“I ken it,” snapped Artan, glaring at Angus, who sat in the laird’s chair at the head of the table and looked remarkably healthy for a man who had claimed to be dying only a few weeks ago.
“I am nay sure what she is so upset about,” said Bennet as he spread a thick layer of honey on his bread. “Shouldnae she be pleased that she can bring ye such a fine dowry?”
“Ye would think so,” said Artan, pleased to find that someone thought as he did. “But I had guessed that she wouldnae think that way and should have told her all about Angus’s bargain days ago.” Right after they had become handfasted and he had made her his, and thus could be certain she would not run away.
Barring him from their bedchamber for two days was almost as bad, he decided as he scowled up at the ceiling of the great hall. The first night he had tried to go in and talk to her, she had thrown a ewer at his head and he had quickly retreated, deciding to give her time to let her anger cool. Last night, she had thrown a rock at him, and suspecting she had slipped outside and collected a pile of them, he had retreated again. Surely after two nights alone she should have calmed down, he thought, but he was hesitant to go up the stairs and test her temper yet again.
“Mayhap ye can go up and talk to her,” he said to Angus, who was filling his plate with more food than any sick man ought to be able to choke down. “Ye could put in a kind word for me ere ye return to your deathbed.” He almost grinned at the guilty look that passed over Angus’s face but struggled not to laugh along with his cousin Bennet.
“Ye were gone so long I had plenty of time to heal and regain my strength,” muttered Angus.
“Of course. Weel? Ye are the one who was so eager for this marriage and ’tis that fool bargain ye wanted that has caused all this trouble. Why dinnae ye go and speak to her?”
“I have tried, but every time I try to speak about ye, she threatens to geld me.”
When both Bennet and Angus hooted with laughter Artan fought the urge to get up and knock their heads together. It was not really Cecily’s anger that troubled him so, but the hurt he knew lay beneath it. He was haunted by the look that had settled on her face when Angus had blurted out the truth. He knew she felt as if he had betrayed her again, and he needed to talk to her before that belief settled in too hard and fast.
“Just go up there, take her to bed, and soothe her feelings with a few pretty words,” said Bennet.
“Before or after she knocks me cold with a rock or another ewer?” Artan shook his head. “Nay, I need to explain things and I cannae do that whilst dodging rocks and crockery. She has verra good aim, too.”
“Ye sound almost proud of that.”
“Aye, I am, and I ken that I deserve this anger. Recall all she has just escaped from.”
“Ye would ne’er hurt her. Ye would ne’er hurt any lass.”
“Oh, she kens that I am no threat to her, nay in that way. Ne’ertheless, I should have thought more on all she has been through and made better choices. Whilst I slept in my cold bed last night—”
“Should have put more peat on the fire,” murmured Angus.
Artan ignored that and continued, “I thought on how I would feel if I stood in her shoes. ’Tis a hard blow to one’s pride. I am nay sure how women abide it.”
Angus snorted. “Do ye think women ne’er wed for fortune or land? Aye, some of them may wish to wed for love or passion, but most wed for name, bloodlines, alliances, money, or strength. And they arenae all forced to do so either. Neither of my wives were.” He frowned. “I have always been of two minds about it all. ’Twould be a fine thing if everyone could just marry who they chose to or their heart told them to. Yet, ’tis also a fine thing to unite lands or clans, make alliances, and fatten one’s purse. The lass kens the way of things. I think this temper is just because she thought she was chosen by the heart and nay the purse. Ye just need to remind her of these hard truths.”
“Those hard truths should have been discussed long before now. By nay telling her of the bargain, I let her think there was no gain for me in this marriage and thus let her think, weel, other things. I must needs apologize for that, but I cannae e’en do that if she willnae e’en talk to me.”
“Ye could always try talking to her from behind the safety of the door.”
“Aye, ’tis a thought although, I dinnae like the idea of everyone being able to hear all I have to say.” He grimaced. “Nay, especially when ’tis me who is in the wrong. Hard enough admitting that to one’s woman.” He had to smile when both men nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Better that than nay being able to say it at all.”
“She cannae hold on to her anger for much longer.” Artan hated that hint of doubt that crept into his voice.
Angus shrugged. “She is a stubborn lass,” he said with a distinct touch of fondness in his voice.
Artan finished his wine and stood up. He was desperate enough to try it. The idea of sleeping alone again gave him the courage. It was not as if the whole clan was not already aware of this feud between him and his wife. He supposed he ought to be angry with her for that, but he was far too aware of how this was mostly his own fault. At the door of the great hall he looked back at Angus.
“Any sign of Sir Fergus yet?” he asked.
“Nay, but I am keeping a close eye out for the swine,” Angus replied.
“Weel, I hope ye do a better job of that than ye did of seeing how many rocks my wife collected when ye took her for a walk yesterday.” He nodded at Angus’s look of guilt, his curiosity about where his wife had gathered all those rocks now satisfied.
All the way up the steep, narrow stairs Artan thought about what he could say to Cecily. He had not told Angus, but he had the suspicion that Cecily truly cared for him, might even be coming to love him. It would explain why she had looked so utterly devastated when she had learned about his bargain with Angus. The idea that she might love him pleased him immensely, but it also meant that the blow dealt to her by what she saw as his betrayal would take a lot more than pretty words and lovemaking to heal. He was beginning to think he was a lot better at the latter than he had thought he was, but he knew he had absolutely no skill at the former. It might be an idea to practice some as Cecily practiced insults.
Not that she needed any more, he thought as he stopped in front of their bedchamber door and heard her yell, “Ye are midden slime! Ye are a boil on Satan’s arse!”
