Highland Wedding

by Hannah Howell

  It took a little longer to be sure she wished to be opposite Tavis’s lovely wife, Storm. Never had she been so close to a Sassanach although there had been times when some more or less friendly contact had been made with England. That Storm was not only accepted by the MacLagans but loved helped ease the awkwardness as did Storm’s friendly manner. It seemed as if Storm was more than willing to accept a new lady at Caraidland, even seemed genuinely glad of it. Tentatively, Islaen eased her wary stance, reaching for the friendship Storm seemed to offer.

  It would be nice to have a woman friend, Islaen decided. She had Meg but Meg was more like a mother than a friend. Meg also had no experience with marriage and little with men. A woman to discuss things with, to confide in, could be very beneficial. Sometimes, Islaen mused, she felt very much alone as she struggled to adjust to marriage and being away from her home and her large family. Neither would it hurt to have some advice, she thought wryly. In her position, mistakes were costly. Storm had had ten years with the MacLagans, and Islaen grew more and more eager to discuss that, to ask questions.

  Soon after the food began to disappear, musicians began to play. Islaen mused that Colin had managed quite an impressive feast despite the short notice he had received of their arrival. She wondered if the man had started planning it when he had been sent word of his son’s marriage. It was something he was obviously delighted about, if somewhat cautiously.

  Islaen decided that Colin’s wariness was not directed at her. Colin evidently knew of his son’s fears and problems. She wondered just how much Colin had done to try to change his son’s opinions and attitudes. A faint smile touched her face as she envisioned the two strong, stubborn men in such a confrontation. Having seen many such confrontations amongst her brothers and father she had a very good idea of what it would have been like.

  When the dancing began, Islaen found herself much in demand. It was a long while before she was able to retreat to a modestly quiet corner to catch her breath. As she finished a long refreshing draught of ale, she looked up to find Storm taking a seat upon the bench next to her.

  “Do not look so wary, Islaen,” Storm said gently and smiled. “Might I call ye Islaen?”

  “Oh, aye. T’would be most confusing if we called each other m’lady all the day long.”

  Storm laughed softly and said teasingly, “We shall save it for when we are annoyed with each other.”

  “Do ye think there will come such a time?”

  “But of course. I have a fierce temper and I would wager that ye do as well.”

  “Aye, I fear ’tis so.”

  “And it passes quickly.”

  “Aye, fairly so. I dinnae hold fast to it and pout.”

  “Good, then we shall go along fine. Tempers are a common thing here. They ne’er last and spite is rare. Iain has the calmest nature of all the MacLagan men, though Sholto is the more jolly. We all expect to be able to show our tempers, let free with them and not have to pay for days because we have done so.”

  “’Tis the way of it with my family.” She felt a pinch of pain over the still fresh separation.

  Patting her hand in a gesture of sympathy, Storm said quietly, “T’will pass. Ye must find comfort in the knowledge that ye can see them when ye wish.”

  “It must be verra hard for ye to see your kin.”

  “Not as difficult as ye may think. We have grown very good at visiting without danger or suspicion. In truth, ’tis the bandits, rogues of no country, who are the biggest threat. Phelan was very nearly murdered last year by the freebooters.”

  “I would think that he soon made them sorry that they had attacked him.”

  “Aye, most sorry, though he took a wound that kept him at Papa’s all winter.”

  “Phelan resides here?”

  “He does. Being Irish, he was wanted by few when it was time for him to begin his training. As soon as I was wed and came to abide here, Phelan joined me. Colin took him in hand and has oft expressed his pleasure in having done so.” Storm smiled when she caught the way Islaen watched her husband. “Alex is right. Ye do love Iain.”

  “Alexander talks too much,” Islaen grumbled as she blushed but she made no effort to deny Storm’s assumption.

  “At times, aye, but he spoke out this time for he recognized our need to know how matters stood.”

  “And Iain would say naught.”

  “Quite. Ye have a hard battle afore ye. I do not envy you it. Alex said ye knew all about Iain?”

  “Weel, not all. I ken that he is afraid of childbirth.”

  “Aye, he is that.”

  “Why doesnae it help that he can see how weel ye do?”

  “I truly do not know. Of course, it was very bad with Catalina. He was beset with guilt. I think you can cure him though, Islaen. Ye do not fear, do ye.”

  “Nay. All the women in my family are wee lasses but they have braw bairns and little trouble in the birthing of them.”

  For one brief moment Islaen was tempted to confide in Storm about what Iain had made her promise, and how she worked to deceive him. She resisted the temptation, however. Storm was offering friendship but Islaen felt it far too early to test that with such a secret.

  “He also fears leaving you a widow.”

  Startled out of her thoughts by that quiet statement, Islaen stared at Storm. “What?”

  “MacLennon.”

  “Ah, aye.”

  “The man haunts Iain and none can seem to find him so that the threat may be ended for all time. So many eyes seek the murderer out that I oft think he must turn to mist, gathering into the form of a man whene’er a chance to strike at Iain arises.”

  “I cannae believe Iain fears him. Weel, no more than any mon fears a knife at his back.”

  “’Tis not really MacLennon nor death Iain has fear of but of causing ye grief. He is a man with death ever at his heels. Iain thinks t’would be cruel to woo ye and win ye when MacLennon could strike at any time and succeed. Death is not often so clear to see, so near at hand. He sees it as unfair to bind your heart to him when he knows of this threat.”

  It was so logical Islaen could see the truth of it. She could also see the stupidity of it. The more she thought on it the angrier she got. She also felt the fury of helplessness. MacLennon could be haunting Iain for a long time. Unless Iain saw the man die he would always use that specter to hold her away from him.

  “Sometimes I think that mon is half mad or a fool,” she muttered and Storm laughed softly.

  “Ah, well, mayhaps. His intentions are good.”

  When Islaen succinctly said what Iain could do with his good intentions Storm laughed heartily. The woman was still laughing when Tavis collected her for a dance. Islaen sighed as she watched the couple leave her. There had been a look in Tavis’s eyes when he had gazed at his wife that Islaen feared she would never stir in Iain’s gaze.

  Thinking again on what Storm had said about that threat of MacLennon, Islaen sighed with some exasperation. She began to wonder why she bothered. The wise thing to do might be to just go about the business of life and let her much-muddled husband sort himself out. If Storm was right there was a battle it was nearly impossible to fight. Only MacLennon’s death would end Iain’s reticence and Islaen knew she could not manage that on her own.

  Inwardly, she grimaced. She knew she would not stop trying to reach Iain’s heavily armoured heart. Common sense had very little to do with the matter. She loved and she ached to have that feeling returned. The love she felt for Iain constantly fought to be set free, to fully express itself and find some reward, some welcome. At times she had to bite her tongue to hold the words back. She badly wanted to know the full glory of love, one shared and returned.

  Her frustration turned upon Duncan MacLennon. The man had no real right to a vengeance. Iain had done no wrong. If the man felt a need to blame someone for the loss of his love he should look to Catalina’s family. They had been the ones who had taken her from him and forced her to wed another. Iain h
ad but agreed to an arrangement between the families. From what she had heard and could easily guess, Iain had treated the bitter woman far better than any other man might.

  She sighed again. All that made wonderful sense, but even if she ever had a chance to speak to MacLennon, the man would never heed it. His grief had turned him mad. Islaen suspected that he sought his own death as avidly as he sought Iain’s. She could understand the man’s madness, but she knew that would not help her find any forgiveness if he succeeded in murdering Iain. It could well be herself that next became some wild-eyed assassin for she knew her grief would run far deeper than she could ever anticipate or want to. Although it upset her to think it, she knew she would crave the man’s death.

  The irony of it all made her laugh bitterly. Iain sought to protect her from grief, yet that had been a lost cause almost from the moment she had seen him. Telling him was no good. She was sure he would then do whatever he could to kill the feelings he stirred in her. The way his mind worked she could almost guarantee it. To him it would probably seem the kindest thing to do. He would see the grief he caused her now as necessary to save her from a greater one later.

  When he approached her she glared at him. She wanted to call him a fool, tell him of the pain he caused her now as he held himself away from her. It would gain her nothing, she was sure of it, but she thought it might make her feel better if only for a little while. She had swallowed so many words now, her belly ached from it.

  “Someone has angered you?” Iain asked cautiously, noticing the glitter in her lovely eyes.

  It was a supreme effort not to tell him just who but she mumbled, “My head throbs. It makes my mood sour.”

  He smoothed his hand over her forehead. “Ye have had a long day. Mayhaps we should seek our bed.”

  “How can ye do that?” she thought with an inner sad sigh, as she stared up at him. “How can ye stroke me with one hand, yet push me away with the other?” but only said, “Aye, t’would be best, if ye dinnae mind.”

  “Nay, ’tis late and I feel weary myself. I will no doubt soon join ye.”

  Nodding she quietly retreated to her bedchamber, leaving Iain to make her excuses. It had been a long exacting journey from the court to Caraidland and she was weary. The two had little to do with each other but she did not feel guilty about letting Iain tell that lie. It was better than telling the truth. She did not think it would endear her to her new kin by marriage if she told them she was retreating to her chambers before she gave into the strong urge to throttle Iain.

  “Wheesht, didnae it go well, lass?” Meg asked as Islaen entered her chambers.

  “If ye had joined the festivities ye could have seen for yourself,” Islaen answered crossly as she ungracefully flung herself upon the bed.

  “T’wasnae my place.”

  Islaen made a very rude noise and ignored Meg’s scolding look. With little cooperation she let Meg undress her. She knew she was being awkward, even sulking, but she made no effort to shake free of her mood. A little petulantly, she told herself that she had earned a good sulk.

  “Och, lass, it maun have been verra bad for ye. ’Tis a rare mood ye are in,” Meg muttered as she started to brush Islaen’s hair.

  “Meg, can ye hate a person e’en as ye love him?” Islaen asked quietly as she sat still beneath Meg’s ministrations.

  “Of course ye can. I love ye, lass, and weel ye ken it, but there have been times when I was muckle pleased to strike ye. I ken little of the ways of men and women but I suspicion ’tis much the same. Loving a mon doesnae mean ye like all he does or says.”

  “Nay, that would most like be impossible. Love just means that the bad things willnae drive ye away, willnae make ye leave.”

  “What has the lad done now? ’Tis no wench, is it? Wheesht, I had thought we had left that trouble behind us when we left that brothel called court.”

  “Nay, ’tis not a wench. I would be little surprised an one is about, one that might cause me a worry, but she hasnae shown herself yet. I am hopeful that whatever wenches there may have been have turned their eyes elsewhere whilst Iain was at court and that they arenae the sort to ignore the boundaries of a lawful marriage. I am most weary of that sort of trouble.”

  “Then what ails ye?”

  “Oh, ’tis Iain. Ye are right in thinking that.”

  “Ye cannot expect a locked heart to spring open with but one smile, lass.”

  “I ken it. Such a thing takes work. I have come across another problem or so I think. Iain has not spoken of it to me, ’tis Storm who spoke of it, so mayhaps it doesnae exist. It seems Iain feels it would be cruel to try and win my heart.”

  “Cruel? How so? Though I have little trust in men, I cannae feel he would abuse such a gift, not purposely.”

  “Nay, he wouldnae, not e’en an he didnae return the love offered. He has too kind a heart, e’en an he does keep it well secured. In truth, what Storm said confirms that. She said he will ne’er woo me nor try to win my heart as long as death stalks him.”

  “That madmon MacLennon.”

  “Aye, him.”

  “Death stalks us all, lass. A mon usually kens that weel. I dinnae understand this.”

  “Neither do I. I would think ’tis because he cannae fight this, not weel. The mon is as hard to catch as smoke. He lurks in the shadows, e’er at the ready to strike without warning. ’Tis different than the normal way of things.”

  “How can ye fight such a thing?”

  “I cannae, can I, and therein lies the reason for my anger with the mon. He seeks to save me from grief. I cannae tell him ’tis too late for he would most like try all the harder to push me away, denying me e’en the little I can pull from him now. That I could not bear.”

  Meg had little comfort or advice to offer, and was wise enough to know that she could do no more than be there in case she was needed.

  When Iain entered their chambers Islaen only briefly thought of pretending to be asleep. She would not play his game, pulling into herself, turning cold and withdrawn. Islaen suspected she could not do so even if she really wanted to. It was against her nature. Simply not speaking of the love she had for him was as much as she could manage. Words she could swallow, even though they sometimes choked her, but all the other signs of her love she could not restrain. They came easily, without thought and denying any control.

  When he pulled her close, his hands lightly stroking her she placed her hand over his heart and felt its quickening beat. It beat with the thrill of desire but she wanted it to beat with love. She wished she could reach beneath his taut skin and tear away the wall there. As the strength of her desire disrupted her thoughts she prayed that someday Iain would give as freely of his love as he did his passion.

  Chapter Twelve

  A little out of breath, Islaen struggled to keep up with a preoccupied Iain’s long strides. She had thought that journeying with him to survey the estate her dowry had brought would be a good chance to be alone, would provide them with needed time together. Instead, she had tramped or, more exactly, trotted over the tower house and now the land, hurrying along after a man who only occasionally tossed a remark her way concerning something that needed repair. While she had as great an interest in their future home as he seemed to have she was starting to wish she had stayed home. Her feet certainly wished she had.

  Iain frowned and stopped to stare at a crofter’s hut. They too could use some work. His father had always stressed the need to see that the crofters were well housed and content. If nothing else, it gave the people something they would fight to keep, enhanced their loyalty. When a laird took good care of even the lowest of his people, they fought to keep him as their laird.

  Turning to tell Islaen this wisdom, he frowned even more. She was leaning against a tree, one hand upon her breast and breathing heavily. Although she looked delightfully disheveled and flushed, he felt a twinge of concern.

  “If ye were feeling poorly mayhaps ye should have stayed behind,” he said as he mo
ved nearer to her.

  Islaen wondered if she had the strength left to bloody his nose. “I am not feeling poorly.”

  “Are ye certain? Ye feel most warm,” he murmured as he felt her forehead.

  “Running oft heats up a body.”

  “Come now, I havenae made ye run.”

  “Iain,” she said with a strong hint of exasperation as she sat down and tugged off her boot, “for each step ye take I must take at least two.” She stared at her foot, amazed that it was not coated heel to toe with blisters.

  Biting back a smile, he knelt before her, his gaze fixed greedily upon the slim leg her raised skirts revealed. “I will remember to walk more slowly, sweeting. We wouldnae want ye to wear these lovely limbs down to the bone.”

  “Iain,” she squeaked in protest when he began to slide his hand up her leg. “We are out in the open,” she gasped in shock, leaping to her feet, her back against the tree.

  When he only grinned and reached for her, she took a hasty step to the side. Their playing was brought to an abrupt halt by the soft, deadly hiss of an approaching arrow. There was the sound of tearing cloth as the arrow cut through the sleeve of her gown, scoring the soft skin of her upper arm before it buried itself in the tree.

  “Iain,” she rasped as she realized that, had the arrow arrived an instant earlier, it would have pinned her to the tree.

  Cursing viciously, Iain grasped her by the ankles and roughly tumbled her to the ground even as a second arrow was sent at them. It sliced harmlessly through the space Islaen had occupied but a second before. Islaen said nothing as she was hurriedly and roughly yanked along, held close to the ground and Iain until they were sheltered behind two large trees growing close together.

  “Ye cannae hide from justice forever, MacLagan.”

  “Murdering this innocent lass isnae justice, MacLennon.”

  “Aye, ’tis. I will take from ye as ye took from me.”