“Nay, it doesnae. Ye love him, dinnae ye?”
“Och, aye. So much.”
When Cecily began to cry, Meg quickly moved to hold her in her arms. “We shall see this through, lass. We shall. And we shall find a way to bring your braw laddie back to ye.”
“What did ye think of him then?” Angus asked Meg as they shared some wine in the solar long after others had sought their beds.
“I think it isnae hopeless, but that is all I think,” replied Meg as she stretched her feet out, placing them a little closer to the fire. “Nay, I also think my poor lass is going to lose her voice if he doesnae rouse soon.”
“She is talking a lot. Crooked Cat keeps bringing her a honey mix to soothe her throat for ’tis sore by the end of the day.”
“The mon is missing a lot of her secrets. He will be sorry for that.”
“If he has missed them, how can he ken he has and then be sorry?”
“Dinnae be so clever. ’Tis annoying.” She hid her smile by sipping her wine.
“I want him back, too. I thought I had picked him for my heir because he has some MacReith blood in him and he is a strong laddie, but thinking he might be gone forever soon has made me see it was far more than that.”
“He is the son ye ne’er had.”
“Aye, him more so than his twin, although Lucas is a good lad. His heart is at Donncoill, though. And there was always that standing between us.”
“Weel, I have no gift of seeing or the like, but I just cannae see the lad dying.”
“I will go and sit with the lass in a wee bit. Give her voice a rest.”
“She said she has begun to repeat herself, so ye could save her that shame.” She exchanged a brief grin with him, but concern for Artan hung so heavy in the air the good humor was quickly smothered. “I just keep trying to think of things that might break through the wall he seems to be hiding behind, but the lass has tried them all already.”
“So,” Angus began after a moment’s silence that was not completely comfortable, “how is your husband?”
“Dead. How is your wife?”
“Dead. Both of them.”
“Twice married?”
“And twice widowed and nary a bairn to show for it.”
“Weel, I suspicion that lad and my lass will be filling these old halls with the sounds of children ere too long has passed.”
“’Tis a sound that has been missing for too long. Laughter, too. I thought that when the lads returned and then Artan arrived with Cecily. Ye do ken that I wrote—to her and to the ones who call themselves her guardians?”
“When I wasnae cursing ye for a heartless swine who turned his back on his own blood, aye, I felt that something wasnae right. Nay way for me to find out what was happening, howbeit. The lass and I were kept apart from the others and then I got thrown out.”
“For what?”
“Ripping the cane Anabel was whipping Cecily with out of the bitch’s hands and whipping Anabel with it.”
“Thank ye.”
“Ye are welcome, and it did feel good, but it left the lass truly alone in the end, and that wasnae good.” Meg sighed. “If I am wrong and this lad does slip away, I fear Cecily will feel deeply alone and with the sort of aloneness an old nursemaid cannae heal.”
Cecily finished combing her hair dry and then braided her hair. The hot bath had felt good, and she was ready to face yet another night of trying to get Artan to come home, as she had begun to think of it. In the back of her mind still dangled the thought of making love to him to see if that feeling cut through to the Artan hiding inside this too-still body. Since the thought would not go away, she decided to consider the possibilities a bit more. And the how of it, she mused. She had not had the experience with Artan yet to be able to do it all on her own. The few times she had taken the lead, he had been right there with her, occasionally steering her in the right direction.
Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, she picked up the small tankard of wine she had put there earlier and had a sip. He looked so peaceful, she thought as she watched his face, something else she did regularly in her constant search for some sign of returning life. He looked so handsome, and yet, without that spark of life in his features, they were merely good, well-cut lines placed well and no more. It was that spark of life that turned well-cut lines into real beauty, and she missed it sorely.
She tried to think of something she could talk about that she had not talked about before and then tensed. Turning her full attention back to his face, she waited, knowing she had seen something there, some twitch in his cheek or flicker behind his eyelid. Setting her wine back down on the table by the bed, she straddled his body and stared at his face, trying to will the movement back so that she could see it and judge its worth. Her whole body soon began to ache with tension, but she was so sure she had seen something she did not dare to turn away for one minute.
