The Laird's Captive Wife(32)

‘Better the devil you know, lass.’ His hand closed round her arm. ‘Come.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To the kirk.’

‘The kirk! Now?’

‘There’s no time like the present. Besides, the king is waiting.’

He drew her with him to the door. Ashlynn hung back, fighting panic. The hold tightened.

‘It’s no use, my sweet. There’s no escape now—for either of us.’





Chapter Five

The church was freezing and empty at this hour, save for the waiting priest and the figure beside him. Malcolm was a physically impressive man with the powerful build of the warrior. Ashlynn had an impression of brown hair and a weathered face with shrewd appraising eyes. She could imagine that in battle they would look without pity on the enemy. They took in every detail of her unorthodox appearance but gave no clue as to the thoughts it engendered. No doubt all the circumstances had been explained anyway. The priest, however, was regarding her with cold disfavour. Women were not welcome in churches here, never mind a woman so outrageously clad. If he said nothing it was due to the exalted nature of the company.

The king glanced towards him and nodded. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Ashlynn drew in a sharp breath. Then Iain’s hand pulled her on to her knees beside him. In that moment she knew only a desperate and irrational urge to flee. She knew it was irrational because there was nowhere to run. In any case half-a-dozen of Malcolm’s men stood by the door. Her fate had been decided. Tears and pleas would avail her nothing, even if pride had not forbidden their utterance. Through the chaos of her thoughts she was aware of the priest intoning the words of the marriage ceremony. The whole scene was like something from a bad dream, except it wasn’t a dream and she would not wake to find it all untrue.

As one in a daze she heard Iain repeat all the requisite words. And then it was her turn. When it came to the key question she hesitated, wanting to shout her defiance at the Scottish king, to say no, and to consign him and Iain McAlpin both to a place of great heat. The temptation was almost overwhelming. Almost. The silence drew out and grew louder. Though the man beside her didn’t move she sensed the sudden tension in every line of him as he waited. Ashlynn swallowed hard, then made her answer, hearing the softly exhaled breath when she uttered the words.

Why had she? Certainly not from fear of his king, though she could hardly have forgotten the power of the silent royal presence just behind them, but rather what Iain had said before: ‘Better the devil you know.’ The choice was stark: take him or accept a fate that would likely be much worse. No choice at all. She knew it and so did he. Yet there was more to it than that, as she now admitted. What she resented here was the method not the man. Toward him what she felt was not indifference and she could no longer pretend to herself that it was, and that made everything so much more complicated.

Since there had been no time to provide a ring Iain improvised with the one he wore on his thumb. It was ludicrously big but served its turn. When the words were all spoken and the ring on her finger he kissed her, a gentle kiss on the mouth which burned none the less and set her pulse racing. Understated and subtle it was underlain with a deeper promise whose implications quickened every fibre of her being.

Then the king moved forward to offer his congratulations, bowing over her hand. Ashlynn lowered her eyes, her face an expressionless mask. Malcolm regarded her keenly for a moment and then looked at Iain.

‘You spoke true, Glengarron. Your lady is most fair. Guard her well.’

‘I intend to, my liege.’

Iain took her hand then and raised it to his lips. For an instant their eyes met but, as so often, his face gave little away. Did he share the resentment she felt? This marriage had been forced upon him too. Given the choice he would never have entered into this bargain. From the outset he had regarded her as an encumbrance. What possible argument could have persuaded him to agree to this? She lowered her gaze quickly, this time to hide her confusion. Then she handed him back the thumb ring.

‘For safe keeping,’ she said. ‘It would be too easily lost.’

He returned her a wry smile and slipped it back on his hand. ‘I promise you a proper wedding ring, lass, as soon as occasion permits.’

They went out to the horses and Iain took leave of his king. As the royal party rode away, he turned back to Ashlynn.

‘Come, my wife.’

The use of that title and all it implied sent another wave of heat the length of her body. Not so long ago the notion of a forced match with Burford had filled her with anger and abhorrence. Now a very different husband claimed her. Soon enough he would take her to his bed and make his possession complete. Powerlessness kept her anger very much alive. Yet in the entire chaotic pantheon of emotions at that moment, abhorrence was conspicuously absent. With an effort she kept her voice level. ‘Where are we going?’