The Laird's Captive Wife (17 page)

‘Did she so?’

‘Yes.’ Ban hesitated. ‘I must confess that when I first saw those bruises on her face I thought…’

‘That I had put them there?’

The young man reddened. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘It was a reasonable suspicion, under the circumstances.’

‘She told me what really happened and that you slew most of the bastards responsible.’

‘Aye. Now that really was a pleasure.’

The tone was perfectly even but Ban did not miss the glint in the dark eyes. It confirmed him in the opinion that his new brother-in-law was not a man to cross with impunity. Not that he had any intention of doing so. On the contrary, he was beginning to warm to him rather more than he had thought he would. For all the man’s dire reputation there was a directness about his manner and speech that Ban liked. Of his prowess in battle there was not the least doubt. However, the Laird of Glengarron had one more surprise in store. Crossing to the door he summoned the servant who had been waiting without. The man entered bearing a sheathed sword which he handed his master before withdrawing once more.

‘I believe this is yours.’ Iain reversed the weapon, offering it hilt first.

For a moment Ban was speechless. With a trembling hand he reached out and took it. One glance sufficed for the rest. Then blue eyes met brown. It was several more moments before he felt able to control his voice.

‘I never thought to see this again. Where did you get it? How did you know it was mine?’

‘It was found beside you after the battle. It bears the device of a falcon on its pommel, the crest of the Thanes of Heslingfield, I believe.’

‘Yes.’ Ban’s hand clenched round the hilt. For the first time it occurred to him that he was now the thane, albeit fugitive and dispossessed. The sword suddenly became a most poignant symbol of all that was lost, and his throat tightened.

Seeing the powerful play of emotions on his face Iain made a shrewd guess at the thoughts behind. From the moment he saw it he had recognised the quality and craftsmanship of the weapon but, looking at Ban’s expression now, knew it had significance far beyond its own intrinsic beauty.

‘It is a fine weapon. I thought you would be loath to lose it.’

With an effort Ban got his voice under control. ‘Indeed I would, my lord. It was a gift from my father. I thank you for its return.’ He paused. ‘It would seem that now I am doubly in your debt, and in truth I know not how I can repay it.’

‘If you wish to repay me then you will get well and make your sister much happier.’

Ban found nothing to say for he could not put into words what was in his heart. The dark gaze met his and held it for a moment.

‘Get well, Ban.’ Iain moved to the door and paused just long enough to bestow one last smile. Then he was gone.

* * *

Ashlynn closed the storeroom door and took a leisurely look around. When Iain had first shown her around Dark Mount it had been one of many chambers they had visited. This was the first time she had been back. Her gaze passed over a stack of empty wicker baskets and a pile of old sacks and moved on, coming to rest on several large chests. Initially they had rated no more than a casual glance but curiosity was roused now and there was time to indulge it.

The chests were heavy and banded with iron, the bolts stiff with disuse, but with perseverance she managed to slide them back and lift the dusty lids. A pleasant scent drifted out to greet her and she realised then that the box was lined with cedar. The reason quickly became apparent. Inside were heavy folds of thick-woven cloth. She ran her hand over the surface, tracing the outline of a colourful embroidered bird. It was beautiful and in spite of herself she gave a gasp of delight. Two other chests revealed similar tapestries, all perfectly preserved by the cedar lining.

Ashlynn’s appetite was whetted now. A further search revealed a large and slightly moth-eaten bearskin rug, a mirror of polished metal with an ornate frame, a wooden screen finely carved in the likeness of fruit and leaves and an elegant silver flagon with half-a-dozen matching goblets. Open-mouthed with delight she ran her fingers over the curved handle, marvelling at the workmanship and wondering where they had come from. Such things were made to be enjoyed, not hidden away and forgotten. Her own spartan chamber would benefit greatly by the addition of some attractive furnishings. That would involve asking Iain, of course. She bit her lip and closed the chest lid carefully.

* * *

For two days she had hesitated over the matter before deciding that cowardice was never going to solve the problem. Having made up her mind she went in search of Iain. Knowing he was unlikely to be in his chamber she tried the hall but it was empty of all save servants so she made her way downstairs. She was only halfway down when she heard the din of what sounded like fighting. For one dreadful second her mind was filled with Normans in helmets and chain mail. Then common sense returned. A swift glance out of the lower door revealed the truth: the courtyard was full of men locked in close physical combat or paired off for sword practice. The air rang with the sound of clashing steel and shouts of derision or encouragement. Her startled gaze moved quickly from the wrestlers to the swordsmen, seeking her husband out. Then she saw him and her breath caught in her throat.

Like the rest of the men he had stripped to the waist, apparently unconcerned by the cold air, but the rest were an irrelevance now. Her attention was riveted on Iain. She had not thought before that a man’s body could be beautiful, but that had been quite wrong. His arms and torso might have been sculpted so clearly delineated was the heavy musculature beneath his skin. Dark hair tapered from the broad chest and led the eye to a narrow waist and hips and thence to long, muscled legs.

Even though she already knew something of his ability, Ashlynn was still drawn to watch, held by the lithe power of the man and the skill and control with which he fought. He moved tirelessly, testing his opponent’s ability, looking for a weakness and when he found it exploiting it ruthlessly. Recalling her lessons with Ban she smiled ruefully. Against such skills, her own were puny. All at once the incident with the robbers returned and she knew without a doubt that she had been lucky. But for the element of surprise she would have been skewered. Given a fair fight she had no doubt Iain could have accounted for his attackers single handed. Even Ban, whose skill she respected, would have been hard pressed to hold his own against him. With that knowledge came the first stirring of pride, as unexpected as it was genuine.

At the end of the bout Iain sheathed the sword and donned his shirt and tunic again. She watched Dougal stroll across to join him. They exchanged a few words and then were joined in turn by one or two others. In a short time the group was engaged in animated discussion. From the accompanying gestures it seemed to be about the finer points of sword play. Once she saw Iain look round, his eyes scanning the spectators. They saw her at once and she felt again the power of that casual regard. Would he disapprove of her presence here? His expression gave no hint of annoyance but then it was often hard to tell what he was thinking. Her pulse quickened. Would he come over now? She hoped he might. His men already had a low opinion of her and, if she went to join him, they might take such an interruption ill.

However, Iain remained where he was, apparently seeing no reason to leave the present company. Around them the exercise continued, drawing his attention that way. He must have made some quip for she saw his companions laugh. The conversation resumed. Ashlynn bit her lip and turned away. The message was clear enough. He was busy and she was unwanted here. She should go.

‘The wrestling bouts are fun to watch are they not, my lady?’ said a voice beside her.

Ashlynn started and, looking round, recognised Robbie. For a moment she felt awkward for it was he whom she had given the slip when she ran away, but his expression now was genial. If he bore her a grudge it wasn’t apparent. From the question she realised that she must have been staring at the wrestlers, though in truth had seen nothing of them.

‘Er, yes,’ she said. ‘Who do you think will win?’

‘Fergus,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘There isn’t a man in Glengarron who can match him for strength or skill.’

Looking at the individual in question Ashlynn could see the truth of that remark. Fergus was massively muscled and looked to be roughly the size of a barn door, but for all that he was fast and agile.

She nodded. ‘I can well believe it.’

‘I’m just thankful he fights on our side.’

Ashlynn took the point as Fergus raised a big and brawny opponent over his head and tossed him into the banked snow at the edge of the courtyard, much to the rowdy enjoyment of the onlookers.

‘I think I would not like to meet him on a field of battle.’

‘Or in an alley on a dark night,’ returned Robbie with a grin.

‘Heaven forbid.’

They laughed, each visualising the possibility.

‘But then all Glengarron’s men are able fighters, are they not?’ she continued.

‘Aye, my lady, they are. Lord Iain trains them well.’

‘So I see.’ She eyed him with curiosity. ‘Have you ridden with him long?’

‘Going on four years now.’

‘Four years? A long time.’

‘Not so long. There’s many have been with him longer.’

‘A man to inspire loyalty then.’

‘Indeed he is, my lady. He looks after his men and all who depend on him. There’s not a braver laird in the whole border country, or one more cunning.’

‘I can believe that.’

‘You’d be right to, my lady. A man would have to get up very early to catch Iain of Glengarron.’

They lapsed into companionable silence for a while, but the conversation had given Ashlynn plenty to think about. Almost from the first she had recognised in Iain the qualities of strong leadership. It had been evident in the quiet assurance with which he moved among his men and the way in which he spoke to them. He called each one by name. She never heard him raise his voice but his slightest word was obeyed to the letter. Having seen their skill in battle she knew they were a formidable force. If their opinion of their leader was so high then that respect had been earned. Such men did not give their loyalty or their regard easily.

Robbie eyed her curiously. ‘I’ve heard it said you’re no so bad with a sword yourself, my lady.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Dougal. He said that when you and Black Iain were attacked by robbers you killed six of them single handed.’

She gave a gurgle of incredulous laughter. ‘Dougal overrates my skill. It was only two and I took them by surprise.’

Robbie grinned. ‘I wish I’d been there to see it all the same.’

Across the courtyard Iain was apparently still engaged in easy conversation. However, he was also keenly aware of the scene opposite. It was too far to catch the words but he heard the pair laugh. His jaw tightened. When she was with him Ashlynn rarely laughed yet somehow, in mere minutes, Robbie had overcome her reserve, God rot him! Iain had always acknowledged his wife to be a pretty woman, but since the bruises had faded from her face it had become obvious that she was more than just pretty. When she appeared in the hall his men followed her with their eyes. Hitherto she had never given the least sign that she was aware of the attention but now she seemed to find pleasure in Robbie’s company, apparently hanging on every word. Moreover, the young man was near Ashlynn’s age and well favoured withal. Even her clothing blended with his, damn it. In this throng she might, to the casual eye, have passed for a local lass—a local lass or a servant. His brows drew together.

‘What does the lady here? This is no fit place for a woman to be.’

The voice had come from the fringes of the group around Iain but the words were clearly meant to be overheard. They recalled him at once and he turned, giving the speaker a long and level stare. Recognising that look the rest fell into awkward silence.

‘Well, Archie,’ he replied, ‘some might say it’s not a woman’s place to fight off a gang of armed robbers either, but she did it all the same.’

Beneath the weight of that cool gaze the speaker coloured faintly. ‘Beg pardon, my lord. I meant no disrespect.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Iain. ‘Lady Ashlynn may do as she pleases without reference to you.’

The other lowered his gaze. ‘As you say, my lord.’

The words fell into the surrounding silence and rippled outwards. Iain remained quite still, waiting. However, no further comment was forthcoming from any quarter and a few moments later the men turned away and resumed their earlier conversation as though nothing had happened. A remark from Dougal about one of the nearby swordsmen reclaimed Iain’s attention and he made some reply, forcing his attention back to what his companion was saying. However, in spite of his best efforts his gaze was repeatedly drawn to the pair on the fringes of the wrestling. Ashlynn’s attention was seemingly absorbed by the spectacle and she never looked his way. Then Robbie spoke to her again and she glanced up, smiling. Iain’s gaze smouldered.

* * *

It was perhaps half an hour later when the combatants stopped to recover their breath and take a mug of ale. The gathering broke up into little groups, all talking and laughing together. Ashlynn excused herself and moved away then. It had been entertaining to watch the proceedings but, even with a cloak on, she was beginning to feel the cold. She was halfway to the door of the tower when a hand on her arm arrested her progress. She looked round quickly and felt her heart miss a beat.

‘Iain.’

‘I take it you enjoyed the practices,’ he said. The words were quietly spoken but carried a nuance of something harder to define.

‘Yes, very much, although that was not the reason I came out here.’

‘Oh? And what was the reason?’

‘I was looking for you.’

‘I’m flattered. For a while I thought it might have been someone else.’

His gaze flicked toward Robbie. Ashlynn stared at him in genuine astonishment. Surely he couldn’t have thought…For a second she felt a strong urge to laugh, then looked at his expression and decided she had better not. All the same he could not possibly be jealous. That was ridiculous. Before she could say more he took her arm and led her back indoors. Only when they reached the hall did he stop and draw her round to face him.