Highland Conqueror (12 page)

As she sipped her drink, Jolene thought over all Fiona had said. There did seem to be the hint of more than passion and a sense of duty within Sigimor. He had shown distinct signs of possessiveness, even jealousy. He also worried about her and saw to her care in ways that surely went beyond simple duty. She sighed, realizing that she was grasping at any reason to believe he had some strong feeling for her. That was a dangerous path to tread, full of pitfalls.

“I do not know what to think,” she finally said. “I also cannot forget Reynard’s importance in all of this.”

“Ah, aye, the boy.” Fiona smiled briefly. “A fine lad. He is bedded down with all the other young lads, mine and some of the brothers’ children. Tis a weighty responsibility ye carry. I ken ye will be faced with some verra hard choices once Sigimor ends the threat Harold poses.”

That was something Jolene was trying hard not to think about only to realize that that was not only foolish, it was cowardly. Those hard choices would not miraculously disappear simply because she tried to ignore them. The sensible thing would be to keep them to the forefront of her mind, to accept that everything she did now would affect them. Once she made her choice, there would be no turning back, and it would be best to gain as much knowledge as possible before that time came. The reasons to stay with Reynard were clear. The reasons to stay with Sigimor were not. Not yet.

“Is there someone ye would trust to raise the lad, someone who would care for him as if he were his own bairn?” Fiona asked.

Jolene immediately thought of her cousin Roger and his wife. “Aye, but I cannot be sure the guardianship of the boy would fall to him. My cousin Roger and his wife are young, but childless after ten years of marriage. Roger and my brother were also very
close. He is a good, honest man as well. ’Tis just that our king may take a hand in the choosing of a guardian.”

“Bah, kings.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Meddling where there is no need. Indeed, that could be a problem. Ye can be fair sure the king willnae think only of the child when he makes his choice. Didnae your brother e’er set down his preferences?”

“I suspect he did, but Harold has probably gotten rid of all such documents since he would not want anyone to see them and use them against him. The best I can hope for is that one of my kinsmen whom I like and respect has the ear of the king, but I do not know who might have that sort of power. If there is one, I do not think Harold knows him, either.” Jolene shook her head and took a deep drink of her cider to quell the sudden urge to cry. “Tis too much to sort through, I fear. Too many uncertainties.”

Fiona reached over and patted the hand Jolene had clenched tightly in her lap. “Aye, I suspicion there are, and pleased I am that I have ne’er had to face such choices. Now, myself, I would cast aside my worries about Reynard. Ye ken what he needs and what he must do. The only uncertainty there is who will be standing at his side. Ye cannae do anything about it now, mayhap ever, so set it aside. Simply pray that whate’er mon steps forward is one ye want and wee Reynard needs.”

“Very reasonable,” Jolene said, duly impressed. “Do you know, I used to be a reasonable person, too, but reason and calm good sense have abandoned me of late.”

“The curse of love, I fear. Love enters your heart and your wits leak right out your ear.” She shared a laugh with Jolene. “Ah, and that time when one doesnae ken if one has any hope of
being
loved is the worst. The second part of what I wish to say is that ye must now fix your thoughts upon your husband. Ye must decide what ye want from him, then look closely to see if ye have any chance of gaining the prize.”

“And how do I gain that prize? What did you do?”

“I loved him. Simple, aye? There really isnae anything else ye can do. All else tastes a wee bit too much like trickery and trying to change yourself to better suit what ye think the fool might like is also fraught with peril.”

Simple, indeed, thought Jolene, if one did not have the restrictions she did. There was Reynard to consider. Even if she approved the one chosen to be his guardian, could she really turn away from the child? Knowing that some day Peter would marry again, Jolene had tried to hold fast to being just Reynard’s aunt, not allowing the boy to think that she was his mother or ever could be, but the bonds between them were strong. He was just a small child who had already suffered so much, losses he probably did not fully understand. Could she really ask him to suffer yet another? Fiona was right to say she could do nothing about it now, but she doubted she could completely stop worrying about it.

In many ways the question of Reynard’s future had a lot to do with her future with Sigimor. She did want more than passion and duty from him, but would it be fair to try and get it? Knowing that she had won a place in Sigimor’s heart, could actually have the sort of marriage she had always wanted, would indeed be wonderful. Yet, when she still might have to leave him in order to stay with Reynard, Jolene could not help but think it might also be cruel. Watching Sigimor and Ewan walking toward her and Fiona, Jolene knew she was already doomed to suffer heartache if she chose to remain with Reynard. It did not seem fair to try to win Sigimor’s love only to make him suffer the same pain.

“Ye are looking verra serious, wife,” Sigimor said as he sat down beside her on the
bench and draped his arm around her shoulders.

“We were discussing all her troubles,” said Fiona. “Och, the greed of men has e’er been a source of woe.”

“If ye didnae want me to ken what ye were talking about, ye could have just said so,” Sigimor drawled. “Although I must admit that was a finely worded diversion.” He grinned when both women glared at him.

“Ewan, Sigimor just called me a liar,” Fiona said, frowning at her grinning husband. “Ye should be defending my honor.”

“Sigimor, dinnae call my wife a liar,” Ewan said dutifully.

“E’en when she is telling lies?” Sigimor asked.

“Aye, e’en then. Ye should just smile and pretend ye believe her. ’Tis what I do. Ye are a husband now. Tis best if ye learn these things.”

“What I am learning now is that ye are but one word away from being soundly beaten.”

The way Fiona was scowling at her husband nearly made Jolene laugh. She felt envious of the open affection between the pair. They were the perfect example of what she wanted in her own marriage. Feeling the weight of Sigimor’s arm around her shoulders and the idle caress of his hand on her arm, she wondered if they would ever gain that special bond Ewan and Fiona so obviously shared. Just love him, Fiona said. Jolene was not sure it was that easy.

“Ah, lad, there was something I needed to tell ye,” said Fingal as he walked over to stand in front of Sigimor. “There was a woman asking after ye, oh, twa days ago, I believe. She sought shelter here for the night. Lady MacLean?”

“That name doesnae sound familiar,” Sigimor said, although he felt an unpleasant memory twitch to life inside of him.

“Lady Barbara MacLean? She said she used to be a Forbes. Aha, I can see that ye recall her now. She said ye would.”

“Aye, from years ago whilst I was nay much more than a lad. I dinnae ken why she should be asking after me.”

“Got curious when she heard we were kin to the Camerons of Dubheidland.”

“Naught but trying to make pleasant conversation o’er a meal, I suspect, and we all ken how difficult that can be,” said Fiona as she stood up. “But, ’tis late, and Lady Jolene has had a verra long day. Come, Jolene. I will show ye where Reynard sleeps, then show ye to your bedchamber.” She held out her hand.

Jolene had no choice but to take it and let the woman lead her away. “Why can I not stay and find out who this woman is and just why she is asking after Sigimor?” she asked as Fiona led her up the narrow stairs to the bedchambers.

“Poor Sigimor was stunned by the news, Jolene. ’Tis best to wait until he isnae.”

“You mean until he can think of a good answer.”

“Aye, in a way. Dinnae think he will lie. He willnae. But, with men like Sigimor, ’tis sometimes best to give them a few minutes to set their thoughts in order. Here is where young Reynard sleeps.”

Biting back all the questions she had, Jolene quietly followed Fiona into a large chamber with at least a dozen children in it. She smiled faintly as she watched her nephew sleep for a few minutes, before looking at the older boy Fiona called her son. It was not until they left the room that Jolene fully grasped the fact that the boy Ciaran was
too old for Fiona to truly be his mother. She was still struggling with a way to politely gain an answer to that puzzle when Fiona answered the questions Jolene dared not ask.

“Ciaran is my husband’s son, born of a woman he kenned weel nine years ago.”

“You are trying to give me a lesson I think. Unfortunately, my mind has fixed itself upon one thing. Or, rather, one name.”

Fiona laughed as she nudged Jolene into a large bedchamber warmed by a big fireplace, animal skin rugs, and thick tapestries. “I understand. I had the same problem only mine was named Helena, Ciaran’s mother.” Fiona walked over to the big bed that dominated the room and pointed to a night shift laid out on top of it. “This is your answer.”

Jolene touched the finely woven linen which felt as soft as silk. “This is what a woman wears to tempt a man. Tis not what I thought to greet my husband with.”

“I ken it, but a club laid upside his head will just annoy Sigimor.” She laughed with Jolene. “Nay, put this on to greet him when he slinks in. Tis good to remind a mon of all he has now when something from his past slithers up to try and tempt him. Ye will get the answers ye seek and, if there is any warm or fond memories tickling his tiny mon’s mind, ye will heartily banish them. And, may I suggest that ye stand by the fireplace as ye begin this interrogation?”

Knowing full well that would make her body clearly visible through the thin linen, Jolene tsked. “You are shameless.”

“Aye.”

“And very clever.” She met Fiona’s smile with one of her own, one she knew was just as smug and faintly lecherous as Fiona’s.

“I suppose ye would kill me if I kissed your wife, Ewan,” Sigimor said as he watched Fiona drag Jolene away.

“If your wife didnae do it first.” Ewan exchanged a grin with Sigimor, then joined him in scowling at Fingal. “Did ye e’en pause a minute ere ye trotted o’er here to tell him about Barbara in front of his new bride?”

“Aye, I did.” Fingal crossed his arms over his chest and scowled right back at them. “I thought on how this Barbara is a bonnie Scottish lass, one with some meat on her bones.”

“She is married,” said Sigimor, telling himself not to get angry with the man. Fingal was what he was and would never change. “She has been married for nigh on ten years. I dinnae have aught to do with married women.”

“Then ye will be pleased to learn that she is now a widow.”

For a moment, Sigimor searched deep within himself for some flicker of pleasure over that news and found none. There had always been a faint ghost of Barbara in his heart, one that occasionally teased him with a passing thought of
what if?
He could not even find that now and he was certain he owed that to Jolene. It was impossible, and foolish, to linger on a faint
what if?
when one held a passionate little wife in one’s arms every night.

“Nay, I am nay pleased. Nay much of anything, in truth. Dinnae ken why ye think I should care.”

“The woman claimed to have been
verra
close to ye ere she married. Aye, and a few times after that, so I dinnae ken why ye act so pious now.”

“She lies.” Sigimor shrugged, appearing calm even as he savored the vision of Barbara’s throat in his hands. “The woman is verra good at lying. Always has been. Aye, I have seen her once or twice since she married her rich old laird, but nay more than that and only when it couldnae be avoided.” He glanced around the great hall. “God’s truth, Fingal, she is a liar and more. I doubt she left Scarglas ere she had sampled a MacFingal or two.” He almost laughed at the way Fingal briefly glared around at his men, many of whom were his own sons. “And now ye have gone and set my wife to thinking I am some lustful rogue with lasses scattered all about the country. For what? Some lying whore who has probably spent all of her husband’s money and is looking for a new mon’s purse to empty?” Sigimor could tell by the sharp way Fingal looked at him that he had let his anger seep into his voice.

“I was thinking of getting ye a fine, bonnie lass, a Scot, and one who has enough meat on her bones to bear your weight.”

“Och, weel, Barbara is verra skilled at bearing a mon’s weight, true enough. I believe I will keep the wife I have.”

“But she is English!”

“That she is. The sister of an English earl, a mon who saved my life, may God rest his soul. And, a lass who has ne’er borne the weight of any mon save me, and ne’er will.” He watched Fingal walk away grumbling to himself about young idiots. “I didnae think so many would be so troubled o’er her being English. Can they nay see that she is naught but a wee lass?”

“Nay, but they will. And, she is a Cameron now,” Ewan said firmly, then grinned
at Sigimor’s grunt of agreement. “Tis but a passing irritation, nay more. She is a bonnie lass and Fiona likes her. I will admit, the fair-haired, buxom Barbara did seem to be more your sort.”

“Used to be. I am a big mon so thought I needed such a lass.” He winked at Ewan. “I suspicion ye ken how I thought and how wrong I was, aye?”

“Aye. I also understand that ye will have to make some explanations now.”

Sigimor grimaced. “I ken it. She had that look. Dinnae really want to speak on that old folly, though.”

“We all have our old follies, Cousin, and wives tend to discover them. Ye ken mine weel enough.”

“But yours is dead and buried. Mine seems to be hunting me down.”

Ewan laughed. “She did seem most eager to learn all she could about you. At least she isnae bringing ye a child ye bred on her.” He nodded when Sigimor winced. “I love the lad and so does Fiona, but it wasnae easy and my hesitation to tell Fiona about Ciaran didnae help. Best just spit out the truth and get it o’er with. Think on what may happen if ye dinnae and Lady Barbara gets a chance to tell the tale her way.”

“Jesu, I could find myself sleeping in the stables.”

“One thing I have discovered is that, if the woman in your past did ye an ill turn, your wife will most like turn her anger upon that woman. That is, if ye can tell her that woman means naught to ye now, get your wife to believe it, and, more important, mean it.”

“Oh, I will mean it. Wholeheartedly.” Sigimor stood up and took a moment to brace himself for the confrontation to come. “Aye, Jolene will have no doubt that I mean it. The only trick will be how to tell the tale without making myself look the complete young idiot I was.” He left Ewan laughing and started out of the great hall.

As he approached the bedchamber he was always given upon his visits to Scarglas, Sigimor felt uncertain. Even though he did not like it, he was prepared to explain Barbara to Jolene. What troubled him suddenly was the possibility that she would
not
ask for an explanation, that she did not care enough about him to feel concerned, possessive, or even a little jealous.

Annoyed by this unaccustomed lack of confidence, he strode into the room. He would tell her about Barbara and, depending upon how Jolene acted, he just might tell her in such a way that it would goad her into some telling show of emotion. His wife could don a very calm, almost cold, look from time to time, but he knew she could not hold fast to it. Sigimor looked to where Jolene stood by the fireplace, then slammed and bolted the door behind him, and leaned against it as he tried to catch his breath.

Jolene stood haloed by the light from the fire and she was wearing what looked to be little more than a wisp of light fog. The thin lace-and-ribbon-trimmed shift hid very little of her lithe form. The light from the fire only made it look thinner. Her dark hair hung loose, its thick long waves doing little to shield her. She was as good as naked and, yet, the fact that she was not, only excited him more.

Then he noticed that her hands were planted firmly on her slim hips. There was a scowl upon her face rather than a warm, welcoming smile. Glancing down at her feet, he noticed that she was tapping one bare foot on the sheepskin set before the fire. He also noticed that she did, indeed, have long toes.

“Who is Barbara?” Jolene demanded, hiding the delight she felt over his reaction to
her appearance.

“Barbara?” Sigimor forced his gaze back to her face and struggled to clear his mind of the thought of tossing her down onto that sheepskin. “Ah, Lady Barbara MacLean. Just someone I kenned, oh, ten years ago or more.”

“I see. So long ago as that, hmm? She has a very tenacious memory then.”

“Weel, I am a verra memorable fellow.”

Sigimor moved to sit on the edge of the bed and remove his boots. Jolene was acting just as he felt a wife should when hearing about some woman from his past, a woman who did not seem to want to stay there. A brief sideways glance at her revealed that her hands were now clenched into fists and her eyes had narrowed. It occurred to him that, if he wanted to be allowed to answer the invitation her attire offered, if might be wise not to goad her too much.

“A woman does not show such interest in a man without reason, especially not in one she has not seen in ten years or more. E’en you are not that memorable, Sigimor.”

He wondered if there was a compliment hidden within that last remark, then forced himself to concentrate on explaining exactly who Barbara was. “It hasnae been exactly ten years. Despite my attempts to avoid her, I have seen her a few times since then. The woman is asking about me because she is now a widow.”

“She is hunting you for a lover?”

“My guess is that she is hunting me for a husband, that her own probably left her penniless. I saw the mon but two years ago. Drunk he was, and talking most freely. He said the only good thing he got from marrying Barbara was his two sons. He e’en said he wasnae all that certain the second lad was his since his wife was having an affair with his nephew. Decided the blood of the boy was that of a MacLean so it wasnae so bad. Also complained that the woman would leave him poor as dirt if she could, but that he had finally shut the money chest on her greedy fingers and swore that she would ne’er get any more out of it. I think he held to that vow.”

Those were not very loverlike words, Jolene decided, and relaxed a little. “Why would she think you would marry her?”

“Because ten years ago I was a fool of a lad, lust-crazed, fair blinded by it, and, aye, flattered by the attention of such a bonnie, highborn lass. I was about two and twenty, but nay as worldly as I liked to think I was.” He pulled off his shirt and pointed to the bands of design on each upper arm, the marks that would be with him until he was dust in the ground. “I had this done to impress her. Near killed me for it festered and a fever set in. Ye see, I had heard her remark upon such markings, ones she had seen upon another mon and I wished to hear her speak of me with the same admiration. She has ne’er seen them.”

Jolene was beginning to wish she had not asked about Barbara. That he would do such a thing just to hear the woman speak well of him implied an intensity of emotion he had never revealed to her. Perhaps what she had judged as unloverlike words were actually ones of anger and a lingering pain. It was possible to soothe a wounded heart, but she was not sure she had the skill or the time, especially not if this Barbara was intent upon winning him back.

“I find them very attractive,” she said, feeling foolish until he smiled at her. “She chose another man?”

“She had already chosen him, and held to that choice e’en as she played her games
with me. Old Laird MacLean, a mon thirty years older than she, looking for a young wife to give him a son, and with a verra full purse. She just wanted to enjoy a few young men ere she was married.”

“A few?”

“Aye, a few. I went to see her once I had recovered from my fever and these markings had healed. Thought to send her word that I wished to see her, but decided I would surprise her. I did that. Surprised the mon on top of her, too.”

“Oh, dear.” It was a little difficult to imagine Sigimor as an unworldly young man, but she could easily sympathize with anyone who found their lover in the arms of another.

“Fortunately, that moment of surprise didnae come until I had heard enough to ken what a fool I had been. She spoke of her marriage to MacLean come the morning and was assuring the braw laddie in her arms that it wouldnae change what was between them. Her first words when she saw me were demands that I say nothing to Laird MacLean. I told the mon with her to carry on, spat out some insults about nay wanting such a weel used lass, and left. I did think on telling MacLean, but I couldnae find the mon, leastwise nay until I was sick unto death of the whole matter and decided to return to Dubheidland. A few times o’er the years she has tried to catch my eye, but, e’en if I was a mon who could cuckold another, I wasnae interested.”

Which made Barbara even more determined to have him, Jolene mused. She had thought to make herself feel better, to bury that flare of jealousy over this woman, but this talk had failed to fully accomplish that. It had not even truly clarified what Barbara was to him. He spoke of lust, not love, but men did seem to be wary of that word. If he had felt something more than lustful and flattered, there could be some real trouble ahead for her. Barbara did not sound like a woman who would give up if she wanted something, and it appeared that she now wanted Sigimor. Jolene was pulled from her thoughts when a now naked Sigimor stepped in front of her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.

“Dinnae frown, wife,” he said. “She is naught but a bad memory of a lad’s foolishness.”

“Is she?” Jolene felt herself blush over the way he was looking at her from head to toe. “She is looking for you, Sigimor. From all you have just told me, she is not the sort of woman to give up a hunt.”

“That doesnae mean she will net her game. I am nay longer that lad, unworldly and blind to her faults. Now, where did ye get this wisp of naught made to tempt a poor mon?”

“From Fiona. Tis one of those things you said you saw no reason for.”

“I think I may be about to change my mind.”

Glancing down at the stout proof of his arousal, Jolene murmured, “I can see that.”

A little hesitantly she reached out to touch him there. He uttered a soft groan, but the way he moved his hips, pushing himself more snugly into her grasp, told her that was a sound of approval. Jolene wrapped her fingers around him, intrigued by the feel of him. He felt so hard and hot against her palm, yet silken soft as well. He also seemed to grow harder and bigger as she stroked him. Jolene was still slightly amazed that he could fit the thing inside her.

If Barbara was the wanton Sigimor’s tale seemed to imply, Jolene suspected the
woman recalled Sigimor’s manly attributes very well indeed. She had seen enough younger men to know they still had a boyish softness to their looks and that many of them had not yet reached their full breadth and height. Since Sigimor did not look like a man carrying thirty-plus years, she was sure he had looked more youth than man ten years ago. A woman like Lady Barbara had probably seen his potential and was now looking to see if he had fulfilled it. In fact, if it had not been very long since he had last seen the woman, she might already know. Sigimor seemed to think Lady Barbara sought a new husband with a fat purse, but Jolene suspected the woman also had a few more earthy reasons for hunting him down.

Jolene decided that, if the woman came to Dubheidland, she would find her hunt was not an easy one. Although she was still unsure of what the future held for her and Sigimor, right now he was hers. Being Sigimor’s wife gave her a lot of advantages over any interloper, and Jolene intended to make full use of each and every one of them. This passion she and Sigimor shared was definitely one of those advantages.

Sigimor savored the touch of Jolene’s slender fingers for as long as he dared. When she slid her soft hand between his legs, however, to gently caress his sac, he knew he had to put a halt to her play. If he did not, there was a good chance he would be spending himself in her hand like some beardless virgin lad.