"Sigimor, dinnae call my wife a liar,” Ewan said dutifully.
"E'en when she is telling lies?” Sigimor asked.
"Aye, e'en then. Ye should just smile and pretend ye believe her. ‘Tis what I do. Ye are a husband now. Tis best if ye learn these things."
"What I am learning now is that ye are but one word away from being soundly beaten."
The way Fiona was scowling at her husband nearly made Jolene laugh. She felt envious of the open affection between the pair. They were the perfect example of what she wanted in her own marriage. Feeling the weight of Sigimor's arm around her shoulders and the idle caress of his hand on her arm, she wondered if they would ever gain that special bond Ewan and Fiona so obviously shared. Just love him, Fiona said. Jolene was not sure it was that easy.
"Ah, lad, there was something I needed to tell ye,” said Fingal as he walked over to stand in front of Sigimor. “There was a woman asking after ye, oh, twa days ago, I believe. She sought shelter here for the night. Lady MacLean?"
"That name doesnae sound familiar,” Sigimor said, although he felt an unpleasant memory twitch to life inside of him.
"Lady Barbara MacLean? She said she used to be a Forbes. Aha, I can see that ye recall her now. She said ye would."
"Aye, from years ago whilst I was nay much more than a lad. I dinnae ken why she should be asking after me."
"Got curious when she heard we were kin to the Camerons of Dubheidland."
"Naught but trying to make pleasant conversation o'er a meal, I suspect, and we all ken how difficult that can be,” said Fiona as she stood up. “But, ‘tis late, and Lady Jolene has had a verra long day. Come, Jolene. I will show ye where Reynard sleeps, then show ye to your bedchamber.” She held out her hand.
Jolene had no choice but to take it and let the woman lead her away. “Why can I not stay and find out who this woman is and just why she is asking after Sigimor?” she asked as Fiona led her up the narrow stairs to the bedchambers.
"Poor Sigimor was stunned by the news, Jolene. ‘Tis best to wait until he isnae."
"You mean until he can think of a good answer."
"Aye, in a way. Dinnae think he will lie. He willnae. But, with men like Sigimor, ‘tis sometimes best to give them a few minutes to set their thoughts in order. Here is where young Reynard sleeps."
Biting back all the questions she had, Jolene quietly followed Fiona into a large chamber with at least a dozen children in it. She smiled faintly as she watched her nephew sleep for a few minutes, before looking at the older boy Fiona called her son. It was not until they left the room that Jolene fully grasped the fact that the boy Ciaran was too old for Fiona to truly be his mother. She was still struggling with a way to politely gain an answer to that puzzle when Fiona answered the questions Jolene dared not ask.
"Ciaran is my husband's son, born of a woman he kenned weel nine years ago."
"You are trying to give me a lesson I think. Unfortunately, my mind has fixed itself upon one thing. Or, rather, one name."
Fiona laughed as she nudged Jolene into a large bedchamber warmed by a big fireplace, animal skin rugs, and thick tapestries. “I understand. I had the same problem only mine was named Helena, Ciaran's mother.” Fiona walked over to the big bed that dominated the room and pointed to a night shift laid out on top of it. “This is your answer."
Jolene touched the finely woven linen which felt as soft as silk. “This is what a woman wears to tempt a man. Tis not what I thought to greet my husband with."
"I ken it, but a club laid upside his head will just annoy Sigimor.” She laughed with Jolene. “Nay, put this on to greet him when he slinks in. Tis good to remind a mon of all he has now when something from his past slithers up to try and tempt him. Ye will get the answers ye seek and, if there is any warm or fond memories tickling his tiny mon's mind, ye will heartily banish them. And, may I suggest that ye stand by the fireplace as ye begin this interrogation?"
Knowing full well that would make her body clearly visible through the thin linen, Jolene tsked. “You are shameless."
"Aye."
"And very clever.” She met Fiona's smile with one of her own, one she knew was just as smug and faintly lecherous as Fiona's.
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Chapter Twelve
"I suppose ye would kill me if I kissed your wife, Ewan,” Sigimor said as he watched Fiona drag Jolene away.
"If your wife didnae do it first.” Ewan exchanged a grin with Sigimor, then joined him in scowling at Fingal. “Did ye e'en pause a minute ere ye trotted o'er here to tell him about Barbara in front of his new bride?"
"Aye, I did.” Fingal crossed his arms over his chest and scowled right back at them. “I thought on how this Barbara is a bonnie Scottish lass, one with some meat on her bones."
"She is married,” said Sigimor, telling himself not to get angry with the man. Fingal was what he was and would never change. “She has been married for nigh on ten years. I dinnae have aught to do with married women."
