Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  “Nay, none at all,” he said cheerfully and grinned at Meg, who was laughing.

  There was a jovial air to the feast that made it so much more enjoyable than the few she had endured at Dunburn, Cecily wondered how Artan had endured those meals. It had all been made even worse by the fact that few had made any secret that they considered Artan little better than some animal. Cecily was not fool enough to think she would have been treated quite so kindly by everyone if she had just been a Lowlander. It was her connection to the laird and Meg’s as well that kept them from feeling like complete misfits.

  When it was late enough to escape without attracting the shocked attention of everyone, Artan signaled Meg and Crooked Cat to take Cecily upstairs. She had done him proud tonight. Her manners and her sweetness would have been acceptable at a king’s table. There had been an odd reserve in her manner, however. It was as if she played some game or feared a misstep so much that she took each one with supreme care. This was his wedding night, but it was hardly their first, and he was beginning to need an answer to the puzzle that had become his wife more than he needed to leap right into bed with his bride. By the time Artan got to their bedchamber he had honed his curiosity to a fine edge. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

  Meg slipped into the seat next to Angus and murmured a thank you when the page poured her some wine. “She certainly looked pretty.”

  “Aye, she did, and sometimes she seemed at ease. But other times, weel, ’twas looking and listening to a stranger.” Angus shook his head. “Over the last few weeks that has happened more and more.”

  “I fear Anabel has a verra long reach,” muttered Meg.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Anabel had a heavy hand when she taught Cecily all that young ladies are supposed to know. One reason I accepted Artan and trusted him was because he wasnae like the courtiers cluttering up the house then. But Anabel and Edmund are. That is what ye saw here tonight. For reasons only she can understand, Cecily has decided to try to be a perfect lady. I sensed it shortly after Artan got better. If I didnae ken better, I would think she made a promise to God that she would be a good wife and a perfect lady if He just let Artan live.”

  “And then the laddie opened his eyes.”

  “It would be just that girl’s luck. She makes a promise to be something she hates and all the fates turn round and make sure she has to.”

  “Weel, it wasnae so bad. Just a bit of a surprise.”

  “Just wait, Angus. Just wait. It willnae be long before one of ye wishes to strangle her.”

  “If being a lady has rules that make it all so objectionable to people, then why do any of them do it?”

  Meg grinned. “It is objectionable when it takes a good lass like Cecily and turns her into a person ye dinnae ken and probably cannae get to know. It is certainly objectionable if ’tis Anabel doing the teaching, for she is the worst of the lot.”

  “I will, but then it isnae really my problem, is it?” Angus grinned and sat back to sip his wine and watch his guests.

  Artan opened the door to their bedchamber, ready and eager to question his bride. He took one look at her in her thin linen gown with her long red hair hanging loose down her back and he forgot every question he had had ready. He just wanted to rip his clothes off and then rip hers off and they would proceed to the next step with speed and vigor.

  He took a deep breath to calm himself. In many ways, his wife was still very innocent. A man did not rush an innocent. The very last thing he needed was to scare Cecily so badly she ran from the room. With the sort of luck he had had lately, he would be willing to bet that half of their wedding guests would be in just the perfect place at just the right time to see the future laird of Glascreag chasing the future lady of Glascreag through the halls of the keep. Glancing down at himself, he realized he had already removed half his clothes and decided they would quickly be telling everyone that he had been chasing his bride through the halls while naked.

  He stepped up to Cecily, thinking that she looked more determined than anxious. Then again, he mused, she was Angus’s niece. He suspected it would take more than a naked Highlander in pursuit to scare her.

  “I thought ye looked lovely in your wedding gown,” he murmured, then lightly fingered the fine linen lace trimming the placket of the night dress, “but in this ye look like an angel.”

  This was going to be a lot more difficult than she had thought if he was going to be complimenting her and looking so interested. It was easy enough to remain only dutiful for a man who simply says it is time to try for an heir, or so it had been implied, but this was so much different. This was heat and want, and everything inside of her was answering that call.

  Artan pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He could feel the heat through his shirt and he still wanted all their clothes gone now. It was not long, however, before he got his wish.

  Cecily was not sure who was the first one to rip something, but it ended the problem of being ever so careful. They were both naked and on the bed in minutes. Cecily tried one more time to rein in all those unladylike desires, but Artan started to suckle on her breasts and she was lost. The next she knew she was wrestling for the right to be on top.

  Sprawled out on the bed beside each other was a good way to end the night, Artan thought. He wanted to hold his church-blessed bride, however. Summoning up all the energy he could, he rolled over and embraced his wife. She seemed a little tense considering what they had just enjoyed, and he lifted his head high enough to see her face. Her cheeks were still flushed with passion and her lips swollen with his kisses, but there was a troubled look in her eyes.

  “What is the matter, Sile mine?”

  “I acted like an animal,” she whispered, strangely ashamed and excited at the same time.

  “Nay, ye acted just like a wife should,” Artan said, feeling a little drunk on the satisfaction he had just been blessed with. He just wanted to hold her close until he got his strength back.

  “I did? It seemed a little, weel, loud.”

  “Aye, nice and loud. I think one of my ears is still ringing.”

  “And ye find that amusing?”

  “Weel, aye, nay, not amusing exactly.”

  “’Tis nay the way a genteel lady would behave.”

  “Who the hell wants a lady in the bedchamber? I want my wife.”

  As Artan pulled her into his arms and started to make love to her again, Cecily fought all of her own inclinations. She knew she had still gasped and moaned a little, but retraining herself to practice some restraint was not going to be easy. It was worth it, however, to prove to Artan that she was a lady and a lady could also be wife. She had promised God to be a good wife and perfect lady and she would not, could not, back down.

  Artan opened one eye and looked down at the woman sleeping in his arms. There was definitely some strange thoughts leaping about in her clever little mind. All that talk about ladies and calling her passionate lovemaking acting like an animal. He had said something stupid then and he knew it, but he could not seem to remember what it was.

  She had, however. There had been a difference when they had made love the second time. There was still a fine passion in her, but he could feel her trying to control it, control herself. He needed to sleep, but first thing tomorrow he was going to sort this out. He would find out what stupid thing he had said and what odd idea she had in her head. Then he would apologize profusely for the former and do his best to talk to her of the latter.

  Chapter 21

  “Angus, I am going to strangle your niece.”

  Angus looked up from the carving he was working on and scowled at Artan. “She isnae just my niece now. She is also your wife. Howbeit, I will hold her still for ye is ye wish it.”

  “Nay, I believe I can manage it on my own. She isnae verra big.” Artan sat down on the chest set beneath the window. “Just why are ye willing to help?”

  “Might make her get her senses back. Seems to have lost them.”
>
  “Aha! So ye are finding her an irritant, too.”

  “Like a splinter under one’s fingernail. If I hear any more sweetness, any more May I help ye, Uncle? Shall I fetch ye some wine, Uncle? Are ye certain ye are warm enough, Uncle? and the like, I willnae wait for ye to see to the problem, I will do it myself. What did ye do to the lass?”

  “Me? I didnae do anything to her.” Artan got to his feet and began to pace the room, ignoring Angus’s grumbled command to have a care for his rug. “I thought all of this sweetness, humility, and care was because I was recovering from those scratches I took freeing her from that fool’s grasp, but when she kept right on being so sweet it makes a mon’s teeth ache e’en after I was healed, I began to wonder what was wrong. I e’en purposely said and did a few things to annoy her.”

  “Only a few?” Angus muttered, feigning astonishment.

  Artan ignored him. “She did naught. Nary a flush upon her cheeks or a spark in her eyes. She didnae e’en toss out one those insults she likes to plan out. She acted as if I was right and told me she would try e’en harder to make sure I had no complaint in the future. The daft lass is wearying herself to the verra bone now. All that spirit she had is long gone. All her spark has disappeared. E’en in the bedchamber,” he grumbled.

  “Ach! I dinnae want to hear about that.”

  “Ye didnae think those bairns ye are hoping for will be found under the heather blooms, did ye? Best ye help me find out what is ailing my wife, or all those wee playthings ye are carving willnae be used. My fiery wee wife now has all the spark of a dead fish in the bedchamber. ’Tis near enough to wither a mon. If I had more experience I might be able to rekindle that fire, but…” Artan caught Angus gaping at him and he blushed, even though he was not sure why he should feel embarrassed. “I wasnae a virgin if that is what ye are thinking.”

  “Nay! But, weel, ye are a braw, handsome lad.”

  “And what does that have to do with it? Think a wee moment, Angus. I dinnae play the game with any of the lasses who work at the keeps I live in or where my kinsmen live, or lasses who are betrothed, or who are still maids, and I have only bedded another mon’s wife once and that was in a good cause. Lucas bedded her, too, and we did a penance together. That leaves me with widows and whores. Ye may get a wee bit of skill shaking the linen with a widow, but a whore is just a lass ye pay to give ye some ease. Truth tell, so are a lot of widows.” He shrugged. “Lessons taught me by my mother and they have held fast.”

  Even though he was frowning, Angus slowly nodded in agreement. “Good, wise lessons. Ne’er gave it all much thought, but such rules can help a lad stay out of a lot of trouble. I wish someone had advised me thus. Had to learn that hard truth all on my own.”

  “Weel, we can discuss your past amours some other day,” drawled Artan. “I need to get my wife back.”

  “Then ye should have made the lass ken weel that ye liked her just the way she was.”

  They turned toward the voice coming from the doorway of Angus’s bedchamber so fast Artan was not surprised to hear his and Angus’s necks crack softly. The smile on Old Meg’s face told him that she had enjoyed startling them so thoroughly. He joined Angus in scowling at the woman. She ignored them both, walked over to the table, and placing her hands on her well-rounded hips, slowly shook her head. Her feminine disgust was so clear Artan nearly winced.

  “Cannae ye see it, ye great fools? The poor wee lass is trying to be a good wife,” said Old Meg.

  “She was a good wife before. All fire and a sharp tongue,” Artan added quietly, sighing a little in fond remembrance.

  “And did ye let her ken weel that ye liked her that way? Nay, I dinnae think so.”

  “I married her and I bedded her. With vigor. That should be enough to tell a lass I like her.”

  “Ah, so ye liked those whores and widows ye tussled with, too, did ye?”

  Artan glared at her. “I didnae bed them with vigor.”

  “Will ye get your wee mind out of the bedchamber for a moment?” snapped Angus.

  “I cannae help it,” said Artan. “’Tis where the changes in my wee wife pinch the sharpest.”

  “Aye, so it would,” agreed Old Meg.

  Angus snorted. “And what would ye ken about it, eh? Ye were married to that weak fool Lewis. Ow! Curse ye, woman,” he muttered, and rubbed the ear she had just sharply twisted.

  “Dinnae ye speak poorly of my late husband, Angus MacReith,” said Old Meg. “He may nay have been the lusty swine ye were, but he gave me three fine sons and a bonnie lass, all who lived and are now having bairns of their own.”

  “If ye two could pause in your wooing for a wee while,” drawled Artan, “I need some help getting my wife back.” He had to bite back a laugh when both Angus and Old Meg blushed even as they glared at him, but his good humor fled quickly. “’Tis as if the spirit of some other lass has taken her o’er, a meek, puling lass who thinks she is more slave than wife.”

  “She is trying to be the perfect wife,” said Old Meg.

  “She was perfect for me just the way she was.”

  “As I have been saying, ye obviously didnae make that verra clear. Heed me, ever since her father and brother were killed, Cecily has tried to become a true part of a family, to win some hint of affection, respect, and acceptance from those Donaldsons. She ne’er really understood that naught she could e’er do would gain her that. Weel, she didnae ken the whole truth about them, did she? She always struggled to be what she thought Anabel wanted her to be. ’Tis why she was gong to marry that swine Fergus, aye? And from the moment that was arranged, Anabel lectured the lass on what a perfect wife should be, not that Anabel followed such foolish rules herself, mind you.” Old Meg smiled sadly. “I fear my poor wee lass is e’en more determined to be perfect now.”

  “That is just daft,” grumbled Angus. “Of course she is accepted here. She is blood, isnae she?”

  “So were the Donaldsons,” said Artan, beginning to understand what Old Meg was saying.

  “The lass cannae be thinking we would harm her!”

  “Nay, ye old fool,” snapped Meg, “although one couldnae really blame her for being wary after all that has happened and all the hard truths she has had to face. The child had her whole family taken away, and the ones who should have taken her to their hearts ne’er did and were the verra ones who had destroyed all she loved. But, ye see, Cecily needs to be part of a family. With every failure to become a true part of the Donaldson family that need grew. She is blindly determined not to fail this time.”

  “So I need to show her that she is part of this family and that she doesnae have to be anything more than she is,” said Artan, frowning over what he began to see as a daunting chore. “I could have some of the Murray lasses come here to meet her. She would soon see that having some spirit and a sharp tongue isnae going to trouble me at all. Ah, but that could take weeks, and I want my wife back now.”

  “Then ye are going to have to have a verra serious talk with her, let her ken exactly how ye feel about it all. And dinnae look so horrified. It willnae hurt. Ye have been talking to us about it, havenae ye?”

  “Ye arenae my Sile.”

  “’Tis what ye have to do. She can be a stubborn lass, and now that she has decided this is what she must do to win her place here, she will stay on that path e’en if it kills her.” Old Meg sat at the table in the chair facing Angus. “I have tried to talk to her, but she doesnae really heed me. She kens I love her like my own and thinks I but cosset her.” She looked at Artan. “Ye speaking to her may help as I dinnae believe ye cosset her.”

  “She doesnae need any cosseting. She is a strong lass. Or was.” He sighed. “Aye, I had best talk to her ere she buries her spirit so deep there is nay uncovering it again.”

  Old Meg nodded. “’Tis what I fear. With the Donaldsons it was ne’er so bad as this. That spirit was ne’er completely cowed. What she felt for them was mostly a sense of duty. ’Tis verra different now. Her heart’s invol
ved.” She grinned at the sharp look of interest Artan gave her. “What? Didnae ye ken it?”

  “How would I ken it? She has ne’er said so.”

  “Oh, aye, I suspicion she had told ye, just nay with words. She has told ye in those ways that have ye so eager for her spirit to be revived.”

  “Lust.”

  “Ach, nay more talk about that,” muttered Angus, but Artan and Old Meg ignored him.

  “That lass had ne’er e’en been properly kissed ere ye stomped into her life,” Old Meg told Artan. “She wouldnae have understood lust. Nay, she would have run from the fire in innocent confusion, especially if she didnae have any true feelings for ye. But she didnae run, did she? Nay, she jumped right into that fire with both feet. Of course she has feelings for ye, fool, and ’tis why she is so desperate to be a perfect wife for ye. As I watch Cecily now, I can almost hear the lectures Anabel gave her. Talks of duty, submissiveness, and all of that. Near every day the woman lectured the poor lass.”

  “Mayhap I should return to Dunburn now and get some retributions,” Artan said, his voice hard and low.

  “’Twould take weeks,” said Angus, “and ye need to do something about our Sile now.”

  Artan nodded even though he had no idea what to say to his wife. He had no skill at discussing feelings, certainly not his own, and he suspected he would need to talk about how he felt as well. He was strongly tempted to wait and see if Cecily pulled out of this strange mood on her own or call upon his sisters for help. Inwardly, he shook aside those ideas. They were born of cowardice. They would also not work as well as a little honesty between him and Sile. He just wished he had some skill at wooing and speaking the sort of soft words a woman liked.

  “I wish ye would cease looking as if I had just asked ye to cut off your own leg,” muttered Old Meg.

  “That might be less painful,” he drawled, and briefly grinned at the look of feminine disgust she gave him. “I will do it, Meg, dinnae fear about that. I just cannae be sure I will do it verra weel. I have little skill at wooing.” He felt himself blush faintly beneath the intent look she gave him.