“Do ye never wish to stop this, Robena? To be something, someone, other than a who—who ye are?” She did not reply for a few long moments. “Did ye never want to marry and have bairns of yer own instead of helping other women have theirs?”
“I always thought I would, Iain. That I would find a man who would accept me.” She let out a sigh then, and closed her eyes. He should have taken it as a warning for her next words. “Since I canna have bairns, there are not many men who would want me as their wife.”
She spoke the words without feeling, and yet he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. Robena changed before his eyes, pulling back from him and moving away, becoming a stranger right before him. She stood then and walked over and sat in the chair. That she paused to grab up and put on her shift told him more about the true distance between them than he suspected she understood.
Iain pushed himself up to sit and watched her. Robena may have spoken the words as though they mattered not, as though she’d accepted the terrible declaration, but her reaction told him how much she felt the pain of it. He struggled as he confronted both his need to find one of those men to thrash, and his guilt for never having considered her true situation. Searching for the right words to say, she surprised him by finding them herself.
“I faced the truth of it many years ago, Iain. I just choose not to think on it much, or to speak of it,” she explained as she stared at the flames in the hearth instead of him. “In a way, it makes my life easier, considering . . .” She moved only her hand in a graceful turn to indicate her world, reminding him that he was in the cottage of the village harlot.
If he were honest with himself, it bothered him. Selfishly, he knew, for it upset his own plans and needs, too. He did want to marry again—he wanted to marry her, to keep her for himself, and he did want bairns. It took but one glance at the misery she lived with and tried to put aside for Iain to want to scream out at the unfairness of this. For her.
For her.
“Come,” he said softly. He straightened out the jumble of bedcovers and readied them for her return. “Ye will catch a chill sitting there.”
She stood, but remained there staring at the fire for several minutes before coming back to the pallet. He thought she might try to hold herself away from him, so he was pleased when she settled in his arms. He let a short while pass, during which neither of them slept, before broaching the topic again.
“Yer pardon, lass,” he whispered against her hair. “I had no right to bring that up.” He kissed her head. “My nephew says I can be worse than his own mother when it comes to meddling in matters not of my concern.”
The kiss on his chest was her reply. He would leave it at that for now, and try to sort out how he felt about this new twist. As the hours passed and her breathing fell into a slow, even pace, Iain lay there holding her close, unable to let her revelation go. A memory of the strange expression on Rob’s face at Iain’s mention of having bairns made him understand that others here knew about this.
When the sun rose and any doubts over his original intention were settled for him, Iain eased from Robena’s arms, having a care not to wake her, and made his way back to the keep. Rob could give him the answers and advice he needed. To ask Robena would simply cause her more pain.
And as a warrior, a man experienced in battle and strategy, Iain knew he needed to know as much as possible about his opponents, their strengths and their weaknesses. In this matter of marriage, he knew that this battle would be no less formidable than one played out on a field of war. Iain planned to win this, just as he had won others. When he found Rob in the stables, his friend’s grim expression told him that he’d been expected.
“Ye kenned?”
At Rob’s nod, he motioned for Iain to follow away from where men were carrying out their chores, and Iain followed. They walked out to the yard and stopped at the fence. No one was training there yet, so they could speak without being overheard.
“What did she tell ye?” Rob asked, leaning his arms on the top rail of the fence, not meeting Iain’s gaze.
“That she canna have bairns.” He shrugged. “There’s not much more to say after that.”
His friend stood in silence, not adding a word, until it struck Iain. There was so much more to this. Staring at the back of Rob’s head, Iain finally understood the question that had nagged at him about Robena’s situation in this village. The truth at the heart of how she survived as the harlot of Dunnedin.
“Ye are her protector.” Though spoken quietly, the accusation and the words and the possible truth within them made him want to howl out in anger and frustration. And jealousy. Did he still fuck her? Had Iain misread the relationship between them? Rob spun around and faced him, his answer there for Iain to read on his face.
“I am faithful to my wife, Iain. I have ever been, and will always be,” Rob ground out the words. “Ye dinna understand.”
In one single moment, all the incongruities formed a pattern in his mind. The way things were here. The way Robena was treated—by the villagers, by the men, by even the laird. Not like any village harlot Iain had ever known. Too many choices. Too much control. No whore had that much, unless there was a strong and powerful man who gave it to her.
“Ye are her protector,” he repeated, waiting for Rob to deny his part in this, all the while knowing he could not.
“Aye. Protector, but not lover.” Rob let out a breath at the admission. It still did not explain everything, but . . . “Anice and I are both her protectors.”
Iain knew there had been some great service provided by Robena to the Lady Anice when Rob had returned here from Dunbarton, which would explain her part in this. He stared at Rob, waiting for the rest to follow.
“Anice does it out of gratitude,” he said. “Robena offered her advice and good counsel when Anice first married me. ’Twas a time when she needed help that none but Robena could give.”
Iain had heard the rumors, or stories, even over in his village at the time when Anice had married Rob’s half-brother and ended up beaten and nearly dead on her wedding night. A wedding night such as that would have put any woman off the marriage bed, and yet Iain knew Anice and Rob were happy and content in their marriage now. Iain could imagine what kind of advice the lady had needed from the harlot, Rob’s former lover.
“And ye?” Iain asked. “Do ye stand in friendship to her?”
Iain could not ignore that the two had been friends for a long time. Rare for a man and woman. And though he’d like to overlook it, the fact was, Rob had shared her bed before he’d married Anice. Whatever words he’d been expecting, he did not expect the next ones.
“I protect her because ’tis my fault that she nearly died and that she willna ever bear children.” Rob’s face paled and his eyes grew bleak and empty. Or so Iain thought until he got a better look. Nay, they were filled with loathing and sorrow.
“Yer fault? How, Rob?” Surely his friend would never harm Robena, so what could have happened?
“On his—their—wedding night, Sandy sent his men to Robena, after allowing them to watch as he beat and . . . had . . . Anice. He suspected that Anice had betrayed him with another, and he punished her, nearly killing her that night.” Iain’s gut roiled at the story he was hearing now. “Then, Sandy turned them loose like a pack of wolves and sent them to slake their lust and needs on the whore he kenned was my friend.” Rob grimaced as he spoke and clenched his fists. “He paid them, paid his men, to see to her.” Rob spit in the dirt then, and Iain’s stomach heaved at the thought of what those men had done. “Because she was my friend, Iain.”
Iain had been in battle, and had seen the aftermath of brutality that could follow the euphoria or disappointment. But men full of drink, paid to do such a thing, defied everything he knew. And all because Rob’s half-brother was jealous of anything Rob had or did. Iain had seen it before Rob had been sent to Dunbarton to live and train with Iain’s brother Duncan. But now, he had to face the knowledge that two wo
men suffered because of the uncontrolled madness and jealousy of one man, and it sickened him—one whom he respected and one whom he loved.
Rob turned, leaned his back against the fence, and crossed his arms over his chest. As Iain stared off at the keep for a few moments before saying anything more, he struggled to resist the urge to retch.
“So, I have made certain that she chooses what will happen in her life. She doesna have to whore, but she has the freedom now to choose whom she fucks and who she doesna. The men here, the people, ken that I will see to any trouble that comes her way.”
Iain was proud of the young man who stood here now, and knew his brother would have been as well if Duncan had lived to see this.
“And if she wanted to leave here?” Iain asked.
“She can.” Rob turned to face him. “Do ye think to take her back with ye to Dunbarton?”
“Aye.”
One quiet word and his life had changed the moment he spoke it aloud to another. Now, ’twas not conjecture or private. Now, ’twas a possibility.
“And what has Robena said about it? Does she wish to leave?” It was Iain’s turn to remain silent. “Ye have not asked her, have ye?”
“Nay.”
“Ye have been here for days, Iain. When do ye think to tell her that ye want her to go back to Dunbarton?”
He’d had a plan in mind when he arrived—he would allow them to settle into the comfortable pattern they liked from previous visits first, and then he would ask her. But his time here was closer to its beginning than its end, so he thought there was plenty of time.
“I was going to ask her soon. Do ye think she will?” he asked. If anyone knew Robena, it was Rob.
“Anice might ken Robena’s mind on this, or mayhap Moira would. How will Jamie react to ye bringing a leman back with ye? Will that not put a pause in his plans to marry ye off? I would think that most prospective brides are put off by the presence of a man’s mistress.”
Iain realized the mistake immediately. Rob did not understand that Iain would be proposing marriage to Robena, not asking her to be his mistress.
“I want her to wife, Rob.”
If Rob’s face cracked and crumbled into dust, Iain would not be surprised. His expression took on the look of stone—cold and empty—as he stared at Iain as though he had not understood the words.
“Are ye daft, man?” Rob finally asked. “Have ye no idea of what lies ahead if ye try to take her to wife? Ye command The MacKillop’s men. Ye live in his keep. A whore will not be welcomed there.”
“I have thought of little else, Rob.” He spat out the words. “I have given my life and my service, first to my brother and then to his son. I have expected little or nothing in return but a place with my kin. I ken they cannot accept her openly. I ken she will not have an easy time of it. But, I want her. I want her as my wife.”
He’d almost not recognized the anger and the desire within him, and how much he’d decided his course, until he told Rob.
“And now? Does the knowledge that she cannot give ye bairns change yer thinking on it?”
Her words had given him pause, but they did not change wanting her. Or wanting to marry her. Rob’s explanation made his blood boil at the pain she must have suffered before learning of the loss of her ability to have bairns. Yet, from her own words and those of the villagers, she was nothing but kind to everyone. She still helped whoever needed her, she assisted women through their own travails of childbirth, and she still saw to the needs of the men she took to her bed.
“I admit that was a stumbling block. ’Twas something Elisabeth and I never did, and I regret it.” Iain shrugged and shook his head. “I have enough years in me that it is not the obstacle it might have been for a younger man.”
“That is what I thought when I asked her,” Rob said. He raised a brow at Iain’s glare. “When things looked hopeless with Anice, I asked Robena to marry me and return to Dunbarton to live, too,” he explained. “We were friends. We were lovers. I thought marriage would work between us, and that she would see the benefits to such an arrangement.” Rob glanced over and smiled at Iain, but the expression on his friend’s face was not one of mirth. He was not jesting about this. “Ye see how successful I was in gaining her hand in marriage.”
Since Rob and Anice had been married for nigh on five years, Iain understood it had been in the past. That fact did not prevent a fire of jealousy from flaring within him as Iain thought of that possibility now. Somehow, Robena plying her trade with men for coin did not bother him as much as it would if she loved them. Daft, aye. Mad, even, but that was how he felt about it.
“Ye were in love with Anice. Ye would not have married Robena.”
Rob shrugged then and stood away from the fence. Nodding at the men who entered the yard and the others making their way to and from the keep, it was clear that the more personal part of this discussion was over.
“Think carefully, my friend,” Rob warned. “If ye are serious about this offer, I will back ye in it.”
“I am, Rob,” Iain said.
“Do not hurt her, Iain. Others have. I have. But not again.”
Loud voices drew their attention, and he watched as Struan came out of the keep with Anice following. They were having some argument that he did not wish to be witness to, and, from the way Rob’s focus moved to them, it was one in which Rob needed to be involved.
“I will see you at supper,” Rob said, walking past Iain and towards the only woman who truly mattered to his friend.
“Nay. I’ll be in the village for a few days.”
His words brought Rob to a complete stop there. Turning back, he canted his head, staring at Iain.
“Do ye ken what yer doing, Iain? Have a care there.”
Then Rob strode off, his pace picking up as the argument or discussion did, and Iain made a quick escape back to the village. If he was lucky, she would still be warm and sleepy on the pallet and he could slide back in next to her and enjoy the morning in her arms.
Chapter Seven
Robena woke as Iain left. No matter his best efforts not to wake her, she missed his warmth as soon as he climbed from the pallet. It took a few minutes to dress and shake out and fold up the bedcovers. She shivered as she stepped out the back door of the cottage to bring in a bucket of water she’d left there. The icy layer was thicker than the last one, so she knew that the weather outside had taken a wintry turn. ’Twould not be long before snow covered the village and Dunnedin sank into the clutches of winter.
She inhaled the cold and clear morning air before ducking back inside and closing the door against the chill. Another shiver wracked her and she grabbed up a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. A few minutes’ effort and she had the fire burning brighter. When it began to warm, she dropped the blanket and went about the tasks that began the day for her. His absence confused her.
Was he gone for the whole of the day? Glancing in the corner, she saw that his bag was still there and mostly undisturbed. Wondering on his plans would do her no good, so she put a pot on the hook over the growing fire and filled it with some of the water. She would make enough porridge so there was plenty for him if he did come back soon, and if he did not, she could eat it through the day or store it for the next morning.
The purposeful strides crunching over the frozen grass of the path to her cottage made her turn and wait as the visitor approached. The steps slowed and then stopped. Very slowly and quietly, the latch of the door lifted and the door inched open. When Iain’s face came into view, she smiled as he frowned.
“Damn!” he said as he entered quickly and pushed the door closed behind him. “I was hoping to find ye yet asleep under the covers.” He rubbed his massive hands together and blew on them. “The air is much colder today. And it feels like snow is approaching.”
“The water will be ready soon, and I will make some hot tea—a concoction that Moira favors—that will warm ye from the inside out,” she offered.
Standing u
p after checking the not-boiling water, she pushed her hair out of her face and back over her shoulders. The silence alerted her first. He stood by the door, not moving now, just staring at her.
“Come here, lass,” he said in a soft voice.
Robena walked to where he stood, and he opened his arms to her. Embracing her, he leaned his chin on her head and rubbed down over her back. She may have sighed aloud at the comfort of it. When he laughed, the rumble of it spreading out through his chest so she could feel it next to her face, she understood she had sighed loud enough for him to hear.
“I canna help it, Iain. Ye are a warm man on a cold morning,” she admitted. When she would have stepped away, he held her close.
“I needed to speak to Rob,” he said. “Or I would not have risked freezing my bollocks off outside.”
“Dinna risk yer bollocks, Iain,” she said, laughing then.
Now he let her free and she went over to the hearth. After moving the pot for the tea closer to the flames to warm, she went to get the crushed betony leaves from the shelves. He was behind her, reaching over her head to get the jar down for her.
Over the next short while, this give-and-take continued as he wordlessly helped her make the tea, stir the porridge, and ready the bowls and cups to break their fast. If truth be told, this was one of her most treasured things about the time they spent together. On mornings like this one, and the ones like this that they’d shared over the last five years, she could almost pretend that their life was something different than it was.
As they moved around each other, sharing gentle touches as they carried out the menial and usual tasks of the morning, Robena could almost let herself believe they were man and wife rather than a man and his whore. The revelation of last night was nowhere to be found between them now. They fell back into the comfortable pattern that had developed during his longer visits, and the morning meal passed in companionable ease.
“I have been helping Moira out several mornings a week, Iain. Would ye like to come with me?” She watched as he considered her words. “Or we can stay here, if ye’d rather?”
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