Highland Barbarian. Hannah Howell

a wasteful slaughter. Too many of the fools cannae e’en make a clean kill. Aye, and they are often so noisy, most of the game they seek has had ample time to flee them. Better a few skilled men be sent out to bring home some meat for the table. These courtiers wouldst probably starve if they truly had to hunt for their supper.”

      Cecily blinked in surprise. He had delivered that harsh denunciation of the hunters in such an amiable tone of voice, it had taken her a moment to realize just how harsh it was. It was all quite true, of course, and she had often thought the same, but she never would have expected a man to share her opinion.

      “There are a few skilled hunters going along.”

      “Aye, to give whate’er poor beastie the fools maim the mercy blow.”

      She winced and nearly nodded her agreement. Only a fleeting sense that she would be insulting her guests, her kinsmen, and her betrothed with one small gesture caused her to hold back her words. A quick glance into Artan’s silvery blue eyes told her that he would not be surprised to learn that this particular group of people were worse than others.

      “Weel, since we are both here and dinnae wish to go hunting, mayhap ye would like to ride with me?” Artan asked her. “I have ne’er visited the Lowlands, and I doubt I shall return. I wouldnae mind being shown the lands around Dunburn by one who kens them weel.”

      “We shall have to stay out of the way of the hunters.”

      Cecily knew her words were an acceptance of his invitation and wondered what had possessed her. While it was true that it was her duty to help entertain the guests, she doubted going out riding with Sir Artan, alone, would be considered appropriate. Anabel was always most strict about her daughters and Cecily, never allowing them to be alone with a man. Cecily supposed she could ask young Peter at the stables to ride with them, but she doubted that would fully satisfy Anabel. Or Sir Fergus.

      Rebellion stirred to life within her heart and she found it a heady feeling. None of the others cared whether she was entertained or not, and not one of these guests was her friend. Soon she would be married to Sir Fergus, and Cecily doubted she would find much entertainment or many friends when she went to live with him. She had to admit that she would not be at all disappointed if her actions caused an end to the betrothal, either. For once she was going to do exactly what she wanted, and she wanted to go riding with Sir Artan. She found herself smiling at him a lot as they finished their meal.

      Artan was pleased as he escorted her out of the great hall. He had feared that the uncertainty he had read in her expression would cause her to refuse to go riding with him. Then a look of determination had entered her fine eyes, and even though she had obviously startled herself by doing so, she had agreed. The lass was not fully broken to the harsh bridle Lady Anabel and Sir Fergus wished to put on her.

      As they approached the stable, Artan frowned. He had that odd tingle in his spine, the one he usually felt when danger was at hand. Since the bailey was almost completely deserted, he fixed his gaze upon the stable and felt that sense of impending danger sharply increase. He turned to smile at Cecily. If there was some danger inside the stables he did not want her caught up in it.

      “Wait here, lass,” he said, “and I will bring ye your horse.”

      “I can saddle my own horse, sir, and truly, I dinnae mind doing so.”

      “And ’tis a good thing for a lass to ken, but my mother trained me to be courteous and do such things for ladies.”

      Cecily smiled faintly and nodded. She would prefer to stay outside in the warm sun anyway. After Old Thomas the stable master had died three years ago, the cleanliness of the stables had slowly declined, and she much preferred the fresher air of the outdoors as well.

      She stood enjoying the unusual warmth of the day and wondered why she was suddenly so rebellious. The way she was acting, especially since Sir Artan had arrived, was most unlike her. Cecily had thought herself resigned to the marriage her guardians had arranged, but it seemed she was not. Whenever she looked at Sir Artan Murray, a little voice in her head urged her to do as she pleased and not as she should, to remember that soon she would be married to Sir Fergus.

      An odd series of thumping noises from the stables drew her out of her dark thoughts about her future as Lady Ogilvey. Cecily frowned toward the shadowy opening to the building. The noises had sounded not unlike bodies hitting something hard, a sound she had, thankfully, only heard a few times. They certainly did not sound like the kind of noises one would make while saddling two horses. Although she could not think of any danger Sir Artan might face inside the stables, she felt a little concerned for his safety and took a few steps toward the stables.

      “Sir Artan?” she called. “Do ye need help?”

      “Nay, lass,” he called back. “Ye wait right there. I will be out in a moment.”

      He certainly sounded hale and hearty, she decided. Cecily did not feel particularly calmed, however. She decided to give the man a few more moments to appear, and if he did not, she would seek him out. Keeping her gaze fixed upon the opening to the stables, she waited and tried to stir up her courage just in case she would have need of it.

      Artan looked at the three unconscious men scattered around on the stable floor and shook his head. He recognized two of them from last night. Sir Fergus was obviously not going to give up on his quest to make Artan leave Dunburn. As he finished saddling the horses, Artan decided he had best work very hard at convincing Cecily to leave Dunburn with him and at uncovering whatever secrets her guardians were keeping. If Sir Fergus kept increasing the number of men he sent to attack and pummel him into an ignoble retreat, the fool might actually reach a number Artan could not defeat on his own.

      Leading the horses outside to where Cecily waited, Artan returned her concerned look with an easy smile. She frowned as she looked him over, glanced again at the stables, and then met his gaze. It was obvious she was curious about the noises she must have heard coming from the stables. Fortunately, what few bruises he might have gathered in the brief fight were well hidden by his clothes.

      “Shall we go?” he asked.

      “What was all that noise?” she asked as he helped her mount her mare.

      “What noise?” He mounted Thunderbolt and started toward the open gates.

      “A thumping noise. It sounded verra much like a body hitting the wall.”

      “A body hitting the wall? Ye have heard that noise often, have ye?”

      Instinct told her that he was trying to distract her, and Cecily told herself that was why she felt a strong urge to wipe that grin off his handsome face. “I havenae heard it that often, but often enough to ken what it sounds like.”

      “Much like Thunderbolt here giving his stall a wee kick in his eagerness to get out, I suspect.” Artan patted his horse’s neck in silent apology for that slur upon his good behavior.

      Cecily found herself ready to question that answer and was appalled. She could almost hear Anabel screeching in her ear, telling her repeatedly that a woman never questioned the veracity of what a man told her. Of course, Anabel also said that that did not mean they were telling the truth, that men rarely told the truth. What appalled Cecily was that she seemed to have taken that cold advice to heart, for there was no reason for her to doubt Sir Artan’s words. She promised herself she would shake free of such an unkind and unjust opinion and turned her attention to showing Sir Artan the lands her father had loved so much.

      Artan studied the land Cecily spoke of with such affection and wondered how she would like the rougher, stronger beauty of the Highlands. Dunburn had good lands, he mused, despite looking a little too soft and civilized. It was not being husbanded well, however. The occasional frown he caught darkening Cecily’s sweet face told him she was becoming aware of the creeping neglect of the lands. It had obviously been quite a while since she had ridden the lands of her father, and he wondered if she had been purposely kept from doing so.

      When they paused by a clear, swiftly running burn Artan recalled crossing when he had come to Dunburn, he listened to Cecily describe