“Aye. Do ye mean to wed Aimil Mengue? I have heard talk of it.”
“Then ye have heard right. Aye, I mean to speak to her of it on the morrow. I shouldnae have hesitated as long as I did. If I had spoken up when first I had decided on it, I wouldnae have been fishing her out of the loch for she wouldnae have tried to run.”Or, at least, he mused with an inner grimace as his confidence wavered,I dinnae think so. “Do ye object?” he asked coolly when Artair frowned.
“Nay, though I will say that I am a wee bit surprised. I never thought of ye as a man to don the yoke of marriage.”
“With Aimil I dinnae feel as if t’would be donning a yoke and that, mayhaps, is the best reason to wed her.”
“Aye, mayhaps. For your sake, I hope it never feels so. The why nor even the wisdom of it isnae why I mention it.” He nervously cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I have been with Catarine or, shall we say, she has been with me.”
“Take warning, Artair, she is a sly wench and she seeks a husband but would make a man a verra poor wife.”
“I ken that she seeks a husband, but she wants the laird not the heir. She seeks ye, Parlan.”
“Aye, she has made that clear enough though she thinks not. I have made it clear that I am not interested in aught she has to offer. Dinnae fash yourself. I ken the games her sort plays and they willnae work with me.”
“That much I am sure of. I wouldnae waste the time of either of us by speaking on it if that was all I suspected. Aye, she plots but it isnae against ye, I think. She plots against Aimil.”
“How so?”
“She didnae really say, and I fear I paid little heed until, weel, later. She distracted me.”
“She is skilled at that.”
“Aye, verra skilled. Still, I did sense that she plots against Aimil. She wishes Aimil gone. I but thought ye should ken it.”
“’Tis good to ken it. I thank ye for speaking on it. I will be certain to look more closely, to keep an eye upon the slut. I begin to think ’tis far past time for the wench to be gone. She takes sore advantage of our hospitality. If there is more ye want from her, best ye gain it now, Artair. I will seek my chambers now for t’was a long ride home. Aye, and the swim I took wearied me some.”
“I hope Aimil fares weel. Good sleep, Parlan.”
“And to ye, Artair.”
With a slight frown, Parlan watched Artair walk away. There seemed to be a change in his brother, but Parlan dared not let himself hope. He had done so in the past and tasted disappointment too often. It would take awhile before his wariness disappeared.
Striding into his chambers, he found Old Meg dozing in a chair by his bed. It pleased him to see that the woman had personally taken over Aimil’s care. Gently he roused the woman, smiling faintly over her sleepy grumbling as she woke and stood up.
“How fares the lass?” He stood by the bed and studied the restlessly sleeping Aimil. “Do ye think she will sicken at all?”
“Nay, she be too hale a wee lass to be felled by a wee cold swim. There be no hint of fever.”
“Her sleep is an uneasy one.”
“Nay doubt the lass be troubled with the memory of them dark waters.”
“Has she roused at all yet?”
“Enough to grumble that she didnae need to be tended like some wee bairn. I paid her temper no heed.”
Parlan laughed softly as he escorted Old Meg to the door. “She would no doubt have been verra surprised had ye done elsewise. Get your rest, Meg. I pray I willnae have need of ye again this night.”
“I dinnae think ye will, laddie. Good sleep to ye.”
After the woman left, he got ready for bed. He kept a close watch upon a continually restless Aimil as he undressed and washed. It did seem that her sleep was troubled, and he hoped she had been badly frightened. A good scare was often the mother of caution, and he felt it would not hurt if Aimil had a little more of that. He would find it comforting if she did.
It still pinched at him that she had tried to leave him, even if Leith had had to prod her. He had thought her more than content in his bed. While he knew that she desired him, he found himself wondering if the passion they shared was as strong in her as it was in him. While he craved it, she might simply enjoy it. All the reasons Leith had given for trying to escape were very sound and easily understood, but they were not strengthening his confidence as he wished they would.
Cursing as he snuffed the candles, he told himself not to be a fool. Her trying to escape was perfectly understandable and no real indication of how she felt. It had been a matter of choosing honor and duty over a man who offered her nothing more than passion. By remaining silent about his plans, he had given her no choice. To stay when escape was possible was to be marked as his whore, and Aimil had far too much pride to allow that to happen.
Carefully, he eased into bed. He ached to make love to her but knew there would be none of that. Even if she woke, she would still be suffering from the effects of her near drowning. Recalling how he had felt when the same had occurred to him in his youth, he knew that she would be feeling little inclined even to try for a taste of passion, and he did not want her unless she could share his pleasure. He could wait until the morrow when she would be recovered and more responsive as well as more receptive. When he gently tugged her into his arms and she nestled near him, he decided that the morrow was going to seem very slow in coming.
