The Laird's Captive Wife(31)

‘It is a state to be hoped for rather than attained, by the majority at least.’

‘Perhaps, and yet having attained it once do you not seek it again?’

‘There seems little point in seeking what may not be found, my liege.’

‘And yet I sense you are not entirely indifferent to this girl.’

It was a shrewd shot. Recalling what had happened in the hayloft Iain knew he could not deny it. However, wanting a woman was one thing, marriage quite another. Seeing his companion made no reply, Malcolm seized the initiative.

‘If it is God’s will, you may yet meet Fitzurse in combat. In the meantime you must look to those areas of your life that you have neglected. You must get sons to carry on your line.’ The king eyed him with a level gaze. ‘Besides, you have in some sort become the maid’s protector already. Make it permanent.’

Nothing could have been more genial than his expression or his tone but Iain knew better than to think the words a suggestion only. His heart turned over as he saw the precipice looming. The king intended to be rid of the problem and with the least possible inconvenience to himself. Belatedly Iain realised he should have foreseen this and mentally cursed his own stupidity. Malcolm was nothing if not cunning.

‘You must take her to wife,’ he repeated. ‘It is the only logical step.’

‘My liege, I—’

‘You must take the girl in marriage and there’s an end.’ The words were quietly spoken but the tone was as inflexible as steel.

Iain took a deep breath and gave the only possible answer. He wished now that he’d kept his mouth shut and never mentioned the subject at all. This was a damnable complication, one he didn’t need or want. Nor did he imagine for an instant that Ashlynn would welcome it either. However, to disregard a royal command was out of the question. He had to get her consent. God knew it was going to take all his powers of persuasion. Then he reflected that once he had her safe at Glengarron there would be time to spare; time for them both to get used to the idea. Malcolm’s next words undeceived him.

‘Excellent. You shall wed the girl this day and I myself shall stand witness.’ He gave his companion a beaming smile. ‘Go, fetch the bride, and bring her to the kirk. Let the matter be settled once and for all.’

The interview was over. For a moment Iain was rooted to the spot before he recollected himself enough to make obeisance to the king and withdraw. Once outside the door he swore softly, needing that temporary vent for his feelings even though, just then, he wasn’t quite sure what they were.

* * *

Ashlynn stared at him, dumbfounded. He had to be joking. Yet nothing about his expression suggested that he was anything other than deadly serious. With that look came the first stirrings of unease. Mingled with it was another feeling she didn’t want to examine too closely.

‘Malcolm has no right to do this.’

‘He is the king, Ashlynn.’

‘Not my king. I owe him no obedience.’

‘But I do, and may not disregard a royal command.’

‘Then let the fault in this be mine, not yours.’

‘It’s no use, lass. Face the facts. Even if the king were to take you to Dunfermline it would be to place you in a position of lowly servitude. It would only be a matter of time before some swaggering young buck took you to his bed.’

‘I would not so demean myself.’

‘Do you really think you’d be given any choice?’

She swallowed hard, having the unpleasant suspicion that he was right. He read her silence correctly and nodded.

‘The only option left you now is marriage.’

An inexorable tide was sweeping her further and further out of her depth but Ashlynn fought the current anyway.

‘I will not let your king treat me like a chattel.’

‘We are in Scotland now. My king may do as he wills.’

It was the truth and she knew it though it did nothing to lessen her present consternation. Nominally at least marriage did afford an honourable alternative to her predicament, but it was also irrevocable. The idea had been bad enough when it involved an unattractive man. Now it was infinitely worse.

‘And what is your will in all of this?’ she asked then.

‘In this matter my will is the king’s.’

‘Damn your will and his too!’

She would have turned away but he prevented it, taking her shoulders in a firm grip.

‘You will bend to it, lass, I promise you.’ His gaze locked with hers. ‘You can do nothing else.’

That also was the unpalatable truth, a fact acknowledged in strained silence. Unable to bear that intense scrutiny she lowered her gaze. It was capitulation and they both knew it.