Hearing that accusation in his voice, Islaen grew angry. She saw no reason for her to be scolded just because some fool did not know how to heed a no. It struck her as being the very height of unfairness.
"I have been managing the fool verra weel on my own, thank ye,” she snapped.
"Oh, aye, so weel that he traps ye against the wall and paws ye with half a hall full of people looking on."
Her hands clenching into fists, she glared at him. “He didnae paw me and I was just about to push the oaf away. The hall full of people werenae paying me any heed either, not until ye and Alexander made it all such a grand show. Aye and ‘tis a fine show ye give them now as ye stand here and curse at me for what was none of my doing, nor my fault. Weel, I shallnae abide it. Nay, by God's beard, I willnae."
She kicked him firmly in the shins. His hissed curse of pain was music to her ears as she strode away. She headed straight for their chambers deciding she had had more than enough of the court and of men in particular.
Just about to follow his wife, Iain was confronted by her father who drawled, “Roused her temper, did ye?"
Still a little stunned by the quickness and strength of her anger, Iain said calmly, “A wee difference of opinion is all."
"Of course,” Alaistair murmured. “I would wait a wee while ere ye go to her. Let her finish her bath."
"She had a bath this morning,” Iain growled, not sure he appreciated the man telling him how to handle his wife.
"The lass always has a bath when she's in a temper. She will be more pliable afterwards."
Islaen paused in brushing her drying hair when Iain entered their chambers. Although she had not gone to their chambers expecting him to run after her, she did wonder why he had stayed away. Her bath had soothed her temper some but she found that she still felt somewhat insulted. He had acted as if she had welcomed Ronald's loathsome attentions.
Iain saw her glance at him, then look away. Seeing her seated upon the bed, her luxurious hair hanging free and her slim legs well exposed by the simple shift she wore, he felt his lust stir but fought it. He owed her an apology and he did not need anyone's advice to tell him it would be best to give her one before he tried anything else.
When he started to undress and snuff the candles, she put her brush aside and crawled beneath the covers, her back to him. Iain mused that he would probably not be able to do anything else anyways until he soothed her sense of insult. It occurred to him that it was a perfect opportunity to put some distance between them. All he had to do was nothing or possibly worse, demand his husbandly rights without even the faintest murmur of apology. Sighing as he crawled into bed beside her, he knew he would do neither if only because he did not want to be reduced to asserting his husbandly rights, he wanted them to make love.
When his arm slipped around her waist, Islaen tensed. She knew he could easily stir her passion despite her continued outrage but hoped that he would not.
"Islaen,” he murmured, kissing the back of her neck and feeling her tremble at his touch.
That sign of her susceptibility to his touch pleased him. She was clearly not one of those who could give or withhold her passion as she willed. If he wanted to, he could make love to her, taste her passion and not offer a word of apology. For reasons he did not really understand, that made it far easier to give her the apology she both wanted and deserved.
"Islaen, I am sorry. I was angry that he would dare paw ye, but he was taken out of reach of my anger so I turned it upon ye. I ken weel that ye didnae encourage the fool."
Turning to face him, she said quietly, “Ye didnae really have to say it, ye ken."
"Aye, I ken it. T'was why it was so easy to say, daft as that sounds."
She laughed softly, then teased, “Ye said it because ye mean to do some pawing yourself, eh?"
"Pawing?” he growled in mock outrage and briefly tussled playfully with her as he removed her shift. “I ne'er paw."
"And what do ye call it then?"
"Stroking."
"Wheesht, there isnae a muckle lot of difference."
"Nay? Weel, let me show ye. By morning ye will ken the difference weel, lass."
Stretching langorously, Islaen watched her husband dress. He had fulfilled his threat, she thought with a softly lecherous smile. She knew well the difference between pawing and stroking as well as the subtleties of most any other sort of touch anyone wished to mention. When he came to give her a brief kiss, she twined her arms about his neck and persuaded him to give her a longer, fuller one.
"Do ye mean to linger abed all day?” he asked huskily, a little astonished at how easily she could arouse him especially when he should be well sated, even in need of a rest.
"Weel, I am nay sure I am quite clear on a word or twa,” she murmured.
Almost grinning and wondering how she could look seductive and impish at the same time, he drawled, “Weel, I could take a moment to teach ye one more thing. This is a pat,” he said as he neatly flipped her over and gently patted her on her backside, “and this is a wee spank.” He gave her one not too hard slap and, laughing, loped out of the door.
"Wretch,” Islaen cried but by the time she had the pillow in her hands to throw at him the door was shutting behind him.
