by Jane Godman
“I’ll back you in that fight any day. Ye’d deceive a horde of demons with those meek looks of yours, Martha Lachlan, and then, before they knew it, have them bowing before you in submission.”
Martha laughed. “We must hope instead that the devil decides to stay away. Let me put this young gentleman in his cradle, and then you can tell me what has been happening with you since last we met.” She matched actions to her words, shooting several searching glances at Iona’s face as she did.
Soon, both ladies were seated together on a sofa before the fire. Darkness had fallen outside and candlelight flickered inside the room. A glance at the clock on the mantle told Iona it was close to the hour when Cora would serve dinner. There would not be much time for confidences. She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. Martha always had a knack of getting her to say more than she wished to reveal.
In the end, she needed no prompting from Martha. “I have been dressing as a lad and leading a series of raids on the English. Now, as a result of my foolishness, I am married to an Englishman.” The words tumbled out before Iona had time to plan them.
Martha sat very still for a moment. Then a twinkle dawned in the light-blue depths of her eyes. “Have the Scottish courts taken a radical new approach to the punishment of criminals?”
Iona laughed. “You are the first person who has not accused me of insanity. I only wish my brother viewed the matter as lightly.”
“Fraser worries about you,” Martha told her. “And it is made double because these are worrying times.”
“I have added to his cares, I suppose, by saddling him with a bastard Englishman for a brother-in-law.” Remembering that Martha was also English, she gave an apologetic grimace. “An English soldier, I mean. One of Cumberland’s own. Or was, until he sold out of the army just recently.”
At that moment, the door opened and Fraser entered the room. He was frowning, but his face softened when he saw his wife. Iona was always amazed at the strength of feeling between these two. A casual observer would see an everyday scene. A slender woman smiling up at her brawny giant of a husband. Only one who knew them as well as Iona did would be aware that Martha’s fragility hid a will of iron to match Fraser’s and that the hardships each had faced before they found each other served to make the bonds of their marriage sweeter and stronger.
Fraser’s frown descended once more when he turned to his sister. “Yon fettlesome lord has gone up to your room to freshen himself before dinner.” He managed to make the words sound like the lowest form of insult. “Ye’ll no mind if I din’nae join you in the great hall for the meal? I’ll eat here with Martha tonight.”
“No, Fraser, you must eat with our guests.” Martha’s voice was quiet, but the reproach was clear.
Iona, recognising the stubborn set to the mouth that was so like her own, stepped into the breach. “Nay, Martha, no need to fret. I’m fair trauchled with tiredness after the journey. I’ll not be good company for ye, brother mine, and I somehow doubt ye’ll be wanting a heart-to-heart with my husband.” Rising to her feet, she bent to kiss her sister-in-law’s cheek. Turning her head so that only Martha could hear, she whispered a plea in her ear. “Do what you can to soften the big eejit up for me.”
Martha pressed her hand. “Come and see me again tomorrow. We can talk more then.”
Tomorrow. The word struck alarm into Iona’s heart. It was a feeling no-one else would understand. How could she possibly explain to another that it was a dread occasioned by the fact that the word warned her of the long night stretching ahead? A night during which she must share a bed with her husband? She glanced back at Fraser and Martha, who were bent over their infant son’s crib, gloating about the child they had made. They had forgotten her presence already. She closed the door silently behind her. It wasn’t as if she could ask anyone’s advice about her dilemma. How do I disguise the fact that the whole time I am with Edwin I ache for him? I’m scared that when I am lying next to him tonight, perhaps brushing up against him, he will be able to sense the waves of longing emanating from me. And, if he discovers that, I am lost. I hand over all that I am to my enemy. Because dark, melting eyes, a strong muscular body and a charming smile don’t take that reality away. She had offered him her body from duty and he had refused. Now, God help her, must she forever fight the longing to offer it again, this time from need?
Iona willed her thoughts away from Edwin’s obvious physical attributes. The stinking field at Culloden, mere miles from here, came into her mind. There had been no quarter for the Jacobites that April day. An image of Jack Lindsey, her cousin and childhood playmate, stiffened her backbone. It was said Jack had been put to the sword as he lay injured. The thought of Sir Donald, who had doted on her—as a husband should, she thought darkly—also going bravely to his death at the hand of an Englishman caused her chin to tilt higher. The highland clearances and cruelty inflicted on her people in the months since Culloden made her toss her hair back in angry rebellion. Memories of her own brave band of highlanders, the men who had loyally accompanied her on her raids and defended her so bravely, added a final tinge of colour to her cheeks.
“Lie with Roxburgh and ye may as well lie with Cumberland.” That was more like it. That was the way a true highlander should think.
The whisper was fading on her lips as she entered her childhood bedchamber. The sight that met her eyes caused her insides to melt all over again. Thoughts of Culloden and enemies took flight. Clad only in his breeches, Edwin had his back to the door as he bent over a bowl and splashed water on his face. The muscles in his back and shoulders rippled deliciously with each movement. He turned his head and smiled at Iona as she entered, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead. As he lifted a towel to dry his face, she was able to allow her eyes to linger on his body. The sight of his broad chest with its covering of crisp dark hair and the sculpted ridges of his taut belly, caused her stomach muscles to clench hard. Her eyes refused to remain there and drifted, of their own accord, lower to rest speculatively on the interestingly large bulge in the front of his breeches.
Heaven help me, Iona thought, as Edwin cast aside the towel and reached for his shirt. If I cannot turn my desire into disgust with reminders of the chasm between us that has been hewn into our blood and bones by our ancestors, what hope is there for me?
While he might not particularly miss other aspects of London life, there was nothing about food north of the border that Edwin found appealing. Dinner—or tea as Cora, the stout, little housekeeper called the uniquely Scottish meal she served—was a marathon of cold meat and eggs with a mountain of potato scones. This was followed by crunchy shortbread and a cake known by the unappetising name of black bun, a heavy concoction made with raisins, currants, almonds, ginger, cinnamon and brandy. Cora served this feast with a drink made of ale, eggs and whisky flavoured with nutmeg that she poured into a tankard from a copper kettle.
“What is it?” Edwin wrinkled his nose at the smell.
“It’s a het pint, just get it down yer neck, laddie.” Cora stomped back to the kitchen.
“She means a hot pint. It is intended to revivify you,” Iona explained in response to Edwin’s helpless shrug.
“In that case I think perhaps you need it more than I.”
Although, until then, she had been pale and wan and was clearly struggling to keep her eyes open after the long journey, his words prompted Iona to sit up straighter. She indicated her own tankard of the steaming brew. “Behold. ’Tis Cora’s firmly held belief that there is no ill in this world that cannot be cured with a het pint.”
“With meals as heavy and cloying as this ’tis a wondrous thing that you do not possess a waistline resembling that of a gravid heifer.” Edwin took the opportunity to study her slender figure.
“Hush.” Iona cast a mock fearful look in the direction of the kitchen door. “Cora can be fearsome when riled.”
“What will she do to me?” He sipped the heady drin
k and found it was, indeed, invigorating.
“Make you eat another slice of her black bun.” Iona chuckled at the look of horror on his face.
“In that case, I think we should make haste to be away from here.” He finished his drink and rose, holding out his hand to Iona. She stared at his outstretched fingers for a heartbeat. He wished, in that instant, that he could read her thoughts. With her customary fluid grace, she rose and placed her own hand in his. On top of a vast oak dresser at the side of the central staircase a line of candles set in brass holders awaited them. Edwin released Iona so that they could guard their flickering candle flames against draughts as they ascended the stairs.
The room which had been Iona’s bedchamber since her childhood was situated on the first floor of the castle’s Tower House. Although it was large, the carved wood panels lining the walls made it appear smaller. Floral tapestries hanging on either side of the four-poster bed and mosaic-patterned rugs introduced splashes of bright colour. A welcoming fire blazed in the grate, and the heavy drapes had been closed against the chilly highland night. It was a warm, comfortable room, and Edwin sighed with relief as he closed the door behind them and placed his candle on the locker beside the bed. He had stepped boldly into the lion’s den, and once again, he had survived the experience. Fraser had regarded him with renewed suspicion and greeted the news of his marriage to Iona with loathing. That was to be expected. No-one, least of all Fraser, need ever know why it was so important to Edwin to ensure that the Laird of Lachlan did not face an English executioner.
“I suppose breakfast is equally leaden?” He kept his voice light. Many years ago, Edwin had made a vow to himself. He would never share his secrets. Why it should be more important now than ever was beyond his comprehension. More than anyone else, it mattered that Iona must never suspect the trend of his mind or know the truth about the man she had married.
Iona started slightly as though his voice intruded on her thoughts. She dragged her gaze from its contemplation of the bed and onto his face. A slight smile tugged at her lips. “Well, ye know it would be most churlish to refuse a bowl or two of Cora’s porridge. It must be flavoured with salt, if you please, or she will deem it the greatest insult ye can convey. Then there will be warm, fresh-baked baps, herrings and oatcakes with heather honey or jam.”
“Saints preserve me. Is it your brother’s intent to kill me off with overfeeding, do you think?”
“Och, no. We like our food and our drink fair well, ye ken. ’Tis the Scots way to be content with life’s simplicities.” She sang a few lines, her low husky tones suited to the old folk tune. “Whisky for warming, barley the same. A fond bonnie wifie, and a cosy wee hame.”
Edwin smiled. “You are certainly bonnie, Iona. I would relish the knowledge that you were also fond.”
There was that stillness about her again, and he wished he knew what she was thinking. Her eyes were wide and luminous in the pale oval of her face. He decided she was weighing up her options. Would she fight him or flee from him? Worse, was she about to offer her body in duty once more? In the end, she disconcerted him by stepping closer and presenting her back to him. Sweeping the long length of her hair aside, she addressed him over her shoulder.
“Will ye assist me by unlacing my gown? I’ve no maid with me, and Cora’s girls are all busy in preparation for the feast.”
Not since his first sexual encounter had Edwin experienced a trembling in his fingers as he unlaced a lady’s dress. To his annoyance, he suffered from it now. The tender flesh of Iona’s neck had the sheen of pearls dusted over with freckles of pure gold. He wanted to lick each one. Her hair smelled like a summer meadow of wildflowers, and he forced himself to resist the temptation to press his face into it. As he loosened her laces, she gave a little, involuntary moan of pleasure. Edwin imagined it was identical to the sound she would make as he eased himself out of her after a wild bout of lovemaking. He hadn’t felt like this about a woman since… No, it was pointless trying to remember. He had never felt like this about a woman.
“Thank you.” Iona’s long lashes cast crescent-shaped shadows onto her cheeks as she turned her head. She held the bodice of her dress against her breasts to stop it from slipping down. Moving away from Edwin, she went over to a corner of the room that was divided from the main part of the chamber by a tapestry screen. A reminiscent smile dawned on her face. “When I was younger, I made Fraser’s life hell by demanding a dressing room fit for the sister of a laird. He always resisted my attempts to become a spoiled brat. This was the closest I got.”
She stepped out of his sight, and Edwin moved to a chair to pull off his boots. Some time later, when he had removed the rest of his clothes and donned his nightshirt, he started to wonder what was keeping Iona.
“Do you need help with anything more, fond bonnie wifie?” He decided a measure of levity might ease the nervousness of the situation. Although it occurred to him that he was the one who appeared to need help in that respect. There was no answer. There wasn’t even any movement from behind the screen. “Iona?”
When she did not respond, he went over to the corner and, feeling rather foolish, looked around the edge of the screen. Iona lay on a small sofa that filled much of the space behind the screen. She was dressed in a white, linen nightgown, and she was sound asleep. Her hand cradled one cheek, and her bright hair fanned out around her. Edwin stood still, content to watch her. To enjoy the soft whisper of breath from her parted lips and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the sheer material. Iona shivered slightly as she slumbered, breaking the spell. Edwin bent to lift her in his arms. Her head slumped against his shoulder as he supported her with one arm beneath her knees and the other around her waist. Instinctively, she slid her own arms around his neck, and the trusting gesture imprinted itself somewhere deep within his chest.
It stirred a long-buried memory of another time, another place. Giving himself a mental scold, Edwin settled Iona on the bed and pulled the bedclothes over her. As soon as he joined her, she nestled close against him, seeking his warmth in her half-sleeping state. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed an arm around her and drew her nearer still. Iona murmured appreciatively. So much, Edwin reflected ruefully, for his sworn resolve not to let her get too close. It was his last coherent thought before he too drifted off to sleep.
“Goodness, Iona, you never mentioned what a handsome man your new husband is.” Martha closed the casement window out of which she and Iona had been gazing and stepped back into the room. On the castle ramparts, at right angles to and slightly above them, Edwin—oblivious to their scrutiny—continued his contemplation of the highland scene.
“I know,” Iona said moodily. “More handsome than a man has any right to be.”
She had woken that morning with an unaccountable feeling of well-being. Of Edwin there had been no sign, although the pillows next to her bore the indentation of his head, and a vague, lingering memory of lying next to him—perhaps even in his arms?—persisted. Since she had no idea of how she had even got into bed on the previous night, it was all most unsatisfactory.
“Well surely that’s a good thing.” Martha’s perceptive gaze lingered on Iona’s face. “Isn’t it?”
“It should be, I suppose. Except I din’nae understand him or how he makes me feel.” The words were dragged reluctantly from her, and she bent her head to fiddle with the stitching on her skirt. How could she explain her tumultuous state, even to kindly Martha? On the other hand, if she didn’t make the attempt, she felt she might just burst with the effort of containing herself. “I don’t even know if I like him, yet I only have to think of him and parts of me—parts I know I should’nae talk about, even to you, Martha—start to throb.” She risked a glance up at her sister-in-law’s face, expecting to be denounced as a shameless hussy. Instead, she encountered an understanding smile.
“It’s called desire, Iona, and it is as natural as breathing. Didn’t you ever feel it when you were with Sir Donald? Or…” M
artha paused delicately, “…anyone else?”
Iona shook her head, blushing furiously. “No, I was a virgin when I married Sir Donald and I’ve not known another man.”
“But these feelings you have now, when you make love with your new husband—”
“We have’nae done it yet!” Iona burst out, interrupting her. “He does’nae want to.”
“Good Lord, is there something wrong with him?” Martha looked her sister-in-law up and down with huge, round eyes.
“On our wedding night, I lay back as I used to with Sir Donald, ready to do my duty. Edwin said he would prefer some romance and told me to go to sleep. Since then we’ve slept in separate rooms.”
Martha’s lips twitched. “I blame Fraser for this. He has always treated you more as a brother than a sister so ’tis small wonder you have no idea how to be a woman in the bedchamber. Iona, my sweet, we must devise a plan of action so that you may seduce your husband.”
Iona nodded decisively. “Aye, I’m all for action. What sort of things must a woman do to show a man that she desires him?”
Martha seemed slightly bemused by Iona’s question. “To be honest, it’s not something I’ve had much experience of,” she admitted. “I too was completely innocent when I met Fraser, but we were so overwhelmed by each other that—” She broke off, a blush staining her cheeks. “Well, it was all quite unseemly.”
“Really, Martha? You?” Iona regarded her in surprise.
“Yes. Oh, Iona, it was wonderful!” She became brisk again. “But that doesn’t help us with your problem.”
They both lapsed into quiet, contemplating the matter before them. It was Martha who broke the silence. “Do you remember in the weeks before Culloden, when the clans gathered here at Lachlan for the highland games? All of the young women were flirting desperately with Fraser, hoping he would choose them to be his bride.”
“He didn’t want any of them. He had the good sense to already be in love with you.” Iona leaned over and clasped her hand.