‘A bad business,’ Malcolm commented when the tale ended. ‘The maid is lucky to be alive. She has no kin who could take her in?’
‘None, my liege.’
‘Had she been a commoner I’d have suggested you sell her to the highest bidder. I suppose you still could as she has no kin to pay a ransom for her.’
Iain’s brow drew together. Now that the matter was so baldly stated it seemed strangely unwelcome.
‘Is she fair?’ the king went on.
‘Aye, she is.’
‘Well, that’s something. Of what temperament is she?’
‘Spirited, my liege.’
‘Unfortunate, but it would soon be beaten out of her I have no doubt.’
Iain frowned. That had not occurred to him before but now he admitted the truth of it. The life of a slave was one of drudgery and unquestioning obedience. For a woman it had other connotations too, especially if she was attractive. He remembered the first time he had set eyes on Ashlynn, remembered her torn dress and Fitzurse’s mailed fist pulling the cloth apart. The memory was accompanied by a surge of anger, for it was but a short step to imagining what else would have happened had the brute been allowed to follow his inclination. Could he be responsible for selling the girl into such a fate? It took but a second to know the answer.
‘I’ll not sell her, my liege.’ He hesitated. ‘I wondered if some place might be found for her at court.’
Malcolm shook his head. ‘The court is no place for a girl alone. Nor has she any dowry that would attract a suitor. ’Twould only be a matter of time before she attracted the attentions of a very different kind of protector.’
Again Iain was forced to recognise the truth of that statement and with it a fresh twinge of guilt. Perhaps he should have left the girl in Hexham after all. Yet if he had, what would she have done? Her fate there might have been no different.
‘Since you will not sell her and she cannot go to Dunfermline, there is only one other honourable solution,’ Malcolm continued. ‘You must take her to wife.’
Iain’s cup paused halfway to his lips as the ramifications dawned. Mentally recoiling, he was shocked into temporary silence. Then he shook his head.
‘I have no mind to marry again, my liege.’
‘Your loyalty to your wife’s memory does you much credit, but you cannot live in the past.’
‘I know it. Eloise is gone and there’s naught can change it.’
‘Yet you are a man for all that, and you have a man’s needs.’
‘When I want female company I can find it.’
‘Of course. Nothing wrong with that, but you cannot get heirs thus.’
It was an aspect of the matter that Iain had not chosen to dwell on, but now that the topic had been raised he confronted it. ‘I’ll marry again and breed sons, but not until I have destroyed Fitzurse.’
‘I understand your desire for revenge and know you have good cause, but this quest has dominated your life these last eight years,’ the king replied. ‘A man needs more than hatred to sustain him. He needs the healing touch of a woman. You have been a widower long enough, my friend.’ Tis time to put the past behind you and move on.’
‘I cannot move on knowing that my enemy lives and thrives, and a woman cannot help me there.’
‘Marriage will show you the way as it has shown me.’
The king’s regard for his newly affianced bride was well known and Iain forced a smile. ‘Fortune has favoured your Majesty.’
‘I would that all men might be so blessed.’
‘It is a state to be hoped for rather than attained, by the majority at least.’
‘Perhaps, and yet having attained it once do you not seek it again?’
‘There seems little point in seeking what may not be found, my liege.’
‘And yet I sense you are not entirely indifferent to this girl.’
It was a shrewd shot. Recalling what had happened in the hayloft Iain knew he could not deny it. However, wanting a woman was one thing, marriage quite another. Seeing his companion made no reply, Malcolm seized the initiative.
‘If it is God’s will, you may yet meet Fitzurse in combat. In the meantime you must look to those areas of your life that you have neglected. You must get sons to carry on your line.’ The king eyed him with a level gaze. ‘Besides, you have in some sort become the maid’s protector already. Make it permanent.’
Nothing could have been more genial than his expression or his tone but Iain knew better than to think the words a suggestion only. His heart turned over as he saw the precipice looming. The king intended to be rid of the problem and with the least possible inconvenience to himself. Belatedly Iain realised he should have foreseen this and mentally cursed his own stupidity. Malcolm was nothing if not cunning.
‘You must take her to wife,’ he repeated. ‘It is the only logical step.’
‘My liege, I—’
‘You must take the girl in marriage and there’s an end.’ The words were quietly spoken but the tone was as inflexible as steel.
Iain took a deep breath and gave the only possible answer. He wished now that he’d kept his mouth shut and never mentioned the subject at all. This was a damnable complication, one he didn’t need or want. Nor did he imagine for an instant that Ashlynn would welcome it either. However, to disregard a royal command was out of the question. He had to get her consent. God knew it was going to take all his powers of persuasion. Then he reflected that once he had her safe at Glengarron there would be time to spare; time for them both to get used to the idea. Malcolm’s next words undeceived him.
‘Excellent. You shall wed the girl this day and I myself shall stand witness.’ He gave his companion a beaming smile. ‘Go, fetch the bride, and bring her to the kirk. Let the matter be settled once and for all.’
The interview was over. For a moment Iain was rooted to the spot before he recollected himself enough to make obeisance to the king and withdraw. Once outside the door he swore softly, needing that temporary vent for his feelings even though, just then, he wasn’t quite sure what they were.
* * *
Ashlynn stared at him, dumbfounded. He had to be joking. Yet nothing about his expression suggested that he was anything other than deadly serious. With that look came the first stirrings of unease. Mingled with it was another feeling she didn’t want to examine too closely.
‘Malcolm has no right to do this.’
‘He is the king, Ashlynn.’
‘Not my king. I owe him no obedience.’
‘But I do, and may not disregard a royal command.’
‘Then let the fault in this be mine, not yours.’
‘It’s no use, lass. Face the facts. Even if the king were to take you to Dunfermline it would be to place you in a position of lowly servitude. It would only be a matter of time before some swaggering young buck took you to his bed.’
‘I would not so demean myself.’
‘Do you really think you’d be given any choice?’
She swallowed hard, having the unpleasant suspicion that he was right. He read her silence correctly and nodded.
‘The only option left you now is marriage.’
An inexorable tide was sweeping her further and further out of her depth but Ashlynn fought the current anyway.
‘I will not let your king treat me like a chattel.’
‘We are in Scotland now. My king may do as he wills.’
It was the truth and she knew it though it did nothing to lessen her present consternation. Nominally at least marriage did afford an honourable alternative to her predicament, but it was also irrevocable. The idea had been bad enough when it involved an unattractive man. Now it was infinitely worse.
‘And what is your will in all of this?’ she asked then.
‘In this matter my will is the king’s.’
‘Damn your will and his too!’
She would have turned away but he prevented it, taking her shoulders in a firm grip.
‘
You will bend to it, lass, I promise you.’ His gaze locked with hers. ‘You can do nothing else.’
That also was the unpalatable truth, a fact acknowledged in strained silence. Unable to bear that intense scrutiny she lowered her gaze. It was capitulation and they both knew it.
‘Better the devil you know, lass.’ His hand closed round her arm. ‘Come.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the kirk.’
‘The kirk! Now?’
‘There’s no time like the present. Besides, the king is waiting.’
He drew her with him to the door. Ashlynn hung back, fighting panic. The hold tightened.
‘It’s no use, my sweet. There’s no escape now—for either of us.’
Chapter Five
The church was freezing and empty at this hour, save for the waiting priest and the figure beside him. Malcolm was a physically impressive man with the powerful build of the warrior. Ashlynn had an impression of brown hair and a weathered face with shrewd appraising eyes. She could imagine that in battle they would look without pity on the enemy. They took in every detail of her unorthodox appearance but gave no clue as to the thoughts it engendered. No doubt all the circumstances had been explained anyway. The priest, however, was regarding her with cold disfavour. Women were not welcome in churches here, never mind a woman so outrageously clad. If he said nothing it was due to the exalted nature of the company.
The king glanced towards him and nodded. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
Ashlynn drew in a sharp breath. Then Iain’s hand pulled her on to her knees beside him. In that moment she knew only a desperate and irrational urge to flee. She knew it was irrational because there was nowhere to run. In any case half-a-dozen of Malcolm’s men stood by the door. Her fate had been decided. Tears and pleas would avail her nothing, even if pride had not forbidden their utterance. Through the chaos of her thoughts she was aware of the priest intoning the words of the marriage ceremony. The whole scene was like something from a bad dream, except it wasn’t a dream and she would not wake to find it all untrue.
As one in a daze she heard Iain repeat all the requisite words. And then it was her turn. When it came to the key question she hesitated, wanting to shout her defiance at the Scottish king, to say no, and to consign him and Iain McAlpin both to a place of great heat. The temptation was almost overwhelming. Almost. The silence drew out and grew louder. Though the man beside her didn’t move she sensed the sudden tension in every line of him as he waited. Ashlynn swallowed hard, then made her answer, hearing the softly exhaled breath when she uttered the words.
Why had she? Certainly not from fear of his king, though she could hardly have forgotten the power of the silent royal presence just behind them, but rather what Iain had said before: ‘Better the devil you know.’ The choice was stark: take him or accept a fate that would likely be much worse. No choice at all. She knew it and so did he. Yet there was more to it than that, as she now admitted. What she resented here was the method not the man. Toward him what she felt was not indifference and she could no longer pretend to herself that it was, and that made everything so much more complicated.
Since there had been no time to provide a ring Iain improvised with the one he wore on his thumb. It was ludicrously big but served its turn. When the words were all spoken and the ring on her finger he kissed her, a gentle kiss on the mouth which burned none the less and set her pulse racing. Understated and subtle it was underlain with a deeper promise whose implications quickened every fibre of her being.
Then the king moved forward to offer his congratulations, bowing over her hand. Ashlynn lowered her eyes, her face an expressionless mask. Malcolm regarded her keenly for a moment and then looked at Iain.
‘You spoke true, Glengarron. Your lady is most fair. Guard her well.’
‘I intend to, my liege.’
Iain took her hand then and raised it to his lips. For an instant their eyes met but, as so often, his face gave little away. Did he share the resentment she felt? This marriage had been forced upon him too. Given the choice he would never have entered into this bargain. From the outset he had regarded her as an encumbrance. What possible argument could have persuaded him to agree to this? She lowered her gaze quickly, this time to hide her confusion. Then she handed him back the thumb ring.
‘For safe keeping,’ she said. ‘It would be too easily lost.’
He returned her a wry smile and slipped it back on his hand. ‘I promise you a proper wedding ring, lass, as soon as occasion permits.’
They went out to the horses and Iain took leave of his king. As the royal party rode away, he turned back to Ashlynn.
‘Come, my wife.’
The use of that title and all it implied sent another wave of heat the length of her body. Not so long ago the notion of a forced match with Burford had filled her with anger and abhorrence. Now a very different husband claimed her. Soon enough he would take her to his bed and make his possession complete. Powerlessness kept her anger very much alive. Yet in the entire chaotic pantheon of emotions at that moment, abhorrence was conspicuously absent. With an effort she kept her voice level. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Home—to Glengarron.’
* * *
The journey that day was long and cold, but Ashlynn was scarcely aware of physical discomfort. Her thoughts had turned inward, trying to come to terms with what had happened, trying not to contemplate the future too closely. For the most part they rode in silence, the swift pace not being conducive to conversation. However, when they did stop to rest the horses at noon it quickly became apparent that news of the laird’s marriage had spread. Dougal took it upon himself to issue each man with a dram of whisky from the keg on the wagon, and proposed the toast to the newly married couple. A loud cheer rent the air.
Iain looked down at his bride and smiled wryly. ‘It seems they approve, my lady.’
Ashlynn shot him a swift glance but remained silent, not knowing what to say. In truth the press of grinning faces was a little daunting, though oddly she could see none of their former antipathy now. Rather than show any apprehension she forced herself to an outward display of calm.
‘Will ye no kiss the bride, my lord?’ called a wag from the crowd.
A roar of approval greeted this, followed by the chant of ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ Iain handed his cup to Dougal. Then he took Ashlynn in his arms, crushing her against him and bringing his mouth down on hers in a searing embrace. Another roar erupted around them. Ashlynn scarcely heard it, aware only of a rush of warmth deep within, like the sudden rekindling of a flame. The flame leapt and became fire. Unable to help herself she yielded to it, her body melting against him, her mouth opening to his.
In that moment of unexpected surrender he felt his own desire quicken and imagination tantalised, offering another glimpse of something he had thought was lost. If they had been alone…The thought stopped him in his tracks: this was a union undertaken out of duress, not love, and they had an audience besides. Ashlynn only kissed him now because she could do no other. Reluctantly he drew back a little, letting the general noise wash over them, his gaze burning into hers.
‘By God, lass,’ he murmured, ‘you play the game well.’
Her cheeks turned pink, much to the delight of the spectators for though they had not heard the words they thought they could guess the import. She took refuge in their noisy enthusiasm, trying to calm her thumping heart, overwhelmed by the sudden knowledge within it. She darted another glance at Iain but the look in his eyes did nothing to restore a tranquil mind. Did he really think this was some game to her?
It was no small relief when the column mounted up again and set off. The pace was steadier now but the cold no less for that. As they rode, the hills closed in around them, a barren snow-clad waste of rock and heath and dead bracken that vanished into mist above. Ashlynn shifted her weight in the saddle, aching with the chill and the long hours spent on horseback and longing for nothing so much as a warm fire an
d hot food, wherever they might be found. However, not for anything would she have uttered a word of complaint. These men already regarded her as a liability and, although their manner appeared to have softened a little today, she would not give them any cause to despise her further. Nor would she have them think the less of their chief for wedding a soft Sassenach wench. Pride kept her chin up and her tongue silent but, as the afternoon wore on, the effort became greater.
Iain, riding alongside, saw her pallor with concern and could well understand the cause. The journey was hard enough, never mind all that had gone before. Had it been any other woman he would have expected tears at least by this, but then, he acknowledged, Ashlynn wasn’t just any woman. Experience had shown him her courage; he could only guess at the will-power that kept her going when others would have cracked. By rights she should have after all that she had endured of late. Her silence touched him more than any words could have done and seeing her composure now he felt the first stirrings of pride.
* * *
The afternoon was wearing on when they came at last to the head of a narrow valley. Seeing the sudden lightening of spirit in the faces of the men nearby, Ashlynn glanced at Iain. Interpreting that look aright he nodded.
‘This is Glengarron.’
She should have felt relief to hear those words but now her stomach knotted instead. This was the lion’s den, the place from which there was no escape. The cavalcade rode into the misty glen in single file for the way was narrow with trees on one side and the peaty waters of a racing burn on the other. On either side the hills rose into the low cloud and marked their passing with the muffled echo of the horses’ hooves. After about half a mile the glen widened out and through the snow the muted outlines of houses were just visible in the distance. However, it was not the houses that held Ashlynn’s attention for there, dead ahead, a great granite outcrop thrust up from the ground and, brooding over the whole scene, a fortress that might have grown from the rock itself.
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