Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “Aye, though—”she smiled a little—“I think t’will be a little harder for me than for any others for I shall have to tote the wee one around as I wait. Aye, and the wee one will make me a lot less wee.”

  “Ye will grow round and beautiful.” He smiled at her disgusted look.

  “A lady who is round isnae beautiful. Nay, nor when she waddles like some fat duck.”

  “Ah, ye plan to waddle, do ye?”

  “Nay, I dinnae plan to but I ken that I will. My sisters did and so has any woman far gone with child that I have ever seen. Aye, I will waddle and if ye laugh, I will strike you.”

  “I shall keep that warning in mind.”

  “Aye, best that ye do.”

  For a while they lay quietly in each other’s arms, idly caressing each other and enjoying the closeness they had both sorely missed. Parlan knew Aimil shared those feelings by the way she touched him and sighed with something more than passion when he touched her. No matter how puzzled he might get over what else she might feel or think, he knew he could trust in her passion. That was always honest and open, given forth without hesitation or any attempt at subterfuge. He knew that a lot of husbands would pay a king’s ransom to find that in their wives.

  One small problem pricked at his current contentment, however. Aimil had said nothing about Artair. Neither had Artair said a word about his meeting with Aimil. Although Parlan knew there had been no time to enter into such a conversation, he could not relinquish the fear that things had not gone well between the two. He knew Aimil had a right to be angry, especially since any memory of the time Artair had attacked her still caused him a twinge of fury, but he wanted his wife and his brother to get along, to be friends. It was especially important now that Artair seemed sincere in his wish to change and there was the chance of a better relationship between them.

  Although he was not sure he wanted to hear that their meeting had gone terribly wrong, Parlan finally gave into his need to know. “Aimil, Artair said he was going to talk with ye today.”

  “Oh, aye, he did. Just before the wedding.”

  When she said no more about it, he became impatient despite the fact that her soft, gentle caresses were heating his blood. “So? What happened between the pair of you? He still lives is all I ken at the moment.”

  Wondering why he was so interested in the subject now when her interests were somewhere else entirely, she looked at him with a mixture of puzzlement and mild annoyance. “He apologized for what he had done to me and asked my forgiveness. I gave it.”

  “Just like that?” He could not believe that what could have been a real problem had been solved so easily.

  “Aye, what did ye think had happened?”

  “I wasnae sure. Neither of ye said a word so I began to think...” He shrugged. “Ye were quick to forgive.”

  “Nay, not truly. Weel, after Rory, what Artair had done seemed little or naught. Then too, Artair didnae accomplish what he had intended. He was then shamed by a public lashing. What truly, or mostly, prompted my forgiveness was that he kenned he had done wrong, was shamed by his actions. He wasnae mouthing words he didnae feel to make us all happy.”

  “He says he intends to change.”

  “Aye, so he told me. Dinnae ye think he can?” She trailed her fingers up his inner thigh, and felt him tremble slightly.

  “I daren’t. He has disappointed me far too often. I will help him all I can though, not just sit back to see if he falters. Aimil, are ye listening to me?”

  “Oh, aye, I cling to your every word.”

  Since her small, clever hand was stroking him in a way that made thinking very difficult, Parlan rather doubted the veracity of her claim. His grin faded into a soft groan of enjoyment as her tongue gently lathed his nipples. He decided that there were a lot better things to do on one’s wedding night than talk. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the way she could make him feel and knew that she shared that feeling, a thought that both comforted and stirred him.

  He grimaced when her caresses moved over the rough scar on his leg, the pinch of his vanity causing him to be concerned over how she saw it. “Nay, come away from that ugliness, dearling. I had hoped that t’would be faded more before now.”

  Although she moved so that she was held tightly in his arms and could kiss his cheek, she had to smile. She heard his concern about his scar in his voice. It amused her to think that a man like Parlan should be troubled about his appearance.

  “A wee scar doesnae trouble me.”

  “’Tis hardly a wee scar.”

  “Wheesht, wee enough when it sits upon a man as strong and fine of line as ye are, Parlan MacGuin.”

  Unsettled by her flattery, he muttered, “Fine of line? Ye speak of me as ye would your stallion.”

  “Ye mean the horse ye married me for?”

  “Married ye for Elfking, did I?”

  “Aye. Ye can admit the truth. I ken how weel ye like to ride him.”

  “Aye, I do, but there is something I fancy more than riding Elfking.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  Gently pushing her onto her back, he growled, “Riding Elfking’s lady.”

  “Ye are a crude man, husband.”

  “Be quiet and kiss me, wife.”

  Aimil decided that it was a very good time to practice a little wifely obedience.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Must I go?”

  Parlan looked at Aimil who wore only a shift and was sprawled upon her stomach on their bed. “Ye would send me off alone?”

  Looking at the crestfallen face he made, she giggled. “Poor, wee laddie.” She grimaced and sat up as her child moved within her, making lying upon her stomach very uncomfortable. “Ye truly wish me to come along?” Placing a hand over her rounding stomach, she delighted in the feel of her child’s life and idly wondered how unattractively noticeable the changes in her shape were.

  “I wouldnae ask ye otherwise. Why are ye reluctant to go?” He moved to stand by the bed as he finished donning his doublet.

  “Weel, I would prefer to be looking my best when I meet your closest allies.”

  Biting back a smile, he bent down and kissed her then started out of the room. “Ye look bonnie enough to turn any man’s head. Get your clothes on, lass, and I will send Maggie to help ye with the packing. We must leave Dubhglenn before the noon of the day arrives.”

  Sighing, she got off the bed. He did not understand and she doubted that she could make him. While she was delighted to be carrying his child, the way it was swiftly changing the shape of her body did not please her at all. She often felt awkward, even misshapen and knew that the feeling would only grow stronger as she grew rounder. Although he showed no lessening of his passion for her, she was not feeling her prettiest nor too capable of inspiring and holding onto his passion.

  That, she mused, was not the feeling she wished to hold when she came face to face with his past. She knew there would be women at the Dunmore keep who had shared Parlan’s bed in the past. There was also a good chance that at least one of those women would be sure to remind her of that fact and even intend to repeat it despite the presence of a wife. Even at her most confident, Aimil knew she would find that difficult to deal with. She did not want to face it when her waistline was little more than a memory.

  Giving a soft, self-derisive laugh, she admitted that, waist or no waist, a part of her also wished to go. Worse, it was for the same reason she did not want to go. His former lovers were there, and she did not want him to go without her. The presence of his wife, rounding with child or not, would help push aside most temptation. And that, she decided wryly as Maggie entered, was why she would be riding at Parlan’s side when he left Dubhglenn.

  “Do ye need a rest, sweeting?” Parlan asked when they had been riding for an hour.

  “Nay, I am fine. ‘Tis a good brisk day for riding, and I feel little discomfort when on Elfking’s back.” She patted her mount’s neck. “I thought, mayhaps, that ye would be rid
ing him.”

  “Nay, not this time. Ye look grand on the beast. When I rode into the Dunmores that last time, I thought on how it would look if ye rode in on Elfking and I upon Raven. T’will be a fine show.”

  Although she laughed, she saw the truth of his words when they rode into the Dunmore bailey a few hours later. The admiration on so many faces was embarrassing to endure. Aimil noticed that Parlan had little trouble with it, and had to smile. He did like to put on a fine show as he called it.

  After being led to their chambers, she joined Parlan in washing away some of the dust of the journey. The way the maids who brought them their heated water ignored her and greedily eyed a half-naked Parlan annoyed her. Parlan seemed oblivious to it and she tried very hard to follow his example. It was not easy, however, and she found it even less so as the evening wore on. Even Lord Dunmore’s fulsome daughter, Janet, seemed more flirtatious and inviting than was appropriate.

  When they retired for the night, she held Parlan close and knew there was a hint of desperation in her lovemaking. That he sensed it as well was proven by his quizzical glances but he asked nothing and she offered no hints. She did not want him to know that she battled with a gut-twisting jealousy for he had done nothing to deserve the poison such emotion could arouse. She held him tightly and prayed that she could continue to control her jealousy.

  By the next afternoon she was beginning to think that an impossible task. Needing some time alone, she wandered out to the stables. As she brushed down Elfking, she began to calm the emotions that knotted her stomach only to glance up and see Janet sauntering toward her. Aimil mused ruefully that peace would clearly not be something she could enjoy until they were back at Dubhglenn. Wherever she turned at the Dunmores, there seemed to be someone only too eager to remind her that her husband was once a man of healthy appetites who had never hesitated to satisfy them.

  “I cannae believe that the Black Parlan would wed some Lowland wench.”

  And there, Aimil thought crossly, is another source of annoyance, something else that gnaws at my temper threatening to break my weak control over it. There were several of the Dunmore clan who held only contempt for anyone not of the Highlands and they made little or no attempt to hide it. Janet added to that with her constant throwing of lures at Parlan. She was twice the annoyance, Aimil mused, as she got ready to answer the woman’s slurs yet try to prevent any trouble.

  “Ah, weel, life has always been strewn with surprises.” Judging by the look upon Janet’s face, Aimil decided that she had kept her voice as calm and amiable as she had hoped to, that she had succeeded in keeping her seething anger out of her voice.

  “How verra amusing.” Janet moved closer to Elfking’s stall. “I would never have thought Parlan a man to be caught by a bairn.”

  “The bairn didnae catch him.”

  “Nay? ‘Tis why he wed ye. Ye somehow tricked him into letting his seed take root. I never would have thought some Lowland slut to be that canny as to get Parlan to err as he never has before.”

  “That, of course, is assuming that it was an error.”

  “Of course it was. A MacGuin would never taint his line with the blood of some Lowlander.”

  It was very hard but Aimil continued to try to control her temper over Janet’s continuous slurs. Her pride was rebelling against taking such blows. She knew many an insult about Highlanders with which to battle Janet’s cuts but she refused to use them. Not only did she find that sort of thing distasteful but she could not bring herself to insult what was also Parlan’s heritage. She certainly did not want him to hear that she had and she knew that Janet would not hesitate to tell him. She also wished that she would not be pushed to trading insults with the woman. It lacked a certain amount of dignity and maturity—both of which she wanted to maintain in this confrontation with one of Parlan’s past lovers.

  “Taint? Nay, rather strengthen. It can never hurt to bring in fresh blood.”

  “If ye hadnae come along, it would have been Dunmore blood, my blood, that would have run in his heir’s veins.”

  “Ye are certain of that, are ye?”

  “Aye, verra certain. Even if my father hadnae spoken of it so often, I had the heat of Parlan’s love words against my skin to tell me. A man doesnae speak to a woman as he did to me whilst we pleasured each other unless he intends more than a night’s pleasure.”

  Aimil sternly told herself not to listen but her mind drew pictures of Janet and Parlan together, locked in an intimate embrace. It cut her badly, fueling her jealousy to a fever pitch. The only thing that kept her from flying at the woman was a loathing of letting Janet know how jealous she was. She suspected that jealousy was what Janet wanted to provoke in her although, for what reasons beyond self-satisfaction, Aimil was not sure. Probably to make me appear a shrew to Parlan, Aimil thought crossly, or even to turn him from my bed whereupon she will so graciously offer him hers. Aimil felt strongly inclined to hit the woman.

  “Any woman is a fool to believe what a man says when he is but trying to part her thighs.”

  “T’was more than that,” Janet hissed.

  “Was it?” Aimil looked at the woman coldly. “Then why is it that I am wed to the Black Parlan and not ye?”

  Deciding that retreat was her wisest option, Aimil started out of the stable, but Janet grabbed her by the arm. The woman yanked her back then slapped her across the face. Aimil decided that that was not something she would silently endure or walk away from. Moving swiftly, she got a good grip upon Janet, dragged the cursing woman toward the muck pile and tossed her in. Ignoring Janet’s screams and curses, Aimil then strode out of the stable and headed straight for her chambers. She did not want to be around when Janet’s state became more widely known which she was certain it would be as soon as Janet pulled herself from the mire.

  Parlan gaped along with everyone else in the hall when a muck-covered Janet staggered in. An overpowering stench of the stables preceded the clearly enraged woman as she approached the table. Even before the woman spoke, Parlan began to suspect that Aimil was involved. He had sensed that Janet was testing Aimil’s patience but he had hoped that Aimil would prove to have more control, would understand the importance of keeping things amiable.

  “God’s teeth, lass,” grumbled Lord Dunmore, “why are ye in such a state?”

  “She did this to me, that Lowland slut.”

  “‘Ware, lass.” Lord Dunmore cast a wary glance at Parlan. “‘Tis Lord MacGuin’s wife ye speak of.”

  “I dinnae care who she wed. She had no right to do this to me.”

  Parlan held his temper as she ranted on. He hoped that Lord Dunmore would calm her down and get her to leave quickly as he was so evidently trying to do. Then something Janet said drew his full attention.

  “Ye hit my wife?” He spoke softly but coldly as he slowly rose to his feet in the suddenly quiet hall.

  Paling slightly, Janet strove to defend her actions. “She insulted me.”

  “She is with child. Ye dinnae strike a woman with child. She could have fallen or been hurt in other ways. And if she did insult ye, ‘tis but fair payment for all the ones ye have flung at her head since we arrived.” He bowed slightly to Lord Dunmore. “If ye will excuse me, m’lord, I must see how my wife fares.” He strode out of the hall.

  Lord Dunmore glared at his daughter. “Ye fool lass. If ye werenae so covered in muck, I would slap you.”

  “For hitting some Lowland slut?”

  “For hitting the Black Parlan’s woman. ‘Tis clear that he prizes the lass. Aye, and I prize the alliance too much to risk it for your folly. Ye will stay to your chambers until he leaves and best ye pray that he doesnae decide to pay this back with far more than one cold smile.”

  Aimil sighed when Parlan entered their chambers. She knew it was him by the sound of his footsteps but she did not move from where she lay on her back on the bed. Neither did she open her eyes even when he grasped her gently by the chin. She was feeling very weary of conflict a
nd did not wish to face the anger he must surely feel.

  “So, she did strike you.” Parlan lightly touched her bruised cheek with his fingertips.

  Surprised, she finally looked at him. “‘Tis bruising?”

  “Aye, as always. So too did Janet let slip that she had struck you. How do ye feel?”

  “It barely stings. I am certain that the bruise looks worse than it is.”

  “Nay, I didnae mean your cheek though ‘tis glad I am that ye suffer little from it.” He gently placed his hand over her abdomen. “Ye didnae stumble or grow too upset, did ye?”

  Realizing that his concern was for the child, she felt a bit hurt. “Nay, ‘tis fine. Your heir rests secure.”

  “Good, for any trouble with the bairn now could surely harm ye.”

  “It wouldnae do the bairn much good either.”

  “Nay, and t’would sore grieve me if aught happened to him, but ‘tis ye I feared for. Ye should have just turned away from her.” He sat down beside her on the bed.

  “I did but she pulled me back. Have I caused a great deal of trouble?” She was not sorry for what she had done to Janet, felt the woman deserved that and more, but did not wish to be the cause of difficulties between Parlan and his closest allies.

  “Nothing worth fashing yourself over.” He kissed her then sprawled at her side.

  “Ye didnae need to leave your business, did ye?”

  “Weel, nay, and I had just as soon wait until the stench of the muck heap has left the hall.” He grinned when she grimaced.

  Before she could stop herself, she murmured, “Ye were betrothed to Janet?”

  “What?” He sat up straight and stared at her in surprise. “What did ye say?”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled weakly, surprised by his violent reaction and hoping vainly that she could act as if the question had never been asked. “Mayhaps the hall smells better now.”

  “Aimil, did Janet tell ye that she and I were betrothed?”

  “Did I say that?”

  He leaned over her, one hand palm down on either side of her head. “Aye, nearly. Did she say that?”