Highland Barbarian. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ so good to see ye, Old Meg,” Cecily said, not surprised to hear the rasp of choked-back tears in her voice.

      Old Meg patted her on the back. “And where else should I be when my wee Cecily is soon to be wed, eh?” She urged Cecily back down onto the stool and smiled at Joan. “Go on, lassie. I will do this. I suspicion ye have a lot of other things ye must see to.”

      “I hope ye havenae hurt her feelings,” Cecily murmured as soon as Joan was gone and Old Meg shut the door.

      “Nay, poor lass is being worked to the bone, she is, and is glad to be relieved of at least one chore. Your cousins are twisting themselves into knots trying to impress Ogilvey and his kin. They dinnae seem to ken that he is naught but a grasper who thinks himself so high and mighty he wouldst probably look down his long nose at one of God’s angels.”

      Cecily laughed briefly, but then frowned. “He does seem to be verra fond of himself.”

      Old Meg harrumphed as she began to vigorously brush Cecily’s hair. “He is so full of himself he ought to be gagging. The mon is acting as if he does ye some grand favor by agreeing to wed with ye. Ye come from far better stock than that prancing mongrel.”

      “He was knighted in the service of the king,” Cecily felt moved to say even though she felt no real compulsion to defend the man.

      “The fool stumbled into the way of a sword that would have struck our king, nay more than that. It wasnae until Ogilvey paused a wee moment in cursing and whining—after he had recovered from his swoon, mind ye—that he realized everyone thought he had done it apurpose. The sly cur did have the wit to play the humble savior of our sire, I will give ye that, although he did a right poor job of it.”

      “How do ye ken so much about it?”

      “I was there, wasnae I? I was visiting my sister. We were watching all the lairds and the king. Some foolish argument began between a few of the lairds, swords were drawn, and the king nearly walked into one save that Ogilvey was so busy brushing a wee speck of dirt off his cloak he wasnae watching where he was going. Tripped o’er his own feet and stumbled into glory, aye.”

      Cecily frowned. “He has only e’er said that he did our king a great service. Verra humble about it all he is.”

      “Weel, he cannae tell the truth about it, can he? Nay when he let the mistake stand and got himself knighted and all.”

      So she was soon to marry a liar, Cecily thought, and inwardly sighed. That might be an unfair judgment. It could well have been impossible for Sir Fergus to untangle himself from the misconception. After all, who would dare argue with a king? And why was she wearying her mind making excuses for the man, she asked herself.

      Because she had to was the answer. This was her last chance to become a part of this family, to be more than a burden and an object of charity. Although she would have to leave to abide in her husband’s home, at least she could leave her cousins thinking well of her and ready to finally consider her a true and helpful part of their family. She would be welcome in their hearts and their home at last. Sir Fergus was not a man she would have chosen for the father of her children, but few women got to choose their husbands. Poor though she felt the choice was, however, she could take comfort in the fact that she had finally done something to please her kinsmen.

      “Ye dinnae look to be too happy about this, lass,” said Old Meg as she decorated Cecily’s thick hair with blue ribbons to match her gown.

      “I will be,” Cecily murmured.

      “And just what does that mean, eh? I will be.”

      “It means I will be content in my marriage. And, aye, I shall have to work to be so, but it will suffice. I am nearly two-and-twenty. ’Tis past time I was married and bred a few bairns. I but pray they dinnae get his chin,” she muttered, then grimaced when Old Meg laughed. “That was unkind of me.”

      “Mayhap, but ’twas the hard, cold truth. The mon has no chin at all, does he.”

      “Nay, I fear not. I have ne’er seen such a weak one. ’Tis as if his neck starts at his mouth.” Cecily shook her head, earning a sharp reprimand from Old Meg.

      “If ye dinnae wish to be wed to the fool, why have ye agreed to this?”

      “Because Anabel and Edmund want this.”

      When Old Meg stepped back to put her hands on her ample hips and scowl at her, Cecily stood up and moved to the looking glass to see if she was presentable. The looking glass was one of the few richer items in her small bedchamber, and if Cecily stood a little to the side, she could see herself quite well despite the large crack in it. She felt that small worm of resentment in her heart twitch over being given only the things Anabel or her daughters no longer wanted or that were marred in some way, but she smothered it. Anabel could have just thrown the cracked looking glass away as she had so much else that had belonged to Cecily’s mother.

      Cecily frowned as she realized she would have to plot some way to slyly retrieve a few things from hiding. She glanced toward a still scowling Old Meg. One of the woman’s most often voiced complaints was about how Anabel had tossed away so many of Moira Donaldson’s belongings. It was, perhaps, time to let the woman know that not everything was lost. At first, it had just been a child’s grief that had caused Cecily to retrieve her mother’s things and hide them away. Over the years, it had slowly become a ritual and, she ruefully admitted to herself, a form of rebellion.

      The same could be said for her other great secret, she mused, glancing toward the small ornately carved chest holding her ribbons and the meager collection of jewelry allotted to her. Anabel had rapidly claimed all the jewelry that had once been Moira’s, or so the woman believed. Hidden away beneath the ribbons and trinkets in that chest were several rich pieces of jewelry that Cecily refused to give up, pieces her father had given her after her mother had died. He had intended her to have the rest when she grew older, but Cecily had mentioned that to her guardians only once. Anabel’s fury had been chilling. In truth, Cecily suspected it was one reason Anabel made such a display of it when she threw away yet another thing that had once belonged to Cecily’s mother or father. Holding fast to those few pieces of jewelry had been enough to keep Cecily quiet when she saw Anabel or her daughters wearing the jewelry that had once adorned Moira Donaldson.

      The woman deserved something for caring for a penniless orphan, Cecily told herself, firmly pushing aside the resentment she could not seem to fully conquer; then she turned to face Old Meg. That woman looked an odd mix of annoyed and concerned. Even though Cecily had taken only a fleeting note of her own appearance, deeming it neat and presentable, she smiled at Old Meg and lightly touched her beribboned hair.

      “It looks verra bonnie, Meg,” she said.

      Old Meg snorted and crossed her arms. “Ye barely glanced at yourself, lass. Ye got all somber and looked to be verra far away. What were ye thinking on?”

      “Ah, weel, a secret I have kept for a verra long time,” Cecily replied, speaking softly as she quickly moved to Old Meg’s side. “Do ye recall my favorite hiding place?”

      “Aye,” Old Meg replied, speaking as softly as Cecily was. “In the dungeon. That wee hidden room. I ne’er told anyone, though I should have. Ye could have gotten yourself locked in there and, if I wasnae about, been stuck in there good and tight.”

      “Weel, ye were about and I was e’er safe. But heed me, please, for I may yet need your help. I have hidden some things in there, things СКАЧАТЬ