“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 why Old Meg? 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.
“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.
“I am nay sure what to do, Artan,” she whispered. “Frightening though this is, I can see how it is best for ye. Ye would suffer so if ye were aware of the pain ye are in. This sleep takes that away, doesnae it? Nay, it takes ye away from the pain.
“Weel, for a little while I shall just leave ye be and let ye sleep this deep sleep. I will care for this poor battered body until ye come back to it. That willnae be such a hardship, it being such a fine body e’en covered in bruises as it is.” She touched a kiss to his lips. “But I warn ye, I cannae let it go on for too long and nay just because I miss ye already. There is only so much I can do to tend your body ere it starts to weaken.
“And therein lies the danger, my love. Each day that ye sleep your body heals but also weakens. Soon the flesh begins to leave your bones for ye cannae live weel on just broth and ’tis all I shall be able to feed ye. So we shall do this and I shall let ye rest in whatever hiding place ye have found in there. But when I see that the flesh is slipping off your bones, I will send for a healer from your clan to come and help wake ye up so that ye may eat and drink proper food and regain your strength.”
She settled her cheek against his chest again and sighed. Cecily knew that the chances he could hear her were very small, but she felt better for having told him her plan. She wondered if she should don her nightgown. The thought had barely finished passing through her mind when she realized she was already so near to sleep she doubted she could get up and undress. She closed her eyes and prayed that it would not be long before she could feel her husband’s arms wrap around her once again.
Chapter 19
“Where is she? Where is my wee lass?”
Angus stopped in his descent of the stairs to look at the woman who had just entered his keep. He recognized her almost immediately as Meg, his sister’s companion and Cecily’s nurse. A few extra pounds on her lush body, a few lines on her round, pretty face, and some gray in her hair, but it was definitely Meg. Suddenly smiling despite the grief he was struggling with, he hurried the rest of the way down the stairs to greet her, feeling the first touch of happiness he had felt in six long days, ever since Artan was carried home to Glascreag.
“Hello, Meg,” he said, pleased when he saw the recognition in her dark eyes.
“Angus?” she said, stepping closer.
“Aye, ’tis Angus. A little older, a little battered, but definitely Angus.”
“I heard ye were dying.”
“Nay, I was ill, but it didnae take me.”
“Aye, weel, I can see that, old mon. So, where is Cecily?”
Still as tart as a green apple, he thought, and nearly grinned. “She is sitting with her husband.”
“Ah, so he did marry the lass. Good. I thought he was a good lad, was telling me the truth, but as soon as they were gone, I started to fret about her.”
“If Artan told ye he would marry her, he meant it. And it wasnae just to become my heir.”
Meg smiled. “I ken it. I ne’er really thought it would be. So, where is she? Where are they sitting?”
“Come in here,” he said as he took her by the arm and started to lead her into the great hall, “and have a wee bite to eat and a drink. Ye need to ken a few things ere ye go to Cecily.”
By the time Angus had finished telling Meg everything that he knew had happened to Cecily and Artan since leaving Dunburn, she had grown a little pale. He realized that the woman truly cared for Cecily and was not calling the girl my Cecily in just mild affection for a child she had nursed. “The danger is past,” he assured her.
“Nay, it isnae, is it. The laddie is caught in a deep sleep from what ye have just told me. Mayhap it is his way to heal and mayhap it isnae. Cecily is a good wee healer and she kens it weel, for all she doesnae have confidence in anything else she does. She also kens weel that some sleeps can be verra dangerous things. Poor wee lass must be terrified.”
“Then I am certain ye will be a great comfort to her.”
“I mean to be. She cannae bear another loss, Angus.”
Meg grimaced. “Weel, that isnae really true. She is a strong lass e’en if she doesnae ken it. She will bear it, but I darenst think of how grieved she will be. She may nay have admitted it yet, but she loves that braw lad. I think she has from the beginning.”
“I think she has, too, and whatever doubts I held about how she felt about Artan have faded over these last six days. Howbeit, she needs to rest, Meg. Crooked Cat has managed to make her rest for short periods of time now and again, but she needs to rest. She lies down with him at night and I made the mistake of thinking she slept until I looked in on her t’other night. She was wide awake with her ear resting against his chest and her hand placed upon his neck.
“I heard her talking to him, too. ’Tis as if she is trying to convince him to stay. Bennet, Artan’s cousin, has ridden off to his kinswomen to see if they have any advice. They are all said to be excellent healers.”
“Will one come back with him?”
“Probably not. He means to tell them that our Cecily is a gifted healer, too. He says they will send medicines that might help or advice. Howbeit, he is nay hopeful that they will ken what to do any better than Cecily does.”
Meg nodded. “It sounds as if the problem lies in his head or his spirit, and e’en the best of healers have trouble with those ailments.”
Angus rubbed his chin. “Cecily thinks his spirit has retreated to get away from the pain that wracks his body.”
“And what do ye think?”
“I actually think that makes sense.”
“Aye,” Meg agreed and smiled faintly, “it does, and ’tis such as that that makes wee Cecily a gifted healer.”
“Because she can think such things out and understand them?”
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