The morning dawned cold and crisp, and he struggled to make it down to the hall to break his fast. Filled with many like him who had overindulged during the Christmas feast and festivities the nights and days before, Iain noticed that a good number of those did not seek out more ale this morn. Rather, dry crusts of bread seemed to be the only thing their thick heads, churning bellies, and painful megrims would tolerate. Mayhap now, with a clearer though more painful head than he’d had at last night’s feast, he could sort out what to do about Robena.
Aye, he should have discussed his plan with another woman instead of relying on Rob. Now all he could do was try to make it right. A servant approached and said that the lady wished to see him in the kitchens, so Iain followed the lad back through the corridors to where the lady waited. Anice worked tirelessly, so it should not have surprised him that she’d already sent someone to the village as he’d asked. From the grave expression on her face, Iain did not know what to think.
“Lady?” he said, nodding as she waved off the servant.
“What is the matter?”
“I sent someone to see to Robena as you asked me to do,” she said. She glanced around her before turning her gaze to him. “She is well.”
“Well? That is good.”
“The rope is gone from her gate.”
Iain could not think. He could not believe it. He understood what that meant, but it could not be.
He was not certain if the lady had anything else to say or not, for he was walking out of the kitchen towards the stable before he even thought of a plan. His mind was empty as he rode down to the village and stopped in front of her cottage. The rope was indeed gone, and worse, he heard voices inside. Laughing voices. A man and Robena. Iain lifted the latch and walked in without knocking.
The only thing that kept the man alive was that Iain understood what was happening here. He knew that fear was driving her actions and that she was striking out in reaction. His experience training men taught him that, so he held himself in check. Well, all that and the fact that killing an unarmed man in the MacKendimen village would not go over well. The man pulled out of Robena’s embrace at his entrance and backed away as he looked at Iain’s face.
“Have ye started?” he asked, pushing the words out through his clenched jaws. Iain wanted to thrash the man to a bloody mess, but he forced himself to remember what this was really about. “Get out.” He said the last words quietly, meeting Robena’s gaze as she flinched.
Though he did not wish to pay heed to the man involved, that one scurried around the cottage, gathering whatever belongings he’d brought, and ran out the door. Her chest heaved as she watched him now, drawing in shallow, panting breaths of . . .
Fear.
Fear drove her. Fear of the unknown. Fear of him.
“What do ye think ye are doing, Robena?” he asked, moving away from the doorway so she would not feel trapped. He crossed the cottage and sat on a stool next to the table. Sitting down, he would be less threatening than standing and towering over her.
“I did not expect ye back, so I thought to . . .” She paused, and he watched as she swallowed.
“Are ye trying to see if ye can whore again now that ye ken that I love ye?” He shrugged. “Well, can ye?”
When she did not answer, he reached inside the sporran he wore and grabbed a handful of coins. Tossing them on the table before him, he nodded at them.
“There. Ye have been paid for yer time, up to now.” He reached in again, grabbing more and throwing them onto the pile. “And until I leave for Dunbarton.” He added another handful. “And for a long time after I am gone.” The amount on the table was more than she would earn in months, if not an entire year. “Now, ’tis up to ye if ye want to sell the pleasure ye give for coin.”
“Iain,” she whispered. “Do not do this.” That haunted expression was back, and it tore his heart out of his chest.
“Do not misunderstand this, my love. Ye think ye are only a whore, and I ken ye are more than that. Moira kens that ye are. As does Daracha. As do Margaret and Conran. Lady Anice and Robbie. So many others here see and value the woman ye are, lass, even if all ye see is the whore who earns her way on her back.”
“I have only been the whore, Iain. ’Tis all I ken. All my mother was before me.” Her words revealed to him that it was more than that she was clinging to what she knew. There was doubt there, doubt that she was only that which she proclaimed herself. And doubt helped him.
“That”—he nodded at the coins— “gives ye a long time to think on what ye wish yer life to be like, lass. If ye will not accept my offer, at least ye can consider yer path. Make no mistake though, I pray ye will accept mine.”
He stood then and walked to her. Sliding his hands into her hair, he brought her to him and kissed her. She covered his hands with hers and opened her mouth to him. He tasted her deeply, tasted the saltiness of her tears and the warmth of the woman she was. Lifting his lips from hers, he smiled and let her go.
The hardest thing he’d ever done in his life to this day was to watch his beloved Elisabeth die. Now, he had to walk away and let Robena go. A few paces to the door was all he needed take, and Iain struggled to find the strength.
She must choose him also if they were to find happiness together. With each step, he prayed that she would stop him. He waited for one word. Even a sound. He reached the door and the silence was a chasm between them now.
Without looking back, Iain walked out.
9
Winter came in earnest over the days before Hogmanay.
Each day brought a few more inches until a thick blanket covered all of Dunnedin. It could have been worse, though, for storms could move through the mountains and glens with vicious winds and dangerous amounts of snow and hail. This year seemed to want to slide away quietly and give way to the new one without a struggle.
