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“Nor will you be if you disobey me in this,” he snapped back.
She should’ve apologized; she should’ve tried to make things right. Because if Conall believed that she was spoiled now—then other men were likely to think so too. Davy had called her sister a harlot just moments ago. Perhaps if Arabella stayed here with these men, that’s what they would call her too. But for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Then go on, Conall,” she said, her ire rising, crowding out any more sensible emotion. “Because I can’t rightly envision myself as your bride this market day, or the next one beyond that. And if it means breaking a betrothal, then that’s what it means.”
Chapter Three
She should have been sorrier about her broken betrothal, she thought; she should feel something, shouldn’t she? But after Conall stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, Arabella had calmly set about making some willow bark tea for the wounded man. She found a stash of the powder in the cupboard. She’d known it would be there, because she gave this pouch of bark powder to Conall when he complained one day of an ache in his head. He had kept it, which Arabella supposed was a testament to the fact that he may have had some feeling for her; at least before he slammed out the door. But Conall hadn’t used any of the bark powder, which bespoke a lack of trust in her judgment and prescriptions.
“He’ll still ride to the castle and warn the laird, won’t he?” she asked.
Davy nodded. “Oh, we can be sure of that much.”
“How?”
Davy stooped beside her, warming his hands by the fire. “Because he’s a coward, lass, and because there’s likely a war coming, he’ll want strong castle walls to hide behind.”
“A coward,” she huffed, wondering if she ought to defend the man she’d just broken with. “You’re a bit keen to jump to conclusions when you’ve only just met the man.”
“I heard what he said to you. Wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, mind you. But it’s a small cottage. I heard him tell you how you must wait and worry over whether the villagers think you’re a ruined woman.”
A lump rose to Arabella’s throat. “I suppose they will think I’m ruined.”
“They might,” Davy said, softly. Then, meeting her eyes, he added, “But if you were my betrothed, I’d take you for my wife straight away and tell you not to worry. Because the moment any man said the slightest thing about it, even by implication, I’d give him a pounding he’d never forget. And the next time he said your name, he’d be saying it without any teeth.”
Arabella thrilled. Was it the threat of certain violence that stirred her blood? No. She’d already seen this man fight for her. It was, she thought, the fact that Davy would tell her not to worry; that he thought to defend more than her honor and her life, but her sanity too. And she suddenly thought him a very rare kind of man. At least until he added, “Not that I’m the sort to take a wife.”
“Why not?” Arabella asked, surprising herself.
“That’s a mighty personal question, isn’t it, lass?”
She blushed, but not as deeply as she might have before this day. “You raised the subject. And given what you witnessed today—knowing that you’ve seen me without my clothes—I feel as if you know quite a bit about me personally…and yet I know nothing of you at all.”
“Well, I won’t pretend I didn’t see what I saw, lass. But I didn’t enjoy it, if that’s your worry.” Arabella frowned. Davy noticed. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it. I would certainly enjoy seeing you without your clothes, but I didn’t think it right to let myself enjoy it.”
Arabella continued to frown.
He ran a hand through his coppery hair. “I’m making a mess of this. You don’t want to hear whether or not a man might enjoy seeing you undressed right now; o
f course you don’t. Not after today. You just want to feel as if you’re not the only one with a patch of skin exposed.”
Arabella exhaled. “Yes.”
Davy smiled, with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll answer yer question. Truth is, I like whores too much to settle for a steady woman. And in the second place, I had the mumps when I was a wee lad.”
“The mumps?” she asked, utterly confused.
He nodded, smile fading. “No point in marrying unless you can make a family.”
The mumps. Suddenly it made a bit more sense. She’d known the disease sometimes robbed people of the ability to make children. “But you can’t be sure that you can’t have bairns—”
“I’m fairly certain of it. I’ve had my way with plenty of lasses—on account of my aforementioned irresistible dimples—but never one of them got big with child.”
He said this brazenly, as if he didn’t care, but she noticed that his eyes slid away at the end. And she guessed it bothered him very much.
Arabella cleared her throat. “But there may be some herb…something that might help. Some remedy—”
“Aha,” Davy said, pointing a finger. “So you are a witch.”
