Highland Wedding (20 page)

“Ye kenned and said naught?” Iain hissed, the cold in him turning to sheer ice as Tavis’s words continued to sear his brain.

“She didnae want ye to ken it was time. Aye, she was in labor as we dined but I didnae guess it ’til later.”

“Oh God,” Iain groaned as he broke from Tavis’s light grip and bounded up the stairs, his father and his brother at his heels.

There was no real sound to be heard when he stopped outside of the door of his chambers, a circumstance that chilled his heart. A low moan and the soft murmur of a man’s voice reached his ears and his fist wreaked havoc upon the closed door. It did not gain him the entry he desired. Instead, he found himself facing Meg, who planted herself firmly between him and the reshut door.

“Ye cannae go in there. ’Tis nay a place for a mon.”

“There is a mon in there now. I can hear him.”

“’Tis Wallace. He has a way of soothing the lass like one of his beasts and is as guid as any midwife. Ye will stay out here.”

“God’s beard, ye old corbie, I want to see my wife.”

“I ken ye arenae intending to sweet talk yer way in. Ye arenae going in. Ye are in a sorry state and thinking on death. It willnae do the lass any guid to have such a dowie face keeking at her. Stay here or gie tae the hall to get drunk but ye arenae going in to fret o’er her.” She slipped back into the room, slammed and bolted the door.

“I will set right here, witch,” he bellowed but then began to pace the hall in agitation.

Colin slipped away and returned a few moments later with some whiskey. Flanked by his brother and father, Iain sat directly opposite the door. Although Tavis and Colin managed to get a dram or two, it was Iain who did most of the drinking. The lack of noise usually associated with a woman in labor began to bother them as well. Somehow it seemed ominous not to be assailed with the vocal expressions of the pain they knew she had to be in. A hearty scream would almost be welcome.

Islaen was sorely tempted to give a scream that would bring down Caraidland’s
sturdy walls. With the entrance of her son into the world she felt as if she were being torn in two. Her teeth nearly met through the leather she bit on. The worst of it was that it was not over. Her exhausted body hardly took a breath but it was straining yet again to eject another babe. Despite that she smiled when the lusty cries of her firstborn filled the room followed immediately by Iain’s pounding fist on the still-bolted door.

For someone who was so terrified of childbirth, Iain seemed very eager to come and see, she thought with a weak smile. His obvious concern was support of a sort and she found a source of renewed strength in that. He might not be right beside her but he was near and clearly concerned and that was good enough.

“Let me in,” Iain belowed. “Now!”

“Nay,” Meg bellowed right back, “ye cannae come in yet. There’s things that be left tae be done. Ye’d be surprised if ye kenned,” she muttered.

“Islaen,” called Iain, thrilled by the sound of a living child but still terrified for his wife, “are ye all right?”

It was not easy but Islaen answered him. “Aye. I go along fine, Iain. Be patient. T’will not be long now.”

“There,” Tavis soothed as he pulled Iain back from the door, “doesnae that ease your mind? The bairn lives as does Islaen.”

“Wee Islaen would say she goes along fine if she had to use her dying breath to do it. I wish to see with my own eyes that she does.”

“They will be cleaning up and all,” said Colin. “Then ye can go in and look all ye care to. The worst is o’er now, laddie.”

It was not true and they both knew it. Now came the danger that, as with Catalina, the bleeding would continue until the life drained from the woman’s body or a fever took her within days of the birth. A live baby would mean little to him if it cost him Islaen. Iain wanted to be with her as if by the sheer strength of his will and presence he could keep her from slipping away from him.

Each minute the door remained closed to him, denying him the sight of a living Islaen, was a torture to Iain. He saw all too clearly all the ways she could die, envisioned every horror that could visit a childbed. As he waited for what seemed a lifetime he took little notice of a second and third wail.

“Mark the first-born,” gasped Islaen as her second son loudly proclaimed that he lived and she wondered why her body still strained. “I want no doubt as to which has what rights. Ye three will be witnesses to it. As my fither had done, Meg.”

Begging forgiveness for hurting such a harmless creature, Meg cut the baby’s right palm then tended the wound in a way that would leave a scar. It would be a lasting mark that would ever denote the boy as the first to have left his mother’s womb. Less important was the way it would ever make the twins easy to tell apart. MacRoth had dubbed it the Heritage Scar for it told without question how the line of succession went. Meg then turned her mind to Islaen and fought to hide her fear and worry.

“What is it, Wallace? Can ye tell why the poor child still labors as if there is yet a bairn to be born?”

After his knowledgeable hands moved over Islaen’s still swollen, contracting belly, Wallace said, “Seems there still is a bairn to come.”

“Oh God,” Islaen moaned softly, “am I to bear a litter like some bitch?”

“Nay, ’tis the last but dinnae hope too much for it tae live, lassie,” he said softly. “
T’would be a miracle an it did.”

Islaen knew that would bring her pain later. The exhaustion and pain that gripped her so firmly at the moment kept Wallace’s soft, grim prediction from delivering much of a blow. She simply wanted to be done. To be finished with her labors and get some rest was all important to her.

The girl that emerged from her mother’s womb was tiny, its cry but a mew. To the women’s amazement, Wallace ordered them to see to Islaen as he took the baby. They had barely bathed Islaen and put a clean gown on her when Wallace scooped her up in his arms. He laid her down next to the washed, tightly swathed girl he had placed before the freshly stoked fire.

“Gie her the first suckle, lass. Then ye maun get a wet nurse for the bairn. She’ll need milk aplenty if she is tae hae a chance and ye’ll be sore tried tae feed her brithers. Grizel what married the blacksmith will do. She be clean and loving and heavy with milk for her bairn died but hours after it were born.”

A little blindly, Islaen stared at the child Wallace had pressed into her hold. The little girl was very tiny and looked weak. Islaen felt grief stir beneath her exhaustion but it was unable to gain the strength needed to bother her much. Later she would face the loss of the babe she had nurtured within her body for so many months. She was glad of the protection her weariness gave her against that pain.

Wallace told her all he would do and have done to keep the child alive as Islaen let each boy know where nourishment was to be found. When her bed was clean and all signs of blood erased, he carried her to her bed. He was sent to fetch Grizel and a priest to baptize the babes. As he stepped out of the room he was nearly knocked down by Iain rushing to his wife.

Through exhaustion-glazed eyes, Islaen stared at her husband. He looked as bad as she felt and she almost smiled but then she remembered that she had to tell him about her lie. For the first time since uttering the lie she was not afraid of confessing it to him. She was simply too tired. Fearing her weariness would pull her into sleep’s firm hold before she could speak she hurried to get the words out.

“Are ye weel?” he asked her as he sat on the bed and clasped her hands in his.

He thought she looked small and pale. Her eyes looked bruised, their color weakened. It looked as if whatever strength she had had been completely sapped. Her hands were limp in his.

Valiantly he struggled to still his fears. If things had not gone well or took a turn for the worse, she would need him calm and require his strength. With all his will, he dredged up what he could but was not sure it would be enough to keep him from crumbling if something was wrong.

“Aye, just weary. Look at your bairns, Iain.”

“M’God,” he breathed, staring at the three bundles with as much shock as his brother and father. “Three?”

His mind refused to accept what his eyes told him. Living twins were a miracle in most people’s eyes. He himself often considered them such. That a woman, especially one as small as Islaen, could bear three children at one throw was more than his frantic mind could comprehend. It helped little at all that his father, brother, Storm and Meg seemed to see it as fact. Deciding he would deal with that confusion later he turned his full attention back to a heavy-eyed Islaen. In truth, she was all that mattered to him at the
moment.

“We fear the lass willnae live, Iain. I am sorry. Wallace is getting a wet nurse for her and a priest. I maun tell ye something,” she said with sleepy urgency.

“Ye can tell me later, sweeting.”

“Nay, now. I lied to ye, Iain. I ne’er used those things. Forgive me?”

“Aye,” he said in a choked voice, “I forgive ye.”

Her eyes closed as sleep conquered her. “Thank ye. I was tired of feeling wicked but I had to show you that I could do it.”

“Oh, aye, ye showed me right enough,” he whispered and, unmindful of his audience, clasped his sleeping wife to his breast and wept into her hair with a mixture of joy and relief.

Smiling, Islaen watched her father coo at her sons. He and six of her brothers had arrived at Caraidland three days after the birth. They too feared for the little girl, named Liusadh, and shared her grief. Despite that lingering possibility of sadness, no one, not even herself, could hide their delight in the boys, Morogh and Padruig. Such healthy babies were a blessing that could not be ignored. Neither could anyone feel it right to deprive them of any love through a grief that they could not understand.

“How fares the lass today, sweeting?” Alaistair asked as he handed Islaen a restless Morogh.

Putting her son to her breast, she replied softly, “She still lives, Fither. Grizel says her appetite grows as does her voice.”

“Both good signs but dinnae let your hopes rise too high,” he said gently. “I wish I could save ye from that pain.”

“No one can. We all pray daily for her and none could work so hard to keep her alive as Grizel does. ’Tis in God’s hands now.”

Alaistair nodded, then smiled at Padruig who patiently waited his turn. “Here’s a sweet bairn. Good natured.”

“Aye, seems to be.” She let Morogh clutch her finger. “I think this is the lad with the devil in him.”

“Mayhaps. ’Tis best an he is the stronger, since he is the heir. Do ye ken, lass, I think if wee Liusadh survives, she will be the real devil of the three. Any lass who can live when all says she shouldnae has a strength and a spirit that promises to put muckle a white hair upon her parents’ heads.”

“Ye may just be right.”

“And how fares your marriage, lass? Other than fruitful,” he added with a slow grin. “The lad o’er his fears now, is he?”

Glad she had told her father of Iain’s demands and her deceit, she nodded. “Aye, I believe so but dinnae expect anither grandchild too soon. We mean to be careful.” She watched him closely and saw him nod with approval.

“Good. Your mither and I were. ’Tis said to be a sin but I cannae believe it. God couldnae have meant for us to kill our women with childbearing, wearing them into the grave by filling their bellies every year. ’Tis a sin to waste the life God gave and that is what constant childbearing does, wastes life. Your mither proved ye can be both fruitful and careful.”

As her father took Morogh and gave her Padruig she smiled at him. “I am glad ye came.”

“So am I, lass.” He kissed her cheek. “Ye arenae really happy yet, though, are ye?”

“Iain is a good mon. ’Tis early yet and I cannae expect a return for my feelings simply because I feel them. Ye need not fash yourself o’er me. Truly. I have more than many women find and I will seek my happiness in that.”

She wished she was as confident as she tried to appear to her father. When Iain joined her later, bringing her a meal they would share in the privacy of their chambers, she did not feel confident at all. It did not really help that they had not really talked since the children were born. She had heard him say he forgave her, but as the days slipped by and he said no more on the matter, she began to doubt what she had heard. Once the meal was done, she took a deep drink of wine and decided to bluntly ask him how he felt.

“Iain?”

Taking his gaze from his sleeping sons, he looked at her with mild curiosity. “What is it, love?”

He still found it all very hard to believe. Not only had his tiny wife given two sons but, if God was merciful, a daughter too. So too was Islaen alive, was in fact healed enough already to grow impatient with the lying in bed that was forced upon her. To look at her one would find it hard to believe she had been through the ordeal of birth so recently. Considering the torment he had been through, he could almost resent her good health.

“Iain,” she began hesitantly and reached out to take hold of his hand, “Do ye truly forgive me for my deceit?”

Moving to sit beside her on the bed, he took her into his arms.

“I told ye I did, lass,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Right after the birth I told ye that I forgave you.”

“And I heard ye say it, yet ye have ne’er said any more on it and I grew afraid.”

“There seemed no more to say. There is no way to thank ye for the bairns.”

“Liusadh…”

He put his finger over her lips to silence her. “Nay, dinnae speak on it. If God means for her to live then she will. If not then we must find joy in the bairns we have and the ones to come.”

“Ye want more then, Iain?”

“Aye, but only when and if ye feel strong enough to nurture my seed. I will ne’er insist that ye get with child.”

“I want more bairns, but I wouldnae trick ye again, Iain.”

“I believe ye, Islaen. Ye arenae one to lie and I should ask forgiveness for forcing ye to do so.”

“Ye had good reason, Iain.”

“Selfish reasons.”

“Nay.”

“Aye. Selfish. I didnae want to suffer that guilt again.”

“Iain, t’was not your fault. ’Tis not a thing ye can tell until too late.”

“I ken that now. Ye are e’en smaller than Catalina, yet ye came through fine. So too does Storm. There was naught to see in Catalina to tell me she wouldnae give me a bairn as easily as Storm gives Tavis bairns. T’was because she didnae want my touch that I blamed myself. T’was as though I had cursed her.”

“That is nonsense.”

“Aye, I can see that now. Although,” he shook away his somber thoughts and leered at her playfully, “mayhaps not seeing as ye like the touching weel.”

“Iain,” she groaned, coloring with embarrassment.

He laughed softly and hugged her. “I cannae say I willnae have fears and worries when ye get with child but ’tis less. Tavis says he still tastes the fear each time Storm gets with child. There is always a danger but,” he glanced at his sons, “the rewards are great and if ye are willing to take the risks then so am I.” He grasped her by the shoulders and said firmly, “Ne’er forget though, Islaen, that I will ne’er make ye face those risks. If ye said this once was enough, I would be content with that.”

She nodded. “I ken it, Iain. I will ken too when I wish to stop. Storm does. One
more, she thinks, mayhaps two, but then she is done an only because she wants to see them all grow while she is young and strong enough to enjoy it.” She tried to smother a yawn.

“That sounds verra reasonable. And,” he quickly kissed her, “what else is reasonable is leaving ye to rest.” He climbed out of bed and collected the tray, then said carefully, “Alexander sends love and good wishes. He says he will come soon.”

“Iain, if ye dinnae want him about ye need but say so.”

“He is a friend.”

“Aye, Iain, he is. I think ye would find it hard to find any better.”

“Aye, I would.” He bent to quickly kiss her. “Rest, Islaen. Ye can get out of bed for a wee while tomorrow.”

“That will be verra nice,” she murmured even as her eyes closed. “Good sleep, Iain.”

“Good sleep, Islaen,” he said quietly but doubted he would have one for he found his bed too empty, the nights too long.

Islaen almost regretted her first meal in the hall. Her family took it as a sign of her complete recovery, as it was, and announced their departure. With Iain close by her side, watching to see that she did not grow too weary, she followed her family around as they prepared to leave. Iain made no complaint until she started to go outside with her father.

“I am not sure ’tis wise for her to take the air yet.”

“Wheesht, lad, ’tis a fine day and she is bundled up weel,” Alaistair said as he put an arm around Islaen’s shoulders and took her out with him. “A drop of fresh air will do her good.”

“T’will soon be spring,” Islaen murmured as she took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air and savored it.

“Aye, ’tis near. That will be good for your wee lass. If she can make it through ’til the weather turns finer, warmer, I will feel she has a good chance. ’Tis the cold that is the greatest danger to the weak ones. I will pray long and hard for an early spring and a warm one.” He hugged Islaen and kissed her. “I wish I could stay until her fate is more certain.”

“Ye cannae and I ken it. We thought her fate certain when she left my womb, yet a fortnight has passed. Nay, ye go as ye must. We will send ye word when we feel certain and that could be weeks yet.” She sighed. “I do hate the waiting.”

After clasping her shoulder briefly in sympathetic understanding, Alaistair left her to say farewell to her brothers.

“Now, ye have watched them ride away so ye can get back inside,” Iain said sternly even as he turned her around and urged her back inside.

Glancing at him, she drawled, “Oh, and I thought we might have us a wee gallop.”

“Ye are mad.”

“Weel, I may soon be an I must keep to my chambers much longer. T’would nay hurt an I sat about in a different room.”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. It was easy to understand her feelings. The few times he had been confined to his bed by wounds or illness he had felt much the same. Too much confinement bred a dangerous recklessness that prompted one to do things too soon. She was healed enough now to start suffering from that and he intended to try and curtail it.

Islaen felt her patience grow weaker as her body grew stronger. Telling Iain that she knew what she could and could not do as well as anyone did not stop his close watch over her. She noticed that even Storm tended to mother her, and finally decided enough was enough. When, after a month, Storm still insisted on picking up the babies for her, Islaen looked at her dear friend sternly.

“Ye need not do that anymore, ye ken. I didnae break my arms during the birthing.”

Startled by the tartness in Islaen’s voice, Storm first gaped. Then her eyes slowly widened as she thought on what Islaen had said. Finally, she laughed, shook her head and sat down next to Islaen on the bed.

“I am sorry, Islaen. I e’er hated it when I was treated thus, yet here I do it to you.”

“Nay, I am sorry.” Islaen smiled crookedly as she began to nurse Morogh. “I shouldnae snap at you. Ye but meant to help.”

“I was cosseting you and well I know it. Do not apologize,” Storm said with a smile as she let a hungry but patient Padruig suck on her finger. “I am sure ye have more than enough of it. Ye held back your annoyance longer than I e’er could.”

“’Tis not easy but I keep reminding myself that ye all mean weel, that ’tis because ye care. Aye, e’en Iain, I think.”

“Ye think? Surely some of your fears have been eased by the way he has acted these last months? Ye can see how he cares.”

“Aye, about the mother of his bairns.” She smiled slightly when Storm grimaced. “I daren’t see too much in his actions.”

“Nay, I recall feeling so when I carried Tavis’s first babe, well, babes. Of course when I first told him I was with child, I had caught him with his old mistress in his arms. It may have shaded my feelings some,” she drawled.

“Oh, aye, a wee bit.” Islaen laughed softly. “When I saw Iain with another in his arms, I wept.”

“Ye do not carry a knife, ’tis all. A very quiet babe is Padruig.”

“Considering the blood in his veins, ’tis a surprise, eh?”

“Quite.”

“Robert is quiet. We call him the peacemaker. He is slow to anger but when he does,” she grimaced. “’Tis a sight to behold.”

“From a distance.”

“Quite a long distance. Iain is quiet.”

“Aye, and ye are patient.”

“I have no choice.”

“Aye, your heart gives you none. Do not totally disregard how Iain acts now, Islaen.”

“Nay, I willnae but neither will I forget that it could be the bairns. Most men treat a woman with child, in her belly or at her breast, kindly. E’en more so if ’tis his bairn. Iain wanted children though he tried to deny himself and that desire could guide how he acts. T’would be foolish to ignore that. I would be asking for a hurt and one he didnae intend to give. I will find joy in his forgiveness.”

“Of course he forgave you. T’was not a malicious deceit. I should like to call you fool and tell you to value Iain’s actions now, yet I understand your reluctance. I think I would have the same. ’Tis so hard to know for certain. Ye daren’t let your heart lead
you.”

“It leads me enough as it is. Dinnae fash yourself o’er me, Storm. I have it better than most.” She smiled crookedly. “T’would be a wee bit easier an I didnae have ye and Tavis to show me what I dinnae have and thus make me taste envy and dissatisfaction.”

“That was hard won. T’was o’er a year ere we e’er sorted ourselves out. Love shared rarely comes easy or fast.”

“So long as it comes,” Islaen whispered, “be it one year or five. I but ask God for the patience to wait for it and not lose faith.” She grimaced. “That would be easier an Iain didnae pull back each time I see a sign of softening, a hope to gain his heart.”

“He cannot run forever.”

Islaen was not so sure of that as the days went by. She was ready to have him come back to her bed, ached for him to hold her in the night, but he made no move to do so. Although she told herself he might still be giving her time to heal, might think she needed more time than she did, her fears began to grow with each night that he left her to sleep alone. He seemed oblivious to her hints and unmoved by her subtle, shy attempts at seduction. The man seemed to have lost all interest in the passion they could share. When she kissed him good night, he would leave with every appearance of calm while she was left breathless and frustrated.

Iain closed the door between his bedchamber and Islaen’s and leaned against it. He was astounded that he could continue to walk away when every inch of him ached with the need to make love to her. Seeing the want in her fine eyes only made it all the harder. She would certainly not complain if he rejoined her in her bed, if he gave into the hunger knotting his insides.

Moving to get ready for bed and yet another sleepless night, he thought about leaving. The weather had cleared enough for work to begin on Muircraig again. Perhaps if he were not so near to her it would be easier, he mused. It would at least mean that he did not have to see her willingness, would not be pulled at by the desire in her eyes.

Watching as Iain directed his men in preparing to leave, Islaen sighed and struggled to hide her hurt. He had Muircraig to retreat to again. She had had all winter to reach him but had failed. It was difficult not to wonder if she reached for the unattainable.