Stolen Vows (38 page)

“If that’s want ye want,” Ian grunted. 

Isla smiled at him and nodded.  “It is.  I -” she began, but was interrupted when the chamber door opened and Roan walked in.  He stopped, on finding that his private rooms had been invaded by Camerons, and cast an inquiring glance at his wife.  She smiled weakly but didn’t actually say anything.

“Come to see what we’ve decided to do with ye, Ian?” Roan asked cryptically.  He stole a piece of toast off his wife’s breakfast tray and then ambled into his study in search of something.

“What did he mean by that?  Ian?” Isla hissed, she’d gone a little pale, but was surprised to that her brother’s face was flushed red with anger.

“There’s been talk of him - um -” Donaid cleared his throat delicately, “- having to marry the girl he took a tumble with.”

“Tis nae like she was a pristine virgin!” Ian snarled.

“
That
is nae the point,” Roan said amiably, returning with a book in his hand.  He flicked through it, looking for something.  “I pity
yer
maid,” he murmured absently. 

Isla was not surprised by the amused smirk curving her husband’s lips, but she
was
surprised but the dark flush that tinged her brother’s cheeks.

“I’ve never touched Gara - er -
my maid
,” he grumbled sulkily.

“A fact for which I’m sure she’s most grateful,” Roan said charmingly. 

Ian looked ready to pummel his brother-in-law, despite the enlightening new truths he’d recently learned about the other man.  Isla quickly spoke before things could get physical.

“Roan, yer nae really going to make Ian marry Liane, are ye?” she asked hesitantly. 

She liked Liane. Although she doubted the girl had put up much resistance to Ian’s charms, and felt bad that Ian had taken advantage of her, she wasn’t sure that she was comfortable with having a maid as her sister-in-law.   Her husband glanced over at her.  He looked annoyed that his fun had been spoiled.

“Nae, yer safe for now, Ian,” Roan confessed.  “Ross, one of my Captains, kens a farmer, who was widowed a year or two ago and has a house full of children.  He’s taken Liane out to meet him to see if they suit.”

“And if they dinna suit?” Isla frowned.

“They will,” Roan replied bluntly.  “I’m going to back and sit with the Laird,” he sighed, suddenly grave and weary again.

“Oh - I’ll walk down with ye,” Isla said quickly, hurrying over to her husband’s side.  “I wanted to go down to the hall and see what I can do to help.  Ian, Donaid -” Isla snapped her fingers in their direction.  “I’m sure there must be something ye two can do to help?”

“Keep out of the way?” Ian muttered, for which Donaid punched his arm, hard.

“We’ll help in any way ye think we can, cousin,” the tanist said calmly.

“Come along then, I’m sure there must be something,” Isla commanded, taking her husband’s arm, and trying not to notice that he was biting his lip to keep from laughing.

“What?” she frowned up at him, but he refused to say. 

They walked in silence for a little way, Ian and Donaid trailing politely in their wake, before Isla mustered the courage to ask how Graem was fairing.

“Much the same,” Roan sighed.  “He wanted me to get this book to read to him,” he smiled said, indicating to the heavy tome that he held under his arm.  “He does nae seem to be getting any worse, he just - he does nae seem to be getting any better.”

“Tis early days yet,” Isla said soothingly, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.

“I - I’m nae ready for him to die yet, Isla,” Roan blurted unexpectedly, taking his wife completely by surprise.  Roan was never uncertain, never unsure of himself.  “I’m nae ready to be Laird,” he groaned.

“Tis nae true,” she said quietly, but confidently.  “When the time comes, ye’ll be ready.  I
ken
you Roan, and I ken that ye’ll rise to meet whatever challenge is set in front of ye.”

“Tis very kind of ye to say,” he muttered, stopping where their ways parted.

“Tis the truth!” Isla said sharply.  “And dinna ye -”

But she didn’t get to finish, because suddenly he was kissing her, in the middle of a public corridor, in front of her overly protective brother (who Isla suspected was being restrained by her slightly less overly protective cousin) – and she completely forgot what she had meant to tell him.

..ooOOoo…

Things at Erchlochy Castle gradually began to calm down over the next week.  The clan lost five people on the second day after the poisoning, three on the third, just one on the forth, and then none the day after that, so everyone began hoping that the worse had passed.  The unfortunate men and women who were still ill were slowly improving, by the fifth day no one seemed to be getting any worse, and once the week had passed, everyone was approaching full fitness again.

There was just one anomaly however, Graem.

The Laird showed no signs of recovering.  Roan spent as much time as he was able with the old man, but the duties of guiding the clan now rested entirely on his shoulders.  He delegated tasks when he was able, but everyone was looking to him for guidance and instructions. 

He was grateful for Isla.  He was certain that his wife was all that was keeping him sane.  Roan’s lips twitched upwards. A smile was rarely seen on his face of late, but the warm and growing intimacy that he shared with his wife made life bearable, even as the rest of his world hung in uncomfortable limbo.

Tavish was held in the dungeons.  He should have been dealt with immediately, but MacRae customs required the Laird to preside over a trial and the MacRae’s no longer had an active Laird.  Roan acknowledged that it was cruel to keep Tavish waiting when everyone knew what his fate would be, but he couldn’t quite manage to pity the man who had hurt so many people that Roan loved.

“I was getting worried about ye.”

Roan looked up as he walked into his room. He had been with the Laird for hours, but Sorcha had sent him packing, saying that he looked ready to keel over himself.  His sisters nursed the Laird around the clock.  One of them was always with him.  Roan supposed that they felt the same as him - that Graem had been their surrogate father. 

In a way, Roan felt like he was losing both of his parents. Roan hadn’t spoken to his mother since their argument, but the encounter weighed on his mind. Lady MacRae seemed determined to reject her daughter-in-law. Her attitude would have been intolerable enough if he and his wife were merely a common members of the clan, but Roan was the tanist. Someday – he feared sooner, rather than later – he could be Laird. The Lady of the castle could not suffer such disrespect. If Roan’s mother refused to be cordial, he would be forced to send her away.

Roan made a note to speak with Eithne as soon as he was able. For the time being, he tried to push his worries away and force a smile for the sake of his wife.  Isla had been sleeping, but she began to stir as soon as he walked into the room.

“Did I wake ye?  I’m sorry,” he murmured slowly, crossing the candlelit room to where his wife was lying snuggled in bed already.

“I was just dozing,” Isla shrugged.  “Ye ken I canna sleep properly without ye here.”

Roan chuckled and stripped off his clothes.  “Poor lass,” he whispered, crawling into bed beside his wife.

“I miss ye,” she whispered in reply, “I ken I should nae, and that yer busy with more important things, but -”

“Tis naught more important than ye,” he rasped, claiming her lips, kissing her deeply. 

She loved that she was the only one to see him like this, loved that the strong public man who led the clan so naturally came home to her bed every night, and found private comfort in her arms.  Isla thrilled at his power, it was dizzying, and yet somehow such a part of the man she loved that she knew he would never lose it.

..ooOOOo..

Sometime after midnight, Roan awoke with a start. At first he didn’t know what had disturbed him, but then he heard it - an insistent tapping on the door.  His heart clenched in his chest.  If someone needed him at this hour of the night then it could only mean one thing. 

Roan hurried out of bed and fumbled in the dark for his clothes. He quickly pulled a shirt over his head as he stumbled to the door and wrenched it open.  Captain Ross was standing on the other side.  His face was grave.

“Is he -” Roan somehow managed to force the words out, but the captain interrupted before he was finished.

“We think twill be soon.  He’s asking for ye.”

Roan nodded dumbly.  He wasted a second, pulling on his boots, relieved that his wife was too sound asleep to stir.  He didn’t want her to see him like this.  His hands trembled.  He didn’t want
anyone
to see him like this.

“Sir?” Ross prompted.

“I’m coming,” Roan said gruffly, walking swiftly after Ross.  He tried to prepare himself for what was coming, as they hurried through the dark castle corridors, but it seemed somehow impossible to properly brace oneself for the death of a friend - for the death of a man who was almost a father.

Bridghe and Sorcha were both already there when Roan arrived at Graem’s chambers.  They looked tired and tearful, and both clung to their brother for an impromptu hug before Roan realized that his mother was also there.  She looked at her son, but the hard set of her face didn’t falter.

“He’s been waiting for ye,” she said stiffly, nodding towards the doors of the Laird’s bedroom.  “Go to him.”

He went, hardly knowing how he put one foot in front of the other.  The room on the other side of the doors was dark, there was only a dim candle lit, so it took Roan’s eyes a moment to adjust.  The doctor was stationed in the corner, with the grave look of a man who had done everything that he could, while Graem lay still in the center of the bed, just a ghost of the strong, vibrant man Roan remembered from his childhood.

“Sir?” he croaked, cleared his throat and repeated the address.

Graem eyes opened slowly, the shadow of a smile touched his lips.  “Roan.  I hoped that ye would come in time.”  The tanist swallowed hard and sat down in the chair beside the Laird’s bed.  “I am sorry to put ye all through this,” Graem sighed weakly.  “But twill nae last much longer.” 

Roan opened his mouth, but he had no idea what he was going to say.  However, the Laird continued to speak.

“I am nae afraid to die ye ken.  I shall see Maisie again after all.”  Graem paused and smiled sadly.  “And ye must nae be afraid to let me go, Roan.  I ken what yer facing, but yer nae facing it alone.  Ye have yer wife.  Soon, nae doubt, ye’ll have sons of yer own.”  He paused again to catch his breath.  “If Maisie and I had ever been blessed with a child, we always said that we could have done nae better than to have a wee lad just like ye.”

Roan blinked hard.  “Thank ye, sir,” he croaked.  “I - I should have been honored to have ye as a father, in - in many ways tis how I’ve always thought of ye,” he confessed hoarsely, which brought a smile to the old man’s tired face.

“Thank ye for that, Roan,” he wheezed, reaching for the young man’s hand.  “The clan will look to ye, and ye’ll lead them well.  I have naught left to worry about,” Graem sighed, his voice fading with every word.

“I will do the best I can by them,” Roan vowed.  “I will lead them just as ye taught me.”

“Good lad,” Graem sighed.  “Ye do what ye think best.  Ye… always had… impeccable judgment.”

“Well, I dinna ken about that,” Roan tried to smile.

“Tis very dark in here,” Graem said suddenly.  “Have the candles all burnt out?”

Roan looked over at the doctor.  The room was dimly lit, but it wasn’t any darker than when he’d arrived.  His stomach clenched in dread.  “Aye,” he said carefully.  “Twill be light soon,” he whispered, holding the old man’s hand a fraction tighter, as if he could keep him in the realm of the living just a little longer by doing so.