“Crooked Cat sings your praises, lass,” said Angus. “And young Robbie’s mother is like to build a shrine to ye.”
“Was he the lad with the three arrow wounds?”
“Aye, and he is still weak and all, but there is no sign of fever or infection. Aye, and e’en the mother, who isnae a healer, could see how close two of those wounds were to killing her only child. But the best is that wee Nell, the lass who stayed at his side, has finally convinced her doting father of her devotion to the lad and they will be married as soon as Robbie is completely healed. She is a verra rich prize for a poor mon at arms. She will have her father’s wee farm in the end as weel as the stock, a full chest of linens, and ten shillings.” Angus winked. “E’en better, they have been sweet on each other since he was eight and she was a lass of but four summers stumbling after him everywhere he went.”
Cecily had to smile. Her uncle acted as if he somehow had a hand in the match that was, indeed, a very good one for a poor man. She suspected Robbie’s work in the defending of Glascreag and the serious wounds he had endured helped sway the girl’s father as well. Cecily had thought the youth looked like a boy. No doubt Nell’s father did, too. There was nothing quite like being in a battle and enduring wounds to make other men begin to see that the boy has become a man. Men seemed able to ignore the fact that anyone can be pierced by an arrow or cut by a sword and bleed fulsomely, including a woman. Saying so to her uncle, however, would probably start an argument she did not have time to enjoy.
“We need to decide what to do about that Sir Edmund and Lady Anabel,” Angus said quietly.
“I ken it, Uncle. I am just nay sure what. Fergus didnae tell me much about how he learned about their crimes. Something Anabel did or said gave him the idea and she wasnae quick enough to deny it believably. They may think themselves safe now, but they may also flee. And although I was ne’er close to Anabel’s daughters, was ne’er allowed to be, they have done me no wrongs. All I ken right now is that they shouldnae be enjoying what is mine, if only because it would grieve my father. The trouble is, how do I prove it is mine?”
“There has to be something written down somewhere, lass. That is what we need. With that in hand, we could move against them, burn those leeches right off your back.”
“There is a thought I wish ye hadnae stuck in my head.” She shuddered and then grinned at Bennet, who laughed. “I shall have to think hard on who my father’s friends were and all. Old Meg might ken something and she should be here soon,” Cecily said almost to herself.
“Meg? My Moira’s friend and companion? That Meg?”
“Aye, she became my nurse. Colin’s too.”
“A fine woman if I recall correctly. But whyOldMeg? She cannae be e’en fifty yet.”
Suddenly recalling that her uncle was sixty, Cecily refrained from pointing out that fifty was considered a great age by many people. “She is called Old Meg because there were already three Megs at Dunburn when we arrived and she was the eldest. For years we had Old Meg, Young Meg, Red Meg, and Lame Meg. Oh, and ere I go up to sit with Artan, could ye please tell me why a mon with no hair is called Ian the Fair?”
Bennet laughed and Cecily yet again felt almost compelled to smile, for his laughter was a merry sound. He was also startlingly handsome with long, thick golden hair imbued with red and a pair of brilliant blue eyes. It was no wonder that she often saw him surrounded by women.
“Stop ogling Bennet,” said Angus. “Ye are a married woman.”
When she did not even blush, just rolled her eyes at a grinning Bennet, Cecily realized she was already accustomed to her uncle’s blunt, often completely tactless ways. “I was just thinking about what a bonnie lad he is. The Murrays must be one of those clans where ye could spend hours just sitting and enjoying the view.”
“Wretched lass, ye have put poor Bennet to the blush.” Angus grinned, enjoying the young man’s discomfort. “Now, I will tell ye how Ian the Fair got his name only the once. We dinnae talk about it much for it puts the man to the blush.”
“The mon is so huge, Uncle, surely he ne’er blushes.”
“He does and ’tisnae a pretty sight. Nay, Ian isnae really bald. He shaves his head.” Angus nodded at her look of astonishment, obviously savoring the chance to tell the tale. “When he was younger, he had long, flowing fair hair, hair any woman would envy. E’en had some curl to it. Weel, the lasses loved it, loved him being such a big, braw fellow with pretty hair they did. Ian mistook one lass’s attentions, thought she really cared for him. She was just enjoying the fact that she held his attention and the others didnae. He heard her say so herself.”
“Oh dear.”
“Aye, found out she was just toying with him whilst having every intention of wedding up with the cooper in the spring. Good mon the cooper, with work that pays weel and a neat wee cottage. Ian’s tender feelings were hurt.”
The thought of the man who could carry Artan over his shoulder having tender feelings was a bit difficult to grasp, but Cecily could feel a great sympathy for anyone who was tricked in love. “So he shaved his head?”
Angus nodded. “He said he wouldnae grow his hair again until he found a lass with a true heart.”
“In other words, one who will care for him when his head is as smooth and shiny as an egg.”
“Exactly.”
“He doesnae look to be even thirty yet. Doesnae he ken that most people here must recall when he had hair and just how fine it was?”
“I did say about that to the lad, but he isnae exactly sensible on the matter.”
“Er, nay, I dinnae suppose he is. He did, after all, shave his head because of a youthful heartbreak, and it cannae be easy to keep it shaved.” She had to bite back a smile when both men winced faintly and lightly touched their hair. “Weel, I hope he finds what he is looking for, although one can only wonder what will happen when he finds his true heart, lets his hair grow again, and the lass expresses her admiration.”
When Angus just began to frown Cecily finished her meal and tried to ready herself to return to Artan’s bedside. She was reluctant to go and find him still insensible yet she preferred it to finding him suffering from a fever or a putrefying wound. Nevertheless, she admitted to herself that she found disturbing the sight of Artan just lying there, his strength still visible in the lines of his body, yet no sign of it appearing in any other way. To have Artan not move or speak as she bathed his open wounds and stitched his wounds gave her the shivers, so deep and cold was her fear for him.
Sitting and talking with Angus and Bennet helped her let go of some of her fear. She could talk, even laugh a little, and think of Artan as just sleeping, something that was only good and healing. In such a surrounding it was easy to think only of having had a victory over Sir Fergus and bringing Artan home alive.
The touch of a calloused hand on hers told her that her thoughts had not been as private as she had hoped them to be. She gave her uncle a faint smile. Suddenly, she thought of how Edmund and Anabel had deprived her of the company of this man, her mother’s brother. Anger swept through her at the thought of all the lost years, years during which she had hungered for a kind touch or a shoulder she could spend her grief upon. Angus would have provided such things without hesitation, and she felt decidedly bloodthirsty. It took all of her willpower not to demand that they immediately ride to Dunburn, armed and ready to fight, and slaughter her guardians.
