Taming His Rebel Lady

by Jane Godman

  “Beautiful,” he said. She didn’t need to know he wasn’t referring to the scenery.

  “Is it very different to your own home?” It was the first time she had evinced any personal interest in him. He looked down into the wide golden eyes searching for a motive, but there was only mild curiosity. “You live in London, do you not?”

  Edwin thought of the tall, elegant town house with gardens sloping down to the Thames, of narrow streets and a city teeming with life, of the stench of poverty and disease overlaid by the perfume and powder of the wealthy. He was a Londoner born and bred, England’s capital was his home. But he had never felt a fraction of the passion Iona knew for these highlands toward any place. “Yes, I lived in London all my life until I joined the army. It is safe to say that it is as unlike this valley as anywhere could possibly be.”

  “What are your plans? I mean, for the future?” Iona looked momentarily embarrassed. “’Tis just that I don’t know if you plan to stay here in Scotland or return to England. And now I am your wife…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Planning for the future has never been my strongest point.” He smiled down at her. “A wife is an unexpected complication. No, don’t bristle at me, Iona. I am warming to the idea.” He noted her slight blush with a feeling of pleasure. “Coming here—” he nodded across the valley, “—was not part of any grand scheme of mine. I was told to come to Fort William by my superior officers. At the same time, I was informed that Cameron House was to be mine. Yes, I have a home in London as well. I suppose now I have resigned my commission in the army, I must decide which will be my permanent residence. When that decision is made, lady wife, rest assured, wherever I choose, you will be at my side.”

  “Oh.” The blush deepened. “Is your life in London very grand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And—” She kept her eyes on the loch, while he took the opportunity to feast his eyes on her profile. A memory of how that temptingly full lower lip had felt pressed against his own mouth caused his breeches to tighten again, and he cursed his overactive imagination. “I suppose you have had many mistresses?”

  “Yes.”

  Iona appeared lost in thought. Aoidh whinnied impatiently, breaking the spell. “We should go back.” She turned her horse’s head, pointing to the gathering clouds over the mountain. “It looks likely to rain.”

  The first drops began to fall as they reached Cameron House. Edwin helped Iona to dismount, his hands lingering at her waist. He found, to his annoyance, that he was unable to stop them.

  “You appear to be lost in thought,” he remarked, as they made their way into the house and walked side by side up the wide staircase.

  “I confess I am confused by you, Edwin.”

  They paused outside her bedchamber door. “Pray tell me the source of your confusion. I may be able to alleviate it.”

  Iona’s lips parted, but the sound of Morag’s tuneless singing coming along the corridor toward them halted her. “Not here.”

  She opened the door and gestured for him to follow her. Once inside, Iona removed her bonnet and shook out the shining mass of her hair, raking her fingers through its length. She regarded Edwin as she did. He realised, in some surprise, that she was hesitating over what to say next.

  “I may be wrong, but I sense that discretion is new to you, Iona. I suspect you usually blurt out whatever comes into your head.”

  “There are lots of things about this marriage that are new to me.”

  He took a seat on a settle close to the fire and patted the cushions next to him. Iona joined him, turning in the confined space between them so that she could look up at him. “Tell me.”

  She took a breath. “If you have had many mistresses you must enjoy the sex act. So why—when I am your wife—do ye not want to do it with me?” By the time she had finished blurting out the words, her cheeks were scarlet.

  “If you think back to our wedding night, what I actually said was I didn’t want ‘the sex act’—as you so charmingly describe it—between us to be performed the way it was with your first husband.” Was it wrong of him to take an unholy pleasure in prolonging her embarrassment?

  She took a moment to assimilate his words. “Does that mean ye do want to do it with me?” Her voice was little more than a croak. The urge to take her in his arms and show her exactly how much he wanted her was almost, but not quite, overwhelming. This—if there was to be a “this” between them—was going to be on his terms.

  “That depends on you.”

  She huffed impatiently. “I’ve told you I’m prepared to do my duty!”

  “Exactly. I’m waiting for it to stop being your duty.”

  Her expression was pure bewilderment. “I din’nae understand.”

  “I’m waiting for that as well.”

  “Oh, I can’nae follow your meaning when you insist on being cryptic and…and English about it.” Iona jumped up restlessly and moved over to the fireplace. She fiddled impatiently with the hands of the clock that stood on the mantel. “If we do go to London, will you continue to have mistresses?”

  “That also will depend.”

  She turned her head, a slight frown creasing her brow. “On what?”

  “On you, and on that which we have just been discussing.”

  He watched the column of her throat as she swallowed hard. “Then ye’d not object if I took myself a lover or two as well, would ye?”

  Iona barely had time for her characteristic head toss before Edwin was before her, grasping her upper arms and holding her hard against him. The anger he felt at the prospect of her in the bed of a lover took him as much by surprise as it did her. “Let me assure you, madam wife, that the scenario you have just suggested is one that will never happen. Your absolute fidelity is not a matter for negotiation. Do I make myself clear?”

  Anticipating a confrontation, Edwin braced his body for any onslaught Iona might decide to wreak upon him. As he stared down at her, he had the oddest sensation of time missing a beat. There was a brief flash of something in her eyes. It might have been rebellion. It could also have been the stirrings of desire he always longed to awaken in her. He didn’t have time to analyse it further before she rose on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his. The movement was so swift and unexpected that Edwin barely had time to register what had happened before she had shifted away again.

  “Very clear, my lord.” Her voice was demure and husky, invading his senses and driving him to the point of madness.

  If her caress had been light, Edwin’s response was going to be anything but. It was about time Iona found out what it meant to be kissed properly. Kissed to the point of desperation. Before he could drag her fully into his arms and put his plans for her into action, there was a pounding on the door and Morag’s voice came to them, muffled by the thick wooden panels.

  “My lady? A messenger has arrived from Lachlan. The bairn has been born at last.”

  “You do not need to accompany me,” Iona told Edwin as she prepared for the journey.

  “My love, you wound me.” He placed his hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Not only do you assume I would allow my wife to ride alone with only a servant for protection, you suggest I would not take this opportunity to meet my new family. What an uncivilised boor you must think me if you believe I would neglect my duty in such a fashion.”

  Iona knew him well enough by now to accept that a will of iron lay behind those clipped, upper-class tones. With a sigh of resignation, she added a warning. “’Tis a long, hard ride, broken by a stay at a rough inn. And—” she bit her lip, “—I’ve yet to break the news to my brother that I’ve wed one of Butcher Billy’s boys.”

  “I will be a pleasant surprise for him then.”

  Iona heard him whistling an English folk tune as he packed his belongings for the trip and experienced a quite remarkable desire to slap him.

  Iona had been impatient to get away, and Edwin had raised no objection to her insistence on haste so the next
morning had seen them depart on the two-day journey to Lachlan.

  Any worries Iona might have had about sharing a room with Edwin on their overnight stay at an inn had proved unfounded. She was so exhausted that, after devouring a bowl of hot broth, she tumbled into bed and straight into a deep sleep. Edwin remained in the taproom downstairs. When she awoke, he was asleep and fully clothed next to her, with a definite aroma of whisky about him. Like a true married couple, she thought ruefully, as she rose and dressed to the accompaniment of his snores.

  Tiptoeing out of the room, she went downstairs in search of food. Lena, the landlord’s daughter, was about Iona’s age, and they knew each other from the journeys Iona had made between Lachlan and Cameron House over the years. Lena spent a pleasant half hour clucking her tongue sadly over the change in the beautiful Lady Cameron’s circumstances.

  “And yon big, able feller is your husband now, my lady?” Lena jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the stairs. When Iona nodded, she sighed and shook her head sadly. “’Tis a sorry day when a fine Scots lady must marry a fyle English to keep her home.”

  Although the words were an exact echo of Iona’s own thoughts on the subject, she immediately, and perversely, felt the need to spring to Edwin’s defence.

  “In truth I was fain to wed my Lord Roxburgh, English or not.”

  “Aye, a fine-looking man like him would tempt any woman after a craw-bogle like Sir Donald.” Lena added an afterthought, “Rest his soul.” Ladling another thick dollop of porridge into Iona’s bowl, she made the comment that had obviously been on the tip of her tongue. “He’s a braw, strong laddie. Durkie all over, am I right?”

  “What does that mean?” Edwin’s voice from the foot of the stairs startled them both. Lena, blushing furiously, scuttled off into the kitchen to fetch another bowl of porridge.

  “Durkie? It means thick-set and muscular.” Iona shifted along the wooden bench on which she was seated to make room for him.

  “And a craw-bogle is a scarecrow, isn’t it?” He gave Lena one of his devastating smiles as she placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of him. This had the effect of reducing her to helpless idiocy for the remainder of their stay. When she was out of earshot again, he turned to Iona. “Did you explain that you don’t actually know if I’m durkie all over, my love? Not yet, anyway.” The smile deepened to the point of devilment. “But I’m mighty glad to hear you were fain to wed me.”

  After finishing their meal, they mounted their horses once more and followed the main route through the Great Glen toward Inverness, the town closest to Lachlan. Iona led Edwin along narrow valley tracks skirting dark forests and babbling brooks before they finally reached the majestic loch-side castle.

  As they completed the last stage of their journey and their horses navigated the narrow walkway across the loch to the castle entrance, Iona warned Edwin to take care over the narrowest parts. “Many is the visitor has come amiss on this path.”

  “I remember it well from the last time I passed this way.” He looked up at the grim portcullis that guarded the castle entrance, and Iona was reminded again of her brother’s words about their curious bargain. Who are you, Edwin Roxburgh? The knowledge that she had no idea of the answer to that question unnerved her. All she really knew for sure was that he was a man who carried dark secrets deep within him. Secrets that had scarred and damaged him. Yet she was bringing this stranger husband of hers into her brother’s home at a time when Fraser was at his most vulnerable. The thought was driven to the back of her mind, as they rode under the teeth of the portcullis and into the central courtyard of the castle.

  Castle Lachlan. That name, and the place itself, had been iconic to the highland clans for centuries. In these turbulent times, Lachlan had assumed almost mythical proportions among the glens and lochs. As the Jacobites crumbled, proud Lachlan remained untouched. To Iona the castle on the loch remained what it had always been—her childhood home. It was a place that always fired her imagination. As a child she pictured it unchanging over the centuries.

  Now, it was that time of day known in Scotland as the gloaming, before the true darkness descended, and huge torches fixed in wrought-iron sconces had already been lit so that pools of golden light shimmered on the flagstones. After sliding from the saddle, Iona handed her horse to Auld Rab, the faithful castle steward who had been known by that name for as long as she could remember. Rumour was that it had been bestowed upon him at birth.

  It was impossible to approach Lachlan without being seen, so Fraser had been apprised of their arrival some time ago. He came out from the castle’s central Tower House to meet them. His words of greeting for Iona died on his lips when he saw her companion.

  “Roxburgh.” The single, impassive word hung heavy in the dusk, reminding Iona of the difficult task ahead of her.

  Reaching instinctively for Edwin’s hand—and painfully aware of the frown in her brother’s eyes as he observed the gesture—Iona stepped forward. “Not one Roxburgh but two, brother mine. Since last I saw you, his lordship and I have taken our marriage vows.” She braced herself for the storm, her fingers tightening convulsively on Edwin’s. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return.

  “Is this some sort of English jest?” Fraser’s eyes travelled from Iona’s face to Edwin’s and back again.

  “Well met to you too, my laird.” Edwin slid an arm about Iona’s waist, drawing her close against the comforting warmth of his body. “My wife is tired after our long ride. I know you are longing to offer us your congratulations on our marriage—just as we wish to respond with felicitations on the birth of your son—but perhaps we could all contain our transports of joy until Iona has rested?”

  Iona winced. To her amazement, Fraser exhaled slowly. “Aye, lass, ye do look fair done in. Away inside and Cora will take ye to your old room. Martha will be fain to see ye later. In the meantime, you and I, Roxburgh, need to have a few words.”

  “I am entirely at your disposal.” Edwin bowed slightly. Iona watched as the two men walked away. Although they were both tall and powerful, Fraser had the advantage when it came to bulk. Edwin’s strength was leaner and lither. He was the panther beside Fraser the lion. As if aware of her scrutiny, he glanced back over his shoulder. He gave her a reassuring smile and gestured for her to go inside. It occurred to her that he was doing something that she had never experienced before. By deflecting Fraser’s anger away from her, he was putting her first. Caring for her as a husband should. His actions provoked new emotions within her. As she turned to enter the Tower House and called out for Cora, her old nurse and now the Lachlan housekeeper, she paused to examine her feelings. She couldn’t name them, but they warmed her. She decided she liked them.

  Chapter Seven

  “Lady Roxburgh?” Cora rolled the word off her tongue as if it were a foul-tasting medicinal concoction. “What madness are ye about now, lass?”

  Iona attempted a haughty approach. “I’ll thank you not to be so cankert when you speak to me.”

  Cora’s response was a snort. “Try that tone on one who did’nae know you as a wee bairn. Too many is the time I’ve rescued ye from trouble ye’ve made for yourself for me to take heed of fine looks and head tossing.” She punctuated her words with sharp jabs of a wooden spoon in Iona’s direction. “Now will I take you to your old room or will ye be wanting a grand guest room to share with your fine new lord?”

  “My own room of course, but I’m away to see her ladyship before I do anything else.” Iona rose from her seat at the kitchen table. “Is she well?”

  “Aye, fine well. I’ll admit I was afeared for her, so skinny as she is and the bairn long overdue. This last week she grew that big I thought she would’nae be able to bear the strain. But the birth was easy enough, and if she starts listening to sense instead of thinking she knows best, she will recover.”

  “And the bairn?”

  Cora’s face softened. “A bonnie laddie, the image of his father. With a fine Lachlan
set of lungs. Din’nae you be tiring her ladyship, Miss Iona. She must follow custom and stay in her bed for seven days to rebuild her strength. After that there’ll be a churching service to give thanks for the safe delivery of the bairn and to drive out any impurities from the mother. After that, of course, there will be the baptism followed by a grand feast.” She called the last few words after Iona, who was already on her way out of the kitchen and preparing to head up the great staircase.

  The laird’s suite at Castle Lachlan comprised a large bedchamber, a sitting room and a dressing room. When Iona tiptoed into the room she was surprised, given Cora’s words, to find the vast, four-poster bed empty. Following the sound of soft singing, she discovered her sister-in-law seated in a chair before the fire rocking her newborn son in her arms. Iona paused, not wanting to intrude on this tender moment. Martha heard her tread on the wooden floorboards, however, and glanced up. Her sweet smile dawned when she saw who it was, and she held out a hand to Iona.

  “Come and meet your nephew.” They both gazed down at the crumpled red face. “His name is Jack.” Iona felt the tears on her cheeks before she knew they had fallen. It was the perfect tribute to the brave, beloved cousin who had given his life at Culloden. Martha gave a chuckle. “He is not so handsome as his namesake, but we have high hopes for him.”

  “Cora told me you would be weak and sickly and lying in your bed. Are you sure you are able to be up and about so soon, Martha?” Iona studied her. Martha certainly looked well enough. Always slender and pale of complexion, there was a new glow about her that Iona had not seen before.

  “Oh, good Lord! Please don’t tell Cora you saw me out of my bed, Iona. She is convinced such foolishness before the churching will allow the devil to enter my body. But you know me. I can’t lie idle all day, so Satan and I will have to take our chances with each other.”