Chapter Twelve
A little out of breath, Islaen struggled to keep up with a preoccupied Iain's long strides. She had thought that journeying with him to survey the estate her dowry had brought would be a good chance to be alone, would provide them with needed time together. Instead, she had tramped or, more exactly, trotted over the tower house and now the land, hurrying along after a man who only occasionally tossed a remark her way concerning something that needed repair. While she had as great an interest in their future home as he seemed to have she was starting to wish she had stayed home. Her feet certainly wished she had.
Iain frowned and stopped to stare at a crofter's hut. They too could use some work. His father had always stressed the need to see that the crofters were well housed and content. If nothing else, it gave the people something they would fight to keep, enhanced their loyalty. When a laird took good care of even the lowest of his people, they fought to keep him as their laird.
Turning to tell Islaen this wisdom, he frowned even more. She was leaning against a tree, one hand upon her breast and breathing heavily. Although she looked delightfully disheveled and flushed, he felt a twinge of concern.
"If ye were feeling poorly mayhaps ye should have stayed behind,” he said as he moved nearer to her.
Islaen wondered if she had the strength left to bloody his nose. “I am not feeling poorly."
"Are ye certain? Ye feel most warm,” he murmured as he felt her forehead.
"Running oft heats up a body."
"Come now, I havenae made ye run."
"Iain,” she said with a strong hint of exasperation as she sat down and tugged off her boot, “for each step ye take I must take at least two.” She stared at her foot, amazed that it was not coated heel to toe with blisters.
Biting back a smile, he knelt before her, his gaze fixed greedily upon the slim leg her raised skirts revealed. “I will remember to walk more slowly, sweeting. We wouldnae want ye to wear these lovely limbs down to the bone."
"Iain,” she squeaked in protest when he began to slide his hand up her leg. “We are out in the open,” she gasped in shock, leaping to her feet, her back against the tree.
When he only grinned and reached for her, she took a hasty step to the side. Their playing was brought to an abrupt halt by the soft, deadly hiss of an approaching arrow. There was the sound of tearing cloth as the arrow cut through the sleeve of her gown, scoring the soft skin of her upper arm before it buried itself in the tree.
"Iain,” she rasped as she realized that, had the arrow arrived an instant earlier, it would have pinned her to the tree.
Cursing viciously, Iain grasped her by the ankles and roughly tumbled her to the ground even as a second arrow was sent at them. It sliced harmlessly through the space Islaen had occupied but a second before. Islaen said nothing as she was hurriedly and roughly yanked along, held close to the ground and Iain until they were sheltered behind two large trees growing close together.
"Ye cannae hide from justice forever, MacLagan."
"Murdering this innocent lass isnae justice, MacLennon."
"Aye, ‘tis. I will take from ye as ye took from me."
"Come out from hiding, MacLennon; face me mon to mon and let us have done with this."
"Nay, a woman-killer deserves no such honour as a fair fight."
Islaen pressed closer to Iain, trying in vain to soothe the sting of what Duncan MacLennon called him. She knew nothing she could do would shield Iain from MacLennon's accusations, for Iain believed them. He would probably take little notice of the fact that she did not believe him guilty of the crime MacLennon sought to execute him for.
She shivered when an arrow slammed into the trees they huddled behind. The man had them at his mercy and his chilling laughter told them that he knew it. Just as she wondered why no one came to their aid, wondered if no one had had the wisdom to keep a close watch upon Iain, the sound of hoof-beats reached her ears. She was almost able to smile when she heard Phelan's wild cry but her jubilation was dimmed by the sounds of hoofbeats rapidly retreating. MacLennon was yet again escaping. Islaen wanted to scream her frustration and could only guess at what Iain must feel.
Iain leapt to his feet. After one burning but thorough look at Islaen, he left her. Just as Phelan, Tavis and Iain's squire, Murdo, reined in, Iain reached them. He dragged his brother from his horse and hurled himself into the saddle.
"Watch my wife,” he snarled as he spurred the horse into a gallop.
Islaen watched warily as Tavis stood up and brushed himself off. As he neared her she saw anger glittering in his eyes, but she had the feeling that none of it was directed at Iain's abrupt handling. His gaze settled upon her arm and he hurriedly knelt at her side. It was only then that Islaen was aware of the sharp burning there and looked to see that she was bleeding.
"'Tis but a flesh wound,” she murmured as Tavis took the small water bag from his belt and dampened a handkerchief.
Glancing over her before concentrating on washing her wound, he asked, “Are ye sure?"
Gritting her teeth against the sting as he washed her cut, Islaen looked at herself, noticed the sad state of her gown and almost smiled. “Most of this damage was done when Iain dragged me to safety. His concern was for speed not gentleness. I willnae be surprised an I find a few bruises in the morn but naught else is wrong."
"This was verra close, verra close,” Tavis muttered, then flashed her a brief smile before helping himself to a piece of her petticoat to use as a bandage. “I hadnae realized that he now stalks ye as weel."
"He has taunted Iain with the promise of killing me but he has yet to attack me unless I am with Iain.” She frowned slightly. “'Tis true that he shot at me first though Iain was a clear target but methinks ‘tis really only to taunt Iain. He wants Iain to see me murdered is what he says.” She decided there was no need to mention the threat of rape. “I began to fear that Iain wasnae watched and t'would be too late ere anyone came to aid us."
