“Ye would ne’er believe me if I denied wanting to the laird here.” He eased her bodice down until it rested at her small waist, then began to unlace her shift. “Name me a mon who wouldnae want to be a laird, wouldnae want to hold a place like Glascreag. Howbeit, I didnae marry ye for it.” He slid his hand inside her shift and pressed his cheek against the top of her head as he savored the feel of her soft breast filling his hand, the taut nipple teasing his palm. “There, I can think better now.” He was sure he heard a small choke of laughter, but he ignored it.
For a brief moment Cecily had tensed when he had put his hand on her breast. That resistance faded at the first light caress of his long fingers. She told herself she was just being accommodating because he was talking freely about the problem between them. Deep inside she had the feeling it was mostly because she had missed his touch.
Even as she cried over how he had hurt her with his lie, it was his arms she wanted to be enfolded in to seek the comfort she so badly needed. That weakness alone was enough to make her want to cry some more. The way he was holding her now with one hand lightly stroking her breast, touching soft, fleeting kisses over her face, and idly caressing her neck or shoulder with the fingers of his other hand was so gentle, so loving in so many ways, that, too, brought tears to her eyes. It seemed just about anything could make her cry lately, but she knew the real reason for the tears. No matter what reason she gave herself, they were shed for the loss of her dream, the foolish dream that this strong, handsome man had wanted her enough to marry her despite the fact that she could not say for sure if she had any dowry at all. The dream that had her believing she could trust in him, in his word, and in his passion.
“I am now going to tell ye the whole tale of this bargain from the verra beginning,” he said and did.
Cecily frowned when he finished his tale at the point where he had ridden away from Glascreag. It all sounded so reasonable, and even though she had known him for only a few days, so very much like something her uncle would do. In their talks she had also become very aware that her uncle was desperate for an heir, an heir that was not Malcolm. She could see the truth in all Artan said, yet she was terrified to believe him. She could not bear the pain betrayal brought, not again.
Artan cupped her face in his hands. “Lass, it was wrong of me to keep the bargain a secret. I ken it now, and I kenned it from the beginning.”
“Then why didnae ye tell me?”
“Because I didnae think ye would marry me if ye kenned the truth. I was sure ye would ne’er believe that I no intention of marrying just to be made Angus’s heir. I told him that, and I swear that is the truth. Most people marry for some sort of gain, e’en if it is just a goat. I have naught. I am a second son, the last born of twins. But no one in my family weds only for gain. There is always more, if only because we believe in vows said. Since we do and we ken we will be tied body and soul to the one we wed, there has to be more. ’Tis why I tried to make it verra clear to Angus that I would have to come to ken who ye were, what ye were like, ere I would do it. If I hadnae wanted ye, I would have simply tried to get ye to come to Glascreag to see Angus.”
Cecily sighed and leaned against him. It all made sense, but she remained uncertain. She suspected that would be true for quite a while. She had been surrounded by lies and secrets too much to be too trusting anymore. She knew that was not fair to Artan, but her wounded heart was not particularly interested in fairness at the moment. It was interested only in protecting itself from more pain.
“Nay, I shouldnae have assumed anything.”
“I let that happen by nay telling ye the truth, and I am sorry for that. Yet, what I am trying to say is that it is not just the lairdship or Glascreag that has made me your husband, lass. Ye must ken that there is more between us than that; that more than land and e’en Angus’s wishes bind us.”
She nodded slowly. “Aye, how could there not be after all we have been through.”
“So am I allowed back into your bed?”
“Is that one of the things that binds us, Artan?”
“Could ye think otherwise?” He tilted her face up to his and gave her a slow, gentle kiss.
“And ye think passion is enough to hold us together?”
“’Tis a verra fine beginning, and I really dinnae like sleeping all alone in a cold bed.”
“Ye could always put a bit more peat on the fire.” She sat up and frowned at him when he started laughing. “It wasnae that funny.”
“Angus said the same thing when I complained about my cold bed.”
Cecily grimaced. “Oh dear. I am nay sure I like the fact that I say the same things Angus does.”
Still laughing, Artan carried her over to the bed and set her on her feet. He rapidly divested her of her clothes, ignoring her blushes. As he tossed aside the last of her clothes, she scrambled into the bed. He grinned, quickly shed all his clothes, and climbed in beside her. Taking her into his arms, he savored the feel of her soft warmth pressed close to his body and sighed with satisfaction.
“This is where ye belong, lass. This is how it should always be.”
There was such sincerity in his voice, she knew she could trust in this. Artan wanted to be in her arms at night. At the end of the day, he wanted to be able to curl up with her beneath the blankets. It was a start.
Although she now held fast to a wariness that would be slow to leave her, she was willing to try again. He was right to remind her that few of their ilk married just because they wanted to. Lands, alliances, and coin were always involved. She found that she did believe that Artan would not marry her for gain alone, and she told herself she should count her blessings. No matter how she felt, there was one fact she could not argue: He was her husband and she belonged in his bed, not greeting him at the bedchamber door with ewers and rocks hurled at his head. Many another husband would feel that reason enough to beat her.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Even though they had slept apart for only two nights, Cecily quickly found out that she was starved for the taste of him. He acted as if he was equally starved for the taste of her. He pushed her onto her back and crouched over her, studying her body intently as he smoothed his hands over her. She felt as if he was reacquainting himself with her body, and that only stirred her blood even more.
Their lovemaking soon grew wild, each of them acting as if they had been deprived of the other for months instead of just two nights. When they finally came together the ride was fast and furious, their cries blending in the room as they reached the heights together. The way Artan collapsed on top of her and slightly to the side so that he did not put his full weight on her made him appear to be as boneless as she felt.
“Now, do ye really think it was only Glascreag that I was thinking of when I married ye?” Artan asked as he inched his head over and let it rest more comfortably on her breasts. “I missed my pillows,” he murmured. Cecily smiled and idly ran her hand up and down his back. “Nay, I guess there were one or two other things on your mind.” She frowned up at the ceiling. “’Tis odd how that happened. I had ne’er e’en been properly kissed, and yet within four days of meeting ye I am creeping out of the keep and meeting ye down at the burn.”
“Ah, fine as that was, mayhap we shouldnae speak of it.”
“Why not?”
“Weel, I have just gotten ye to stop hurling things at me, I am nay sure I want ye to think too much on the other time ye were angry with me.”
