Highland Wedding (18 page)

It was hard to think when she was firing his blood so, but her words penetrated passion’s haze and made sense. “And when Fraser nearly raped ye at the crofter’s hut,” he murmured huskily, then suddenly sat up. “The blood on your thighs.”

Not stopping her attentions she kissed her way up his other leg. “From cuts. Ye saw them yourself.” She turned her amorous attentions to his loins and felt him shudder as her tongue slowly stroked him. “And none of that hurt me or the bairn.”

He found it impossible to think, let alone speak while her warm mouth and tongue caressed him so intimately, but managed to rasp, “Ye were lucky.”

“Aye but I meant for you to see that ye couldnae e’er do worse to me than that. Nay, certainly not by making love.”

Closing his eyes as he groaned with pleasure when her mouth engulfed him, he whispered, “Nay, not with that. Ah, God’s beard, Islaen, go slow. Go verra, verra slow. I ache to savor the pleasure ye give.”

A moment later she sat up to look at him. “Mayhaps we best let ye calm down a wee bit then.” When he grinned at her, she knew she had won, that she had succeeded in changing his mind.

Reaching out, he tugged off her shift. “Calm down, eh? I thought ye set out to excite me beyond thinking.”

“Weel, not beyond thinking. Ye cannae agree when ye cannae think.” Her voice grew huskier as his hands cupped her breasts.

Leaning forward he gently took the taut tip of her breast into his mouth. Islaen cried out softly and, burying her hands in his thick hair, held him close. Iain needed no such urging to savor the sweet bounty of her flesh. Finally, he cupped her face in his hands and brushed his lips over hers until she opened her eyes partway to look at him.

“Do I get a reward for being so agreeable?”

“A reward?” she asked a little dazedly.

“Aye,” he said softly. “I have calmed down a wee bit.”

He caught his breath when she smiled with a sweet lechery and, with a tantalizing slowness, lay down between his legs. Her gaze never left his as her small tongue flicked out to stroke him and he shuddered. Although she went slowly as he had requested, he knew he would not be able to enjoy her attentions with the same leisure that she gave them. Watching her, seeing in her eyes that she enjoyed pleasuring him so, was shredding what little control he had at an alarming rate. Giving a hoarse cry but moments later, he pulled her up into his arms, sat her astride him and neatly joined their bodies.

“Witch,” he rasped as he held her by the hips and slowly moved her against him. “One of these days I shall learn how to enjoy that for longer than a moment or two.”

When he put his arm around her and leaned her back a little so that his mouth could play over her breasts, Islaen knew she would not be able to delay her release for very long. The little control she had vanished completely when his hand moved between them. His skilled fingers found that bud beneath the silken curls and, with barely a touch, sent her tumbling into desire’s sweet darkness. She clung to him and an instant later his body also shuddered with release. His arms tightened around her as they rocked gently, savoring the remnants of their passion.

Reluctantly, for he enjoyed the way she felt when they were so intimately entwined, Iain eased the closeness of the embrace. Taking her with him, he lay down and tugged the covers over them. Feeling her cuddle up to him, he sighed. It felt good to have her back in his arms.

“I suppose ye are savoring victory,” he drawled, idly running his fingers through her hair.

Although she recognized the teasing note in his voice and smiled sleepily, she said seriously, “Nay, not victory. I mean…”

He kissed her forehead. “I was but teasing, lass.”

“I ken it but in teasing there can lie some truth.”

“Mayhaps. I was wrong. I ken it now. I was forcing us to do what neither of us wanted and there wasnae a need to.” His hold on her tightened a little. “’Tis just that I…Nay I willnae speak on it. Ye probably ken what I meant to say anyhow,” he muttered.

Since she did and he knew it, Islaen made no reply, simply held him tightly. When the child within her moved she hoped Iain did not sense it for she did not want his thoughts too much upon what he feared. He tensed and she sighed. Since her belly was pressed against him it had been foolish to think he could miss the movement. Almost shyly his hand came to rest upon her stomach. She waited to see how he would react to the proof of the life within her womb and almost smiled when the child moved and Iain cursed softly, then jerked his hand away. Gently, she took his hand and placed it back upon her stomach.

“The bairn lives, Iain. That is a thing to find only joy in.”

“Aye,” he whispered hoarsely. “How can ye sleep with such as this going on
within your body?”

“Sometimes I cannae.” She yawned and nuzzled her face in his neck. “Sometimes e’en that cannae keep me awake.”

A moment later he had to smile in soft surprise for, despite the movement he could still feel within her womb, she had fallen asleep. He wondered if she too found it hard to sleep alone. It was pleasant to think that she did, even if it stirred a feeling of guilt for he knew he made her sleep alone much too often. If an empty bed gave her sleepless nights, he was fully to blame.

Long into the night he lay awake, his hand upon her stomach. Every sign of life he felt left him torn between wondrous joy and terror. He indulged in a great many prayers before he finally went to sleep, his fears briefly obliterated by exhaustion.

The weather turned bad the next day giving the land a brief taste of the swiftly approaching winter. Islaen did not mind it for it held Iain at Caraidland for a while.

The night the weather finally broke, Iain made fierce love to her and Islaen knew that he would be leaving her again. She was not at all surprised when, as they lay sated in each other’s arms, he told her he would be leaving in the morning. Islaen wished she could see into his mind, see if he was hurrying away because something she had done or said had touched him, for then she would keep doing it.

“Muircraig willnae be ready for us this winter,” she said only half-questioning the fact.

“Nay, and e’en an it was I think we should stay here.”

“Until the bairn is born.”

“Aye. There is help for ye here and I cannae take it all to Muircraig.”

“Ye dinnae mean to winter at Muircraig, do ye?” she asked softly, unable to keep all of her fear out of her voice as that possibility suddenly assailed her.

“Nay.” He held her tightly. “I will be with ye when your time comes.”

She knew that would be hard for him just as she knew she would keep him as uninvolved as she could but she was glad he would be near. If nothing else she wanted him close at hand to hear her confession about the deceit she had employed so that if anything went wrong he could not blame himself. In some ways it would be easier for her if he was not near but she also knew she would do all she could to see that he was close by.

Rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them, Iain searched the ground for some sign that a man had recently passed through the area. Phelan had seen signs and the youth’s skill in such matters was not to be questioned. Iain felt sure it was MacLennon and there was an eagerness with him to confront the man. He wanted the final confrontation over even though it could mean that he would never know if Islaen survived childbirth or see the child she gave him. His eagerness to face his foe came from a weariness that reached to his soul. Iain was simply tired of living half a life, of always waiting for the man to strike.

As he dismounted to check something a little more closely, he admitted that this was another reason he spent so much time at Muircraig. He wanted to draw MacLennon away from Islaen. Caraidland was well guarded, but MacLennon had already showed how little that mattered. The man’s main target was still him. By being at Muircraig while Islaen was in Caraidland, he divided the man’s targets and felt sure that MacLennon would come to him first.

“Ye willnae find me there, MacLagan,” mocked a voice that chilled Iain’s blood.

A little surprised that the man was showing himself, Iain slowly turned to face his enemy. He felt sure that MacLennon knew about his men that searched for signs nearby. Iain wondered if constant failure was finally driving the man to act carelessly. If so, it could prove a boon. ‘That is, if I escape this meeting,’ he thought wryly as he swiftly drew his sword.

“Ye grow verra tiresome, MacLennon.”

“I will see that ye are soon beyond caring. Today ye die, MacLagan.”

“So ye continue to boast but ye ne’er accomplish your aim.” He saw fury flare in the man’s eyes and knew he was right, that MacLennon grew frustrated by his continued failure. “Come, try again why dinnae ye? Or, do ye grow weary of failing?”

With a bellow of rage Iain was certain would reach the ears of his men, MacLennon attacked. Iain was staggered by the force of the man’s strike. It was hard to believe the smaller, slender man was stronger. Iain could only presume that the man’s madness gave him such strength. Having enraged him had simply added to that strength. With a thrill of alarm Iain also recognized that the cold had slowed him, stiffening him and robbing him of some of his agility. It could prove to be a fatal handicap.

The sound of approaching horsemen drove MacLennon to make one final, furious assault upon Iain before fleeing. Iain was stunned by the ferocity of the attack. He neatly blocked a sword strike but felt a sharp pain in his side. In dismay he saw that MacLennon held a now bloodied dagger in his other hand. The giggle that escaped MacLennon as Iain staggered, clutching his side, made Iain feel slightly ill. He readied himself as well as he could to face another attack but MacLennon was gone. He caught a faint glimpse of the man disappearing into the wood just as Phelan, Murdo and Robert arrived.

“After him. He went that way,” Iain rasped even as he sat down heavily, suddenly overcome by dizziness.

Robert dismounted and hurried to his side as Phelan and Murdo raced after MacLennon. “Wheesht, Iain, he came close to skewering ye weel this time,” Robert muttered as he hurried to staunch the flow of blood. “’Tis nay fatal though.”

“I didnae see him draw his knife. Must be growing slow in my declining years,” he jested weakly.

“What troubles me is that we didnae see him,” Robert grumbled after smiling briefly. “We should have seen him, Iain.”

“We ne’er see him, do we. I begin to think we deal with a specter. He leaves but a faint trail yet, e’en when we find it, we ne’er find him.” Iain suddenly collapsed against Robert, no longer able to fight off unconciousness.

“God’s beard, did MacLennon win then?” Phelan asked in horror when he and Murdo returned.

“Nay, he has but swooned. Ye lost the mon,” replied Robert.

“Aye. Curse him.”

“I think we best take Iain to Caraidland.”

“Aye, there will be better care for him there.”

Islaen frowned, her attention diverted from some frolicking puppies she played with in the stables. Wallace stood looking out at the bailey and she waited for him to tell her what was causing the mild disturbance out there. When he glanced her way rather worriedly, she felt her heart lurch with fear and rose. He hesitantly moved as if to stop her and her alarm grew.

Slipping around him she looked out and swayed as she saw Iain being lifted off of a litter. “Nay,” she whispered then cried, “Iain,” as she started to run towards her husband only to be caught by Robert before she reached Iain’s side.

“He isnae dead, lass. Just cut a wee bit.” He held her close when she slumped against him. “Calm yourself and then I will take ye to him.”

“MacLennon?” she asked as she fought to calm herself as he had commanded.

“Aye but we lost him.”

“God’s tears, not again.”

“Aye, again. Better now?”

“Better. T’was just seeing him carried in like that.”

“Weel, I think t’was a lot of things that sent him into a swoon. Come, we will go and see him now.” He took her hand and started towards the keep. “It wouldnae have done him much good to see ye so pale and upset. He would most like feel he had caused some harm to ye and the bairn by giving ye a bad turn. This will end his work on Muircraig ’til spring, I think.”

Later, as she sat by his bed and waited for Iain to wake Islaen decided Robert was probably right. So long as infection or fever did not set in the wound was not fatal. It was deep, however, requiring a couple of stitches, so it would be a while before he could move much without the threat of breaking open his wound. By the time he was healed enough to do any real work, Islaen felt sure that winter would have begun in earnest. There would be no working at Muircraig then nor any time until the spring.

“So, husband,” she murmured, “ye will have to stay near your wife for a change. Nary a place to run to.”

“Islaen,” Iain groaned as he fought his way to consciousness and thought he heard his wife’s voice.

Praying that he had been too groggy to understand her words, she smiled at him when he opened his eyes. Carefully helping him to sit up a little bit she gave him a drink of water. She decided that he was too pale and hoped that that would soon pass.

“How did I get here?” Iain rasped as he laid back down.

“Robert, Phelan and Murdo brought ye here. They felt it better for ye.”

“’Tis bad?” He gingerly touched the bandaging at his side.

“Nay, ’tis deep though, and ye must rest to heal right. Rest and be still so that ye dinnae pull out the stitches. Ye have lost enough blood. No need to start any more flowing out of ye.”

“Ah, Jesu, we nearly had him, Islaen.” He gripped her hand when she took hold of his in a gesture of sympathy. “I grow so verra weary of this game.”

“So do I, Iain, and I havenae played it near as long as ye have. Are ye sure the mon isnae a sorcerer?”

“Or some ghostie, eh?” He smiled faintly. “Nay, though I oft find myself wondering. Howbeit, if we cut him, he bleeds. I think only living flesh does that,” he drawled. “They were careful bringing me in, were they? Ye cannae afford a bad turn now, lass.”

“Robert was quick to catch me ere I really had time to think the worst. He was watching for me.”

“Good,” he murmured weakly, feeling strongly inclined to go to sleep again. “Ye get some rest, Islaen; I will be fine.”

“I ken it, Iain.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I will just sit here until ye are asleep again. I but needed to see ye wake once to ease my worries. Do ye need anything? Want anything?”

“MacLennon’s head on a salver,” he jested sleepily then grasped Islaen’s hand more tightly. “Dinnae think ye can do it.”

She smiled and held his hand between hers, bringing it up to her lips. “I swear I shall be a verra good lass.”

“Swear it?” he asked, opening his eyes enough to look at her with tired sternness. “Ye have ne’er done anything so reckless whilst I have been with ye, but I have this feeling ye might give some wild idea a thought.”

“Mayhaps an I didnae have twa lives to consider each time I do anything.”

“Ah, of course. Of course,” he murmured, falling asleep almost as soon as he had finished speaking.

She sat beside him for a long while simply watching him sleep. Occasionally she reached out to brush the hair off of his forehead and gently test for any signs of fever. Islaen had a feeling that it was not simply his wound that made him sleep so deeply. There were signs of exhaustion upon his face. She hoped his weariness would not weaken him too much thus furthering the chances of infection and fever. It was not until Storm nearly forced her from his side that Islaen gave up her vigil, leaving Tavis to watch over Iain for a while.

Islaen glared at her husband and seriously considered hitting him with the tray she held. He was nearly healed enough to have his stitching removed but she was sorely tempted to give him a few new wounds. She decided he was worse than even her brother Colin who made the most miserable patient of all her kin and told him so.

“Weel, why dinnae ye lay about in a bed all day after cursed day and see how ye like it,” he grumbled.

“I dinnae like it and I suspicion I wasnae a verra good patient when I had to, but I do think I at least tried not to make life miserable for everyone.”

Iain watched her as she moved angrily around the room, tidying it up. Slowly his temper faded. He knew he was being miserable but could not help himself. Glancing at her ever-rounding belly, he decided it was far past time for him to exercise a little more control of his temper. She could not afford such upsets at this time.

“Forgive me,” he said softly, smiling crookedly when she turned to look at him. “’Tis just that I cannae abide this lying about.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. “Ye neednae apologize, Iain. I understand your anger.” Smiling faintly, she said, “Ye will be up and about soon and then ye can curse your weakness instead of me.”

“Impudent wench.”

“Aye, most like.” She got the salve from the bedside table and rubbed a little upon his wound to ease the itching she knew came with the healing. “These can be removed soon. The wound has closed weel.”

Her light, gentle touch enflamed him. He had been too long without her. Wounded or not he was determined to ease that need. Grasping her around the waist as she put the salve away, he tugged her into his arms.

“Iain,” she gasped, “be careful. Your wound…”

“’Tis not only my wound that tries my temper, lass,” he interrupted.

One look into his eyes told her what he was thinking about but she looked at him innocently. “Ye dinnae like the salve.”

“Verra amusing.” He slid her hand down his body until it rested upon his manhood.

“Ye want me to put salve on that?”

“Islaen,” he growled, “it isnae wise to taunt a desperate mon.”

“Are ye desperate, Iain?” she murmured as she stroked him.

“Aye, witch.”

He kissed her hungrily even as his hand sought the warmth between her thighs. Islaen felt her somewhat neglected desires flare to life. Nevertheless, when he finally released her mouth to spread warm kisses over her throat, she fought to recall his wound.

“I am nay sure ye ought to do this, Iain.”

“I am.” He undid her gown enough to free her breasts.

“Are ye sure we can do this without hurting your side?”

“I am about to show ye that we can and verra nicely too.”

Islaen said no more until she lay sated in his arms. “Aye, that was verra nice.” She giggled when the baby kicked her and Iain grunted. “Ye should feel it from this side.”

“Nay, I think I can live content to a ripe old age without kenning it.”

Moving off him, Islaen straightened her clothes. “Where did ye put my braes?”

“Tossed ’em aside.”

“How uncivilized.”

Crossing his arms behind his head, he grinned at her. “Aye, ye should learn to control yourself.”

“My, we are feeling better, arenae we,” she drawled as she got off of the bed and started to look for her braes.

“There are some potions that cannae be matched.”

Finding her braes all the way across the room, Islaen turned her back to him and put them on. “Ye didnae toss them; ye hurled them.”

“Why bother putting them back on?”

“I feel naked without them. Just keep feeling as if something will show. I have gotten accustomed to wearing them. Truth tell, I begin to think the women that dinnae wear them be the odd ones.” She returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do ye want anything else?” she asked pertly.

Iain was about to make an outrageous reply when Islaen gasped and put her hands over her stomach. “Islaen?”

“Aye, just a moment,” she gasped as she hurriedly lay down by his side and grasped his hand in what she could see was a vain attempt to ease his worry. “The bairn dances,” she said breathlessly.

Almost timidly he put his hands on her swollen abdomen. His eyes slowly widened as he felt the prodigious activity within. It was little surprise that it offset her. He wondered how she could tolerate it.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered.

“Nay, not truly, but ’tis not comfortable either,” she replied with an increasing calm as the activity within her womb eased a little and she was less startled by it.

“Mayhaps a physician.”

“To leech me or cup me? He will think it something in my blood so take some out, mayhaps too much. Aye, he will still the activity. A dead bairn cannae move too muckle much. Dinnae bring one of those corbies near me, Iain. Swear it.”

“I swear it. Calm yourself, Islaen,” he soothed, then jested weakly, “ye will have the bairn kicking his way out in fright.”

“Feels so, doesnae it. ’Tis just that I dinnae like physicians.”

“That was easy to see. Why not?”

She shrugged. “I dinnae ken really save that I have seen their work and it turns my stomach. I could say t’was because of what was done to my cousin, a youth named Ninian, save that I had already begun to distrust the breed by then.”

“What happened to Ninian?” He relaxed a little as he sensed the growing calm in her and the child in her womb.