The Laird's Captive Wife (10 page)

‘That will suffice I think. In a few more days the marks will fade.’

Before she could reply their host appeared with a tray of food and Iain stepped away from her to greet him. Glad of the distraction she replaced the lid on the salve and tossed away the dirty water. When Iain turned back again she had herself under better control.

‘Time to eat, lass.’

The food was simple fare, bread and vegetable pottage, but it lined the stomach and warmed the body. By the time they had done it was dark and the only thing to do was retire. Iain spread a thick layer of clean straw in the only empty stall and then turned to Ashlynn.

‘Again, I regret the basic nature of the arrangements.’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

True enough, she thought, it really didn’t. One place was much like another now. Wrapping herself in her cloak she lay down. Iain retrieved his sword and unsheathed the blade. Then he too stretched out, laying the naked weapon beside him, the hilt by his hand. Having done that, he glanced across the intervening space and bade her goodnight.

He heard her reply and then the rustling of straw as she turned on her side. He had noticed that she always slept on her side. Drawing his cloak tighter he turned over too, taking care not to jar his injured arm. In truth he hardly felt it now. She had done a good job in tending him. More than that, he thought, but for her timely intervention today he’d likely have been food for the crows. No question but the lass had courage. She could have left him to die and seized the chance of freedom. Why hadn’t she? After his treatment of her thus far he could hardly have blamed her. Then he’d almost bitten her head off when she asked about Fitzurse. His jaw tightened. He should have dealt with it better but her question had taken him unawares and he was not used to sharing his thoughts with a woman. In truth it was not a subject he wanted to discuss at all. The memories it evoked were too bitter.

* * *

In spite of her weariness Ashlynn found sleep elusive for her mind was crowded with thoughts. What was Iain’s connection with Fitzurse? Some quarrel existed between them, but of what nature? Recalling his earlier response, she knew she wouldn’t dare ask again. He kept his secrets close. For a while that day it had seemed as though the barrier between them had been lowered a little, but she was wrong. It was still firmly in place. Why that should have mattered was unclear, but somehow it did. Suddenly she wanted to know what drove this man. What events in his past had made him who he was? Had Fitzurse had a hand in that? Likely she would never know for their present relationship would be of short duration.

For the first time Ashlynn thought ruefully of her masculine attire. She could not recall the last time she had washed or combed her hair or looked in a mirror. Self-consciously she raised a hand to the bruise on her cheek. It was tender to the touch and no doubt an ugly colour into the bargain. Hardly a face or form to charm a man. Almost at once she smiled in self-mockery. If Iain had wanted her before it was merely because she was there, the only possible choice, and darkness hid all defects anyway. Men had different needs, she had been told, and would satisfy them where they could. The thought was sobering. More than ever now she was glad that she had not yielded in a moment of madness. To be considered by any man as an easy victory would have been anathema, but for this man to think so would have been even worse somehow.

* * *

Much to Ashlynn’s relief the remainder of the journey passed uneventfully and they reached Jedburgh without further incident. At a fortified manor house about a mile from the town they made the rendezvous with Iain’s men. As they rode through the gateway and into the courtyard Dougal hastened forward to greet the returning chief, his weather-beaten face creasing in a smile. Iain returned it, stepping down from the horse and handing the reins to a groom. Ashlynn followed suit, watching as the two men shook hands.

‘It’s good to see you back, my lord. We’ve been looking out for your return these last two days.’

His gaze flicked to Ashlynn and in that brief glance she saw contained anger and disapproval. The same expression was evident on the faces of the men nearby. She swallowed hard, knowing their anger was merited. Her actions might have caused her death and Iain’s too, and while she could not suppose that hers would trouble them overmuch, their chief was a different matter.

If Iain was aware of the strained atmosphere he gave no sign of it.

‘It’s good to be back, Dougal.’

‘Did you encounter any Normans on the road, my lord?’

‘No, none.’

Ashlynn shot him a swift sideways glance. The answer was true as far as it went. Would he tell them of the encounter with the robber band? She dreaded to think how his men might react if they knew how close they had come to being leaderless. The knowledge of her folly returned with force. However, he made no reference to the incident and merely inquired of Dougal if all was well with the men. On receiving a reply in the affirmative he nodded.

‘Well, then, shall we go in?’

He steered her towards the house, his hand warm and strong under her elbow. Not so long ago she would have considered that touch intrusive. Now it felt strangely reassuring. Once inside she was escorted to a chamber not unlike the one at Hexham. Her grateful glance around took in a cheerful fire and, blessedly, a bed. Tonight at least she would not have to sleep in a draughty stable. Iain paused on the threshold and for a short space they surveyed each other in silence.

‘Is there anything you need, lass?’

Ashlynn glanced down at her clothes. Then, somewhat tentatively, she said, ‘I’d like to wash. Perhaps borrow a comb.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

When he had gone she unfastened her cloak and laid it over a chair. The thought of being clean was suddenly very appealing. In the enclosed space she was keenly aware of the smell of horse and leather emanating from her clothing. Every part of her felt grubby. How much she would have given for an hour in the bath house at Heslingfield. Unbidden tears pricked her eyelids and she forced them back, swallowing hard. No use to think of it. Heslingfield was gone, part of a past life.

The arrival of the maid was a welcome distraction and in a short time Ashlynn was provided with a large basin, a jug of hot water, soap, comb and linen towels. She regarded them with real pleasure and in moments had stripped off. Washing had to be done in parts but she scrubbed herself as well as she was able, starting with her hair and working downwards. It took a while but eventually every inch of her was clean and glowing. Then, wrapping a dry towel round her, she sat down before the fire and combed out her hair, easing out the numerous small tangles until it slid freely through the comb. Then she let the heat of the fire dry it. That done, she combed it again. Restored now to its normal lustre it fell in soft waves down her back. Rather anxiously she lifted the polished metal mirror from the table and examined her appearance. The cut lip was healing but a dark bruise marred the left cheekbone. Then she reflected that it would fade, in time. The bruise would be gone at least, if not the memory.

* * *

While Ashlynn had been busy thus, Iain had been checking on the disposition of men and horses. Later he rejoined Dougal and received a more detailed report of what had passed in his absence. He listened without interruption, and then nodded.

‘It is well. What of the injured?’

‘Making good progress, most of them.’

‘The Saxon youth?’

‘Still with us,’ said Dougal. ‘He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.’

‘Like sister like brother.’

‘The wench is spirited, I grant you, but she’s a headstrong troublesome little jade for all that. Did ye take your belt to her, ’twould be no more than her deserts.’

‘Dinna think I wasna tempted, but that same trouble some little jade saved my life two days since.’

Dougal stared at him. ‘Saved your life? How so?’

Iain furnished him with a brief account of what had happened during the robbers’ attack. The other heard him with mounting incredulity.

‘Well, I’m damned. With a sword, ye say?’

‘Aye, just so.’

The idea clearly appealed to the laird’s companion and he permitted himself a grudging smile. ‘A rare wench—for a Sassenach.’

‘That she is.’

‘Will she come with us to Glengarron?’

‘It depends.’

‘On what?’

‘The king’s will.’

‘You’ll discuss her case with Malcolm?’

‘Aye. The lass originally intended to go to Dunfermline. If the king wills it, she may yet.’

Even as he spoke, the thought jarred though he could not have said precisely why.

‘You’ll no sell her then?’ said Dougal.

‘No.’

‘Ach, well, whatever you say.’

Iain left his lieutenant a few minutes later and made his way back to the chamber where he had left Ashlynn. There were things they needed to discuss.

* * *

Ashlynn heard the knock and, having assumed it was the maid returning, bade the girl enter. It was a very different figure who stepped into the room. The sight brought her to her feet with a sharp intake of breath.

Iain checked abruptly, his smile fading as he stared at the figure standing by the hearth. Every vestige of boyish appearance was gone, to be replaced by a feminine vision that caused his heart to miss a beat. She was clad only in a thin linen sheet. It stopped short at breast and knee and, in between, the damp cloth had moulded itself to the curves of her body. Unbidden his imagination stripped it away and reminded him of what lay beneath, only mantled now with tawny hair that hung in a soft curling mass to her waist. Huge blue eyes met his.

‘My lord?’

She had never called him by that title before and it took him by surprise, not least because of the thoughts it engendered. Involuntarily he glanced at the bed across the room. Her lord? Hardly that, but, by God, if he were…Recollecting himself he cleared his throat and forced his thoughts back into line.

‘I beg your pardon, lass. I came to discuss something with you but it can wait awhile.’ He paused. ‘Do you have all you require for now?’

‘Thank you, yes.’

Ashlynn was aware that her face was glowing now with a lot more than the effects of soap and water; aware too of her present state of undress, and the disturbing nearness of the man. Nor could she fail to misinterpret the expression in the dark eyes. To her chagrin she saw him smile, a slow disconcerting smile that, though rare enough, did nothing to dispel her embarrassment. Clearly the rogue felt no such emotion. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself. With that realisation annoyance woke.

‘Are you going to stand there all day?’

‘It’s a tempting prospect, lass. You clean up rather well if I may say so.’

Ashlynn glared at him. His enjoyment grew. Under other circumstances he’d have seen that unspoken challenge well met. He indulged the fantasy another moment or two, and then reluctantly retraced his steps to the door. When he reached it he paused a moment on the threshold.

‘We dine in the hall with my men this evening. Until then, Ashlynn.’

With considerable relief she watched the door close behind him and then heard the sound of his retreating footsteps. With indignant haste she dressed again, heedless now whether her borrowed masculine attire smelled of horses or not. It occurred to her that it might be a good thing if it did. No man was likely to find that remotely attractive.

* * *

Iain made no mention of the incident when they met later, a fact for which she was grateful. However, when at length he had finished his meal and his cup was replenished, he leaned back in his chair and turned his attention towards her. Under that steady scrutiny the blood leapt in her veins.

‘We need to talk, lass.’

Recalling his earlier words she took a shrewd guess. ‘Business?’

‘Just so.’

‘Will yours keep you in Jedburgh long?’

‘No, another day only.’

For some reason she had not been expecting that. Managing to keep her voice steady she said, ‘And afterwards you will return to Glengarron.’

‘Aye. The weather will close in soon and I want to be back before it does. Besides, my men are keen to see their wives and families again.’

‘I see.’

‘You spoke once of wishing to go to Dunfermline,’ he said. ‘Is that still the case?’

Ashlynn’s heart beat a little faster. Now it was presented to her she was by no means certain it was what she wanted. However, to say so would make her sound indecisive and anyway there was no viable alternative plan.

‘I must get my living somehow and can think of no other way,’ she replied.

‘Then I will speak to the king on the matter.’

‘The king?’

‘Aye. ’Tis he whom I’ve come to meet.’

Her surprise was unfeigned. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

She stared at him, her mind struggling to assimilate the information. If the king agreed to the request then tomorrow would bring a parting of the ways with Iain. In all likelihood she would not see him again. Once that thought would have gladdened her beyond measure. Now several different emotions vied for supremacy as she considered the ramifications. Underlying them all was something harder to identify. However, he was watching her closely now, waiting for her answer. Taking a deep breath she nodded.

‘Very well.’

‘So be it,’ he replied. ‘Of course, the king may refuse.’

‘And if he does?’

‘Then you’ll come with us to Glengarron.’

‘Oh.’ It was a lame response and she knew it, but could think of no words that would have described her feeling just then. If Iain took her to Glengarron it could have only one ultimate outcome. To suppose anything else was naïve in the extreme. To think she had once regarded marriage as a problem!

Misinterpreting that reply entirely, he frowned. ‘Whatever is meant to be will be, lass, whether you want it to happen or not.’

* * *

They left for the rendezvous at dawn accompanied by an escort of six men. The cold was biting and grey mist curled in wreaths above the fields. Every branch and blade of grass was furred with hoar frost. Ashlynn did not ask where they were going; that would become clear soon enough. She had slept ill the previous night, her mind in turmoil, no longer certain of anything. Once or twice she glanced at the man beside her but his expression revealed nothing of his thought. Was he hoping that the king might grant her wish and take her to Dunfermline? Hoping that he might be rid of her for good? When she considered the trouble she had caused him already it would hardly be surprising. Once she would not have cared two straws for his opinion. Now, the thought of his disapproval was strangely discomforting.