"Nay. I am sorry, my friend. I should not have stopped ye from killing the mon. It hasnae stopped the talk."
"He has cut his own throat."
"Ye can do naught until he is up and about. Nay, not until he strikes at ye."
"Why not?"
"Ye cannae kill a mon in his bed. That would bring about a feud and the death of many. Neither can ye strike at a cripple. I fear ye have your hands tied and cannae loosen them until he strikes at ye."
"Or Islaen."
"Aye, or Islaen. The least ye would bring upon yourself is the whisper of cowardice, the worst is outlawry. Only if ye cut him down in the act of fighting for your life or Islaen's can ye come away clean."
"Shall I tell the MacRoths this news too?” Phelan asked quietly.
"Aye, tell them. I will seek my bed now,” Iain said as he abruptly stood up. “There seems little else I can do."
Iain wondered blackly what Islaen had done to deserve being burdened with a husband who seemed doomed to bring about her destruction. She had been safe and content with her family. Now she had two men eager to see her pay for crimes she had not committed. Worse, she had a husband who was unable to really protect her, could only wait for the enemy to strike and pray that she was not killed before he could end the threat to her life.
Finding her asleep, he undressed quietly, then carefully eased into bed. Despite his better intentions, he reached for her. She murmured his name and cuddled up to him. He fought to clear his mind of worries and prayed that all the wine he had drunk would help him sleep. A bitter laugh echoed in his mind when he realized how much holding her close helped him in that aim.
Islaen woke with a start, then cursed herself for being a foolish child. A nightmare had frightened her awake, one she clearly recognized as having been inspired by the day's events. Letting that fear rob her of needed sleep was the worst thing she could do, she thought crossly. It would insure that she was not alert enough to protect herself if she had to. She would not let that madman defeat her in that way, especially not when he only meant to use her to deepen the hurt he dealt Iain.
Slipping out from beneath the arm Iain had draped over her waist, she moved towards the window. Below she spotted the guard, alert yet strangely unobtrusive. She did not bother to peer outside of the chamber door. Tavis had said there would be one there too and she did not doubt it.
"He has made us prisoners in our own home, upon our own lands,” she thought with a touch of bitterness. “We cannae e'en feel safe within our own chambers. I begin to think ye a sorcerer, Duncan MacLennon. If ye would but turn that skill and hatred against the English, Scotland would ne'er have to fash herself about that country again."
"Islaen."
She turned quickly, hearing a note of fear in that husky call. “Here, Iain. By the window."
"Best ye get back into bed ere ye catch a chill and take ill."
Biting back a smile, she dutifully returned to bed. Despite her confusion and doubts about how he felt for her she was confident that he held an honest concern for her safety. She had heard that hint of fear in his voice and knew men well enough to know that his grumpiness now was because he feared she had. She had been in no danger and he now felt foolish about worrying.
"God's teeth, woman, your feet are like ice,” he growled as he pulled her close. “Did ye have a need for fresh air?” he muttered.
"Weel, Iain, I have been meaning to speak to ye about your feet,” she began, grinning against his chest, then squeaking with outrage when he gave her hair a gentle punitive yank.
"Pert wench.” He grew serious. “How fares your wound?"
"'Tis naught, Iain. Aye, it pinches, but ‘tis so shallow t'will soon heal."
"I should have asked ere now."
"Ye had other matters upon your mind."
"Aye—murder. The sight of your blood made me hunger for his. I raced away thinking only of how eager I was to kill him."
"Ye could see that I wasnae hurt badly. There really was little reason for ye to stay."
"Ye had been badly frightened. ‘Tis reason enough. I should have stayed to see that your fright was eased, your wound tended."
"Tavis managed both verra weel. Iain, t'was more important that ye try to catch that mon. Aye, I was frightened and I did wish ye near but those are wee things, easily soothed later. ‘Tis far more important that that madman be stopped. Aye, and e'en then I understood weel your need to be the one that stopped him. I too want him stopped though it troubles me to want a mon's death."
Before resting his head against her breasts, he gave each one a kiss, then nuzzled against them and yawned. “Dinnae fash yourself o'er it, dearling,” he murmured sleepily. “He gives us no choice."
