In spite of the probable time, Iain snored loudly at her side, sleeping soundly through the sun’s rising and the knock at the door.
Iain gave no sign of leaving.
Creeping from the pallet, she pulled on her gown as quietly as she could before opening the door a scant inch to see who waited there.
“Mam says she needs ye, Robena,” a soft voice whispered from outside. Daring to push the door a bit more, she found the midwife’s youngest daughter standing there. “Anna’s and Margaret’s bairns are coming and Mam needs to be with Anna.” Two young women giving birth to their first bairns, and the midwife could only be with one—the one who needed her skills more.
Robena glanced over her shoulder to where Iain slept. Though he’d never remained here after a night together, he showed no sign of waking or leaving now. Torn between angering him or ignoring this call for her help, Robena nodded at the lass.
“I will go to Margaret’s,” she said. The girl scampered off down the path, returning to her mother with word of Robena’s attendance where she was needed.
Closing the door as quietly as she could manage, Robena picked up her clothing and dressed. Gathering her hair up, she wove a braid to keep it under control during the coming hours. Looking around, she knew there was nothing more to bring. If the birth went as it should, only water and cloths would be needed.
A snore echoed, reminding her of the man in her bed.
Deciding not to wake him, she grabbed her cloak and left quickly. She made her way through the village and down the path to Margaret’s cottage, and found the young woman inside with her husband Conran and her sister-by-marriage. Nodding at those two, she untied her cloak.
“How do ye fare, Margaret?” she asked, tossing her cloak over a chair and walking towards her. One glance at the young woman told Robena what she needed to know. “Torra, how long has it been?”
“Since last night after supper,” Conran offered first. His nervous gaze flitted from his wife to Robena to his sister, and then back to Margaret.
“Conran, this may take time,” Robena said, taking hold of the man’s arm. “Mayhap ye should go about yer business and we can send word when it is time?”
“If ye think . . .” The man’s expression showed both fear and relief at her words. “Margaret?”
“Aye, Conran. Go.” Margaret gave a trembling smile to her husband and nodded at the door. “Robena will see to things here.”
Conran, bless him, rushed to Margaret and kissed her before leaving. His whispered words of love were loud enough for them all to hear, and made Robena’s eyes water with emotion. Then the young man rushed out so quickly that they just stared at the door for a moment before laughing.
“Will it take long?” Margaret asked as Robena went to her and helped her to the pallet.
“Nay, but I thought it best to make Conran think so.” A hand on Margaret’s belly warned her of the contraction within and told her of the strength and duration of it. “I suspect this bairn will be born before midday.” Margaret frowned and glanced at Torra, who shrugged in reply. “What is the matter?”
“Robena, ’tis past midday now. Mayhap ye meant sunset?”
Stunned, she sat back on her heels and shook her head. “It canna be. I never sleep past sunrise.”
Now Margaret and Torra smiled knowingly at her. They knew Iain had visited her last night. That he was there in her cottage even now.
“Sometimes our work wears us out,” Torra said, winking at Robena. “And a fine man like that would certainly do so.” Torra was a young widow who had lost her husband a year or so ago. And, according to the praise Torra expressed for him, he had been a fine man.
“Come now,” she warned, easing Margaret onto her side. “Neither of ye should be lying to me about the time of day.”
It simply could not be as late as they said.
But, as the hours passed and Margaret’s bairn pushed his way into the world, the growing shadows outside bore out the truth of their words. Only when the mother and bairn had been seen to did she allow herself to worry over Iain’s reaction to waking in her empty cottage alone. Now, as night approached, Robena wondered if he had returned to the keep or yet remained in the village.
“I will go fetch Conran,” she said, once the bairn was nursing well at his mother’s breast. Stretching to ease the tightness in her back, she grabbed her cloak. “I will send word to Daracha of the bairn and return in the morn to see ye.”
“I will see to them,” Torra promised.
Robena did not bother to put her cloak on then, for the hours in the overly heated cottage had left her hot and sweating. A short time in the cold would be a relief. With a farewell nod to the women, she pushed open the door and found Iain there with Conran.
“See, Conran? She smiles, so all must be well,” Iain said. She did not realize she’d smiled, but she had.
“Aye, all is well, Conran. Go and see yer wife and . . . child,” she said, not wishing to spoil Margaret’s chance to tell her husband of their son. Robena waited until Conran had entered before looking at Iain. His expression told her little about his disposition at this moment.
“I . . .”
“Ye didna tell me about this when ye told me all the other news of the villagers,” he said. And still she could not read his intent or his temperament.
He lifted her cloak from her arm and tossed it around her shoulders. She shivered as the cold air seeped through the sweaty dampness in her gown. He tugged the edges of it together and then pulled her to him. Iain studied her face before leaning down and kissing her softly on her mouth. The rumbling in her belly was loud enough for them both to hear. His smile, broad and genuine, made something within her warm and tingly.
“Have ye not eaten, lass?” he asked as he eased his hold on her cloak.
“I was busy with other matters, and there never seemed a good time to,” she explained. “I beg yer pardon for leaving ye there without a word.” He placed the pad of his finger over her lips before she could say anything else.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to his horse. “Rob said to bring ye in—to the kitchen, if ye protest entering the hall—for a meal.”
Too exhausted to fight him, she allowed him to mount and to lift her up behind him. She might have slept along the way; up the road, then up the hill into the keep. The gates would be closing soon, so she could not tarry here. When they stopped, Iain handed her down first and then climbed down. A boy, alerted by some watchful guard, stood ready to take care of Iain’s horse.
She did not remember much about the food, except that it was hot and well-seasoned and plentiful. Iain sat across from her, pushing chunks of bread to her in between spoonfuls of the thick soup. A cup of mulled cider was filled each time she took a sip. Iain played the servant well, but she felt guilty that he did. He was paying her for services, not the other way around, and she had failed to see to his needs.
And she would have, except that the weariness took over as the thrill of assisting in a successful birth waned. The next thing she saw was the sunlight peeking through the wooden shutter of the window in . . . Iain’s chamber!
The bed was empty but for her, and she pushed the bedcovers back, sliding from the warm cocoon into the chill air of the morning. If there had been a fire to keep the cold at bay, it had long ago gone out, and now she could see her breath in the air before her. She gasped as her bare feet touched the frigid stone floor. At the sound of the door opening, she jumped back into the bed and pulled the blankets to her chin.
Iain opened the door wide and allowed a stream of servants to come into the chamber. Some carried food and drink. Some carried buckets of steaming water, and others brought drying cloths and soap and other necessary things for a bath. When she would have protested, he glared at her.
“Say not a word, Robena,” he ordered, and his stern tone caught the attention of the servants, too. “Finish,” he said to them.
It took but a few minutes before a
meal was set on the table in the corner, the fire was fed and stoked, and a bath sat steaming near the fire. She knew that Anice’s household was efficient and thorough, but this gave her a new appreciation of them. When the last of them left, Iain closed the door and dropped the latch. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked to her.
“Eat or bathe first?” His voice was deep, almost a growl, as he asked her to choose.
“What? Iain, I canna . . .” He covered the distance between the door and bed in three long strides and stood over her now. She knew what he was trying to do—frighten her into doing his bidding in this—yet she did not fear his strength in that way.
“Eat or bathe, Robena?” he asked once more. “Or should I decide for ye?”
Before she could utter a sound, he tugged the bedcovers from her grip, tossed them aside, and lifted her in his arms. His body gave off enough heat to keep her warm as he walked away from the bed towards the tub, his intent clear to her now. Even knowing how it would feel, she could not prevent the sigh of pure bliss that escaped as he lowered her into the heated water. She did not move, not wishing to get him wet, as he placed her there and stood back.
The warmth surrounded her, easing the tightness in her back and legs. She may have sighed again, or it may have been a moan, but his laughter told her the sound had been heard. She allowed herself a short while to enjoy it, a very short while, before remembering the reason she was here.
“Would ye like to join me?” she asked. “The tub could hold us both.”
When he tugged his shirt off, she thought he would do just that—climb in with her. Instead, he knelt at the end of the very large wooden tub where her head rested and lifted the jar of soap to the edge.
“Wet yer hair, lass.”
She glanced at him once more over her shoulder before complying. His strong fingers spread the soap into her hair, and she closed her eyes as he not only washed her hair but also rubbed her sore shoulders and neck. When his hands slipped over her skin and nearer to her breasts, she felt the tips tighten in the hot water. The circling motions moved lower onto her breasts and she arched, baring and offering them to him.
When his actions remained those of simply bathing her, she wondered at it. He pushed her forward and twisted the length of her hair around his hand, then sculpted it on top of her head to keep it out of the water. Once again, with strong and gentle fingers, he scrubbed her back, pressing on the places that ached the most.
“If yer going to continue in this, lass, ye need to have a care for yerself,” he said softly.
Robena completely misunderstood his words. Iain could tell from the way she turned to stare at him. Shock and disbelief filled her eyes, darkening the usual bright green to something like the color of the forests at dusk. She thought him advising her on being a whore? Iain laughed, resting his elbows on the edge of the tub now, as understanding entered her gaze.
“Oh,” she said with a shrug. “’Tis a bit harder bringing a bairn into the world than bringing a man to his pleasure.” His flesh responded to her words and she glanced over the tub at the tenting of his plaid. “Just so.”
Iain ignored the call of his body and moved to the side of the tub, holding out his hand for her to lift a leg into his grasp. Spreading the soap over her thigh, over her knee, down to her shapely ankle, he knew he could have her the moment he indicated it was his wish to do so. Mayhap that was why the frantic need that had assailed him for weeks was now tempered? Having her at hand made it easier to control his desire, because she was his—his indeed for the taking.
“When did you begin helping with births?” He did not miss an arousing view of the curls between her legs as she moved the one leg back into the water and held the other up to him.
“Just after yer last visit here in the summer,” she explained. “Moira is taken with her duties as healer and seeing to her own wee uns.” Moira’s lasses had just four or five years to them and were a handful, he knew. “Daracha needs help tending to some of the women, so I help.” She reached out and placed her hand on his. “I do beg yer pardon for leaving ye without word this morn. I ken ye are paying . . . that I am yers to serve ye as ye wish—”
“Robena.” He could not help that his voice came out harshly at first. “Surely ye ken me better than that?” He rinsed the soap from his hands and stood, saddened somehow that she would think him so uncaring about the travails of a woman giving birth. Or any other reason that she thought important enough to leave her cottage, whether on a cold winter’s morn or whenever. “If ye think that I hold my comfort higher than tending to a woman in childbirth, then . . .” Iain let his words trail off as he grabbed up a drying cloth and wiped the water off his skin.
Women died in childbirth—it was the most dangerous thing a woman could do. It was something he had always feared as a possibility of Elisabeth carrying his child. His own sister had died of it, and so many others among his kith and kin. The splashing water drew his attention back to the tub and the woman in it.
“I was surprised that ye were gone, that is all. Worried a bit about what could be so important to ye, if truth be told.” He walked back closer and unraveled her hair. A bucket stood near the fire for a final rinsing. “Then Anice told me that ye had been called to Conlan’s wife.” He held out his hand to help her stand then. She turned her back to him and he poured the hot water slowly over her head, watching as it sluiced over every inch of her skin. “So I waited, thinking ye would be hungry or tired.”
Robena turned then and wiped the water from her eyes. She smiled and nodded.
“Aye, I was both of those.” He shook out the larger drying cloth and held it out to her. As she wrapped it around her, he did the same with a smaller one around her hair. “I thank ye for seeing to me, last night and now with this.” She tucked in the one cloth and rubbed her hair with the other. “This was a wonderful and unexpected gift.”
She stepped up to him, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Full of warmth, he wished he had more time to accept the promise in the touch of her mouth, the way she rested her hand on his hip. If it would convince her to stay here, he would promise her a bath daily.
He, or rather his randy flesh, had just decided that his presence would not be missed in the yard where the men were training, when a loud knock on the door warned him otherwise. Rob gave that scant warning before he pulled the door open and yelled. Though Iain knew she was comfortable in her nakedness, he stepped between her and the door, not wishing to expose her to Rob’s gaze now.
“Come on, Iain. Ye have had enough time to see to this,” Rob called out. “The weather is holding for now, so ye canna avoid being beaten into the ground any longer.”
Iain dropped his head back and laughed at the words that were both a challenge and an insult at the same time.
“Have a care, pup,” Iain warned his friend. “I may have more years than ye, but I also have more years of practice in teaching young ones a lesson.”
As he glanced over his shoulder at her, Robena let the towel around her hair drop, and Iain was tempted, very tempted, to slam the door and remain with her. With a wicked gleam in her lovely blue eyes, she smiled and nodded.
“I think he needs a lesson about disrespect, Iain,” she said.
Cursing, Rob pulled the door closed and left them, his taunting message delivered.
“Iain, I am very grateful for ye seeing to my needs, both last night and in arranging this bath,” she said.
He had enjoyed taking care of her, for she gave him little opportunity to do so. After he’d kept her awake for most of the night, she’d gone off and helped a woman give birth, spending almost the entire day assisting Conlan’s wife. From what Conlan had revealed, she’d done this for almost a dozen women in the village over the last few months. For a woman who’d never given birth herself, he thought it both brave and selfless of her.
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 k
in 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.
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