Cecily threw her gown on over her damp shift, then sat down to put on her shoes and hose. She grimaced at the odd feeling of wearing damp clothes beneath dry ones as she stood up and hurried off into the trees. Uncomfortable though it was, she could tell even now that it would prove cooling for a while.
She was just straightening her clothes when a sound made her tense. Without thought, she hurried back toward Artan. The moment she cleared the trees she knew she had made a serious error. Artan was surrounded by armed men and it did not appear that the men were graciously asking for his surrender. Fergus had found them.
Taking a few steps back into the shadows, she struggled to think of what she could do to help him. About the only thing she could think of was running toward the men and drawing their attention long enough to give Artan a chance to flee. It was a mad idea and she did not have much confidence that Artan would flee, but it was the only idea she had. When Artan gave an ear-splitting bellow and attacked the men, she decided she had to do it if only to save the fool from his own idiocy. Just as she started to move, however, she was grabbed firmly from behind. Before she could act, there was a blinding pain in her head and all she knew was blackness.
Chapter 11
Someone was groaning. A moment later, Cecily realized that someone was her. Her head felt as if some little demon sat on her shoulder and was beating a brick against her head. Had she fallen out of the saddle? That would be highly embarrassing, she thought.
Then her memory returned; her mind was swamped with images she wished she could banish forever. Her last sight of Artan filled her mind’s eye and made her whole body ache with grief. He had to be dead. No man could face so many men determined to kill him and survive. There had to have been a dozen swords aimed at him. Even so, a small part of her refused to give up hope. She decried it as foolish and blind, but that tiny flicker of hope remained.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes, wincing slightly as even the dim light surrounding her made her head throb. She was in a tent and a rather lavish one as well. It was as she started to sit up that she realized she was bound at the wrists, but then quickly discovered that was not the worst of it. The other end of the rope was secured to a stake stuck in the ground in the middle of the tent. She had the wild thought that there must be something in a man’s character that compelled him to put a woman on a leash. Odd though it was, that thought caused her growing alarm to fade and anger took its place. That anger also pushed her fear for Artan aside, and she decided to cling to it.
Her head hurt and she was beginning to be aware of other aches and bruises indicating that her journey to this place had not been an easy one. Her clothes were torn in several places and covered in dirt. She was leashed to a stake like some beast, and she desperately needed a drink. Cecily badly wanted to kill someone or, at the very least, beat someone bloody.
Sir Fergus entered the tent at that moment and she fixed all of her fury on him. Somehow it did not surprise her that the man would travel with a tent worthy of royalty. The fact that he looked as clean as he did when he sat at the table in the great hall of Dunburn only added to her anger. Even the man’s thinning hair looked well combed. When he poured himself a tankard of wine, not offering her any, and sat on a stool to watch her, Cecily suspected the pounding in her head now had less to do with the fact that someone had struck her and a great deal to do with the fury pounding through her veins.
“Might I be so impertinent as to ask why I am tied to this stake?” she asked between tightly gritted teeth.
The way his eyes widened told her that her obvious anger had surprised him. He looked at her a little more closely and appeared to be even more shocked. Cecily would not be surprised if her eyes fairly screamed her rage. It was obvious he felt as if some mouse had just grown large fangs and was leaping for his throat. That he was so astonished that she would be angry to be treated so told Cecily as much about herself as it did about him. She had clearly appeared weak and timid to him, an easy victim. It disgusted her.
“I couldnae leave ye loose, could I?” he said. “Ye might have run back to your lover.”
“I have no lover,” she said.
He moved faster than she could have believed possible and backhanded her across the face. Cecily sprawled back onto the ground from the force of the blow. For a moment she stayed there, sprawled gracelessly on her back. The pain of the blow made the whole side of her face throb, but the shock of the attack was worse. It was not really the shock over a man striking her either; it was the shock of knowing at that precise moment that Artan had been telling her the truth.
“Do ye think I hadnae guessed that ye had willingly met that Highlander at the burn?” he snapped and gulped down the rest of his wine. “Ye crept away like a thief in the night to rut with that mon. Ye are betrothed to me, and yet ye let that barbarian touch ye.”
Warily, a little afraid that he would knock her back down again, Cecily sat up. “And just how did ye discover I was even gone, let alone where I went and with whom?”
“I had someone watching the Highlander and ye werenae in your room.”
“Ye went to my bedchamber?”
“I felt it was time to remind ye that ye are betrothed to me.”
That told her all too clearly why he had gone to her room, and Cecily barely suppressed a shudder of revulsion. She had always done her best not to think too much on the fact that, as her husband, Sir Fergus would have the right to share her bed, to claim her body. He had evidently decided not to wait any longer to claim those rights. Cecily suspected it had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with making a firm claim on her, one that might cause Artan to turn away from her. Recalling what Artan had told her about Sir Fergus and the young maid he had tried to rape, she also knew her willingness or lack of it would not have mattered. Worse, she was absolutely sure that her guardians would not have done anything to help her or avenge that insult.
“Weel, ’tis a good thing I wasnae there then, isnae it, seeing as I have decided that we are nay longer betrothed.”
“Yehave decided? This has naught to do with ye, ye witless whore. Your guardians gave ye to me.”
“Curious that. Nay matter how hard I think on it, I cannae understand why they chose ye. Ye dinnae gain them verra much. There were others they could have chosen who would have brought them far more gain.”
“Aye, butIcan send them to the gallows.”
His smug look chilled her as much as the revelation that yet another thing Artan had told her was really true. Sir Edmund and Lady Anabel had ordered the killing of her father and poor wee Colin. If not for Old Meg and a few stalwart men, she would have died with the rest of her family. She found some comfort in the fact that Old Meg had never guessed the secret of her guardians’ crimes, but only a little. A part of her felt as if she had betrayed her father and Colin by living with their killers and trying so hard to please them.
“I can see that ye ken what I mean. In payment for my silence concerning the blood on their hands, I got ye and quite a bit of the fortune your father left ye. He was a verra rich mon, ye ken, and Anabel and Edmund have lived weel off your money for long enough. ’Tis time they shared a wee bit.”
“Did my father e’en name them as my guardians?”
“Nay, he chose another cousin, but that poor, kindly mon had a tragic accident and died.”
“It must be a sizable fortune if ye are willing to give them Dunburn.”
“Weel, weel, your barbarian did manage to uncover many a secret, didnae he. He is obviously nay as stupid as he looks.” He shrugged. “It matters not. He has taken them to the grave with him. As for Dunburn, I will let those two fools enjoy it for a while longer. I cannae move against them too quickly. It would raise too many questions.”
