Highland Captive (32 page)

“Could
not the same happen with ye and Parlan? Ye already have a firm place for
yourself here, already are so important to him though I do understand why it
isnae quite enough. He trusts ye, likes ye, and soon ye will share a child.
Build upon that, child. Give him all your love, and the chances are verra good
that ye can draw the same from him. Ye have already gained a lot.”

Staring
at their joined hands, Aimil thought upon all Giorsal had said. There was a
great deal of sense to it. While it might be easier for a good, kind man like
Iain MacVern to make Giorsal love him than for her to make a man like Parlan
love her, that did not mean that it was impossible. She certainly had a greater
chance of doing so than any other woman in his life had ever had.

“Aye,
I see the sense of what ye say. I must cease using time and strength to bemoan
what I dinnae have and use it to try and gain what I want. Aye, to gain what I
need.”

After
briefly hugging Aimil, Giorsal stood and tugged Aimil to her feet. “And be
patient, dinnae lose heart.”

“I
will try verra hard not to, but ‘tis a thing far easier to speak of than to do.”

“True
enough, but I think ye can do most anything ye set your mind to. Come, now,
there is a wedding to attend.”

Parlan
scowled toward the door of the hall. “Where is the lass?”

Doing
a poor job of hiding a smile, Lagan shook his head. “Takes a lass time to ready
herself for her wedding.”

“Weel,
if she isnae here soon, I will go and fetch her down. The priest grows
impatient,” Parlan added a little pompously.

“Och,
aye. ‘Tis why he sets there sipping his mead and quietly talking to Lachlan. A
sure sign of displeasure.”

After
glaring at Leith, Malcolm, and Artair who snickered, Parlan frowned at Lagan. “I
will concede that I grow a wee bit restless.”

“Quite.
Just a wee bit.”

“Ye
can sore try a man’s good humor, Lagan Dunmore.” He swore softly when Lagan
just laughed.

Parlan
was about to complain that it should not take any woman so long to don a gown
when Aimil finally entered the hall. He caught his breath at the sight of her.
Her gown was loose and flowing, not only to keep anything from aggravating her
nearly-healed wounds but because he and Old Meg were firm believers that no
tight clothing should restrict the growth of his child in Aimil’s womb. The
rich blue of her gown made her eyes seem even bluer. What truly caught his
admiration was her long, bright hair, its thick length glistening and festooned
with blue and gold ribbons. He had never seen her look lovelier.

“Ah,
Parlan, ye rogue, ye are gaining a fair, wee lass.”

“Aye,
Lagan, that I am.” Parlan immediately strode toward Aimil.

Aimil
was a little taken aback by her first sight of Parlan. She had never seen him
dressed in such finery, in clothes worthy of an appearance at the king’s court.
The black and silver seemed to heighten the imposing cast of his dark looks.
She felt in awe of him and decided it was not a feeling she was particularly fond
of. It certainly shook what little confidence she had.

How
could she expect to hold such a man? She was but a small Lowland lass with a
short temper and a sharp tongue. At the moment, Parlan looked every inch the
fierce Highland laird, a man to make women far prettier than her pursue him. He
looked a man no woman could hold for long. Inwardly, she sighed as he took her
by the hand and raised her fingers to his lips.

“Ye
are lovely beyond words, Aimil Mengue.” He was puzzled by the hint of sadness
in her eyes. “Can ye nae add to it with a wee smile?”

She
tried but suspected that it was a poor, weak one that finally shaped her mouth.
“I am a wee bit nervous, ‘tis all, Parlan.”

He
did not really believe that was all of it but did not press her. It was neither
the time nor the place. So too was there an urgency within him to get the vows
said and done, to claim her and the child she carried as his. There would be
plenty of time later to sort out her various moods and understand what lay
behind them he decided. With a smile he hoped would soothe her, he tugged her
toward the priest who was now ready to perform the marriage service.

As
he knelt before the priest holding her faintly trembling hand in his, Parlan
searched his heart one last time for any doubts or regrets about the step he
was about to take. It did not really surprise him to find none for he had
expected that, having found none since the moment he had decided to take her as
his wife. There was a concern or two, even a few things that could be termed fears,
but he pushed them aside. He did not really understand them but knew that they
made no difference to what he did now. Instinct told him that they would be
somewhat eased once Aimil was legally his.

Mine
, he thought
with a sense of pride and possession that nearly made him smile. It was not
something he had ever felt toward a woman before. With Aimil, however, it was
important that he tie her to him in any and every way he could. It troubled him
deeply that she did not seem to feel the same way as was indicated by the way
she was hesitating to repeat the vows that would finalize their marriage.
Looking at her, he tried desperately, yet fruitlessly, to read in her
expression the reason that she faltered.

Although
she parted her lips to begin repeating the vows that would make her legally
Parlan’s, a sudden rush of doubt stilled her tongue. What lay ahead could be
the answer to all her dreams or a long painful nightmare. She loved him beyond
what was probably sensible, but there was no guarantee that he would ever
return that love. To spend a lifetime caught in the painful hold of unrequited
love seemed more than anyone should be forced to bear.

Glancing
at him, she felt common sense return. There really was no choice for her. If
she humiliated him now by suddenly refusing to wed him, she would undoubtedly
lose all chance of gaining his love. So too there was the child. He had a right
to his child, as much right as she did, and she was certain that it was not a
right he would relinquish. Even if she did not wed him, she would still be tied
to him through the child. Far better to take her chances, she decided. Taking a
deep breath, she repeated the vows that made her forever his, something her
heart had done months ago.

Chapter Eighteen

“Are
ye happy, child?”

Aimil
looked up at her father and smiled. It gladdened her heart considerably to be
on good terms with her father again, but she suffered from a touch of wariness,
even disbelief. At any moment she expected to see him turn away from her as he
had in the past. Knowing how that could hurt her, she found herself trying to
keep a distance between them. She could only hope that with time and a
lessening of her wariness her distrust would vanish. The last thing she wished
to do was spoil the renewal of her relationship with him.

“Aye,
Papa. He is a good man.” She thought that sounded a little trite but could not
think of anything else to say.

“Of
course, ye are happy. Your voice fairly trembles with joy.”

Grimacing,
Aimil admitted to herself that it had been foolish of her to think that she
could divert him by mouthing platitudes. “I am happy. He is the man I want.
Aye, there are a few pebbles in our path, but they can be cleared away.”

“That
is the way to think on it. Ye are the one he wanted too, lass.”

“Aye,
because of the bairn.”

“Wheesht,
fool lass. Do ye think a man like the Black Parlan would be made to wed a lass
simply because his seed had set root in her? He would stand firm and tell me to
do as I will, and weel ye ken it.”

“But
honor demands...”

“Not
when ye are but a captive. Aye, if ye were the daughter of some ally he had
seduced but, nay, not for a captive.”

She
was still thinking on her father’s words when Giorsal and Maggie took her up to
Parlan’s chambers. His words had made a greater impression upon her than nearly
anything anyone else had said. Her father saw it as only another man could have
and had succinctly explained that elusive concept to her. The more she looked
at it the more she wondered why she had not seen it before. She began to
suspect that she had purposely avoided any logic that might inspire hope,
possibly a fruitless hope.

Whether
Parlan wanted the child or not, and she was sure he did, he would not tie
himself to her for life because the child rested in her womb. In her case,
honor only demanded that he give her back alive when the ransom was paid. If
she happened to have lost her chastity while captive and her belly swelled with
his child, most would shrug. They would see it as one of the costs of being
caught, perhaps even as part of the ransom. Parlan really had done what he had
wanted to.

Still
mulling that over, she somewhat absently said good-night to her sister, and it
was a moment before she realized that Maggie was lingering. “Is there something
wrong, Maggie?”

“Nay,
everything couldnae be finer.” Maggie smiled almost radiantly. “I have been
trying to talk to ye since yester morn.” She blushed faintly. “I heeded all ye
said about how to go on with Malcolm. Aye, heeded it and acted upon it.”

“And
it worked, aye? Weel, that is a foolish question for ‘tis clear to see that it
did by your face.”

“Aye,
it worked though leaving the candles lit and keeping my eyes open caused my
poor man a blush or twa.” She giggled along with Aimil. “I willnae have to do
it again. I found I didnae really need to do it the first time for I never
thought it was any but my Malcolm loving me. Howbeit, the lit candle took the
fear from me so that I had the courage to try the first time.”

“I
am so glad for ye, Maggie.” She kissed the maid’s cheek. “Aye, and for Malcolm.
He is a good man. When are ye to be wed then?”

“The
priest said he would wed us before he left Dubhglenn. I wished to thank ye, m’lady.
Thank ye with all my heart.”

“Thank
me? Whatever for? T’was Malcolm’s doing.”

“Aye,
once I was set in his arms, but t’was ye that set me there, gave me the heart
to try.”

“Weel,
I think ye would have found it on your own in time, but ye are verra welcome.”

Maggie
smiled then hurried toward the door. “I will leave ye be then. ‘Tis certain I
am that your man will be here soon.”

Aimil
was certain of that, too. As soon as Maggie left, Aimil nervously went to check
on her appearance in the mirror. It seemed far too long since Parlan had held
her. She had sensed his growing hunger as they were healing from their wounds,
but he had abstained from satisfying it, even to moving her to a separate room.
He had clearly felt that now that they were to be wed, now that she was no
longer his hostage, and now that her family came and went from Dubhglenn as
they pleased, it was time to act with a little discretion.

It
was probably for the best, but she had not liked it much and not simply
because, as she had healed, she had begun to feel as eager for a taste of the
passion they shared as he seemed to be. Rory had scarred her with a fear she
could not seem to shake. It haunted her dreams, bringing nightmares. Although
Parlan had often appeared at her bedside to ease those fears when she had come
awake shaking and cold, he had been absent enough for her to know how much she
needed him there, needed to be able to reach out and touch him to assure
herself that she was safe, that Rory was only a chimera in her mind. Although
she cursed her weakness, she could not deny it and reluctantly accepted the
fact that it would be awhile before she would be free of it, that time was
needed for her body, mind, and heart to forget those hours of terror and pain.

Slipping
into bed, she propped up the pillows then leaned against them to wait for
Parlan. Because they had been lovers for so long and she was carrying his
child, there would be no bedding ceremony. She was not at all regretful,
recalling how coarse and embarrassing it could get from her sisters’ weddings.
All she had to do was wait for Parlan to arrive so that they could begin the
arrangement that Rory’s attack had so brutally interrupted. Suddenly yawning,
she hoped Parlan did not linger in the hall too long with ale and friends or he
would find his new bride sound asleep.

Parlan
took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and entered his chambers. He did not
understand why he felt so uncertain, even nervous. Aimil was not a woman new to
his bed, nor a virgin bride that he had to move cautiously and tenderly around.
Nevertheless, he could not dislodge the feeling that he was taking a very
important first step.

Catching
her yawning, he had to smile, especially when she looked so guilty. “I can see
I am eagerly awaited.”

“Sorry.
It has been a long day, and I do seem to weary more easily.” She watched him
undress and idly mused that she might find it easier to feel confident about
him if he was not such a handsome rogue. “’Tis the bairn I am told.”

“Ye
dinnae feel ill or unduly weak?” He briefly washed up, mostly out of habit for
he had bathed before the wedding.