He could easily see the wisdom of it, understood the king's desire for it. That did little to ease his tension and anger over the noose slipped so gently around his neck. Even the fact that it would better his position at court, enrich his purse and undoubtedly please his father did not console him.
Deciding he could not escape, Iain said, “An I may beg your leave for a while, sire, I will seek out and speak to Lord MacRoth."
Iain cautiously approached Alaistair MacRoth. That man astutely guessed that it was all in the manner of a royal command. Even as he agreed to the match and discussed settlements in vague terms, Alaistair wondered if it was for the best. It was true that the girl had an eye for the man, although Alaistair thought him the antithesis of a maiden's dream, being dark and formidable in looks. He could also see that the young man did not want to wed Islaen, perhaps any woman. Also, there was the man's coldness to consider. Islaen was used to affection, be it rough, teasing or gentle. There seemed to be little chance of any to be found in Iain MacLagan.
Reading the concern in the man's eyes, Iain said, “I will be a good husband to the child. I willnae beat her nor go wenching. She will want for naught, Lord MacRoth."
"Save love,” Alaistair thought but said nothing. The others held no love for the girl either. In his prejudiced eyes she was eminently loveable, and he could not understand how it was that the men around could not see past her lack of curves to discover that.
Inwardly, he sighed. Iain MacLagan may hold no love for Islaen, may not even be capable of such an emotion, but the girl wanted him. That was far more than she did feel about any of the others put forward. Perhaps that could be enough to keep her happy and he truly wanted her to find happiness. The things the man had just sworn to were far more than the others had promised.
"'Tis a comfort to hear ye say that. T'would be a greater comfort if ye could act a little less like ye are headed for a hanging,” he growled.
"I understand your sense of outrage, m'lord. Forgive me my surliness but ye ken I have buried one young wife. T'was not my wish to take anither and maychance stand o'er her grave as weel.” Iain sighed but he felt the man was due total honesty.
"She is a great deal stronger than she looks, laddie. Many thought marriage would send her mither to an early grave, but Meghan proved them very wrong. Islaen's nay been treated like some doll by her brithers and come through the better for it.” He could see his words were being politely heeded but not believed, so he changed the subject. “The land's a sweet bit of property, but the keep needs tending to."
"'Tis no worry, m'lord. My kin live near to it. My wife and I may reside with them until matters are set straight. My eldest brither has a wife. T'will be company for Islaen. Aye, Storm will be glad of some female company."
The soft look that flickered over the man's harsh face at the mention of his sister by marriage eased Alaistair's worried mind. There were softer feelings in the man. If anyone could rescue them from permanent burial it was wee Islaen.
"Weel, come speak to the lass then. I ken she willnae refuse you. Nay, nor need much persuasion."
He watched in silent amusement as Alaistair edged him into the group of redheaded MacRoths and then dragged away his four youngest sons with a total lack of subtlety.
He then looked at the girl. She was a pretty little thing who made no effort to hide her appreciation of him even now. He could not fully subdue the good feelings that stirred within him. This worried him. If he lost the hard, cold emotional armour he had donned since Catalina's death, he could all too easily find himself reaching for all he had tried for before, all that his brother had found with Storm, and that could kill the girl smiling at him so sweetly. He would fight that with every ounce of willpower he had.
"May I sit down, mistress?” he asked and joined her on the small window seat when she nodded.
Islaen studied him. Her father had made it rather clear as to why Iain wished to speak to her, though she dared not believe it. The closed look upon his face was hardly encouraging. If he was about to propose marriage, she felt sure it was not by choice. That left her in a quandary, for she wanted to be his wife above all things but would like him to feel at least amiable to the idea.
However, if he had no choice then she probably did not either. Even if she did she realized that she would much rather be the one he had to wed than to watch him wed another. Although he was so clearly reluctant, there was the chance for her to make something good out of it, but, if she refused, there was no chance at all. He would be lost to her forever and that, she decided, would be harder to bear than anything else.
"Do ye ken what I wish to speak to ye about?"
"An I read my fither right ‘tis marriage, yet your face doesnae look much like that of a suitor."
"Aye, ‘tis marriage I wish to speak to ye about. The king feels a match between us would be a verra good thing."
''Tis hardly the proposal of a young girl's dreams,” she mused silently but aloud she said, “Then I ken ‘tis set."
Iain looked at his hands, then glanced at her. “Aye, that it is. Can ye stomach it, lass?"
"Of course. Why should I not be able to?” She saw his hand feint to the scar upon his face. “Wheesht, that is naught. It doesnae pull your face about into a horrid grimace or some such. Might I ask how ye got it? Ye need not say."
Iain almost smiled. He had never thought himself vain, but some of the reactions to his scarring had cut him deeply, almost as deeply as the knife that had marred his features. In her lovely eyes he could read the truth of her words. A familiar, if long ignored, knot formed in his loins and he inwardly cursed.
"T'was an attack at my wife's graveside by a mon who felt I had stolen, then murdered, the lass he loved."
"Oh. Did ye steal her from him?"
"Nay. T'was a marriage sought by her family and mine. I kenned naught of him until t'was done.” He frowned at her. “I dinnae ken why I speak so freely to ye, lass."
"I shall tell nary a soul and ‘tis it not right that I, as your wife, should ken if there be some mon creeping about ready to plunge a dirk into ye? ‘Tis a bit of information that could be useful."
Amusement flickered through his eyes. “Aye, that it could."
Dangerous, Iain mused. She had an impish sense of humor as well as a directness of speech. Both were things he admired. In their two brief meetings she had affected him more than the most practiced of flirts, drawing him out despite himself. He would have to be more wary. She could chip away at his wall until it crumbled.
