Highland Wedding (12 page)

Her frustration turned upon Duncan MacLennon. The man had no real right to a vengeance. Iain had done no wrong. If the man felt a need to blame someone for the loss of his love he should look to Catalina’s family. They had been the ones who had taken her from him and forced her to wed another. Iain had but agreed to an arrangement between the families. From what she had heard and could easily guess, Iain had treated the bitter woman far better than any other man might.

She sighed again. All that made wonderful sense, but even if she ever had a chance to speak to MacLennon, the man would never heed it. His grief had turned him mad. Islaen suspected that he sought his own death as avidly as he sought Iain’s. She could understand the man’s madness, but she knew that would not help her find any forgiveness if he succeeded in murdering Iain. It could well be herself that next became some wild-
eyed assassin for she knew her grief would run far deeper than she could ever anticipate or want to. Although it upset her to think it, she knew she would crave the man’s death.

The irony of it all made her laugh bitterly. Iain sought to protect her from grief, yet that had been a lost cause almost from the moment she had seen him. Telling him was no good. She was sure he would then do whatever he could to kill the feelings he stirred in her. The way his mind worked she could almost guarantee it. To him it would probably seem the kindest thing to do. He would see the grief he caused her now as necessary to save her from a greater one later.

When he approached her she glared at him. She wanted to call him a fool, tell him of the pain he caused her now as he held himself away from her. It would gain her nothing, she was sure of it, but she thought it might make her feel better if only for a little while. She had swallowed so many words now, her belly ached from it.

“Someone has angered you?” Iain asked cautiously, noticing the glitter in her lovely eyes.

It was a supreme effort not to tell him just who but she mumbled, “My head throbs. It makes my mood sour.”

He smoothed his hand over her forehead. “Ye have had a long day. Mayhaps we should seek our bed.”

“How can ye do that?” she thought with an inner sad sigh, as she stared up at him. “How can ye stroke me with one hand, yet push me away with the other?” but only said, “Aye, t’would be best, if ye dinnae mind.”

“Nay, ’tis late and I feel weary myself. I will no doubt soon join ye.”

Nodding she quietly retreated to her bedchamber, leaving Iain to make her excuses. It had been a long exacting journey from the court to Caraidland and she was weary. The two had little to do with each other but she did not feel guilty about letting Iain tell that lie. It was better than telling the truth. She did not think it would endear her to her new kin by marriage if she told them she was retreating to her chambers before she gave into the strong urge to throttle Iain.

“Wheesht, didnae it go well, lass?” Meg asked as Islaen entered her chambers.

“If ye had joined the festivities ye could have seen for yourself,” Islaen answered crossly as she ungracefully flung herself upon the bed.

“T’wasnae my place.”

Islaen made a very rude noise and ignored Meg’s scolding look. With little cooperation she let Meg undress her. She knew she was being awkward, even sulking, but she made no effort to shake free of her mood. A little petulantly, she told herself that she had earned a good sulk.

“Och, lass, it maun have been verra bad for ye. ’Tis a rare mood ye are in,” Meg muttered as she started to brush Islaen’s hair.

“Meg, can ye hate a person e’en as ye love him?” Islaen asked quietly as she sat still beneath Meg’s ministrations.

“Of course ye can. I love ye, lass, and weel ye ken it, but there have been times when I was muckle pleased to strike ye. I ken little of the ways of men and women but I suspicion ’tis much the same. Loving a mon doesnae mean ye like all he does or says.”

“Nay, that would most like be impossible. Love just means that the bad things willnae drive ye away, willnae make ye leave.”

“What has the lad done now? ’Tis no wench, is it? Wheesht, I had thought we had
left that trouble behind us when we left that brothel called court.”

“Nay, ’tis not a wench. I would be little surprised an one is about, one that might cause me a worry, but she hasnae shown herself yet. I am hopeful that whatever wenches there may have been have turned their eyes elsewhere whilst Iain was at court and that they arenae the sort to ignore the boundaries of a lawful marriage. I am most weary of that sort of trouble.”

“Then what ails ye?”

“Oh, ’tis Iain. Ye are right in thinking that.”

“Ye cannot expect a locked heart to spring open with but one smile, lass.”

“I ken it. Such a thing takes work. I have come across another problem or so I think. Iain has not spoken of it to me, ’tis Storm who spoke of it, so mayhaps it doesnae exist. It seems Iain feels it would be cruel to try and win my heart.”

“Cruel? How so? Though I have little trust in men, I cannae feel he would abuse such a gift, not purposely.”

“Nay, he wouldnae, not e’en an he didnae return the love offered. He has too kind a heart, e’en an he does keep it well secured. In truth, what Storm said confirms that. She said he will ne’er woo me nor try to win my heart as long as death stalks him.”

“That madmon MacLennon.”

“Aye, him.”

“Death stalks us all, lass. A mon usually kens that weel. I dinnae understand this.”

“Neither do I. I would think ’tis because he cannae fight this, not weel. The mon is as hard to catch as smoke. He lurks in the shadows, e’er at the ready to strike without warning. ’Tis different than the normal way of things.”

“How can ye fight such a thing?”

“I cannae, can I, and therein lies the reason for my anger with the mon. He seeks to save me from grief. I cannae tell him ’tis too late for he would most like try all the harder to push me away, denying me e’en the little I can pull from him now. That I could not bear.”

Meg had little comfort or advice to offer, and was wise enough to know that she could do no more than be there in case she was needed.

When Iain entered their chambers Islaen only briefly thought of pretending to be asleep. She would not play his game, pulling into herself, turning cold and withdrawn. Islaen suspected she could not do so even if she really wanted to. It was against her nature. Simply not speaking of the love she had for him was as much as she could manage. Words she could swallow, even though they sometimes choked her, but all the other signs of her love she could not restrain. They came easily, without thought and denying any control.

When he pulled her close, his hands lightly stroking her she placed her hand over his heart and felt its quickening beat. It beat with the thrill of desire but she wanted it to beat with love. She wished she could reach beneath his taut skin and tear away the wall there. As the strength of her desire disrupted her thoughts she prayed that someday Iain would give as freely of his love as he did his passion.

A little out of breath, Islaen struggled to keep up with a preoccupied Iain’s long strides. She had thought that journeying with him to survey the estate her dowry had brought would be a good chance to be alone, would provide them with needed time together. Instead, she had tramped or, more exactly, trotted over the tower house and now the land, hurrying along after a man who only occasionally tossed a remark her way concerning something that needed repair. While she had as great an interest in their future home as he seemed to have she was starting to wish she had stayed home. Her feet certainly wished she had.

Iain frowned and stopped to stare at a crofter’s hut. They too could use some work. His father had always stressed the need to see that the crofters were well housed and content. If nothing else, it gave the people something they would fight to keep, enhanced their loyalty. When a laird took good care of even the lowest of his people, they fought to keep him as their laird.

Turning to tell Islaen this wisdom, he frowned even more. She was leaning against a tree, one hand upon her breast and breathing heavily. Although she looked delightfully disheveled and flushed, he felt a twinge of concern.

“If ye were feeling poorly mayhaps ye should have stayed behind,” he said as he moved nearer to her.

Islaen wondered if she had the strength left to bloody his nose. “I am not feeling poorly.”

“Are ye certain? Ye feel most warm,” he murmured as he felt her forehead.

“Running oft heats up a body.”

“Come now, I havenae made ye run.”

“Iain,” she said with a strong hint of exasperation as she sat down and tugged off her boot, “for each step ye take I must take at least two.” She stared at her foot, amazed that it was not coated heel to toe with blisters.

Biting back a smile, he knelt before her, his gaze fixed greedily upon the slim leg her raised skirts revealed. “I will remember to walk more slowly, sweeting. We wouldnae want ye to wear these lovely limbs down to the bone.”

“Iain,” she squeaked in protest when he began to slide his hand up her leg. “We are out in the open,” she gasped in shock, leaping to her feet, her back against the tree.

When he only grinned and reached for her, she took a hasty step to the side. Their playing was brought to an abrupt halt by the soft, deadly hiss of an approaching arrow. There was the sound of tearing cloth as the arrow cut through the sleeve of her gown, scoring the soft skin of her upper arm before it buried itself in the tree.

“Iain,” she rasped as she realized that, had the arrow arrived an instant earlier, it would have pinned her to the tree.

Cursing viciously, Iain grasped her by the ankles and roughly tumbled her to the ground even as a second arrow was sent at them. It sliced harmlessly through the space Islaen had occupied but a second before. Islaen said nothing as she was hurriedly and roughly yanked along, held close to the ground and Iain until they were sheltered behind two large trees growing close together.

“Ye cannae hide from justice forever, MacLagan.”

“Murdering this innocent lass isnae justice, MacLennon.”

“Aye, ’tis. I will take from ye as ye took from me.”

“Come out from hiding, MacLennon; face me mon to mon and let us have done with this.”

“Nay, a woman-killer deserves no such honour as a fair fight.”

Islaen pressed closer to Iain, trying in vain to soothe the sting of what Duncan MacLennon called him. She knew nothing she could do would shield Iain from MacLennon’s accusations, for Iain believed them. He would probably take little notice of the fact that she did not believe him guilty of the crime MacLennon sought to execute him for.

She shivered when an arrow slammed into the trees they huddled behind. The man had them at his mercy and his chilling laughter told them that he knew it. Just as she wondered why no one came to their aid, wondered if no one had had the wisdom to keep a close watch upon Iain, the sound of hoof-beats reached her ears. She was almost able to smile when she heard Phelan’s wild cry but her jubilation was dimmed by the sounds of hoofbeats rapidly retreating. MacLennon was yet again escaping. Islaen wanted to scream her frustration and could only guess at what Iain must feel.

Iain leapt to his feet. After one burning but thorough look at Islaen, he left her. Just as Phelan, Tavis and Iain’s squire, Murdo, reined in, Iain reached them. He dragged his brother from his horse and hurled himself into the saddle.

“Watch my wife,” he snarled as he spurred the horse into a gallop.

Islaen watched warily as Tavis stood up and brushed himself off. As he neared her she saw anger glittering in his eyes, but she had the feeling that none of it was directed at Iain’s abrupt handling. His gaze settled upon her arm and he hurriedly knelt at her side. It was only then that Islaen was aware of the sharp burning there and looked to see that she was bleeding.

“’Tis but a flesh wound,” she murmured as Tavis took the small water bag from his belt and dampened a handkerchief.

Glancing over her before concentrating on washing her wound, he asked, “Are ye sure?”

Gritting her teeth against the sting as he washed her cut, Islaen looked at herself, noticed the sad state of her gown and almost smiled. “Most of this damage was done when Iain dragged me to safety. His concern was for speed not gentleness. I willnae be surprised an I find a few bruises in the morn but naught else is wrong.”

“This was verra close, verra close,” Tavis muttered, then flashed her a brief smile before helping himself to a piece of her petticoat to use as a bandage. “I hadnae realized that he now stalks ye as weel.”

“He has taunted Iain with the promise of killing me but he has yet to attack me unless I am with Iain.” She frowned slightly. “’Tis true that he shot at me first though Iain was a clear target but methinks ’tis really only to taunt Iain. He wants Iain to see me murdered is what he says.” She decided there was no need to mention the threat of rape. “I began to fear that Iain wasnae watched and t’would be too late ere anyone came to aid us.”

“Iain has been closely watched since the first attack though I think he doesnae oft notice.”

As she thought about that her eyes widened. It only took a short search of her memory to see the truth of Tavis’s claim. Although never intrusive there had always been an armed man near Iain. The moment he was not in the company of others he was
shadowed by Murdo or one of his men-at-arms. She had thought it by Iain’s orders but now suspected otherwise. MacLennon had reached Iain at court, but only by coming in through a window so high up and treacherous it had been thought inaccessible. To a sane man it would have been so.

“Look out your window or chamber door some time in the middle of the night and ye will find well-armed mon.”

“They are muckle quiet about it.”

“Aye. We wish no complaint from Iain. After this day, ye too will acquire an extra shadow.”

“T’would be nice if they catch that madman so that there would be no need.” Her voice held little hope of that and she found none at all in Tavis’s solemn expression.

Iain studied the tracks at the edge of the gorge for the fifth time but there was no denying the message they relayed. “He leapt the gorge,” he muttered, amazement tinting his voice.

Phelan shook his head. “The man is quite mad. Do ye think he made it?”

“The only way to be sure is to go and look upon the other side.”

“Aye and by the time we ride around to that side it will matter little for he will be an hour gone.”

“Ye could always try the jump yourself.”

“I may lack some sense at times, my friend, but I am ne’er that great a fool.”

“He had a dead mon’s courage,” grumbled Murdo.

“Aye.” Iain shook his head. “He cares naught for life so laughs in death’s face as no sane mon would.”

“An’ he did not clear the gorge then he died in the waters below.”

“’T’would be cause for celebration if that is what happened, Phelan.”

“I will take the ride round to gain the answer. T’would be best if we can know one way or t’other. Best ye get back to your wife, Iain.” Phelan grinned faintly. “I should think she would prefer you to nurse her hurts.”

After watching Phelan ride off, Iain took one last look at the gorge and shivered faintly. How did one deal with a man mad enough to try such a jump? If he made it to the other side he did so upon the wings of luck alone. There would be no reasoning with a man who so clearly lacked all reason and fear. This could only end when one of them died.

When he reached Tavis and Islaen, Iain sighed. He could read the hope upon their faces. So too could he see that Islaen did not like to hope for a man’s death and cursed MacLennon for causing her that turmoil.

“He leapt the gorge,” Iain reported flatly. “Phelan goes now to see an he made it across or fell into the waters below.”

Tavis said nothing, simply shook his head. When Iain moved to dismount, Tavis shook his head again, silently urging Iain to stay where he was. After helping Islaen to mount in front of Iain, Tavis swung himself up behind Murdo.

Once back at their future home, Islaen and Iain mounted their own horses. Little was said as they headed back to Caraidland. Islaen was a little hurt by the way Iain ignored her. He had not even inquired about her wound, slight though it was. She understood what had put him into such a dark silent mood but it still pinched at her heart.

It also frightened her. She could almost hear the gates to his heart locking tighter than ever before. This attack would add weight to his beliefs.

Meg hurried her off to her chambers when they arrived at Caraidland. Partly she wished to join the others in the hall to hear all that was said or planned concerning MacLennon, but she was also more than willing to seek her bed and be coddled by a fretting Meg.

“’Tis but a scratch, lass,” Meg said as she tucked her in. “I dinnae think t’will e’en scar ye.”

“Ah, weel, if ’tis but a wee scar my freckles will hide it,” Islaen jested weakly.

“I dinnae understand why he seeks your death. Ye have done naught to the madmon. Ye didnae e’en ken that lass.”

“I am wed to Iain. ’Tis enough of a crime in that mon’s eyes. In truth, I am but something by which he can further hurt Iain. I hope he died in that gorge, may God forgive me.” She snuggled down beneath the covers. “Either that or those who now talk of him come up with a way to end his murderous attacks.”

Iain finished off his wine and refilled his tankard. He knew getting drunk was no solution but he needed to wash away the bitter taste of frustration. When Phelan entered the hall he tensed, only to curse viciously when the young man shook his head. He had not realized how badly he had wished to hear that the man had died at the bottom of the gorge. It would have denied him the pleasure of killing him, but it would also have put an end to the whole problem.

“I stared at the tracks for near to half an hour but there was no denying their message,” Phelan said wearily as he sat down and accepted a tankard of wine from Storm. “He made the jump.”

“Ye should have told us that he sought to kill the lass too.”

“Aye, I should have, Fither, but I didnae really believe it. I thought it but a taunt he used to make me act foolishly that night he attacked us. Aye, he cut her, but only when she sought to get my sword to me.”

“This time t’was no mere taunt.”

“Nay. Had she not suddenly moved he would have pinned her to the tree. The second arrow was also aimed at her but I pulled her out of the way. Both times I was a target it took no skill to hit. She is my wife and that is enough to draw his hate. He wants me to watch her die. He feels that will be fair payment for Catalina.”

“And then you.”

“Aye, and then me.” After a moment’s thought Iain decided to be completely honest. “He has also mentioned taking her before my eyes, preferably as I lay dying. That too would be to pay for Catalina, for bedding her.”

“There can be no softness towards the mon now,” Tavis said coldly.

“Nay. I have none. He cut all understanding from my heart when he cut Islaen that night, e’en though I had not yet come to see that he wanted her dead too. There is no reason for him to strike at her.”

“There is no reason for him to strike at ye either,” Storm snapped. “Ye take upon yourself a guilt that was ne’er yours.”

Iain smiled wearily. “We shall ne’er agree upon that. What matters here is that MacLennon blames me, seeks to kill me out of revenge for Catalina’s death and, most important, now includes Islaen in that vengence.”

“She will be watched,” Tavis stated firmly.

“As I have been?”

“I wasnae certain ye noticed.”

“I nay stumble o’er them all the time but ’tis hard not to see a constant shadow,” Iain drawled, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I best send word to her kin. They would cut the mon down e’en now ere they caught sight of him simply because he drew her blood, but ’tis important they know that he seeks her death. There will be e’en more eyes searching the shadows for the mon. It cannae hurt, though t’will no doubt anger her kin that I have brought such a danger upon her.”

“Did ye not say anything to them that night at court?”

“Aye, Storm, I did but then there was a reason for him to strike, as I have said.”

“I will go to them, Iain,” Phelan offered. “Ere the sun rises tomorrow, I will set out.”

“Go warily, Phelan. The English have raided there and may yet be causing trouble. Ye dinnae wish to find yourself in the midst of that sort of difficulty.”

“Nay, although,” he smiled faintly, “there are one or two English I should not grieve to cross swords with. But, aye, I will watch. Best ye give me something to identify me without any doubt. I am not a Scot, do not sound one, and, if trouble is still brewing, it could be costly for me.”

“We will send one of the men with ye as weel,” Tavis said. “Take who ye please, if we have any that can keep pace with ye, that is. And best an he speaks first. As ye said, ye are no Scot.”

“Ye are certain Islaen was not badly hurt?” Storm asked. “Mayhaps I should go and see her.”

“Nay, that old corbie, Meg, is with her. Islaen wasnae badly hurt.”