For a minute she was utterly shocked; then she was torn between being deeply hurt and wanting to berate him for his utter ingratitude. Then she saw it. That spark that told her he was but teasing her and was waiting to see what she would do. The quiet heartfelt thanks at the start of the conversation was where his true feelings lay.
She leaned over him and brushed a kiss over his mouth, “Welcome back, Artan.”
Chapter 20
“Married?”
Cecily almost dropped the tray of food she had been carrying toward the table by the bed. She quickly set it down before Artan could say anything else. Even though he had been awake now for a fortnight, she still found it difficult to believe. Every time he had gone to sleep at night after his miraculous awakening, she had held him close, listening to his heart all night and waiting almost desperately for that first sign of wakefulness in the morning.
“We are already married, Artan,” she said.
“Nay by a priest,” he replied, standing up and moving the tray of food to the table near the fire.
It felt good to be walking, although Artan still did not feel quite as strong as he would like. After seating Cecily in the chair opposite him, he sat down, set some bread and cheese on a plate for her, and then served himself. He watched her closely as he ate, pleased to see her begin to eat the food he had given her. She had lost a little weight and, as delicate as she was, he did not think that was a good thing.
“Ye want us to be married by a priest?” she asked as she idly cut herself a small piece of cold mutton.
“I do. I always have. ’Tis just that we have had to deal with Sir Fergus and then with my wee sleep.”
Wee sleep, he called it. Cecily doubted she could ever explain the terror she had felt, constantly, over the week and sometime after. To hear his heart beat and watch him breathe yet see no other sign of life was an ordeal she hoped she never had to go through again.
“When shall we do it, then?” she asked.
“On the morrow. I have already arranged matters with Angus and Meg.”
Pushing aside the annoyance she felt over the fact that no one had consulted her, Cecily just nodded. Being a good wife was far more difficult than she had imagined. It was times like these when Artan was at his most arrogant that she had to wrestle her bad self into submission. A good wife bowed to her husband’s wishes, she reminded herself.
Artan chewed on his honey-coated chunk of bread and idly wondered if shaking his wife would wake the old Cecily back up as he had been roused from his little sleep by her voice. He was growing heartily sick of all this sweetness, this meek, obedient nature she had assumed. Each day he could see a little more of the spark he loved disappear.
He blinked and stared down at his meal. Had he just thought the wordlove? He had, he decided. It had slipped through his mind as if it belonged there and would not be refused entrance again. It appeared that at some time since he had met Cecily he had fallen in love with her, deeply and fiercely in love. Having never experienced the emotion before, he had been slow to recognize it. Artan supposed he ought to have guessed at the state of his emotions. From the first time they had kissed he had been thinking of her as his mate.
It was not a revelation he was pleased to be having at the moment. Artan knew it would prey on him, distract him, and make him need to know how his wife felt about him. It was important, but right now he had to marry his Sile with the blessings of the church and then find out what game she was playing.
Slowly but surely she was changing, turning into a woman he did not know, and that worried him. She may be cosseting him because of his wounds and the illness that had kept her at his side for a sennight, but he did not really think so. He was not sure what questions he needed to ask to get the answers he needed, either.
What troubled him the most was that she was turning shy and retreating from him in the bedchamber. He supposed she could have fallen back into her virginal ways as they had not been lovers very long before his injuries had incapacitated him. He had reached for her exactly one week after he had woken up, even knowing that he was still a little too weak for such activity. It had relieved his frustration, but something had been missing and he knew it was not just because he had not been at his best.
Something had been missing in the way his wife responded to his touch. At one point he could have sworn that she had been gritting her teeth as if to silence herself, but he had no idea why she should do such a thing. It was as if the fire they shared was slowly flickering out inside of her, and that alarmed him. It was also one reason he had decided to get married to her with a priest’s blessing. Perhaps once their union was sanctified by the church this strange reticence would leave Cecily and his Sile would return. Intending to be at full strength for that reunion, he had decided to wait to make love again until they were married in the eyes of the church.
“Weel, then, ’tis all settled. We wed on the morrow,” he said as he stood up and gave her a very chaste kiss on the cheek. “I am sure ye will want to find Meg so that the two of ye can plan the feast.”
Cecily watched her husband as he left their bedchamber. It was going to take her a while to push aside her annoyance, don her sweet smile, and become the good wife again. Although she knew one of the rules for being a good wife was to bow to one’s husband’s wishes, she had not realized that meant she should be ordered around like a child. It was not going to be easy to adjust to that. Artan had a way of giving her a command that made her want to hunt down something big and heavy to throw at his head.
Feeling she was calm once again, she finished off the cheese and went to find Meg. That woman was in the kitchen discussing the morrow’s feast with Crooked Cat. After nearly twenty minutes of being ignored, or ordered about and not consulted, or of having every decision made for her, as well as what few decisions she made for herself gently but firmly discarded, Cecily decided she would go and find what she might wear to her wedding.
Crooked Cat peeked into the great hall, then turned back to face Meg. “She looked fit to spit.”
“Good,” said Meg. “She was being so polite and so respectful to her elders, it was either chase her away or throw her into the laundry tub.”
“Why is she being so sweet? Isnae that her nature? She seemed a good lass to me.”
“Oh, she is a verra good lass, and she is sweet in her own way and with a verra big heart. ’Tis that awful always-willing, may-I-do-anything-for-ye type of sweetness I dinnae like. That is what Anabel tried to make Cecily into. There were times when I thought Cecily would smile and ask the hangmon if he needed help putting the rope around her neck.” Meg smiled when Crooked Cat laughed.
“But what is the nature of the lesson ye are trying to give her?”
“To be what she is, to let her feelings lead her, nay rules set down by some woman like Lady Anabel who seems to want the whole world to be just as miserable as she is.”
“Ah, the kind of woman who always offers to tell a lass what to expect on her wedding night and, after dispensing their great wisdom, leave behind an absolutely terrified bride.”
