Rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them, Iain searched the ground for some sign that a man had recently passed through the area. Phelan had seen signs and the youth's skill in such matters was not to be questioned. Iain felt sure it was MacLennon and there was an eagerness with him to confront the man. He wanted the final confrontation over even though it could mean that he would never know if Islaen survived childbirth or see the child she gave him. His eagerness to face his foe came from a weariness that reached to his soul. Iain was simply tired of living half a life, of always waiting for the man to strike.
As he dismounted to check something a little more closely, he admitted that this was another reason he spent so much time at Muircraig. He wanted to draw MacLennon away from Islaen. Caraidland was well guarded, but MacLennon had already showed how little that mattered. The man's main target was still him. By being at Muircraig while Islaen was in Caraidland, he divided the man's targets and felt sure that MacLennon would come to him first.
"Ye willnae find me there, MacLagan,” mocked a voice that chilled Iain's blood.
A little surprised that the man was showing himself, Iain slowly turned to face his enemy. He felt sure that MacLennon knew about his men that searched for signs nearby. Iain wondered if constant failure was finally driving the man to act carelessly. If so, it could prove a boon. ‘That is, if I escape this meeting,’ he thought wryly as he swiftly drew his sword.
"Ye grow verra tiresome, MacLennon."
"I will see that ye are soon beyond caring. Today ye die, MacLagan."
"So ye continue to boast but ye ne'er accomplish your aim.” He saw fury flare in the man's eyes and knew he was right, that MacLennon grew frustrated by his continued failure. “Come, try again why dinnae ye? Or, do ye grow weary of failing?"
With a bellow of rage Iain was certain would reach the ears of his men, MacLennon attacked. Iain was staggered by the force of the man's strike. It was hard to believe the smaller, slender man was stronger. Iain could only presume that the man's madness gave him such strength. Having enraged him had simply added to that strength. With a thrill of alarm Iain also recognized that the cold had slowed him, stiffening him and robbing him of some of his agility. It could prove to be a fatal handicap.
The sound of approaching horsemen drove MacLennon to make one final, furious assault upon Iain before fleeing. Iain was stunned by the ferocity of the attack. He neatly blocked a sword strike but felt a sharp pain in his side. In dismay he saw that MacLennon held a now bloodied dagger in his other hand. The giggle that escaped MacLennon as Iain staggered, clutching his side, made Iain feel slightly ill. He readied himself as well as he could to face another attack but MacLennon was gone. He caught a faint glimpse of the man disappearing into the wood just as Phelan, Murdo and Robert arrived.
"After him. He went that way,” Iain rasped even as he sat down heavily, suddenly overcome by dizziness.
Robert dismounted and hurried to his side as Phelan and Murdo raced after MacLennon. “Wheesht, Iain, he came close to skewering ye weel this time,” Robert muttered as he hurried to staunch the flow of blood. “'Tis nay fatal though."
"I didnae see him draw his knife. Must be growing slow in my declining years,” he jested weakly.
"What troubles me is that we didnae see him,” Robert grumbled after smiling briefly. “We should have seen him, Iain."
"We ne'er see him, do we. I begin to think we deal with a specter. He leaves but a faint trail yet, e'en when we find it, we ne'er find him.” Iain suddenly collapsed against Robert, no longer able to fight off unconciousness.
"God's beard, did MacLennon win then?” Phelan asked in horror when he and Murdo returned.
"Nay, he has but swooned. Ye lost the mon,” replied Robert.
"Aye. Curse him."
"I think we best take Iain to Caraidland."
"Aye, there will be better care for him there."
Islaen frowned, her attention diverted from some frolicking puppies she played with in the stables. Wallace stood looking out at the bailey and she waited for him to tell her what was causing the mild disturbance out there. When he glanced her way rather worriedly, she felt her heart lurch with fear and rose. He hesitantly moved as if to stop her and her alarm grew.
Slipping around him she looked out and swayed as she saw Iain being lifted off of a litter. “Nay,” she whispered then cried, “Iain,” as she started to run towards her husband only to be caught by Robert before she reached Iain's side.
"He isnae dead, lass. Just cut a wee bit.” He held her close when she slumped against him. “Calm yourself and then I will take ye to him."
"MacLennon?” she asked as she fought to calm herself as he had commanded.
"Aye but we lost him."
"God's tears, not again."
"Aye, again. Better now?"
"Better. T'was just seeing him carried in like that."
"Weel, I think t'was a lot of things that sent him into a swoon. Come, we will go and see him now.” He took her hand and started towards the keep. “It wouldnae have done him much good to see ye so pale and upset. He would most like feel he had caused some harm to ye and the bairn by giving ye a bad turn. This will end his work on Muircraig ‘til spring, I think."
Later, as she sat by his bed and waited for Iain to wake Islaen decided Robert was probably right. So long as infection or fever did not set in the wound was not fatal. It was deep, however, requiring a couple of stitches, so it would be a while before he could move much without the threat of breaking open his wound. By the time he was healed enough to do any real work, Islaen felt sure that winter would have begun in earnest. There would be no working at Muircraig then nor any time until the spring.
"So, husband,” she murmured, “ye will have to stay near your wife for a change. Nary a place to run to."
"Islaen,” Iain groaned as he fought his way to consciousness and thought he heard his wife's voice.
Praying that he had been too groggy to understand her words, she smiled at him when he opened his eyes. Carefully helping him to sit up a little bit she gave him a drink of water. She decided that he was too pale and hoped that that would soon pass.
"How did I get here?” Iain rasped as he laid back down.
"Robert, Phelan and Murdo brought ye here. They felt it better for ye."
"'Tis bad?” He gingerly touched the bandaging at his side.
"Nay, ‘tis deep though, and ye must rest to heal right. Rest and be still so that ye dinnae pull out the stitches. Ye have lost enough blood. No need to start any more flowing out of ye."
"Ah, Jesu, we nearly had him, Islaen.” He gripped her hand when she took hold of his in a gesture of sympathy. “I grow so verra weary of this game."
"So do I, Iain, and I havenae played it near as long as ye have. Are ye sure the mon isnae a sorcerer?"
"Or some ghostie, eh?” He smiled faintly. “Nay, though I oft find myself wondering. Howbeit, if we cut him, he bleeds. I think only living flesh does that,” he drawled. “They were careful bringing me in, were they? Ye cannae afford a bad turn now, lass."
"Robert was quick to catch me ere I really had time to think the worst. He was watching for me."
"Good,” he murmured weakly, feeling strongly inclined to go to sleep again. “Ye get some rest, Islaen; I will be fine."
"I ken it, Iain.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I will just sit here until ye are asleep again. I but needed to see ye wake once to ease my worries. Do ye need anything? Want anything?"
"MacLennon's head on a salver,” he jested sleepily then grasped Islaen's hand more tightly. “Dinnae think ye can do it."
She smiled and held his hand between hers, bringing it up to her lips. “I swear I shall be a verra good lass."
"Swear it?” he asked, opening his eyes enough to look at her with tired sternness. “Ye have ne'er done anything so reckless whilst I have been with ye, but I have this feeling ye might give some wild idea a thought."
"Mayhaps an I didnae have twa lives to consider each time I do anything."
"Ah, of course. Of course,” he murmured, falling asleep almost as soon as he had finished speaking.
She sat beside him for a long while simply watching him sleep. Occasionally she reached out to brush the hair off of his forehead and gently test for any signs of fever. Islaen had a feeling that it was not simply his wound that made him sleep so deeply. There were signs of exhaustion upon his face. She hoped his weariness would not weaken him too much thus furthering the chances of infection and fever. It was not until Storm nearly forced her from his side that Islaen gave up her vigil, leaving Tavis to watch over Iain for a while.
Islaen glared at her husband and seriously considered hitting him with the tray she held. He was nearly healed enough to have his stitching removed but she was sorely tempted to give him a few new wounds. She decided he was worse than even her brother Colin who made the most miserable patient of all her kin and told him so.
"Weel, why dinnae ye lay about in a bed all day after cursed day and see how ye like it,” he grumbled.
"I dinnae like it and I suspicion I wasnae a verra good patient when I had to, but I do think I at least tried not to make life miserable for everyone."
Iain watched her as she moved angrily around the room, tidying it up. Slowly his temper faded. He knew he was being miserable but could not help himself. Glancing at her ever-rounding belly, he decided it was far past time for him to exercise a little more control of his temper. She could not afford such upsets at this time.
"Forgive me,” he said softly, smiling crookedly when she turned to look at him. “'Tis just that I cannae abide this lying about."
She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. “Ye neednae apologize, Iain. I understand your anger.” Smiling faintly, she said, “Ye will be up and about soon and then ye can curse your weakness instead of me."
"Impudent wench."
"Aye, most like.” She got the salve from the bedside table and rubbed a little upon his wound to ease the itching she knew came with the healing. “These can be removed soon. The wound has closed weel."
Her light, gentle touch enflamed him. He had been too long without her. Wounded or not he was determined to ease that need. Grasping her around the waist as she put the salve away, he tugged her into his arms.
"Iain,” she gasped, “be careful. Your wound..."
"'Tis not only my wound that tries my temper, lass,” he interrupted.
One look into his eyes told her what he was thinking about but she looked at him innocently. “Ye dinnae like the salve."
"Verra amusing.” He slid her hand down his body until it rested upon his manhood.
"Ye want me to put salve on that?"
"Islaen,” he growled, “it isnae wise to taunt a desperate mon."
"Are ye desperate, Iain?” she murmured as she stroked him.
"Aye, witch."
He kissed her hungrily even as his hand sought the warmth between her thighs. Islaen felt her somewhat neglected desires flare to life. Nevertheless, when he finally released her mouth to spread warm kisses over her throat, she fought to recall his wound.
"I am nay sure ye ought to do this, Iain."
"I am.” He undid her gown enough to free her breasts.
"Are ye sure we can do this without hurting your side?"
"I am about to show ye that we can and verra nicely too."
Islaen said no more until she lay sated in his arms. “Aye, that was verra nice.” She giggled when the baby kicked her and Iain grunted. “Ye should feel it from this side."
"Nay, I think I can live content to a ripe old age without kenning it."
Moving off him, Islaen straightened her clothes. “Where did ye put my braes?"
"Tossed ‘em aside."
"How uncivilized."
Crossing his arms behind his head, he grinned at her. “Aye, ye should learn to control yourself."
"My, we are feeling better, arenae we,” she drawled as she got off of the bed and started to look for her braes.
"There are some potions that cannae be matched."
Finding her braes all the way across the room, Islaen turned her back to him and put them on. “Ye didnae toss them; ye hurled them."
"Why bother putting them back on?"
"I feel naked without them. Just keep feeling as if something will show. I have gotten accustomed to wearing them. Truth tell, I begin to think the women that dinnae wear them be the odd ones.” She returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do ye want anything else?” she asked pertly.
Iain was about to make an outrageous reply when Islaen gasped and put her hands over her stomach. “Islaen?"
"Aye, just a moment,” she gasped as she hurriedly lay down by his side and grasped his hand in what she could see was a vain attempt to ease his worry. “The bairn dances,” she said breathlessly.
Almost timidly he put his hands on her swollen abdomen. His eyes slowly widened as he felt the prodigious activity within. It was little surprise that it offset her. He wondered how she could tolerate it.
"Does it hurt?” he whispered.
"Nay, not truly, but ‘tis not comfortable either,” she replied with an increasing calm as the activity within her womb eased a little and she was less startled by it.
"Mayhaps a physician."
"To leech me or cup me? He will think it something in my blood so take some out, mayhaps too much. Aye, he will still the activity. A dead bairn cannae move too muckle much. Dinnae bring one of those corbies near me, Iain. Swear it."
"I swear it. Calm yourself, Islaen,” he soothed, then jested weakly, “ye will have the bairn kicking his way out in fright."
"Feels so, doesnae it. ‘Tis just that I dinnae like physicians."
"That was easy to see. Why not?"
She shrugged. “I dinnae ken really save that I have seen their work and it turns my stomach. I could say t'was because of what was done to my cousin, a youth named Ninian, save that I had already begun to distrust the breed by then."
"What happened to Ninian?” He relaxed a little as he sensed the growing calm in her and the child in her womb.
"He was hurt in a raid. His kin brought in a physician. The mon was near at hand after all. I was there for my fither and brithers were part of the raid. Poor Ninian was already weak and wan with the loss of blood but that carrion and his assistant wanted more. Ninian's fither was nearly swayed to believe their cries that t'was needed. He e'en went so far as to let them put the leeches on. Ninian didnae have the blood to spare, Iain. Any fool could see that."
"Did he die?” Ian asked softly.
"Nay,” she muttered, not sure she wanted to finish the tale.
"What happened? Come, ye cannae stop in the midst of the tale."
"Och, weel, they left, the physician, his aides and Ninian's fither too. They sought a drink and the privacy to speak. Nathan and I took the leeches off while Robert fetched a calf. When the men returned they found fat leeches, ones so bloated they had fallen off. Ninian's father took one look at the creatures, thought on all the blood they had taken from a youth who had already lost so much and sent the physician away. Ninian still hasnae told his fither the truth. He doesnae like physicians either.”
"They could have killed him, Iain, and would have an it had been Ninian's blood in those leeches, blood Ninan couldnae spare."
"Letting blood is an accepted practice,” he said calmly although he silently admitted that he had little liking for it.
"Iain, when a person gets a wound they seek to stop the blood flowing out of it. Losing blood makes ye weak. Losing too much can kill ye. Most everyone kens that. Ye will ne'er get me to believe ‘tis wise to purposely draw it out. If God didnae want what's in there to stay in there He wouldnae have put it in there to begin with."
"I have oft thought the same.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Are ye feeling, better?"
"I didnae feel poorly. ‘Tis just that I feel it best to lie down when the bairn jumps and reels so. It can make me feel a wee bit unsteady on my feet. I dinnae wish to fall."
He nodded slowly, chilled by even the thought of such occurrence. She seemed to be rounding out at an alarming rate. He did not dare to say anything, however, for he knew his fear would taint his words and possibly infect her as well. Iain did wish there was someone he could talk to about the matter and greeted his brother almost hopefully when Tavis arrived.
"Does she look large to ye, Tavis?” he asked almost the moment Islaen had left.
"She is starting to round out, isnae she."
"That I can see for myself,” Iain drawled. “What I asked was if ye think she has rounded out too much."
"Nay. Dinnae look for trouble, Iain."
"The movement of the bairn makes her seek a bed. That cannae be right."
"An it isnae then Storm has erred with each of our bairns. Storm told me that she didnae have to lie down, just felt a wee bit safer if she did so for the movement made her feel unsteady."
"So Islaen said."
"Then heed her. She kens what she does or doesnae feel, can feel better than ye can if there is aught wrong. Truth tell, I think a woman kens her body, the weaknesses, strengths and ills of it, better than a mon does his. I think they need to."
"Mayhaps. ‘Tis just the way it feels,” he whispered. “An I can feel it so strongly, I cannae help but worry o'er how it makes her feel. She says the bairn dances and, God's beard, ‘tis what it feels like."
"Aye, I was oft astounded o'er the feel of it. I shouldnae like to bear it. Dinnae let her see how ye fret, Iain."
"She kens it."
"No doubt, but there is no need to flaunt it afore her eyes. She does all she should, Iain. Rests, eats weel, doesnae let herself grow too weary."
"Catalina stayed abed."
"Catalina was a fool. Aye, and mayhaps ‘tis why she is dead. After months of doing naught but lying in bed what strength did she have to birth a bairn with? Dinnae think on her. Islaen isnae Catalina. There is naught to compare between them. We best leave the matter, Iain, for I have little patience with your worries, understand them though I do, and ye cannae shake them.”
"Heed this, though. Islaen may be a wee lass but she isnae a weak one. Ye have seen that. She is of a line of women who have large healthy broods and fare none the worse for it. Her brother Robert loves her dearly but he seems little worried. She does all she should to keep herself strong and in good health. The bairn she carries shows life, strong vigorous life. She has been through a lot, yet is still hale and still carries the bairn. She is neither growing wan nor grows sickly.”
"Heed all these things, Iain. Keep them in your mind. Use them to hold your fears back. Aye, she seems content and shows no fear but the fears are there. Every woman has them. Dinnae make them worse by feeding them with yours."
Iain nodded, solemnly recognizing the truth in Tavis's words. He had already seen the need to hide his fear as much as he could but it did strengthen his resolve to hear another point it out. Although he knew nothing could fully still his fears, he was determined to remember every good thing Tavis had mentioned. He could easily see how they could give him strength.
The day his stitches were removed, he tested his strength to stand and walk but found little there. As he cursed his weakness he suddenly recalled Islaen saying he would. Glancing her way he saw her fighting a smile and started to laugh. It was the only time he found any humor in the situation. He found the rate at which his strength returned far too slow a one.
Islaen watched her husband sleep and smiled crookedly. It seemed a little unfair that her method of soothing him had not seemed to work as well for her. She was wide awake. However, the current activity in her womb was undoubtedly the real reason she could not sleep despite the warm, pleasant feeling of sated desires. She wished the child would suit his schedule of being active and inactive to suit hers a little better but suspected few women had such luck.
Deciding to get up for a little while, she rose and donned her robe. She moved to the window, opened the shutter and looked out. The hint of winter was definitely in the air. Just as she wondered if Wallace had been wrong in predicting snow she saw the first flakes fall. Winter could bring with it a lot of ills, not the least of which were hunger and sickness. For once, however, she was glad to see it arrive. It signaled the end of all work upon Muircraig.
"Islaen?"
"By the window, Iain."
"Are you mad?” he grumbled as he rose and hurriedly donned his robe against the chill before moving towards her. “'Tis cold. Ye could catch a chill."
"Just a moment longer, Iain. Look. ‘Tis snowing. It has just started but Wallace says t'will be a strong storm."
"Do ye like the snow, Islaen?” he asked as he came up behind her and slipped his arms around her.
"Oh, aye, Iain."
"'Tis pretty but it means winter is here to stay for a while."
'Aye,’ she mused silently, ‘and so are you, husband.'