The Laird's Captive Wife by Joanna Fulford Page A

answer. Taking a deep breath she nodded.
    ‘Very well.’
    ‘So be it,’ he replied. ‘Of course, the king may refuse.’
    ‘And if he does?’
    ‘Then you’ll come with us to Glengarron.’
    ‘Oh.’ It was a lame response and she knew it, but could think of no words that would have described her feeling just then. If Iain took her to Glengarron it could have only one ultimate outcome. To suppose anything else was naïve in the extreme. To think she had once regarded marriage as a problem!
    Misinterpreting that reply entirely, he frowned. ‘Whatever is meant to be will be, lass, whether you want it to happen or not.’
    * * *
    They left for the rendezvous at dawn accompanied by an escort of six men. The cold was biting and grey mist curled in wreaths above the fields. Every branch and blade of grass was furred with hoar frost. Ashlynn did not ask where they were going; that would become clear soon enough. She had slept ill the previous night, her mind in turmoil, no longer certain of anything. Once or twice she glanced at the man beside her but his expression revealed nothing of his thought. Was he hoping that the king might grant her wish and take her to Dunfermline? Hoping that he might be rid of her for good? When she considered the trouble she had caused him already it would hardly be surprising. Once she would not have cared two straws for his opinion. Now, the thought of his disapproval was strangely discomforting.
    The journey was short, little more than a mile, and ended outside a house hard by a small stone church. Half-a-dozen horses were tethered nearby, guarded by two armed men. Iain greeted the latter briefly, receiving a like greeting in return, and dismounted. Ashlynn followed suit. They went together into the house where a servant showed them into a small, sparsely furnished chamber. It was clean however, and a cheerful fire burned in the hearth. For a moment neither one said anything. As usual Iain’s expression was unreadable.
    ‘Wait for me here, lass.’
    With that he left, closing the door after him. Ashlynn crossed the room and put her ear to the wood, listening intently. She heard a few murmured words beyond and knew then that there was a guard outside. The windows were high and barred with iron. Clearly she wasn’t going anywhere. He fully intended that his parting instruction should be kept. An unnecessary precaution as she had no wish to leave just then anyway. She sighed and turned away to warm herself by the fire, trying to ignore the knot of apprehension in her stomach and wishing she could hear the conversation taking place elsewhere.
    * * *
    Malcolm listened carefully while Iain delivered his report on the military situation in England. As ever it was clear and precise. Moreover, it favoured his plans entirely.
    ‘This falls out better than I had hoped.’
    ‘William’s forces are divided in dealing with several different rebellions, my liege; not only in Northumbria but also along the Welsh Marches and in the east, in the Fen country.’
    ‘Then he’ll be too busy to deal with Scottish incursions across the border,’ Malcolm replied. Clapping his companion on the shoulder he poured two cups of whisky from the jug on the table. ‘Let us drink to his confusion.’
    Recalling the destruction he had witnessed on his journey north, Iain nodded. ‘Right gladly.’
    When the toast was drunk they fell into companionable silence. Iain gathered himself to broach the next subject. The king eyed his companion shrewdly.
    ‘There is something else on your mind, I think.’
    ‘Your Majesty reads my thoughts.’
    ‘We’ve known each other a long time you and I. We’ve hunted and caroused together and fought side by side in battle. You have watched my back and risked your life to save mine, my friend. So, if it pleases you, will you not tell me?’
    Iain explained then about Ashlynn, or at least related the essential facts. Malcolm listened with close attention, his penetrating gaze