Highland Captive. Hannah Howell

her mind to Rory and his ranting. Iain’s reaction to her words had told her how willingly he would accept such displays. She realized that she had never really given him any soft words, and had expected them from him with no promise of return. For five years she had given him little more than congenial indifference. She hoped it was not too late to change all that.

      “I am to judge from that exchange that ye willnae ride against the MacGuins?”

      “Nay, Rory, I willnae. If they have Leith and Aimil, I cannae risk their lives and, if they dinnae, I willnae attack without cause.”

      “And what do ye think is happening while ye sit and wait?” growled Rory. “We cannae guess what Leith may be suffering but I think we all ken how the Black Parlan will treat a comely female captive.”

      “If ye are concerned about the chastity of your bride, ye can be released from the betrothal, Rory,” Lachlan said, stiffening with anger.

      Grabbing his cloak and striding to the door, Rory snapped, “Nay, I willnae withdraw but, if she is a maiden no longer, someone will pay.”

      As soon as he had left, Jennet stumbled to her feet. “I hope the Black Parlan does take Aimil to his bed.”

      “Jennet!” her husband snapped in an attempt to halt her reckless words.

      “Nay, I will say it. From what I have heard said, the Black Parlan kens weel how to please a woman, something Rory Fergueson doesnae even care to do. If the Black Parlan has bedded Aimil, at least she will have had a taste of what could be between a man and a woman before she is consigned to a life of hell on earth.” Jennet hurried from the room, followed quickly by an apologetic James.

      Later, as Giorsal lay in her husband’s bed, trying not to giggle over his hesitation in undressing, she said, “I agree with Jennet.”

      “Aye?” Iain was far more concerned with why his wife had suddenly decided to share a chamber.

      “Aye. Rory will bring Aimil only pain.” She hid a grin at the cautious way he slid into bed, an expression that grew more difficult to hide when she snuggled up to him and he blushed. “There are some verra dark things said of the man. I have tried to speak to Father of them but he says he willnae listen to rumor. Mayhaps Rory will yet back out of the betrothal.”

      “’Tis possible. A man doesnae want to wed a woman dishonored.” He tentatively moved his hands over her well-rounded backside.

      “There is something in Rory Fergueson that frightens me. Aye, makes me shudder until my teeth click. T’was when I realized that poor Aimil would be wife to that man that I finally opened my eyes and looked at ye, Iain. I have been a cold, heartless shrew, the greatest of blind fools. Nay, I ken how I have been,” she cried when he murmured a protest and she pressed her face against his hairy chest. “I will make it up to you, Iain.”

      Over his repentent wife’s head, Iain grinned. He had no intention of telling her that he had no real complaint, had only occasionally wished for a little more fire in her and a return of the love he had always felt for her. As he put her new softness to a very practical use, he found the fire and new hope for the love he wanted. With her heart and mind free of regrets and self-pity, Giorsal responded to his lovemaking in a way that left them both dazed. As he fell asleep with a complacent smile upon his face, Iain wondered fleetingly if all the sisters held such passion. If they did, he doubted the Black Parlan would be in any rush to release Aimil.

      Parlan MacGuin yawned and rested his head comfortably upon the breasts of the small woman sprawled in sleep at his side. He hoped that what flared between them would not fade. It was much too good to lose. As sleep took him, he acknowledged to himself that he was also determined that Rory Fergueson would die before he ever touched Aimil.