Now, though, he kept glancing at her in a strange way as he pulled his shirt on and placed the plaid around his waist. Part of her wanted to ask what was in his mind, but the other part knew not to do so. It was begging trouble to come to her door, and she knew it. Iain lifted his cloak from the peg at the door and turned to her. Why did dread fill her as he dropped the cloak and strode to her?
His mouth was hot and possessive then, more like the first time he’d kissed her when he arrived here. Did he wish to tup before he left? He pulled his head back and searched her face before meeting her gaze.
“I have something I want ye to think on while I am at the keep,” he whispered. He kissed her again and then lifted his mouth from hers. “When I leave here after Hogmanay, I want ye to come with me.”
“Come with ye, Iain? Where do ye wish to go?” She’d not gone too far from this village in all her years.
“I want ye to return to Dunbarton with me, lass,” he said.
Did he want her as his leman? Would his nephew permit such a thing when they all knew she’d been a MacKendimen whore for years?
“I dinna understand, Iain. How can I go there with ye?” she asked.
His stare, the intensity in his gaze, and the way he held her close all warned her before he spoke that this was serious. If he had not been holding her, she would have fallen at his reply.
“I want ye as my wife, Robena. I want ye to marry me.”
Of all the things that anyone could ever have said to her, those words had never been a possibility. That a man, any man, but especially a man with connections to nobility and power, would ask her such a thing. She studied his face now, looking for signs that he was jesting.
“I mean it, lass. I wish to marry ye.”
Robena pushed out of his embrace and walked to the other side of the cottage, smoothing her hands over her gown. This was madness, plain and simple. He could not mean to marry her. She glanced at his face to see truth there—he did.
“I thank ye for honoring me so, Iain,” she began. Twisting her hands together, she smiled, or tried to, to soften her words. “That is just not possible.”
“Why not?” he asked. He took a step towards her and, God forgive her, she backed a step away. He stopped then and crossed his arms over his chest, as she’d seen him do hundreds of times. Was he asking her to explain why this could not be?
“Are ye daft then, Iain? Ye are kin to The MacKillop and I am a MacKendimen whore.”
“Ye whore for a living, Robena. ’Tis not who ye are.”
“Iain, I am a whore,” she said. He must stop this madness.
“And if ye married me, ye’d be my wife. What difference is that?”
“Iain, again, I am honored, but there is no reason for ye to even ask this.”
“I want ye, Robena. I want ye with me always. I love ye, lass.”
She lost her breath at his words. The words she had craved, the ones she’d dreamt of hearing spoken to her for so many years. Not now though. Not now.
“There is no place for love between a man and the whore he pays.”
He stood to his full height then and bristled like a wild animal about to charge. But even now, as she insulted his offer and refused him, she did not fear him physically. As he took a step towards her, she fought the urge to run. He might not hurt her body, but this could tear her heart and soul apart. A few long strides put him right in front of her.
“Tell me ye dinna feel something for me, lass.” When she would have replied, he shook his head first. “Dinna lie to me and use that excuse about a man and his whore. I am asking ye now, man to woman, is there nothing else between us but the passion we share in yer bed?”
She was more practiced at lying than she was at giving a voice to the truth. A whore lied about what she felt. About what she wanted. About what she thought. It protected her and allowed her to retain something of her own self when others used her body for their purposes. She’d lived those lies and meant those lies, but now, looking at this man, she was tempted not to.
Practice won out.
“My bed, Iain? We have fucked on the floor, against the wall and the door and out in the grass behind the cottage.” She forced a whore’s smile onto her face then. “We have shared so much passion and pleasure. Is that what ye mean?” His face grew red and she could feel his anger pouring off him in waves.
“I have surprised ye, I ken. I think there is more here, more between us, no matter yer words.” He walked away and Robena clenched her hands into fists, fighting the need to call out to him. “I want ye to think on this while I am at the keep these next days.”
Robena looked away then, not able to watch him, and the loud slamming of the door spoke of his departure. She stood there in the silence, trying to accept that this was her life. No matter his kind words or his bold offer, there could be nothing more than pleasure and desire between them.
She did not move for a long time, battling her own heart’s desire to run after him. The need to follow him pushed her a few stumbling steps toward the door, but she fell to her knees rather than allow herself to weaken in her resolve.
She would never accept his offer, for it would put him in a terrible situation between his kin and his duties to his clan. She would never be accepted by any of them, and it would take no time at all before he blamed her for that.
She laughed sadly. For just a moment then, she had allowed herself to think he meant it, that it could be possible. No matter how Rob had managed to smooth things out for her, this was not possible.
Robena climbed to her feet then and walked to the pallet. She stared at it, remembering everything that they shared. Nay, he was correct, there was something more between them. And it was something that would make her refuse his offer and keep them as they were and should be—a man and his whore.
More than that could simply never be.
She loved him too much to ever allow it.
* * *
Iain sat at the table and watched the festivities with a blind eye. All around him people ate and drank. The food tasted like dirt in his mouth. The wine, the laird’s finest he’d been told, could have been cow’s piss for all he cared. He went through the expected motions of meeting and greeting Struan’s visitors and being pleasant to his still-present cousin. Rob watched him and Iain knew his friend could not figure out the cause of his aloofness. But Iain did not wish to talk of it to anyone.
He’d misjudged Robena and misjudged her badly.
Now he’d scared her. He’d read the fear in her eyes—like a wild animal caught in the snare and searching for a way, any way, to escape. He did not fool himself into believing her words about not caring for him outside of their bedplay. But, like a trapped creature, she had struck out and tried to keep him at a distance.
“Ye are deep in thought, my friend,” Rob said as he leaned over from Iain’s right. “What did ye do wrong?”
“Why do ye blame me?” he asked.
“Come now, Iain. Ye were married long enough to ken that it is always our fault, no matter what was done or not done. No matter what we said or did not say.”
“I am so glad that ye learned that in only five years of marriage, husband.” The Lady Anice leaned past Rob and smiled. Placing her hand on Rob’s, she continued, “’Twill make the next decade or two so much easier for me.”
Rob leaned his head back and laughed. Good God, but they were in love. It hurt Iain to watch it playing out so clearly before him.
“So, again, I ask ye—what did ye do?”
Iain took another mouthful of the wine, finishing the cup, and held it up for a servant to fill once more. ’Twas his fourth? Nay, fifth cup. But what difference did it make? No matter how much he drank, he could not rid himself of the memory of the haunted expression in her eyes when he’d left. He put the cup down, knowing it would not help him.
“Anice.” He leaned forward and looked past Rob to the man’s wife. “Would ye send someone to look in on Robena on the morrow?” He’d
been back here for two days now, and he’d wanted nothing so much as to return to the village. But Struan had put obstacles and requests in his way that made certain he had not left the keep.
“On the morrow?” Anice asked, glancing at her husband first and then at him. “Is aught wrong?” When Rob turned now to him and shrugged, Iain knew he would have to tell her.
“I asked her to marry me.”
Anice gasped so hard she swallowed a large mouthful of air and then choked on it. Iain watched as the coughing fit went on for several moments before she was able to stop.
“Ye what?” She yelled the question so loudly that everyone at table and below stopped and stared. His own mouth was probably agape, too. She stood then, forcing him and all the men present to stand, as she pointed towards the chamber above. “I would speak with ye in my solar,” she said.
Pushing back, she left the table, not waiting on either Rob or Iain to follow. She just knew they would. Glancing around as he waited on Rob, he saw sympathy in varying levels in the gazes of the men who watched. He may have staggered a step or two before Rob took hold of his arm and led him up the stairs and into Anice’s chamber. The lady, who only came up to her husband’s chest, sat in her chair, tapping her foot on the stone floor.
“Tell me what ye have done, Iain.” Her words were calmer than he thought they’d be. As he looked at the lady, he realized that Robena could have no better protector than her.
“I asked her to marry me, Anice. Plain and simple,” he explained.
“Nothing men do is ever simple,” she muttered.
“Anice, I kenned he was going to do this,” Rob said. “I did not think it such a bad thing for Robena.”
The lady, always so gentle and kind, looked as though she was going to kill someone. For a moment, he thought her husband would be the target, but when she turned her gaze on him, Iain thought again.
“I love the lass, Anice.” Sometimes, the truth was the best defense, and it seemed to soften the lady’s resistance.
“Does she ken that, Iain?”
“Aye, I told her. But she doesna believe it. She doesna believe she can be loved or can live a different life than the one she has.”
“And if she refuses yer offer? What will ye do then?”
Anice watched him closely while her own husband stood there at her side. Aye, Robena could have no better people watching out for her than these two.
Unless it was him.
“I have given her the chance to think on it. Then I will make my decision.”
“Can ye stand by if she declines and remains here as a . . . as she is?”
A whore. The lady would not speak the word, but they all understood. If Robena turned him down, she would remain here, making a living by providing pleasure to other men. Could he truly leave her here knowing that? If he loved her, if he loved her enough, then . . .
“Aye. If it is her wish to remain here, then so be it. I just want her to have enough time to consider it.” He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. “I did not like leaving her there alone, but Struan will not allow her here.”
“What?” Anice stood then. “I have invited her here. I have made certain she is welcome.”
“And Struan has warned her not to come. ’Tis his right as laird,” he explained to a person who understood her father-by-marriage better than anyone else did.
“That explains much. I wish she had spoken of this to me.”
“She seems to understand her place and accept it more than any of us do,” Rob said.
And that was the heart of the matter. The woman he loved accepted her place. She understood the boundaries of her life and had discovered a way to exist within them. Was that how she survived? Knowing the expectations and keeping to them?
He did not want to believe that she was happy living within those limitations. He took her recent exploration into helping the midwife and learning from Moira as a sign of some unhappiness or some unfulfilled need within her. As much as he thought she would be happy as his wife, mayhap not even loving her gave him the right to expect it of her.
“Just make certain she is well,” Iain said.
Turning away, he left the solar and made his way back to the chamber assigned to him.
He was a fool, and nothing was worse than an old fool. He was no better than anyone else who tried to control her or bend her to his will. Worse, he was a liar as much as she was. Though he’d claimed he would allow her to do as she chose in this, in truth there would be no way he could stand by and let another man touch her. Not now. Not again.
Good Christ, but he’d gotten himself into a quandary here. He’d thought he would come in, offer to take her away, and she would jump into his arms and be happy. He laughed then. Not Robena. She was strong enough to live her life, even if she did not realize that it was that inner strength that kept her going.
He would go to see her on the morrow. He would say . . . something . . . that would ease his way and give her leave to ignore his offer. Not that he wanted her to refuse him. He prayed with every part of his heart and soul that she would accept it and him, but whatever happened, he would not make things worse. Well, not worse for her.
The amount of wine he’d had dragged him into a restless sleep, and he tossed and turned all night. He would wake and reach out for Robena, only to remember that he did not share her bed this night. And he did not like it.
The morning dawned cold and crisp, and he struggled to make it down to the hall to break his fast. Filled with many like him who had overindulged during the Christmas feast and festivities the nights and days before, Iain noticed that a good number of those did not seek out more ale this morn. Rather, dry crusts of bread seemed to be the only thing their thick heads, churning bellies, and painful megrims would tolerate. Mayhap now, with a clearer though more painful head than he’d had at last night’s feast, he could sort out what to do about Robena.
Aye, he should have discussed his plan with another woman instead of relying on Rob. Now all he could do was try to make it right. A servant approached and said that the lady wished to see him in the kitchens, so Iain followed the lad back through the corridors to where the lady waited. Anice worked tirelessly, so it should not have surprised him that she’d already sent someone to the village as he’d asked. From the grave expression on her face, Iain did not know what to think.
“Lady?” he said, nodding as she waved off the servant. “What is the matter?”
“I sent someone to see to Robena as you asked me to do,” she said. She glanced around her before turning her gaze to him. “She is well.”
“Well? That is good.”
“The rope is gone from her gate.”
Iain could not think. He could not believe it. He understood what that meant, but it could not be.
He was not certain if the lady had anything else to say or not, for he was walking out of the kitchen towards the stable before he even thought of a plan. His mind was empty as he rode down to the village and stopped in front of her cottage. The rope was indeed gone, and worse, he heard voices inside. Laughing voices. A man and Robena. Iain lifted the latch and walked in without knocking.
The only thing that kept the man alive was that Iain understood what was happening here. He knew that fear was driving her actions and that she was striking out in reaction. His experience training men taught him that, so he held himself in check. Well, all that and the fact that killing an unarmed man in the MacKendimen village would not go over well. The man pulled out of Robena’s embrace at his entrance and backed away as he looked at Iain’s face.
“Have ye started?” he asked, pushing the words out through his clenched jaws. Iain wanted to thrash the man to a bloody mess, but he forced himself to remember what this was really about. “Get out.” He said the last words quietly, meeting Robena’s gaze as she flinched. Though he did not wish to pay heed to the man involved, that one scurried around the cottage, gathering whatever belongings he’d brought, and ran out the
door. Her chest heaved as she watched him now, drawing in shallow, panting breaths of . . .
Fear.
Fear drove her. Fear of the unknown. Fear of him.
“What do ye think ye are doing, Robena?” he asked, moving away from the doorway so she would not feel trapped. He crossed the cottage and sat on a stool next to the table. Sitting down, he would be less threatening than standing and towering over her.
“I did not expect ye back, so I thought to . . .” She paused, and he watched as she swallowed.
“Are ye trying to see if ye can whore again now that ye ken that I love ye?” He shrugged. “Well, can ye?”
When she did not answer, he reached inside the sporran he wore and grabbed a handful of coins. Tossing them on the table before him, he nodded at them.
“There. Ye have been paid for yer time, up to now.” He reached in again, grabbing more and throwing them onto the pile. “And until I leave for Dunbarton.” He added another handful. “And for a long time after I am gone.” The amount on the table was more than she would earn in months, if not an entire year. “Now, ’tis up to ye if ye want to sell the pleasure ye give for coin.”
“Iain,” she whispered. “Do not do this.” That haunted expression was back, and it tore his heart out of his chest.
“Do not misunderstand this, my love. Ye think ye are only a whore, and I ken ye are more than that. Moira kens that ye are. As does Daracha. And so do Margaret and Conran. Lady Anice and Robbie. So many others here see and value the woman ye are, lass, even if all ye see is the whore who earns her way on her back.”
“I have only been the whore, Iain. ’Tis all I ken. All my mother was before me.” Her words revealed to him that it was more than that she was clinging to what she knew. There was doubt there, doubt that she was only that which she proclaimed herself. And doubt helped him.
“That”—he nodded at the coins—“gives ye a long time to think on what ye wish yer life to be like, lass. If ye will not accept my offer, at least ye can consider yer path. Make no mistake though, I pray ye will accept mine.”
Christmas in Kilts Page 8
