by Alisa Adams
She laughed as she thought of six foot two inch Iain carrying a tiny baby. Would he be full of tenderness or would he be embarrassed? She would wager on tenderness.
But that did not solve her problem now. She did need a protector. She needed him. She needed him in more ways than one. Not just because she was attracted to him and because he would safeguard her from bandits. She had met him only a few days before, but she knew that she loved him.
She wondered if he would marry her if she asked him, then realized that he might think of it as a little presumptuous, if not outrageous. She sighed, then closed her eyes and dropped off to sleep, smiling.
Iain, not knowing she was awake, knocked firmly on her door and waited outside for her to answer. It was late afternoon, almost dark, and he carried a plate of chicken stew and some ale for her. When Eilidh came to the door she was adorably disheveled with tangled, tousled hair and half-open eyes. He laughed at her as he put the tray down and fetched her shawl since she looked a little cold.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully as she fell on the food. “I am famished!”
“I thought ye might be.” He smiled. “I got ye a horse fae a farmer doon the road. Gray in color, a bit like Lettie but younger, an’ she has a very calm nature. I think she will suit ye.”
“You are so good to me,” she murmured.
“I got her for eight pounds,” he informed her as he put the change on the table. “An’ ye will no’ insult me by givin’ the change back tae me.”
She nodded and finished her food, then under cover of darkness they went down to see the horse, whose name was Merry. She was a gentle animal, and she and Eilidh liked each other at once.
They went back to her room, and he looked around before he spoke. “D’ye have everythin’ ye need?”
“I need to ask you something,” she replied, her voice hesitant.
“Aye?” He looked at her, frowning with a feeling of foreboding.
“May...may I stay here with you? As your wife?” she asked, avoiding his eyes. “It would give me the protection of your name. No one else could marry me then.”
“Whit?” He could not believe what he was hearing. “Eilidh, ye cannae be serious!”
“I am.” Her voice was a murmur, but it was determined.
“But we only met yesterday!” he protested. “Eilidh, we hardly knaw each other, an’ I have tae take care o’ my sisters before I even think o’ takin’ a wife.” Then, seeing her downcast face he said quietly, “I am sorry hen.”
“It was stupid of me to ask,” she said dully. “Tomorrow I leave, so will you stay with me for a while?”
It is the least I can dae, he thought. He felt wretched. “For a wee while,” he answered. The truth was he wanted to stay with her forever.
The half moon was high in the sky when they lay down, and they could only see a sliver of its cold light as they lay side by side, but it was enough. It illuminated the strong planes of Iain’s face and outlined his sharp cheekbones, and she was so lost in admiration that she could not tear her eyes away from him.
He felt her looking at him and turned towards her, then scanned her face as if trying to etch every inch of it on his memory.
“Ye’re adorable,” he whispered, caressing her cheek, then moving his forefinger to trace the line of her lips. He cupped his hand around one of her breasts and ran his hand across her nipple over her nightgown. It hardened at once and she moaned, arching her hips against him.
“Make me yours,” she whispered.
He swallowed and closed his eyes, then pushed her away, although it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. “Naw,” he whispered. “There is nothin’ I want mair, but I will not take your maidenhead. You should keep it for your husband, and that is ane thing I can never become. I am a tradesman and you are—”
“I am a lady,” she said sadly. “But you are very good at what you do. They call you the Shoe King. These hands are very skilled, and not just on shoes. They make me tremble when you touch me. I know we cannot make love, Iain, but I know that there are other things we can do.”
He smiled, amused. “Really? Who told ye that?”
She blushed. “My ladies’ maid,” she confessed, “but she told me no details.”
“Really?” he asked wickedly, then his voice became a low rumble as he said, “Let me show ye.”
He pushed up her nightgown and moaned as he saw her beautiful breasts outlined in the moonlight. “Eilidh, I knew ye wid be lovely,” he breathed, “but I didnae knaw how much.”
He peppered her with tiny kisses from the valley between her breasts all the way down to the soft fair hair above her thighs. The sensations that he was arousing were so unbelievably pleasurable that they were almost painful.
She shook her head. “I cannot believe how wonderful it was!” she breathed.
He kissed her. “I am that glad.”
Her eyes were shining into his and she longed to be able to tell him how she felt, but she knew she never could. Their destinies followed different paths.
* * *
He did not want her to leave. He would find a way to keep her with him. Perhaps he should marry her after all, but that was something he could not think about now.
She laid her head on his shoulder. He meant to get up and go to his own room, but he was so warm, comfortable, and satisfied, that after a while, without meaning to, they drifted off to sleep. They stayed, wrapped in each other’s arms, for the rest of the night.
10
When Iain woke up, he realized that he was not alone in bed. Eilith was lying with him, her face looking innocent and relaxed in sleep, like a little child. He remembered the night before when he had refused the gift of her virginity, urging her to save it for her husband. She had certainly not behaved like a child then. How he wished he had never said that!
He had called her adorable, and indeed she was. He sighed. He had to meet some merchants from whom he was buying leather, and the appointment could not wait, no matter how much he wanted to stay with Eilidh.
He did not want her to leave him. He wanted to find a way to keep her with him. Perhaps he should marry her after all, but that was something he could not think about now. If only his sisters were married and settled; he sometimes felt that the weight of his duty to them was too heavy a burden to bear.
He kissed Eilidh on her soft lips, and she smiled but did not stir in her slumber. He decided not to wake her, but he stroked her silky hair and crept out of the room. He had no key, so he could not lock the door, and decided to tell the landlady to lock it for Eilidh as he left.
“She is sleepin’,” he explained. “An’ I havenae a key. She didnae leave it in the door an’I didnae want tae go rummagin’ through her things lookin’ fer hers.”
“An’ why wid ye be needin’ ane o’ thae things?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Whit were ye daein’ in there last night?”
“Mindin’ my ain business, if ye must knaw!” Iain snapped.
Jean stepped back, alarmed. “Awright, keep yer hair on!” she cried. Iain was a big intimidating man at the best of times, but when he was angry he looked as if he was twice his size, and the spreading purple bruise on his face did not help. Jean had liked him at first, but now she was frightened of him, especially since he had damaged her property so badly. He had paid for it, but she was still fearful of him.
* * *
Iain turned on his heel and left, looking forward to the moment he would come back to Eilidh.
That moment would never come.
Eilidh was in the middle of a wonderful dream in which she and Iain were both riding the same horse on the road up to the castle. They were almost there when—
Eilidh’s eyes snapped open as she was rudely toppled onto the floor, hitting her head and her hip bone with enough force to make her scream with the sudden, jarring pain. For a moment she was disoriented, her surroundings flashing past her in a jumble of disordered images. A rough hand had seized the back of her nightsh
irt and another was pulling her up to a standing position by the roots of her hair. Tears of pain were streaming from her eyes as she tried to see who was manhandling her.
“Who are you?” she gasped. “Please, you are hurting me! I will do anything you want, just let me go!” Her voice was a painful sob as she pleaded with her attacker, and anyone less hard-hearted would have been moved by her entreaties, but the hand in her hair only twisted it tighter till she was screaming.
The man holding onto her only gave an evil growl of a laugh and pulled her hair even harder. She could smell his fetid breath and feel the wind of it on her shoulder, and the smell of his unwashed body almost made her feel like vomiting.
“Stop fightin’ an’ I will let ye live,” a snarling voice said in her ear.
Eilidh knew that voice, and she knew that the owner of it was ruthless and altogether evil—Dugald McFarlane. In a moment he had spun her around and she was facing his ugly, craggy face with its tiny eyes, shaggy overhanging brows, and the bulbous blue-veined nose of the habitual alcoholic.
“We meet again, Mistress Mackie!” he said delightedly, leering and showing his broken and rotten teeth. “Yer faither an’ mither misses ye that much that he sent me tae find ye, an’ here I am, at yer service. For why have ye been sae shy? We hae been lookin’ a’ ower the place for ye tae bring ye back tae the bosom o’ yer faimly!”
Eilidh was rubbing the back of her head, and now she curled her lip in disgust as she stared at him, unable to conceal her revulsion. Dugald, seeing her look, took one step back and slapped her hard on the face with the whole flat of his hand, putting his whole weight behind the blow.
“Too ugly for ye Mistress?” he sneered, thrusting his face into hers. “Remember that next time ye feel like givin me ony o’ yer lip!” Then he threw her backwards onto her bed, and for a moment she thought the worst.
He is going to rape me! she thought desperately, looking around for a weapon. However, there was none, then he threw her clothes at her. “Get dressed,” he commanded. “Ye’re comin’ wi me an’ my men. An’ if ye
are thinkin’ o’ runnin’ away, think again, Mistress. I am under orders tae bring ye back in ane piece, but sometimes orders cannae be obeyed tae the letter, an’ I can smell like a bloodhound. I will dae my best no’ tae hurt ye, but I will if I have tae. Understand?”
She nodded.
“Get yer clothes on,” he ordered. “We are leavin’.”
Eilidh was about to ask him to turn his back, but she knew that if she did that he would be all the more likely to look at her, so she dropped her dress over her nightgown then put on her cloak, the sadly decrepit boots, and her gloves. She turned to face Dugald, who had been searching all over the room for anything valuable to steal. He looked everywhere—under the bed, in all the compartments of her chest of drawers, and even in her saddlebags, looking for something to steal, and finally, he lifted the straw mattress on her bed.
Suddenly he gave an almighty whoop as he lifted up her money pouch, which jingled enticingly.
“Mistress Mackie!” His voice was jubilant with a hint of derision in it. “Ye were hidin’ this! How much is in here?”
“Count it,” she said bitterly.
“Jist tell me an’ it will save me the bother,” he answered, frowning threateningly.
“You mean, you cannot count,” she stated firmly. “Or read, I suppose.”
He frowned darkly. “Most people cannae count!” he protested. “Or read. Only swanky ladies like you! Well, Mistress, tell me, because if ye dinnae it will be the worse for ye!”
“There are seventy-nine pounds in the pouch,” she informed him contemptuously, watching his eyes widen and gleam with greed. “And how are you going to explain it to my father? He will expect me to be bringing it home.”
“If ye dinnae keep yer mouth shut I am goin’ tae tell him aboot yer lover boy,” he replied slyly. “Then you will get intae trouble.”
Eilidh sighed. She no longer cared.
“Come, Mistress, we are leavin’ and right now.” He grabbed Eilidh roughly by the arm and hauled her downstairs, where they swept past a righteously indignant Jean and went out into the street, where the first drops of sleet were about to fall.
For a moment Eilidh was silent, then she thought of something—or rather, someone—Iain. She would leave a clue for him and he would come and save her. A party of armed men and a woman was not a common sight. Someone would be able to tell him where she had gone. Now that she had a plan, she was no longer afraid.
Then another thought occurred to her. Who had known she was here, apart from Iain? Jean knew. But Jean would have been looking for a fair-haired girl, and Iain was the only one who knew her true identity. Her heart shattered. She felt she could not breath.
Iain had betrayed her.
She did not know how much the reward for her was, but she was sure it was substantial, and word had, no doubt, gone out in the nearby villages, if not all over Scotland.
She felt a dart of excruciating pain in her stomach, where it settled and spread out over her whole body and mind. Iain was the one who betrayed her. For the sake of a few pounds he had returned her to the rapacious claws of Cormac McCarthy.
How could he? she thought as anger joined the hurt in her heart. How could he do this to me? She thought of the tender kisses they had shared the night before, the way he had touched her. Could it all have been false?
She felt betrayed.
He had told her he was going out to meet with some men who would supply him with hides, and that afterwards they would have Jean cook a special meal for them and bring it up to her room and eat it. She had believed him.
He had not said I love you with his lips, but every motion he made, every smile he gave her, proclaimed it as clearly as if he had spoken the words. She had obviously thought too highly of him; he was a highly accomplished trickster who had spotted easy prey and had cornered her, not with ferocity, but with tenderness. He looked like a god, and oozed charm from every pore, but it had all been an act. She had been so stupid!
To celebrate their new collaboration, Iain and his new partners had adjourned to the saloon of another tavern called McDougall’s Place, after the owners. It was a slightly more genteel place, although there was still straw on the floor, but there were stuffed animal heads mounted on oak plaques on the wall, and the furniture was oak and not pine. The barman was a dark ugly, intimidating man who was as tall as Iain. His air of menace was enough to deter any would-be troublemakers, so there were no signs of any recent brawls.
“Widnae like tae meet him on a dark night!” Iain laughed as he sat down and took a sip of ale.
“I didnae like tae say,” Robert Laing said as he grimaced at Iain’s forehead, “but that is a gey bonnie bruise ye have above yer eye. Did ye bump intae somethin’?” His round, open face looked concerned.
“If ye’ll pardon me,” Duncan Bowie remarked, grinning wickedly, “it looks as if ye bumped intae somebody’s fist.”
Iain burst out laughing and nearly choked on his whisky. Duncan slapped his back and both men joined in the merriment.
“Somethin’ like that,” Iain replied ruefully. “But I gave as good as I got. Ye should hae seen the state o’ him!”
“So, Iain,” Robert said briskly. “Whit does yer wife say aboot yer new adventure? First time ye are opening a new shop. She must be excited.”
“I have nae wife,” Iain stated firmly. “I will worry about a’ that after I get my sisters settled an’ married. They are all good lassies but they need husbands.”
“Aye, that they dae.” Duncan nodded sagely. “Their big brother cannae look after them for the rest o’ their lives.”
“I have nae time for bairns under my feet yet,” Iain went on, “although they will be welcome when I am ready. I bought some land already, an’ I hae put tenants on it, but my heart isnae in that kind o’ life, an’ I want better for the lassies.”
“Ye want them tae marry lairds, maybe?” D
uncan laughed. “Barons? Princes?”
“I am no aimin’ as high as a prince,” Iain answered, smiling. “But a laird? Ye never knaw!”
I might mary a Princess my self thought. That is how he viewed Eilidh.
He emptied his whisky glass and stood up, then held out a hand to each of them.
“Well, partners,” he said, shaking each of their hands vigorously, “may we hae a bright future!”
“Good luck wae yer sisters!” Robert called as Iain left.
Iain was well satisfied. Everything was going his way.
Iain had been wandering around the market for a long time trying to find the right gift for Eilidh. It had to be something that said; It has been such a short while, but I love you and I want to protect you. Stay here, be my wife, and have my children.
He told himself that he was utterly stupid, but his mind was not listening. He regretted not accepting Eilidh’s proposal for marriage. His heart was talking now, and it never made any sense! He laughed at the thought.
His negotiations that morning had gone well, and he had sourced a new supplier of hides for his shoes. He was so delighted that he wanted to buy a little something for Eilidh before asking her to marry him.
He felt sure that Eilidh would accept anything he gave her with good grace, but he did not want her to pretend. He wanted her pleasure to be real. He had looked everywhere and was about to give up when he saw it: a beautiful tan leather purse tooled with the image of the shining sun on it.
Eilidh, he thought. Her name means “Light.” Later he would make her one with her name on it but this was good enough for now. Then he smiled at the thought of her delighted face as she took it from him, folding her arms around him and raising her lips for a kiss. He could hear her breathy voice thanking him and they could lie on the bed as they had done the night before; touching, kissing, and licking each other. He felt a shiver all over him as he thought of it.
