“Nay, but when or if the words ever leave my lips, I will be. For now ’tis enough that I like and trust her.”
“I wonder what Rory will do when he kens that ye have wed Aimil?”
“If he is wise, he has found a great hole, crawled into it, and pulled the earth over him. T’will do him no good though. As soon as I am weel, I will dig the adder out of his nest.”
“He isnae sane, Parlan. Ye ken as weel as I that his sort willnae act as ye think they will.”
“Aye, ye can never tell how a mad dog will jump. A watch must be kept on Aimil at all times. She is never to be left alone.”
“’Tis wise. His madness is strongest there. ’Tis a strange thing. I wonder if his madness started with Lachlan’s wife?”
“Nay, t’was simply unearthed. That he sees Aimil as her mother is the danger. She must never fall into his hands. She will never escape him a second time and with her would go our child. That she carries my child could make it worse if he kens it.”
“Dinnae fash yourself. She will be watched. The lass will-nae be able to turn round for the guard that will be set on her.”
Aimil noticed her increased guard even before the priest arrived but, for the moment, had too many other concerns to be worried about it. She too wanted to be dressed and on her feet when she was wed. That she would be wed despite any objections she might have grew quickly evident. The marriage was going to be performed no matter what she said or wanted.
She could not even get anyone who mattered to heed her objections. Lagan, her brother, and her father all kept their distance. So did Parlan. Though he was still weak from his wound, he managed to disappear with remarkable speed any time she even thought of bringing up her objections. Her strange continual exhaustion helped every one of them in their avoidance of her.
The priest arrived and was made comfortable, but the wedding did not come about immediately. Parlan wanted all the paraphernalia that went with a chief’s wedding or as much of it as could be organized at such short notice. Dubhglenn became a hive of activity as a grand feast was prepared, and word was sent to any who might take offense if not invited.
So too was the wedding delayed so that the bride and groom could heal enough to endure the festivities. Aimil watched her bruises fade and felt her back heal more each day. What she could not understand was why she continued to suffer from sickness and tiredness. The sickness came and went swiftly, but it worried her and she finally mentioned it to Old Meg.
“’Tis often the way of a woman who is with bairn,” the old woman replied tartly, shaking her head over Aimil’s apparent ignorance.
Aimil hated to do so but she knew she was revealing that she was far more ignorant than Old Meg hinted at as she asked, “What has that to do with me?”
“I told ye she didnae ken it,” muttered Maggie, who sat working on Aimil’s wedding dress, one with a loose bodice that would not irritate Aimil’s rapidly healing back yet look as fashionable and lovely as possible. “Told ye all that from the verra start.”
“Do ye mean to say that that great gowk hasnae told ye?” squawked Old Meg, her thin arms flailing like boney wings.
“Told me what?” asked Aimil in a weak voice for she was beginning to suspect exactly what ailed her.
“What all of Dubhglenn kens and then some. That ye carry the laird’s bairn. Ye carry the heir we have all waited for.”
“I am with child,” Aimil repeated, her voice flat. “That is why he rushes to wed me. ’Tisnae all his honor but his need of an heir.”
“Ye are a foolish lass. The laird kens weel how to keep from seeding a woman. He has nary a bastard that I ken of for all his wanton ways.” Old Meg shook her grizzled head. “What do ye fash yourself about? Why does any man take a wife? To get a child. ’Tis the way of the world, lass. Ye cannae change it. Be glad ye have got yourself such a braw laddie with a brave heart and a full purse.”
“I wouldnae care if his purse held naught and he were weak and sickly,” Aimil snapped. “I want to be loved.”
Old Meg shook her head again. “Ye are foolish. Few wives find themselves loved. Be thankful for what ye have. ’Tis a great deal.”
She knew the old woman was right, but it did not make Aimil feel all that much better. Her heart and soul had been put into Parlan’s large hands, and she wanted a little return for all she had given. Honor, strength, and wealth were indeed fine attributes in a husband, and Parlan had many other fine qualities as well, but she craved his love. It seemed the worst of calamities to be wed to a man she loved as much as life itself but who did not return her love. A lifetime of unrequited love seemed little to be happy about. Even a stern scolding about not indulging in useless self-pity did not really change her feelings about that.
“Aimil?” Maggie ventured carefully after Old Meg left the room. “Do ye wish to run away?”
Briefly Aimil contemplated such a move then shook her head. “Nay. Where would I go? I must wed Parlan.”
“He isnae as fearsome as I had thought he would be for all he is so dark. Aye, even his eyes. Like black pools. He seems a good man.”
“Oh, aye, he is, Maggie. ’Tis just that I love him but he doesnae love me. It could be a verra large problem, could give me a lot of pain.”
“Mayhaps not.” Maggie’s gaze fell to Aimil’s stomach. “Ye will feel the bairn soon. I long for a bairn, but it will never be.”
“Maggie, it doesnae hurt,” Aimil said gently. “The loving, I mean. With a good, kind, and gentle man, it can be verra fine indeed. A man like Malcolm?”
A blush suffused Maggie’s face. Malcolm had been very attentive to her, and she had felt some lessening of her fears. Despite that, she still feared lovemaking, its possible good points overshadowed by Rory’s brutal handling. He had left her badly scarred in her mind.
