Stolen Vows (12 page)

The cart had barely started rolling when it stopped again.  Isla was so tense she thought something might snap if she moved.

“Here we are then,” Roan murmured.  He leaned forward and dabbed a kiss against her lips, at least managing to bring a splash of color to her pale cheeks.  “Ready?”

Isla didn’t answer aloud, but she did manage to nod her head.  Roan squeezed her hand as he helped her down, in front of an imposing set of stone steps, which led up to an even more imposing stone castle.

“Uncle Roan!  Uncle Roan!”

Isla gasped as a pack of children came running across the courtyard towards her husband.  The boys and girls ranged in age from about three to ten years, and all looked positively delighted to clap eyes on their uncle.  Roan turned and gave Isla a sheepish smile just before they were engulfed.

“Some of my sisters’ children,” he explained.

“Some of them?” Isla repeated.  She raised her eyebrows in surprise, watching as one little girl clambered into Roan’s arms. 

Roan chuckled.  “Aye, we MacRaes like large families,” he grinned, inspiring a fresh splash of color in Isla’s cheeks.

“Uncle Roan why did ye come home in
that
wagon?”  “Why were ye gone so long, Uncle Roan?”  “Did ye bring us anything?”  “Who’s
she
, Uncle Roan?”  “Aye, who
is
she?”

In just a few moments the jumble of hardly distinguishable questions had settled on one topic.  Isla.  Isla held her breath and waited to see how her husband would answer.  However, the voice that spoke next was not Roan’s.  It was hard, and female, and it came from the top of the stone steps.

“Aye, Roan, who is this?”

A glance at the green-eyed, gray-haired woman standing just outside the castle doors confirmed that the speaker could only possibly be one person: 
Roan’s mother
.  Isla felt any chance she had of ever fitting in at Erchlochy Castle wither and die in a heartbeat.  The woman was tall and striking.  She still had a fine figure despite her advancing age, but her face was cold and pinched. 

The woman walked down the steps toward them, eyeing Isla as if she were a dangerous disease. 

“Mother,” Roan nodded, confirming Isla’s worst fears.  “This is Isla MacRae,” he said without hesitation.  “My wife.”

The first true emotion that Isla had seen light the woman’s hard face flashed in her pale eyes. The expression was something between disbelief and sheer horror.

“Yer wife, Uncle Roan?”  “But her skirt’s all muddied and torn.”  “And just look at her hair!”  “She canna be yer wife, can she, Uncle Roan?” “Uncle Roan?”  The children made a number of confused murmurs and objections, before being shooed away by their grandmother.

Isla felt even worse when they had gone.  The children certainly hadn’t been on her side, but she had gained a sense of safety from their youth.  Nothing too terrible could happen with the presence of a little three-year-old girl clinging to Roan’s shirt.  Now she wasn’t sure what was about to happen.

“Do be serious, Roan,” Lady MacRae said, in a tone of voice that Isla imagined usually brooked no argument.  “This girl,” she said, shooting a sneering glance down at Isla, “is a Cameron.  Is she nae?”

“She
was
a Cameron,” Roan said firmly, reaching for his wife’s hand and pulling her a step closer to him. 

“Good God, Roan!  What have ye done?  This will ruin ye!” Lady MacRae gasped.  “What in the world possessed ye?”

Isla shrank back against her husband as Lady MacRae’s words lashed over her like the crack of a whip.  She raised her eyes to look at Roan’s face. He was wearing a rather harsh scowl. 

“I hardly think ye need to be quite so dramatic about it, mother,” Roan said evenly.  “Ye
have
been pressing me to find a wife ever since Bridghe got married.”

“A
suitable
wife, Roan,” Lady MacRae hissed, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.  She let her narrowed eyes fall on Isla, looking over the disheveled appearance of the young woman with a barely concealed sneer.

“Isla is Laird Cameron’s niece,” Roan frowned.  “As our own Laird is attempting to settle a peace between our two clans I can see nothing unsuitable about our marriage.”

“Ye can see nothing unsuitable about marrying a girl ye only just met?  Especially when there were so many bonnie lasses here vying for yer attentions!” Lady MacRae demanded furiously. 

Her eyes fell accusingly on Isla, who stiffened, and felt very keenly that her mother-in-law was silently wondering what she had done to trick Roan into marrying her.  She also felt a pang of jealously at the mention of the other women who had shown an interest in her husband before his journey to Castle Cameron.

“Mother, I will explain everything to ye later,” Roan sighed wearily.  He hadn’t slept for at least thirty-six hours.  “We’ve had a terrible journey.  I would like to speak briefly with the Laird so I can present Isla to him, and then retire to my rooms and rest.”

Lady MacRae looked absolutely outraged by this suggestion.  “Ye canna see Graem,” she snapped.  “He had one of his turns while ye were away
getting married
and is in nae state to see anyone.” 

“In that case, we’ll retire immediately,” he nodded, taking a step towards the large castle doors.

“Would ye like me to find a room for Miss Cameron?” Lady MacRae asked icily.

Roan turned back to face her.  “Mother,” he said.  He did not raise his voice but his tone was clearly menacing.  “Isla is my wife.  I therefore expect ye to treat her as such,” he warned.

A flush of color appeared on Lady MacRae’s cheeks.  She pinched her thin lips together very tightly and refrained from further comment.  Roan shook his head and made to walk up the rest of the steps and into the castle. 

Isla bobbed a low curtsy, and murmured: “Please to meet you, Lady MacRae,” which earned her another fierce scowl from her mother-in-law, and was then pulled along after her husband.

“I am sorry about that,” Roan sighed, once the doors had been opened for them and then were walking through the castle’s grand entrance hall.

“We knew it would be difficult.” 

“I have a feeling that it may get more difficult before it gets any better,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. 

Isla was of the opinion that it would
definitely
get more difficult before it got better, but wasn’t inclined to say so aloud.  She looked around, trying to take in the interior details of the castle, but Roan was walking so swiftly she barely had a chance to turn her head from side to side as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.   She almost careened into him when he did stop, throwing open a large oak door and leading Isla into his bedroom.

“Home sweet home,” he sighed.  He walked over to a chair that stood beside the unlit hearth and sat down, groaning audibly as he took the weight off his feet.

Isla felt a tender smile tug at her lips.  “Poor thing,” she breathed softly, shutting the door and then walking over to her husband.  His eyes had already dipped close.  “Ye need to sleep,” she said gently.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured.  “I need to see Graem. I dinna care what mother says, tis nae right that he does nae ken about ye being here.  And I need make sure one of the servants brings up yer luggage.  And I -”

“Need to rest!” Isla giggled. 

She crossed the room to the bed, drawing back the blankets so Roan could get in, before returning to his side, intent on prodding him into action.  He was already so dear to her.  Isla’s heart ached with an emotion she was too afraid to examine as she stared down at Roan, studying his handsome face.

“Come now,” she said gently, kneeling before her husband and going to work on his boots.  Isla smiled when Roan dropped a hand to her hair, gently patting her head as she heaved and tugged until both of his boots were off.

“I can manage,” he yawned, but made no actual move to help himself when Isla’s fingers rooted for the bottom of his shirt.

“I dinna want ye to manage,” Isla answered, and then surprised herself when she leaned forward and dabbed a kiss against his lips.  Roan looked surprised too, his tired eyes flickered open, but he smiled warmly as Isla helped him out of his shirt and pulled him up on his feet. 

“Ye’ll sleep more comfortably without these on,” she murmured, hesitating when he was clad in nothing more than his breeches.

“Undoubtedly,” Roan chuckled. 

He reached for his laces himself, sensitive to Isla’s embarrassment, but she reached out a hand and stilled him, intent on finishing what she’d started.  She was not being ruled by passion, but by a deep desire to help Roan - to take care and look after him like a
real
wife.  A wife bound to her husband by more than just the law.

Of course, that didn’t stop Isla from drinking in the sight of Roan’s body.  She had no point of reference to use as a comparison of course, but she knew instinctively that her husband was as close to physically perfection as a man could hope to be.

“Sleep now,” she whispered soothingly, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed.  He went without a word of protest, which rather impressed upon his wife how exhausted he was really feeling.

Roan released his breath in a huge, contented sigh as he sank down onto the soft mattress.  Isla smiled softly, watching his eyes shut as she straightened the coverings.  She was just starting to pull away when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

“Where are ye going?” he sighed, eyes still closed.  Roan’s voice was heavy with sleep, but he didn’t let Isla go.

“Nowhere,” she promised him, brushing his hair off of his forehead.

“Come to bed,” he murmured, patting the space beside him.

“In a minute,” she laughed quietly, kissing Roan’s cheek and then slipping out of his grasp.  He was too tired to resist the lure of slumber any longer, and in a matter of mere seconds his breathing was deep and his chest was rising and falling steadily.

Isla stood and watched him for a few minutes.  She was exhausted herself, but the adrenaline and terror that had flooded her veins on arriving at Erchlochy Castle was acting as a powerful stimulant.  She didn’t know if she would be able to sleep even if she did crawl beneath the covers, but then she wondered if it really mattered.  Just curling up beside Roan would be heavenly.

She had nothing to wear to bed though, no nightdress; her cases hadn’t been brought up to Roan’s room yet.  She could sleep in her chemise, but she had been wearing it for days, had already slept in it once.  Isla thought it better if she changed out of the undergarment… which only really left one option.

Isla slipped quickly out of her clothes, tossing them over the back of the chair where she had folded Roan’s things.  She felt a guilty little thrill as she slipped beneath the covers, reveling in the cool crisp feel of the clean sheets against her skin, and then basking in the warmth of her husband’s skin as she wriggled up against him.

She needn’t have worried about dropping off.  The second she let her head touch the pillow, Isla was out like a light.

..ooOOoo..

Isla didn’t know how long she slept, only that there was still daylight seeping through the windows when she woke.  She pried open one eye, feeling more tired than she had when she’d first crawled into bed.  Roan was standing in front of a mirror trimming his beard and his skin was damp from the bath she assumed he’d just taken.

“Ah, yer awake,” he said, without turning to look at her. 

Isla wriggled back under the blankets and pretended
not
to be awake.  If she was awake she’d have to get up.  If she got up that would undoubtedly lead to all sorts of unpleasant things, like meeting the MacRae’s Laird, and seeing Roan’s mother. All in all the bed seemed a far safer place to stay.