Stolen Vows (23 page)

Isla nodded and asked if there was anything she could do to help.  Roan shot her a curious glance, but shook his head.  He reached for his crumpled shirt and tugged it back on over his head, before glancing back at his wife.

“Ye’ll need a hand getting back up into the saddle, I expect.”

Isla started to tell him that she could manage, but Roan was already striding purposefully towards her. A guilty part of Isla wanted to feel his hands on her body. She didn’t object when Roan swept her easily up off the floor.

Once again, he took up a position leading the gelding instead of jumping up behind Isla.  She couldn’t decide what to make of that.  Was Roan doing it out of respect for her, or because he couldn’t stand to be close?  Isla’s head hurt from trying to sort everything out.

..ooOOoo..

Roan managed to get Isla back to their chambers without many people seeing.  He was relieved not to have met his mother or sisters.  No doubt the grapevine of castle gossip would see to it that his family heard that they were back.

“Let me call for Liane to fix a bath for ye,” Roan said to Isla once he had shut the bedroom door behind them.  His wife twisted and looked back at him.

“Why?”

“I - thought ye might like one,” he muttered.  There were a few agonizing moments of silence, and then Isla spoke softly.

“I would, thank ye.”

Roan almost sagged in relief.  He rang the bell for the maid, and then went about seeing to changing his own damp clothes.

“Are ye going to go and see the Laird?” Isla asked.  Roan tugged his shirt off over his head once again, and then nodded.  “Do ye - do ye think I should go with ye?” 

Roan tried not to appear as though the question had caught him by surprise. 
Why did she want to go? 
To hear what excuse he would give for their absence, or to tell Graem her own version of events? 

“Do ye want to come with me, lass?” he asked calmly, answering her question with one of his own.

“Nae, I think I will stay here,” she said at length.  Roan nodded his head and then moved toward the door. He hesitated before leaving.

“Ye will stay here, will ye nae, Isla?” He frowned anxiously.  “I will nae keep ye a prisoner here if ye want to leave Erchlochy Castle with yer kin when they come.”  He though it would be so much easier to say ‘leave Erchlochy Castle’ than ‘leave me’ but the words cut through Roan’s heart regardless.  “But nae more running away on yer own again?  Promise me?” he demanded firmly.

The color leeched from Isla’s face.  Roan couldn’t quite understand why.  “I will nae run away again,” she whispered.  “I promise, Roan.  I’ll stay until ye send me away,” she nodded quietly.

Roan frowned.  “I dinna mean -” He started to reply but was interrupted by a timid knock at the door.  “Liane,” he grumbled, admitting the maid and giving her instructions to see that her mistress was provided with a nice hot bath.

Isla sat on the edge of the bed as she waited for the water to be fetched.  “Ye’d better go then,” she murmured, staring blankly at the floor.

“Aye,” Roan almost groaned the word.  “I suppose I better.”

He slunk out of the room without saying another word. He prayed that Isla would do as she had promised and stay put until he got back. 

Roan hadn’t a clue what he was going to say to Graem.  He hoped that a sincere,
vague
, apology would be enough to pacify the old man, but he wasn’t counting on it.  Laird MacRae might be an elderly, sickly man, but his mind was as keen as ever.

Roan was admitted to see the Laird almost immediately, and he found Graem sitting in his usual seat by the fire, with a book and magnifying glass resting on his lap.

“Ah Roan, yer returned to us I see?” Graem coughed, looking up at his tanist with eyes that were still bright and alive, although set in an aged, decaying face.

“Forgive me, sir,” Roan begged, bowing his head reverently.  Graem waved the apology aside with one gnarled hand.

“I dinna ken that ye have anything to be forgiven for, yet.” the Laird said. “Unless there is something that I'm nae aware of?”

“I neglected my duties today, sir,” Roan replied carefully.

“Ah - neglect of duties,” Graem repeated slowly. His tanist shifted uncomfortably. 

Graem had always given Roan the impression of knowing so much more than he let on, and now he wasn’t entirely certain if the old man was talking about his duties to the clan or his duties to his wife. 

“Well, one day of neglected duties can be forgiven nae doubt, but if it should develop into a habit…” the sentence trailed off, but the warning rang loud and clear.

“I understand, sir,” Roan nodded, standing back up.

“Do ye?” Graem asked seriously.

Roan paused, and took a moment to fully consider the question.  He knew what he was risking - on one hand there was the lairdship, and on the other was his marriage.  If Roan had been asked to place the two things on a set of scales before he’d first returned to Erchlochy Castle with his new Cameron bride, the lairdship would have weighed the heaviest.  It had always been his dream, but over the weeks that had slowly changed.  He’d been willing to accept that, perhaps, they were equally important to him. Now Roan realized that Isla meant more to him that anything else in the world.

“Aye, sir,” he breathed quietly.  “I understand.”

Graem nodded his head gravely.  “All right then laddie.  Give my best to yer bonnie wife,” he added as Roan dipped his head and made his retreat.

Once he was back out in the corridor Roan tried to get his head around this new revelation.  If he wanted Isla more than he wanted to be Laird then what did that mean for his future?

“Roan MacRae!  Ye stop right where ye are!”

Roan groaned at the sound of his mother’s shrill voice.  He turned around to face her, sighing heavily at the furious set of her jaw.  “Aye, mother?” he murmured wearily.

“Ye found her then?” Lady MacRae spat.

“Aye,” Roan said wearily.  He wasn’t ready for a confrontation with his mother right now, and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to her spew off another of her rants against Isla.  After their encounter that morning, he didn’t trust himself not to say or do something that he would later regret.

Lady MacRae, however, failed to read her son’s black mood and followed him as he attempted to walk away.

“The whole castle has been talking about nothing else all day!  Everyone’s been saying that she was running back to Camerons with information!”

“Everyone’s been saying that have they?” Roan growled, his face darkening.  “I wonder where they got that idea.”

In the heat of his anger he had also accused Isla of spying, but when he’d woken that morning and found her gone the notion hadn’t reoccurred to him, not even for an instant.  She hadn’t been spying, not with any malicious intent at least.  Roan could see that now. He could appreciate how neglected and alone she must have felt with him constantly working, constantly having other things on his mind.  Could he make it up to her?  Was there still time for him to make Isla see that
she
was what mattered to him most?

“…and then - Roan!  Yer not even listening to me!” Lady MacRae barked. 

Roan bit his lip to keep from snarling something cutting at his mother.  Without him having realized it, they had walked all the way back to the chambers he now shared with Isla, and were standing outside the door.  Roan paused with his hand on the door handle and looked pointedly at his mother.

“Well?” Lady MacRae snapped.  “I want to go in and see the wench!  She should know about the trouble that she’s -”

“Yer
not
coming in to see my
wife
,” Roan said firmly.  He didn’t know if Isla would still be bathing, or dressed for bed, but more than that, he wasn’t about to inflict his mother on her. 

Roan opened the door a fraction, hoping that his mother would heed what he’d said, but she would not let the matter pass.

“Roan, dinna ye dare try to protect her from me!  She’s ruining ye and yer reputation!  Ye’ll be lucky to -”

“Isla has done naught wrong!” Roan interrupted his mother angrily, his temper increasing the volume of his voice.

“Roan, listen to yerself!  She’s brainwashed ye!  She’s a
Cameron
!”

“It does nae matter -” Roan began, and Lady MacRae opened her mouth, undoubtedly to argue that it most certainly
did
matter, however, her son didn’t give her the chance to speak.  “It does nae matter, because I love her,” he declared firmly.

Lady MacRae gaped up at him, her mouth opened and shut like some kind of deranged fish.  “Love?” she managed to choke at last.  “Ye dinna
love her
!” she cried, but there was almost a plea to her voice.

“I do,” Roan breathed softly, feeling the full truth of the words. 

A strange sense of peace enfolded him.  It soothed the raw hurt that had ravaged his heart.  He loved Isla.  If he could just convince her of that fact, convince her that he was sorry, that he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her, then she just might forgive him and learn to love him back.

Roan didn’t want to pin his hopes on that possibility just yet; just having Isla be able to
like
him would be enough for now.

“Goodnight Mother,” he said amiably. He bent to place a kiss on her cheek and then slipped inside the chamber, leaving Lady MacRae standing in the corridor as he shut the door.

The low fire burning in the hearth cast a dim light around the bedroom.  Isla had already retired to bed.  Roan’s eyes immediately fell on the small body nestled under the blankets.  She was laying right on the edge of the bed, as far she could go without falling on the floor, with her head turned away from the door. 

Roan sighed sadly. 

He’d find a way to correct the wrongs he’d wrought, Roan told himself firmly.  He
had
to. He really couldn’t see a life for himself without Isla in it.

..ooOOoo..

Roan couldn’t understand what had woken him.  It was still dark, the castle was perfectly still.  Nothing appeared amiss, and yet something had awoken him from his deep, dreamless sleep.  He stretched and peered around the dim bedchamber.  The fire was still burning low in the hearth so there was a little light to see by - still, nothing seemed to be wrong.

Deciding that whatever had roused him couldn’t be anything to worry about, Roan settled back down under the blankets and reached for his wife.  

“Isla?” Roan gasped the second that his hand brushed her waist.  Her skin felt as though it was on fire!  “Isla!” he said again, more loudly and urgently. 

She murmured something incoherent, but she didn’t wake.  Even when Roan shook her by the shoulders, she merely whimpered in a state of agitation.  

Cursing worriedly under his breath, Roan climbed out of bed and hurriedly lit a few candles so that he could better see his wife.  Her skin was beaded with sweat and clammy to the touch; she was shivering violently and holding her whole body taut.

“Isla?”  Roan groaned, trying again to rouse her.  He soaked a cloth in the washbasin and laid it across Isla forehead, leaving her for just a second as he stepped into the hallway to summon help.

After Liane had been sent for, Roan pulled up a chair up next to Isla’s side of the bed.  He reached for his wife’s hand.  It was strangely cold, given how hot the rest of her body was, and his brow furrowed in a deep, extremely worried, frown.