Cecily nearly ached to argue that and knew she had some very good arguments to make. The best being that her uncle carried some three score years. At such an age even a very mild illness could kill the man. Waiting until after the wedding could easily mean that all she got to visit was Uncle Angus’s grave. She looked at Fergus, Anabel, and Edmund and could tell by their expressions that even sound arguments would not sway them, however.
“And since ye truly are his nearest kin, there may e’en be a chance that ye are the heir to something, so, of course, we should go and see how matters stand at Glascreag,” Fergus continued.
“Quite right, Sir Fergus,” agreed Edmund. “’Tis a long, hard journey, but there may be some benefit to it.”
As she listened to her guardians and Sir Fergus discuss what her uncle might leave her when he died, Cecily fought to remain silent. She also tried very hard to convince herself that they were not really as cold and mercenary as they sounded. The way they spoke, as if it were Sir Fergus who would benefit, irritated her as well. She did not care if her uncle made her any bequest, but if he did, it should be hers and no one else’s.
Then she recalled that Fergus would soon be her husband, and the law said that what was hers would become his. Cecily doubted her uncle would want the man to have anything for the simple fact that Sir Fergus was a Lowlander, but her uncle had no idea that she was about to be married. She had written to him to tell him of her marriage, but there was a very good chance that he had not received her missive before he had sent Sir Artan to her. If her uncle died before she reached him and Sir Fergus benefited from his death in even the smallest way, Cecily suspected Uncle Angus would be spinning in his grave. He had often made his low opinion of Lowlanders very clear, seemingly forgetting that her father had been one.
Her thoughts fixed upon the last time she, her father, and her brother were together, Cecily was startled when Anabel pinched her on the arm. Rubbing the sore spot those vicious fingers had left behind, she looked at the woman. She was not exactly surprised to find Anabel scowling at her. Sadly, Cecily almost always found Anabel scowling at her.
“Go and tidy yourself,” Anabel ordered, nodding toward the small bloodstains on the sleeve of Cecily’s gown. “Clean off those stains quickly ere they set firm. Ye had best nay ruin that gown. And hurry back. I will be verra displeased if ye are late to the feast.”
As Cecily hurried away to her bedchamber, she wondered crossly if Anabel expected her to apologize for bleeding when her skin was pierced. It would not surprise her. Anabel always seemed to think Cecily should apologize for the times Anabel had to beat her until the blood flowed. Cecily had always been more than ready to accept punishment for any wrong she had done, but she realized she had never fully accepted that she deserved the very harsh punishments Anabel doled out.
Just as Cecily was thinking she needed to work harder on her humility and obedience, she heard Davida’s very distinctive laugh. She frowned at the door she was near and wondered why she felt a very strong urge to burst into that room and stop Davida and Sir Artan from doing whatever was making Davida laugh like that. Since Davida had a well-earned reputation as a wanton, there was little doubt in Cecily’s mind as to what those two were doing. She just did not understand why it should trouble her so much. Forcing herself to move, she hurried on to her bedchamber to do as Anabel had told her to do.
Artan scowled at the buxom Davida and pushed aside her hands. The maid was obviously eager and ready, but despite it having been a very long time since he had enjoyed a woman’s favors, Artan found that he did not want to oblige her. His mind and, apparently, the rest of him had obviously decided he was soon to be a married man. He liked how Cecily looked, and he liked the sound of her voice. There was a glimpse of spirit in the way she was the only one who had moved to greet him. He had to learn more about her, and he felt sure that would be difficult to do if Cecily thought he was bedding Davida. Instinct told him Davida was not a woman who could keep silent about her lovers.
“If ye cannae simply help me with my bath, it might be best if ye were to leave,” he said.
Davida stared at him in surprise. “Ye mean ye dinnae want—”
“Nay, I dinnae. Ye are a bonnie lass, but I have it in mind to become a married mon soon.”
“Oh.” Davida smiled and began to slide her hand down his belly again. “Weel, I willnae tell, and what the lass doesnae ken—”
“I will ken it,” he said firmly as he pushed her hand away, annoyed at how his body was responding to her touch and the anticipation of even greater intimacies.
“Ye dinnae look reluctant.”
“We both ken that that part of a mon has no mind and no morals. I dinnae think your master sent ye with me for that sort of play, aye?”
“Oh, aye, he did. And if he hadnae, Lady Anabel would have. I think they hope I will make ye miss out on the feasting.”
Artan hid his shock over that even though he knew some keeps had such women within their walls, ones freely offered to the guests. It was the reason Davida believed the courtesy was offered this time that stunned him. “Will ye get in trouble for failing?” He scowled at the look of cunning that briefly passed over her pretty round face. “The truth now, lass.”
Davida sighed. “Nay, Sir Edmund and, aye, e’en Lady Anabel will just think ye are a fast rider like Sir Edmund and Sir Fergus.”
Although his pride pinched at being thought of as such a poor lover, Artan concentrated on what Davida had just revealed. “Ye have bedded them both, have ye?” he asked as she began to scrub his hair.
“I have, though I cannae say they were much worth the effort. S’truth, Sir Fergus is one who enjoys a bit of rough play, if ye ken what I mean.”
“Aye, I do. Yet he cannae be sharing your bed now, nay at his own wedding celebration.”
Davida laughed. “Ye jest. Of course he is. The mon has dragged near every maid here into his bed, willing or nay. Those who were nay willing tried to speak to her ladyship, but it got them naught but a scolding. ’Tis odd, but whene’er Sir Fergus is here, ’tis almost as if he rules and nay the Donaldsons.”
“Aye, verra odd,” he murmured, “as I cannae see Lady Anabel bowing to anyone.”
Artan listened to Davida’s litany of complaints about Lady Anabel as she scrubbed his back. The lady of the demesne obviously did little to ensure the loyalty of her maids. What Davida revealed troubled Artan. Something was not right here. If one believed Davida, Cecily was being treated as some burden, as if she were some poor kinswoman taken in so she would not starve. From what Angus had told him before he had left Glascreag, Artan had come to believe that Cecily’s father had been a doting parent. It made no sense that the man would have left his daughter penniless and at the complete mercy of unkind kinsmen.
Stepping out of the bath, Artan continued to mull over the problem as Davida dried him off. Consumed by his thoughts, he was easily able to ignore the maid’s many attempts to rouse his interest until she eventually gave up and began to work with brisk efficiency. He was quick to don the robe set out for him when he was dry, however. The woman seemed to have a dozen bold hands.
As Davida had the bath cleared away, Artan stood by the fire thinking on what he had learned thus far, until he finally decided there were too many questions left to ask and each one had too many possible answers. Artan knew he had to search out the truth. Even if he did not marry Cecily, he owed it to Angus to make sure his niece was being treated fairly and was happy. He did wonder why that laudable goal did not make him feel happy or even just pleased with his own nobility.
He looked at Davida, who was kneeling on the floor and mopping up water. “’Tis disappointing to think Lady Cecily is one of those women who doesnae care what happens to the maids in her household,” he said with what he felt was the appropriate amount of disgust and regret.
“Oh,