Aimil sighed with heartfelt despair as she crawled into Parlan’s large bed. Even if she did not love him, it would have been nearly impossible to find someone able to fill his place. The absence of a man like Parlan made for a very empty bed.
She could not help but wonder if the bed he now slept in was as empty as hers. It was hard to think he would refuse a bed partner, and she had no doubt that there would be some available. His appetite was far too large to go hungry voluntarily.
Cursing, she turned onto her stomach and forced her eyes shut. It might have been easier to fool herself into thinking that he would be faithful if she did not have Catarine’s poison seared into her mind. What confidence she had gained was consistently eroded by Catarine’s venomous words despite all her efforts to ignore the woman. A little spitefully she wished Catarine joy of her own empty bed. The woman seemed to be the sort who would find an empty bed too much of a deprivation to endure for long.
“He hasnae been to see me since he ordered the flogging,” Artair groused as he watched the scantily-clad Catarine move to the window.
“Ye erred in touching his precious Aimil,” Catarine snarled. “B’Gad, I am fair sick of that child. ’Tis her innocence he likes. That is all.”
Artair did not think so but was wise enough not to say it. He was healed enough to be eager for a woman, and Catarine’s presence in his chambers plus her alluring attire indicated she would be willing to accommodate him. It would not be wise to raise her ire. Her particular skills in bed were well known, and he intended to do nothing that would stop her from giving him a sample. In Catarine’s case he knew that Parlan would not have any objections to Artair’s tasting what Parlan had already enjoyed and had so firmly and clearly set aside.
“Weel, she will soon be back with her kin and wed to Rory Fergueson. They are betrothed.”
“Parlan means to stop that wedding.”
“So I heard, but I cannae see how he means to do it. She isnae a MacGuin he can rule and order about,” Artair countered.
“Nay, but neither is she kept under lock and key,” Catarine said slowly, her look thoughtful as she turned to face Artair.
Distracted by his own inner discord, Artair was not at first aware of the air of plotting Catarine exuded. “Nay, she isnae. In a lot of ways she is near to a guest.”
“That could be ended at any time,” she mused aloud. Nearing the bed and thinking that, although he was young and not the man his brother was, Artair was not one to be tossed aside especially when she was so hungry for a man.
“What do ye mean?”
“Just that Parlan has never been one for constancy,” she said as she sat on the bed.
He did not believe her. Even as she leaned toward him and he eagerly met her kiss, he finally sensed her plotting. Her animosity toward Aimil was no secret. That she would plot against the girl was entirely possible.
Despite his own troubled and confused feelings concerning Parlan, Artair could not shake his loyalty to Parlan who was not only his brother but his laird. It was now painfully clear to him that Aimil Mengue was more to Parlan than a wench to tussle with. As he debated whether he should speak of his suspicions to Parlan upon his return, Catarine’s skilled hand reached between his thighs and put the matter out of his head.
Chapter Eleven
“Loving, I can understand why you would like to stay.” Leith looked at his crestfallen sister with honest sympathy.
“Aye, there are the reasons ye are thinking on but there is also Rory.”
Leith sighed and sat down beside Aimil on Parlan’s bed. He was torn two ways. Parlan was a man of his word yet nothing seemed to be getting done. Time passed without sight or word of Rory while his father struggled to fulfill ransom demands that Parlan swore had only been made to gain time. And Aimil was falling more in love with a man who made no visible effort to make her any more than his bed-warmer. If nothing else, perhaps if Aimil was taken from him, Parlan would decide he wanted her back—as his wife. It was past time to make some decisive move and escape was all Leith could think of.
“I will do all I can to keep ye from being wed to him.”
“But is all ye can enough?”
“That I do not ken, but I swear upon our mother’s grave he will never have ye, Aimil. I will help ye flee and hide ye if all else fails. I will try all else first but I will do even that if I must.”
“Oh, Leith, that would put ye against our father.”
“In this I am already set against him. ’Tis time to cease being silent about it and take action.”
“Parlan said he would stop the wedding.”
“Aye, and I want to believe him. I do believe that he means to, but what can he do? What has he done? Each day that passes brings the ransom closer to being paid in full. He swore to me that the ransom was made so weighty so that he could have time to stop the marriage.”
Although that surprised her, Aimil added softly, “Yet the marriage is still planned and the ransom gathered.” She shook her head. “Nay, I cannae believe that he plays us for fools. He is an honest man.”
“So I believe, dearling, yet I cannae let Father hand the man a purse that will leave us paupers because I cannae face the fact that I could be wrong. There are times, Aimil, when trust becomes a risk too great to take, and I begin to think ’tis one of those times. Ye could be wrong. Feelings for the man could blind ye,” he added softly.
She rose from where she sat on the bed and agitatedly paced the room. “Aye, they could. I think ye have guessed more than I wish ye to. Yet, as those feelings may blind me, they also make me sicken at the thought of wedding Rory Fergueson.”
