“I find it hard to believe your husband would leave ye unattended for so long.”
“He has business with the king,” she said a little testily, trying to avoid his attempts to pin her against the wall.
“And so he leaves his bonnie wife all alone with naught to do. I could help ye pass the time,” he murmured huskily as he finally succeeded in getting her trapped between him and the wall.
Shock held Islaen still for a moment. She could not believe the man meant to kiss her or more right there in the crowded hall, yet it was clear that that was exactly what he meant to do. When he pressed his body close to hers, she shivered with revulsion and prepared to shove him away only to have him yanked free of her.
She saw that her rescuer was Alexander and was a little disappointed. It also surprised her that such a beautiful man could look so hard and threatening. Alexander held a now frightened Ronald by the back of the neck of his jupon and Islaen’s eyes widened a little when she saw that Ronald’s feet were several inches off the floor.
“I believe the lass has made it verra clear that she doesnae wish ye to help her pass the time.”
“Rescuing my wife?”
Islaen wondered how Iain had reached her side so quickly, then realized that he was not as unawares of where she was and what she was doing as she had thought.
“I wasnae sure that ye had seen that she was in need of it.”
“I could have managed,” she said defensively but neither man paid her any heed.
“I saw. The king wishes to speak to that.” Iain nodded towards Ronald.
Although she would not have thought it possible, Ronald went even paler and Alexander smiled coldly as he dragged the younger man off. She peered around Iain and watched the king signal Alexander and Ronald to follow him. It then came to Islaen’s attention that everyone was avidly watching them and she blushed deeply.
Iain stared at her and fought to control his anger before he spoke. Despite the whispered slurs of some of the women he knew Islaen had done nothing to draw Ronald’s attentions nor to make the man think they would be welcome. Many times he had wanted to step in when he saw the man or any other pursuing Islaen but he had held back. He believed it was best if she learned how to handle such matters on her own.
When Ronald had cornered her, Iain had not hesitated an instant. Even as he had leapt to his feet he had informed the king almost casually that he was going to kill his godson. Iain knew he would have, too, if not for Alexander’s presence. He could not help but wonder if Alexander had sensed it, and that was why the man had been that one step ahead of him. Such was Iain’s rage that he could not be sure he would even have given Ronald a chance to defend himself.
That rage bothered him. He realized he was failing in keeping a distance between himself and Islaen but he could see no way to do more than he was already doing. The girl was a witch, he decided crossly, effortlessly pulling him closer to her, bewitching him without seeming to even try. It was a dangerous bewitchment for he could see no way to successfully fight it.
Troubled by that thought his voice was almost accusing as he said, “Ye should have told me he was growing so troublesome.”
Hearing that accusation in his voice, Islaen grew angry. She saw no reason for her to be scolded just because some fool did not know how to heed a no. It struck her as being the very height of unfairness.
“I have been managing the fool verra weel on my own, thank ye,” she snapped.
“Oh, aye, so weel that he traps ye against the wall and paws ye with half a hall full of people looking on.”
Her hands clenching into fists, she glared at him. “He didnae paw me and I was just about to push the oaf away. The hall full of people werenae paying me any heed either, not until ye and Alexander made it all such a grand show. Aye and ’tis a fine show ye give them now as ye stand here and curse at me for what was none of my doing, nor my fault. Weel, I shallnae abide it. Nay, by God’s beard, I willnae.”
She kicked him firmly in the shins. His hissed curse of pain was music to her ears as she strode away. She headed straight for their chambers deciding she had had more than enough of the court and of men in particular.
Just about to follow his wife, Iain was confronted by her father who drawled, “Roused her temper, did ye?”
Still a little stunned by the quickness and strength of her anger, Iain said calmly, “A wee difference of opinion is all.”
“Of course,” Alaistair murmured. “I would wait a wee while ere ye go to her. Let her finish her bath.”
“She had a bath this morning,” Iain growled, not sure he appreciated the man telling him how to handle his wife.
“The lass always has a bath when she’s in a temper. She will be more pliable afterwards.”
Islaen paused in brushing her drying hair when Iain entered their chambers. Although she had not gone to their chambers expecting him to run after her, she did wonder why he had stayed away. Her bath had soothed her temper some but she found that she still felt somewhat insulted. He had acted as if she had welcomed Ronald’s loathsome attentions.
Iain saw her glance at him, then look away. Seeing her seated upon the bed, her luxurious hair hanging free and her slim legs well exposed by the simple shift she wore, he felt his lust stir but fought it. He owed her an apology and he did not need anyone’s advice to tell him it would be best to give her one before he tried anything else.
When he started to undress and snuff the candles, she put her brush aside and crawled beneath the covers, her back to him. Iain mused that he would probably not be able to do anything else anyways until he soothed her sense of insult. It occurred to him that it was a perfect opportunity to put some distance between them. All he had to do was nothing or possibly worse, demand his husbandly rights without even the faintest murmur of apology. Sighing as he crawled into bed beside her, he knew he would do neither if only because he did not want to be reduced to asserting his husbandly rights, he wanted them to make love.
When his arm slipped around her waist, Islaen tensed. She knew he could easily stir her passion despite her continued outrage but hoped that he would not.
“Islaen,” he murmured, kissing the back of her neck and feeling her tremble at his touch.
That sign of her susceptibility to his touch pleased him. She was clearly not one of those who could give or withhold her passion as she willed. If he wanted to, he could make love to her, taste her passion and not offer a word of apology. For reasons he did not really understand, that made it far easier to give her the apology she both wanted and deserved.
“Islaen, I am sorry. I was angry that he would dare paw ye, but he was taken out of reach of my anger so I turned it upon ye. I ken weel that ye didnae encourage the fool.”
Turning to face him, she said quietly, “Ye didnae really have to say it, ye ken.”
“Aye, I ken it. T’was why it was so easy to say, daft as that sounds.”
She laughed softly, then teased, “Ye said it because ye mean to do some pawing yourself, eh?”
“Pawing?” he growled in mock outrage and briefly tussled playfully with her as he removed her shift. “I ne’er paw.”
“And what do ye call it then?”
“Stroking.”
“Wheesht, there isnae a muckle lot of difference.”
“Nay? Weel, let me show ye. By morning ye will ken the difference weel, lass.”
Stretching langorously, Islaen watched her husband dress. He had fulfilled his threat, she thought with a softly lecherous smile. She knew well the difference between pawing and stroking as well as the subtleties of most any other sort of touch anyone wished to mention. When he came to give her a brief kiss, she twined her arms about his neck and persuaded him to give her a longer, fuller one.
“Do ye mean to linger abed all day?” he asked huskily, a little astonished at how easily she could arouse him especially when he should be well sated, even in need of a rest.
“Weel, I am nay sure I am quite clear on
a word or twa,” she murmured.
Almost grinning and wondering how she could look seductive and impish at the same time, he drawled, “Weel, I could take a moment to teach ye one more thing. This is a pat,” he said as he neatly flipped her over and gently patted her on her backside, “and this is a wee spank.” He gave her one not too hard slap and, laughing, loped out of the door.
“Wretch,” Islaen cried but by the time she had the pillow in her hands to throw at him the door was shutting behind him.
She sighed and got out of bed. Islaen felt no real eagerness to leave her chambers. In the night and often first thing in the morning, Iain was far from aloof and cool. He was passionate, talkative and sometimes teasing. Yet, by the time she joined him outside of their chambers in the morning, the mask was back in place and all his shields were up.
With a shrug of her shoulders she thrust away that wistfulness. She had seen what could be, saw it each time they lay in their bed shut away from the world. He was content then, she had no doubts about that. It was a start, a base she could build from. It bothered her a little to use her body and the passion they shared to break down his walls, but it worked and she was in no position to quibble over what methods she used.
Iain barely restrained himself from smiling at Islaen when she joined him at the table in the hall. Grinning at one’s bride like some besotted groom was not the way to keep her at a distance, he thought wryly. It was hard, though, to act aloof when his mind was still filled with clear and delicious memories of a passion-filled night. He knew he should try to hold himself apart even in their bed at night just as he knew he would never do that. As he had each night since their wedding he would find himself drawn to their bed by the promise of her passion and would find himself softening inside as she held him. He sometimes felt as if he were two men and could not help but wonder if he were equally confusing her. Iain thought a little wryly that that might be the way to keep her feelings for him from deepening.
Deciding Iain was going to be especially withdrawn today, Islaen allowed the queen to tow her off to where some of the women gathered. She collected her needlework and sat down with the others only to soon realize that needlework was not the real purpose of the gathering—gossip was. Some of the tales told shocked Islaen although she tried to hide that fact. It was difficult not to leap to the defense of some of the people whose names were being so completely blackened even if she did not know them at all. She began to get a headache as she tried to sort truth from rumour or lie.
“And here is something that will interest ye, Lady MacLagan.”
Resisting the childish urge to stick her tongue out at Lady Constance for the way the woman sneered her name, Islaen asked, “And what would that be?”
“Lady Mary Cameron arrived at court today. She used to be Mary Chisolm, ye ken.”
“Nay, I dinnae ken. The name means naught to me.”
“Weel, ye best learn it then.”
“Had I?”
“Aye, she is the woman Iain loved.”
“Ah, that one. He told me about her.”
“Did he tell ye she was a widow now?”
A chill ran down Islaen’s spine but she maintained her pose of calm disinterest. “Nay. It really doesnae concern us.”
Before Lady Constance could make the jeering remark that so clearly hovered upon her lips the queen changed the subject. Islaen breathed a silent sigh of relief.
As soon as she could do so without raising any suspicion that she was retreating, Islaen left the women. Once in her chambers she sprawled on the bed and quelled the sudden urge to scream in frustration. The last thing she needed was another problem. She knew Iain had told her that he did not love his old love anymore but she also knew that he could be mistaken. The flames of love could simply have been tamped down and, once confronted with the woman, flare back up again. The very thought of that hurt and Islaen gasped from the sharpness of it.
She was in love with the man, she decided a little sadly. It had been something she had suspected from the moment she had set eyes upon him, but she had tried, and succeeded, to not think about it too much. This very real threat made her face it squarely. None of the other problems had really threatened her with the loss of Iain’s love. She simply did not have it and had to fight to gain it. Now she faced the possibility that all she fought for could be handed to another.
Shaking her head in vigorous denial Islaen stood up. That might happen but it did not have to. She certainly would not simply stand back and let it happen, she decided firmly as she started for the hall, hoping she would get there before Lady Mary Cameron presented herself.
Iain looked around for his wife, frowning faintly when he was unable to spot her. He was just about to give into the urge to see if she had retired to their chambers when a hand tugged at his sleeve. When he saw who vied for his attention he almost gaped.
“Mary.”
“I wondered if ye would remember me. It has been four years.”
“Ye havenae changed at all,” he said quietly and felt a twinge of resentment over that fact.
When she had been given to another he had been devastated. It was then that he had started to close off his heart, determined never to feel that sort of pain again. He knew that had left its mark upon him. Mary did not look as if she had suffered at all despite being taken away from him, a man she had claimed to love more than life.
Mary studied the man she had once thought to wed until the richer more powerful Lord Cameron had asked for her hand. Age and the trials of life had added to Iain’s exciting looks. She felt her pulse quicken. The one thing she had really regretted was that she had never had Iain for a lover. At first she had had to save her maidenhead for her husband, and Iain had always treated her like the greatest of virgins. After her marriage he had been out of reach. She had never stopped wondering how he would be as a lover, however, and she intended to find out.
“Ye flatter me.”
“Nay, ye look the same as ye did when we parted. I have changed, though.”
She reached out to trail her finger over the scar upon his face. “It makes ye look attractively dangerous, Iain. Ye are wed?”
“Aye, but a fortnight ago. I was just about to seek her out.”
Islaen paused just inside the hall and frowned as she began to look for Iain. Despite his height it was not always easy to find him when the crowd thickened. It was at its thickest now for there was food in the offering.
“Looking for someone, love?”
Sparing a brief welcoming look for Alexander, Islaen nodded. “Iain, and should ye really be calling me love?”
“Mayhaps not but I think I will.”
“It may cause talk.”
“Aye, we will set the gossips’ tongues to wagging at both ends. T’will be most amusing.”
“Ye have a strange idea of fun, Alexander MacDubh.”
When she finally spotted Iain she tensed. A fulsome blonde stood very close to him. She was on the tall side for a woman, her shape one that Islaen was sure men desired, and she was both elegant and graceful. What truly frightened Islaen was the softening she could see in Iain’s face as he looked at the woman.
“Alexander, who is that woman with Iain?” she asked even though she felt sure she knew.
“What woman?” he asked with an overdone innocence.
“Ye ken what woman,” she said sternly.
“Lady Mary Cameron. Ye dinnae ken the woman.”
“Aye, I am afraid I do.” She looked at him after watching the woman stroke Iain’s face and smiled crookedly. “Weel, are ye going to tell me again that I neednae fash myself about the women?”
Chapter Eight
It was one of the hardest things she had ever done but Islaen did not ask Iain about Mary. She decided the best way to handle the matter was to trust Iain and, in truth, she did.
Mary, however, she did not trust one little bit. The woman would push until Iain fell. She was already doing it. Islaen wished she knew how far the
woman intended to go. Depending on how ruthless one was, a wife was not an insurmountable obstacle. Islaen had the feeling that Lady Mary could be very ruthless indeed.
Taking a long drink of wine, Islaen fought to keep her temper just as she had for the three nights since Lady Mary had arrived. She sat next to her husband but could have been miles away for all the notice he took. Mary had managed to usurp Lady Constance’s seat, and thus practically all of Iain’s attention. He seemed quite willing to give it too, she thought crossly. She told herself firmly that attention was all he was giving the woman and she ought to be grateful for that instead of sulking.
“Och, Iain, we are sorely neglecting your wee wife.”
Islaen wondered how big a scandal would be raised if she poured her wine over Mary’s elegantly coiffed head and sweetly said, “Iain’s wee wife is doing fine, thank ye.”
Iain looked at his wife thinking her voice just a little too sweet and was surprised at how flat and hard her eyes were. He knew he was neglecting her, lavishing far too much attention upon Mary, yet he could not seem to help himself. Neither the growing withdrawl of Islaen nor the increasingly belligerent glances of her brothers was enough to stop him. Mary was from a happier time, a time before his life had soured. He knew he could never really go back, yet he could not resist the urge to try to recapture a part of it.
“Aye, ye have Alexander, dinnae ye,” Lady Mary purred, then drew Iain into a discussion of a mutual acquaintance.
Frowning slightly, Islaen looked at Alexander and saw that he held the same suspicions she did about why Mary had said what she had. “Do ye really think that she would try that game?”
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