That was followed by a thud and what sounded like pathetic whining. Artan cautiously opened the door and looked inside. He quickly stepped in and shut the door behind him, all the while watching his tiny, pretty wife beat Malcolm’s head against the floor. After a moment of enjoying that sight, he noticed she had a tear at the shoulder of her gown and suddenly understood why she was beating Malcolm senseless. Fury rose in him and then just as quickly fled. Malcolm had a bloody nose and was flailing about in a weak attempt to get a tiny, furious woman off his back. Such humiliation was probably punishment enough, although Artan thought the man would be wise to leave Glascreag as soon as possible and intended to tell him so. He had no doubt that Angus would back him on that.
“When my husband finds out what ye tried to do he is going to gut ye, slowly, and feed your entrails to the swine!”
“I think we will have to let him recover a wee bit first, Sile mine,” said Artan as he lifted his wife off Malcolm’s back and set her at his side.
Malcolm turned over, looked up at Artan, and turned so white Artan was afraid he might swoon. “She misunderstood!” he said, staggering to his feet. “I wasnae…I didnae…”
“Leave.”
When Artan shut the door behind a fleeing Malcolm and turned to face her, Cecily was suddenly all too aware of the fact that she was alone in a bedchamber with her lying, betraying slug of a husband. She was not ready for this, but she was unable to move to get anything to throw at him. Her legs were shaking and the tremor seemed to be spreading to the rest of her body. When Artan strode over to her, picked her up in his arms, and sat down in the large chair by the fire, she gave him a disgusted look before she settled herself more comfortably in his lap.
“Did he hurt ye, wife?” Artan asked as he rubbed her back, pleased to feel the trembling in her body was already easing.
“Nay, he tore my gown a wee bit ’tis all.” She shuddered. “He also tried to kiss me.”
“Only tried, eh? Pushed him away, did ye?”
“Nay, I rammed my knee into his—”
“Ah, aye, I understand. Ye dinnae need to tell me any more. Explains why he had an odd gait when he ran away.” He began to stroke her hair, subtly undoing the thick braid. “When I realized what he had tried to do, I had thought to throw him against the wall a few times; but then I decided being pinned down by a wee lass and having your head slammed into the floor was humiliating for even a mon like Malcolm and that was punishment enough. Howbeit, if ye wish, I could hunt him down and break a few bones.”
“Verra kind of ye, but it isnae really necessary. I dinnae believe he will try that again.”
Artan slowly shook his head and frowned. “I confess I am a wee bit surprised at this.”
“Weel, he is a verra angry mon at the moment. He isnae the heir anymore.”
“And what does that have to do with you?”
“I am the heir’s wife and I will give the heir his own heirs. Malcolm had a plan to make ye suffer by getting me with child. Ye would have to claim it as your own since we are wed, and then he will have made ye lose all ye stole from him.”
“He is mad.”
“I believe I told him that. It didnae seem a particularly weel thought-out plan. Also told him that if he is so set on having his spawn be claimed as heir, then why didnae we just meander down to the swine pen as there was a new brood of piglets born today and he could have his pick.” She grimaced while Artan laughed. “That was when he tore my dress.”
“Was that one of those insults ye have been saving for just the right time?”
“Nay, I thought that one up on the spot. It appears that the more one uses insults the easier they are to think up quickly.”
Cecily knew she ought to move. She was calm again. It was just this sort of thing she had been trying to avoid over the past few days. Yet, she could not find the strength to leave his arms, not even when she felt him begin to unlace her gown.
“What are ye doing?” she asked, telling herself that enjoying the light caress of his fingers on the back of her neck was no threat to her determination to keep a distance from him, that she could walk away from him at any time.
“I thought I had best see if he left any bruises that might require a salve.” Artan bit back a grin when she made a soft sound of exasperation and he knew she was rolling her eyes.
“I think I left more bruises on him.”
Artan tugged on the bodice of her gown until her shoulder was bared, then kissed it. “I have missed ye,” he said softly as he tugged gently on her hair until her head tilted back a little and he kissed her forehead.
“Stop it,” Cecily said in a breathless voice that carried no threat of command.
“Ah, Sile, my Sile, ye dinnae mean that.”
“I do. I must. Ye lied to me,” she added in a tearful whisper, the ice she had tried to wrap around her heart too thin to completely smother the pain.
“Hush, sweet.” Artan kissed her cheeks, cleaning away the slow tears with his kisses. “Aye, I lied. It felt better to just say I hadnae told ye the truth yet. But, ye are right, it was just a lie by another name.”
“Ye married me to become Angus’s heir. Ye want to be the laird of Glascreag.”
