Plenty of words swirled in her mind, but she bit them back. Not only was she unsure of what to say but Parlan looked too cold and too remote to make her brave speech. She feared she had failed miserably in stopping something terrible from happening between the brothers. Along with that fear was the deeper one that he would blame her for the trouble. It would be unfair for she had done nothing to tempt Artair, but that did not mean that Parlan might not think she had or that Artair might not claim she had.
When Lagan arrived, she retreated to the bed to sit huddled amongst the pillows. He sent her a brief look of sympathy, and her fears eased a little. If he did not blame her for what had occurred, then perhaps Parlan would not either.
“Is it done?”
“Aye, Parlan. Old Meg’s tending him.”
Parlan nodded curtly then moved to stare out the window into the moonlit bailey. Lagan gave Aimil an encouraging smile. He thought that she looked very much like a frightened child awaiting punishment. With one last glance at Parlan’s stiff back, he slipped from the room and headed straight for Artair’s chambers.
“Where’s Parlan? Doesnae he mean to come and gloat?” Artair rasped when Lagan strode in.
Glancing at the marks upon Artair’s back, Lagan realized that Malcolm had not held back at all. “Ye are a fool, Artair.”
“What did I do save to try for a wee bit of pleasure?”
“It looked to me as if ye were planning to beat her senseless. Is that your idea of pleasure?”
“Nay.” Artair’s gaze flinched away from Lagan’s for he was ashamed of his lack of control. “She bit clean through my lip.”
“Your mouth shouldnae have been anywhere near hers. She is Parlan’s.”
“Isnae she one of the Mengue pair? I caught them. By rights she should be my prize.”
“She is in Parlan’s bed. That gives him rights. She isnae there as a prize either. They made a bargain.”
“Weel, what matter that? He had no right to have this done to me.”
Artair sounded very much like a sulky, little boy, and Lagan shook his head in a gesture of disgust. “Ye got the same he would have given anyone else who tried to do what you did.”
“I am not just anyone else. I am his brother, his heir.”
“Ye are a drunkard and a foolish boy. Nay, dinnae whine and act wounded or insulted. Ye should be at his side, not me.”
“He doesnae want me there,” Artair groused with a whine to his voice, despite Lagan’s warning.
“Nay, he doesnae for he cannae trust ye to do as ye should or even to be sober enough to try. There isnae room for tolerance or second chances when lives are at stake as they so often are. He cannae risk it.”
“He never gave me a chance.”
“By the time ye were old enough to be of any use, ye had tasted the pleasures of flesh and drink and were wallowing in them.”
“What has that to do with all this?”
“More than I dare to hope ye would understand. If ye werenae so sodden with drink or trying to avoid the scold ye ken ye deserve by running to the fleshpots, ye would ken what goes on here. Ye would ken that that lass is Lachlan Mengue’s youngest daughter not some lowborn wench or whore. Ye would ken what it would mean if she was hurt. Ye would ken she was to be wed to Rory Fergueson and ye would ken how hard your brother is trying to stop that and why.” Lagan strode to the door, fed up with trying to talk sense into his young cousin. “Ye would ken as weel that, with each passing day, the wee lass ye were slapping about and planning to rape draws nearer to becoming the mistress of Dubhglenn.” He slammed the door after him, leaving Artair stunned and full of questions.
Lagan found Malcolm in the hall. Getting a tankard of ale, he sat down opposite the man. He recalled that he had had nothing to eat yet but, at that moment, was not particularly hungry.
“Ye didnae hold back on the lash.”
“Nay, I didnae. He deserved every stroke and nae just for trying to hurt that poor, wee lass.” Malcolm shook his head. “I must say, I am surprised that the laird ordered it done. I have often thought him too soft on Artair.”
“Ye wouldnae if ye had been there. He was close to killing the boy.”
“What stayed his hand?”
“’Tis hard to beat a man to death when there is a woman clinging to ye. It was enough to make him pause and clear his head some. I ken that is why Aimil did it. Then he offered Artair the lashes or banishment.”
“Jesu,” whispered Malcolm. “’Tis not just a lusting he suffers then.”
