"They have had months to find it, yet it still eludes them."
"Aye, it has. It was changing ere MacLennon died. Unfortunately MacLennon struck ere Iain could speak to Islaen of this change of heart."
"The attack came o'er a week ago. Has the lad lost his urge to speak?"
"Nay. Iain must have time,” he looked at Alaistair and smiled crookedly, “and privacy to say his piece and then prove his words."
"Then privacy he shall have for I am fair sick of watching the wee lass trying to act as if naught is amiss.” He immediately sought out his sons to tell them that, as soon as everything was unpacked, they would leave.
"But, Fither,” Islaen protested when he told her that they were leaving, that the last item was unpacked and put away, “we brought food enough for all of ye. Would ye not rather wait until the morning?"
"Nay. We stayed this long for we wished to aid ye in moving. We will hie back to Caraidland to pack our goods, then go from there at dawn. Now, let me see the bairns once again ere I go. T'will most like be months ere I see them again."
"Before the winter comes again,” Iain said quietly as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and watched her family and Alexander ride away, “we shall go to visit them. Bairns and all. I think the bairns will be old enough to bear the journey weel."
"Aye, I think so and their aunts and cousins are eager to see them. Shall I have our meal readied?"
"Aye, I should like to retire early.” He looked at her. “Verra early."
Feeling herself blush, Islaen softly cursed and hurried away to see to their meal. He did not have to mean anything other than he wished to go to bed early, she told herself crossly. He had certainly not indicated a desire for anything other than sleep just lately. She told herself not to think anything but she knew that she would. Just lately she could think of little else save of making love. She had often awakened in the morning cursing herself for fallng asleep so soundly and quickly and Iain for not trying to rouse her. Finally, she told herself that, no matter how anxious she grew for his touch, she would not be the first one to act. ‘This time Iain can,’ she thought angrily. ‘He can beg for it first. Weel, ask nicely.’ By the time she joined him for their meal she had decided that just some indication from him that he was feeling inclined would be enough, then chided herself for her weakness.
Iain maintained an amiable chatter throughout the meal. He also made certain, subtly, that Islaen did not have too many sips of wine. It was going to be an effort to say all he thought he ought to, what he wanted to say despite his sudden attack of cowardice, and he did not want to have to repeat it all because she was too dulled by wine. He let her go to their chambers first as well, so that he could have a little time to prepare himself and stiffen his suddenly weak backbone. Ruefully, he admitted that he feared rejection or simple disinterest. He feared he had waited too long to come to his senses, that he had killed whatever feelings she had held for him with his constant pushing her away. Finishing his wine, he started toward their chambers deciding it was best to get it over with.
When Iain entered their chambers, Islaen watched him covertly. She had hurriedly undressed, washed and gotten into bed but had decided that it was useless to even try to feign sleep. Iain had been acting somewhat strange since her kin had left, almost flirtatious at times, and he had seemed to be constantly watching her. It made her nervous.
"Islaen, we must talk,” he said softly as he got into bed and reached for her.
Talking was not what Islaen felt inclined to do when he held her so close, but she did not voice her real wishes. She was also afraid of what he might say. If she could see their marriage as a failure he could also but, unlike her, he was not urged by love to keep trying to mend things. The longer he hesitated to speak, the more certain she was that he was about to suggest that they live apart, perhaps even seek a way to have the marriage ended.
"I can stay with my fither,” she blurted out.
Abruptly distracted from trying to think of a proper way to open the discussion, Iain stared at her. “What?"
"My fither will take me in, an I claim it as my decision. There should be no real difficulty.” She was surprised that she could speak of something so painful with such relative calm.
"What are ye babbling about?"
"Ye sending me away."
He held her tighter. “God's beard, ‘tis the last thing I want. Why should I do such a thing?"
Her brief conviction faltered alarmingly and she said weakly, “Because this marriage hasnae worked e'en after so long."
"'Tis barely eighteen months since we wed. ‘Tis not so verra long. And, if this marriage hasnae worked, ‘tis only myself to blame. I wouldnae let it work. I told myself t'was best an it didnae."
Hardly daring to breathe for fear of stopping a conversation that held the promise of at least explaining a few things, Islaen whispered, “Why didnae ye, Iain?"
"Have ye no idea?"
"A few but I cannae feel certain."
"Aye, ‘tis impossible to read a person's thoughts or heart and I told ye naught. I thought to save ye from grief. I thought to protect ye from the pain of it, Islaen."
"Did ye ne'er think that grief could come from a live but cold husband, from e'er being kept at a distance?"
"Aye, but I thought t'would be a lesser grief. Ye would still have the heart left to find another, to love and wed."
"Or mayhaps I wouldnae wish to chance failing again. After giving all to ye and gaining naught mayhaps I wouldnae have the heart nor the strength to try again. Some find failure as deeply bitter as grief, Iain,” she said as he looked at her with some surprise. “Are ye telling me that ye arenae going to be running away from me any longer, that mayhaps we have a chance to make our marriage a good one and Muircraig a real home?” She ran her hand over his hip and felt him tremble slightly.
