Authors: Stephanie Sterling
“There’s a fresh bath awaiting ye,” Roan chuckled, which had the desired effect of coaxing Isla to abandon her pretence of sleep.
“A bath?” she whispered hopefully.
“Aye,” Roan grinned, nodding in the direction of a large brass tub sitting in front of the hearth.
“Oooh,” Isla cooed in appreciative longing.
She sat up, and then quickly clutched the blankets up to her chin when she remembered that she had discarded all her clothes. She couldn’t imagine walking across the room in front of her husband completely naked. What had seemed like a good idea when she’d been getting into bed suddenly looked a lot less clever now.
What was worse, Roan seemed to know what was troubling her. He was leaning against the washstand, watching her, a wide grin plastered across his face.
“Ye will have to get out of bed,” he said innocently, but Isla was sure that she could see the mischievous glint in his eyes, even from all the way across the room. “I canna very well bring the bath over there, Isla,” he said, continuing to smile.
“I ken! I
am
getting out of bed,” she said, more to buy some time than anything, because she obviously
hadn’t
been getting out of bed at all.
She wondered if she could wrap herself in the sheet and pad across to the bath, although just the thought of bathing in front of him caused a deep blush to color Isla’s cheeks. Would he be as pleased with what he saw? Would he think she was beautiful?
She had to take that gamble. Isla took a deep breath and slid a leg out from under the bed covers, followed closely by the other. She let the sheet fall slowly from where she’d had it tucked under her chin until she was completely exposed, and then she stood up, letting her breath on in a whoosh of air, before finally daring to look at her husband.
Roan’s gaze reminded her of the lightning strikes she and her brother, Ian, used to watch from the highest turrets of Castle Cameron as children. It held that same intensity, and caused the fine hair on her arms to stand on end in just the same manner.
Isla could feel her heart pick up a beat as Roan’s eyes roamed her body shamelessly.
She must be one of those very wicked, very wanton women she had always been warned against,
Isla thought, feeling more aroused than ashamed.
“Minx,” Roan growled beneath his breath, drinking in the enticing sway of his wife’s body before she settled into the warm water and was once again hidden from view. As if on cue there was a light knock on the door. “I sent for one of the castle maids to come and help ye with -” he paused and cocked an eyebrow, “whatever it is that ladies need help with.”
He padded across the room, towel still wrapped around his waist, and opened the door. Roan smiled affably at the jolly brunette standing in the hall.
“Liane, come in, Robert told ye what I needed?”
“Aye, well he did, my Lord, but I canna say I quite understood him.”
Roan wondered if everyone was going to display the same annoying mental block when it came to accepting that he was married. He sighed. “My wife requires a lady’s maid,” he said simply. “Ye helped Lady Anne’s maid when she stayed at the castle last, dinna ye?”
“Yer
wife
, milord?” Liane’s brown eyes nearly popped out of her head.
She strained to see around her master, looking into the room for the mysterious lady. Roan wasn’t sure why, but he was glad there was a screen placed between the bath and the door, saving Isla from being gawked at like an animal at the fair.
“Dinna ye?” Roan growled more harshly. Liane blinked up at him in question. “Help Lady Anne’s maid?” he repeated.
“Oh, aye sir, that I did,” she said, bobbing apologetically.
“Then ye should be a great help to Mistress Isla,” he waved her past him, into the room, and then proceeded to lead her around to his wife.
“Isla,” he drawled, “this is Liane, she will be only too pleased to help ye with anything ye might need.” Then with a nod of his head, Roan went to finish dressing.
He had chosen Liane for Isla’s maid with good reason. The girl was a couple of years younger than his wife, too young for Roan ever to have trifled with, and had a sunny, hardworking disposition that made her instantly likable to almost everyone she met.
Liane was not known for her intellect. She had an innocence about her that made her unfailingly trusting and excessively eager to please. She didn’t have a malicious bone in her young body, and Roan though it might do Isla some good to be waited on by a girl who was too disconnected from castle politics to resist caring for a Cameron. He listened to the pair of them chatting away happily and considered it a job well done.
There was a second room adjoining his bedchamber. It was about half the size of the first, and housed a small collection of books on military tactics and a large, sturdy wood desk that had once belonged to Roan’s grandfather. Roan stepped inside and finished dressing, then puttered around in the study, as he called it, for as long as he thought was necessary for a lady to dress to meet the Laird. Having three sisters, and more female conquests than he would admit to, he thought himself a fair judge of approximating the time it would take Isla to get ready.
He found that he had woefully underestimated.
Isla was dressed when he returned to the bedroom, but she was nowhere near ready. Liane was only just beginning to brush out the long, luxuriant curls of his wife’s hair.
“How long is this going to take?” he grumbled, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“As long as it needs to take,” Isla said sweetly.
“As long as it needs to take” turned out to mean nearly an hour, but once Roan had gotten over his initial irritation at being made to wait, he found himself watching the whole business with barely concealed interest. Liane tried to shoo him away, muttering something in her funny little way about it being unseemly for a husband to watch his wife in such a manner, but Roan refused to budge.
It was the oddest sort of torture, seeing Isla preened and polished and made up until she could have passed for a member of the Royal court. She was so exquisitely beautiful. He thought perhaps he had started to take it for granted, and then he considered that he’d never seen her quite like this, not even on their wedding day. She looked positively radiant.
“Well,” she said, as she turned to face him, dusting an imaginary speck of dust off her gown. “How do I look?”
Does she have to ask?
Roan wondered.
“Like a princess,” he breathed, embarrassed to hear the awed tone of his voice, but the smile that broke across Isla’s face warmed his heart. “Come,” he offered her his arm, “I have a whole castle of people to show ye off to.”
“A whole castle?” Isla repeated.
“Well, eventually,” Roan nodded. He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt, but there was something untouchable about Isla in her current state of finery. “But let’s start with the Laird first, shall we?”
..ooOOoo..
“The Laird - does he ken we’re coming to see him?”
Roan glanced down at Isla. Her voice held a note of fear that he hadn’t heard since they had first been married (
such an age ago
, he thought wryly). Other than that, she appeared the picture of perfect composure. He wasn’t even certain that these tiny betrayals would be visible to anyone other than himself.
“As ye heard my mother say earlier, Laird MacRae is unwell, however, he has consented to see me.”
“He must think very highly of ye then,” Isla said turning to look up into his face. Perhaps he was only imagining it, but Roan thought he heard a note of pride in her voice. “I mean, ye were the one he chose to represent the clan at Castle Cameron.”
“Aye, he did,” Roan conceded, as they stepped toward the doors of the Laird’s chamber. “But then I am the clan’s tanist, so perhaps tis nae so surprising.”
He felt Isla falter beside him. “Yer the tanist?” she choked. “Yer next in line to be Laird - and ye never thought to mention it?”
Roan gave his shoulders a sheepish shrug. “It slipped my mind.”
“It slipped yer mind!”
“I
have
had a lot to think about these last few days, as ye well ken,” Roan argued in his defense, and that was all he was able to say on the subject. It was time to meet the Laird.
It was dark in the large room. The curtains were drawn and only a few sputtering candles were lit, casting a weak light around the chamber.
“Roan, I canna tell ye how relieved I am to see that ye’ve made back in one piece.”
The voice carried from a chair beside the hearth. It was an old voice, but it was still strong, at odds with the crippled body in which it now resided. Graem MacRae had been a great man, a warrior, in whose footsteps Roan was honored to follow, but time had not been kind to the chieftain. Graem MacRae now had the emaciated look of a large man who was withering away. His mind remained as sharp as flint however. That, coupled with his past deeds, ensured him the loyalty and respect of his clan.
“I am relieved to be back, sir,” Roan said respectfully.
“But nae alone.” Graem’s quick eyes moved from his tanist to the woman standing by his side.
“Nae sir, nae alone,” Roan agreed, he pressed Isla a little further forward. “Would ye allow me to present Isla MacRae,” he paused, “my wife.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as Isla bobbed in a low, respectful curtsy.
“A Cameron?” Graem asked, his voice unnervingly calm and neutral.
The Laird must, of course, have been informed of their arrival and been told of the details pertaining to it. Roan had expected no less. He opened his mouth to reply, but the old man held up a gnarled hand to silence him.
“Let the lady speak, Roan.”
“My Lord?” Roan frowned uncertainly. He glanced at his wife, relieved to find that Isla looked remarkably poised and self-composed.
“Well now, Mistress Isla,” the Laird began, “Yer a Cameron, are ye nae?”
Isla folded her hands in front of her skirts and took a moment before answering. “I was born a Cameron, aye.”
Graem MacRae gave a weary smile. “And yet ye married my tanist here,” he said, pointing to Roan with one arthritic finger. Isla nodded. “Well now, sit down the pair of ye, it must be unraveled I suppose.”
Roan ushered Isla to the chair that stood opposite the Laird, close to the other side of the hearth. He waited for his wife to sit before taking a seat beside her.
“From the look of yer manners and yer dress, Mistress Isla, yer not a woman of lowly stature?” Graem queried. He looked curiously like he was enjoying trying to puzzle out the pair of them.
“I am Laird Cameron’s niece. My mother died when my brothers and I were very young. My father moved back to Castle Cameron, and I was fortunate enough to become a favorite companion of my dear aunt,” she said. Roan listened just as intently as Graem, eager to learn everything there was to know about his wife.
“Yer father’s name? And yer brothers’?” Graem asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Isla hesitated uncertainly for a moment, but then answered, “My father is Hector Cameron, and my brothers are Ian and James.”
Graem made a murmured of recognition. “Ian Cameron, the Cameron’s war captain?
“Aye, sir,” Isla confessed timidly.
Roan barely managed to retain a snort. Typical.
“Well now, Mistress Isla, Roan, this is all very fine and interesting, but it does nae begin to answer the mystery of why ye are here, sitting before me, as a married couple,” the MacRae Laird said slowly.