“I dinnae think I could bear it. I see Rory whenever Malcolm tries to kiss me, see him behind my eyelids.”
“Then leave your eyes open and the candle lit. Dinnae let Malcolm’s image ever leave your sight. Even once with him will cure your fears. I am verra sure of that. That is, if ye have a mind to and ’tis marriage Malcolm offers.”
“Aye, ’tis wedding me he wants, but I feared to fail him as a wife.” Maggie’s eyes were wide as she reviewed Aimil’s advice, and her hopes rose. “May I go now?” Aimil nodded, and Maggie raced from the room in the hope of finding Malcolm before her courage failed her.
“Weel, that may be one problem sorted out but ’tis little done for me.” Aimil sighed as she struggled to sit up.
“Here, sweeting, let me help you,” said a deep voice that had lately been absent from the room. Parlan came to her bedside. Aimil stared at her husband-to-be as he helped her, his gaze studying the loosely-fitting shift she wore. “Ye could have told me I was carrying your bairn. That is why ye want to be wed, isnae it, because I might be carrying the heir to Dubhglenn?”
“Aye,” Parlan agreed, and lightly kissed her sulking mouth, “ye are carrying my heir. ’Tis a good reason to wed ye.”
She wondered how such a simple statement could hurt so much but fought to hide it. “Is it true that ye have no bairns?”
He saw something flicker in her eyes but could not read it and decided that Lagan was wrong, that Aimil was a practical girl and did not need sweet words. “None that I ken.”
“If ye were always so careful, why werenae ye with me?”
“Because I didnae want to be. I wanted the full pleasure of ye. I trust ye. Aye, and like ye. I didnae care if my seed took root.”
She sighed inwardly. That was apparently all she was going to get. It did please her, but she still wanted more. Telling herself she was being quite foolish did not ease the wanting. She told herself that she would be wise to accept what he said as enough and set her mind to being happy.
Chapter Seventeen
In a gesture she admitted to herself was childish, Aimil stuck her tongue out at Parlan’s departing figure. She then met Old Meg’s stern frown with a sweet smile. Even though no one else seemed to agree, she felt she had a right to be annoyed about the way she was being rushed into the marriage. Little heed was given to her objections, of which she honestly admitted there were one or two, or fears, of which she regretfully admitted there were far too many. With a sigh, she got out of bed and let Old Meg assist her in bathing and washing her hair. She decided it was probably petty of her to be so irritated by Parlan’s calm confidence.
Parlan cursed as he glared at the scar on his leg. It seemed twice as livid and unsightly as it had the day before. He took a walk around the room and swore some more. The stiffness in his leg made him limp. He had sorely wanted to be at his best when he stood with Aimil before the priest, but that was clearly not to be. Cursing was not going to change that but he decided, as he limped around the room, that it soothed his disappointment to indulge in a few hearty rounds of it.
A soft sound distracted him from his annoyance. He looked up to see that Artair had quietly entered the room. Artair had only made a few fleeting visits since the time he had delivered his warning about Catarine, something Parlan still cursed himself for not acting upon immediately. The expression on his brother’s face told Parlan that this visit was not going to be a fleeting one.
“Such cursing.” Artair moved closer to Parlan. “Doubts about the step ye take? Mayhaps ye should wait.”
“Nay, I have no doubts. I but curse this scarred and still useless leg. ’Tis a poor thing to show a bride.”
“I dinnae think the lass will mind but, if it troubles ye so, wait some more. It should be better before long.”
“Aye, it should but I willnae wait any longer. Her sweet little belly already starts to round. Last eve I felt the bairn move. I mean to set the name MacGuin on that bairn as quickly as possible.”
“The bairn isnae due for several months yet.”
“I ken it. I also ken how swiftly life can be ended, snuffed out in a winking like some tallow candle. What happened with Rory reminded me of that. I repeat, I will set the name MacGuin on that bairn as soon as can be. I have hesitated long enough.” He sat down on his bed and frowned at Artair. “Is that why ye are here? Have ye come to try and talk me out of wedding her?”
“Nay. ’Tis your choice. If ye wish to wed the lass, do so. She seems a good lass.”
“Aye, she is and ’tis my wish to wed her. So, why are ye here? I ken that something weighs heavily upon ye. Have out with it.”
“’Tisnae easy.” Artair nervously paced. “I finally took heed of what ye said. That eve of Rory’s attack?” Parlan nodded. “Oh, I listened when ye spoke and heeded for the moment, as I have always done. Then I walked away and set aside your words. Something else I have always done. They wouldnae leave me be this time. They kept preying upon my mind forcing me to think and think again. I found it an uncomfortable process, this thinking. I have done little of it in my time. Then I saw what Rory Fergueson had done to Aimil, heard what he had done to the lass’s mother, and it frightened me.”
“’Tis naught to fash yourself over. It frightened me.”
“Ye dinnae understand. I saw myself in him, saw what I could become.”
“Nay, laddie. Ye are but misguided. Rory Fergueson is mad, totally mad and thoroughly evil.”
“Aye, but when did he turn so? When did he stop but slapping a lass now and again and take to beating them, enjoying the pain he could inflict? When did he stop taking unwilling lasses because he let his lust rule him and begin to enjoy their unwillingness, their shame, and their hurt? I take unwilling lasses, let my lust rule me, and use my strength against them. When does that stop being the act of a drink-besotted, unthinking lad and become the sickness that infects Rory Fergueson?”
Parlan frowned. He wanted to ease the fear he read in his brother’s face but could not find the right words. While he did not believe that the evil which tainted Rory could have the humble beginning Artair described, neither could he ignore the logic of Artair’s words. He simply did not know enough about such madness to give Artair the firm denial to his fears that he sought. However, neither could he believe that his brother held the seed of such evil.
“I dinnae ken what turned Fergueson into the filth he has become or when he turned so. I cannae believe that ye could become like him. Ye do no more than many other men yet there are few Rory Ferguesons about. As I have said, there is a brutal side to every man. ’Tis but something we must learn to control. The beast in Rory cannae be controlled; it just grows stronger. Rory cannae change what he is. The rot is too strong. I dinnae really think ye are so afflicted. Ye can change.”
