Mine, he thought with a sense of pride and possession that nearly made him smile. It was not something he had ever felt toward a woman before. With Aimil, however, it was important that he tie her to him in any and every way he could. It troubled him deeply that she did not seem to feel the same way as was indicated by the way she was hesitating to repeat the vows that would finalize their marriage. Looking at her, he tried desperately, yet fruitlessly, to read in her expression the reason that she faltered.
Although she parted her lips to begin repeating the vows that would make her legally Parlan’s, a sudden rush of doubt stilled her tongue. What lay ahead could be the answer to all her dreams or a long painful nightmare. She loved him beyond what was probably sensible, but there was no guarantee that he would ever return that love. To spend a lifetime caught in the painful hold of unrequited love seemed more than anyone should be forced to bear.
Glancing at him, she felt common sense return. There really was no choice for her. If she humiliated him now by suddenly refusing to wed him, she would undoubtedly lose all chance of gaining his love. So too there was the child. He had a right to his child, as much right as she did, and she was certain that it was not a right he would relinquish. Even if she did not wed him, she would still be tied to him through the child. Far better to take her chances, she decided. Taking a deep breath, she repeated the vows that made her forever his, something her heart had done months ago.
Chapter Eighteen
“Are ye happy, child?”
Aimil looked up at her father and smiled. It gladdened her heart considerably to be on good terms with her father again, but she suffered from a touch of wariness, even disbelief. At any moment she expected to see him turn away from her as he had in the past. Knowing how that could hurt her, she found herself trying to keep a distance between them. She could only hope that with time and a lessening of her wariness her distrust would vanish. The last thing she wished to do was spoil the renewal of her relationship with him.
“Aye, Papa. He is a good man.” She thought that sounded a little trite but could not think of anything else to say.
“Of course, ye are happy. Your voice fairly trembles with joy.”
Grimacing, Aimil admitted to herself that it had been foolish of her to think that she could divert him by mouthing platitudes. “I am happy. He is the man I want. Aye, there are a few pebbles in our path, but they can be cleared away.”
“That is the way to think on it. Ye are the one he wanted too, lass.”
“Aye, because of the bairn.”
“Wheesht, fool lass. Do ye think a man like the Black Parlan would be made to wed a lass simply because his seed had set root in her? He would stand firm and tell me to do as I will, and weel ye ken it.”
“But honor demands…”
“Not when ye are but a captive. Aye, if ye were the daughter of some ally he had seduced but, nay, not for a captive.”
She was still thinking on her father’s words when Giorsal and Maggie took her up to Parlan’s chambers. His words had made a greater impression upon her than nearly anything anyone else had said. Her father saw it as only another man could have and had succinctly explained that elusive concept to her. The more she looked at it the more she wondered why she had not seen it before. She began to suspect that she had purposely avoided any logic that might inspire hope, possibly a fruitless hope.
Whether Parlan wanted the child or not, and she was sure he did, he would not tie himself to her for life because the child rested in her womb. In her case, honor only demanded that he give her back alive when the ransom was paid. If she happened to have lost her chastity while captive and her belly swelled with his child, most would shrug. They would see it as one of the costs of being caught, perhaps even as part of the ransom. Parlan really had done what he had wanted to.
Still mulling that over, she somewhat absently said good-night to her sister, and it was a moment before she realized that Maggie was lingering. “Is there something wrong, Maggie?”
“Nay, everything couldnae be finer.” Maggie smiled almost radiantly. “I have been trying to talk to ye since yester morn.” She blushed faintly. “I heeded all ye said about how to go on with Malcolm. Aye, heeded it and acted upon it.”
“And it worked, aye? Weel, that is a foolish question for ’tis clear to see that it did by your face.”
“Aye, it worked though leaving the candles lit and keeping my eyes open caused my poor man a blush or twa.” She giggled along with Aimil. “I willnae have to do it again. I found I didnae really need to do it the first time for I never thought it was any but my Malcolm loving me. Howbeit, the lit candle took the fear from me so that I had the courage to try the first time.”
“I am so glad for ye, Maggie.” She kissed the maid’s cheek. “Aye, and for Malcolm. He is a good man. When are ye to be wed then?”
“The priest said he would wed us before he left Dubhglenn. I wished to thank ye, m’lady. Thank ye with all my heart.”
“Thank me? Whatever for? T’was Malcolm’s doing.”
“Aye, once I was set in his arms, but t’was ye that set me there, gave me the heart to try.”
“Weel, I think ye would have found it on your own in time, but ye are verra welcome.”
Maggie smiled then hurried toward the door. “I will leave ye be then. ’Tis certain I am that your man will be here soon.”
Aimil was certain of that, too. As soon as Maggie left, Aimil nervously went to check on her appearance in the mirror. It seemed far too long since Parlan had held her. She had sensed his growing hunger as they were healing from their wounds, but he had abstained from satisfying it, even to moving her to a separate room. He had clearly felt that now that they were to be wed, now that she was no longer his hostage, and now that her family came and went from Dubhglenn as they pleased, it was time to act with a little discretion.
It was probably for the best, but she had not liked it much and not simply because, as she had healed, she had begun to feel as eager for a taste of the passion they shared as he seemed to be. Rory had scarred her with a fear she could not seem to shake. It haunted her dreams, bringing nightmares. Although Parlan had often appeared at her bedside to ease those fears when she had come awake shaking and cold, he had been absent enough for her to know how much she needed him there, needed to be able to reach out and touch him to assure herself that she was safe, that Rory was only a chimera in her mind. Although she cursed her weakness, she could not deny it and reluctantly accepted the fact that it would be awhile before she would be free of it, that time was needed for her body, mind, and heart to forget those hours of terror and pain.
Slipping into bed, she propped up the pillows then leaned against them to wait for Parlan. Because they had been lovers for so long and she was carrying his child, there would be no bedding ceremony. She was not at all regretful, recalling how coarse and embarrassing it could get from her sisters’ weddings. All she had to do was wait for Parlan to arrive so that they could begin the arrangement that Rory’s attack had so brutally interrupted. Suddenly yawning, she hoped Parlan did not linger in the hall too long with ale and friends or he would find his new bride sound asleep.
Parlan took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and entered his chambers. He did not understand why he felt so uncertain, even nervous. Aimil was not a woman new to his bed, nor a virgin bride that he had to move cautiously and tenderly around. Nevertheless, he could not dislodge the feeling that he was taking a very important first step.
