"Ah, well, mayhaps. His intentions are good."
When Islaen succinctly said what Iain could do with his good intentions Storm laughed heartily. The woman was still laughing when Tavis collected her for a dance. Islaen sighed as she watched the couple leave her. There had been a look in Tavis's eyes when he had gazed at his wife that Islaen feared she would never stir in Iain's gaze.
Thinking again on what Storm had said about that threat of MacLennon, Islaen sighed with some exasperation. She began to wonder why she bothered. The wise thing to do might be to just go about the business of life and let her much-muddled husband sort himself out. If Storm was right there was a battle it was nearly impossible to fight. Only MacLennon's death would end Iain's reticence and Islaen knew she could not manage that on her own.
Inwardly, she grimaced. She knew she would not stop trying to reach Iain's heavily armoured heart. Common sense had very little to do with the matter. She loved and she ached to have that feeling returned. The love she felt for Iain constantly fought to be set free, to fully express itself and find some reward, some welcome. At times she had to bite her tongue to hold the words back. She badly wanted to know the full glory of love, one shared and returned.
Her frustration turned upon Duncan MacLennon. The man had no real right to a vengeance. Iain had done no wrong. If the man felt a need to blame someone for the loss of his love he should look to Catalina's family. They had been the ones who had taken her from him and forced her to wed another. Iain had but agreed to an arrangement between the families. From what she had heard and could easily guess, Iain had treated the bitter woman far better than any other man might.
She sighed again. All that made wonderful sense, but even if she ever had a chance to speak to MacLennon, the man would never heed it. His grief had turned him mad. Islaen suspected that he sought his own death as avidly as he sought Iain's. She could understand the man's madness, but she knew that would not help her find any forgiveness if he succeeded in murdering Iain. It could well be herself that next became some wild-eyed assassin for she knew her grief would run far deeper than she could ever anticipate or want to. Although it upset her to think it, she knew she would crave the man's death.
The irony of it all made her laugh bitterly. Iain sought to protect her from grief, yet that had been a lost cause almost from the moment she had seen him. Telling him was no good. She was sure he would then do whatever he could to kill the feelings he stirred in her. The way his mind worked she could almost guarantee it. To him it would probably seem the kindest thing to do. He would see the grief he caused her now as necessary to save her from a greater one later.
When he approached her she glared at him. She wanted to call him a fool, tell him of the pain he caused her now as he held himself away from her. It would gain her nothing, she was sure of it, but she thought it might make her feel better if only for a little while. She had swallowed so many words now, her belly ached from it.
"Someone has angered you?” Iain asked cautiously, noticing the glitter in her lovely eyes.
It was a supreme effort not to tell him just who but she mumbled, “My head throbs. It makes my mood sour."
He smoothed his hand over her forehead. “Ye have had a long day. Mayhaps we should seek our bed."
"How can ye do that?” she thought with an inner sad sigh, as she stared up at him. “How can ye stroke me with one hand, yet push me away with the other?” but only said, “Aye, t'would be best, if ye dinnae mind."
"Nay, ‘tis late and I feel weary myself. I will no doubt soon join ye."
Nodding she quietly retreated to her bedchamber, leaving Iain to make her excuses. It had been a long exacting journey from the court to Caraidland and she was weary. The two had little to do with each other but she did not feel guilty about letting Iain tell that lie. It was better than telling the truth. She did not think it would endear her to her new kin by marriage if she told them she was retreating to her chambers before she gave into the strong urge to throttle Iain.
"Wheesht, didnae it go well, lass?” Meg asked as Islaen entered her chambers.
"If ye had joined the festivities ye could have seen for yourself,” Islaen answered crossly as she ungracefully flung herself upon the bed.
"T'wasnae my place."
Islaen made a very rude noise and ignored Meg's scolding look. With little cooperation she let Meg undress her. She knew she was being awkward, even sulking, but she made no effort to shake free of her mood. A little petulantly, she told herself that she had earned a good sulk.
"Och, lass, it maun have been verra bad for ye. ‘Tis a rare mood ye are in,” Meg muttered as she started to brush Islaen's hair.
"Meg, can ye hate a person e'en as ye love him?” Islaen asked quietly as she sat still beneath Meg's ministrations.
"Of course ye can. I love ye, lass, and weel ye ken it, but there have been times when I was muckle pleased to strike ye. I ken little of the ways of men and women but I suspicion ‘tis much the same. Loving a mon doesnae mean ye like all he does or says."
"Nay, that would most like be impossible. Love just means that the bad things willnae drive ye away, willnae make ye leave."
"What has the lad done now? ‘Tis no wench, is it? Wheesht, I had thought we had left that trouble behind us when we left that brothel called court."
"Nay, ‘tis not a wench. I would be little surprised an one is about, one that might cause me a worry, but she hasnae shown herself yet. I am hopeful that whatever wenches there may have been have turned their eyes elsewhere whilst Iain was at court and that they arenae the sort to ignore the boundaries of a lawful marriage. I am most weary of that sort of trouble."
"Then what ails ye?"
"Oh, ‘tis Iain. Ye are right in thinking that."
"Ye cannot expect a locked heart to spring open with but one smile, lass."
"I ken it. Such a thing takes work. I have come across another problem or so I think. Iain has not spoken of it to me, ‘tis Storm who spoke of it, so mayhaps it doesnae exist. It seems Iain feels it would be cruel to try and win my heart."
"Cruel? How so? Though I have little trust in men, I cannae feel he would abuse such a gift, not purposely."
"Nay, he wouldnae, not e'en an he didnae return the love offered. He has too kind a heart, e'en an he does keep it well secured. In truth, what Storm said confirms that. She said he will ne'er woo me nor try to win my heart as long as death stalks him."
