Alright, here is the next chapter. Thank you for your patience. I know it took some time but I can’t explain how difficult it was getting back into the skin of Iain. I wrote and rewrote this chapter more than three times. I also had to read all my notes on Iain and the entire novel myself in one sitting before I was confident enough to tackle him again. I hope you don’t think I am making excuses but it isn’t easy getting back to a character as complex as Iain and doing it convincingly. It took a lot of energy and I had to really work past the frustration and stretch myself more than I have done before in this entire book. I was almost afraid I had lost the knack once again.
So please do read and give me your feedback, as always tell me what you think. And don’t hold backJ
CHAPTER 31
THE BLACK WOLF RETURNS!
'Twas a fine day Iain thought as his horse rode over the crest of the final hill, trampling the grass underneath its broad hooves. The sun was out, the breeze was warm and his land stretched out before him in glorious welcome, a sight for sore eyes.
An audible sigh of relief pervaded the rest of warriors too as they followed him down the incline towards the village. They were too disciplined to cheer or even talk much for that matter, but Iain could sense their jubilation.
After all, the happiness they were feeling was warranted, in a mere week they had thwarted their enemies and taught them a valuable lesson in the bargain, never to cross the McLaughlin’s.
Iain suppressed a grunt of disgust when he thought of the McArdle’s and how quickly they had capitulated.
A week ago he had ventured towards their Holding primed for battle, licking his chops at the prospect; he had been rearing for a fight. But the curs had taken one look at the McLaughlin warriors and given in without putting up even token resistance. No wonder the English were winning on so many fronts, Iain thought, Highlanders today had lost their stomach for a good battle, a sad fate indeed.
He had stayed there along with his men, camped outside the Holding day upon day, sending in one emissary after the other, demanding everything under the Sun, from scores of cattle to water rights, things which he had thought the McArdle’s would never surrender but their cowardly old goat of a laird Bearach had accepted each and every term no matter how impossible.
In the end it had become a futile effort, the McArdle’s were too frightened to be goaded into putting up a fight.
In mounting annoyance Iain had even resorted to sending Brodick back to the keep with forty head of cattle, right in front of the McArdle’s, an open insult, but they hadn’t responded, just stood quietly by watching a single man disappear with their animals, not once did they raise a whisper, much less anything else.
Iain has finally given up then, he had had little choice but to leave, victorious yet frustrated.
He would have enjoyed putting the rivalry to rest once and for all.
The McArdle’s were like vultures, the only reason they had been audacious enough to mount a challenge in the first place was because they had thought the black wolf wouldn’t be coming back from the tourney alive.
They had been testing the waters so to say, like the rabid gluttons they were. It had backfired off course but that still didn’t lessen the impact of their disgraceful actions in Iain’s eyes.
Being an honourable man himself Iain couldn’t fathom, let alone forgive such behaviour. In his mind only a coward could ever contemplate attacking a keep when no one was there to protect it, and even though the McArdle’s hadn’t succeeded in their nefarious designs their intent had been deadly. They would have shown his people no mercy, slitting the throat of every McLaughlin man, woman and child in a trice if he hadn’t come back from England.
That is why he had come down so hard on them, even though he had known a dozen men would have sufficed in sending them running for the hills he had still shown them his full might. It was a message he wanted to convey to them and anyone else foolish enough to ever dare contemplate such a foolhardy endeavour again, a very clear message. One they wouldn’t soon forget.
Unfortunately for him though he was still helpless to prevent his blood from boiling anew every time he thought of their back stabbing ways, maybe he should have charged into the McArdle holding regardless of their non existent will to fight him Iain thought vengefully. But he quickly discarded that thought, no, he had made the right decision, senseless violence was never the answer.
The McArdle’s had been dealt a humiliating defeat and no blood had been spilled in the process, ‘twas the best kind of victory. And Iain knew he had to be satisfied with that, even if he would have preferred some gratification.
But the closer he got to the village, the more difficult it became to focus on the McArdle’s or their treacherous nature.
His mind kept flashing with an image of a Goddess draped enticingly atop his bed, her pale skin glistening against the backdrop of the dark brown fur cushioning her lush naked form, one soft hand curled innocently underneath a rosy cheek as tendrils of flaming crimson framed a face almost too perfect to be real, billowing like a cloud about a body that was made for a mans touch, His touch he amended possessively.
That was the last time he had seen Sarah, a week ago. That one erotic image of her had branded itself on his mind as he had been preparing to leave, fighting against the urge to jump right back into bed beside her. And it had proven impossible to dislodge ever since, as Iain had subsequently learned much to his expense.
Even in the midst of his towering rage at the McArdle’s, even when he was camped outside their rotten Holding seething with frustration, that one single image would ignite in his head like a flash of lightening in a black sky and drive every other thought from his mind.
That it was also responsible for his foul temper and the scowl on his face made him uneasy.
Iain knew his men had been steering well clear off him for the past several days; he had been barking orders at them like a maniac and snapping at them at the slightest provocation, and the poor lot of them were not accustomed to displays of temper from their usually stoic leader.
‘Twas probably his dark mood which had scared the McArdle’s too Iain thought since his own men scurried away from him like whipped dogs most of the time. Hell, apart from Angus and Quinlan no one else had dared to address him in days now fearing an angry backlash.
Iain wondered what they would think if they knew what was really on his mind. That most of his anger and frustration stemmed not from his outrage at the McArdle’s but from heated thoughts of a crimson haired enchantress who had lodged herself right under his skin.
The memories from that one single night of passion he had shared with Sarah were still vivid enough to make his pulse quicken and his blood warm. Her voice, her laughter, the feel of her satin skin, her scent, they were with him no matter where he was or how hard he tried to forget them. And he didn’t like that, not one bit.
He hadn’t woken her up that morning when he left and to this day Iain wasn’t really sure why, though he had worked hard at convincing him self it was because he had wanted her to have her rest. That he shouldn’t disturb her because she was tired, or angry with him, or both. But deep inside he knew it was none of those things, nor was it the fact that he hadn’t slept a wink after their little altercation.
He still found it hard to understand why her remark had stung. After all he had heard much worse in his lifetime without blinking an eyelid.
Sarah had a biting tongue, perversely ‘twas one of the things he liked about her, so why then had her pointed words hit a nerve and quelled the overwhelming ardour he had been feeling at the time?
Iain had puzzled for days over the question. And the conclusion he had come to was not one he liked very much.
Her words had angered him because he had let them anger him, as if he had needed them to squash any budding tenderness their lovemaking had evoked. Iain wasn’t used to introspection and before meeting Sarah he hadn’t done much of it, ‘twas a novel experience and a damn tiresome pursuit which had been solely responsible for giving him quite a few raging headaches over the past few days.
In all honesty he was far angrier with himself than he was with her. He was angry because he hadn’t even realised that he still retained any semblance of vulnerability.
He was loathe to admit it but that night, staring into her eyes, he had forgotten for just an instant who and what he was. He had been a hairsbreadth away from revealing the man behind the mask, the man who......Iain shook his head, forcing his mind away from that particular line of thought, ‘Twas best not to venture into those troubled waters.
But his errant thoughts seemed to have a mind of their own; they turned unbidden towards another topic which he found equally hard to stomach.
For some unfathomable reason he had been thinking about his past far too much lately to suit him, and today wasn’t an exception.
It was as if Sarah had cast some kind of witch’s spell on him, one which was forcing him to reassess and re-examine his life. Iain resented her for it, almost as much as he despised himself for letting the past back into his life.
He had assumed his childhood had effectively knocked out any feelings he still retained. Between hazy memories of a mother he had never really known to a father whose drunken rampages and vitriolic tirades often veered towards vicious beatings, Iain had spent his formative years in a state of perpetual fear. Though he had never let it show, not to his bullying father, nor Hugh nor any of his clansmen.
Even then as a young boy, bruised and battered, he had refused to let any one else see his distress or his pain. Sometimes Iain thought it was that indifferent attitude, that cold reserve, which had goaded his father into taking out his frustrations on him by meting out the worst punishments imaginable. It was as if the man had wanted to break him, to watch him crack, but Iain had never given him the satisfaction. He had endured years of physical violence and emotional abuse silently, and it had enabled him to build a shell around himself that had proven impenetrable over all these years.
His past brought with it bleak memories of a lonely little boy too weak and helpless to protect himself. Too ashamed to raise his voice or fight back because somewhere in the back of his mind he had blamed himself for not being able to pull his father out of the mad haze that had enveloped him. In the end he had been unable to protect his own father and Iain had carried a heavy burden of guilt for that failing, though he hadn’t realised that until a long time afterward. It shamed him even now as a man, which was why Iain hadn’t ever dwelled much on his past before, choosing instead to forget about it.
His nightmarish childhood or lack thereof was the reason he had spent his life in an endless pursuit of strength.
His father had often yelled that the powerful in the world were the ones who held control and for some reason, either consciously or unconsciously those words had stuck in his head.
“Power” and “Control”, aye, those were the things that had nurtured him, sustained him, forged him into the man he was today.
And Iain held onto them rigidly as his horse finally rode beyond the boundary wall into the village.
Iain wasn’t quite sure how he would approach Sarah at this point, but he had come to a few important decisions. There was no way in hell he could let her see the chink in his armour when it came to her. It was getting more and more difficult to hang onto his old theory, but he was still adamant in maintaining even to himself that all he felt for her was lust. Even though the assertion rang hollow now Iain couldn’t afford to let it be anything more than that. Especially since he was the only one who knew exactly why his father had been the way he was, a truth no one else was aware of.
Losing his wife had nigh on destroyed the man; Iain had watched him descend into a downward spiral of despair from which there had been no escape. No one else had seen him weep for the wife he had lost, for the life they had shared. Night after night he had drowned himself in drink, alternating between howling misery and rage, screaming about the injustice of it all and when it got too much for him, when he couldn’t take it anymore, that is when he would seek out his young son.
His fathers vengeful fists had taught Iain a very valuable lesson, never to let love invade his heart. It had turned old Donald into a shell of a man, and Iain had promised himself he wouldn’t follow that destructive path.
That is why it was imperative he take control of the situation now, before things got even more complicated. He could not allow Sarah to have such a hold on him, ‘Twould undermine everything he had worked for. He couldn’t let her weed her way into his every waking thought, ‘twas unacceptable.
The consequences could be disastrous.
With that dire thought ringing in his head Iain finally decided to let the matter rest. Sarah was his wife now and there was nothing he could do about that now, but he could not allow her to become anything more.
Iain held firmly onto the resolution and rode to the stables.
There wasn’t anyone about the place but Iain didn’t find that particularly surprising, it was close to noon and he assumed the men were off working. He ordered Angus and a few of the men to stay behind and feed the exhausted horses, and headed out with Quinlan and the rest of the warriors towards the keep.
Iain was glad to be home, a whisper of a smile worked its way across his mouth as he looked about the village he had built from the ground up. It wavered slightly however when he noticed something strange.
Iain could tell the men were equally puzzled as well, for there was no one about.
The well, usually the centre point of village activity, lay abandoned. Most days it was flanked by scores of women chatting and gossiping about God only knew what. The huts were devoid of activity as well, there were no women squatting in the open doorways preparing the meals, or wringing the day’s washing, no children running around heedless of everyone else.
Nothing but silence greeted him.
Where were they all? Iain wondered perplexed. Ordinarily the villagers would have been flanking the dirt path all the way up to the keep, cheering the returning warriors, as they had when he had brought Sarah here. He was used to the sight in fact. For some reason no one had appeared yet. For a moment he wondered if Brodick had even made it back to the village. Perhaps the McArdle’s had waylaid him or worse, Iain felt his blood boil at the unwelcome thought.
He quickened his pace and rushed up the hill towards the keep followed by his warriors. He kept expecting to see someone pop out of one of the huts but no one did. ‘Twas as if they had all disappeared. Iain couldn’t quell the frission of alarm that snaked up his spine.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long for him to locate his missing clan. Of all the sights he had expected to see, the one that greeted him when he walked onto the crowded bailey was the most incongruous.
Every single McLaughlin woman, man and child was running about the bailey, the front door of his keep was wide open and swarming with women as they rushed in and out, some carrying things others just laughing and talking. Iain had no idea why they were all here, when the women seldom laid foot any where near the place.
The more baffling thing for him however was to see some of the men he had left behind to guard the village there as well, instead of tending the fields or grazing the animals as they should have been doing.
Iain spotted a sheepish looking Brodick with an armful of fabric, desperately holding onto the fluttering mass with Megan chattering at his side, Douglas was hammering away at what looked like a chair, while Alain, Morag’s husband, the oldest and sternest man he knew, the one he had left behind on purpose to keep watch over the others because Alain was sure to impose strict discipline in his absence, was crouched on the steps arranging flowers in a pot, the sour faced old warrior was even smiling, ‘Twas the most unlikely sight, not to mention ridiculous.
Morag meanwhile stood off to one side, shouting shrill orders like a general, hurrying the others along.
Iain was incredulous; He had made his way up an empty village wondering where the hell all his people were and had ended up finding them running in and out of his keep and rushing about the bailey as if they had the very devil at their heels, it was not a situation he knew how to deal with since he had never faced it before.
He didn’t have long to think about the problem however.
Morag was the first to spot him. Her booming voice squeaked mid-order before dying away altogether. The others didn’t take long to follow suit. All conversation ceased as a hundred guilty eyes trained on their leader.
There was a long, awkward pause, no one said a word.
Every woman in the bailey looked like she had seen a ghost while Alain looked back at him red-faced, just like a child who had been caught with his hand in the honey pot.
Iain noticed Brodick and Douglas discreetly put away whatever they were doing and try to slink away, but it was too late, one look from him was enough to stop them in their tracks.
“Welcome home Iain. I am glad to see you in one piece.”
Iain hadn’t even noticed Hugh in the crowd. He had been too busy staring stupefied at Alain bent lovingly over a damn pot of flowers.
He heard him now though, as he turned his attention to the old man walking towards him with a big welcoming grin on his bearded face.
A belated cheer rose up in the air; the women were crafty enough to avail the opportunity and follow Hugh’s lead while their laird’s attention was focused elsewhere.
They rushed over and bowed to Iain, welcoming him back in hushed tones, their faces wreathed in smiles, and then they scurried out of the line of fire before Iain could say a word. Not that he knew what to say, as he watched them greet their men.
The air buzzed with excitement, as hugs and kisses were exchanged. The awkwardness forgotten as everyone focused on the triumphant homecoming.
It happened too quickly for Iain to react, though he wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the whole thing any way, not yet that is.
Displeasure and curiosity fought a strange battle in his head and curiosity won out, just barely.
“What is going on here?”
“I don’t know what you mean lad,”
A single raised brow from Iain was enough to make Hugh clear his throat and abandon the innocent act.
“hmm.....well you are a little early.” Hugh said, “We were not expecting you until later.”
His second eyebrow joined its mate high up on Iain’s forehead. Too early! Iain thought and here he was thinking he would have been greeted by a bloody welcoming party.
Hugh was looking guilty, and he wasn’t looking him in the eye, not a good sign Iain decided. Iain was just about to open his mouth when Hugh spoke again, forestalling him.
“You see lad,” he said, thinking of how best to break the news to Iain. He felt like a fish out of water, and though he was guilty of encouraging Sarah in every hair brained plan, he couldn’t quite quell a chill of foreboding clamp around his gut as he tried to avoid looking into Iain’s stormy grey eyes. The boy was angry alright, and even though Hugh was often least affected by Iain’s black scowl he was not immune. “We have been preparing for a.....party....” Hugh stammered, “in your honour.”
Iain had no idea what to make of that. He felt his temper rising, looking about the bailey didn’t exactly cool it. A closer look revealed rows of potted flowers lying against the walls of his keep, Alain’s handiwork no doubt, the swinging front door was emblazoned with fluttering red fabric, while the windows were framed by elaborate new shutters. And were those rushes he saw peeking at him from beyond the open door of his keep, Iain hoped to God they were not.
For a man who had resolved not twenty minutes ago to live his life exactly as it had been, the chaos evident around him was not a welcome sign, he brought his mind back to what Hugh had told him with some effort,
“What the hell is a party?” Iain bellowed, making the women around him jump with fright, they quickly pulled their men away from the laird, leaving the explanations entirely up to Hugh.
Hugh noticed, “No need to work yourself into a lather. ‘Tis only a few minor changes, Sarah thought.....”
“Sarah,” Iain barked, “so she is behind all of this!”
Hugh almost groaned, he had wanted to keep the lass out of it for a bit, but it looked like that wasn’t going to work. The boy was spitting mad and there was nothing Hugh could do about it. He was just glad Sarah wasn’t around, he wasn’t sure she could handle Iain at his worst.
He was a fearsome sight to behold, his face and corded arms caked with the remnants of war paint, plaid muddied from the elements, and eyes blazing with fury. Even Hugh had to catch his breath.
“Now lad, she was only trying to make you happy. She just wanted to make some.....uhmmm...cosmetic....changes to make the place look more chic and contemporary....”
Iain stared at Hugh as if he had grown two heads. He wondered if senility had finally set in. What the bloody hell was the man babbling about? Cosmetic, chic, contempo, his ire rose when he realised he couldn’t pronounce the last word Hugh had said, what the hell did the words even mean. It made his head spin.
Iain took a deep breath and decided to start again, he wanted to grab Hugh and shake him until his teeth rattled but that would not get him any answers, he had to somehow control his anger and bring this crazed discussion to an end.
“I am going to ask you one more time,” Iain said evenly, “and I want a straight answer this time Hugh. In language I can bloody well understand. What the hell is going on here!” his voice did rise an octave at the end of that, but Iain was satisfied with the patience he was displaying under the circumstances.
Hugh looked chagrined, “Well how should I know what them words mean. I am just repeating what I was told.”
“By whom?”
Hugh starting hedging again, “Well as to that....I think ‘twould be best if you.....”
“Twas Sarah wasn’t it?”
Hugh wasn’t given the opportunity to respond, Iain bellowed before he could even open his mouth.
“God’s teeth man! I thought I left her in your care.”
“And I took good care of her.” Hugh responded affronted.
“Really?” Iain sneered, disbelief mirrored in his narrowed eyes, “I thought I told you to keep her out of trouble.”
“Keeping her out of trouble is your job lad. You are her husband not me.” Hugh countered calmly, “I am her friend.”
“Damn it Hugh, you could have stopped her from doing all this. You had authority here in my absence.”
“As I said I am only her friend,” Hugh persisted, “How was I to disappoint her when she asked me for something. She is mistress here, and she was doing all this to please you, even though you left her here all alone to fend for herself a day after you brought her here.”
The accusation went right to the bone. Iain felt a twinge of guilt for the way he had abandoned Sarah. But he quickly suppressed it in the interests of husbandly outrage. She had most definitely overstepped herself, and the unbelievable thing was that Hugh had actually helped her. And he didn’t look in the least bit repentant. The annoying old gnat was even trying to make him feel guilty.
Iain noticed Hugh’s lips twitch; he had to fight to prevent himself from punching the man.
Iain looked away lest he did exactly that.
The Bailey was less crowded now. Most of the warriors had left with their women. Iain spotted Anna and Megan carrying the bales of fabric Brodick had dropped on the stairs back into his keep and his temper rose to the fore.
“Is that the fabric we brought back from Bromwick?”
“Aye.” Hugh answered, looking over his shoulder, “It seems it is.”
Iain prayed for patience, “What is it doing outside? I thought I told you ‘twas earmarked for barter,”
“Well it was bartered.” Hugh said quickly,
“with whom!”
“Now Iain, I can see you are getting worked up again lad. Wouldn’t you like to go to the loch and cool off? We can have this conversation after you come back.”
“Not on your life Hugh,” Iain said softly, in that menacing voice of his that made the hairs on the back of Hugh’s neck stand upright. Iain was at his worst when he took a calm tone coupled with that familiar ominous look on his face, and Hugh knew it, he had scared many an enemy with them and Hugh didn’t appreciate being the recipient. “Now tell me, who did you barter them with and for what?”
Hugh cleared his throat. The need for self preservation was finally setting in. He wished to God Sarah was here instead of him facing her husband’s ire, completely reversing his earlier stance. Even though he had encouraged her, this was all her idea; it wasn’t fair he had to face the brunt of Iain’s censure. Especially since the lass was always cheating and beating him at chess, oh the injustice of it all.
“They were bartered for the work the women have done in the keep.”
“What?” Iain asked nonplussed.
“Aye, Sarah thought the women should be rewarded for the work they put in. ‘Twas only fair......that is what she said” Hugh raised his arms as if to ward Iain off. He took a cautious step backwards. Hugh felt like a coward but right now he was pretty sure his neck was on the line.
“And you allowed this!”
“Well what was I supposed to do? She asked for the fabric and it is not like we will be using black silk and lace anytime soon. So what’s the harm?”
“What’s the harm? What’s the harm?” Iain roared losing his hard won composure; you have the gall to ask me that. That damn fabric was meant for barter and you handed it to every ninny in the village in exchange for work. Have you lost you God damned mind, man.”
Hugh winced, when put like that he supposed Iain was entirely justified feeling the way he was. He wondered if he should tell Iain the key to the weaponry wasn’t in his keeping anymore. That he had handed it to Sarah so she could have free reign with the riches inside. Looking at the tiny vein ticking threateningly under Iain’s right eye, Hugh decided it was better to live another day instead. He kept his mouth closed.
“Why would they want it anyway?” Iain asked. “Hugh!” he snapped when he didn’t get an answer.
“How should I know!” Hugh boomed back, finally at the end of his own tether, “how should I know what addle-pated fancies a woman’s mind takes. One day they all crowded outside the keep and the lot of them were willing to work day and night for a bit of fabric. Don’t look at me like that lad. It doesn’t make sense to me either. I have never seen the like.”
Iain opened his mouth to lampoon Hugh with more questions when he spotted Helen off in the distance, hobbling away. Iain’s eyes flared with surprise, was he dreaming or were those stilts peeking out at him from underneath the woman’s dress.
“Is she wearing stilts?” Iain breathed. He found the sight too unreal to yell that question at Hugh.
Hugh was hard pressed to not look back over his shoulder as well. He smiled, he couldn’t help himself. Hugh had thought the women daft when he had first seen them hobbling around swishing their arses like drunken ducks, but he had grown used to the sight. The young lasses in the village had taken a liking to the strange practice for some reason. Hugh pitied the younger man for that look of disbelief on his face. He knew exactly how Iain was feeling. He had tried asking Sarah about it, but she had blushed and told him it was fashion before changing the subject. Hugh hadn’t pressed her for an explanation; he doubted he would have understood her explanation anyway. He was just glad no one had broken their neck so far.
“Laird” Quinlan said, repeating it three times before Iain finally heard the man. He had to quite literally tear his eyes away from the curiously fascinating sight of Helen running away, or trying to. What in heavens name could possess the daft woman to do something so crazy, Iain thought.
“What?” he snapped, coming back to the present with a vengeance and giving a nervous looking Quinlan his full attention.
“Spit it out, man!”
“Hm.....well Laird,” Quinlan began, wishing he was a thousand miles away, “Alain gave me this....he found it hidden under the bed in his hut and he thought you should have a look at it.”
Iain was just about to tell Quinlan not to bother him when his gaze darted to whatever the man was holding in his palm. He did a double take. He almost poked his finger into the wrinkly grey monstrosity but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. What the hell was it? He wondered, forgetting his anger for a minute.
It was long, it was narrow and it looked bloody disgusting even with the fine red thread running around the edges, an unfortunate attempt at embellishment. Were those tassels hanging off the closed end, surely not?
“What is it?”Iain asked, unable to take his eye off the thing.
“Damned if I’d know, lad.” Hugh replied equally mesmerised by the oddity.
“Hmff.....” Iain pulled himself out of the strange daze, for some reason he felt strangely uncomfortable. He was losing control of the situation and quickly. This homecoming had not gone according to plan so far. He had been hit with so many strange happenings today, he wondered if it was all real. He almost wished he was still camped outside the McArdle holding and would wake from this walking nightmare. No such luck.
“What do you suppose it is, Iain?” Hugh asked, bringing Iain back to the present.
“How the hell should I know?” Iain snapped, unconsciously repeating Hugh’s irksome response to all his own questions.
For once Hugh was too lost in his avid perusal to balk at Iain’s tone.
“Did you ask Alain what it was, Quinlan?”
Quinlan cleared his throat again and tried not to look at the storm clouds gathering around the laird. He wanted to foist the evil looking thing on laird Hugh and be done with it, ‘twas not a pleasant exercise standing next to the Laird in his present mood.
“Aye laird Hugh,” He said, “but the man didn’t know what it was. He just found it under the bed and when he confronted Morag about it she wouldn’t tell him a thing. She said ‘twas woman’s business.”
“Strange,” Hugh breathed consideringly, prodding the fleshy thing with a hesitant finger. “Whatever could the women want with this thing?”
Iain was at his wits end. He was tired, filthy and his temper was fair at boiling point. He didn’t think he could take anymore of this maddening preoccupation with the ugliest thing he had ever clapped his eyes on. He ripped the damn offensive item out of Quinlan’s grasp and dropped it into the leather pouch at his belt.
“Leave off Quinlan.” Iain ordered, “I still have things to discuss with Hugh.”
Quinlan couldn’t scurry away fast enough.
Hugh looked disappointed but he didn’t let Iain flay him with yet another bout of rage.
“Now Iain before you ask me anymore questions, let me inform you that I am as clueless as you to all the goings on here.” Hugh began, waving his hands to forestall an angry retort, “I know I was here when everything happened, but all I did was give my permission. You can blame me for that crime, but trust me lad, I have no idea why everything was done as it was. The lass told me she was doing it to please you and I believed her. I still believe her,”
Iain was mystified by Hugh’s support for this chaos. Sarah must surely have cast a witch’s spell on the man for him to stand aside and let her wreak this havoc. Perhaps he was asking the wrong man. He had to go right to the source to get some answers.
“Where is she?”
Hugh didn’t like the calm tone with which Iain asked the question. He had a feeling the lad had been pushed to the very brink of his control.
“I don’t know?” Hugh answered truthfully, “Really Iain. I have no idea where the lass is. She was here this morning but then she said she needed some fresh air and left. Don’t worry though she often walks around the village in the morning. She says ‘twill keep her in shape...whatever that means.”
Iain didn’t react to that bit of idiocy. His target had most definitely changed.
“Find her,” he said, “and bring her to me,”
“Don’t you think you should go down to the Loch first,” Hugh asked stalling to the best of his abilities for he didn’t quite trust the silvery gleam in Iain’s eyes, “you wouldn’t want to scare the lass off, now would you?”
Well that much was at least true Hugh thought. A week spent outside an enemy holding camping on the muddy earth didn’t do a man any favours. If Sarah didn’t run away from the look of Iain she would most certainly swoon at the stench.
Iain was on the brink of refusing and demanding to see his wife, when he changed his mind. Perhaps Hugh was right, maybe he should go down to the Loch first. ‘Twould give him the chance to cool off a little, as he was now, he was prone to throttle her the moment he laid eyes on the woman. He wasn’t doing it to spare Sarah’s tender sensibilities Iain told himself, she could bloody well swoon all she liked. But he didn’t want to lose control with her like he had with Hugh. He would not get any straight answers that way. And Sarah had a lot to answer for. Aye! That she did.