“It looks a great deal bigger than I remember,” Cecily murmured as she caught sight of Glascreag in the distance.
“Usually a child’s eyes see things as a great deal larger than they are, and so we are often shocked to see that they arenae so big once we are grown. Mayhap ye didnae really pay attention until ye were inside the gates.”
Cecily laughed. “A verra big possibility.” She frowned. “And this is to be left to Malcolm?”
“Aye, he is Angus’s closest male kin.”
“My memories of Malcolm are verra dim, but I just cannae see him as laird here.”
Neither could Artan, and he was hoping she would remember that opinion when she found out the truth. He also hoped she would recall it when he explained that it was the thought of Malcolm becoming the laird that had made him even consider Angus’s offer. Making her think of Malcolm as laird had been the only guile he had been able to think of. It was a weak ploy to win her sympathy for both him and Angus when he had to tell her about the bargain, but he had decided that a weak one was better than none at all.
It was as they rode in through the gates of Glascreag that Artan began to feel a touch of panic. A huge crowd had gathered. He would have to get Cecily to their bedchamber as quickly as possible. If he still could not spit out the truth, he would go to Angus’s room and tell the man to be silent about the bargain for a little while longer. Artan prayed the old man had not told anyone else about it.
Like Malcolm, he thought as that young man moved toward them through the crowd as Artan dismounted and then helped Cecily down. By the time he had accomplished that Malcolm was standing right in front of them. He could be ignored. When he saw how Malcolm was looking at Cecily, however, he decided that his cousin should be beaten, at least just enough to wipe that lecherous smile off his face.
Just as he stepped toward Malcolm, Artan felt Cecily’s hand tighten on his. He sighed and reluctantly halted. Greeting Malcolm by planting a fist in his teeth might make Artan happy, but he knew it would upset Cecily. This was her first time at Glascreag since she was a small child, twelve long years ago, and she was nervous. He would not add to that by turning this meeting with her kinsman into a brawl.
“Malcolm, this is Cecily Donaldson.” Artan decided to wait to announce his marriage until he could speak to Angus. If nothing else, Angus would not like it if everyone was told about such an important event before him. “She visited here with her father and wee brother about twelve years ago. She is Angus’s niece.”
“Ah, aye, I remember. The Lowlander,” Malcolm said.
Glancing at his wife, Artan almost laughed. Now she looked like she wanted to hit Malcolm. Cecily was proud of her father and the place where she had grown up despite all the tragedy and problems that had beset her in her own home. She knew, however, that the Highlanders considered it an insult.
“That isnae important now, Malcolm,” Artan said. “Now I think Sile would like to clean off the dust of a long journey and mayhap e’en steal a wee rest ere we all gather in the great hall to dine.”
“Sile would like to ken why ye introduced me as a Donaldson,” she said softly.
“Angus wouldnae like it if we announced our marriage right here in the bailey. He is the laird, ye ken,andyour uncle.”
“Ah, of course. He should most certainly be told first.”
Artan hoped she would be so quick to understand later. Continuing to walk toward the keep, he ordered a man to see to his horse. A few steps later he ordered two youths to bring his saddle packs and Cecily’s bag to his bedchamber. He inwardly cursed when he realized why they were grinning so widely as they ran off. As far as they knew, Cecily was just some woman he had brought back to Glascreag. Instead of a proud husband, he was now seen as a rogue. By the time he opened the door to the keep and pulled Cecily inside, it felt as if every MacReith for miles around had tried to talk to him, slowing him down every step of the way.
“I think some of those people were verra anxious to talk to ye, Artan,” Cecily said, wondering why she felt Artan was trying to hide her away as quickly as possible. “It might be important. I can wait.”
“Nay, lass, if ’twas truly important they would hunt me down. Ye dinnae see anyone charging into the keep after me, do ye?”
“Nay, true enough, and ye are right. If it was truly important, a matter of life and death, they would persist.”
“Now, let us get ye to my bedchamber and I will see that a hot bath is readied for ye.”
“That would be most welcome. At times I feel as if the dirt and dust of travel has buried itself deep into my skin. And I really should be clean ere I go to visit Uncle Angus in his sick bed.”
“He isnae in his sick bed,” Artan said, watching the man coming down the stairs with a wary resignation.
“Where has he gone? Oh, Artan, did someone out there tell ye that he has died?”
“Nay, lass, he isnae dead,” Artan replied, ruefully admitting that, in a few minutes, he might be heartily wishing that the old man was cold in his grave. Worse, Artan feared his wife might be wishing the same fate for him.
Angus stopped a few steps from the bottom of the stairs. He stared at Cecily and a hint of moisture gleamed in his eyes. He took another step down and touched her hair.
“Ye look just like your mother, lass,” he said in a quiet, husky voice. “Aye, ye are my wee Moira reborn.”
“Thank ye, Uncle.” Cecily could sense a true emotion in the man, a true joy to see her, and she felt a lot of her uncertainties vanish. “I have ne’er had a prettier compliment or a kinder one.”
Angus suddenly hopped down and swept her into his arms. Very strong arms for a dying man, she suddenly thought. She glanced at her husband and saw that he was watching Angus with a look of amusement well combined with irritation. She suddenly recalled that Artan had said he had come to fetch her because Angus was dying. Her uncle had obviously been plotting. She knew enough about healing to recognize a strong, healthy man when she saw one.
“Angus, if I could speak to ye for a moment?” Artan asked, clinging to a rapidly dwindling hope that he could yet avoid disaster.
