Highland Barbarian. Hannah Howell

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      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, the lass doesnae ken anything about it, and God have mercy on any who tell her,” replied Davida as she stood up and brushed off her skirts. “I think Lady Anabel fears the lass would balk at marrying Sir Fergus if she kenned what he was truly like.” Davida grimaced. “Poor wee lass has her own troubles anyway, aye? She doesnae need to be weighed down with those of others. Aye, and she couldnae do aught to help in the end, which would fair break her heart.”

      “So this marriage isnae the lass’s choice?”

      “Why are ye so interested?”

      “Her uncle sent me here, her dying uncle.”

      “Oh, aye. Weel, I dinnae think Lady Cecily had anything to say about it all. Dinnae think many lasses do, do they. Lady Cecily does seem to be accepting it.” Davida put her hands on her well-rounded hips and frowned. “I have СКАЧАТЬ