If he were honest about his motives, Iain would have to admit that tending to her felt very good to him. Though most of his kith and kin thought that he missed being taken care of by a wife, and indeed he did, Iain missed being able to take care of someone just as much.
“I will be waiting for ye after supper,” she promised after he’d dressed and opened the door. He nodded and walked out to beat Rob to a pulp as he deserved.
That realization—that he missed tending to a woman’s needs—made so many things clear to him, and he thought on little else but that as he showed Rob no mercy that day in training. Well, that and the woman who would be waiting for his arrival this night.
Chapter Four
It took her but a few moments to realize the first of her problems—she had no clothes.
After Iain left, wearing a very strange expression on his face, Robena had searched his chamber for her gown, tunic, stockings, and shoes. As she searched the cupboard in the corner, she wondered if this was a plan on his part to keep her there. That brought a smile to her own face, for it was a demonstration of his sense of humor and even a bit of the playfulness that she liked about him. He might complain about his aching and aging bones and graying hair, but sometimes he behaved like a much younger man.
And his skills in bedplay revealed no waning of desire or vigor, as was the case with some of the men she saw. His body remained fit and strong, and he could outfight and outlast most of the warriors here in Dunnedin. She smiled again at the thought of Rob’s insults. She wanted to watch this battle. The sound of footsteps approaching down the corridor made her wrap a blanket around herself. A soft knock preceded the door’s opening.
“Robena?” The Lady Anice stood in the doorway holding a bundle of clothes. Hers?
“My lady,” she said, curtsying as best she could. “I beg yer pardon for being here.” Though she was welcome in the keep, Robena tried to stay out of view of the lady and the chieftain, Struan. Why bring trouble down on her head by flaunting her presence?
“Here,” the lady said as she tried to hand the bundle to her.
Easing an arm out from within the blanket, Robena reached for them, but the lady laughed and walked to the bed instead. She placed them there and walked back to the door.
“My thanks for bringing these. I wasna certain how I was to leave without them.”
“Iain asked to have them washed last night. He rarely asks for anything, so the servants hurried to do this for him.” The lady lifted the latch and dropped it, facing her. “Ye ken that ye are welcome to stay here with him, Robena.”
“Lady Anice,” Robena began, unsure of how to say what she wanted to without sounding ungrateful or unappreciative. “I ken my place, my lady. I cannot thank ye enough for making a place for me at table and making it known to all that I am welcome.” Robena paused then and nodded, knowing that her next words would come close to an admission she probably should not make. “’Twould be too easy to get the wrong idea if I stayed here with him.”
Something was dangerously different between them already, and staying here would just confuse her—them—even more. The contentment she had in her life came from knowing who and what she was, and her place here in the MacKendimen Clan. To blur the lines and pretend to be something, someone, that she was not and could never be, would leave her wanting when he left. Nay, that was not the truth. She would miss Iain when he returned to Dunbarton, but it would be so much worse if she allowed herself to want more than she could have. If she wanted him.
She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat and smiled at Anice, trying to express a confidence in her words and acceptance that she didn’t truly feel right now. The lady, a few years younger than Robena was, studied her then and tilted her hair as though considering something about her.
“I wonder—who would get the wrong idea if you remained here with him?” she asked.
When Robena would have answered back, to point out the problems that could arise if she acted as though she mattered as other than the village harlot, Anice smiled and shook her head.
“Worry not, Robena,” the lady said. “Ye have never overstepped yerself here in all the years I have kenned ye. I would not expect ye to do otherwise.” She lifted the latch once more and tugged the door open. Robena could see the lady’s maid waiting for her in the corridor. “Though it might be something to see if ye decided ’twas time to overstep the boundaries ye have placed around yer life, and to claim a different place for yerself.”
So many possible replies rolled in her thoughts, and yet none would come to her tongue, leaving Robena silent and speechless as the lady left. Unable to face the challenge leveled at her in those words, Robena dropped the blanket and dressed. ’Twould be a poor show of gratitude if she did not get to the yard and watch Iain fight there. After all he’d done for her, and after he’d generously overlooked her lack of attention this last day and night.
Once garbed, she wove a braid to keep her hair from being blown wild in the November winds and put her cloak around her shoulders. Her stomach growled as she walked through the hall, reminding her of the meal she’d left untouched abovestairs, yet she did not stop. Not here. She could break her fast in her cottage later. She’d made it almost to the door when the laird stepped out in front of her. Struan MacKendimen ruled the clan, though Rob carried out many duties that the older man should.
Five years ago, Rob’s arrival back at Struan’s call had revealed the secret of their relationship, and the balance of everything had shifted within the clan. As the elder of Struan’s sons, though his natural son rather than his legitimate one, Rob had turned out to be the better one to lead the clan. But that was only known after Alesander MacKendimen, the other son, had married the Lady Anice MacNab and was killed in a strange incident on his way home to Dunnedin for the birth of their bairn. Robena would have spit on the ground, had she not been inside the keep, and had it not been Struan before her.
“What do ye here, Robena?” he asked, looking her over and not bothering to keep that slight look of disgust hidden.
“I am on my way home, laird,” she said, curtsying slightly as she tried to hurry away. In some ways, Struan had the same hardness in him that his younger son had. Once more, she stopped herself from spitting at the memory of Alesander MacKendimen. “Do ye have some task for me?” she asked. Even though it was a lie, she invoked the name of one of the few women the laird did respect, and she hoped it would protect her. “I will be going to Moira’s on the way, if ye need me to take a message there?”
The laird crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to think on her words before he shook his head. Then he nodded at the door.
“I ken that Anice has said otherwise, but I dinna want ye in my hall,” he said. “So, get ye gone from my keep.” He raised his hand as though to slap her, but dropped it with a grunt at her instead.
Sometimes a person, a man, would strike out rather than waiting to be struck himself. Robena thought this was Struan’s way now, for everyone here knew of his own son’s cruelty, and that Robena had been one of his victims—if a whore could be considered as such. Watching him now, she thought that their encounters only served to remind Struan of the terrible sins his now-deceased son had committed, which he had failed to stop. Something not many men would wish to remember or dwell upon.
She did not say a word more, for he was laird, and no one, especially not the village whore, could naysay him and escape unpunished. Even Rob’s intercession would not save her if Struan was intent on doing something. So, she did what a good whore would do—she bowed her head and made herself as small and unthreatening as possible as she walked the few paces left between her and the doors.
The winds caught her as she ran, past the stables, past the yard and out through the gate, toward the village. She did not stop until she reached her cottage and slammed the door closed. Leaning against it, she could not keep the tears from flowing.
The Lady Anice’s words about challenging the
boundaries of her life had shaken Robena in a way that surprised her. With no chance at children of her own, she had begun helping other women to birth theirs. The knowledge that Alesander’s attack had taken that possibility from her bothered her more and more with each passing year. At least her own mother had had Robena—for company, for help, for something to pass on after her death. Robena could have nothing, no one, like that.
She’d fought off the growing despair as the years passed, but it was getting harder to do it. She found joy, or rather enjoyment, where and with whom she could, and tried to ignore the deep sense of emptiness at the core of her soul. The thing that frightened her most was not that she’d lost her purpose, but that she was losing her hope for a life fulfilled.
* * *
He never saw the blow coming.
One moment Iain was dodging Rob’s punches and deflecting the strikes of Rob’s staff without much effort at all, and the next, Iain was eating the dirt of the yard. Loud laughter and raucous insults rang out across the yard at his defeat. His boasting that had preceded their bout did not help him now as he stood and brushed the dirt off his face and spat it from his mouth.
“What happened, old man?” Rob asked, smacking Iain on his back. “Ye said ye would triumph this time.” The knowing look in his eyes told Iain that his friend knew exactly what had happened. And, damn him, Rob would be right.
Just as he had positioned himself for that final attack, Iain had seen Robena come running out of the keep like the very Devil himself was chasing her. Head down, she did not look up or about as she ran past them and everyone else who had tasks or duties inside the walls. He’d turned his gaze to follow her path, and Rob had struck him down. He did not care that he lost, for it had happened before and would again, but he did care that something had happened to her within.
“What do you think happened?” he asked Rob. His friend did not deny witnessing her flight from the hall.
“Anice was headed to yer chamber with her clothing when I left her,” Rob explained.
That could not be the reason, for Anice had accepted Robena’s place in the clan and allowed her entrance into the hall when she wished. He shrugged.
“I dinna ken. But I do not like the way she ran away.”
“Ye can find out the reason later,” Rob said. “I’m guessing she willna join us for supper.”
“Though she is willing to do anything I ask of her”—he paused at Rob’s raised brow—“that is the one thing she will not do.” Iain let out his breath and shook his head.
“She keeps to herself, Iain. Well, she keeps to her own matters, and helps out the midwife when needed. Anice has rarely gotten her to take meals in the hall. I rarely speak to her because she fears someone might think the wrong thing.” Rob had grown up with her. Run wild as children with her. Loved her . . .
“And she wants for nothing?” he asked. How could a woman be part of a clan, part of a village, and yet not be? When Rob did not answer him, Iain glanced over to find his friend staring at him, his gaze narrow and direct.
“Why does this concern ye? She is here for yer comfort on yer visits. Why does the rest of her life matter to ye, as long as ye are not inconvenienced when ye are paying yer coin for her time?”
Iain could not explain his reaction then. Without warning he swung at Rob and knocked him back on his heels. Not giving him a chance to rebound, Iain swung again and again until Rob finally fought back. The sounds of the crowd gathering and shouting faded as he threw himself into this battle. This time he gave as good as he got against his younger opponent, and when he tackled Rob and held him down, the rage or confusion cleared and he saw the smirk on his friend’s face.
He pulled back his arm to deliver the final blow and realized that this had been the purpose of Rob’s words—to make him understand the truth of the matter.
It did matter. It did concern him. She concerned him.
“God damn ye to hell, Rob,” he said as he pushed himself off Rob and stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Ye ken.”
“She matters to ye, does she not?” Rob asked quietly, blowing hard from the exertion of the fight. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and spit. “Do ye wonder why?”
“Do not push this, Rob.” Iain turned away then, unwilling to show his uncertainty to his friend.
They turned as someone called out to Rob. Brodie, Rob’s other childhood friend and now one of his most loyal warriors, walked towards them. Iain thought to escape, but the man’s information kept him there. Something had happened at the mill that needed Rob’s attention. As Rob called out orders, Iain decided to join them. Physical labor had helped him sort through his dilemmas in the past, so he added his name to the group being sent to see to the matter. Within an hour, they were mounted and riding out of the keep towards the west.
And, in spite of Rob’s sly smile when Iain asked, he arranged to send a message to Robena about his absence.
Aye, she matters, he thought as he rode with the others towards the mill.
Chapter Five
Iain had forgotten how damned and bitterly cold the Highlands could be when winter moved in to stay. They’d reached the mill some miles from the keep to discover that an attack had left the miller and his son injured, sent his family into hiding and the mill itself damaged. Now, three days later, they were riding back to Dunnedin Keep after leaving guards in place and packing up the miller and his family to return with them. He let his thoughts drift to a warm place to sleep, a hot bath, and a cooked meal—simple things—things he’d missed these last days and nights.
More so, he’d missed Robena.
He told himself it was because he’d planned to spend these weeks with her. And that he knew she was waiting for him. None of those previous plans mattered now, for over the last few days he’d finally decided that he wanted her, and not as his whore. Not even as his leman.
As his . . . wife.
Oh, he was not ignoring the challenges to getting what—who—he wanted, for Iain did not delude himself into thinking this would be an easy matter to resolve. Many people would have their say, whether invited to or not, and many of his kith and kin would object and place obstacles in his path. Hell, if he was thinking straight, he would ken better than to take another step into the quagmire this would undoubtedly become.
As they rode through the village, Iain kept watch for her along the paths. She could be in any number of places, not expecting his return this day. When they’d arrived at the mill and inspected the damage, Rob had, at his request and with a great amount of smirking, sent word to her that Iain had accompanied him with the message that called for Pol, the blacksmith. Their path did not take them near to her cottage, so Iain would have to wait.
The lady stood waiting at the top of the steps leading into the keep, and servants took their horses and offered them cups of mulled wine. Anice ran this household better than even the most experienced commander of warriors did his men. He knew that she would have already made arrangements for everything they needed on their return.
“Food waits in yer chambers, to hold ye until supper,” she announced to the group. “And a hot bath.” Rob leaned in when he reached her, and Iain could tell what he’d asked from the blush that rose in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold winds swirling around them. “I have tasks to see to, Rob. Ye can wash yerself.”
She pushed Rob away with a playful slap on his arm and nodded her greeting to Iain. When he reached her, she touched his arm.
“A bath awaits ye, Iain,” she said.
“My thanks, Anice. My old bones would like nothing more than a long soak in a steaming tub.” He knew the lie in his words and what he’d omitted, and her gaze narrowed as he met it. She knew as well.
“Iain, I sent word to Robena, but she has not come.”
Knowing when Rob had sent word ahead to his wife, Iain understood that there had been plenty of time for word to reach Robena as well. Not attending him in his chambers was not due to a
lack of notice. Was it something else, then? Mayhap she tended to another birthing? Or was needed in some other matter?
Disappointed, Iain drank his wine, soaked in his bath until the water grew cold, and was dressed in time for supper. When he entered the hall and went to the table, he found his place had been moved, from next to Rob over to Struan’s other side, next to a woman he did not recognize. With a slight bow to the laird, he sat.
“This is my late wife’s sister, Gunna,” Struan said as Iain settled there. “She is visiting with us, but I dinna think ye have met before?”
“Nay, Struan, I think we have,” Iain said, in what he hoped was a pleasant voice. “Lady.” He nodded at the woman, who looked to be close to his own age.
“I met ye when I met yer brother,” the woman said. “’Twas some years ago, and I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
He remembered little about this woman, but did recollect that she was one of the four women under consideration to marry his brother a score and ten years ago. Though initially attracted to several of those brought for his inspection, Duncan had fallen in love with his Margaret at first glance and remained that way until his death.
“My thanks. He is missed even now,” Iain offered. Duncan was missed by all of his kith and kin, and his widow had not yet recovered from her grief. Iain doubted Margaret would. When he looked at Struan, Iain saw grief in the laird’s eyes as well, for Struan and Duncan had been fostered together, and had remained friends until Duncan’s passing. The laird had even sent his natural son to Duncan when he thought it necessary. A glance over at Rob told him that Rob had heard the words. “So, what brings ye to Dunnedin, lady?” he asked politely as he tried to push their talk back to a less painful topic.
A Highlander's Hope: A MacKendimen Clan Novella Page 4