Highland Wedding (23 page)

He laughed softly. “So what do ye do now?”

“I am nay too sure. I have used all of Alexander’s suggestions.”

“Alexander?”

“Aye. I felt t’was only wise to seek advice from an expert.”

“So long as his advice was but words and not actions.”

“He behaved himself most gallantly except that he kept laughing.” She smiled faintly when Iain laughed.

“Aye, he would. So ye have come to a sticking point, eh?”

“Ye were supposed to have succumbed by now.”

She felt her heart skipping at an alarming rate. He was not stopping the game, not making any move to return to Muircraig. There was a soft, warm look in his eyes that raised her hopes. He seemed willing to fall in with her game but she could not be sure.

“Aye, I have succumbed.”

“Ye look more relaxed than I had expected ye to. Are ye certain?”

“The question should be—are ye certain, Islaen. T’was a hard birthing ye suffered,” he murmured, frowning in concern as he recalled it.

“’T’was six months ago, Iain,” she said a little angrily. “I didnae need twa months a bairn to recover. Mayhaps a wee bit more than other women but nay six months.”

“I thought we should wait until they were talking,” he drawled, then laughed at her horrified look.

“Wretch,” she grumbled and half-heartedly struck him on the arm. “Ye shouldnae tease me so at such a time.”

“Nervous, sweeting?” He began to unpin her hair.

“Weel, aye. I wasnae sure I was doing it right.”

“Ye were doing it right but before I grant ye your victory, is there naught ye wish to ask me?”

“Ask ye?” She found it a little difficult to think when what she had ached for for so
many months was finally close at hand. “What do I want to ask you?”

“About Lady Mary?”

“Oh. I was just trusting you, Iain.”

He traced the shape of her mouth with his finger and felt her tremble slightly. “’Tis verra good of you, little one. Lady Mary has been only a nuisance. I was trying to think of ways to make this her last visit. I will be honest with you, lass. A time or twa I thought on using her as the whore she is to ease the aching my abstinence caused me.”

“I ne’er asked it of you,” she whispered.

“Nay, I forced it down our throats and t’was kenning that t’was my choice that kept me from Mary, that and the knowledge that she couldnae give me what I need.”

“And what do ye need?” She clutched his shoulders when his lips lightly brushed over hers for she was so starved for him that that light touch was all she needed to set her aflame, her barely tethered desire leaping to full life.

“I need ye, lass.”

“Ye are verra slow to show it.”

“Ah, loving, the need is so strong I fear to hurt you. My urge is to ravish not make love slow and gentle as ye deserve.”

He kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss as if he leisurely savored the taste of her. That leisureliness was belied by the way he held her. His arms gripped her tightly as he dragged her atop of him and pressed his hips against hers, both of them crying out at the contact. Almost frantically they moved against each other, their need for each other making them desperate to join.

“Islaen, my wee wife,” Iain rasped as he turned so that she was sprawled beneath him and his shaking hand burrowed beneath her skirts to clumsily remove her braes, “have ye e’er had your skirts tossed up like some crofter’s wench and been taken with no finesse by a lust-crazed fool of a mon?”

She laughed softly. “Nay and weel ye ken it. ’Tis fun?”

“Ye can tell me the answer in a wee while.”

A cry of pleasure tinged with relief escaped Islaen when Iain joined their bodies with one fierce thrust. It was fast and furious, their release coming with a shattering unity. Their need for each other was too great to allow any gentleness or any lingering at the edge of desire’s chasm.

Still not quite steady, Iain raised himself up on his elbows to look at Islaen. She lay beneath him, her eyes closed and her long dark lashes forming a thick arc upon her flushed cheeks. Although she seemed to be all right he frowned worriedly as he gently brushed the hair from her face. He had been rough, taking her fiercely. She was so tiny and delicate that he feared he might have hurt her with his lack of control.

“Islaen, are ye all right?”

“Aye.” She opened her eyes partway and smiled slowly as she put her arms around his neck.

“Are ye sure I didnae hurt ye?”

“Nay, ye didnae hurt me I am nay so delicate as ye think Iain.” She started to unlace his tunic.

“Weel, ’tis not right to take your wife like some peasant slut.”

“E’en if that wife quite enjoyed herself?”

“Did she now?”

“Aye, tell me, if that is how ye tumble some crofter’s wench, how do ye tumble a tavern wench?”

He grinned as he eased the intimacy of their embrace so that he could help her remove his tunic. “Sometimes right upon the table.”

“Ye could get splinters.” She grinned when he laughed. “Weel, we havenae got a table here.”

“A shame,” he murmured as he watched her tug off his boots. “I would ne’er have a sweeter meal set out for me.”

She blushed and busied herself unbuckling his sword. “I dinnae think I wish to chance splinters in my backside.”

“I should put down a cloth of the finest linen to protect that sweet tail. Nay, dinnae put it too far away,” he commanded softly when she set his sword aside. “Mayhaps e’en a pillow.”

“There is gallantry. What of the miller’s wife?”

“On the sacks of grain, of course.”

“Of course. Weel, we havenae got those either.”

“No matter. They tend to shift about beneath ye and ye cannae keep a steady gait, can e’en be tossed out of the saddle.”

Even though she blushed slightly she giggled at the image he painted. “’Tis a most absurd conversation we are having.”

“Aye. Ask me about the blacksmith’s daughter.”

Eyeing him suspiciously as she removed the last of his clothes, she asked, “And how would ye tumble the blacksmith’s daughter?”

“On the anvil.”

She giggled and drawled, “Nay on the forge.”

“No mon wishes to get that warm.”

“Weel, we dinnae have an anvil, either.” She ran her hand over his strong thigh and saw his eyes darken with desire.

“We have a blanket.”

“Aye. That we do.”

She watched her hand move over his abdomen and was deeply stirred by the sight of his lean naked form. There was a playfulness about him, nearly a carefree air, that she had not seen in a long time. She felt her hopes rise. It could be that he had decided to put an end to much more than his abstinence, that perhaps he was ready to make their marriage a full one.

“This fine blanket is the perfect place for a mon to tumble his wife.”

“Why, I think ye may be right,” she said, biting back a smile as she knelt by his side.

“There is a wee problem though.”

“Aye? And what is that?”

“Just that the husband is lying here as naked as the day he was born…”

“And a verra fine sight it is, an I may say so.”

“Ye may,” he said haughtily, smiling when she laughed. “As I was saying, the husband is naked and,” he glanced down at himself, “quite ready but the wife is still clothed. What do ye think ought to be done?”

“Someone best undress her then,” Islaen said softly but her words ended on a
shocked gasp.

Suddenly there was a sword point at Iain’s throat. She stared at it in horror then cried out as a hand painfully grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet.

Islaen felt her blood turn cold as a smooth voice murmured, “Oh, please, allow me to do the honors.”

“MacLennon.”

Iain felt as if all his worst nightmares had come true. Both the horn to signal for aid and his sword were in reach. Because of Islaen’s struggles MacLennon’s sword was not so steady against his throat. He felt he had a chance but, just as he tensed to move, deciding to grab for his sword, MacLennon’s sword suddenly left his throat. Iain watched in horror as MacLennon’s sword came to rest against Islaen’s throat, pricking her smooth skin enough to cause blood to well up and slowly trail down her slim neck.

“Move and she dies now, MacLagan.”

Islaen froze when the chill of the blade touched her throat. When Iain also froze she realized they could well be in a trap there was no escape from.

“Now, toss the sword and the horn into the trees.”

“Nay, Iain,” Islaen cried, then gasped when MacLennon’s sword pressed more firmly against her throat, pricking her skin yet again.

“Let her go, MacLennon,” Iain said as he tossed away his sword and the horn. “’Tis me ye want.”

“Aye, ’tis ye I want but I want you to suffer and I think I hold the rack to stretch you upon, MacLagan. Such a wee, pretty rack she is too.” Abruptly shoving Islaen onto Iain, MacLennon took a coil of rope off of his shoulder and tossed it at them. “Tie him up.”

“Nay, I cannae. I willnae,” Islaen protested even as MacLennon’s sword drew nearer to her.

“Do it, Islaen,” Iain ordered, praying that, if he could just keep them alive for a while, someone would come.

“Aye, do it, Islaen,” MacLennon mocked. “Be a good wee wife and do as your husband commands. Kneel, Iain, and put your hands behind you. Now, wee Islaen, ye will tie him exactly as I tell ye to.”

“Iain, I cannae.”

“Do it, Islaen. Do just as he says.”

Shaking with the fear that she was only preparing her husband for the slaughter, Islaen began to tie him up, following MacLennon’s instructions exactly. The way Iain had looked at her made her think he tried to tell her something, tried to relay some message. She could only assume that he meant for her to go carefully, to garner as much time as she could. As she continued to tie him up she got the horrified feeling that time was something they had little of. The way she was tying Iain would mean that he could not move without strangling to death. She gasped and immediately stopped.

“Nay, I cannae. T’will be a torture.”

“Now, m’lady, do ye mean to be disobediant?” MacLennon drawled as he moved to stand facing Iain. “Shall I cut him to make ye obey? Mayhaps a scar upon the other cheek. Ah, then there is this proud fellow.”

Paling when he prodded Iain’s loins with his sword, Islaen finished tying Iain up. “’Tis done. Ye may cease your tormenting now.”

“Ah, but me dear lady, I have but begun.” He stood up and smiled coldly at Iain. “I shall let ye keep the wee fellow a while longer.”

He laughed and pushed Iain over causing a strain to be put on the rope. Islaen gasped, then rushed at the man, infuriated by his cruelty. She did not even land one blow.
Almost casually he swung at her sending her sprawling. She stared up at him and knew that, although they may have gained some time, that time would be a torture filled with whatever horror MacLennon’s twisted mind could conceive. Somehow he knew that the chance of anyone coming to their rescue was slim and he intended to play with them.

“Come now, m’lady, I believe ye were about to remove your clothes. Dinnae let me stop you.”

For one brief panicked moment Iain thought of shouting for help but he ruthlessly quelled the urge. The chances that anyone would hear were small. So too would it insure a quick death for himself and Islaen. What rescuers might arrive would only find their dead bodies. He had to try to be strong, to let MacLennon play his mad games, for there was always the chance that someone would see signs that MacLennon was near or simply worry that he and Islaen had been gone too long and come looking for them. Knowing what MacLennon planned for Islaen, however, made Iain fear he would lack that strength. He really did not think he could silently watch her raped even for the chance to save their lives.

As he faced the very real prospect of their deaths, Alexander’s words haunted him. God had given him the joy of Islaen and he had wasted every day of their short time together. Beside his fear for her and his helpless anger was a grief for time lost.

“Islaen, I am sorry,” he said, the taut rope around his neck making his voice raspy.

“For what? Because this mad fool thinks our pain can end his? Because he thinks our deaths can resurrect the long-dead Catalina?”

“Be quiet and undress,” MacLennon hissed. “Catalina’s death must be paid for.”

“Then speak to God, fool. He is the one who took her. She died on childbed.”

“Bearing his child,” MacLennon screamed.

“Aye, just as she would have died had ye wed her and got her with bairn. What would ye have done then? Taken revenge upon yourself?” she sneered. “Fallen upon your sword at her graveside, mayhaps?” She cried out when he struck her sending her sprawling.

He hesitated as he stood over her, his sword raised to strike. “Nay, nay, ye willnae make me kill you. Nay, not yet. Get up.”

As she slowly got to her feet, Islaen wondered if that was what she was doing, trying to make him kill her. With an inner shake of her head she rejected that idea. She had no wish at all to die, not even knowing what he planned to do to her. Anger born of fear and frustration prompted her words. She was simply enraged that this madman could play his vengeful games, threaten Iain’s life and her own, and she seemed helpless to stop him. Inside she raged at the injustice of it all and that spilled out in bitter, stinging words. She did wonder, however, if she could make him angry enough to make that one error in judgment that would give her and Iain a chance.

“Get undressed,” he hissed. “Ye cannae stop me in this. I mean to make him watch me take his woman as he took mine.”

Although her heart seemed to be in her throat, Islaen shrugged and began to unlace her gown. “Are ye sure ye can? Are ye sure ye didnae bury your manhood with Catalina as weel as your mind?” She inwardly tensed for the blow when he raised his fist but, with a visible effort, he controlled himself.

“Ye have a sharp tongue, m’lady. Ye best be wary that someone doesnae cut it off.”

“Ye do seem to have a taste for chopping off bits of people.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stout piece of wood and, as she held out her tunic and let it drop, she began to make a plan. She ceased taunting him and began to concentrate on removing her clothing as slowly as possible, deliberately holding each piece out to let it drop. When she bent to roll down her hose she saw the look upon his face that she had been waiting for. MacLennon might be mad but he still suffered a man’s lusts. She could use that against him if she was both careful and clever.

Gasping for air, his compulsive move to aid Islaen tightening the rope about his neck, Iain lay still. For a moment he feared MacLennon was right, that Islaen tried to drive the man to kill her quickly. He discarded that idea although he was not sure why, only sensed that Islaen would not do that.

Then he grew confused for her anger seemed to fade. As he watched her undress it seemed as if she were trying to seduce MacLnon and, by the look upon the man’s face, it was working. He could not understand why she should do such a thing. When her plan revealed itself he was both proud of her because of her courage and terrified that her risk would bring her further pain, enraging the madman so that he increased whatever torment he dealt her.

Slipping off her petticoat, Islaen held it out as if to drop it as she had all her other clothes. When MacLennon’s gaze briefly flickered to her bared legs, she flung her petticoat at him. It covered his head and, as he struggled to pull it free, she grabbed up the wood she had spotted. He was just tossing aside the petticoat when she swung her rough club with all her might and hit him in the stomach. When he doubled over she swung again hitting him on the head. He sprawled on the ground and she stared at him in amazement for a moment, surprised that she had done what she had and that it had worked.

Hurriedly shaking free of that shock she briefly thought of taking his sword to cut Iain free but discarded the idea as she rushed to Iain’s side. She could never wield a sword well enough to cut Iain’s bonds without cutting him. Trying to stay calm so that she did not fumble too long over the knots, she began to loosen Iain’s bonds.

Once the rope loosened around his neck, Iain rasped, “Ye could have gotten killed, lass.”

“Seeing as he was planning on murdering me anyhow I cannae see what your complaint is. Dead is dead.”

“Get the horn and call for the others.”

“I will get ye free first so that ye can at least move out of the way of his sword.” She undid the last knot and heard Iain groan. “Are you hurt?”

“My muscles have knotted ’tis all.”

“I will get his sword. I should have done that but only thought of getting ye free and I coudnae use it for that.”

“Look out, Islaen,” Iain tried to shout but his voice was little more than a hoarse cry and he could not move to save her.

Islaen had taken one step towards MacLennon when suddenly the man was on his feet and racing towards her. She turned to flee but he caught her by the hair, using it to pull her around to face him. He backhanded her across the face sending her sprawling on the ground, then leapt upon her. For one brief moment Islaen feared he was still intending to rape her and Iain would not recover from being so painfully trussed up in time to save
her. Then she experienced real terror as his hands closed around her throat and no amount of tearing at his hands could loosen his grip for he was too enraged, too crazed to even feel the pain she was inflicting.

She tried to buck him off but he only laughed. Her body did not have the strength to throw his weight over even when strengthened by the fear of death. Then, suddenly, an arm snaked around MacLennon’s neck and he was the one fighting for air. For just a moment he kept his grip upon her throat and Islaen felt near to blacking out. Then he let go to turn all his efforts to breaking Iain’s hold upon his neck. Islaen turned on her side, her hand to her abused throat, and gasped for air. For a short while getting air back into her body was all important.

Iain felt relief fill him when he saw Islaen move. He had feared that it had taken him too long to make his cramped muscles move. All he had been able to think of as he had struggled to save her was how small Islaen’s neck was, its slenderness encircled by the strong hands of a madman who tried to kill her.

“Islaen, get to the horses,” he yelled hoarsely, then cried out as MacLennon broke free and sent him sprawling.

Nodding, Islaen stumbled to her feet. She felt weak and light-headed but fought it. Thinking a little hysterically that Iain was going to be exceedingly cross, she headed not for the horses but towards where he had thrown the horn. She had no intention of running for her life at the cost of his, knew she would never be able to live with herself if she did.

With his attention torn between his wife and MacLennon, Iain was able to do little more than keep out of MacLennon’s reach. “Islaen, I told ye to go to the horses! Get out of here!”

“In a moment,” she replied but doubted he could hear her for her voice was little more than a raspy whisper.

When he realized where she was headed he managed to turn his full attention upon MacLennon. He knew she looked for the horn and did not think it would be too hard to find. Once she blew upon that help would arrive in minutes.

Desperately, on her hands and knees, Islaen searched for the horn. She almost wept when she found it for it meant rescue from the nightmare they were caught in. Her relief turned to despair when her first attempt to blow it brought forth a sickly tone that would fail to travel a yard. Praying for strength, she took several deep breaths though they hurt her and tried again. The sound was louder, clearer, but it stole what strength she had. Collapsing upon the ground, she prayed it had been enough to bring the help they so desperately needed.

Alexander looked up from the dice game he played with Robert when Phelan rode into Muircraig. “Where have ye been?”

“About.”

“Verra informative. Ye just missed Lady Mary. She rode out of here but moments ago in no good a temper, I might add.”

“No need. I saw the slattern. Where is Iain?” Phelan asked as he dismounted. “I think ye are losing, Robert. ’Tis best not to play with Alexander.”

“Ye should have told me that ere I lost near all I own. Iain isnae here.”

“Where did he go?”

“Off with Islaen if ye must ask,” Alexander replied. “She planned to seduce him.
Must have worked or they would have returned by now.”

“Oh, then t’would most like be awkward to seek him out,” Phelan murmured, frowning slightly.

“Why should ye wish to?”

“Well, Alex, I saw signs whilst I was out riding.”

“MacLennon?”

“I fear it might be. There was an effort made to hide the signs and I can think of no other man who wouldst be trying so hard to creep about here without being seen.”

“There is none.” Alexander stood up, tensed yet hesitant. “Howbeit, Iain is alert to the danger. They went prepared.”

“How alert can a man be,” Robert asked as he too stood up, “when he is enjoying what he hasnae tasted for o’er six months.”

“Not verra alert at all.”

“Still, he may not appreciate any interruption,” Phelan said, “especially when I have no proof.”

“And I cannae say I wish to be privy to my sister tussling with her mon,” Robert drawled.

“An all ye fear is to catch them at it, then we can announce our approach loudly and clearly,” Alex said.

“Ye think ’tis worth warning him,” Phelan murmured.

“Aye, I do. As we have agreed, who else could it be but MacLennon?”

“None,” Robert muttered. “Best we go then. Hold!” Although Robert grasped only Alexander’s arm everyone in Muircraig stilled as the single clear note cut through the air.

“Aye,” Alexander hissed, “I heard it.” He raced for his horse. “The bastard has found them.”