“Only he can answer that, love, and ye are nay even reading his letters.”
“I ken it. I have been behaving badly. Oh, a week mayhap, of sulking and pouting, but I have gone way beyond that.” She frowned. “I find that I am afraid of being hurt again.”
Elspeth hugged her. “ ‘Tis a common fear of women in love. But, sweetheart, a mon in love suffers as weel and ‘tis often harder for them to express what they are feeling. Just think on this. This proud mon, this mon ye say keeps himself in control, has been lurking about here for three weeks sending ye gifts and letters. Even when he kens ye are refusing to accept any of them, he is still here.”
Ilsabeth felt an urge to cry. “I have been unkind.”
“Nay, ye have been afraid. He hurt ye and I think he hurt ye more than his poor monly brain can understand.” She smiled when Ilsabeth gave a watery giggle. “But, how can he ever understand enough to ne’er do it again if ye willnae even talk to him?”
“I ken it. I have to get rid of the fear, dinnae I?”
“Nay so much get rid of it as push it aside long enough to listen. What he wants to tell ye may well mend the wound.”
“Ye dinnae think it will just add to it, make it deeper?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Nay. Ye may curse me if I am wrong, but I truly dinnae believe a mon hangs about getting rejected for three long weeks unless he feels something verra deep and strong.” She placed her hand on Ilsabeth’s stomach. “And, ye have a piece of him inside ye now. Ye have that child to think on. Is it just your heart that was bruised, or your pride as weel?” She kissed her on the cheek and started out of the room. “Just try, lass. Even a mon desperately in love can only abide so many nays before he gives up. He has his pride, too.”
Ilsabeth settled back down and stared up at the ceiling. Her mother was right. It was not just her heart that was bruised, but her pride. She had given Simon everything and he had turned from her, rejected it all. It had broken her heart but it had also lacerated her pride. The two of them together had kept her from forgiving Simon.
And Simon did have his pride. She had seen it. Thinking over how she had treated him for the last three weeks, she was astonished that he was still here, still trying. She had certainly paid him back in kind and she was not very proud of that.
She would go with the brothers and pick out some ponies on the morrow and then she would invite Simon to a private dinner here at Aigballa. The two of them would talk as she had not allowed him to talk before while she was still nursing her wounds. There would be some things she would insist upon before she gave in to him and the very first was to know exactly how he felt about her. Now that she had had a taste of how it felt to have her love rejected, she was not going to go anywhere with him until she was sure he returned it.
A small smile curved her mouth. It would be so nice to see him again, to touch him even in the polite confines of a shared meal. Now that she had seen how she was acting and why, she could admit to how desperately she had missed him. His brothers claimed Simon missed her, too. It was foolish for two people to miss each other if there was no true reason for them to be apart. On the morrow she would put an end to this game one way or the other.
Chapter 20
Ilsabeth frowned as the three brothers herded into the barn. The best ponies were out in the little corral, but they had only glanced over them and then insisted upon looking in the little barn. Even Old Gregor had insisted. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of horse droppings and hay. Her stomach curled in revulsion and Ilsabeth decided her child did not like that scent.
“I think I had best go outside,” she said. “I am feeling a wee bit unweel.”
“Why?” Kenneth sniffed. “Old Gregor keeps a verra clean barn.”
She was about to tell him that no matter how clean a barn, once a horse or pony was put inside the smells began when someone slipped a linen sheet over her. Two strong arms were wrapped around her and she was carried off. For one brief moment she was terrified but then, as the outside air cleared her nose of the smell of the barn, she smelled a very familiar scent.
Why was Simon spiriting her away? Because she had refused to speak to him. Ilsabeth sighed as she thought of the lovely romantic setting she had planned for their meal together. She hoped he had remembered to bring food and wine to wherever he was taking her.
It was not long before being wrapped in a linen sheet and carried over a broad shoulder was not comfortable and Ilsabeth complained. The sheet muffled her words and all she got was a mumbled apology in what Simon must have thought was a disguised voice and a pat on the backside. After the first pat, there was a moment’s hesitation, and then another pat that was much more like a caress. There was obviously one particular thing Simon was missing, she thought, and had to admit that she was missing it, too. Even her awkward position could not dispel the warmth that slight caress sent through her body.
When he ran his hand up and down her leg, she decided a true kidnap victim would protest so she screeched a little. Simon obviously was not thinking clearly if he thought all kidnap victims were so complacent. Then she had a wicked thought and turned her head to the side in the hope that she would be somewhat more understandable when she spoke.
“Ye had best put me down and run for your life,” she said. “Ye willnae get away with this. This place is swarming with my kinsmen and kinswomen and they will hunt ye down like a mad dog when they discover what ye have done.”
He mumbled something that sounded like assurances that she would come to no harm. Then he began to caress her leg again as if he could not help himself.
“I am warning ye... Oh. Oh. My. Do that again,” she said as she heard a door open. “Oh, that feels so verra fine.”
She screeched when she was suddenly dropped on a bed. Ilsabeth tore the sheet off her head to find Simon staring down at her, his hands fisted on his hips and a look of pure jealous anger on his face. She could not help it, she started to laugh.
Simon looked down at the giggling woman he had carried all the way from Old Gregor’s and shook his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. She had not been fooled for long. And all that ooh and aahing had certainly caused him a moment of alarm. One did not like to think that one’s woman would ooh and ahh at just any touch. And the wretch had known that, too.
“That was a mean trick ye just played,” he said.
“Me? I wasnae the one who ran off with ye wrapped in a sheet. And, I need to speak to your brothers about the sin of lying.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, recognizing one of the many little cottages her family kept for guests, a necessity when one had a family as large as hers. “Weel, this was fun, but I need to go and get a pony.”
“My brothers are buying the ponies. One for Marion, one for Reid, and one for Elen.”
“Because they ken exactly what they are looking for.”
