Authors: Hannah Howell
“I will have no skin left upon my back if ye dinnae cease,” she complained, glaring at Meg who glared right back at her.
“Dinnae fash yourself. That mon will still bed ye,” Meg grumbled and angrily moved to sort out the clothes Islaen would wear.
“Wheesht, ye have got a burr in your braes, havenae ye,” Islaen murmured as she started to bathe herself. “I had to tell the mon, Meg. I couldnae leave it ’til the wedding night. T’wasnae right, not right at all.”
“T’wasnae right to jump into the mon’s bed neither.”
“Weel, I didnae really jump. Rather, I fell. I didnae think he would react in that way.” A continued surprise tinted Islaen’s voice.
“A lass goes waving her body parts afore a mon and ’tis just how he will act,” Meg said with hearty conviction.
Biting back a laugh over the image Meg’s cross words invoked, Islaen said calmly,
“I ken that now. He still weds me.”
“So he should. Here, ye have washed enough.” Meg held out a drying cloth. “Do ye try to wash his touch away?”
“Nay,” Islaen said firmly as she stepped out of her bath. “I like his touch and I am nay ashamed to say so. There is something that troubles me and I speak of this expecting it to be kept the greatest of secrets atween us.”
“Secret e’en from your fither?”
“Aye, sad to say, e’en from him.”
“Aye then. Secret e’en from him.”
“Do ye ken that Iain’s first wife died in childbirth?” Meg nodded. “T’was a long, painful birth and the bairn died too. Iain has a fear of it now, a deep abiding fear. E’en though his brother’s wife keeps having bairns and all is weel, Iain sees childbirth as a death sentence upon a woman. I cannae make him see elsewise. He willnae let me bear a bairn.”
“How can he stop ye unless he keeps himself out o’ your bed. ’Tis God’s decision, not his.”
“There is a way for him to stay in my bed yet not leave me with bairn—sponges.”
“’Tis a sin,” Meg gasped.
“’Tis a sin to keep me from e’er having a bairn, aye, but I think the trick he speaks of could have its uses. ’Tis not good for a woman to bear a bairn every year. Such a thing could give a woman time to grow strong again. I cannae help but think that my mither used them for we are all nearly or little more than two years apart. Seems too coincidental.”
Meg frowned thoughtfully as she began to help Islaen dress. “Aye, I think ye may be right. If that is a sin, ’tis a little one. Go on, child. I ken ye have more to say. Has he demanded that ye use such things?”
“Aye. In truth, he threatened to ne’er lie with me again an I refused. I couldnae abide that, Meg. Agree with me or nay as ye please but I mean to grasp for as full a marriage as I can. That cannae come an he and I dinnae e’en share a bed.”
“Nay. Ye would soon grow to be mair strangers than ye are e’en now. Muckle a marriage is saved or lost in the bedchamber.”
“So I thought, so I promised to use those things.”
“Then ye mean to be barren, to ne’er hold a bairn o’ your own?” Meg asked, her shock and anger clear to hear in her voice and see in her face. “Ye would wither in sic a marriage.”
“I ken it. I want bairns. I love them and dearly wish to hold my own. Truth, I think I would grow to hate Iain for denying me, yet I understand his fear. I lied, Meg. I looked him straight in the eye and lied.”
Hearing the pain and guilt in Islaen’s voice, Meg awkwardly patted her cheek. “’Tis nay sic a big sin, lass.”
“’Tis not the way I mean to go in my marriage but I felt I had to do it. I will tell him the truth eventually. I mean to have my bairn, Meg, and, in doing so, I mean to put an end to Iain’s fears. I tell ye all this for I may need your aid in this deception. Aye, especially an I get with bairn. I just pray that I dinnae add to his fears.”
“Ye willnae. ’Tis the way o’ the women in your family to be fruitful and nay suffer too much o’er it. Why maun ye keep the lie to yourself e’er ye get with bairn? Could ye
nay tell him the truth once ye are sure?”
“Nay. He fears it, Meg. For a man to deny himself an heir, weel, he must fear it verra much. The longer I can keep my being with bairn a secret the less time he will have to fash himself o’er my fate. Once I am delivered of a healthy bairn and prove to him that not all women need die in childbirth, I will tell him of my lie. An I feel something amiss I will tell him for I willnae add to his guilt and pain.”
“Och, lass, I think ye have a rough road ahead o’ye. Ye will have tae tread muckle carefully with nary a misstep.”
“Aye, I ken it. I aim to cure yet I could make matters worse. Yet, I cannae feel that death upon a childbed is to be my fate. I cannae claim to have the sight, yet the feeling is strong that I will do as weel as me mither and me kin afore her. Do ye think ’tis a false hope that I cling to? I really cannae risk being wrong.”
“Ye are nay wrong.”
“Good, ’tis a shame that Iain hasnae any of his kin here,” she continued, “I should like to have met them ere I am made their kin. In truth, I dinnae e’en ken when I am to finally meet them. I ken little about the MacLagans. They are a small clan like ours, I think.”
“I ken little mair than that. There is little bad that I have heard, which be good. I wouldnae fash yourself, lass.”
Easier said than done, Islaen mused as Meg vigorously brushed her hair. Unless she somehow broke through the wall Iain had built around his heart she would be facing a lot of strangers more or less upon her own when they went to his home. She had rarely left her father’s strong keep and certainly never without some of her seemingly vast family at her side. Only Meg would be with her at Caraidland. She decided she had best try to get Iain to tell her something about his family and Caraidland. Perhaps then she would not feel so lost when she arrived there. It might also give her enough knowledge to stop her from stepping wrong. Her bid to win Iain’s affections could never be successful if she offended any of his kin, even through ignorance. Instinct told her that he was very close to his family.
When Meg was finished, Islaen reluctantly let the woman pull her towards a mirror, an item she felt there were far too many of at court. Warily she looked at herself. She strongly wished to look beautiful upon her wedding day and, with surprise widening her eyes, decided that Meg had come very close to fulfilling that wish. In fact, Islaen was not sure that anyone would recognize her but then she smiled. Her hair would give her away.
Glancing briefly at the bodice of her deep gold gown she wondered how she would look if her breasts were not bound, then grimaced. Iain may claim that her fullness did not truly bother him but she was far from ready to reveal her true figure to all. She was certain there would be far more stares than she would ever be able to tolerate. Islaen was glad that Iain felt it best if she waited until they went to Caraidland before she ceased to wear her binding. Looking closely, she suspected that Meg had not done her bindings as tightly as she usually did, however.
“Weel, ’tis time to join the queen, lass. Do ye wish a bracing sip o’ wine first?” Meg asked gently and Islaen nodded.
After quickly downing the drink, Islaen took a deep, long breath in a further attempt to quell a sudden bout of nerves. “I cannae understand why I am all atremble. I
have had my wedding night.”
“Aye but soon ye truly leave the hame of your father, soon ye truly belong to Sir Iain MacLagan and no other.”
“I just pray that he will let me belong to him.”
Iain was hard put not to gape when Islaen was brought to him in the crowded hall. Her thick glorious hair hung in waves almost to her knees and the occasional sparkle of a jewel was hardly noticeable in its depths. As she reached his side he saw that the gold of her gown brought forth the gold flecks in her lovely eyes. His loins tightened as he thought of the additonal beauty that lay hidden beneath her gown and the bindings. As he took her hand, he covertly glanced around and saw that others were now fully aware of Islaen’s special beauty, something he suspected would cause him some trouble for a while. Despite that, he could not fully suppress an inner glow of pride as he led her to the priest.
Islaen was only partly aware of the priest’s words. She had always thought Iain a splendid figure of a man but in his black and silver wedding finery he left her speechless and more than a little afraid. No matter how she tried to dispel the thought she could not help but wonder how she could ever expect to hold onto such a man.
When they finished their vows they rose and he gently kissed her. Islaen found that she had to fight the urge to press for a fuller kiss. She mused, with a great deal of mockery directed at herself, that she had certainly learned quickly to crave that sort of thing. From total innocence she had rapidly become quite the wanton. When the look in Iain’s fine eyes told her that he had recognized her reaction to his brief kiss, she sent him a very stern look but it only made him smile.
The feasting had barely begun when Islaen found herself growing annoyed. Even though it was her wedding day the women still tried to catch Iain’s eye. Their flirtations and invitations were far from subtle. There was one spot of humour in it for her, however, and that was found in Lady Constance’s actions. The woman seemed to be in great turmoil over which man she really wished to draw to her side, Alexander MacDubh or Iain. Alexander sat on Islaen’s left while Iain sat upon her right. Islaen was almost able to laugh as she mused that the woman was apt to do herself an injury with the way she kept turning her face from right to left and back again.
“Come, Lady MacLagan,” Alexander said quietly, “’tis not right for a bride to scowl so at her own wedding feast.”
“Weel, ye would think they would give it a rest today of all days,” Islaen grumbled and took a drink.
“Give what a rest, sweeting?” Iain asked and signaled a page to refill her now empty goblet.
Quickly shaking free of the bemusement his use of an endearment always sent her into, Islaen replied, “The women should cease leering at you. ’Tis nay right for them to leer at the groom at the wedding feast.”
“Leering at me?” Iain croaked, rather flattered by what appeared to be jealousy upon Islaen’s part. “Cease cackling, Alex.”
“Och, weel, ’tis no matter an he laughs.” Islaen fleetingly grinned at a still chuckling Alexander. “People will think I am the greatest of wits. Aye, Iain,” she belatedly replied, “leering at you. ’Tis quite clear to see if ye would but look.”
“I dinnae care to look.”
“Weel, mayhaps ye ought to tell Lady Constance that for the poor woman is near to twisting her head off o’ her shoulders trying to share her smiles atween ye and Sir Alexander. I have set him to laughing again.”
“Pay the fool no heed.” Iain felt extremely high spirited and decided to do nothing to hide or stop it. “Ah, the musicians begin to play.” Iain stood up and took Islaen by the hand. “Come, we must lead the dancing.”
“God’s teeth,” Islaen gasped, then flushed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Forgive me. It slipped free.”
“I heard nothing.”
“Nor I,” declared Alexander.
“Weel then ye are both as deaf as posts but thank ye. Iain, I am nay verra good at this dance.”
Tugging her to her feet, he smiled. “As long as ye keep upright, t’will do fine enough.”
“Weel, an I fall just pay me no heed,” she said on a sigh as he towed her out onto the area cleared for dancing.
“As you wish. I will merely take care not to step upon ye.”
“So gallant,” she managed to murmur before forced to concentrate upon the steps of the elegant dance.
At the end of the dance, Iain kissed her, a kiss far less chaste than the one before the priest. Islaen was oblivious to the rowdy cheers of their audience. She felt her insides melt as she tasted the promise in his kiss. When he lifted his head, she gazed up at him from beneath her eyelashes feeling quite bemused by the way he could make her feel.
“Ye do that verra weel,” she said, surprised at the soft huskiness of her voice.
“Dancing?”
“Aye. That too.” She grinned.
Before they were able to return to their seats, Islaen was whirled away by her brother Robert. Iain sprawled in his seat and watched her. She revealed no uncertainty or reluctance in the less courtly forms of dance. Glancing around, he caught the king and Alaistair MacRoth watching him and raised his tankard in a cocky salute. This day he knew they would find little to criticize.
Breathless from dancing and laughing with her brothers, Islaen hurried back to Iain’s side. She returned his welcoming smile with a bright one of her own. He was acting almost carefree but she did not let her hopes rise for she knew it could be due to the celebration. Good food, plentiful wine and gaiety could soften the hardest of men. For the duration of the wedding and the wedding night he may have decided to ease the aloof stance he usually clung to. While it was a very good chance for her to try to grasp at a little of his affection before he shut it all away again, she would not let herself hope that her fight was so soon over.
Taking a refreshing drink of wine she leaned against Iain. Inwardly she smiled when he began to idly toy with her hair. The man was not totally uninterested. Such small touches, ones he seemed unaware of making, did give her hope as did the occasional endearments that seemed to slip free without his knowing it. They were signs that she was slipping beneath his guard, making some chinks in his wall.
Iain found that he was swiftly growing very weary of the celebrations. He buried his hand deep within her thick hair, savoring its silken fullness, and wished to be within their chambers wrapped as fully in her arms as his hand was in her hair. It was more than a lengthy celibacy that made him so greedy and he knew it. There was a weakness that could cause him a great deal of trouble.
Espying a youth with a boyish face and unruly chestnut hair hastening towards her, Islaen groaned softly and closed her eyes. “Tell Dugald I have fainted from exhaustion from dancing.”
“Dugald?” Iain murmured.
“Aye, my cousin now hieing o’er here to us.”
A moment later the youth stood beside them, introduced himself and looked at Islaen. “Cousin?”
“She has fainted from exhaustion from dancing,” Iain dutifully repeated.
“Och, has she now. Ah weel, I but meant to tell her that Nathan is sniffing about that Douglas wench again.”
Shocked that her brother would return to a lass who had caused him nothing but trouble, Islaen sat up quickly and stared at her cousin. “Nathan wouldnae be such a fool, would he?”
“Nay, though the lass is chasing him. Now that ye have recovered, ye can dance with me,” he drawled.
“A cruel trick to play. Weel, Dugald, I have done a muckle lot of dancing already,” she demurred.
He studied his fingernails and murmured, “I have had some lessons, ye ken.”
“Truly?”
“Aye, truly.”
Still wary, she let him take her by the hand and help her stand. “An I get one sore toe or one bruise, ye will pay dearly, cousin.”
“I am all atremble, cousin,” he said cheerfully as he towed her towards the other dancers.
Iain watched her until she disappeared into the crowd of dancers. Although he did not know Dugald personally, he knew of the youth’s rather powerful, wealthy father and the size of the family. Each new revelation about the family he was now connected to by marriage was a startling one and not necessarily pleasing. It did not surprise him that the MacRoths got on well with their kin, nor that they did not boast about what were some rather illustrious connections. He wished they would, though, for he was not fond of surprises. It would suit him to know far more than he did about the MacRoths. They were a small clan but it was becoming clear that they reached far in their relations.
“Why the frown now, Iain?” Alexander asked quietly.
“I begin to wonder just how far and wide this family reaches that I have wed into.”
Alexander laughed softly. “Very far, my friend. On Alaistair’s side many of his forebears married well. The women were well-known for their beauty and the families were large. His wife’s family was much akin to that. The ties of blood grow thin but they ne’er seem to break. There have been some rogues and traitors, few families escape having those, but it ne’er seems to end the ties amongst all the rest. I wouldnae be surprised if, for a righteous cause, Alaistair could pull near half of Scotland to his side. The ones that are caught up in a feud might e’en call a truce to ride to his side.”
“Has he e’er done it?”
“Nay, nor have any of them, I think. ’Tis not their way to ask any to shed blood in a fight that is theirs alone.”
“The king kens all this, does he?”
“Aye, there is little our sire misses or used to miss. His love for Alaistair is not just
politic, however.”
“Nay, I kenned that. I have been flung into what could be the greatest of mires.”
“Or the best of alliances. Come, Iain, ye look for trouble where there is none. I have said all I mean to upon that. I am nay one to bang my head against a wall. Here comes your wee, fair bride and, by the look upon her bonnie face, I am thinking Dugald best take a few more lessons.”
“I will ne’er walk again,” Islaen groaned as she sat down. “I wish I kenned who gave Dugald lessons. I would beat him.”
“Should it not be Dugald that ye beat?” Iain asked, amusement tinting his voice.
“Aye but he is hard to catch. The lad’s e’er been quicker on his feet than I. I have to trick him when I want revenge. Last time I tipped him into the water when we went fishing. That was for dancing all o’er my toes at my brother Colin’s wedding.”
Gently and as subtly as he could, Iain coaxed her to talk about her family. As he had suspected there was no boasting of ties with rich or noted kin. If the names had not been familiar to him her manner of speaking of them would have told him nothing except that she knew them and, occasionally, that she might not be as fond of them as of others.
Islaen was feeling mildly drunk when the women managed to subtly lead her away to Iain’s chambers. She heard enough, however, as she left to know that Iain’s assistants cared little about being subtle. When she finally reached Iain’s chambers she had to smile. She was not so sure that Iain would be that appreciative about the rose petals strewn over his bed. In fact, she mused as she took a deep breath, it might prove too much for her and she was rather fond of roses.
“How could you have borne it for so long?” the queen asked as Islaen’s binding was revealed.
Coloring slightly, Islaen murmured, “I have ne’er been without it. Nay,” she protested as they prepared to help her into her lacy night rail, “let me wash up first.”
“But ye bathed ere ye dressed.”
“I ken it, Meg,” Islaen said as she hurriedly washed up, “but I have danced a lot and t’was most warm.”
“’Tis a pity we could not find you chambers more suited to a wedded couple,” the queen remarked, glancing around.
“It doesnae matter,” Islaen demurred as she dried off and the women started to dress her. “Sir Alexander and my kin surround us and we are very near the married quarters. I am nay sure when we travel to Caraidland but I think it will not be long from now.” She sat still as Meg brushed her hair. “I hear Caraidland is a verra fine keep, strong yet comfortable to live in.”
Although that prompted the queen and her lady to chat quite amiably, Islaen gained little real information about her husband’s home and kin. Like many ladies of the court, their interest was in gossip about things that Islaen felt were unimportant or not really her business at all. It was somewhat disappointing.
“Here come the men,” the queen announced and giggled much like a young girl.
Despite the fact that the men were kin, her husband and ones she knew, Islaen blushed deeply when they made their somewhat rowdy entrance. As she and Iain were placed side by side in the bed and given goblets of wine, Islaen thought crossly that her brothers Duncan and Robert were the worst of the lot. The more she blushed the worse they got. As soon as she and Iain were alone she downed half her wine in an attempt to
ease her embarrassment.
She was distracted from thoughts of revenge against her brothers when Iain left the bed. When he presented her with a supply of sponges she blushed and finished off her wine. Now the lie she had to live would truly begin.
Without saying a word she went behind the screen that had been brought to supply her some form of privacy. Grimacing, she did as Iain had instructed. This once she would do exactly as he had said. It would aid her in her deception to know as much as possible about the whole matter. From what Meg had found out for her Iain would not really know whether she was using the sponges or not, but Islaen wished to be sure. Still blushing, she slipped back into bed unable to look at Iain.
Feeling guilty for what he asked of her, Iain sighed and pulled her into his arms. “Islaen,” he began.
“Nay, dinnae speak on it.” She feared she would reveal the deceit she plotted if they talked on the matter too much.
Running his fingers down the laced front of her gown he murmured, “This is lovely but I think I like the other better.”
“The other isnae a lady’s night rail.”
“’Tis simpler.” He began to slowly undo her lacings.
“Ye didnae drink your wine,” she squeaked.
“Why so tremulous, lass?” He brushed light kisses over the delicate lines of her face. “Ye are a maiden no longer.”
“Aye but last eve was, weel, different. We just went about it. T’was not so planned.”
“Lovemaking is planned more oft than otherwise especially atween a mon and his wife.”