Highland Barbarian

by Howell, Hannah

  “What I deserved? Just what is a perfect wife?”

  “She can sew and weave and run a household. She does all she can to ensure her husband’s comfort and cares for all the elderly kin who live with her.”

  “Dinnae let Angus hear ye call him elderly,” he muttered and ignored her glare.

  “A good wife is always gentle and kind, polite and weel-behaved, soft of voice and mild of temper. A good wife—” She peered over the top of his hand when he put it over her mouth.

  “And just where did ye learn all of this?” he asked as he slowly removed his hand. “From the woman who had a hand in the murder of your family and was hoping ye would be killed along with them? The one who made your life a misery for so long? The one who has been living off of money and lands that should have been yours? Made ye feel like the poor kinswoman she so kindly raised, when ’tis truly she who is the one who is penniless? If ye are still heeding anything that woman said, then mayhap I was wrong and ye are suffering from a fever of the brain.”

  Cecily gasped and glared at him. “There is nay need to be insulting.” She suddenly found herself with nothing to say, being at a complete loss as to how to defend herself for he was right. “Others abide by most of these rules. These are the sort of rules women teach to their daughters.”

  “Ye had best nay teach our daughter such nonsense.”

  “’Tisnae nonsense.” She inwardly cursed, for she was feeling like crying again and she was not sure why. “’Tis how a wife should act.”

  “Why dinnae ye just be yourself?”

  “Because I couldnae abide it if ye pushed me away,” she whispered, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized what she had just said.

  Artan almost smiled, touched by her words for they indicated that she did care for him, but he forced himself to keep all of his attention on what they were discussing. He was beginning to see the problem more clearly. It was as Old Meg had suspected. Cecily was trying to win his approval. Just as she had done when she had been a lonely child forced to sit apart from the family she so badly needed, she was trying to do all she could to win his approval, ne’er realizing that she had had it and so much more from the very first day they met.

  “I will ne’er push ye away, Sile mine,” he said quietly. “In some ways, ’tis ye who have been pushing me away these last few days.”

  “I would ne’er do that.”

  “Oh, and why wouldnae ye? Do ye perhaps care for me a wee bit?”

  “Dinnae be such an idiot. Care? Of course I care. I love ye.”

  The moment those words left her mouth, Cecily desperately wanted to find a hole to crawl into. When she suddenly found herself being fiercely kissed by Artan, she felt her embarrassment ease. A man could not kiss a woman like this if he had just been told something he did not want to hear. There was no awkwardness or hesitation here, but a hearty welcome. Cecily suddenly felt better than she had in a long time, although she knew this acceptance of her love did not mean he returned it.

  “Say it again,” he whispered against her ear.

  “I love ye,” she whispered back and cried out softly in surprise when he picked her up and carried her to their bed.

  They were naked and in each other’s arms so quickly it made her as dazed as his kisses did. She tried to pull forth the ladylike coolness she had only recently achieved, but it was nowhere to be found. Her emotions were so raw and his lovemaking so fierce that she had no time to collect herself. It took but a few kisses and she was as wild and greedy as he was. She fought with him to see which of them could drive the other more mad with desire, giving him back all he gave her, caress for caress and kiss for kiss. When he thrust into her, she cried out both in welcome and in disappointment that this wild mating would soon be over.

  Still trembling and panting from the fierce release they had shared, Cecily cautiously eyed the man sprawled in her arms. Although she had much preferred this sort of lovemaking to the restrained sort she had been trying to achieve, it was not what could be considered ladylike, and she suddenly felt uneasy. It would appear that this was yet another thing she would fail to be perfect at.

  “I am sorry,” she heard herself say and then sighed, wondering if she sounded as pathetic as she thought she did.

  “Sorry? For what? Making your mon so satisfied he will probably need a good hour ere he can even walk?” He lifted his head to give her a soft kiss and then frowned as he saw how troubled she was. “Does our lovemaking nay please ye?” He knew it did, but something troubled her and he was determined to find out what as he would not allow her to return to the cold, stiff woman he had found in his bed for the last few nights.

  “Did I nay caress ye in the right places? Give ye pleasure? Kiss ye where ye wanted to be kissed?”

  “Nay, it isnae your fault. Ye are all that is wonderful and ye please me more than I can say. ’Tis just that I cannae seem to behave as a lady should when ye are kissing me.”

  “A lady? Sile mine, the woman I have found in my bed these last few nights may have looked like my wife, but she wasnae, and she wasnae a lady either. She was a corpse. Aye, she had all the life and warmth of a dead herring.”

  “Artan!”

  He took her face in his hands and looked squarely in her eyes, ignoring her blushes. “If someone has told ye that a lady must lie beneath her mon like a body ready for a winding sheet, they were wrong. I would e’en wonder if their aim was a cruel one, for I cannae think of much else that would more quickly send a mon out seeking a pair of warmer arms.”

  Cecily blinked as she realized that the anger she had sensed in him lately came from the fact that he had believed she had turned cold toward him. “But ’tis said a mon doesnae respect a lass who is too, weel, warm.”

  “If ’tis his own sweet wife who leaves scratches on his back and her cries of pleasure still ringing in his ears for hours later, he nay only respects her, he craves her. At least this mon does.” He eased down her body a little and began to kiss and caress her breasts. “He likes to hear those soft kitten sounds she makes when he feasts upon her bonnie breasts.” He slid his hand down her body and began to stroke her intimately. “Aye, and that soft keening sound when he caresses her here is sweet music to his ears.”

  Seeing how a returning desire had darkened her eyes, he began to kiss his way down her body. He had sorely missed the fire they shared, and he was determined to make her see that he did crave it and had no intention of letting her keep it from him again. If he had to make love to her until he could not walk, well, he mused and grinned, he was willing to make the sacrifice.

  “He likes to feel how her sweet body lifts to his every kiss and caress.” He used his shoulders to nudge her legs apart and open her for his kiss. “And he loves to feel her writhe with delight when he does this.”

  Cecily cried out softly when he began to love her with his mouth. Embarrassment and hesitation over such an intimacy came and went in the space of a heartbeat. She tried to fight her own passion, but this time it was so she could savor the pleasure he gave her for a long time. Too soon she knew her release was rushing through her and she struggled to pull him into her arms. He ignored her, taking her to pleasure’s heights with his kiss. She was still crying out with the force of her release when he thrust inside of her and joined her in that blissful place.

  It was several moments before she could find the strength to speak. “So, I am to cease trying to be a corpse in the bedchamber?”

  Artan laughed and forced his sated body to shift a little to the side. He lifted his head enough to give her a lazy kiss, then drew her up close to his body. “Aye, ne’er bring that woman back here. I fair to froze my parts off trying to warm her.”

  “Oh, weel, that settles it then. I shall ne’er invite her back. The verra last thing I wish to do is damage your parts.”

  He grinned briefly, then grew serious. “Ye dinnae have to be any more than ye are, Sile. That insult-spitting, rock-throwing, shin-kicking lass is the one I married
, the one I wanted to marry. I dinnae care if ye can make cushions or shirts or sew a straight stitch on anything other than a wound. I dinnae need those things. I need the lass who rode from Dunburn to Glascreag without a complaint, the one who tells me I am an idiot when I deserve it, and, aye, the one who throws ewers at my head when I have been a fool and hurt her feelings.”

  “I shouldnae have done that, Artan. I could have really hurt ye.”

  “And I deserved to be hurt for I hurt ye.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and said quietly, “I cannae say I will ne’er do so again either, for men can be louts who dinnae think ere they act or speak. But I will do my best, for I cannae bear to see that look of pain in your eyes. I would rather cut off my own leg. Just remember that ye are my wife, my mate, my heart, aye, and my love.” He felt her tense in his arms and wondered what he had said wrong now.

  “Your heart? Your love? Do ye love me, Artan?” she asked in a somewhat small, unsteady voice.

  “Aye, I do.” He sighed and held her a little tighter when he felt the damp of tears on his chest. “That makes ye cry?”

  “With happiness. Only with happiness. I ne’er thought ye would, ye see, e’en though I have loved ye for so long.”

  “Weel, I cannae say exactly how long I have kenned that I love ye, but I have been acting like an idiot since I met ye, so I suspicion it has been nearly from the start. Once I kissed ye, I kenned that ye were my mate and my poor mon’s mind got stuck on that word.” He grinned when she laughed and then, grasping her by the chin, turned her face up to him. “I love ye, Sile mine. Ne’er forget that. I love ye as ye are. Ye dinnae have to try to turn yourself into someone else to win my approval or respect or love. Ye have that. Always.”

  Cecily touched a kiss to his lips and lightly stroked his cheek with her fingers. She found it hard to believe that this man loved her and that he obviously understood her very well. The fact that he loved her despite or perhaps because she was a little rough at times soothed a lot of wounds, and she loved him all the more for that.

  “Just as I am?”

  “Aye, just as ye are. I saw that spirit peeking out of ye at Dunburn. The further away from that place we got the more that spirit showed itself and the more I wanted ye. I dinnae need excellent manners, dainty cushions, and lush tapestries. I need ye.” He smiled slightly when she hugged him, hard. “I had feared that I had lost ye, lass.”

  There was a strong hint of grief in his voice and she pressed a kiss to his chest. “Never. And I will ne’er again try to make myself into something I think ye want.”

  “Good, for ye were driving all of us mad.”

  “All of ye?”

  “Aye, your uncle e’en offered to help me strangle some sense into ye. We agreed that ye had become so sweet and so pleasant our teeth hurt and something had to be done.”

  “I was driving myself a wee bit mad as weel,” she admitted. “I was making myself very angry.”

  “Ah, and that is why ye were stomping on that shirt.”

  “I fear so. So, I shall be happy now by being who I am, and if I try to slip back, try to do something that isnae like me just to make someone else happy—”

  “I will beat ye.”

  “A strong word will suffice, thank ye.”

  “Fair enough. We will be happy, lass. Dinnae fret o’er that. How can we nay be when we love each other?”

  “Verra true, Highlander.”

  “Ye are one, too, ye ken.”

  “Why, so I am. How wonderful.”

  He yawned. “Weel, it appears I am going to have to take a wee rest ere I love ye again. Ye have worn your mon out, wife.”

  “Ye do ken how to flatter a lass, husband. But I dinnae wish ye to exhaust yourself. We have our whole lives.” She sighed, liking the sound of that.

  “Aye that we do, but Angus is eager for a grandchild, ’weel, a grandnephew although he doesnae call it that. Ye have noticed that all his carvings are toys, havenae ye?”

  He frowned when she tensed and slowly sat up. Not allowing himself to become distracted by the sight of her lovely breasts peeping out through the long waves of her hair, he studied her expression. She did not look angry or upset or even afraid, all things the mention of begetting a child might stir in a woman if she was not ready for one. She looked stunned and he felt his heart skip with a sudden hope. He waited tensely as she counted on her fingers, but his patience ran out very quickly.

  “Sile?”

  Blinking, she stared at Artan. “I think we may have already made one. I am, weel, I havenae,” she grimaced, cursed softly, and tried again. “I am late.”

  “How late?”

  “A fortnight.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Verra unusual, and I cannae understand why I didnae notice.”

  Artan whooped and pulled her back into his arms, kissing her with all the joy he felt. “My sweet wee Sile, ye have made me verra happy. Nay, I was verra happy. Now I am exhultant.”

  “Who would have thought that we would have all this when ye first stepped into Dunburn with a Donaldson guard hanging from each hand?”

  “I believe I felt the touch of fate’s hand the minute I looked into your eyes, my heart.”

  “Oh, Artan, ye are becoming verra good with sweet words.” She lifted her head and brushed her lips over his. “Verra good, indeed.”

  “For a barbarian, ye mean.”

  “Aye, for a handsome, strong, kind barbarian. My barbarian.”

  “Always yours.” He touched his lips to hers and whispered, “But let us keep the kind to ourselves, shall we?”

  She was still laughing when he kissed her.

  Epilogue

  Dunburn

  Three years later

  “What are ye doing?” demanded Cecily as Artan finished binding her wrists together and then reached for a strip of linen.

  “Kidnapping ye,” he said just before he gagged her.

  Artan grinned as he tossed her over his shoulder, walked out of their bedchamber, and started down the stairs. His loving wife was obviously vilifying his character very creatively behind that gag. He paused to share a grin with Angus, who stood with a grandnephew on either side of him. Even at the tender age of two the twins looked a lot like him, so they looked a lot like Angus as well. Right down to the scowls they wore.

  “Where Maman?” demanded Aiden.

  “I am just going to take her for a wee walk,” replied Artan.

  “Fine,” said Eric; then he turned and walked back into the great hall.

  Meg peered at him from around Angus and scowled at him, although her eyes were alight with laughter. “She doesnae sound like she wants to go.”

  “She will change her mind when we get there,” Artan said, tightening his grip on wife when she thrashed a little in protest to the arrogance.

  “I hope so, or ye will soon have to be explaining to your wee lads how their da got a broken nose.”

  Artan just laughed and strode out of the keep, leaving his sons in the loving and capable hands of their grandparents. It was marriage to Meg that had softened Angus enough for them all to make the trip to Dunburn, his son Eric’s legacy. Meg wanted to see her children and their families who lived nearby. She badly wanted them to meet Angus. Artan had the suspicion that she also wished to see their faces when she introduced little Meghan to them. Her miracle child she called Meghan, for Meg had been near the end of her rapidly fading days of her childbearing years. It had been a hard birth, and Artan knew Meg and Angus were being very cautious now, seeing no need to risk her life in the bearing of a child they did not need. Meghan was being raised like a sister to the twins, for no one could ignore the fact that there was a good chance that Angus and Meg would not live to see their daughter grow up.

  Artan, on the other hand, did not have to worry. The twins were two years old, nearly completely weaned, and his Sile was more than ready for another child. He was the one who had insisted upon waiting, wanting to be sure that there was no c
hance she could be weakened by bearing children too close together. Neither of them held any real, deep fears, however. Even the midwife, with Crooked Cat and Meg standing close by her side, had expressed astonishment over the ease with which Cecily had birthed the twins, who were both of a sturdy size at birth.

  All the women had declared Cecily one of those very fortunate women who could bear children with as much ease as that arduous miracle would allow. He had his bonnie black-haired sons. Now he wanted a sprightly little girl with sharp green eyes and dark red hair, a little girl filled with the same fire and spirit that made her mother his heart’s delight.

  The moment he set Cecily on her feet her eyes widened. As Artan struggled to undo the bonds on his wife’s wrists, Cecily stood very still. She was not sure what game he played and had no inclination to do anything that might stop him.

  “Here we are wife,” he announced before removing her gag.

  “If ye are waiting for some curses, I fear the walk over here caused me to lose most of them.”

  “Fell out your earhole, eh?”

  Cecily ignored that and looked around the leafy bower by the burn where her journey had begun. She had been hinting that she wanted to come here since they had arrived at Dunburn a week ago and been heartily ignored. That had obviously been done because he had known they would be coming here, he had just wanted to change the moment. Food and wine were set out beneath the large group of trees that formed the bower she had so loved to play in.

  “A tryst, my fine Highland knight?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “Aye, a tryst,” he said as he took her by the hand and drew her under the trees. “There were a few things I didnae do the last time we were here.”

  “Those being?”

  “Take your maidenhead.”

  “Long gone and good riddance, say I.”

  “Your heart?”

  “Secure in your grasp long before the tryst.”

  He laughed and gently lowered her onto the thick plaid he had spread over the ground earlier. They made love slowly in the late-afternoon sun. Artan found the passion between them still as hot and sweet as it had been all those years ago when he had lured her to this place. After three years of marriage and two bright sons, he still could not get enough of her. The way she returned his every kiss and caress, the way she tried to make him as wild with need as he tried to make her, told him that she felt the same magic they had briefly shared in this same spot before he had spoiled it.