The Laird's Captive Wife(53)

Chapter Eight

In the meantime, Ban was recovering well from his wounds and Ashlynn observed his physical progress with satisfaction. Of more concern was his state of mind. He never spoke of Heslingfield or what had occurred there but the events had inevitably cast their shadow over him. Although he had not entirely lost his former cheerful demeanour he was subject now to long periods of silent introspection. She had no need to ask what he was thinking about; the expression in his eyes was more eloquent.

Typically, he wanted to get back on his feet and left his sick bed at the first opportunity. Ashlynn went to visit him one morning to find him up and dressed.

‘Ban, what on earth are you about? You’re not strong enough yet.’

‘I cannot lie there any longer, Ash. It has been weeks.’

‘Three weeks. If you’re not careful you’ll tear those wounds open.’

‘‘Tis but the shoulder I need to favour for a while. The rest are almost healed.’

‘I’d say the one to your head has addled your brain.’

‘Not so, sister mine. You fuss over nothing.’

‘True enough, I suppose. A blow there could never do serious damage.’

Ban grinned. ‘If I were not wearing this sling I’d make you pay for that impertinence.’

‘I’m trembling at the narrowness of my escape.’

Suddenly she became aware that he was looking past her towards the doorway, and turned to see Iain there. To judge from his amused expression he had overheard much of their exchange. Ashlynn appealed to him now.

‘My lord, tell him he should not be abroad so soon.’

‘Alas, I fear my words would fall on deaf ears for I detect a strong streak of stubbornness in your family.’ He came into the room and surveyed Ban keenly. ‘Besides, I think lying abed has but a finite charm.’

‘You speak truth, my lord.’ Ban regarded his sister in triumph.

‘This is a conspiracy,’ she replied.

Iain smiled. ‘Not at all, though I fear you are outvoted on this occasion.’

‘All right. I know when I’m beaten.’ Ashlynn fixed Ban with a speaking look. ‘Just don’t do anything foolish for a while, I beg.’

‘You know me.’

‘Yes, quite.’

* * *

In fact Ban showed remarkably good sense for several days, taking things slowly at first and contenting himself with gentle exercise within doors. However, he, like Ashlynn, loved to be outside, and before too long proposed a turn about the courtyard for some fresh air. It was with some misgivings that she agreed to accompany him, but she knew that even if she refused he would go anyway.

When Iain had said her brother was stubborn it had been no more than the truth.

In fact, her worries were unfounded. Ban showed no signs of a relapse and, as the days passed, the fresh air restored his colour and his appetite. Gradually he increased the time he spent out there and when the men were practising with swords he would linger to watch and gradually, through her husband’s agency, was drawn into their conversation. Finding him interested and knowledgeable the men accepted his presence among them and Ashlynn, observing from the sidelines, was grateful for it. He needed their company and with it a chance to think about something other than the past.

‘Your brother looks much better,’ Iain observed, coming to join her one morning.

‘Yes, he does.’

‘He seems much more animated of late.’

‘Male companionship is proving beneficial. He has been shut up for too long with mine.’

‘I think no man would object too strenuously to that,’ he replied.

The words were casually spoken but the look that accompanied them was not. For many reasons it was disturbing, not least for its lingering warmth. Moreover, she could detect no sign of tension in his manner now; their former conversation might not have happened.

‘All the same fresh conversation is always welcome,’ she replied. ‘It is not good to be too long alone with sombre thoughts.’

‘No, it isn’t.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps you too might find new company stimulating.’

‘New company?’

‘Yule is almost upon us. It is the custom here to hold a feast.’

‘Yule,’ she murmured. ‘I had forgotten.’

Ordinarily she would have looked forward to it. This year she had been dreading it but since the destruction of Heslingfield it had become an irrelevance and she hadn’t given it a thought. It was as though her mind had deliberately blotted it out. Guessing at some of her thoughts Iain laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m thinking it will not be an easy time for you, lass, or for your brother either. Do you wish me to abandon the feast this year?’