Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  “When my husband finds out what ye tried to do he is going to gut ye, slowly, and feed your entrails to the swine!”

  “I think we will have to let him recover a wee bit first, Sile mine,” said Artan as he lifted his wife off Malcolm’s back and set her at his side.

  Malcolm turned over, looked up at Artan, and turned so white Artan was afraid he might swoon. “She misunderstood!” he said, staggering to his feet. “I wasnae…I didnae…”

  “Leave.”

  When Artan shut the door behind a fleeing Malcolm and turned to face her, Cecily was suddenly all too aware of the fact that she was alone in a bedchamber with her lying, betraying slug of a husband. She was not ready for this, but she was unable to move to get anything to throw at him. Her legs were shaking and the tremor seemed to be spreading to the rest of her body. When Artan strode over to her, picked her up in his arms, and sat down in the large chair by the fire, she gave him a disgusted look before she settled herself more comfortably in his lap.

  “Did he hurt ye, wife?” Artan asked as he rubbed her back, pleased to feel the trembling in her body was already easing.

  “Nay, he tore my gown a wee bit ’tis all.” She shuddered. “He also tried to kiss me.”

  “Only tried, eh? Pushed him away, did ye?”

  “Nay, I rammed my knee into his—”

  “Ah, aye, I understand. Ye dinnae need to tell me any more. Explains why he had an odd gait when he ran away.” He began to stroke her hair, subtly undoing the thick braid. “When I realized what he had tried to do, I had thought to throw him against the wall a few times; but then I decided being pinned down by a wee lass and having your head slammed into the floor was humiliating for even a mon like Malcolm and that was punishment enough. Howbeit, if ye wish, I could hunt him down and break a few bones.”

  “Verra kind of ye, but it isnae really necessary. I dinnae believe he will try that again.”

  Artan slowly shook his head and frowned. “I confess I am a wee bit surprised at this.”

  “Weel, he is a verra angry mon at the moment. He isnae the heir anymore.”

  “And what does that have to do with you?”

  “I am the heir’s wife and I will give the heir his own heirs. Malcolm had a plan to make ye suffer by getting me with child. Ye would have to claim it as your own since we are wed, and then he will have made ye lose all ye stole from him.”

  “He is mad.”

  “I believe I told him that. It didnae seem a particularly weel thought-out plan. Also told him that if he is so set on having his spawn be claimed as heir, then why didnae we just meander down to the swine pen as there was a new brood of piglets born today and he could have his pick.” She grimaced while Artan laughed. “That was when he tore my dress.”

  “Was that one of those insults ye have been saving for just the right time?”

  “Nay, I thought that one up on the spot. It appears that the more one uses insults the easier they are to think up quickly.”

  Cecily knew she ought to move. She was calm again. It was just this sort of thing she had been trying to avoid over the past few days. Yet, she could not find the strength to leave his arms, not even when she felt him begin to unlace her gown.

  “What are ye doing?” she asked, telling herself that enjoying the light caress of his fingers on the back of her neck was no threat to her determination to keep a distance from him, that she could walk away from him at any time.

  “I thought I had best see if he left any bruises that might require a salve.” Artan bit back a grin when she made a soft sound of exasperation and he knew she was rolling her eyes.

  “I think I left more bruises on him.”

  Artan tugged on the bodice of her gown until her shoulder was bared, then kissed it. “I have missed ye,” he said softly as he tugged gently on her hair until her head tilted back a little and he kissed her forehead.

  “Stop it,” Cecily said in a breathless voice that carried no threat of command.

  “Ah, Sile, my Sile, ye dinnae mean that.”

  “I do. I must. Ye lied to me,” she added in a tearful whisper, the ice she had tried to wrap around her heart too thin to completely smother the pain.

  “Hush, sweet.” Artan kissed her cheeks, cleaning away the slow tears with his kisses. “Aye, I lied. It felt better to just say I hadnae told ye the truth yet. But, ye are right, it was just a lie by another name.”

  “Ye married me to become Angus’s heir. Ye want to be the laird of Glascreag.”

  “Ye would ne’er believe me if I denied wanting to the laird here.” He eased her bodice down until it rested at her small waist, then began to unlace her shift. “Name me a mon who wouldnae want to be a laird, wouldnae want to hold a place like Glascreag. Howbeit, I didnae marry ye for it.” He slid his hand inside her shift and pressed his cheek against the top of her head as he savored the feel of her soft breast filling his hand, the taut nipple teasing his palm. “There, I can think better now.” He was sure he heard a small choke of laughter, but he ignored it.

  For a brief moment Cecily had tensed when he had put his hand on her breast. That resistance faded at the first light caress of his long fingers. She told herself she was just being accommodating because he was talking freely about the problem between them. Deep inside she had the feeling it was mostly because she had missed his touch.

  Even as she cried over how he had hurt her with his lie, it was his arms she wanted to be enfolded in to seek the comfort she so badly needed. That weakness alone was enough to make her want to cry some more. The way he was holding her now with one hand lightly stroking her breast, touching soft, fleeting kisses over her face, and idly caressing her neck or shoulder with the fingers of his other hand was so gentle, so loving in so many ways, that, too, brought tears to her eyes. It seemed just about anything could make her cry lately, but she knew the real reason for the tears. No matter what reason she gave herself, they were shed for the loss of her dream, the foolish dream that this strong, handsome man had wanted her enough to marry her despite the fact that she could not say for sure if she had any dowry at all. The dream that had her believing she could trust in him, in his word, and in his passion.

  “I am now going to tell ye the whole tale of this bargain from the verra beginning,” he said and did.

  Cecily frowned when he finished his tale at the point where he had ridden away from Glascreag. It all sounded so reasonable, and even though she had known him for only a few days, so very much like something her uncle would do. In their talks she had also become very aware that her uncle was desperate for an heir, an heir that was not Malcolm. She could see the truth in all Artan said, yet she was terrified to believe him. She could not bear the pain betrayal brought, not again.

  Artan cupped her face in his hands. “Lass, it was wrong of me to keep the bargain a secret. I ken it now, and I kenned it from the beginning.”

  “Then why didnae ye tell me?”

  “Because I didnae think ye would marry me if ye kenned the truth. I was sure ye would ne’er believe that I no intention of marrying just to be made Angus’s heir. I told him that, and I swear that is the truth. Most people marry for some sort of gain, e’en if it is just a goat. I have naught. I am a second son, the last born of twins. But no one in my family weds only for gain. There is always more, if only because we believe in vows said. Since we do and we ken we will be tied body and soul to the one we wed, there has to be more. ’Tis why I tried to make it verra clear to Angus that I would have to come to ken who ye were, what ye were like, ere I would do it. If I hadnae wanted ye, I would have simply tried to get ye to come to Glascreag to see Angus.”

  Cecily sighed and leaned against him. It all made sense, but she remained uncertain. She suspected that would be true for quite a while. She had been surrounded by lies and secrets too much to be too trusting anymore. She knew that was not fair to Artan, but her wounded heart was not particularly interested in fairness at the moment. It was interested only in protecting it
self from more pain.

  “Nay, I shouldnae have assumed anything.”

  “I let that happen by nay telling ye the truth, and I am sorry for that. Yet, what I am trying to say is that it is not just the lairdship or Glascreag that has made me your husband, lass. Ye must ken that there is more between us than that; that more than land and e’en Angus’s wishes bind us.”

  She nodded slowly. “Aye, how could there not be after all we have been through.”

  “So am I allowed back into your bed?”

  “Is that one of the things that binds us, Artan?”

  “Could ye think otherwise?” He tilted her face up to his and gave her a slow, gentle kiss.

  “And ye think passion is enough to hold us together?”

  “’Tis a verra fine beginning, and I really dinnae like sleeping all alone in a cold bed.”

  “Ye could always put a bit more peat on the fire.” She sat up and frowned at him when he started laughing. “It wasnae that funny.”

  “Angus said the same thing when I complained about my cold bed.”

  Cecily grimaced. “Oh dear. I am nay sure I like the fact that I say the same things Angus does.”

  Still laughing, Artan carried her over to the bed and set her on her feet. He rapidly divested her of her clothes, ignoring her blushes. As he tossed aside the last of her clothes, she scrambled into the bed. He grinned, quickly shed all his clothes, and climbed in beside her. Taking her into his arms, he savored the feel of her soft warmth pressed close to his body and sighed with satisfaction.

  “This is where ye belong, lass. This is how it should always be.”

  There was such sincerity in his voice, she knew she could trust in this. Artan wanted to be in her arms at night. At the end of the day, he wanted to be able to curl up with her beneath the blankets. It was a start.

  Although she now held fast to a wariness that would be slow to leave her, she was willing to try again. He was right to remind her that few of their ilk married just because they wanted to. Lands, alliances, and coin were always involved. She found that she did believe that Artan would not marry her for gain alone, and she told herself she should count her blessings. No matter how she felt, there was one fact she could not argue: He was her husband and she belonged in his bed, not greeting him at the bedchamber door with ewers and rocks hurled at his head. Many another husband would feel that reason enough to beat her.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Even though they had slept apart for only two nights, Cecily quickly found out that she was starved for the taste of him. He acted as if he was equally starved for the taste of her. He pushed her onto her back and crouched over her, studying her body intently as he smoothed his hands over her. She felt as if he was reacquainting himself with her body, and that only stirred her blood even more.

  Their lovemaking soon grew wild, each of them acting as if they had been deprived of the other for months instead of just two nights. When they finally came together the ride was fast and furious, their cries blending in the room as they reached the heights together. The way Artan collapsed on top of her and slightly to the side so that he did not put his full weight on her made him appear to be as boneless as she felt.

  “Now, do ye really think it was only Glascreag that I was thinking of when I married ye?” Artan asked as he inched his head over and let it rest more comfortably on her breasts. “I missed my pillows,” he murmured. Cecily smiled and idly ran her hand up and down his back. “Nay, I guess there were one or two other things on your mind.” She frowned up at the ceiling. “’Tis odd how that happened. I had ne’er e’en been properly kissed, and yet within four days of meeting ye I am creeping out of the keep and meeting ye down at the burn.”

  “Ah, fine as that was, mayhap we shouldnae speak of it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Weel, I have just gotten ye to stop hurling things at me, I am nay sure I want ye to think too much on the other time ye were angry with me.”

  Smiling, she kissed the top of his head. “I didnae believe ye, so of course I was angry when ye tied me up and carried me away from my home. E’en before Sir Fergus confirmed all ye had said, I had begun to believe at least some of it. I also felt sure that ye believed it all, and how could I fault ye when ye truly felt ye were keeping me safe.”

  “I didnae do such a grand job of it, did I. The bastard got hold of ye.”

  She shrugged. “And ye rescued me. What I was trying to say is that complete innocence didnae save me from ye. It or this, whatever it is, was there from the start.”

  “Good. I was eager from the start, too.”

  She giggled when he briskly nuzzled her breasts, but then sighed. “He is going to come here after me, isnae he?”

  “I suspicion he will, aye. There is a heavy purse he is hungering for.”

  “So I will be bringing trouble right to my uncle’s gates.”

  “It has been there before.”

  “Aye, but that wasnae my trouble.”

  “And neither is this.” Artan raised himself up on his elbows and kissed her. “This is all about greed. Sir Fergus’s greed. Ye didnae ask to be betrothed to the fool. Nay, everyone involved in this is just tossing ye about to get what they want.”

  “Ye do ken how to make a lass feel so much better about things,” she drawled.

  Artan gave her an exaggerated grimace. “Sorry.”

  “No need to be. It is just the truth.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that, in some ways, ye have included me in that number.”

  Cecily knew her face revealed the sudden guilt she felt. “I dinnae want to and I certainly dinnae think of ye as akin to them. ’Tis just that discovering I have been surrounded by lies and deceit for so long and didnae have the wit to see it has made me question everything.”

  “As it should.” He smiled when she looked at him in surprise. “I take no insult, lass. ’Tis my own fault that I dinnae have your full trust. Nay, I am just made determined to see that ye come to trust me again.”

  That should not make her nervous, Cecily told herself; then Artan kissed her and she found it hard to think. The fact that he could do that to her was one reason she knew she ought to be cautious. But as she wrapped her arms around him, she decided that in this there was some truth. He could no more hide his desire than she could, and although they were still new lovers, she had already learned that she had as much power over him as he did over her.

  Chapter 15

  Artan held Cecily closer, nuzzled her neck, and tried to ignore the banging on the bedchamber door. He had Cecily back where she belonged and he was eager for some morning delight. He slid his hand up her ribs and caressed her breast, grinning when she murmured huskily and rubbed her lovely backside against his groin. This was how a man should always greet the new day.

  “Curse it, Artan!” yelled Bennet. “Get your arse out of bed! They are here!”

  It took Artan a minute to understand the importance of that statement. Then, with a curse, he leaped out of bed and started to dress. A quick glance at the bed revealed that Cecily had already gotten out of bed and donned her shift. She looked pale and a little frightened and he tried to think of something comforting to say as he finished dressing.

  “Does he have any Highlanders with him?” he asked Bennet, waiting until Cecily had her gown on before he opened the door.

  “The MacIvors,” Bennet answered even as Artan opened the door.

  Cursing softly, Artan buckled on his sword. When Cecily stepped up beside him, he yanked her into his arms and kissed her. The fact that Sir Fergus had ruined his morning pleasure only made Artan even more eager to kill the fool. He set Cecily away from him, saw the fear still lingering in her eyes, and lightly stroked her cheek with his fingers.

  “The MacIvors are enemies of Angus’s?” she asked.

  “Aye,” replied Artan, “but Sir Fergus willnae find them verra good allies. They dinnae truly hate Angus, ye ken, but they do covet Glascreag. I suspicion t
hey think they might use these Lowlanders to help them get these lands.”

  “They will soon find out they have made a verra poor choice,” said Bennet.

  “Aye, that they will. Do ye ken who Crooked Cat is, lass?”

  Cecily nodded, “Angus has introduced me to nearly everyone in the keep.”

  “Go to her. She is the one who will be readying the women to do their part.”

  “Aye, I will find her. Ye will be careful, willnae ye, Artan?” she asked softly, fighting the urge to cling to him.

  “Wheesht, this wee scuffle will be o’er and done ere the sun sets.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss and strode out of the room to make his way to the walls with Bennet.

  As Cecily finished dressing and braided her hair, she told herself to be brave. Artan was a warrior. It was why Angus wanted him to follow him as laird of Glascreag. The wife of a warrior had to be strong and support her husband, not weigh him down with tears and fear. She could not give in to the urge to crawl beneath the bedcovers and pray until the fighting was over. Cecily was determined not to shame Artan with any show of weakness.

  She found Crooked Cat in the kitchens barking out orders to the women gathered there. It took a moment for the old woman to see that Cecily was standing there. After she looked Cecily over carefully, her rheumy eyes surprisingly sharp, she ordered Cecily to a table set in the far corner of the kitchen.

  “Ye are to cut these into bandages,” she ordered, setting a pile of old linens on the table along with a very sharp knife. “And when ye are done with these I have some herbs for ye to grind up.”