Chapter 24

How much longer could she hide her feelings for Rob?

Each time she watched Rowena and Nhaimeth together, the green serpent of envy struck a blow at all the virtues she had once believed about herself. The original crack in the walls of her so-called honour had formed the first time she turned away from Ralf. Now, all around her, she felt the walls crumbling. All she could see in her favour was that holding Ralf no longer made her want to scream and run. What sort of a terrible confession, excuse, would that be to offer Rob—a man who had fallen in love with his sons at first glance.

She was seated next to him at the high board on the McArthur’s right hand, whilst Nhaimeth and Rowena sat at Morag’s left. They could have filled two boards if Jamie Ruthven’s wife and family had accompanied him, but his journey had been taken for business, not pleasure, so only Jamie and his father had joined them. The Ruthven Chieftain sat beside her, and Jamie sat next to Rowena. Over her adult years, she had attended a few feasts prepared by neighbouring Norman families, but at them, the men hadn’t outshone the women. This evening at Cragenlaw flames leapt around the logs filling the hearth, a bright background for Highland men who would put peacocks to shame, attired as they were in myriad colours, their worsted plaids woven by nimble fingers into intricate patterns, as if in an attempt to outdo each other, and on their heads sat round woollen bonnets, eagle feathers attached and flying above one ear.

The celebration of Nhaimeth’s betrothal was right a cheerful one with lots of teasing and laughter, and but moments ago, Rob had challenged Jamie to a duel over the swords. The notion had shocked her at first and then she learned the true story from Jamie’s father who had moved closer to her seat, undoubtedly having seen her face blanche. She had crossed herself and thanked her maker that Harry and Ralf were not there to see their father get killed.

Her neighbour set her mind at rest. “This must be a first for ye, Melinda, but have nae worry. The swords are placed betwixt the men’s feet, not brandished in their hands. In truth, it is a duel in name only, being a traditional dance played out over the swords.”

No, it wasn’t a first. There had been pipers and dancing at her wedding to Rob; she just hadn’t paid them much heed, too caught up in her own misery to care what was happening in the Great Hall. Now she came to think of it, that was where Rob had pounced on a sword when St Clair arrived, unbidden, unwelcome, yet leaving graciously once he saw the true state of things. Somehow, though, she couldn’t imagine her father letting go of his heirs so easily. No, they hadn’t heard the last of that.

It took a moment to slip away from such morbid thoughts as Ruthven gave her a confidential nudge with his elbow, no doubt thanks to the Uisge beatha in his bone and silver Quaich that constantly emptied then was refilled, making him not only jolly, but also informative. “Jamie and Rob have performed the sword dance afore, at Dun Bhuird where Morag’s brother was made Chieftain by King Malcolm. They were hardly more than lads then. Chances are this one will be harder fought.”

He stopped to down another slurp of what Scots called the water-of-life. Melinda couldn’t think why. The only time she had taken a sip she had almost choked. “Ye will enjoy watching the lads. They’re the best of friends, having trained at Cragenlaw together under the McArthur; and to think here they are now, both of them wed and soon it will be Nhaimeth’s turn. That is a day I never thought would come.”

Looking at him closely she said, “I didn’t realise. Rob seldom talks about his past—” she began but a piper began tuning up his bagpipes, making her hope the next noise that came out of them would be better than the last. That was her last thought when Ruthven shifted his stool closer.

“Let me tell ye, that the McArthur family were always guid friends to Jamie, but tonight is a far cry frae the one when Jamie and Evie were married here. My guidness, that was something out of the ordinary; the bride’s uncle was killed,” he pointed a finger towards the other end of the table. “That’s where it happened, and I was in on it too. We all were. Mind, it wasnae as if he didnae deserve it. Standing there bold as ye please, Hadron confessed to murdering not only my wife, but Evie’s mother as well. Aye, it was a well deserved death.”

Melinda swallowed. “He was murdered during the wedding?”

“Aye. Well, it was a few years ago, and if he hadn’t wanted to die, he shouldnae have confessed.” Ruthven tapped his chest as if imitating the murdered man beating his, and she could almost imagine the scene. They were a different breed these Scots, violent yet generous at the same time. Was it any wonder Rob left her confused?

Did Rob remember that night? He must, for who could forget a murder at a wedding, yet he had never mentioned the occasion while they were lovers. Mayhap he hadn’t wanted to scare her off, or didn’t want to reveal too much that she might repeat to her father.

The pipes began and she watched Rob and his friend Jamie with only half a mind, realising how protected she had been all her life, yet she felt certain that hadn’t been the case for most of the clansfolk celebrating this betrothal. Aye, her father had often surged across the border to fight the Scots, and they had crossed southwards to do the same. For her part, the only blood she had seen spilled had been her own. Where did they find the courage? Where could she?

There was conflict betwixt the clans—a taking of sides—some supporting the princes William Rufus held as the price of Malcolm Canmore’s good behaviour. It hadn’t worked, and both he and his heir had died within sight of her father and his Norman friends—Canmore’s Norman friends as well. A reminder to beware who ye put yer trust in.

In secret she had often watched Rob and others practice. Even Nhaimeth had shown some skill on the training ground. The biggest shock had been discovering Rob’s sister Maggie out there, wooden sword in hand, training with the best of them. She had spoken to Morag about it. “Surely nae one would ever expect a lass to fight?”

“I hope I never see the day, but she’s a hothead that one, already determined to go her own way. Ye would think Euan had two sons instead of only one.”

“But Maggie’s so pretty.”

Morag looked gave her daughter a deeply considering look. “Mayhap that’s a better reason to be able to protect herself that ye would think.”

She was right, Melinda realised, remembering how helpless she had felt at being bundled up and trundled away in a wagon. What if it had been anyone but Rob? She doubted she would be here to tell the tale. Chances were that if that had happened, she might have killed herself.

The moment that dread thought leapt into her mind, her gaze shifted from memory to her husband—barefoot, leaping across lethal-looking swords, sharp-edged blades agleam, dancing as if naught could harm him, yet she had.

The pipe music soared as if it hit the high, vaulted ceiling only to pour back down on them. Rob and Jamie had left off their shirts, wearing only plaids kilted around their hips, the tails of which hung over one shoulder. Sweat bloomed on face and chest, their bodies gleaming in the light of the pitch-tipped torches, but the light in their eyes gave those same torches competition. Grins on their faces, each kept his gaze fixed on the other, determined neither would give way—a rare sight.

That was the trait, the strength of character, that defined Rob, if only he did not hold everything she now thought of as his history so tight to his chest. Certainly, at first she had been a Norman and a stranger; trust therefore wasn’t a big requirement.

Now she was his wife.

The one who refused to lie with him.

Stubborn, for there were moments when she wished he would sweep her up in his arms and carry her off to bed, take all choice out of her hands, but that was not the man she had married. Of the two, it was she who had wronged Rob and it would behove her to make the first move.

She watched Rob dance the duel, watched the movement of his muscles stretch and contract while dancing to the rhythm and, as she took note of his manly beauty rued her foolish rejection of him.

As her father might have said, “On yer own head be it.”

She hated that he would have been right.

Now it was her decision to make.

It had been a rare night. If that had been the betrothal, what would the wedding be like? Aye, Rob was happy for Nhaimeth. If anybody deserved such guid fortune, it was his friend. He’d hardly met a soul who didnae like him. He walked into his chamber, still minus his shirt, and thinking of Nhaimeth’s intended bride, how it had amazed him to see Rowena dance. The gypsies had added their might to the evening, resplendent in bright colours after he and Jamie had finished duelling.

It had been a relief, a time absent of all the planning they had been doing in case any Donald Banes supporters took it ill that they and their friends supported the true kings. His uncle, Gavyn Farquhar, owed both his chieftainship and his wife to Malcolm’s foresight and, thankfully, Kathryn’s abduction by Harald had led to a friendship with the Jarl of Caithness. The concession each had made to the other meant his borders to the northwest were protected, nae matter how many friends had rallied around Bane in the Highlands.

In some ways, mayhap it was better that Melinda wanted naught to do with him, safer to become a widow when ye hadn’t loved the man who loved ye—a confession he would never make to her face. Every night his body burned for her. It was a wonder the bed hadn’t burst into flames frae the heat.

“Christ’s blood!” Had he spoken the oath out loud or merely under his breath?

Instead of already abed as she had been every night, Melinda was still partially undressed, her body delineated under her thin shift by the light of the fire—a picture that made his heated blood race through his veins as it had when he finished dancing, except with more reason, the one that made his cock harden and lift under the plaid around his hips. ’Twas naught she hadn’t seen afore except that then it had been what she wanted. Now it would be unacceptable.

“I thought ye would be tired out by now what with all the folk and the dancing—not what yer used to—and auld Ruthven going hell for leather in yer ear with all his tales. I hope ye werenae bored...” he tailed off. When had he lost the knack of talking to her?

Had it disappeared with his ability to make love?

“I had no problem with Jamie’s father. I found him quite interesting, droll. His stories were amusing... Oh, not the one about the murder at Jamie’s wedding. Poor Evie, and on her wedding day too. At least ours wasn’t that bad,” a statement that made his jaw drop.

He grunted in surprise. “But I practically forced ye to marry me.”

“Ye gave me no choice—not quite the same. And not a soul got murdered.” A wee smile curled about her lips, one he remembered frae happier days.

“I’m sorry ye had to hear about it frae him, he drank a fair amount of Uisge beatha, and his wife was one o’ Hadron’s victims. I should have warned ye that life in Scotland will never be easy; yet sometimes it can be grand.” He finished, thinking of his mother and father, of their love. He had wanted the same for himself. His father might not have an official wife, but he had a woman who loved him, who would give her life for him.

Like he would have for Melinda.

When he rode off frae Wolfsdale with Nhaimeth and Graeme McArthur, nae matter what he had told himself he had hoped he could leave Wolfsdale without looking back.

He had been wrong.

Would that he had told Melinda afore matters betwixt them had come to such a pass.

Melinda walked closer and he would swear he could smell her perfume, though his own scent must be overbearing. “I liked watching ye dance,” she said, her voice low, almost a purr, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as if danger threatened. “That was grand. Do ye think the bairns will learn to be as nimble on their feet as their father?”

Melinda had turned side on. He traced the curve of her check with his eyes, the tilt of her wee nose, and when she looked back, it was with her head tilted to watch him frae under her eyelashes, something she used to do when they first came together as lovers and she flirted with him.

Testing dangerous ground, he reached out and ran the tip of one finger down the gentle slope of her cheek. He was still taken aback when she turned her face into his palm. Her cheek felt cool where his palm burned at its touch. “Are ye trying to tempt me or just tempting fate?”

“Truth to tell. I’m not sure.” She hesitated as if gathering her thoughts. “Ye spoke about fate and mayhap it’s that. All I can be sure of is that there is no certainty in my life anymore except that ye hate me for not being more loving toward Ralf.”

He wanted to speak, to voice his denial, but she placed two fingers against his lips, saying, “Hush. Let me finish. We’ve hardly spoken except to say ‘I do’.” She turned to face him, the top of her head fitting under his chin, as if she were suddenly shy of him. “I’m a coward, and even saying that hurts. I was too na?ve to understand the cost of loving ye. I don’t mean carrying the bairns. I looked forward to having them, though at the time I had no notion there would be two.”

His arms were around her and he didnae remember doing it. All he recognised was the softness of her skin, which hadn’t changed, and the heavy sensation of his prick as it rose betwixt them. Heart pounding in his ears, Rob held back. If they were going to do this thing—if he was going to lie with her again at long last—it would be at her instigation. She would never be able to accuse him of coercion.

She snuggled closer, her head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. She had always seemed the perfect height for him—as if it had been planned by some higher authority that they were meant for each other—but if so, that plan had gone agley.

“I’m probably the worst bargain of a wife for a warrior to marry, such a coward. When I saw the blood pouring betwixt my thighs after Ralf’s birth, I wanted to scream, ‘Save me,’ but there was only the midwife, God bless her, for my father had walked away in disgust with the lads in his arms. I didn’t want to die.”

“But ye must have fought back, lass, for ye survived. Ye wouldnae be here with me otherwise,” he said, trying to comfort her. Women were allowed to fear; it was men who weren’t permitted to let a glimmer of that natural emotion show. “Ye were young and had nae mother by yer side who could help ye through the experience. Everyone has a fear of the unknown.”

“The midwife said I would forget, that holding my bairn would wash the terrors of childbirth away, except that was not what happened. She said I would lose all my apprehension in the arms of my man, but that did not happen, for ye were nowhere near.” She sighed and it seemed to draw the night around them, as if for them there would never be any light again.

She went on, “As I said, since we arrived at Cragenlaw, few words bar the commonplace have passed betwixt us.” Her chin rubbed against his chest like a caress.

It dawned on him that as a man in his own familiar setting, he couldn’t let her take all the blame for that lack—for his disregard of any kind of forgiveness for her crass disavowal of him as a person. Even now, a tinge of resentment lingered, but then he was only a man, not a saint.

“My fault,” he claimed, “since it was my anger that stopped us moving to the point that we could converse as we are now. I don’t even know when yer birthday is, nor the date when our sons were born. Certainly, as time passes, it will become a day of celebration. My father for one will want that.”

“I can see that in the way he holds them, plays with them. In some ways, he wants the same as my father, but that’s where the likeness ends. Euan McArthur is delighted they have become part of the McArthur clan—its future. Henry La Mont just wants to own them.”

An anxious thought entered Rob’s mind and sent a shudder through him. “He’s not the kind who likes wee lads is he?”

Melinda lifted her head and, with nae more than the glow of embers to light the chamber, he could see she felt puzzled. When her answer arrived, he could tell the thought wasnae welcome and she was quick to reject any such a notion. “No. My father might have many traits that are unlikable but that isn’t one of them. He and Brodwyn enjoy each other in the bedchamber and make no effort to keep the fact quiet.”

For a long moment he held his breath, the need to draw in air stripped frae him at mention of that name. As soon as she changed the subject, his ability to breathe returned. Mayhap Melinda’s wish to forget was nae worse than the pain of his emotions when certain subjects were brought up.

“The twins were born in July. Harry late in the evening of the twenty-first and Ralf, near dawn on the twenty-second, so they don’t even share a birthdate. My father named them—Henry for himself and Ralf after some legendary warrior knight that I doubt anybody ever heard of—that is, besides Henry La Mont. I’ll admit I was past caring at that stage, and it wasn’t until I came back to myself that I was told their names and that they had already been baptised. My first thought when they were brought to me was that Harry was small, dainty like a cherub, and Ralf was huge and red-faced by comparison. His nose had been flattened and creases marked his skin. He still bears a mark on one calf, like a scar. I suppose there wasn’t much room in my belly for a bairn so big and his brother. I knew straight away that he was the one who had hurt me. I could hardly bring myself to look at him afterwards. It made me feel nauseous when I remembered the pain, and the fear. I think the fear was the worst, but the midwife had the rights of it. I have begun to forget.”

Melinda, his wife, was clinging to him and he was nae better, for he pulled her to him, braced her against his chest by the strength in his arms, as he told her, “I was at Wolfsdale that July, lurking nearby, hoping I might see ye mayhap in the distance. If only I had dared ask someone about ye. I just didnae want anybody else to suffer the lash of La Mont’s anger—aye, and worse if what I learned at Wolfsdale was true. There were folk I could have approached because Wolfsdale had been my home as a boy, and I didn’t dare tell ye, for that would have been the same as telling my enemy.”

“Oh, so that’s why. I’ve wondered how ye got the twins away without being caught, even with Becky’s help.”

“There’s an ancient tunnel and cavern, Roman frae the look of the place. I used it as a boy to escape my wicked uncle…” He made a jest of it, for that had always been part of his scheme, his method of turning something dark and fearful into naught but a foolish jape. “…A tiled space underground with a way out at the other side of the curtain wall, only when I lived at Wolfsdale, the wall was a palisade built of wood.”