“Ye had best tread verra carefully, Cecily,” he said, his voice tight with anger.
“Why? Ye mean to marry me, steal all that is mine, and then kill me so that ye can steal the rest. Why should I be careful?”
“Because I can make what time ye have left seem like a hell upon earth.”
“Ye do that just by breathing the same air as I do, ye spineless cretin.”
Even though she had braced herself for his attack, she was still winded by the force of it. He threw himself on top of her and put his hands around her throat. The man proved to be a lot stronger than she would have thought, and she very quickly felt robbed of precious air. She was just beginning to think she had made a serious error when he was yanked off of her and tossed into the side of the tent. He bounced off the cloth a little, unharmed, but then fell to the ground and hit his head on something hard. Cecily suspected there were a few rocks near the edge of tent and Sir Fergus had found one. She looked up at Artan and saw him frowning in the direction of Sir Fergus.
“Nay as good as a nice solid wall, is it?” Cecily said as Artan held out his hand and she grasped it firmly in hers.
“Nay, it was a wee bit disappointing.”
She saw him look at the rope and could tell by the hardening of his expression that he had seen how it would not allow her to stand upright. “Just cut it and get me out of here.”
“I would really like to kill him,” he said as he cut her free.
Seeing how Sir Fergus was creeping toward the opening of the tent, she said, “I think that will have to wait.”
Artan threw his dagger and smiled when it pinned Sir Fergus’s jupon to the ground and the man squeaked. “Stay,” he ordered the man and hastily collected up what food and drink he could find in the tent, putting it all in a blanket and tying the blanket into a rough bag.
“She is my betrothed wife,” Sir Fergus said as he struggled to free his jupon.
“Nay, I am not,” said Cecily. “I am Sir Artan Murray’s wife.”
Artan looked at her and quirked one brow. When she nodded, he grinned and said, “Aye, she is, and I am her husband.”
Sir Fergus’s eyes widened as he realized what they had done, that they had just declared themselves before a witness. “Nay! Ye cannae do this!”
“Are ye sure I cannae kill him?” Artan asked Cecily even as he urged her toward the back of the tent.
“I dinnae think we have time and I suspect ye are a wee bit tired after fighting off ten men.”
“Help! Help!” screamed Sir Fergus.
Two men stumbled into the tent and gaped at Artan. He nudged Cecily through the slit in the back of the tent as he smiled at the two men. A third man stumbled into them, pushing them even closer to him. He felt Cecily grab the back of his shirt and tug on it.
Finally freeing his jupon, Sir Fergus stumbled to his feet. “Kill him, ye fools!”
“Artan, I should really like to leave now,” said Cecily.
Artan roared at the men and thrust his sword in their direction. As they all tripped over each other in an attempt to flee, he slipped out the back of the tent and, grabbing Cecily by the hand, ran for his horse. He threw her onto Thunderbolt’s back, handed her the blanket sack, and mounted up behind her. Kicking his horse into a gallop, he headed away from the increasing chaos of Sir Fergus’s camp.
It was two hours before he felt he could slow his horse’s pace. He felt Cecily slump against him and knew she had felt as tense as he had as they had both waited to hear the sounds of a large pursuit. He wrapped one arm around her waist, held her even closer to him, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Did he hurt ye, lass?” he asked softly, sure that she would understand he was not referring to any beating.
“Nay, just a few slaps and kicks,” she answered, reaching down to lift the wineskin from where it hung on the saddle. “He also ne’er offered to give me a drink and I had to ask for one.” She had herself a long drink of wine, sighed with pleasure, and replaced the wineskin.
“Ye do understand that by calling yourself my wife before a witness we are now handfasted,” he said carefully.
“Aye, I ken it. I remembered Old Meg telling me about it.” She cautiously looked at him over her shoulder. “Sir Fergus will ne’er say anything if ye wish to just let it be forgotten.”
“Och, nay, lass, ye willnae be rid of me that easily. We will hie ourselves to the verra next village and find a witness or two who willnae be reluctant to hear our declarations.”
“Do ye think there will be a place where I can have a hot bath?”
“Aye, there will be. And there will be a place with a nice big bed as well.”
Cecily decided it would be wise to act as if she had not heard that.
Chapter 12
It was a few hours later and very late indeed when they rode into the village. Cecily thought the tiny inn they rode toward looked like the grandest of palaces. She knew she would find a meal and a bed, but what she really prayed for was a hot bath. She desperately wanted to wash the stench of Sir Fergus off her skin and soothe all the bruises she had collected. Glancing over her shoulder at Artan, she knew she also wanted to be clean when she shared his bed as his wife for the first time.
“Are ye certain ’tis safe for us to stop here?” she asked as he dismounted in front of the inn and helped her down.
“Aye, lass,” he replied as he collected their packs and took her hand in his. “Sir Fergus willnae be going anywhere for a while, nay unless he wishes to leave a fortune in saddles behind and ride without one.”
“Ah, I see. Nay, he willnae want to do that.”
“Are ye sure ye are all right?” he asked quietly as they entered the inn.
She briefly tightened the grip of her hand upon his. “Aye, I am, although a hot bath would be verra welcome, indeed.”
Cecily stood very quietly by his side as he spoke to the innkeeper. She almost protested when she heard how much the man demanded for preparing her a hot bath, but Artan’s next request diverted her. The innkeeper looked from Artan, to her, and back again, and then grinned before hurrying off.
“Why do ye need another witness to our handfasting?” she asked.
“Because, as ye said, Sir Fergus will ne’er admit to hearing our declaration, and the other fool who was lurking just outside the tent might nay survive the confrontation yet to come. I certainly dinnae intend for Sir Fergus to do so.”
“Ye think Sir Fergus will continue on to Glascreag?”
“Oh, aye. There is a fortune to be had, and greed can give e’en a worm like him some courage.”
That troubled Cecily, but she had no chance to discuss it further for the innkeeper returned with two men, a quill, some ink, and something for them to write on. Artan wrote down what was needed as they each declared themselves in a more formal way and the other men made their marks on the document. After it was done, Artan carefully stored the document in his pack, paid for some ale for each of the men, and had the innkeeper escort them to their bedchamber. Within moments she found herself alone with her bath readied and waiting for her. Cecily did not think she had ever shed her clothes so quickly. For a moment she felt guilty that she had not even asked Artan if he wanted her to hurry so that he could enjoy this luxury, too; but then she sank into the hot water, sighed with pleasure, and forgot everything but how good it felt.
Artan stood outside the door of the bedchamber he would share with Cecily and softly cursed. He felt as nervous as an untried lad. It had been a long time since he had bedded a woman, but he knew that was not the cause of his unease. He had never bedded a virgin and he had never bedded Cecily. This would mark the start of their married life, and he felt the importance of that weighing him down. Not even once in his life had he ever been so concerned about giving his partner pleasure.
Stiffening his spine, he entered the room. Seeing Cecily kneeling near the fire combing her hair dry, he quietly shut the door behind him and just watched her. She was beau
tiful with her long, thick hair falling in soft waves to her slim hips. Her nightgown and robe were very modest, but just seeing her readied for bed was enough to make him ache to take her there.
A rap on the door announced their meal. Artan moved to stand so that he blocked all view of Cecily before bidding the one at the door entrance. Once their meal was set out on the small table near the window, he tossed the innkeeper’s son a coin, then securely locked the door after he left. Artan turned to face Cecily and bowed her toward the table.
“Oh, I fear I will be gorging myself like some wee starving piglet,” she said as she sat down and smiled across the table at Artan as he sat down.
“Gorge away,” he said. “I made certain the man sent us a feast.”
Looking at all the food set out before her, she nodded, “’Tis indeed a feast.” As she filled her plate, she said, “I must apologize, Artan. I should have believed ye.”
“So, Sir Fergus confessed all, did he?” he asked as he began to eat.
Between mouthfuls of food, Cecily related what Sir Fergus had told her. “I did point out to him that Edmund and Anabel could weel be planning the same fate for him as he is planning for them.”
“Without doubt.” He filled her tankard with wine. “He isnae worried about that?”
“Nay, not at all. I cannae believe Anabel and Edmund murdered three people, three kinsmen and one of them only a child, and all for greed. I think that is what shocked me the most. That and the fact that I lived with the murderers of my family. Nay, not only lived with them, but struggled daily to please them.”
“Ah, lass, ye were but a child. Ye cannae blame yourself.”
She nodded and had a deep drink of wine to calm herself. “I do understand that, and yet there is a part of me that feels I betrayed the memory of my dear ones in some way.”
“Weel, ye didnae. It just may take ye a while to accept that. Aye, and accept that ye survived.”
Cecily stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “How did ye ken that that troubles me at times?”
“’Tis a common enough feeling. Men leaving loved ones behind on a battlefield whilst they walk away can suffer from the same feeling. The mon gets to thinking he was chosen by God to live and wonders why, especially when he feels unworthy of the honor. It passes.”
“My father and brother were murdered twelve years ago.”
“True, but I think ye have done your best to forget about it and them e’er since that day.”
She sighed and nodded. Artan might be rough of speech and nature, but he had a true understanding of people. One could even call it a sympathetic nature, she mused, but was very certain he would not appreciate anyone saying so. Sometimes she got the distinct feeling that Artan liked people to think he was a barbarian whose wits were as thick as his muscles. It was rather nice to know something about him that others did not. Watching as he peeled, cored, and sliced an apple for her, she thought about how those nimble hands had worked their magic on her body and quickly turned her thoughts elsewhere.
“I am nay sure what to do about Anabel and Edmund,” she said, then popped a slice of apple into her mouth.
“Make them pay for their crimes.” He ate his apple and wondered if it was too soon to take her to bed. How slowly did one have to move with a virgin?
“Of course. I but wonder how. Sir Fergus kens the truth, but I dinnae think he will help me.”
Looking at the bruise upon her cheek, Artan said, “Nay, for he will soon be dead.”
She grimaced. “Although he had naught to do with the deaths of my family, I do think he has crimes aplenty he needs to pay for. The ones he has already committed and the ones he plans to commit.”
Unable to wait any longer, Artan rose, took her by the hand, and pulled her to her feet. “I dinnae wish to speak about that swine any longer. Or about your murderous, thieving guardians. Or about the fate of Dunburn.”
Although she was suddenly feeling very nervous, Cecily had to smile. “Nay? What do ye wish to speak about?”
“How sweet ye taste,” he said as he removed her robe and carried her to the bed. “How soft your skin is. How the heat of your mouth flows straight into my veins. How I am like to curl up and die if I cannae make ye mine verra, verra quickly.”
Cecily welcomed him into her arms when he joined her on the bed and said very quietly, “Oh, nay too quickly I pray.”
Artan grinned. Mayhap bedding this particular virgin would not be so difficult. There was a deep well of passion in Cecily and it appeared that he was the lucky man who could set it free. He kissed her and began to undo her nightgown.
Cecily felt embarrassment and shyness start to cool her desire and ruthlessly banished them. This was her wedding night, and although she doubted she would soon be skipping naked about the room in the full light of day, she should not be flinching because her husband wishes to help her disrobe. After the lovemaking they had indulged in by the burn, there was not much Artan had not seen or touched anyway.
Despite the stern lecture she had given herself, she tensed when he drew off her nightgown and tossed it aside. He crouched over her, staring at her body, and she began to feel all too aware of what she lacked. It was one thing to be naked; it was quite another to be naked and stared at. Slowly, she began to lift her hands from where she had kept them clenched at her sides, intending to cover herself as best she could.
“Nay, lass, dinnae cover yourself,” Artan said as he threw off his plaid, revealing that he had nothing else on. “Dinnae hide all that soft beauty from your husband’s eyes.”
If there was beauty to be seen in this bedchamber tonight, it was his, she thought. She doubted she would ever cease to be awed by the sight of his chest, but the sight of his strong body completely unclothed left her breathless. He was perfection with nothing too long, too short, too misshaped with muscle, or too soft. His legs were long and well shaped, his firm backside had a lovely curve to it, and his back was a pure delight for the eyes.
The only thing she was not sure of was the rather large protrusion at the front of his body. It was not that it was unattractive; she did, in fact, rather like the look of the thing. It was just that it was large. Cecily had not pictured it as being that impressive when Artan was pressing it against her leg.
Artan stroked her side and caught the direction of her gaze. Obviously flaunting himself in front of his still virginal wife might have been a mistake. He decided that he had left her unkissed for too long. It was probably not wise to let her desire wane at all. Once she was breeched and realized their difference in size did not matter, he would not have to be so careful.
He had to fight the urge to stare at her, to slowly and gently touch every perfect part of her. Her breasts were plump and tipped with soft pink. Her waist was small, and her hips curved enough to be womanly. Her bottom was nicely rounded and taut. She had long, slender legs and smooth, pale thighs so slender there was a gap at the top that invited a man. Her womanly secrets were hidden beneath a dainty vee of red curls. He knew her skin was smooth and soft, and all he could see was how much of its unmarred beauty was right there for him to enjoy. When she started to lift her hands to cover herself again, he kissed her.
It took a moment for Artan’s kiss to banish her embarrassment, but Cecily soon fell under its spell. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with an increasing passion. When he began to caress her body, each stroke of his big hands seemed to smooth away her shyness. The moment his kisses reached her breasts she no longer cared what he saw or what he did; all she cared about was that the feelings he stirred within her continue.
Cecily stroked his back as he feasted upon her breasts. When she slid her hands down his spine and caressed his backside, he groaned, and his kisses and caresses grew a little fiercer. She did not even flinch when he slid his hand down between her legs and stroked her as he had done during their tryst at the burn. Cecily willingly opened herself to his touch and heard herself groan softly as her desire began
to reach painful heights.
It was not until his kisses reached the lowest point on her stomach that a brief hesitation came in her growing passion. Her eyes grew so wide with shock when his mouth replaced his fingers and he kissed her there, they stung a little. By the time she recovered from her shock enough to move, she did not want to. She buried her fingers in his hair and held him there, silently asking him to continue giving her such pleasure. A tightening in her belly nudged her free of her mindless desire and she called out his name, but he ignored her. Suddenly, that tightness snapped and she cried out as waves of pleasure swept over her.
She cried out again when he was suddenly there, inside her, united with her. It took her a moment to realize he had gone very still and she gently grasped him by the hips. She was not sure what she wanted him to do, but it was not to just lie there quietly joined with her.
“Artan?” she whispered, lightly stroking his hips.
Artan prayed she was not about to ask him to pull out because it hurt too much. He did not think he had ever felt such pleasure. The feel of her tight heat all around him made him nearly dizzy with pleasure. The strain of not moving soon grew too great to ignore, however, and he brushed a soft kiss over her mouth.
“Are ye in pain, Sile mine?” he asked.
“Och, nay. I just wondered if this is how it is done. Are ye supposed to just lie there?”
He laughed softly and kissed her again. “Nay, lass, I am supposed to do this,” he said quietly and began to move.
Cecily arched up to meet his gentle thrust. “Aye, that is what I needed.”
It was what he needed as well, and Artan was deeply gratified when she quickly caught his rhythm and met him thrust for thrust, her body in perfect harmony with his. Just as he began to reach between their bodies to stroke the nub of flesh there and try to add to her enjoyment, he felt her tense. A heartbeat later he felt her release convulse around him and it pulled him along with her. As their cries echoed in the room, Artan decided there was something sweeter than hearing her cry out his name, and that was to hear them cry out together.
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