthy for a man who had claimed to be dying only a few weeks ago.

  “I am nay sure what she is so upset about,” said Bennet as he spread a thick layer of honey on his bread. “Shouldnae she be pleased that she can bring ye such a fine dowry?”

  “Ye would think so,” said Artan, pleased to find that someone thought as he did. “But I had guessed that she wouldnae think that way and should have told her all about Angus’s bargain days ago.” Right after they had become handfasted and he had made her his, and thus could be certain she would not run away.

  Barring him from their bedchamber for two days was almost as bad, he decided as he scowled up at the ceiling of the great hall. The first night he had tried to go in and talk to her, she had thrown a ewer at his head and he had quickly retreated, deciding to give her time to let her anger cool. Last night, she had thrown a rock at him, and suspecting she had slipped outside and collected a pile of them, he had retreated again. Surely after two nights alone she should have calmed down, he thought, but he was hesitant to go up the stairs and test her temper yet again.

  “Mayhap ye can go up and talk to her,” he said to Angus, who was filling his plate with more food than any sick man ought to be able to choke down. “Ye could put in a kind word for me ere ye return to your deathbed.” He almost grinned at the guilty look that passed over Angus’s face but struggled not to laugh along with his cousin Bennet.

  “Ye were gone so long I had plenty of time to heal and regain my strength,” muttered Angus.

  “Of course. Weel? Ye are the one who was so eager for this marriage and ’tis that fool bargain ye wanted that has caused all this trouble. Why dinnae ye go and speak to her?”

  “I have tried, but every time I try to speak about ye, she threatens to geld me.”

  When both Bennet and Angus hooted with laughter Artan fought the urge to get up and knock their heads together. It was not really Cecily’s anger that troubled him so, but the hurt he knew lay beneath it. He was haunted by the look that had settled on her face when Angus had blurted out the truth. He knew she felt as if he had betrayed her again, and he needed to talk to her before that belief settled in too hard and fast.

  “Just go up there, take her to bed, and soothe her feelings with a few pretty words,” said Bennet.

  “Before or after she knocks me cold with a rock or another ewer?” Artan shook his head. “Nay, I need to explain things and I cannae do that whilst dodging rocks and crockery. She has verra good aim, too.”

  “Ye sound almost proud of that.”

  “Aye, I am, and I ken that I deserve this anger. Recall all she has just escaped from.”

  “Ye would ne’er hurt her. Ye would ne’er hurt any lass.”

  “Oh, she kens that I am no threat to her, nay in that way. Ne’ertheless, I should have thought more on all she has been through and made better choices. Whilst I slept in my cold bed last night—”

  “Should have put more peat on the fire,” murmured Angus.

  Artan ignored that and continued, “I thought on how I would feel if I stood in her shoes. ’Tis a hard blow to one’s pride. I am nay sure how women abide it.”

  Angus snorted. “Do ye think women ne’er wed for fortune or land? Aye, some of them may wish to wed for love or passion, but most wed for name, bloodlines, alliances, money, or strength. And they arenae all forced to do so either. Neither of my wives were.” He frowned. “I have always been of two minds about it all. ’Twould be a fine thing if everyone could just marry who they chose to or their heart told them to. Yet, ’tis also a fine thing to unite lands or clans, make alliances, and fatten one’s purse. The lass kens the way of things. I think this temper is just because she thought she was chosen by the heart and nay the purse. Ye just need to remind her of these hard truths.”

  “Those hard truths should have been discussed long before now. By nay telling her of the bargain, I let her think there was no gain for me in this marriage and thus let her think, weel, other things. I must needs apologize for that, but I cannae e’en do that if she willnae e’en talk to me.”

  “Ye could always try talking to her from behind the safety of the door.”

  “Aye, ’tis a thought although, I dinnae like the idea of everyone being able to hear all I have to say.” He grimaced. “Nay, especially when ’tis me who is in the wrong. Hard enough admitting that to one’s woman.” He had to smile when both men nodded vigorously in agreement.

  “Better that than nay being able to say it at all.”

  “She cannae hold on to her anger for much longer.” Artan hated that hint of doubt that crept into his voice.

  Angus shrugged. “She is a stubborn lass,” he said with a distinct touch of fondness in his voice.

  Artan finished his wine and stood up. He was desperate e
nough to try it. The idea of sleeping alone again gave him the courage. It was not as if the whole clan was not already aware of this feud between him and his wife. He supposed he ought to be angry with her for that, but he was far too aware of how this was mostly his own fault. At the door of the great hall he looked back at Angus.

  “Any sign of Sir Fergus yet?” he asked.

  “Nay, but I am keeping a close eye out for the swine,” Angus replied.

  “Weel, I hope ye do a better job of that than ye did of seeing how many rocks my wife collected when ye took her for a walk yesterday.” He nodded at Angus’s look of guilt, his curiosity about where his wife had gathered all those rocks now satisfied.

  All the way up the steep, narrow stairs Artan thought about what he could say to Cecily. He had not told Angus, but he had the suspicion that Cecily truly cared for him, might even be coming to love him. It would explain why she had looked so utterly devastated when she had learned about his bargain with Angus. The idea that she might love him pleased him immensely, but it also meant that the blow dealt to her by what she saw as his betrayal would take a lot more than pretty words and lovemaking to heal. He was beginning to think he was a lot better at the latter than he had thought he was, but he knew he had absolutely no skill at the former. It might be an idea to practice some as Cecily practiced insults.

  Not that she needed any more, he thought as he stopped in front of their bedchamber door and heard her yell, “Ye are midden slime! Ye are a boil on Satan’s arse!”

  That was followed by a thud and what sounded like pathetic whining. Artan cautiously opened the door and looked inside. He quickly stepped in and shut the door behind him, all the while watching his tiny, pretty wife beat Malcolm’s head against the floor. After a moment of enjoying that sight, he noticed she had a tear at the shoulder of her gown and suddenly understood why she was beating Malcolm senseless. Fury rose in him and then just as quickly fled. Malcolm had a bloody nose and was flailing about in a weak attempt to get a tiny, furious woman off his back. Such humiliation was probably punishment enough, although Artan thought the man would be wise to leave Glascreag as soon as possible and intended to tell him so. He had no doubt that Angus would back him on that.