“Verra much so.” She shook off the old memories and the grief that came with them. “Aye, we traveled the roads at a much slower pace, but I also think children find such journeys tedious.”
He smiled and nodded. “Despite how eager I was to get to Glascreag to start my training, I quickly found it tedious as weel. Ready?”
“To get on that horse and ride all day?”
“Aye,” he replied, his voice choked with laughter. “Mayhap today we can take a longer rest when the sun is high.”
“In a village?” Cecily had seen several in the distance and longed to stop in one, but Artan had ridden right past them, clinging firmly to a more hidden route.
“Nay, but there are other places that should be safe. Of course, if ye are ready to marry me I would be willing to risk entering a village. The verra next one in truth.”
“That is bribery.” She should be angry, Cecily told herself, not amused.
“Aye, it is, indeed.”
“Why do ye keep speaking of marriage? I am nay free.”
“Ye could be,” he drawled and put his hand on his sword.
“Ye cannae kill Sir Fergus just because I am betrothed to the mon.”
“It sounds a good reason to me,” he said as he grasped her by the waist and set her in the saddle.
Cecily hid her frown as he mounted behind her and took up the reins. He had sounded perfectly serious. It would be quite a heady thing if she thought for one moment that he was so deeply jealous of Sir Fergus that he wanted the man dead, but Cecily doubted that was the case. There might be a small amount of jealousy or possessiveness behind those words, but mostly, she suspected Artan would like to kill the man for many another reason. Sir Fergus had apparently been behind the attacks on Artan at Dunburn, and Artan did seem to be convinced that the man wanted her dead.
Gazing a little absently at the country they rode through, Cecily thought yet again on everything Artan had told her. She no longer thought that he was lying to get her to go to Glascreag with him, but she was convinced that he had told her what he believed was the absolute truth. The part of her that believed him was getting stronger every day, and not just because Artan’s kisses gave her a fever of the brain. He was slowly pulling out of her all manner of memories concerning her time beneath the rule of Sir Edmund and Lady Anabel, as well as what few memories she had concerning Sir Fergus.
She wanted him to stop it, to stop prodding at her memories and stop dragging forth thoughts and feelings she had buried as deep as possible. Cecily understood what he was doing, that he was trying to get her to see the truth for herself. It was getting harder and harder to deny it all as onlyhistruth and nothing more. Almost everything she recalled seemed to add weight to his claims, making it increasingly difficult for her to defend or excuse her guardians or her betrothed. What was worse, however, was that it was also showing her how much she had denied, how often she had lied to herself, and how much she had forced herself to forget and ignore. It was slowly making her see just what a sad, miserable life she had been living for the past twelve years.
At times it made her very angry with him even though she knew he did not deserve that anger. The tales he told her about his life and family, tales filled with crowds of loving relations, only added to her anger and misery. Despite the loss of her mother, she had had such a life with her father and brother before it had been brutally stolen from her. She had begun to realize that even the people of Dunburn, everyone from the maids to the swineherd, had been taken from her as well. From the day Old Meg had brought her home from that tragedy, everyone had been kept from her. Old Meg had been the last to be taken away, and after that, Cecily realized, she had been utterly alone.
There had to be a reason for that. What troubled Cecily was that she could not come up with a good one, one that explained everything so clearly it proved that Artan was wrong. More and more a little voice in her head whispered the question: Had she been living with, and bowing to, her family’s murderers? It made her feel cold to the bone to think it might be true.
She leaned back against Artan and closed her eyes, smiling faintly when she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. The anger and hurt she had felt when he had kidnapped her was almost gone, leaving only a small, lingering mistrust of his desire for her. He had, after all, used passion to capture her, and she was uneasy whenever the desire between them began to stir to life again. She grimaced as she forced herself to admit that that desire never really rested.
And just why was she denying it? she asked herself. He spoke of marriage, so even if her betrothal to Sir Fergus came to an end, she would have a husband. And a far better one than the man her guardians had chosen for her, she mused. The desire she felt for Artan was like a living thing inside her, a very hungry, demanding living thing. If Artan was right, she was in a fight for her very life. So why was she denying herself what she so badly wanted? Cecily began to wonder if she was pushing him away to punish him for what was beginning to look like a very minor sin against her. Either that or she was punishing herself for wanting a man other than the one to whom she was betrothed. Neither was really acceptable. On the other hand, she was wary of her own arguments, afraid she was just finding ways to convince herself that it was acceptable to take what she wanted.
It was time to stop playing that game, she decided. The more she thought on her life, the more she was inclined to take whatshewanted and enjoy it to the fullest. Artan was offering to marry her, and even if she could not decide on that just yet, she could certainly help herself to everything else he offered her. It was only her word that held her to Sir Fergus, and although she did feel a pinch of guilt for betraying the promises she had made at their betrothal ceremony, it was only a pinch and she knew it would not stop her.
Letting the rhythm of the horse and the pleasure of being lightly embraced by Artan as they rode relax her, she settled herself more comfortably against his broad chest. All problems aside, this was where she wanted to be, and it was time to stop fighting him and herself. As soon as she rested a little, Cecily decided she would let the man know that she would not push him away again. Feeling a now-familiar hardness pressing up against her backside, she smiled. She suspected she would not have to do much to make him accept her change of heart.
Artan peered down at the woman sleeping in his arms and wondered why she was smiling, then decided that it might be best if he did not know. Her anger had definitely softened toward him. He was sure that she no longer thought he was lying to her even though she still had not fully accepted the truth of what he said. That contradiction did not make much sense to him, but he suspected it did to her. It was, however, one step closer to having her fully accept the cold, hard truth about the Donaldsons and Sir Fergus.
At the moment, his strongest reason for hoping she would quickly accept the truth was that it would make her cease holding fast to promises she had made to Sir Fergus. Artan loathed the idea that she might feel bound to the man in even the smallest of ways, and the man’s crimes had little to do with that feeling. He admitted to himself that he simply loathed the idea of her feeling bound to anyone but him. He also wanted her to accept him as her lover, the sooner the better, as he seemed to be in a permanent state of aching need. He could wait a little longer for her to accept him as her husband, but he was not sure he could endure another night of lying beside her rigid with need but unable to slake it. Artan would not be surprised to discover that something like that could quickly turn a man into a dribbling madman.
He sighed and nudged Thunderbolt into a slightly faster pace. For a man who could go without a woman for long stretches of time, he was proving to have very little control around Cecily. Artan was not even certain that the problem would fade once he knew he could bed her any time he pleased. It could be that it was simply Cecily who kept him in a state of permanent rut, and he was not sure he liked that. If the woman ever realized the power she held in her small hands, he could find himself in dire trouble.
Shaking aside that troubling thought, Artan suddenly recalled a small loch he had paused at on his way to Dunburn. If all went well they would be passing by the place just as the sun hit its zenith. Artan decided that would be the perfect place to stop for a rest and, if he was very lucky, a little lovemaking. They could also bathe in the water. Naked. When that thought made him painfully hard, he grimaced and tried to fill his head with thoughts of the journey ahead and how to continue to avoid the men following them.
Cecily looked around as she stretched and idly rubbed the small of her back. It was a lovely place, the water of the small loch clear and bright and land surrounding it lush with flowers, mosses, and trees. She slipped off her boots and hose and approached the edge of the water. It chilled her toes as she idly trailed them through the water, but the heat of the day made that chill welcome. When Artan threw a blanket on the ground and placed a few of their dwindling food supplies on it, she smiled at him.
“’Tis a beautiful place,” she said as she walked to the blanket and sat down.
“Aye,” he replied, tearing off a chunk of their last bit of bread and handing it to her. “I thought that when I stopped here on the way to Dunburn.” He cut the last of their cheese in half. “I spent the night here and had a fine meal of fish fresh from the cold waters of the loch.” He frowned at the loch. “Mayhap I ought to try and catch a few fish now.”
“By the look upon your face I must assume that ye think it would take longer than ye wish.”
“It did so the last time, and I am loathe to lose any time past what is needed to rest us and Thunderbolt.”
