Leith suspected that there was a great deal of truth to that so did not bother to argue but went directly to the next point of contention. “And as my father learns who his friends are, ye continue to bed my sister as ye will.”
“She and I made a bargain.”
“Aye, months ago. That cursed horse has been ransomed ten times over.”
“’Tis a fine mount.”
“Dinnae play with me, MacGuin. I have been more than patient but I cannae sit by any longer and let ye make a whore of my sister. ’Tis no longer a matter of using a hostage. It has gone far beyond that.”
“Aye, it has.”
“Then ye mean to put her from your bed?”
“Nay, I mean to wed her if she will agree.” He smiled faintly at Leith’s surprise which the younger man made no effort to hide. “On the morrow, if the weather is fine and if she doesnae sicken from her swim, I will take her for a wee ride and talk to her.”
“What of Rory? God’s teeth, what of my father?”
“I care not. They willnae be able to do verra much about it after a priest has done the vows. Mayhaps t’will even drive Rory to act. T’will depend upon how badly he wants Aimil. Mayhaps it willnae be enough to bring him to sword point with me, though, by God’s bones, I wish it would be. I have long ached to come to sword point with him.”
“As have many another but Rory guards himself verra weel. Enough of him. I care not for the swine. There is still my father to consider. Ye cannae up and wed his daughter with nary a word to him. ’Tisnae done.”
“Then I shall break with tradition. Heed me, Leith. Aimil stays in my bed. Does she stay there wed or unwed?”
“Wed, curse ye.” Leith spoke rather mildly for he knew Parlan was the one Aimil wanted. “T’will brew a mighty storm though.”
“I have faced down one or twa in my time. I will speak to you again after I have had my say with your sister.”
Parlan left before Leith could think of any further objections. He hoped Leith would continue to be persuaded. It would not make an auspicious beginning to his marriage if he had to lock the younger man up until the priest had finished wedding him and Aimil, he mused.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Artair suddenly stopped in front of him. Parlan met his brother’s nervous gaze with coolness. Anger over what Artair had done to Aimil still lingered. He was not sure he was quite ready to forgive, if that was what Artair sought.
“I have come to apologize for what I did to your woman.”
“’Tisnae really me ye must apologize to.”
“Aye, ’tis. Weel, and the lass too. See, she told me she was yours, but I paid her no heed. I shouldnae have tried to take what was, is, yours. That wasnae right and I ken it.”
“Nay, it wasnae right but ’tisnae the real wrong ye did. ’Tisnae right to reach for another man’s lass but, if she proves willing, weel, so is the game played. She wasnae willing though, Artair. There is your wrong. Ye didnae heed her nay. Ye hit her.”
“She bit clean through my lip,” Artair said in his defense, but it lacked strength and he knew it.
“So ye cuffed her one. I still wouldnae have been pleased, but that I could have understood. ’Tis a man’s nature to strike out at what strikes him. But ye hit her again and meant to keep on hitting her. That was your other wrong, Artair.
“Being a man and one who can fight weel with sword and fist, if ye are sober, ye are stronger than a lass. ’Tisnae right to turn that against her. ’Tisnae right to take what a lass doesnae want to give. I ken many think me a soft fool for such beliefs, but I dinnae think it has weakened me. Nay, nor has my bed been empty too often because I choose to wait for a willing lass. Ye cannae just grab as ye will. Woo it, seduce it, or pay for it, but dinnae beat it out of a wench.”
He stared at Artair, but his brother was neither speaking nor returning his gaze. Parlan began to wonder if any of what he had said had been heeded. It was a gain of sorts that Artair had even attempted to apologize, but Parlan knew it meant nothing if Artair did not really mean it nor had learned anything from the whole business. His hopes lifted when Artair finally looked at him for shame was clearly written upon his face. For the moment at least, Artair understood that he had been wrong.
“I dinnae ken what possesses me at times.”
“Drink, laddie. ’Tis a Devil no man can let get a hold upon him. There is a brutal side to a man, ’tis what lets us pick up a sword and hie to battle. Aye, even enjoy it. What a man has to learn is when to let the beast free and when to rein him in. No man can do it when drink clouds his mind. Ye must learn to control the drink and not let it rule ye.”
“Aye, I ken it. Might I speak to Aimil now?”
“Nay, not now. The fool lass nearly drowned herself. She needs to rest. On the morrow.” He started to move toward his chambers.
“Parlan?”
Stopping to glance back at Artair, Parlan asked, “There is more ye have to say?”
