Having reached his room he took himself off to his bedchamber. He was in the process of undressing when he caught a faint sound from the next room. His brows drew together and he stepped closer to the connecting door, listening intently. The sound of sobbing was unmistakeable, great heart-wrenching sobs that pierced him to the core. For a moment he remained where he was, torn by indecision. His hand went to the handle, hovered briefly, then slowly withdrew. He retreated and, with a sigh, continued undressing.
For a long time after that he lay awake in the darkness, listening to the sounds from the other side of the door. He wanted to go to her and speak what words of comfort he could, but knew he must not. Not yet. This outpouring of grief was long overdue. In its shuddering sobs he heard all the fear and pain and loss that she had kept hidden behind the brave mask she showed to the world. He always knew it must erupt at some time, but he had not anticipated its depth and force. Nor could he ever have guessed how much it would grieve him to hear it.
* * *
Ashlynn woke late feeling heavy-headed, her eyelids swollen and pink-rimmed. Reluctantly she slipped from the bed and struggled into her clothes. Then she bathed her eyes in cold water. She had just finished when Morag appeared with a platter of food. She set it down on the table. Her glance went briefly to Ashlynn’s face and her expression registered concern.
‘Are you quite well, my lady?’
‘A slight headache,’ Ashlynn replied. ‘I slept ill last night.’
‘Can I fetch you anything?’
‘No, thank you. I shall be recovered soon enough.’
Morag seemed not entirely convinced but did not pursue it. When the servant had gone Ashlynn turned her attention to the food but, after a mouthful, abandoned the attempt. Her appetite had gone and everything tasted like ashes. Pushing it away she went to the hearth and stood for a time, staring down into the flames.
Eventually her attention was drawn by a knock on the door. She took a deep breath, mentally composing herself.
‘Come in.’
Iain opened the door and paused on the threshold. For a moment he surveyed her in silence, but if he noticed anything amiss he did not remark on it.
‘Good morrow, Ashlynn.’
She returned the greeting and waited, part of her wishing he would go and leave her alone and part curious as to why he was there. Then he stepped into the room.
‘I would like you to join me, lass. There is something I would show you.’
‘What is it?’
‘You’ll see.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse and he saw it.
‘Please,’ he said.
‘Is it a mystery then?’
‘If you come with me, all will be made clear.’
She hesitated another moment and then rose to join him. To her surprise he led her back to the staircase and down to the next floor. After following the passageway for a little space, he stopped outside one of the chambers. Ashlynn eyed him quizzically and waited, wondering what it meant. He vouchsafed no explanation but merely opened the door and stood back to let her enter.
The room was smaller than hers and even more sparsely furnished, but it was clean and warm with a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. On the far side an old woman was sitting at the edge of a bed. She looked up on hearing the visitors arrive and inclined her head in acknowledgement of their presence. Iain spoke a few words in Gaelic to which the woman responded briefly. However, Ashlynn paid no heed. Her attention had moved on to the bed which was occupied, apparently by one of the injured men who had been brought back to Dark Mount following the battle with the Normans. Then she became aware that her husband was speaking, and in English this time.
‘How is the patient today, Meg?’
‘A little better, my lord. Conscious anyway, though still very weak.’
Ashlynn looked from one to the other in puzzlement but Iain’s hand was under her elbow, drawing her further into the room. When they reached the bedside she looked down at the injured man lying there. He was very pale and his face was stubbled with many days’ growth of beard, the same tawny shade as the hair visible beneath the bandage. The eyes regarding her now were deep blue and staring as though they had seen an apparition. For a moment she stood transfixed and the colour drained from her face.
‘Ban?’
‘Ashlynn?’ The voice was weak but familiar for all that. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Ban!’ Then she was beside him, her trembling hands brushing his face, his breast, his hands. All were real and warm. ‘I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again in this world.’
‘I almost was dead. Fortunately the Normans thought so otherwise they’d have finished me off.’