They knew Iain had visited her last night. That he was there in her cottage even now.
“Sometimes our work wears us out,” Torra said, winking at Robena. “And a fine man like that would certainly do so.” Torra was a young widow who had lost her husband a year or so ago. And, according to the praise Torra expressed for him, he had been a fine man.
“Come now,” she warned, easing Margaret onto her side. “Neither of ye should be lying to me about the time of day.”
It simply could not be as late as they said. But, as the hours passed and Margaret’s bairn pushed his way into the world, the growing shadows outside bore out the truth of their words.Only when the mother and bairn had been seen to did she allow herself to worry over Iain’s reaction to waking in her empty cottage alone.
Now, as night approached, Robena wondered if he had returned to the keep or yet remained in the village.
“I will go fetch Conran,” she said, once the bairn was nursing well at his mother’s breast. Stretching to ease the tightness in her back, she grabbed her cloak. “I will send word to Daracha of the bairn and return in the morn to see ye.”
“I will see to them,” Torra promised.
Robena did not bother to put her cloak on then, for the hours in the overly heated cottage had left her hot and sweating. A short time in the cold would be a relief. With a farewell nod to the women, she pushed open the door and found Iain there with Conran.
“See, Conran? She smiles, so all must be well,” Iain said. She did not realize she’d smiled, but she had.
“Aye, all is well, Conran. Go and see yer wife and . . . child,” she said, not wishing to spoil Margaret’s chance to tell her husband of their son. Robena waited until Conran had entered before looking at Iain. His expression told her little about his disposition at this moment.
“I . . .”
“Ye didna tell me about this when ye told me all the other news of the villagers,” he said. And still she could not read his intent or his temperament.
She shivered as the cold air seeped through the sweaty dampness in her gown. He lifted her cloak from her arm and tossed it around her shoulders. He tugged the edges of it together and then pulled her to him. Iain studied her face before leaning down and kissing her softly on her mouth. The rumbling in her belly was loud enough for them both to hear. Hissmile, broad and genuine, made something within her warm and tingly.
“Have ye not eaten, lass?” he asked as he eased his hold on her cloak.
“I was busy with other matters, and there never seemed a good time to,” she explained. “I beg yer pardon for leaving ye there without a word.” He placed the pad of his finger over her lips before she could say anything else.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to his horse. “Rob said to bring ye in—into the kitchen, if ye protest entering the hall—for a meal.”
Too exhausted to fight him, she allowed him to mount and to lift her up behind him. She might have slept along the way; up the road, then up the hill into the keep. The gates would be closing soon, so she could not tarry here. When they stopped, Iain handed her down first and then climbed down. A boy, alerted by some watchful guard, stood ready to take care of Iain’s horse.
She did not remember much about the food, except that it was hot and well-seasoned and plentiful. Iain sat across from her, pushing chunks of bread to her in between spoonfuls of the thick soup. A cup of mulled cider was filled each time she took a sip. Iain played the servant well, but she felt guilty that he did. He was paying her for services, not the other way around, and she had failed to see to his needs.
And she would have, except that the weariness took over as the thrill of assisting in a successful birth waned. The next thing she saw was the sunlight peeking through the wooden shutter of the window in . . . Iain’s chamber!
The bed was empty but for her, and she pushed the bedcovers back, sliding from the warm cocoon into the chill air of the morning. If there had been a fire to keep the cold at bay, it had long ago gone out, and now she could see her breath in the airbefore her. She gasped as her bare feet touched the frigid stone floor. At the sound of the door opening, she jumped back into the bed and pulled the blankets to her chin.
Iain opened the door wide and allowed a stream of servants to come into the chamber. Some carried food and drink. Some carried buckets of steaming water, and others brought drying cloths and soap and other necessary things for a bath. When she would have protested, he glared at her.
“Say not a word, Robena,” he ordered, and his stern tone caught the attention of the servants, too. “Finish,” he said to them.
It took but a few minutes before a meal was set on the table in the corner, the fire was fed and stoked, and a bath sat steaming near the fire. She knew that Anice’s household was efficient and thorough, but this gave her a new appreciation of them. When the last of them left, Iain closed the door and dropped the latch. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked to her.
“Eat or bathe first?” His voice was deep, almost a growl, as he asked her to choose.
“What? Iain, I canna . . .” He covered the distance between the door and bed in three long strides and stood over her now. She knew what he was trying to do—frighten her into doing his bidding in this—yet she did not fear his strength in that way.
“Eat or bathe, Robena?” he asked once more. “Or should I decide for ye?”
Before she could utter a sound, he tugged the bedcovers from her grip, tossed them aside, and lifted her in his arms. His body warmed her as he walked away from the bed towards the tub, his intent clear to her now. Even knowing how it would feel, she could not prevent the sigh of pure bliss that escaped as he lowered her into the heated water. She did not move, not wishing to get him wet, as he placed her there and stood back.
The warmth surrounded her, easing the tightness in her back and legs. She may have sighed again, or it may have been a moan, but his laughter told her the sound had been heard. She allowed herself a short while to enjoy it, a very short while, before remembering the reason she was here.
“Would ye like to join me?” she asked. “The tub could hold us both.”
When he tugged his shirt off, she thought he would do just that—climb in with her. Instead, he knelt at the end of the very large wooden tub where her head rested and lifted the jar of soap to the edge.
