Wings of Morning (20 page)

Iain stood outside the bedchamber door, marveling at how rapidly his heart was beating. He was as nervous as some lad, he was, he, who had never felt the least intimidated by any lass, whether she be peasant or queen. But then, this particular woman was now his wife. Whatever transpired between them tonight might well set the tone for their lifelong relationship.

Did she dread his arrival, or was she just resigned to her fate? Iain felt reasonably certain Regan wasn’t eagerly anticipating his presence in her bedchamber, no matter what Anne’s assurances had been when she had finally returned to inform him his wife was waiting. And no one still present at the wedding festivities had likely thought so either, if the polite smiles and subdued well wishes were any indication.

But none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was Regan and the wedding night to come. He only wanted it to go pleasantly for her. He didn’t hope for anything more.

“Help me, Lord,” he said softly. “Help me to ease her way this night, and let this be the first step in winning her heart anew.”

Then, squaring his shoulders, Iain rapped on the door. There was a long enough pause that he began to wonder if she had even heard him, before a low “Enter” came. He immediately grasped the handle and shoved open the door.

Save for the red-gold light of the hearth fire, the room was swathed in shadow. Iain looked to the bed. Regan wasn’t there. He scanned the rest of the room and found her standing at the open window, her back turned to him. Inhaling a deep breath, Iain walked in and closed the door behind him.

She was dressed in a long, white night rail, covered by a sleeveless, green velvet bed robe. Her thick mass of hair was loose and hung down her back almost to her waist. Iain’s throat went dry. Standing there, silhouetted by moonlight now that the rain and clouds had passed, she looked beautiful.

So very, very beautiful . . . and his.

He strode over to the low chest placed at the foot of the bed and quickly shed his plaid, jacket, and doublet. Then, clad in trews, shirt, and shoes, Iain crossed the room to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Instantly, Regan tensed, then relaxed. Likely forced herself to relax, he thought grimly. Still, it was evident she was trying, and that heartened him.

They stood there for a time, both gazing out on the star-filled night. Iain considered and quickly discarded several opening gambits, deciding they all sounded either stilted or inane. Finally, though, as his glance caught on a particular constellation, he found himself talking about it.

“That’s Ursa Major,” he said. “Can ye see it? It looks like some water dipper in the sky.”

Regan was silent for a long moment, until Iain began to fear she didn’t wish to speak with him.

“Aye,” she said of a sudden, “now I see it.”

“Do ye know aught of constellations, lass?”

“Verra little.”

“Most ancient cultures saw pictures in the stars of the night sky, and many tales as to the origins of those star groupings soon developed. Indeed, by the fifth century before Christ, most of the constellations had come to be associated with myths. The myth of Ursa Major evolved from the tale of Jupiter and his lover, Callisto, whom Jupiter’s jealous wife, Juno, changed into a bear. She’s the constellation Ursa Major, and her son by Jupiter is the nearby Ursa Minor.”

She shot him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Ye sound as if ye’ve studied the constellations most thoroughly. Stars and roses. Ye never cease to amaze me with the scope of yer knowledge.”

“Och,” Iain replied with a chuckle, “I only know a verra little about a lot of things. Comes with reading most of the books in Balloch’s—and Kilchurn’s—libraries.”

“I’ve read everything in Strathyre’s library,” Regan said. “Unfortunately, that only consisted of about ten books. The MacLarens never had much money for such luxuries, after all.”

“Well, they did the best they could, I suppose. And ye won’t want for books anymore.”

“Nay, I suppose I won’t want for a lot of things now, will I?”

Though her words seemed to convey one meaning, the sadness in her voice said something entirely different. His grip tightened on Regan’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to imply that material goods are the only route to true happiness, lass. Ye won’t lack for love and the warmth of family and friends either. I promise ye that.”

“So, ye’re all willing to forgive and forget, are ye?”

“Where hurt has been given, aye.” Ever so gently, Iain turned Regan around to face him. “As I hope that, someday, ye can do the same. But, more importantly, ye and I begin a new life this day. Can’t ye give me a second chance to prove to ye who I really am?”

She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not worth yer time or effort. Truly, I’m not.”

“And I don’t believe that.”

Regan’s laugh was strident. “Then don’t blame me later, when ye finally do. I tried, after all, to warn ye.”

He caught her chin in his fingers and lifted her gaze to meet his. “What did they do to ye all those years,” he demanded hoarsely, “to make ye think so poorly of yerself? By all that’s holy, if I knew who had done this, and if they still lived, I vow I’d soon make them pay for their cruelty!”

“It’s too late.” She wrenched her chin away. “And it’s over and done with. What matters is now, this night, and what
ye
plan to do to
me
.”

Her abrupt change of topic took Iain by surprise. But then, on closer consideration, he supposed what she had said was true. The past, however unpleasant it may have been, was tucked away, safe and sound, while tonight still loomed before her.

Iain smiled down at her. “I had hoped we might lie together as man and wife. If ye don’t think that’d be too distasteful for ye.”

“I suppose I can stand aught, as long as it’s not verra painful, and soon done with.”

There was something about her reply that gave Iain pause. “And why wouldn’t ye know exactly how it’d be? I’m not yer first husband, after all.”

“Aye, but ye’re—” She flushed crimson. “Ye’re the first . . .”

“The first what, lass?” he asked, after patiently waiting for her to continue. Then realization dawned. “Are ye yet a maiden?”

“A-aye.”

“But how? Ye were wed.”

“How else?” Her sharp, short laugh shattered the silence. “On our wedding night, Roddy was too drunk to be gentle with me, and I fought him. The next thing I knew, he’d passed out. I ran off and hid from him after that. And when he couldn’t find me later, he rode away with his men to reive yer cattle.” She dragged in a shuddering breath. “He returned to me on a plaid carried by his men. Returned dead.”

Iain choked back his incredulity. Could it be true? But then, what purpose would it serve for her to lie?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He reached up to stroke her cheek. The skin was smooth, flawless. Almost of its own accord, his finger wended its way to her mouth, which he then gently circled.

“Ye still haven’t answered my question.” The look she shot him was wary and anger bright.

Iain frowned. “What question?”

“Will ye be quick about it, and not make it painful?”

“I won’t force ye, if that’s what ye’re asking. I love ye, lass, and I don’t wish for our marriage to begin with pain or fear or disgust. Indeed, if ye desire, we can wait a time to consummate our vows. Until ye’re more of a mind to do it, I mean.”

“I just want ye to be done with it!”

She was so afraid. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

“That’s not how a husband and wife love each other, lass. Not in some hurried, furtive, shamefaced way. Our union’s blessed by God, and blessed in every way. What we share between us in the marriage bed is equally blessed—and beautiful.”

“I-I wouldn’t know.” Regan clenched shut her eyes. “In truth, I don’t think I
want
to know.”

He took her in his arms then, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do to ease her fears. As Iain pulled her close, however, her eyes snapped open, and she stared up at him with wide, wary eyes.

“Would ye at least let me kiss ye, lass?” he asked, gentling his voice as best as he could. “That’s not such a horrible thing, is it?”

The terrified light in her eyes seemed to dim a bit. “Nay, I suppose not.”

Iain slid his hand up her back to cradle her head in one hand. Then, ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth toward hers. When their lips were but a hair’s breadth apart, Regan closed her eyes.

He kissed her with consummate care, tenderly caressing her slightly parted lips, neither rushing nor overwhelming her. After a surprisingly short time, she began to relax. Her hands came up to entwine about his neck. She arched against him.

A sweet, savage joy exploded within Iain. He felt his tightly held control slip a bit and forced himself to pull back, end the kiss.

Regan stared up at him with a sated, glazed expression. She was more ready and willing, Iain realized, than she was even aware of, or leastwise, able to admit. For the first time this eve, he thought there might be hope.

“Will ye trust me that the rest of our coupling will go just as pleasantly?” he asked, his voice gone husky and deep with a barely contained emotion. “All I ask is ye give me a chance, lass. Just one chance.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Ye sound verra sure of yerself.”

He chuckled. “Only on the surface, to be sure. Inside, I’m shaking.”

“Nay, not ye.” A wobbly little smile tipped one corner of her mouth. “Not the great Iain Campbell.”

“But ye don’t understand, wife,” he said, his own smile slowly stretching into a grin. “It only matters that
ye
imagine me great. Ye are, after all, the only woman I must please from here on out.”

As if considering his statement, Regan’s brow furrowed in thought. Then, seemingly having made up her mind, she nodded. “Aye, I suppose ye’re right about that. And, since just this day I did make those holy vows, I likely owe ye at least one chance.”

Iain laughed and, grasping her beneath her legs, swung her in his arms. “But one chance, and just one chance, only?”

His suddenness in picking her up must have set all the old terrors into motion again. Regan clenched shut her eyes for an instant, then inhaled a deep breath and opened them.

“Pray, let’s take this one step at a time, shall we?” she finally asked. “I am a maiden, after all.”

“Aye,” Iain replied as he turned on his heel and made his way to the bed. “But only for a verra short time more. A
verra
short time, indeed.”

14

Regan woke the next morn to sunlight streaming in the window, a gentle breeze tugging at the heavy velvet bed draperies, and a sense of immense relaxation and satisfaction. She yawned, stretched, and momentarily reveled in the play of muscles and sinew working out all her body’s nocturnal kinks.

Then remembrance of the past night came flooding back. She froze. Iain . . . their wedding night . . . She looked to her left and found the expanse of bed empty. The imprint of another body, however, was plain on the sheets and second pillow. It hadn’t been a dream.

Yet, as her thoughts flew back, recalling him and his loving, the memories did indeed possess a dreamlike quality. A soft smile touched Regan’s lips. Iain had been true to his word. What they had shared had been blessed—and beautiful.

He was tender, gentle, and exquisitely patient, and she soon thrilled to his kisses, the touch of his hands. Afterward, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to snuggle close to him, lay her head upon his broad, hair-roughened chest, and fall asleep in the protective clasp of his arm. She would’ve almost, she thought with a giggle, had imagined herself some wanton woman, if not for the fact that she was wed. She never imagined herself capable of such an ardent response.

Some woman’s instinct told her, though, it was the man who elicited such a response in a woman, playing her like some beloved clarsach, his fingers plucking the strings with such care until the harp—and the woman—sang with the most stirring, heartfelt music. And not just any or every man either. Regan knew that now.

Even if Roddy hadn’t come to her that night in a drunken state, she wondered now if he could’ve ever loved her like Iain had last night. Though she had loved him like a brother, Regan also knew Roddy’s heart. He had never, ever, possessed the depth and breadth and richness of character that she had glimpsed in Iain in but a few short months.

Yet Roddy at least had always been forthright with her. Though she suspected he hid one of his motives for wedding her—to prevent her from making any Drummond leadership claims—Regan knew he had done it to spare her feelings, to keep her safe. In his own way, Roddy had truly and deeply loved her.

Iain, on the other hand, she wasn’t entirely sure about. It still made no sense for him to want to take her as wife. True, the queen had commanded it, but Regan felt reasonably certain if Iain had truly wanted to protest that decree, Mary would’ve relented. It was more than evident the queen had a soft spot for Iain in her heart. A very soft spot, indeed.

Regan pushed up in bed and wrapped her arms about her drawnup knees. Did Iain perhaps hope, by wedding her, to silence once and for all the suspicion she had cast upon him for Roddy’s murder? But then, it would suit Mary’s needs as well to silence the accusations—accusations that couldn’t conclusively be proven one way or another—made against one of her most loyal supporters.

She sighed and rested her chin on her knees.
Why does it always come back to this?
Regan wondered. Even after last night and all the truly astonishing pleasure she had experienced in Iain’s arms, her old, inherently mistrustful nature inevitably regained its hold. Why
couldn’t
she listen more with her heart, like Anne had suggested she should? What did she really have to lose, when all she had ever loved had either ridden away, never to return, or never wanted her to begin with?

Regan shivered and clenched shut her eyes. Och, she well knew what she risked losing. Iain was the most magnificent of men. He touched her to the deepest parts of her being with his kindness, his humor, his love of learning, and his openhearted, generous nature. And, after last night, he had touched her on yet another level. Now, she was as physically drawn to him as she was emotionally and intellectually.

Someday, though, he’d leave her—or she’d have to leave him. Her deepest fear was that, either way, she couldn’t endure that devastating sort of loss again. Yet what choice was left her but to continue on the path she had begun just yesterday, when she had made her marriage vows before God? More than the queen’s command led her now. She had made her promise to the Lord. That vow bound her more surely than any ever made to man.

Her hands came together in a prayerful clasp. Regan lifted her thoughts heavenward.
Dear Lord, the road that lies before me is hidden, and I’m so afraid. I obeyed the queen and married Iain, never once considering if it was Yer will that I do so. If that was wrong, forgive me. Show me what I must next do. And if it was right, give me the strength to face what lies ahead with courage and love.

Father Henry spoke true, after all, that day he took me to task for agreeing to Walter’s plan. I
did
stand on a threshold and could never turn back. That day, though I couldn’t see it then, I began a new path, a path I’ve yet to comprehend verra clearly. I only pray that I’ve chosen the true path.

The path that, in the end, will lead me where Ye’ve always meant for me to go.

Though he would’ve far preferred remaining with Regan this morn, Iain couldn’t risk William Drummond leaving Kilchurn before he’d had a chance to talk with him. And, as luck would have it, Iain met the man and his wife walking from the Great Hall just after they finished their breakfast.

He wasted no time in striding over to them. After a brief nod of greeting to William’s wife, Iain looked directly at the other man. “If ye please, I’d like a word with ye in private.”

William arched a bushy gray-blond brow. “And aren’t ye up rather early on the morn after yer wedding? I’d have thought ye would’ve far preferred spending it in the arms of yer bonny wife than with the likes of me.”

Iain smiled thinly. “It’s
because
of my bonny wife that I need to spend this time with ye, Drummond.” He stepped aside, half turned, and indicated the library. “This won’t take long, I assure ye.”

The other man shrugged, then glanced at his wife. “Well, Clara, if ye can see to the final preparations for our journey, I’ll soon rejoin ye.”

She eyed him uncertainly, then nodded and hurried away.

As soon as they were within the library’s secluded confines, Iain motioned for William to take one of the chairs at the head of the table. Iain seated himself in one of the others.

“Since I see ye’re eager to begin yer journey home,” he then began, “I won’t waste either yer time or mine. Through Regan, Clan Drummond’s now aligned by bonds of marriage with Clan Campbell. Which means, of course, that ye’ve gained some verra powerful allies.”

“Allies,” the other man replied smoothly, “Clan Drummond’s greatly pleased to have.”

“Such an alliance, however, comes with a few requirements.” Iain leaned forward. “But then, ye’re a practical man, aren’t ye, Drummond? Ye knew that such a privilege was a two-edged sword.”

The meager smile on William’s lips faded. “What do ye wish of me, Campbell?”

“There’s been some concern of late over yer political leanings. Rumor has it ye prefer the lords who support the Earl of Moray over his sister.”

“Mary has made a fool of herself with her marriage to Darnley!” William’s mouth tautened to a hard-edged smirk. “And worst of all, she’ll never renounce her papist loyalties. Ye know that as well as I, ye who belong to a clan who follows the Reformed Kirk.”

“Not all of Clan Campbell follows the Reformed Kirk,” Iain growled. “Still, be that as it may, this branch of Clan Campbell has chosen to cast their lot with the queen. And we expect that same loyalty from all our family, be they of blood ties or marital ones.” Iain leaned back. “Do I make myself clear, Drummond?”

The other man’s gaze narrowed to fiery, furious slits. “Aye, ye’re plain enough. And what am I to gain for turning my back on Moray and his friends? Because I’ll need more than just the assurance of yer continued friendship, I will.”

Iain well knew what Drummond wanted. Still, he wished to hear it from the man’s own lips. “What exactly did ye have in mind?”

“What else?” He shrugged. “I’d like the same agreement I made with Roddy MacLaren, before I gave him leave to wed Regan. That ye’ll promise not to allow her ever to make a claim for the Drummond chieftainship.” William smiled. “Keep her, instead, occupied with matters of yer home and lands. Keep her busy bearing ye the bairns I’m sure ye need to secure yer succession. It should be a pleasant enough task, after all. Regan’s a bonny, well-formed lass. And Roddy certainly saw no difficulties with our plan.”

“But Roddy MacLaren,” Iain said silkily, “is now dead. And I don’t care much for yer offer.”

Drummond’s face turned red, but he wisely held on to his temper. “And what good would it do ye, Campbell, to see yer wife as clan chief? Ye’re tanist. Ye might one day be chief. Ye don’t need our meager wealth or men.”

“Nay, I don’t, whether I always remain clan tanist or one day become chief. Truth is, though, ye’re in no position to bargain with me. Just do as I suggest in regards to Mary, and that’ll suffice.”

“So, ye mean to use Regan to gain control of Clan Drummond, do ye?”

Iain eyed the other man who, if his stiff shoulders, fisted hands, and murderous glare were any gauge, appeared as if he were about to leap across the table and attack him. “Nay, I didn’t say that. I’ve no need—leastwise no personal need—to acquire control of yer clan.”

William sagged back in his chair. “So ye’ll not permit Regan—”

“I’ll not
encourage
Regan,” Iain was swift to correct him. “I won’t, however,
discourage
her if she one day expresses a wish to seek control of her clan. Still, if ye’re verra fortunate, mayhap she’ll never wish to do so. Personally, I can’t see why she would. Attempting such an undertaking, after all, would be like wading into a nest of vipers.”

He shoved back his chair and stood. “So, are we now of a common understanding and commitment, Drummond?”

William shot him a mutinous glance, then quickly looked down. “Aye, since it seems I’ve little other choice,” he replied with a sullen edge to his voice, “I suppose we are.”

“Good. Then I wish ye a pleasant journey home.”

Iain pushed in his chair and gave the other man a curt nod. Then, without another word, he strode across the library and out the door.

Mary and her entourage departed for Edinburgh the next day—according to Anne,
most
reluctantly. Plans were made, as well, for Iain and his group to return to Balloch the day after. It was past time, he informed Regan, to get back, considering the harvest was all but over and had, of necessity, gone on without his oversight as was the usual custom.

She knew she was to blame for the extended stay at Kilchurn but was grateful nonetheless that neither he nor Mathilda made an issue of it. Still, it was difficult saying her farewells the next morn, especially to Anne, as Niall kept his distance save for a curt but polite kiss on the cheek and proffered wishes for a safe journey home.

“Come back and visit us soon,” Kilchurn’s lady whispered as she gave Regan one final hug. “We’re cousins by marriage now, as well as sisters of the heart.”

Regan’s eyes misted with tears. “Aye, that we are. I can’t thank ye enough for yer continued friendship and trust in me, even when things looked their bleakest. Mayhap, in time, ye can come and visit us at Balloch.” The thought gave her momentary pause, and she laughed. “It still sounds strange, speaking of Balloch like that. As if I now truly belong there, that it’s my home.”

Anne chuckled. “Aye, it was that way for me as well, once Niall and I wed. That I was truly lady of such a grand place as Kilchurn. But ye’ll get used to it soon enough, ye will.”

“Aye, I suppose . . .” At Iain’s smiling approach, Regan’s voice faded.

Both women turned to him. His attention, however, was riveted on Regan, his gaze so intent and loving that she couldn’t help but blush with sudden shyness. Even now, three days since their wedding, the fierce-burning fire in his eyes whenever he looked at her made her heart leap with a giddy happiness.

“It’s time we were going, lass,” he said in that wonderful, deep voice of his. “We’ve a long three days’ journey back to Balloch, after all.”