Highland Conqueror (21 page)

“I need you to come home with me,” muttered Reynard as Jolene sat down on the ground and he crawled into her lap.

“She cannae,” said Fergus as he sat down facing them. “She is a wife now. Sigimor’s wife. Wives have to stay with their husbands.” He scowled at her. “She just forgot that law for a wee bit.”

“Mayhap I could stay too,” said Reynard.

“Weel, we wouldnae mind that, but ye cannae. Ye are a laird. Ye have to go to Drumwich and be an earl.”

“Don’ wanna be an earl.”

“Ye dinnae have much choice. Tis what ye were born to be. Tis what your fither wanted for ye. Ye are an heir. Tis a great responsibility. Most of us dinnae e’er get to be an heir. Tis a thing to be proud of.”

When Reynard looked at her, Jolene nodded. “Your father would expect you to do your best to care for his lands and his people. They are now your lands and your people. Roger and Emma will come to Drumwich to stay with you. They will love you and teach you how to be a good earl, one to make your father proud.”

“You cannot love me anymore?”

She kissed his cheek and stroked his hair. “I will always love you. I just cannot be with you. Howbeit, ne’er forget that your aunt loves you most dearly and will always hold you in her heart.”

“I cannot lose your love just like Sig’mor says I cannot lose a good friend.”

“Exactly like that. And, if you e’er have a need for me, I will be there for you. Always.”

Jolene held her nephew close as he sighed and tried to rub the tears from his face. It was almost painful to hold back her own tears, but she fought to do so. She did not know how much Reynard understood, but she did know it was best to remain calm as she tried to explain matters. Glancing toward Liam, Roger, and Sigimor, she hoped they would soon finish their business. It was going to break her heart to ride away from Reynard, but she knew the parting had to come soon. Her grief and her tears could not be
tethered for much longer.

“Ye will care weel for the boy, aye?” Sigimor asked Roger as he rolled up one of the marriage agreements they had both signed and handed it to Liam.

“Aye,” replied Roger. “Emma and I have not been blessed with children, though we dearly wanted a child. Reynard will be our child. My wife is already at Drumwich waiting for him. And, as a Gerard, ’tis my duty to see that the boy grows to do the name proud and care well for the family seat.”

“And that he willnae hate his aunt for leaving him like this?” Sigimor asked quietly as he watched Jolene hug Reynard.

“Never. He will never be allowed to forget all she did for him, all she risked, or how she loved him. Or what the Camerons did for him. You will have one English border holding that will not be hot for Scottish blood.”

“And if ye have a bairn of your own?”

“We have been wed for ten years, since she was but fifteen and I seventeen, and my seed has ne’er taken root. We were content, but I know my wife is most eager to be a mother to that little boy.”

“Ye are both still young. Ye may yet have a bairn. Sometimes I think ’tis just that the seed is weak or the lass has but one or two bairns within her. This bonnie fool’s parents,” he nodded toward Liam, “were wed near to twenty years ere they had him whilst my father spawned fifteen of us. That old fool MacFingal is my uncle and he has bred an army. Liam’s mother was sister to both men but she had only two bairns late in life.” Sigimor stood up as Roger did and clapped the man on the shoulder. “There is nay kenning God’s plan for us.”

“True. I do not think I will tell my wife your opinion, however. It might be cruel to stir her hopes.”

“Aye. Tis best if she has accepted it all. Liam’s mother was slow to accept the lack of a bairn. Verra slow.”

Roger smiled faintly as he asked, “How slow?”

“Took her near to twenty years to give up trying.” He nodded when Roger’s eyes widened. “Fate’s a capricious thing.”

“It would seem so. But, do not worry o’er Reynard. I loved Peter as a brother.” Roger looked toward Reynard. “It will be very easy indeed to love his child. And, my wife has a very big heart.”

Sigimor sighed heavily as he looked at Jolene. “So does the lass and ’tis sure to be broken o’er this parting. Aye, especially since she must ken that there is little chance she will see the lad again.”

“Mayhap not. Yet, that holding you now own is not so very far from the border. If we are not at war, the occasional visit might be arranged. Tis something we can both think about.”

“True. I willnae promise her that until we have a sound plan, however. Best if we let each of them grow accustomed to the parting, too, or this grief will be felt after each visit.” He looked at Roger. “Ye say she had already decided to return to Dubheidland?”

“She had. That decision was made not long after she joined me here. In all honesty, I tried most vigorously to change her mind.” Roger met Sigimor’s scowl with a grin. “She is a rich prize and the king will not be pleased to have lost the chance to arrange a
marriage for her. I was awarded the guardianship of Reynard, but my king hesitated to put Jolene into my care. He likes to award loyal men with orphaned heiresses for brides and there are not so very many of them.”

“Are ye
sure
your king willnae be crying foul and trying to get her back?”

“Quite sure. If he seems to even consider that, I will tell him that she has been well bedded by her Highland lord and is already breeding.” Roger gave Sigimor an apologetic smile. “No Englishman would want her now.”

“Aye, they ken they wouldnae bear up weel under the comparisons sure to be made.” He ignored Roger’s stuttered protest and started toward Jolene. “Best I get the lass home and start working on that bairn. Wouldnae want anyone to be able to cry ye a liar.”

“How kind of you,” Roger muttered as he scowled at a grinning Liam, then followed Sigimor.

Jolene saw Sigimor and Roger start across the clearing toward her and Reynard. She set Reynard on his feet and stood up. It surprised her a little when Fergus immediately moved to stand close by her side. She wondered if he thought to put himself between her and Sigimor’s anger or was boldly reminding Roger of the Camerons’ claim to her, then decided it was probably a little bit of both.

A quick look around the clearing revealed that the rest of the Camerons were already at their horses and gathering behind her, all of them keeping a close eye on Roger and his men. Catching her glance, several of Sigimor’s kinsmen grinned and winked at her. They all considered her one of them, she realized. This united display of possessiveness comforted her in some ways. She was not sure if she was truly needed, and she had no idea exactly what her husband felt for her, but she was obviously considered one of their clan now, part of their family.

Sigimor collected her sack of belongings and a horse for her as she exchanged a few words with Roger. He had her sign a few papers, including one that said she had willingly accepted her brother’s choice of husband for her. It was a lie, but she did not hesitate to put her name to it. Not only would it make things much easier for Roger, especially if the king was annoyed by the marriage, but Jolene felt her brother would have approved.

Then she said her farewells to Reynard. His lip trembled and his eyes shone with tears, but he did not cry or fret. She was so proud of him. Peter would have been, too, she thought and had to swallow a sudden welling up of a still raw grief. Giving her nephew one final kiss, she placed him in Roger’s arms. There was sympathy in her cousin’s eyes, but also a hint of possessiveness in the way he held Reynard. He would love the boy and raise him to be a fine and honorable man. Jolene found some comfort in that.

After Sigimor said farewell to Roger and the boy, he helped her mount her horse, then led them all on the way back to Dubheidland. Jolene glanced back only once to see Roger comforting Reynard. She quickly fixed her gaze in the direction of Dubheidland, beating down the urge to rush to the child’s side and comfort him herself. She would accept this parting with a dignity that would make her ancestors proud. Gerards were strong, stout of heart and mind, and able to accept the blows life and Fate dealt them with fortitude.

She had cried all the way home, bawled, sniffled, and wailed like a baby. Sigimor had finally taken her up before him on his horse, muttering that she was sure to fall out of her saddle and crack her head open. By the time they had reached Dubheidland, she had wept herself into a stupor and had had to be tucked into bed like a child. Jolene shook her head, thoroughly disgusted with herself. So much for dignity and fortitude.

Removing the cool, damp cloth she had placed over her eyes, she studied them in the looking glass. They did not look quite as red and swollen as they had when she had first woken up. The lavender water had helped soothe and heal the damage a few hours of sleep had not. Her deep wallow in grief had left her feeling slightly bruised all over, however. The only good she could find in such a complete loss of control was that she had avoided a confrontation with Sigimor.

Then again, she mused as she took one last look at her gown to be certain it was hanging correctly and fully laced, that confrontation might still be ahead of her. It all depended upon how angry Sigimor was over what she had done. For one brief moment she considered claiming a headache or something similar, and forgoing the evening meal in the great hall.

“Nay,” she said as she started out of her bedchamber, “this is no time for cowardice.”

As Jolene made her way to the great hall, she stiffened her spine by reminding herself that she had chosen this man. She had turned away from her family, her home, and her country for him with no assurance that she would ever see any of them again. Surely that was enough to soothe any insult or bruised pride caused by the way she had left him. He might have the right to be annoyed over the risk she took in going off alone, but that was all.

Pausing in front of the entrance to the great hall, Jolene admitted to herself that his anger over her leaving was not what truly made her reluctant to face him. She feared he would not understand what her choice meant, or, if he did, not acknowledge it. It was the possibility that everything would return to what it had been, a marriage where he treated her with respect and kindness and gave her passion, but not much else, that made her hesitate to confront him. She needed so much more from the man. It was the chance, the blind hope, of obtaining that
more
that had made her decide to stay with him. If he did not see her choice as the declaration it was or did not want to, she feared she would begin to think she had made a very bad choice indeed.

The touch of a hand upon her arm startled her out of her thoughts and she looked to see Fergus beside her. There was a look of wary concern in his eyes and his grip upon her arm was firm. Jolene realized he was wondering if she was going to try and slip away again. She then realized that Sigimor may also have gained that wariness because of how she had left him. If so, the man’s pride would be badly lashed each time he suffered that doubt. It was a consequence she had not considered.

“Ye still look a wee bit wan and bruised,” said Fergus.

“I feel a little wan and bruised, but I shall recover,” she replied, allowing him to lead her toward her seat at Sigimor’s side.

“Your cousin will care for Reynard verra weel. He will have a family and be back in the home he was born in.”

“True, and, if I knew I could see him there whene’er I wished, I would not grieve so, but it will pass. Better that I gave him up of my own free will to a man I trust to love and care for him, than have him taken from me by the king and court to be given to someone of their choosing. Tis most fortunate that Roger was both my choice and the king’s.”

Sigimor watched his youngest brother bring Jolene to his side. She looked more delicate than she ever had before. He had a suspicion that her somewhat alarming descent into blind grief had not solely been because of the loss of the boy, but also because of the loss of her brother. There was a very good chance that she had never really, properly grieved for Peter since she had immediately been caught up in the fight against Harold and the need to protect Reynard. Once certain she was not going to make herself ill, he had left her to her grief, but that had meant he had had no chance to ease his anger. It was still a hard knot in his chest. Seeing how wan she was, he was not sure she could endure any airing of his grievances yet and he felt that knot in his chest tighten.

A quick glance at his kinsmen as Jolene took her seat told Sigimor they would not approve of him unleashing his anger on her. They all wore expressions of concern and sympathy as they looked at her. The looks they gave him were ones of warning. Jolene had obviously won a place in their hearts at some point over the past few days. Although that was a very good thing, the fact that it made them think they had some say in how he acted with his wife was not. Their interest in Jolene’s welfare and their involvement in chasing her down also meant whatever happened between him and his wife now would probably not be the private matter he wished it to be.

He sipped his ale and watched her eat. It pleased him to see that her appetite had not fled, but the wary looks she cast his way now and again told him that his anger was probably easy to see. Sigimor hoped the uncertainty he felt was not, however. When he saw annoyance begin to reveal itself in her expression, he actually felt relieved. That was something he could deal with. Her growing anger also put some color into her cheeks, making her look less frail.

“Are you just going to brood then?” Jolene finally asked, unable to endure his silent staring any longer.

“I am nay brooding,” he replied with a calm that he could see only annoyed her more.

“You just sit there, all silent and staring at me. If it is not brooding, then ’tis sulking.”

“Mayhap I am but wondering if ye will try to sneak away again. Ah, but, nay,” he said quickly, silencing whatever she had opened her mouth to say, “ye like to save such sneaking about until after ye have wrung your poor mon’s body dry and left him in a blind, happy stupor.”

Sigimor almost smiled at the deep blush that colored her cheeks. She was stuttering and bouncing slightly in her seat she was so angry. This was good. This he could respond to easily, even in front of his kinsmen, some who looked as if they were thinking of gagging him. He was not about to stop now, however, not when she was working herself up into such a nice rage. There was a chance to clear the air now and he intended to take full advantage of it.

He helped himself to another bowl of thick rabbit stew. “Now that I think on it, I best eat a wee bit more. If ye have any sly plots twisting about in your head, I will need
all my strength tonight. At least then I might be able to recover from your greedy use of me ere ye get yourself too far away. Or thoroughly lost.” His eyes widened slightly at the curse she spat as she leapt to her feet, thinking that he was going to have to have a word with his kinsmen about watching their language. “Leaving the table so soon? Dinnae ye think ye ought to eat some more? The way ye try to keep a mon from guessing what trick ye are about to play requires strength, ye ken.”

“You are the most impossible man I have e’er met. Arrogant, rude—”

“If I have so many faults, why did ye come back here then?”

“Because I am insane, kissed by the moon, and have lost whate’er wits I was e’er blessed with. There is no other explanation for why I should love such a contrary, dull-witted oaf!” Realizing what she had just said, Jolene gave a muted scream, grabbed the bowl of stew Sigimor had just set in front of him, and tipped it over his head. “Oh! Curse you, now look what you have made me do! I used to have manners!”

Sigimor blinked the dripping stew from his eyelids and watched as his wife fled the hall. He was pleased that she turned toward the stairs to the bedchambers and not the doors leading out of the keep. Of course, he might find the door to his bedchamber barred firmly against him, he thought as Old Nancy and Fergus tried to clean the stew out of his hair and off his face. A quick scowl at Old Nancy and Fergus did nothing to dim their grins, but he decided to ignore that impudence for now. He had to decide what to do next.

“Are ye really intending to just keep sitting there?” asked Somerled, poorly suppressed laughter trembling in his voice.

“It might be wise, e’en safer,” Sigimor replied as he waved away Old Nancy and Fergus. “There are a lot of sharp weapons in my bedchamber.” He suddenly grinned as the words she had said finally settled firmly into his heart and mind. “She loves me.”

“Aye, and she may be right to question her sanity in doing so. She also called ye a contrary, dull-witted oaf and many of us may be inclined to agree with her if ye dinnae go after her. Quickly.”

“Ye have changed your mind about her, havenae ye? Ye werenae pleased with my marriage nay so verra long ago.”

“I have no love for the English and it grated that ye would marry one, e’en though she seemed a good lass. I also didnae like the reasons
why
ye married her—for her protection and the lust ye felt. It wasnae long ere I thought there was more there, but both of ye seemed unable or unwilling to see that for yourselves. Weel, now I have been proven right. Wheesht, I kenned it for certain when she returned with ye. She gave up a lot to stay with ye.”

“Aye, she did,” Sigimor said as he stood up, sighing faintly as he heard bits of his stew hit the floor. “I need to wash and change first. I dinnae want to get rabbit stew all over my wife and my bed linen.” He ignored the groans of his family as he strode toward the door.

“Ye should woo the lass,” called Somerled.

“Give her some sweet words,” yelled Liam.

“Aye, aye,” Sigimor said, giving them a negligent wave of his hand as he started out of the great hall. “And just where do ye think that will lead us, aye? I will be borrowing some of your clothes, Somerled,” he called over his shoulder, then, as soon as he felt no one could see him, he raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Jolene stared at Sigimor as he entered their bedchamber and wondered why she had not bolted the door. For a moment she was hurt over how long it had taken him to come to her, but then she noticed that he had changed his clothes and his hair was damp. Recalling why he would have to clean himself, she returned to staring out the window, hoping to hide the blush staining her cheeks.

She felt him come up behind her and tensed. In a moment of anger she had bared her soul, not only to him, but to everyone else crowded into the great hall. Had there been the moment of tenderness she had always envisioned? The soft exchange of love words and vows of devotion? Nay, she had called him names and dumped his stew on his head. Jolene wondered how long she would have to hide in her bedchamber before that humiliating incident was forgotten. She inwardly grimaced, suspecting she would still hear it mentioned when she was old and gray. Accept it, Jolene, she told herself ruefully, it will probably be the first tale told at your funeral feast.

When Sigimor reached around and placed his hands over hers where they rested upon the stone sill of the window, she frowned. She could feel the warmth of him all along her back. A tendril of heat began to curl through her body and she nearly cursed. He could stir her passion even when she was sunk in embarrassment and wanted to beat him about the head with a club. Jolene could only hope he did not know how completely ensnared she was, despite her declaration of love.

Sigimor pressed a kiss to the top of her head and struggled to think of something to say. To his dismay, he heard himself say, “So, ye love me, aye?” He could almost hear his entire family groan in disgust.

Jolene seriously considered turning around and punching her beloved husband right in his handsome nose. Then she sighed. She had said it. Loud and clear. There was no sense in denying it. If nothing else, she thought crossly, there were plenty of witnesses he could ask for verification.

“Aye, that is what I said,” she replied. “That is why I am here instead of riding back to Drumwich with Reynard and Roger.”

It surprised him that she admitted it so freely, did not try to take the words back since she was so angry with him. There was a sadness in her voice, however, as if she wished it were not true. Sigimor supposed he could understand that. Her love for him had cost her dearly and he had given her little in return save for passion and, concerning that, Liam was right. Jolene had the wit to know that a man’s passion could be a very shallow thing, built upon no more than a need to rut. She was also too innocent to be able to discern the difference between meaningless rutting and the passion they shared. It was not something he could explain to her, either. He might not be the sweet-tongued courtier Liam was, but even he knew it would not be wise to tell his wife that he knew the difference between true passion and empty ruttings because he had indulged in a fair bit of the latter. Especially not when she had just confessed to loving him.

He knew he had to say something. He could not continue to stand there like an idiot, reveling in the fact that she loved him. Sweet words, he told himself, and grimaced. Search through his mind though he did, Sigimor could find nothing there except awkward, common flatteries. He needed to make love to her, he decided. With passion heating his blood, he was sure he could find a few of those sweet love words she needed to hear. He slid his hands up her arms until he grasped her shoulders, then turned her around until she faced him.

“If ye love me, why did ye leave?” he asked as he began to unlace her gown, pleased when she offered no resistance except for a frown.

Jolene watched him remove her clothes. A dozen evasive replies crowded her head, but she pushed them all aside. She had just turned her back on her family, her home, and her country for this man. It was past time for the truth. Perhaps if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind and heart, he would give her some hint of what was going on in his. At the very least, she might discover how hard she would have to work to gain what she so desperately needed—his love.

“I thought I could do it, could honor my vow to Peter to care for Reynard. I did not want to go, but it was not until I faced the choice full on that I realized I
could not
go. I suppose you intend to take me to bed now,” she said when he tossed aside the last of her clothing.