She sighed and got out of bed. Islaen felt no real eagerness to leave her chambers. In the night and often first thing in the morning, Iain was far from aloof and cool. He was passionate, talkative and sometimes teasing. Yet, by the time she joined him outside of their chambers in the morning, the mask was back in place and all his shields were up.
With a shrug of her shoulders she thrust away that wistfulness. She had seen what could be, saw it each time they lay in their bed shut away from the world. He was content then, she had no doubts about that. It was a start, a base she could build from. It bothered her a little to use her body and the passion they shared to break down his walls, but it worked and she was in no position to quibble over what methods she used.
Iain barely restrained himself from smiling at Islaen when she joined him at the table in the hall. Grinning at one's bride like some besotted groom was not the way to keep her at a distance, he thought wryly. It was hard, though, to act aloof when his mind was still filled with clear and delicious memories of a passion-filled night. He knew he should try to hold himself apart even in their bed at night just as he knew he would never do that. As he had each night since their wedding he would find himself drawn to their bed by the promise of her passion and would find himself softening inside as she held him. He sometimes felt as if he were two men and could not help but wonder if he were equally confusing her. Iain thought a little wryly that that might be the way to keep her feelings for him from deepening.
Deciding Iain was going to be especially withdrawn today, Islaen allowed the queen to tow her off to where some of the women gathered. She collected her needlework and sat down with the others only to soon realize that needlework was not the real purpose of the gathering—gossip was. Some of the tales told shocked Islaen although she tried to hide that fact. It was difficult not to leap to the defense of some of the people whose names were being so completely blackened even if she did not know them at all. She began to get a headache as she tried to sort truth from rumour or lie.
"And here is something that will interest ye, Lady MacLagan."
Resisting the childish urge to stick her tongue out at Lady Constance for the way the woman sneered her name, Islaen asked, “And what would that be?"
"Lady Mary Cameron arrived at court today. She used to be Mary Chisolm, ye ken."
"Nay, I dinnae ken. The name means naught to me."
"Weel, ye best learn it then."
"Had I?"
"Aye, she is the woman Iain loved."
"Ah, that one. He told me about her."
"Did he tell ye she was a widow now?"
A chill ran down Islaen's spine but she maintained her pose of calm disinterest. “Nay. It really doesnae concern us."
Before Lady Constance could make the jeering remark that so clearly hovered upon her lips the queen changed the subject. Islaen breathed a silent sigh of relief.
As soon as she could do so without raising any suspicion that she was retreating, Islaen left the women. Once in her chambers she sprawled on the bed and quelled the sudden urge to scream in frustration. The last thing she needed was another problem. She knew Iain had told her that he did not love his old love anymore but she also knew that he could be mistaken. The flames of love could simply have been tamped down and, once confronted with the woman, flare back up again. The very thought of that hurt and Islaen gasped from the sharpness of it.
She was in love with the man, she decided a little sadly. It had been something she had suspected from the moment she had set eyes upon him, but she had tried, and succeeded, to not think about it too much. This very real threat made her face it squarely. None of the other problems had really threatened her with the loss of Iain's love. She simply did not have it and had to fight to gain it. Now she faced the possibility that all she fought for could be handed to another.
Shaking her head in vigorous denial Islaen stood up. That might happen but it did not have to. She certainly would not simply stand back and let it happen, she decided firmly as she started for the hall, hoping she would get there before Lady Mary Cameron presented herself.
Iain looked around for his wife, frowning faintly when he was unable to spot her. He was just about to give into the urge to see if she had retired to their chambers when a hand tugged at his sleeve. When he saw who vied for his attention he almost gaped.
"Mary."
"I wondered if ye would remember me. It has been four years."
"Ye havenae changed at all,” he said quietly and felt a twinge of resentment over that fact.
When she had been given to another he had been devastated. It was then that he had started to close off his heart, determined never to feel that sort of pain again. He knew that had left its mark upon him. Mary did not look as if she had suffered at all despite being taken away from him, a man she had claimed to love more than life.
Mary studied the man she had once thought to wed until the richer more powerful Lord Cameron had asked for her hand. Age and the trials of life had added to Iain's exciting looks. She felt her pulse quicken. The one thing she had really regretted was that she had never had Iain for a lover. At first she had had to save her maidenhead for her husband, and Iain had always treated her like the greatest of virgins. After her marriage he had been out of reach. She had never stopped wondering how he would be as a lover, however, and she intended to find out.
"Ye flatter me."
"Nay, ye look the same as ye did when we parted. I have changed, though."
She reached out to trail her finger over the scar upon his face. “It makes ye look attractively dangerous, Iain. Ye are wed?"
"Aye, but a fortnight ago. I was just about to seek her out."
Islaen paused just inside the hall and frowned as she began to look for Iain. Despite his height it was not always easy to find him when the crowd thickened. It was at its thickest now for there was food in the offering.
"Looking for someone, love?"
