"Then ye will be pleased to learn that she is now a widow."
For a moment, Sigimor searched deep within himself for some flicker of pleasure over that news and found none. There had always been a faint ghost of Barbara in his heart, one that occasionally teased him with a passing thought ofwhat if?He could not even find that now and he was certain he owed that to Jolene. It was impossible, and foolish, to linger on a faintwhat if?when one held a passionate little wife in one's arms every night.
"Nay, I am nay pleased. Nay much of anything, in truth. Dinnae ken why ye think I should care."
"The woman claimed to have beenverraclose to ye ere she married. Aye, and a few times after that, so I dinnae ken why ye act so pious now."
"She lies.” Sigimor shrugged, appearing calm even as he savored the vision of Barbara's throat in his hands. “The woman is verra good at lying. Always has been. Aye, I have seen her once or twice since she married her rich old laird, but nay more than that and only when it couldnae be avoided.” He glanced around the great hall. “God's truth, Fingal, she is a liar and more. I doubt she left Scarglas ere she had sampled a MacFingal or two.” He almost laughed at the way Fingal briefly glared around at his men, many of whom were his own sons. “And now ye have gone and set my wife to thinking I am some lustful rogue with lasses scattered all about the country. For what? Some lying whore who has probably spent all of her husband's money and is looking for a new mon's purse to empty?” Sigimor could tell by the sharp way Fingal looked at him that he had let his anger seep into his voice.
"I was thinking of getting ye a fine, bonnie lass, a Scot, and one who has enough meat on her bones to bear your weight."
"Och, weel, Barbara is verra skilled at bearing a mon's weight, true enough. I believe I will keep the wife I have."
"But she is English!"
"That she is. The sister of an English earl, a mon who saved my life, may God rest his soul. And, a lass who has ne'er borne the weight of any mon save me, and ne'er will.” He watched Fingal walk away grumbling to himself about young idiots. “I didnae think so many would be so troubled o'er her being English. Can they nay see that she is naught but a wee lass?"
"Nay, but they will. And, she is a Cameron now,” Ewan said firmly, then grinned at Sigimor's grunt of agreement. “Tis but a passing irritation, nay more. She is a bonnie lass and Fiona likes her. I will admit, the fair-haired, buxom Barbara did seem to be more your sort."
"Used to be. I am a big mon so thought I needed such a lass.” He winked at Ewan. “I suspicion ye ken how I thought and how wrong I was, aye?"
"Aye. I also understand that ye will have to make some explanations now."
Sigimor grimaced. “I ken it. She had that look. Dinnae really want to speak on that old folly, though."
"We all have our old follies, Cousin, and wives tend to discover them. Ye ken mine weel enough."
"But yours is dead and buried. Mine seems to be hunting me down."
Ewan laughed. “She did seem most eager to learn all she could about you. At least she isnae bringing ye a child ye bred on her.” He nodded when Sigimor winced. “I love the lad and so does Fiona, but it wasnae easy and my hesitation to tell Fiona about Ciaran didnae help. Best just spit out the truth and get it o'er with. Think on what may happen if ye dinnae and Lady Barbara gets a chance to tell the tale her way."
"Jesu, I could find myself sleeping in the stables."
"One thing I have discovered is that, if the woman in your past did ye an ill turn, your wife will most like turn her anger upon that woman. That is, if ye can tell her that woman means naught to ye now, get your wife to believe it, and, more important, mean it."
"Oh, I will mean it. Wholeheartedly.” Sigimor stood up and took a moment to brace himself for the confrontation to come. “Aye, Jolene will have no doubt that I mean it. The only trick will be how to tell the tale without making myself look the complete young idiot I was.” He left Ewan laughing and started out of the great hall.
As he approached the bedchamber he was always given upon his visits to Scarglas, Sigimor felt uncertain. Even though he did not like it, he was prepared to explain Barbara to Jolene. What troubled him suddenly was the possibility that she wouldnotask for an explanation, that she did not care enough about him to feel concerned, possessive, or even a little jealous.
Annoyed by this unaccustomed lack of confidence, he strode into the room. He would tell her about Barbara and, depending upon how Jolene acted, he just might tell her in such a way that it would goad her into some telling show of emotion. His wife could don a very calm, almost cold, look from time to time, but he knew she could not hold fast to it. Sigimor looked to where Jolene stood by the fireplace, then slammed and bolted the door behind him, and leaned against it as he tried to catch his breath.
Jolene stood haloed by the light from the fire and she was wearing what looked to be little more than a wisp of light fog. The thin lace-and-ribbon-trimmed shift hid very little of her lithe form. The light from the fire only made it look thinner. Her dark hair hung loose, its thick long waves doing little to shield her. She was as good as naked and, yet, the fact that she was not, only excited him more.
Then he noticed that her hands were planted firmly on her slim hips. There was a scowl upon her face rather than a warm, welcoming smile. Glancing down at her feet, he noticed that she was tapping one bare foot on the sheepskin set before the fire. He also noticed that she did, indeed, have long toes.
"Who is Barbara?” Jolene demanded, hiding the delight she felt over his reaction to her appearance.
"Barbara?” Sigimor forced his gaze back to her face and struggled to clear his mind of the thought of tossing her down onto that sheepskin. “Ah, Lady Barbara MacLean. Just someone I kenned, oh, ten years ago or more."
"I see. So long ago as that, hmm? She has a very tenacious memory then."
"Weel, I am a verra memorable fellow."
Sigimor moved to sit on the edge of the bed and remove his boots. Jolene was acting just as he felt a wife should when hearing about some woman from his past, a woman who did not seem to want to stay there. A brief sideways glance at her revealed that her hands were now clenched into fists and her eyes had narrowed. It occurred to him that, if he wanted to be allowed to answer the invitation her attire offered, if might be wise not to goad her too much.
"A woman does not show such interest in a man without reason, especially not in one she has not seen in ten years or more. E'en you are not that memorable, Sigimor."
He wondered if there was a compliment hidden within that last remark, then forced himself to concentrate on explaining exactly who Barbara was. “It hasnae been exactly ten years. Despite my attempts to avoid her, I have seen her a few times since then. The woman is asking about me because she is now a widow."
