by Jane Godman
“What does that mean?” Edwin asked when Iona frowned and tutted in annoyance at this news.
“It means a ride of four or five hours there and the same back again. It is noon now. Even supposing we find Gordie’s cousin at home, and he can marry us immediately, we’ll not be back here again before midnight. We would have to rest the horses between journeys.”
“Is that such a problem? Or are you afraid that the ride will prove too tiring for your delicate constitution?”
Iona threw him a look of dislike. “No, but there are robbers and cutthroats abroad in these highlands at night. ’Tis not safe to be out after dark.”
“Very true. I have encountered one such desperate character myself.”
Before Iona could respond to this deliberately provocative comment, Gordie cleared his throat. “Might I make a wee suggestion of my own, my lady? I could write you a letter to take with you for my cousin explaining that, not only are ye in need of his services to marry ye on the instant, ye would also be most grateful if he could let ye have a bed for the night?”
The reminder that she would shortly be obliged to share a bed with Edwin brought a hot wave to Iona’s cheeks. When she risked a quick glance at Edwin, the look on his face scorched her flesh even further and let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was thinking exactly the same thing. In a slightly strangled voice, she had agreed to Gordie’s suggestion. Events had moved quickly after that. Several hours later, after riding through a relentless highland drizzle, they stood side by side before Minister Ebeneezer Gillespie, a gentleman whose resemblance to his cousin Gordie was striking.
“I forgot to ask if you are Catholic,” Edwin said, casting an eye around the kirk. It was a tiny structure, no larger than a single room and starkly plain with no decoration to lighten the severity of its bleak stone walls.
“Of course. I am a Jacobite, remember?” Iona whispered back.
“Perhaps we can contrive to forget it in the circumstances?” She had nodded in reply and, under the stern gaze of Minister Gillespie, slipped her cold hand into her soon-to-be-husband’s warm one. She was conscious of Edwin scrutinising her profile in surprise, but she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the plain, wooden altar.
Iona answered the minister’s questions mechanically, while Edwin played his part with assurance. The ceremony was over in minutes, and it occurred to her that something so important should have been more momentous. She thought back to her wedding to Sir Donald, with all the clans folk of the Great Glen gathered for feasting and celebrating. They had been days of colour and laughter and rejoicing. That had been another lifetime. When she lifted her eyes to Edwin’s face, there was something approaching sympathy in his expression, and she wondered if he could read something of her thoughts.
For a second, when he had bent his head toward her, she almost moved away. She remembered she was his wife and she had promised him obedience. So, when his lips brushed hers, she allowed her own mouth to open. The taste of him reminded her of the urgency of his kisses in the stable, but this was different. Under the watchful eye of the minister, he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Just enough to claim her. To let her know who was in charge. To make her want more. The thought was alien to her and she shivered. Then he was moving away and turning to thank Minister Gillespie.
In response to Gordie’s letter, Minister Gillespie’s apple-cheeked housekeeper had given them a room under the eaves at the back of his small cottage. This was attached to the kirk, and together, they formed the largest structure in what might, at a stretch, be called a village.
“Ye’ll be wanting to eat in private up in your room,” the housekeeper said, beaming at them. “Being newly wedded, and all. Ye’ll not be wanting to chatter to me or the minister, the day.”
So she had set a table at one side of the fire in the cosy room and brought them laden plates of steaming stew made with beef and barley. This had been accompanied by chunks of rough bread and the inevitable hefty dram of whisky for each of them. Iona sipped this now as she gazed down at her plate. It was the best way to avoid looking at the bed that dominated the room. Outside the window, the sky had darkened through shades of midnight blue to black. Edwin rose from his seat and drew the heavy worsted drapes across the narrow casement.
“You have done this before and I have not.” He resumed his seat. “You must tell me my role as a husband. Should I say something to reassure you about what is to come?”
“D’ye mean when we go to bed together?” A slight smile tugged at his lips before he nodded. “Och, no. That side of things does’nae worry me. I was married to Sir Donald for nigh on two years, ye ken.”
“You are a woman of vast experience, in other words?” She had the strangest feeling that he was laughing at her, although his face was serious.
“Well, ’tis not as if I’m an innocent wee virgin who’s never done it before.” She kept her voice brisk. “So you need not worry that I’ll be squeamish. ’Tis not as if we’ll do it very often, and ’tis an ordeal that is over and done with in a minute or two.” As if to prove she wasn’t concerned, she gave him what she hoped was a cheery smile. Naturally she was prepared to do her duty, but she couldn’t help being slightly apprehensive. Sir Donald had always been considerate, but she hardly knew this man. If his conduct in the barn was anything to go by, there was a possibility he might not be gentle with her.
He returned her gaze. “I fear you and I may have very different expectations.”
She gave this some thought, her head on one side. “I don’t understand how that can be. I mean, ’tis always the same, is it not? I’ll just lay back with my legs spread wide while you…”
“Enough!” He held up a hand, laughter escaping his lips. “I refuse to listen to this graphic account of the intricacies of the act of sexual intercourse while I eat my dinner.”
Iona regarded him in surprise. “I thought you would be pleased to hear I know how to perform my wifely duties.”
“Who told you about your, er, wifely duties in the first place? Was it your mother?”
“No, our mother died when Fraser and I were bairns. We had a nurse, named Cora, who sat me down one day and told me about the terrible burden all women must suffer…” She regarded him with suspicion. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Since I am now part of your burden, I would not dare.” He had finished eating and leaned back in his chair, sipping his whisky. She thought again how strikingly handsome he was. More handsome, she decided than any other man she had ever seen. And now she could call him her own. The thought sent a shimmy of something unexpected through her veins.
“But it was’nae as if I could ask her about the details. Och, she’d have chased me with her broom,” Iona said reminiscently. “There was no-one else, so it was left to Sir Donald to explain things to me once we were wed.”
He studied her face, his own features shadowed by the firelight. “You and your brother are very close, I think?”
“Aye, but Fraser has always seen me more as his little brother than his sister. It came as a surprise when Sir Donald asked for my hand, and he had to seriously start to think of me as a girl.”
“That explains a lot.”
Iona bristled. “What do ye mean by that?”
He shook his head and refused to elaborate. “Since we have finished our repast and there seems to be precious little else to do, perhaps we should retire to bed? We have an early start ahead of us on the morrow.”
It was such a cramped space that there was an inevitable awkwardness about getting ready. Edwin obligingly turned his back while Iona scrambled hurriedly into the nightgown she had stuffed, at the last minute, into her saddlebag before they set off on this strange journey. When she turned around, he had removed all of his own clothing except for his breeches. His broad back rippled with muscle as he folded his clothing. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she climbed into the bed. Why had it seemed so big? It was actually very narrow with an alarming dip in the
middle that would throw them together in a most uncomfortable way. In a voice that wouldn’t seem to rise above a whisper, she informed Edwin that she was ready.
As he approached the bed, Iona obligingly hoisted her nightgown up to her waist, exposing her lower body to his gaze. The fire she had seen in his eyes once or twice blazed instantly into life as he looked down at her. She reached out her fingertips and groped for the front of his breeches.
“Din’nae fret if it’s too soft. Sir Donald showed me how to use my hand to get it hard enough.”
To her surprise, Edwin burst out laughing. Leaning over, he tugged her nightgown back down over her hips and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Go to sleep, you nonsensical girl,” he said.
Iona sat up, shock replacing her earlier alarm. “But this is our wedding night! D’ye not wish to consummate it? I thought men liked that sort of thing.”
“Generally we do. But I have the strangest of whims. You see, I always imagined that, on my wedding night, I would be the one to take charge of matters. Even, perhaps, that there might be an element of romance involved.”
“Romance?” Iona wrinkled her brow in confusion.
“Yes, it is very odd of me, is it not? One might even call me an eccentric.”
“’Tis probably because you are English,” Iona said, considering the matter carefully, “and as a race ye are known to be somewhat strange. Well, I can’nae say I’m not relieved to learn you are not that way inclined. I never did enjoy it very much. All that prodding and grunting was most uncomfortable. But you must let me know if ever you change your mind. As I said, I was brought up to know what my wifely duties entail, and I’ll not shirk them. Not if you insist.”
She lay down again and turned on her side, facing away from him. After a minute or two, she felt the bed sag as he joined her. Her body rolled toward his, and she settled against the comforting warmth of his back. There was no longer anything to fear in the movement, and she sighed, allowing her weary eyelids to close. Marriage to an Englishman might not prove to be so very bad, after all.
Chapter Five
The ride back to Cameron House was accomplished with what felt like the maximum amount of discomfort. Heavy rain came hand in hand with a howling wind that seemed to drive the moisture into their very bones. By the time Edwin helped the forlorn figure of his new wife down from her horse, he was heartily sick of the Scottish climate and in desperate need of a warm fire.
Gordie bowed low as he took their sodden cloaks from them. Iona ran lightly up the staircase, calling for Morag to bring her hot bath water, and Edwin watched her disappear as she rounded the curve in the landing. A feeling of satisfaction that he had been able to allow her to stay in her home warmed him, and he paused a moment to examine it. Why should it matter? He didn’t know. But it did.
Gordie gave a slight cough, claiming his attention. “Will I move your lordship’s things into the main bedchamber?” he asked. “So that ye can be with her ladyship?”
“No. I will remain in my own room. I’ll go and get out of these wet things before dinner. Bring whisky up to me, please.” He ignored the man’s faint look of surprise, reflecting with annoyance, on the fact that if he knew anything about servants, his and Iona’s sleeping arrangements would be the main topic of conversation in the servant’s hall for the next few days.
When he came downstairs to the hall some time later, Iona was already there, deep in conversation with Gordie. They did not notice Edwin’s presence at first.
“Aye, praise the Lord that we have one so valiant on our side in troubled times like these,” Iona was saying.
“And who might this fine fellow be?” Edwin came to stand just behind her.
She swung around to face him, her eyes huge in her pale face. With the defiance he had come to expect of her, she squared her shoulders. “’Tis glad I am, my lord, that we have the hero known as the Falcon to help us in our hour of need.”
Gordie, with the presence of mind that characterised him, melted silently away. Edwin moved forward to stand before the fire, resting one forearm on the mantle. Iona stood her ground. She was clad in her customary pale grey. On any other woman he might have suspected her of choosing the shade to enhance the pearly quality of her skin, but he knew Iona well enough by now to be aware of the fact that she gave no thought to her looks.
“Watch what you say, Iona,” he said quietly.
“Why?” She opened her arms in a gesture that spanned the room. “I may be able to stay here only because you are my lord and master, but this is my home and these are my people. I can speak freely in this house, Edwin. Or are you warning me that it is you I should fear?”
“My point is that you don’t know who you should fear and who you can trust. These are dangerous times. And to talk of the Falcon with such open admiration is to court peril.” He continued to watch her face, gauging her reaction to his next words. “If you know who he is, you should take care to warn him. Those who seek him will not falter in their quest to bring him before the executioner. And their methods will not be pleasant. Your Jacobite hero will be glad of the rope or the blade when they are finished with him.”
He heard her indrawn breath across the several feet that separated them. Her eyes widened and a soft rose colour stained her cheeks. “What makes ye think I know aught of him?”
“I didn’t. Until now. The look on your face has just confirmed my suspicions.” She appeared to be poised for flight, and he knew he would get nowhere with her through confrontation. Instead, he chose to disarm her by going against his instinct and not pressing her to reveal what she knew of the Falcon’s identity. He took a seat and indicated that she should do the same. “I am intrigued, Iona. What has this paragon been doing recently to earn your renewed devotion?”
Iona moved to the chair at the other side of the fire, and he was struck again by her beauty and, even though she was injured, the grace of her movements. For reasons of his own, he had never sought a lasting relationship. His sexual adventures, however, had been many. It annoyed him that his prowess had become the subject of legend among his acquaintance. It was not a reputation he sought.
He had certainly never seen a woman who moved him as Iona did. He could have watched her all day. He found himself anticipating the shifting, mercurial shades of her personality. Enjoying the transformation from highland nymph through awkward tomboy to mischievous sprite and back again. This newly acquired wife of his had so many moods, all of them equally unexpected and fascinating. Life with Iona would never be dull. Maddening, exhilarating and quite possibly life threatening, but certainly not boring. He realised she was telling him the story of the Falcon’s most recent exploits and focused his attention back on what she was saying.
“The bastard English…” She paused as Edwin held up a hand.
“Now that we are married, my love, I feel it only right that I should correct this misapprehension of yours and defend the reputation of my countrymen. Many of us were born of perfectly honourable parentage.”
“That’s as maybe. I’ve yet to meet one who did not behave like a bastard.”
“Very well, let me rephrase my objection.” He kept his voice silky, knowing it would infuriate her that he didn’t rise to her provocation. “I have conceived a dislike of hearing coarse phrases on my wife’s tongue. You will oblige me by refraining from using them in future.”
Her expression was stormy. “So ye’d control my tongue now, would ye?”
He smiled. “It’s a tempting prospect, Iona.”
She hesitated, clearly unsure about whether there was a double meaning to his words, and if so, what it might be. Contenting herself with a glare in his direction, she continued her tale. “The English soldiers had rounded up all of the able-bodied men in the village and were transporting them over the border to York, where they were to be tried as a group for treason. ’Twas a fabricated charge. One of Butcher Cumberland’s friends wanted the village cleared so that he could add the land to his estate. With the
menfolk gone, the women would have no means of support. They would have to starve or move on into the towns and cities. ’Tis part of the highland-clearance plan so close to the heart of your fine leader. If the villages are cleared, the land can be used for grazing. Cattle are of more value to Billy of Cumberland than fine Scotsmen.” She halted in her discourse, clearly waiting to see if he had any objection to her comments about the duke.
“Go on.” He continued to watch her face, his chin resting on his tented fingers.
“They were just north of here when the Falcon and his group of men came to the rescue of the prisoners.”
“I find myself intrigued by the missing detail of your account. How many prisoners were there?”
“Twenty-five. They were shackled in leg irons and handcuffs. Ten soldiers surrounded them as they walked in single file along a loch-side track. The Falcon came out of the forest on the hillside above them. Three soldiers drowned in the loch. The others were found naked and suffering either the effects of the cold or their injuries, wandering nearby. They could’nae say what had happened to them.”
“How many men did the Falcon have with him to undertake a manoeuvre of such drama?” Edwin sensed that Iona was warming to her role of storyteller.
“Himself and three others. Of course, once they began to release the prisoners from their shackles, their numbers swelled and the highlanders fought with them.”
“Surely the operation, brave as it undoubtedly was, could not achieve anything other than immediate success? The prisoners could not, after all, return to their village and behave as if nothing had happened.” The shadows were lengthening, and the firelight caught the red-gold of Iona’s hair, turning it furnace bright. Her eyes appeared darker than their usual tawny shade as she returned his gaze.
“That, my love—” a wry smile touched her lips as she turned his endearment against him, “—is where you and your ilk persist in underestimating me and mine. The Falcon had a ship ready and waiting under sail in the Port of Inverness. The entire clan of that village—men, women and children—are on their way to a new life in the Carolinas as we speak of them. Your butcher friend can’nae touch them now.”