Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  “Ye might not for a while.”

  She flung herself against his chest and began to weep. Angus chose that moment to enter the bedchamber. Artan could tell by the look on the old man’s face that he really cared for him and he was touched. He then tried to lift his hand from the bed to either wave at Angus or stroke a weeping Cecily, but he was too weak to even lift his hand, which seemed to confirm what Cecily had just told him. A minute later, Angus was at his bedside grasping that hand tightly and occasionally shaking it.

  “We really thought we had lost ye, that all we could do for ye was keep ye warm, clean, and weel fed.”

  “So I could rot in this bed for years?”

  Sure the sudden temper was not really aimed at Angus, Cecily decided now was a good time to start with seeing to his needs far more completely. She started ordering people around, startled when they heeded her, even Angus. By the time she slipped into the bedchamber, Artan had been bathed and shaved and his bed linens had been changed. The dampness around his head told her that he had had his hair washed, which she thought was foolishly unnecessary but decided to ignore.

  “Bed,” he said, lifting the covers about an inch, which seemed to take all of his strength.

  Cecily wasted no time in accepting the invitation. She curled up in his arms, not caring that he could barely move them. His strength would return and she would soon be sleeping wrapped in his arms again. For that she was more than willing to fulfill her promise to God. She would become the perfect wife just as soon as she figured out all the rules.

  “Sile?”

  She lifted her head to look at him. “What, Artan?”

  “Thank ye.”

  “For what?”

  “Talking to me.”

  “Ye could hear me?” Cecily tried to think of what she had said and knew it was practically everything she had in her head and in her heart.

  “I couldnae understand the words, only one here and there, but I could often hear your voice.”

  “Oh, I had so hoped ye would. I was trying to bring ye back. I was so sure ye were in there, and I thought if I kept talking to ye, ye wouldnae keep slipping further and further away, ye would start to come home.”

  “Aye, I did, because I wanted to say something to ye.”

  “What is that, Artan?”

  “Hush.”

  For a minute she was utterly shocked; then she was torn between being deeply hurt and wanting to berate him for his utter ingratitude. Then she saw it. That spark that told her he was but teasing her and was waiting to see what she would do. The quiet heartfelt thanks at the start of the conversation was where his true feelings lay.

  She leaned over him and brushed a kiss over his mouth, “Welcome back, Artan.”

  Chapter 20

  “Married?”

  Cecily almost dropped the tray of food she had been carrying toward the table by the bed. She quickly set it down before Artan could say anything else. Even though he had been awake now for a fortnight, she still found it difficult to believe. Every time he had gone to sleep at night after his miraculous awakening, she had held him close, listening to his heart all night and waiting almost desperately for that first sign of wakefulness in the morning.

  “We are already married, Artan,” she said.

  “Nay by a priest,” he replied, standing up and moving the tray of food to the table near the fire.

  It felt good to be walking, although Artan still did not feel quite as strong as he would like. After seating Cecily in the chair opposite him, he sat down, set some bread and cheese on a plate for her, and then served himself. He watched her closely as he ate, pleased to see her begin to eat the food he had given her. She had lost a little weight and, as delicate as she was, he did not think that was a good thing.

  “Ye want us to be married by a priest?” she asked as she idly cut herself a small piece of cold mutton.

  “I do. I always have. ’Tis just that we have had to deal with Sir Fergus and then with my wee sleep.”

  Wee sleep, he called it. Cecily doubted she could ever explain the terror she had felt, constantly, over the week and sometime after. To hear his heart beat and watch him breathe yet see no other sign of life was an ordeal she hoped she never had to go through again.

  “When shall we do it, then?” she asked.

  “On the morrow. I have already arranged matters with Angus and Meg.”

  Pushing aside the annoyance she felt over the fact that no one had consulted her, Cecily just nodded. Being a good wife was far more difficult than she had imagined. It was times like these when Artan was at his most arrogant that she had to wrestle her bad self into submission. A good wife bowed to her husband’s wishes, she reminded herself.

  Artan chewed on his honey-coated chunk of bread and idly wondered if shaking his wife would wake the old Cecily back up as he had been roused from his little sleep by her voice. He was growing heartily sick of all this sweetness, this meek, obedient nature she had assumed. Each day he could see a little more of the spark he loved disappear.

  He blinked and stared down at his meal. Had he just thought the word love? He had, he decided. It had slipped through his mind as if it belonged there and would not be refused entrance again. It appeared that at some time since he had met Cecily he had fallen in love with her, deeply and fiercely in love. Having never experienced the emotion before, he had been slow to recognize it. Artan supposed he ought to have guessed at the state of his emotions. From the first time they had kissed he had been thinking of her as his mate.

  It was not a revelation he was pleased to be having at the moment. Artan knew it would prey on him, distract him, and make him need to know how his wife felt about him. It was important, but right now he had to marry his Sile with the blessings of the church and then find out what game she was playing.

  Slowly but surely she was changing, turning into a woman he did not know, and that worried him. She may be cosseting him because of his wounds and the illness that had kept her at his side for a sennight, but he did not really think so. He was not sure what questions he needed to ask to get the answers he needed, either.

  What troubled him the most was that she was turning shy and retreating from him in the bedchamber. He supposed she could have fallen back into her virginal ways as they had not been lovers very long before his injuries had incapacitated him. He had reached for her exactly one week after he had woken up, even knowing that he was still a little too weak for such activity. It had relieved his frustration, but something had been missing and he knew it was not just because he had not been at his best.

  Something had been missing in the way his wife responded to his touch. At one point he could have sworn that she had been gritting her teeth as if to silence herself, but he had no idea why she should do such a thing. It was as if the fire they shared was slowly flickering out inside of her, and that alarmed him. It was also one reason he had decided to get married to her with a priest’s blessing. Perhaps once their union was sanctified by the church this strange reticence would leave Cecily and his Sile would return. Intending to be at full strength for that reunion, he had decided to wait to make love again until they were married in the eyes of the church.

  “Weel, then, ’tis all settled. We wed on the morrow,” he said as he stood up and gave her a very chaste kiss on the cheek. “I am sure ye will want to find Meg so that the two of ye can plan the feast.”

  Cecily watched her husband as he left their bedchamber. It was going to take her a while to push aside her annoyance, don her sweet smile, and become the good wife again. Although she knew one of the rules for being a good wife was to bow to one’s husband’s wishes, she had not realized that meant she should be ordered around like a child. It was not going to be easy to adjust to that. Artan had a way of giving her a command that made her want to hunt down something big and heavy to throw at his head.

  Feeling she was calm once again, she finished off the cheese and went to find Meg. That woman was in the kitchen discussing
the morrow’s feast with Crooked Cat. After nearly twenty minutes of being ignored, or ordered about and not consulted, or of having every decision made for her, as well as what few decisions she made for herself gently but firmly discarded, Cecily decided she would go and find what she might wear to her wedding.

  Crooked Cat peeked into the great hall, then turned back to face Meg. “She looked fit to spit.”

  “Good,” said Meg. “She was being so polite and so respectful to her elders, it was either chase her away or throw her into the laundry tub.”

  “Why is she being so sweet? Isnae that her nature? She seemed a good lass to me.”

  “Oh, she is a verra good lass, and she is sweet in her own way and with a verra big heart. ’Tis that awful always-willing, may-I-do-anything-for-ye type of sweetness I dinnae like. That is what Anabel tried to make Cecily into. There were times when I thought Cecily would smile and ask the hangmon if he needed help putting the rope around her neck.” Meg smiled when Crooked Cat laughed.

  “But what is the nature of the lesson ye are trying to give her?”

  “To be what she is, to let her feelings lead her, nay rules set down by some woman like Lady Anabel who seems to want the whole world to be just as miserable as she is.”

  “Ah, the kind of woman who always offers to tell a lass what to expect on her wedding night and, after dispensing their great wisdom, leave behind an absolutely terrified bride.”

  “Aye, exactly that kind of woman.”

  “Weel, do ye think what we did just now will make Cecily stop playing that too-sweet lass?”

  “Nay, not yet. That was just for putting another log on the fire, so to speak, to burn all that nonsense away.”

  “Why, Meg, that was, weel, poetical, if I do say so myself.”

  “Ye may.” She laughed along with Crooked Cat.

  Cecily frowned at her dresses. They were laid out on top of every available piece of furniture. Her uncle had been very generous, especially with all the gowns left by each of his late wives. Most of them would require a great deal of reworking and could not be done in time for the wedding. That left her with few choices once she removed the few gowns that no one would wear to their own wedding.

  Finally, she chose a simple green one, set it aside, and put the others back in the chest. It was going to be difficult to look as if she was a cherished or particularly important bride in that simple gown, but since she was neither, it did not matter. It was a shame that she did not have her trousseau from Dunburn, but wearing the clothes bought for her marriage to another man might be one of those things that was considered bad luck. The very last thing she needed was bad luck.

  Glancing at the small box Artan’s mother had sent back with Bennet, she wondered if wearing the dark garnet pendant the woman sent her as a bridal gift would be acceptable. She had been touched by the woman’s generosity. It made her eager to meet Artan’s family even as it made her terrified to do so. Everything Artan had told her about his family indicated that it was large, boisterous, and friendly. After a great deal of thought, Cecily admitted she did not know how to deal with such people. In truth, she knew very little about dealing with any people, having been kept very isolated at Dunburn.

  Opening the little box, she took out the pendant to admire it and to try to come to some decision. Cecily also admitted to herself that some of her fascination was due to the fact that it was a gift. She had never had one before. Suddenly, she noticed that under the little velvet patch lining the box was a piece of parchment. She cautiously opened it and read it, then had to sit down. Artan’s mother had written her a very cheerful welcoming note filled with odd motherly details about Artan and not all of them flattering. Cecily could almost hear the woman chatting with her as if they had known each other for years.

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, she quickly put the letter back in the box. The letter had decided the matter of whether or not to wear the pendant tomorrow. She would honor Artan’s mother by wearing the woman’s gift proudly. She just hoped she could do the woman’s son proud, too.

  “I dinnae think I ought to wear my hair down, Crooked Cat.” Cecily sat, wincing a little as Crooked Cat fought a little roughly with a stubborn snarl.

  “Ye were a virgin when ye married, werenae ye?”

  “Of course.”

  “Nay of course about, lass. Fewer are than ye would think.”

  “That still doesnae mean I should break with tradition.”

  “Ye were virgin for your handfast wedding. This is the proper church one. ’Tis just the same thing with a more important fellow telling ye are wed.” Crooked Cat studied Cecily very closely. “Are ye laughing?”

  “Nay, of course not. Have it as ye will then. I will wear my hair down.”

  “It will go so fine with the green gown and that garnet.”

  Meg arrived and Cecily gave up all hope of having a say in what she should wear at her own wedding. She did admit, however, that she looked beautiful when they were done with her. She was no longer concerned about the rightness of wearing her hair down, either. She felt it was perfect that way for a wedding, even if it was a second one.

  Suddenly, she sharply missed her father. Colin had been too young to be a big part of her life, and her mother had been gone before her father. Cecily wished he could see her as a bride and that he could be alive to hand her to her husband.

  She had Angus, she told herself, and he was a very good uncle. In truth, although she was too old for a father, Angus had slowly eased into that place in all but name and she did not mind. Cecily knew that her father would have welcomed her and Angus making a family. Angus had a lot of cousins, but no direct family. It was the same for her in many ways. Angus was her closest relative and she was his.

  When Angus entered the great hall and started walking toward her, Cecily had to smile. Angus was a big, strong man, and even some of the much younger women in the room watched him. When Artan walked into the great hall and every female in the room, as well as several peering in through the doors, watched him stride over to her, she did not find that so amusing. Cecily decided then and there that someone needed to make a rule that said women do not ogle the groom at a wedding. The next rule should be that, if they do, they are then subject to whatever punishment the bride chooses, such as a box full of spiders—on their head.

  Feeling better at that thought, Cecily turned to smile at Artan. He did look as handsome as any man had a right to be. She was suddenly all too aware of the fact that this was a man any woman would want and far too many would not consider the fact that he had a little red-haired freckled wife an impediment. He had said he would be faithful and she saw no sign that he was a man who had to look or smile at every pretty woman he saw, but they looked at him a lot. At his age, he had to be fully aware of the temptations flung his way, but had he accepted or rejected most of them, and if he had accepted a lot, could he now refuse them? It was something she did not really want to think of on her wedding day, but since he had never offered her any words of love, she could not shake the sudden fear that gripped her so tightly.

  “Ye look beautiful, Sile mine,” he said as he took her hand in his and actually kissed her palm with everyone watching.

  Cecily leaned a little closer to him, and said softly, “Ye are looking rather beautiful yourself.” The smile he gave her took her breath away. Cecily so badly wanted this man to love her she feared she could easily make an utter fool of herself. For one brief moment she actually considered running, out of the great hall and out of the keep and out of the gates of Glascreag. She quickly stiffened her spine. If nothing else, she would not humiliate her uncle in such a way.

  “Come, lass,” he said, holding her hand near his hip as he tugged her toward the dais table where the priest waited for them. “Time to get the church’s blessings.”

  The priest was a very young man and was nervous. Surreptiously looking around as she knelt beside Artan, Cecily decided she really did not blame the man. The great hall was cro
wded with MacReith warriors, and warriors seemed unable to go anywhere without a weapon. If an enemy was foolish enough to think it was safe to attack because of this solemn occasion, he would quickly and fatally find out otherwise.

  When it was done, Artan gently pulled her to her feet and kissed her. The hoots and random, somewhat crude suggestions were deafening. Even more deafening was her uncle bellowing orders to watch their tongues. The occasional hooting and foot stomping continued, but Cecily was pleased that advice on what she and Artan should do in their bedchamber had almost completely disappeared. The ones who felt compelled to say something did so quietly.

  “Been a mon’s keep too long, lass,” her uncle said to her as he took his seat at the head of the table. He nodded at Meg, who was seated on his left to Cecily’s surprise, and Meg’s by the look of it.

  “I think there is much the same at all weddings,” she said. “I havenae been to any, but I have heard the talk about them afterward.”

  “Why didnae ye e’er go to a wedding?”

  “I was rarely taken anywhere, Uncle,” she said very quietly, hoping not too many people overheard her words.

  “Weel, looking at ye all done up bonnie like that, I cannae see why.”

  “Why, thank ye, Uncle. That was a lovely compliment.” She smiled even more when he blushed a little, suddenly discomforted by uttering flatteries. “Ye do have an impressive group of men under your command. So impressive I think the priest was a little nervous.”

  “Ah, aye, I noticed that. He is a Lowland laddie, so we have to be understanding. Our ways have ne’er been his and he needs to learn them.”

  “Ye couldnae get a Highland priest?”

  “There arenae that many that go into it, I suspicion.”

  Just as Cecily opened her mouth to ask, Artan whispered in her ear, “I wouldnae ask that question if I were ye.”

  When she looked at her uncle she suddenly recognized the glint in his eye. “Tsk, Uncle,” she murmured. “And on my wedding day. Have ye no shame.”