The next days and nights fell back into their accustomed pattern. It surprised him at first, but Iain recognized that she was terrified of doing anything with him but that with which she was familiar. ’Twas as though revisiting the place where her life had been irreparably changed had also reminded her of her established role here. Did she fear doing anything else but the familiar?
She’d never sought out Moira, but she helped if someone asked her. She’d placed herself at his disposal, never far from his side when he needed or wanted her. At times, the fury inside him flared, and he went off to pound on metal with Pol until it ebbed back to a level he could control.
When the morning came for him to leave her and return to the keep for a few days, Iain decided it was time. Time to ask her. Time to hope she had the courage to accept.
8
Robena watched as he dressed.
Struan had sent word that Iain was expected at the keep for the next few days while the laird and those closest to him observed the festivities surrounding Christ’s Mass. There would be a feast the night before, this night, and then a solemn mass prayed in the chapel in the morning.
Since the day when Iain had found her in the place of her disgrace, she’d managed to regain her control and set things aright. He’d seemed to fall back into the usual pace of his previous visits, and so they spent their days here or walking in the village, visiting those he knew. Sometimes he would give her a look and then disappear for some time, only to return smelling of the smithy. It had been better when he did not know her truth, but it all seemed to be settling back as it should between them.
Now, though, he kept glancing at her in a strange way as he pulled his shirt on and placed the plaid around his waist. Part of her wanted to ask what was in his mind, but the other part knew not to do so. It was begging trouble to come to her door, and she knew it. Iain lifted his cloak from the peg at the door and turnedto her. Why did dread fill her as he dropped the cloak and strode to her?
His mouth was hot and possessive then, more like the first time he’d kissed her when he arrived here. Did he wish to tup before he left? He pulled his head back and searched her face before meeting her gaze.
“I have something I want ye to think on while I am at the keep,” he whispered. He kissed her again and then lifted his mouth from hers. “When I leave here after Hogmanay, I want ye to come with me.”
“Come with ye, Iain? Where do ye wish to go?” She’d not gone too far from this village in all her years.
“I want ye to return to Dunbarton with me, lass,” he said.
Did he want her as his leman? Would his nephew permit such a thing when they all knew she’d been a MacKendimen whore for years?
“I dinna understand, Iain. How can I go there with ye?” she asked.
His stare, the intensity in his gaze, and the way he held her close all warned her before he spoke that this was serious. If he had not been holding her, she would have fallen at his reply.
“I want ye as my wife, Robena. I want ye to marry me.”
Of all the things that anyone could ever have said to her, those words had never been a possibility. That a man, any man, but especially a man with connections to nobility and power, would ask her such a thing. She studied his face now, looking for signs that he was jesting.
“I mean it, lass. I wish to marry ye.”
Robena pushed out of his embrace and walked to the other side of the cottage, smoothing her hands over her gown. This was madness, plain and simple. He could not mean to marry her. She glanced at his face to see truth there—he did.
“I thank ye for honoring me so, Iain,” she began. Twisting her hands together, she smiled, or tried to, to soften her words. “That is just not possible.”
“Why not?” he asked. He took a step towards her and, God forgive her, she backed a step away. He stopped then and crossed his arms over his chest, as she’d seen him do hundreds of times. Was he asking her to explain why this could not be?
“Are ye daft then, Iain? Ye are kin to The MacKillop and I am a MacKendimen whore.”
“Ye whore for a living, Robena. ’Tis not who ye are.”
“Iain, I am a whore,” she said. He must stop this madness.
“And if ye married me, ye’d be my wife. What difference is that?”
“Iain, again, I am honored beyond measure, but there is no reason for ye to even ask this.”
“I want ye, Robena. I want ye with me always. I love ye, lass.”
She lost her breath at his words. The words she had craved, the ones she’d dreamt of hearing spoken to her for so many years. Not now though. Not now.
“There is no place for love between a man and the whore he pays.”
He stood to his full height then and bristled like a wild animal about to charge. But even now, as she insulted his offer and refused him, she did not fear him physically. As he took a step towards her, she fought the urge to run. He might not hurt her body, but this could tear her heart and soul apart. A few long strides put him right in front of her.
