The Laird's Captive Wife (13 page)

‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

‘No. I thank you.’

The servant withdrew then and Ashlynn was left alone. Once more her sombre gaze took in the details of the room and for the first time noticed the door, partially concealed by shadow, in the side wall. When she tried the handle it didn’t budge. She wondered what lay on the far side—a store room perhaps. It was of no importance and there would be time enough to find out later. In the meantime she needed to get away from this chamber. She let herself out but, instead of retracing her steps along the way she had originally come, set off in the other direction. It brought her at length to another narrow wooden door. This one was unlocked and yielded quite easily when tried. It led out on to a short flight of steps and thence up to a flat roof area at the top of the tower. Dusk was drawing in. In a little while it would be full dark.

The knowledge did nothing to lighten her mood. Wrapping the cloak closer around her Ashlynn moved to the crenellated wall and peered out between the stone merlons, but there was little to be seen save snow and swirling white mist. She recalled what Iain had said about the weather closing in. Soon they would all be its prisoners. She felt as one standing at the edge of the world in some uncharted waste, a place where different rules obtained and where, just out of view, lurked unspecified dangers. It was very cold out on this exposed place and far from an ideal refuge, but she didn’t want to return to her chamber and certainly had no intention of going down to that filthy, cheerless hall where there was a better-than-even chance of meeting her husband.

Now that he had intruded on her thoughts again she found him harder to dismiss than she would have liked. He had told her that he had never forced a woman, but she wasn’t naïve enough to think that would hold good for marriage too. It was a husband’s right to take his wife whenever it pleased him. She knew full well that it would please him. Involuntarily her mind returned to the great fur-strewn bed. How would it be to lie with him, to yield completely to his will? The memory of the hayloft returned with all its startling intimacy: the warmth of his body against hers, his kisses hot along her throat, the touch of his hands on her naked flesh…

Ashlynn forced the thoughts away even as her mind reiterated the truth. She was not indifferent to him. That was the worst of it. For men the marriage bed was not about emotion, only a necessity for the getting of heirs. For a woman it was different. Where there was any kind of initial attraction, such intimacy would invariably lead to stronger feelings; in this case, feelings that were not reciprocated. Iain had married her at the king’s command, but the human heart could not be commanded. She would be the means by which he sired his heirs, nothing more. Her wishes had counted for nothing in the face of the king’s will. She was effectively Glengarron’s prisoner but, unlike other prisoners of rank, no ransom would ever buy her freedom. She was tied to this man and to this God-forsaken place for good. In any case, even if she did have her freedom, there was nothing to go back to. Whichever way she looked at it the future seemed every bit as bleak as the landscape around.

* * *

Just then the subject of her thoughts was checking on the comfort and condition of his injured men. Iain had made it a rule never to leave an injured man behind to die of cold or wounds, or to fall victim to scum like William’s mercenaries. A long and bumpy journey in the back of a wagon was painful and undesirable, but not as bad as the alternative, and all the injured had received good tending at Jedburgh. Iain guessed that if they had survived so far they’d likely live to tell the tale. He stood now looking down at the face of the young man on the pallet before him. For all the waxen pallor of cheeks and brow the Saxon was a good-looking youth and well made too.

‘How is he?’

The old woman, who had been examining her patient carefully glanced up for a moment, regarding the laird with cool grey eyes.

‘He’s lucky to be alive with those wounds and such a bad knock on the head withal. ’Tis small wonder he has a fever.’

‘Will he pull through it?’

‘He’s young, and clearly of a strong constitution or he’d not have lived thus long. God willing, he may yet survive.’

‘Tend him well.’

‘Depend on it, my lord.’

He nodded. If anyone was going to save the youth it was she. None in Glengarron knew more about healing than Meg. He just had to hope his faith in her would be justified now as it had been so many times before. He continued his round of the injured, stopping here and there to have a quiet word or to put a reassuring hand on a shoulder.

* * *

By the time he finished it was dark and the courtyard covered in glittering rime. In a day or two the snow would come in earnest. They had returned to Glengarron just in time. Fitzurse was lost to him for the moment, but there were compensations: a less arduous regime, hot food, roaring fires and a comfortable bed.

That last turned his thoughts in another direction and he sighed. The immediate future was hardly calculated to fill him with unalloyed delight. His new bride was angry and resentful and, behind that brave front she wore, more than a little afraid. He could well understand the reason for it. However, he was her protector now whether she liked it or not. God knew she needed one. As he recalled the bruises on her face his anger resurfaced. He had no time for the kind of brutality that entailed. No man worthy of the name indulged his strength in such a way against a woman. If nothing else their marriage had put an end to that. No man would ever touch her again, save he.

He had arranged for them to dine alone together in a private chamber prepared for the purpose. It was much warmer than the hall and permitted of greater intimacy. Besides, he knew that his wife wasn’t ready to run the public gauntlet just yet and there would be time enough to let the inhabitants of Glengarron see their new lady. Stories would be circulating like wildfire as it was for many of his men had wives and families all too eager for the latest gossip, and the laird’s unexpected marriage was the juiciest morsel in years.

For a while he warmed himself by the fire in the hall holding his hands to the blaze. The light shone on the gold thumb ring, giving the metal a reddish lustre: the colour of passion. He grim-aced. A forced match was hardly likely to be the precursor to passion and yet twice, briefly, there had been a spark between them. For a moment the memory of the hayloft returned to tease him. He could not deny the attraction he had felt. Could the spark be rekindled? In a little while he would know the answer.

* * *

It had been in Ashlynn’s mind to refuse when a manservant came to announce that the evening meal was served. However, a moment’s reflection was sufficient to let her see the lack of wisdom in this, for though she had only known him a short time it was long enough to be sure that Iain would fetch her himself if she denied him her presence. Accordingly she followed the servant obediently, expecting that he would lead her to the hall. Instead she found herself in the chamber next to her own. Her husband was waiting for her.

For the space of several heartbeats they faced each other. Ashlynn saw that he had changed his clothes and now wore dark hose and a tunic of crimson wool, belted at the waist and richly embroidered at neck and sleeves, the colour a perfect foil for his dark hair and eyes. Those eyes were now fixed on her, and she was forcibly reminded of the shortcomings of her current attire. However, he seemed to find nothing amiss for he smiled faintly and bowed low over her hand.

‘Come and sit down, Ashlynn.’

In fact, Iain had temporarily forgotten that his wife had no other garments besides the borrowed ones she had been wearing. He guessed that Morag had attempted to remedy the matter for the brown woollen gown was clearly a servant’s garb. It was also too big and tended to conceal her figure rather than emphasise it. He eyed it with quiet disfavour, realising it was a matter he was going to have to address in due course.

Unable to follow his thought, she felt herself redden, feeling unwontedly self-conscious. The recollection of her bruised cheek and cut lip only intensified the feeling. Rarely had she appeared to such disadvantage and certainly never before a man. Not just any man either. She was more than ever aware of that handsome charismatic presence and it made her feel awkward. He on the other hand seemed quite at ease and led her now to the table.

Although she still had little appetite she was glad of the business of dining for it kept him at a safe distance. She had no real idea of what she ate that evening but she took her time, dreading the moment when the meal would be over and the atmosphere of cosiness would become intimacy. Covertly she looked around at the appointments of the chamber. It was comfortable enough but practical too, a man’s room. She could see a doorway leading off it and guessed with a feeling of mounting dread that beyond it lay his bedchamber. It was then she realised where the locked door in her own room led to.

Iain settled himself back in his chair, his hand toying with his wine goblet. He had taken several of these with the meal but the wine appeared to have touched him not at all. He surveyed her keenly now, the dark eyes shrewd. Ashlynn bridled instantly.

‘Must you stare at me like that?’ she asked.

‘Does it displease you then that a man should look at you?’

To answer yes or no would have been equally ridiculous and she said nothing.

‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘I know it isn’t the first time. You told me yourself that you’d had admirers.’

Admirers yes, she thought, but none with the power to unsettle her so thoroughly. Besides, back then she had always been the one in control of the situation.

‘I would wager there were many. Yet you never met one who pleased you?’

‘No.’ She paused and threw him a speaking look. ‘I still haven’t.’

The dark eyes gleamed. ‘That’s better. I feared for a moment that you’d lost the fighting spirit.’

‘If you did you were much mistaken.’

The challenge was there and unequivocal too. In spite of himself his enjoyment grew. ‘I’m glad to hear it, truly. I once thought that a marriage of convenience was like to be dull. Now I am reassured that it will not be.’

Ashlynn listened in disbelief and then returned a faint ironic smile. ‘Dull? With you?’

‘You flatter me, lass.’

‘Not in the least.’

‘Of course not,’ he conceded. ‘I should have known better.’

‘Do you want flattery?’

‘No, but I doubt you’d deal in it anyway. Your tongue is too sharp for that, and backed up at need with tooth and claw.’

The allusion brought a deeper colour to her cheeks. ‘I regret that I can offer you no dowry in mitigation of these faults.’

‘I can live with that,’ he replied.

‘Perhaps you should have chosen a rich wife while you had the chance.’

‘I would not have married again, any more than you would have taken a husband.’

For a moment Ashlynn was very still, her eyes fixed on his face. ‘This marriage is not your first?’

Iain met and held her gaze. He didn’t know why he had said it. It had not been his intention but perhaps it was just as well. Better she should learn it from him than servants’ gossip.

‘No, it isn’t. However, my first wife died some years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She hesitated but couldn’t help herself. ‘What was her name?’

His fingers tightened round the cup. ‘Eloise.’

‘Eloise? That is French is it not?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How came you to meet and wed a Frenchwoman?’

‘I spent six years in France completing my military training.’

‘I see.’ Ashlynn digested this in silence and summoned all her courage to ask the next question. ‘Was it a love match?’

‘Aye,’ he replied, ‘it was. But, as I told you, it was long ago.’

Her heart sank. His words might relegate his former wife to the past but he had not been able to disguise the feelings that lay beneath. Clearly the memories were powerful still. The knowledge caused a strange pang. Eloise must have been quite something.
I would not have married again…

‘And now the king has forced you to take me.’

The bleakness in her tone caused the dark gaze to soften a little. ‘We neither of us had any choice, lass.’ He paused. ‘Nor can we change the past.’

For a moment she saw Heslingfield in flames and forced the image back. With an effort she managed to keep her voice level. ‘As you say.’

‘Your life is here now, Ashlynn. It may not have been the one you would have chosen but I promise you it will be safe.’

She watched him rise from his chair and, with thumping heart, followed suit. He halted a few feet away.

‘So what now, my lady?’ He glanced over his shoulder at the door she had noticed earlier. ‘Yonder lies my bedchamber. If it pleases you to join me, I would be most happy and most honoured. If not, over there is the way out.’

Her surprise was total and for a moment or two she could only stare at him, torn between reluctance and something harder to identify. He saw her hesitation and moved in closer. She felt the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. She knew she should pull away now while she could and despised her own weakness for not doing so. His arms slid round her shoulders and waist, drawing her against him. His mouth closed over hers. A familiar flicker of warmth ignited deep within, her pulses racing for that seductive nearness, for the scent and the taste of him. Sensing that reawakening fire, he tightened his hold and the kiss grew more intimate, more knowing, the kiss of a man completely familiar with women and completely confident of his power. Ashlynn tensed. The wife he loved was dead. This meant nothing to him beyond the consummation of a bargain. She could not risk her heart in such an enterprise for her heart was all she had left. That knowledge increased the sense of inner desolation and she shivered.

Iain felt that tremor and drew back a little, looking down into her face. In it he saw reluctance and his eyes narrowed a little. Almost immediately she found herself free.

‘You need have no fear that I’ll force more on you than my name, Ashlynn,’ he said. ‘I’ll have you willing or not at all.’