“I wish ye didnae bruise so badly, so easily. ’Tis hard to ken how sorely ye are hurt.”
“He slapped her but twice before I stopped him.”
Nodding for he had heard of the punishment Parlan had meted out to his brother, Leith said, “Weel, I but wished to see how ye fared, Aimil. I best be back to my bed.” He looked appropriately languid as he withdrew, saying, “I still tire so verra easily.”
When his chuckling ceased, Parlan sighed. “That is what I wish Artair to be.”
“He is still young. He could change.”
“The way he goes on he could die before he alters. Ah weel, ’tis out of my hands. Go to sleep, loving. Ye need to rest your bruises and I hold too much anger to try loving ye. I darenst try. I might hurt ye myself.”
She cuddled close to him and let sleep grasp hold of her. There was nothing she could do. If the trouble was to be sorted out at all, it had to be done between Artair and Parlan.
For long hours into the night, Parlan stroked her hair and stared at the ceiling. Failure and disappointment left a bitter taste in his mouth. He also found them hard things to accept. Resting his cheek against Aimil’s hair, he fleetingly acknowledged that his reaction to what Artair had done had been extreme because of who Artair had done it to. He decided to wait a few days before attempting to see Artair, and with that decision made, he finally went to sleep.
Chapter Nine
“What do ye think, Leith?”
Leith studied his sister carefully. The outfit she wore was odd but not unattractive. Someone’s tartan supplied a slim skirt. She still wore a man’s shirt but that was partially hidden by a sleeveless jerkin, laced tightly in place to make a fitted bodice. Her figure was almost as nicely displayed as it had been in the boy’s attire, more so in fact for her full breasts were delineated.
“’Tis oddly pretty if that makes sense. T’will do verra weel until Father finally sends some gowns for ye. Ready then?”
“What about my hair? I couldnae find anyone to help me put it up.” She frowned into the mirror, noting with relief that her bruises were completely gone at last.
“I can do it. Dinnae look so doubtful. I used to play with our mother’s, aye and our sisters’ even, and am a fair hand at it.”
When he was done, she was suitably impressed. It was nothing elaborate but was well done and neat. The sedate style managed to make her outfit a bit more respectful than the ragamuffin air she had carried. She smiled her gratitude at Leith as he took her by the arm and they started on their way to the hall.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, there was sudden confusion. As Parlan spotted Aimil, smiled and headed toward her, a woman strode into the hall. She was lovely and carried herself with the dignity of visiting royalty.
All complimentary thoughts concerning the woman fled Aimil’s mind an instant later. The woman became the lowest of creatures when she stopped Parlan’s move toward the stairs by hurling herself into his arms and giving him a lengthy kiss that went far beyond a polite greeting. Aimil had to summon all of her will power not to fly at the woman and tear her from Parlan.
It was then that she had a revelation that caused her to pale. She was in love with the Black Parlan. That was the only explanation for the white-hot fury she felt toward a woman she did not know and for the agony it caused Aimil to watch Parlan embrace the woman. Suddenly she wanted to run away. It would be hell to face everyone so soon after such a discovery. She feared it would be read in her every look and gesture, and it was the last thing she wished Parlan to know.
Parlan gently, but firmly, released himself from Catarine’s grip. She was the last person he wanted to see. He had hoped that she would not honor her threat to visit. It was a bit late to wish he had not succumbed to her wiles that once, but wish it he did—wholeheartedly—especially when he glanced up to see Aimil looking at him in cold-eyed dislike.
Holding out a hand to Aimil and keeping his gaze fixed upon her, he said, “I would like ye to meet a guest of mine, Catarine.”
Reluctantly and prodded by Leith, Aimil went to Parlan, letting him take her by the hand. The woman obviously felt she had a right to arrive unannounced at Parlan’s doorstep and to kiss him so intimately. Aimil was not anxious to get mixed up with this. She wished she was back at Leith’s side.
Leith watched his sister closely. He did not like flinging her into the reach of the she-wolf clinging to Parlan, especially when he had a good idea of the revelation that had sapped all the color from Aimil’s face. Nevertheless, it would not be wise for Aimil to back away. Not only should she fight for the man she loved but to allow herself to be nudged aside too easily would cause her to lose her protected place within the MacGuin keep. She was, after all, only a captive, one whose ransom was slow in coming.
“Catarine, I would like ye to meet Aimil Mengue and her brother Leith. Catarine Dunmore, Lagan’s cousin.”
“Surely I am more than that,” she purred, although her gaze was fixed coldly upon Aimil.
“Are you?” Parlan hooked Aimil’s arm through his. “We prepare to dine. Do ye wish to clean up first, Catarine?”
Aimil could see that the subtle snub enraged the woman. When Catarine allowed herself to be escorted to a room, Aimil was sure it was more to cool down and replan her strategy than to wash. As she let Parlan lead her to a seat next to him, Aimil also felt sure that it would prove to be a long, tense evening. She wished fervently that she could find a good excuse to leave.
Despite his best efforts, Parlan got little more than monosyllabic replies from Aimil. He wanted to talk to her about Catarine even if he was unsure of what to say, but the time and the place were all wrong. On the other hand, it delighted him to have this indication that her feelings might consist of far more than passion. He realized suddenly how much he wanted that to be true.
When Catarine entered, she was less than pleased to find that Malcolm sat on one side of Parlan and Aimil on the other. While she washed, she had questioned the maid assigned to her and found out exactly what Aimil Mengue’s position was. She had every intention of altering it. The girl could remain a captive treated as a guest, but she would do it out of Parlan’s bed.
The moment Parlan was distracted, deep in discussion with Malcolm, Catarine looked at Aimil. “Is it truly a lack of ransom that keeps ye here, Mistress Mengue?” She felt Leith tense at her side, saw Lagan do likewise, and felt she had aimed her dart well.
“My father has paid Leith’s ransom. It was verra large. He needs time to raise mine,” Aimil replied coolly.
