"MacRoth searches hard for a husband for his daughter,” the king observed dryly. “Has he aproached you yet, MacLagan?"
"Aye. He did.” Iain suddenly wished himself elsewhere for there was a gleam in the king's eye that unsettled him.
"And ye said no, I presume.” MacLagan nodded somewhat curtly. “Might we inquire why? Dowry's quite impressive."
"I have had my turn at marriage, your majesty. Let some other fellow have a chance. Tavis has secured our line weel enough."
"True, and there is Sholto left to wed. Howbeit, the Bible tells us to go forth and multiply. A man cannot do that upon his own."
"That too I have tried but ‘tis not to be."
"We think you have given up too easily. Have you met the lass? She watches you, if you have not noticed as yet."
Iain looked to where Islaen talked with her twin brothers, Calum and Donald. They were one and twenty, tall, lean and handsome with fiery red hair and brown eyes. Although she appeared to be totally attentive to her brothers, Iain could see that she was indeed watching him. He scowled but noticed that it did nothing to deter her. Absently, he also noticed that with her tall, broad-shouldered brothers flanking her, she looked even smaller than ever. Remembering the king, Iain shrugged nonchalantly.
"Mayhaps she does. ‘Tis hard to be sure, but it matters not.” Iain said the last three words with as much firmness as he dared.
The king caught Islaen's eye and beckoned her. To his amusement she looked around, looked back at him and pointed to herself mouthing the word ‘me.’ The king nodded just as her brothers nudged her in his direction. His amusement grew when she somehow managed to trod on each brothers’ foot before she approached. He noted that, although she curtsied and said all that was required, most of her attention was on the tall, solemn man at his side.
Islaen felt tight with nerves, yet it was not because she met with the king, a man who held the power of life and death over them all. It was because of the man who sat at the king's side. She only wished that there was the barest hint of warmth in the gaze Iain fixed upon her. With an effort she forced her attention to the king so that, even if she could stir no interest in Sir Iain, she would at least do nothing to make herself look the fool before him. There would be no way she could stay in court if that happened.
"You have much the look of your mother, child. We knew her when your father was courting her. A lovely woman. Your father has not brought all your brothers, has he?” He smiled. “How many are there? ‘Tis hard to keep accounts."
"Eleven. He only brought seven. The eldest four stayed at home, your majesty. Their wives are with child and cannae travel."
"Imagine that, MacLagan. Eleven strong sons. MacRoth needs no army. He breeds his own. Grandsons?"
"Aye, sire. Six of them at last count. Only twa lasses. Angus, the next to the eldest, has one as does Colin, one of the twins."
They talked a while longer about her prolific family. Islaen was slightly confused but decided it was simply a matter of curiosity on the king's part. Iain was not so naive. He had the sinking feeling he knew exactly what his sovereign was about, why he had had the girl talk about her prolific family. A sense of helpless rage grew in him as he saw what was coming. But he saw no way to stop it. One did not go against the king's wishes, nor even his gentle suggestions.
He had taken up the place near the king not only because the king wished it and for the prestige it gave. It kept him out of the tangle of flirtations that ran rampant in court, away from the machinations of women. He had been without a woman so long that a pretty, willing one could well be too much temptation. Now, seeing the danger headed his way, he wished he had not sought a somewhat cowardly way to avoid it. He was caught in the trap about to close tightly about him.
It was ironic in a way, almost funny, although he felt no urge to laugh. He had fled Caraidland for the court to avoid the temptation of a woman. Each day had drawn him nearer to succumbing to her lures, but he had seen clearly that she sought no brief pleasurable interlude, but marriage. Now the very thing he had fled to court to avoid was about to be pushed down his throat.
"A lovely girl. Well mannered yet not reticent. A man could do worse, or so think my godson and Lord Donald Fraser."
No matter how he tried, Iain could not completely repress a look of distaste. Lord Donald Fraser was two and forty. He had buried two wives already. Wine, wenches and gaming dominated his life. Iain did not want to picture what would happen to the girl.
"Do not think poorly of MacRoth. The man is little at court and does not know Fraser as we do. Nor does he know our godson. We cannot refuse a match there but we would prefer it not be made.” The king sipped his wine. “The MacRoths are as loyal to the crown as the MacLagans. A bond between two such families would be viewed with great favour."
"I have no need of a wife,” Iain said as pleasantly as possible.
"Or a woman. Or so you would have all believe. It is not right to bury yourself with your wife. A man needs a woman's softening touch ere he grows too hard, for a hard man cares for naught and his loyalties thin."
"Does his majesty feel I can no longer be trusted?"
"Do not get stiff, MacLagan. We merely make an observation. The land she holds is in a line with MacLagan land."
"I hadnae realized that, sire."
"To have it in MacLagan hands, with MacRoths bound to its defense through marriage would strengthen that length of the border. To have it go to Fraser or my godson could well mean keep fighting with little eye kept upon the English. There are enough feuds along there as it is. We would like to have one less area to fret over. Our mind would be greatly eased to know it is held firm and peaceful by the bonding of two loyal clans. To wed a man's only daughter, one he cares for,” the king nodded to where Alaistair stood with Islaen, his affection clear to see, “is a bond as strong as any. You have proof of that in Tavis's marriage."
Iain nodded, his jaw clenched. His marriage to Catalina had assuaged the MacBroths’ ill feelings over Tavis's not wedding another of their daughters, although he had had her as a mistress. Due to the girl's lack of chastity it had not broken the alliance, but it had strained it for hopes had been disappointed. Tavis's marriage to Storm Eldon meant that at least one point along the border the English were anxious to keep the peace, for to raise sword against a MacLagan meant endangering the only daughter of an English marcher lord.
Short of a direct order the king could not have made his wishes any clearer. A look into his sire's eyes told Iain that the direct order would come if it was necessary. The border was a source of aggravation to the kings on both sides of it, quite often a law unto itself. Two loyal clans bound by blood standing shoulder to shoulder at one point along that area of unrest was a temptation the king could not resist. It would mean that at one point the king's orders would be obeyed and he could be assured of support in the troubled area.
He could easily see the wisdom of it, understood the king's desire for it. That did little to ease his tension and anger over the noose slipped so gently around his neck. Even the fact that it would better his position at court, enrich his purse and undoubtedly please his father did not console him.
Deciding he could not escape, Iain said, “An I may beg your leave for a while, sire, I will seek out and speak to Lord MacRoth."
Iain cautiously approached Alaistair MacRoth. That man astutely guessed that it was all in the manner of a royal command. Even as he agreed to the match and discussed settlements in vague terms, Alaistair wondered if it was for the best. It was true that the girl had an eye for the man, although Alaistair thought him the antithesis of a maiden's dream, being dark and formidable in looks. He could also see that the young man did not want to wed Islaen, perhaps any woman. Also, there was the man's coldness to consider. Islaen was used to affection, be it rough, teasing or gentle. There seemed to be little chance of any to be found in Iain MacLagan.
Reading the concern in the man's eyes, Iain said, “I will be a good husband to the child. I willnae beat her nor go wenching. She will want for naught, Lord MacRoth."
"Save love,” Alaistair thought but said nothing. The others held no love for the girl either. In his prejudiced eyes she was eminently loveable, and he could not understand how it was that the men around could not see past her lack of curves to discover that.
Inwardly, he sighed. Iain MacLagan may hold no love for Islaen, may not even be capable of such an emotion, but the girl wanted him. That was far more than she did feel about any of the others put forward. Perhaps that could be enough to keep her happy and he truly wanted her to find happiness. The things the man had just sworn to were far more than the others had promised.
"'Tis a comfort to hear ye say that. T'would be a greater comfort if ye could act a little less like ye are headed for a hanging,” he growled.
"I understand your sense of outrage, m'lord. Forgive me my surliness but ye ken I have buried one young wife. T'was not my wish to take anither and maychance stand o'er her grave as weel.” Iain sighed but he felt the man was due total honesty.
"She is a great deal stronger than she looks, laddie. Many thought marriage would send her mither to an early grave, but Meghan proved them very wrong. Islaen's nay been treated like some doll by her brithers and come through the better for it.” He could see his words were being politely heeded but not believed, so he changed the subject. “The land's a sweet bit of property, but the keep needs tending to."
"'Tis no worry, m'lord. My kin live near to it. My wife and I may reside with them until matters are set straight. My eldest brither has a wife. T'will be company for Islaen. Aye, Storm will be glad of some female company."
The soft look that flickered over the man's harsh face at the mention of his sister by marriage eased Alaistair's worried mind. There were softer feelings in the man. If anyone could rescue them from permanent burial it was wee Islaen.
"Weel, come speak to the lass then. I ken she willnae refuse you. Nay, nor need much persuasion."
He watched in silent amusement as Alaistair edged him into the group of redheaded MacRoths and then dragged away his four youngest sons with a total lack of subtlety.
He then looked at the girl. She was a pretty little thing who made no effort to hide her appreciation of him even now. He could not fully subdue the good feelings that stirred within him. This worried him. If he lost the hard, cold emotional armour he had donned since Catalina's death, he could all too easily find himself reaching for all he had tried for before, all that his brother had found with Storm, and that could kill the girl smiling at him so sweetly. He would fight that with every ounce of willpower he had.
"May I sit down, mistress?” he asked and joined her on the small window seat when she nodded.
Islaen studied him. Her father had made it rather clear as to why Iain wished to speak to her, though she dared not believe it. The closed look upon his face was hardly encouraging. If he was about to propose marriage, she felt sure it was not by choice. That left her in a quandary, for she wanted to be his wife above all things but would like him to feel at least amiable to the idea.
However, if he had no choice then she probably did not either. Even if she did she realized that she would much rather be the one he had to wed than to watch him wed another. Although he was so clearly reluctant, there was the chance for her to make something good out of it, but, if she refused, there was no chance at all. He would be lost to her forever and that, she decided, would be harder to bear than anything else.
"Do ye ken what I wish to speak to ye about?"
"An I read my fither right ‘tis marriage, yet your face doesnae look much like that of a suitor."
"Aye, ‘tis marriage I wish to speak to ye about. The king feels a match between us would be a verra good thing."
''Tis hardly the proposal of a young girl's dreams,” she mused silently but aloud she said, “Then I ken ‘tis set."
Iain looked at his hands, then glanced at her. “Aye, that it is. Can ye stomach it, lass?"
"Of course. Why should I not be able to?” She saw his hand feint to the scar upon his face. “Wheesht, that is naught. It doesnae pull your face about into a horrid grimace or some such. Might I ask how ye got it? Ye need not say."
Iain almost smiled. He had never thought himself vain, but some of the reactions to his scarring had cut him deeply, almost as deeply as the knife that had marred his features. In her lovely eyes he could read the truth of her words. A familiar, if long ignored, knot formed in his loins and he inwardly cursed.
"T'was an attack at my wife's graveside by a mon who felt I had stolen, then murdered, the lass he loved."
"Oh. Did ye steal her from him?"
"Nay. T'was a marriage sought by her family and mine. I kenned naught of him until t'was done.” He frowned at her. “I dinnae ken why I speak so freely to ye, lass."
"I shall tell nary a soul and ‘tis it not right that I, as your wife, should ken if there be some mon creeping about ready to plunge a dirk into ye? ‘Tis a bit of information that could be useful."
Amusement flickered through his eyes. “Aye, that it could."
Dangerous, Iain mused. She had an impish sense of humor as well as a directness of speech. Both were things he admired. In their two brief meetings she had affected him more than the most practiced of flirts, drawing him out despite himself. He would have to be more wary. She could chip away at his wall until it crumbled.
"Did ye have someone ye loved?” she asked softly.
"Aye but she was given to anither ere I became betrothed."
"Is she still wed?"
"Nay,” he answered slowly, beginning to see where her questions were leading. “I dinnae love her still either."
Color tinged her cheeks. “I am sorry. My tongue oftimes outruns my mind and my good manners."
"'Tis no matter, lass. I will be honest though it be far from polite. I dinnae want to take a wife. One buried is enough for me. The king doesnae want ye to wed either of your other suitors, doesnae want them with land upon the troublesome border. Our families are both loyal and obedient to the king. He wants our forces joined and that land to be held in loyal hands."
So romantic, Islaen mused wryly, but she had expected little else. Something had to drive such a man to do what he so clearly did not want to do. It was no surprise that the king was the prod. It also told her that, as she had suspected, she had as little choice in the matter as Iain did.
"Ah, a bulwark against unrest, one place along the border that he need not worry about. In the end, three loyal houses."
Iain nodded. “All that doesnae mean I will be a poor husband. As I told your fither, I dinnae beat women nor wench."
"That is nice. Such things could cause strife within a household,” she drawled, her eyes dancing, and was pleased to see a brief laughing light flare in Iain's remarkable eyes. “I suspicion that Lord Fraser is a wencher."
"Aye? How did ye espy that in him?"
"Ye will laugh, but t'was because he licked his lips and his palm was sweaty."
"Sure signs of a wencher,” Iain said in a choked voice and, to the amazement of all, he did laugh, although softly.
The pair became of great interest to all as the news of the betrothal seeped through the hall. An official announcement would be made after they had all dined, but by the time the feast was laid out, it was not really necessary. Neither was it much of a secret that it was a match urged by the king. Islaen did not know whether to be embarrassed, angry or amused as she was seated next to Iain at the king's table. She was certainly unaccustomed to being paid such a great deal of attention.
Some of the attention was far from favourable. Many a woman thought and whispered spiteful things about her. It did not matter that the king had urged the match. All the women saw was that a tiny girl with little figure and none too spectacular looks had what they had tried so hard to get. To be outdone by a border wench of no great standing was a bitter potion to swallow. The king's part in it was a salve of sorts, but inadequate. Many of them decided to increase their efforts to draw Iain into a liaison. They felt sure that, once he had become reaquainted with loving and his wife proved sorely lacking, his eyes would turn elsewhere. Knowing that her new husband was romping with another would put Islaen MacRoth in her place.
Islaen sensed all that, could read it in a number of fair faces. It both pleased and worried her. She found pride in the fact that she would soon be wife to a man so many wanted. She worried that she might not be wife enough. Although he had said that he was no wencher she doubted he knew just how great a challenge to resist temptation would now be tossed at his head. Islaen could read the threat to trespass in far too many female eyes.
It also annoyed her that they could not leave well enough alone, plotted to do to her as she would never dream of doing to them. The sanctified bonds and vows of matrimony clearly meant little to them. Their vanity needed appeasing, she supposed, and she felt ashamed for them. There was to be a fight ahead and she dreaded it, for she could not feel sure of victory.
Dissatisfaction was in two male breasts as well. Ronald MacDubh and Lord Fraser were hard put to hide their anger. In each case the money Islaen would have brought them was sorely needed. The lives they led, remarkably similar, were costly. Debts were owed and to people who would not wait patiently for repayment. The chance of getting a well-dowered bride were few and far between for men who were of an increasingly unsavory reputation. MacRoth had been blissfully ignorant of their full characters. It grated to see such a prize go to a man who neither needed it nor wanted it. Such a thing hit them in the purse, where all their sensitivity rested.
They also resented the property MacLagan would get. Opportunity for gain could be found upon the border. The king's mailed fist was unable to fully control the area. Loyalties thinned in that area making it ideal for a man whose loyalty was only to himself. The chances of anyone outside of the clans or their allies marrying into them and gaining land that way were small. To watch such an opportunity slip into the hands of another man, himself from a border clan, was too much to tolerate. Resentment boiled and fermented in their breasts, aimed itself at Iain MacLagan and gave rise to plots, vague but growing clearer, of satisfactory revenge.
Iain was not oblivious to all the undercurrents. He was uninterested in any female plots, just as he had been more or less unaware of women for a long time. His attention was on the disgruntled suitors. Money and land could stir emotions as easily and as deeply as love when lost to another. The fact that both rejected suitors were in sore need of both only increased the chance of possible trouble.
What was frustrating was that he could not be sure how they would react to their loss. At the moment they looked close to uniting in their anger over losing such a prize. A union like that could be deadly. It was not really for himself that he worried either. Although Islaen was the prize the men sought, she could all too easily be hurt in whatever plan they might form. He was going to have to keep a close eye on both men.
It occurred to Iain that, for such a tiny thing, Islaen MacRoth was towing a lot of complications behind her. Several of her brothers had hinted that any hurt done to their sister would be repaid in full. Iain wondered if the king knew how easily the strong alliance he sought could become the bloodiest feud the borders had seen in a long time. Added to that was the resentment of two men not known for their even temperament or good sense. There could easily be swords drawn from that direction.
When he recalled that he already had a sword hanging over his head like Damocles, Iain nearly laughed. While he fretted over Islaen possibly getting with child, he was ringed with people who could easily make her a widow before any seed of his could take root. He knew his sense of humour might be thought rather twisted, but such thoughts caused him to smile rather openly when the king called for a toast to the betrothal.
Bemused by Iain's smile, Islaen responded to the congratulations absently. She did wonder, with a touch of bitterness, why they congratulated her. She had not won the man's hand nor heart; he had been shoved her way by the king himself, ensnared into marriage by a king who wished to lessen a few of his troubles.
Very firmly Islaen pushed aside that bitterness. It was a feeling that only brought trouble or grief. She had seen the proof of that more often than she had cared to. That was not a poison she wished to seep into her life and marriage. Ruefully, she admitted that she would probably find more than enough trouble in her marriage than she could handle anyways. When Iain's smile faded she wondered if he had suddenly seen all the difficulties that lurked ahead for them.
Iain's smile was gone when the king proceeded to announce that he would be seeing to the wedding himself. It meant that the wedding night would take place within the palace, thus killing any hope Iain had of leaving the union unconsummated. His protest that his family would be unable to attend only brought sympathy, no change of plans. Now he would have to exercise one of the various methods used to prevent conception and hope that Islaen would not feel it was a personal affront.
After the king's announcement Islaen could feel Iain retreating. It surprised her that she seemed to so easily sense his moods. She hoped she was not fooling herself, seeing what was not there or misreading what was. Despite warning herself that she could be, she still felt sure that he was retreating, pulling back into his hard, cold shell, and she felt helpless to stop it. It was something she had no experience with, for her family was the open sort, hiding little of what they felt or thought. She also saw how hard it would be to establish any sort of true bond with him when he could so neatly pull away from her as he was doing now.
She realized her path was going to be strewn with stones. Love was what she sought but her ever-present practicality reared its head. To hope for that was to invite pain. She would instead aim for a congenial relationship. In the ways only a wife could, she would make herself important to him. Watching her brothers’ wives, she had seen how that could be done, how a man could find himself turning to that woman without thought whether there was love there or not. Habit could serve almost as well. Depending upon how demanding he was in the bedroom, whether or not his reputed celibacy came from lack of interest or rigid control, she would learn to give him all he could want until there too no other woman could do as well. She might not attain the perfect marriage, but she was determined to have as near to it as she could get.