“Ah, now ye look better, lass,” Angus said. “Just had a good thought, didnae ye. For a moment ye look afeared of something.”
“I was thinking of how I would like to ride to Dunburn and slaughter Edmund and Anabel.”
“Just as I said, a verra fine thought, indeed. The perfect thought to cheer ye.”
Cecily laughed and stood up, then bent to kiss his cheek. “I had best go and sit with Artan. Thinking on that was why I had grown pale. I just dinnae like to see him lying so still. He is nay a still mon.”
“Nay, he isnae. He will be weel, lass. He is young and strong.”
She just nodded and headed for the bedchamber she shared with Artan. Her uncle was kind to give her such encouraging words, but they both knew that being young and strong did not always matter. Young and strong men died every day.
The mere thought of Artan dying caused her to stumble on the stairs. She stood very still and took several deep breaths to calm herself. Except for the unsettling stillness, there were no signs that Artan was suffering unduly from his wounds. All he needed was to be kept warm, given plenty of healthy broths, and kept clean. She had the skills to do that and more, as well as the patience to keep caring for him until he opened those beautiful silvery blue eyes of his and smiled at her.
“It doesnae look encouraging, does it?” Angus murmured after Cecily left the great hall.
“Nay, not really,” Bennet agreed in an equally soft voice. “I dinnae think I have e’er seen a mon beaten so badly before.”
“Nay alive leastwise, eh? I hadnae gotten a close look at Artan until Sir Fergus was dead, or I wouldnae have tried to convince the little swine to just give up and go home. I would have killed the bastard right there, right then. There was nay need to beat the lad so.”
“Sir Fergus thought so. He had been trying to rid himself of Artan from the moment my cousin walked into the great hall of Dunburn. Each time he failed he grew more enraged. The fool probably thought Artan was the reason all his great plans for wealth were falling apart. I think the man was one of those who could ne’er be wrong. If something wasnae going as he thought it should, it had to be because someone was ruining it.”
“And Artan was that one. Aye, I ken what ye mean.”
“He will recover. I have seen him this still before. ’Tis a little frightening, but ’tis his way to heal. And he has a lot to live for, aye?”
“The lass, ye mean?”
“Aye, the lass.”
“So ye think he cares for her?”
“Oh, aye. I think he cares for her verra much indeed.”
“Good, good. I didnae want to think I had pushed them both into something they didnae really want.”
Bennet shook his head. “Artan wanted it. They may take a while to see what I can, but ’tis there. They are a good pairing.”
“They will give me some verra fine grandbabies.” Angus just smiled when Bennet laughed.
Cecily sat in a chair by the bed after Crooked Cat had taken her leave. Artan had not moved. She leaned forward to check if he still breathed, then told herself not to be a fool. His breathing might be somewhat shallow, but his chest very clearly moved in a steady rhythm.
Resting her elbows on the edge of the bed, she took his hand in both of hers. It felt warm, but it lay limp in her grasp. She idly rubbed it with her fingers, but there was no sign that he felt it. For a brief moment, she was tempted to fetch a needle and poke him with it, but she quickly pushed that idea aside. It would hardly make any more impression than the way she had to sew his flesh together on his wounds a few hours ago. Again and again, the needle had pierced his flesh, but he had shown no sign of feeling it.
This sort of utter stillness was beyond her ken as a healer, and that worried her. From the way Crooked Cat talked to her, Cecily knew she was the most skillful healer they had ever had in Glascreag or anywhere nearby. Unfortunately, that meant Artan had to depend on her to pull him out of this, and she simply did not feel up to the task. She had only ever had Tall Lorna for a teacher, and that woman had never spoken of what to do for a man whose spirit seemed to have fled his body.
“Artan,” she whispered, and kissed his lips only to quickly pull back when there was not even a hint that he felt her mouth moving against his.
“Ah, Artan, where have ye gone? Ye cannae leave me.” She stroked his forehead, felt no hint of fever, and knew she should be pleased, yet, in some ways, it would be a sign that this was not some empty shell they had brought back to Glascreag.
“Mayhap I should have Bennet seek out one of those famed healers in your family.”
She let that thought settle into her mind and actually found comfort in the knowledge that there were others to whom she could turn. They were some distance away, but she knew they would come if she sent word. She would speak to Bennet in the morning and together they would decide when they should send word to the Murrays. It was no promise of some miracle cure, but she felt calmed by the mere fact that she had a plan.
Climbing up onto the bed, she settled herself next to him. She rested her head on his chest, comforted even more by the steady beat of his heart, and wrapped her arm around his waist. Despite the warmth of his body and the sound of his heartbeat, Cecily felt very alone despite being so close to him. The spirit that made Artan the man she loved more than life was not there.
It was there, she told herself firmly. She would know if it had somehow fled his body completely. Thinking back to that time in Sir Fergus’s tent, she felt sure she knew when Artan had begun to sink into this sleep. She had seen the almost dreamy look in his beautiful eyes and he had not participated in his rescue in even the smallest of ways. The groan of pain he had made, when Ian the Fair had slung him over his broad shoulders had been the last sound Artan had made, but she did not think Ian’s actions had done this. Artan was already escaping the pain of his body by then.
And who could blame him for that, she thought. There was not a part of him that was not bruised or stitched together. Many men would have been screaming from the pain.
