Chapter One
She turned the corner and he was there, sitting and staring at the roses as if they could talk and would at any moment. That sad, lost look was on his scarred face again. Sometimes she would allow herself to pretend that he revealed that side of himself to her willingly, then savored the glow that gave her. It never lasted long for she was too practical. Soon she would tartly remind herself that the only reason she had seen it was because she was lurking around, catching him when he thought he was alone.
This night she would be presented at court. She had been brought in hopes of forming an alliance through marriage, preferably one that would further the family's favor with the king. From the moment she had laid eyes on the man she had fought against hoping that he would be the one chosen for her. He had all the right qualifications, but her luck had never been that good. Instead of a man her heart ached for, she would no doubt get some mincing courtier or even a man past his prime and probably past all else.
At nineteen years she was late in wedding but her father had held off finding her a husband hoping that she would fill out to look more like a woman than a child. It was not to be. She was small and no amount of potions and porridge would change that. Only she and Meg knew that she was perhaps not as unwomanly as she appeared. All that, however, did not alter the fact that she thought she was not comely. She had been told that often enough to know it was so. With so little to offer a man, one like Iain MacLagan was not for her.
Her hair was the color of claret wine, such a deep red that many swore it ran with a purple hue despite her adament denials of such an oddity. It was of such thickness with a strong tendency to curl that it was always slipping its bonds, looking untidy. Her eyes were a deep brown with flecks of gold set beneath finely arched dark brows and ringed with such long, curled dark lashes that she was always denying accusations of their being unnatural. Though she knew her skin was lovely and pale, she had been cursed with freckles which, though faint and few, would not be removed. She sighed.
Whether it was that soft sigh or just a sense of being watched she was not sure but Iain MacLagan suddenly looked her way. She stood like a terrified hare, pinned to the spot by turquoise eyes that shone bright yet emotionless in his harsh dark face. At any moment she expected him to verbally flay her with his cold, remote voice, so well-known in court, for being so insolent as to invade his privacy.
Iain had thought to lash her with words but she looked so much like a frightened child that he could not. She was sadly disheveled with a vast amount of wine red hair easing free of her headdress. Her eyes were huge dark pools in her small ivory face, a dainty visage that wavered between being heartshaped and triangular. Perfect white teeth worried the bottom lip of her full mouth. There were few curves to indicate she was a grown woman, but he could see she was at least past her first flux. She was also rather lacking in height and flesh elsewhere on her body for her neck and arms were slender nearly to frailty.
He wondered what fool let her wander about unattended. Her youth was no protection. Although he himself felt it abhorrent to lust after and bed a girl barely past her first flux, he could think of others who did not. There were also those men who would care little that she was obviously well-born and innocent. For all her daintiness, she was rather pretty.
"There is no need to quail so, mistress."
"I didnae mean to disturb your privacy, Sir MacLagan.” She willed her body to disappear but it did not happen.
"The garden is to be enjoyed by all. Come, sit. Ye ken my name but I ken not yours. Come."
Tentatively, she did so, sitting beside him as if she expected the bench to singe her backside. “I am Islaen MacRoth."
"Islaen. ‘Tis fitting,” he murmured for her voice was soft, low and slightly husky with the attraction of fine music. “I have not seen ye here before. Newly arrived?"
"Aye. I am to be put forward this eve.” She saw his winged dark brows quirk and knew he thought her too young. “I am newly turned nineteen. Fither kept me at home in hopes I would grow. He gave up."
A smile ghosted over Iain's face for even with her headdress and painfully straight posture she barely rose to his shoulder. The hands that plucked at her skirts were small, delicate and long-fingered. Except for the huge dark eyes that stared up at him everything about Islaen MacRoth was small, including her lightly freckled modestly upturned nose. He could not help but wonder how she would find a husband, which was undoubtedly the reason she had been brought to court.
"I have a sizeable purse, some verra sweet property near the border and an excellent bloodline."
"Ye read minds, do ye? ‘Tis a verra uncomplimentary thought ye put in my head."
Guilt gave his voice the sternness he sought in order to sound convincing. It was an insult to a woman to think her unweddable and he had no real wish to insult her. She looked a sweet child.
Inwardly he cursed for his body was reacting to her as a man's did when in the presence of a lovely woman. His loins did not doubt her age. It was a feeling he fought, although he found it not as easy as it had become since Catalina's death. That troubled him deeply for he felt it vital that he keep his passion under firm control.
"Nay, only the truth and ‘tis your look I read for oft have I seen it. ‘Tis the ones who gape or snicker that I consider rude."
"So ye should.” His face hardened suddenly. “T'would be wrong for any mon to wed ye and make ye bear his bairn."
Unaware of what prompted his statement or put the harshness in his voice, she drew herself up to her full, inconsiderable height. “And just why do ye say that? I am a woman and ye wed women and get them with bairn. I can do it as weel as any other."
"Nay, ye cannae. Ye havenae got any hips, ye foolish wee lass."
"Pray tell me then what it is I am sitting on?"
"Your backside and cursed little there is of it."
"My mither looked much as I do and she bore a dozen bairns, healthy bairns. She didnae die bearing them either. Went fishing for salmon when I was five and drowned. If she could then I can."
"Ye cannae recall your mither exact, child.” He stood up to glare at her. “Ye are a wee thing not made for childbearing."
To counter the effects of his towering over her, she stood on the bench. “Then what did God put me here for?"
"Only He kens. Aye, and only He kens how I got into this discussion. Ye would be wise to join a nunnery and forget the bairns."
"Ye be a mon. What do ye ken about it?” she asked scornfully and squeaked when he roughly grasped her shoulders.
