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“That only solves one problem. Your marriage to John solves another,” she said, fluttering her fan so that the laird and his men wouldn’t overhear. “Whilst John Macrae remains unmarried, he will have brides thrust upon him by these other clans. Brides not as biddable as you. Brides with better pedigrees. Brides who might not be carrying my grandchild.”
No, she couldn’t be right about that. I would never admit it if she was.
But she continued, “Even if you aren’t, when my legitimate grandchildren come of age to lead this clan, I prefer that their rivals were merely the children of a simple crofter’s girl with no great bloodline.”
I blinked, having underestimated her entirely. I no longer doubted that it was Aunt Fiona who had taught the laird to play chess upon his board, for she thought more moves ahead than any of us. “So, we’re enemies, you and I?”
“Nonsense,” Lady Fiona said. “Why borrow trouble from tomorrow? We’re allies until it’s inconvenient to be allies, and since that’s a generation away and I may die before it comes to pass, there’s no reason we can’t learn to like each other.”
Having regained his composure, the laird called to us, “What are you two womenfolk gossiping about behind your fans?”
I smiled wanly, wondering if I should tell him. Perhaps I would. But not now. Because Lady Fiona was right. I didn’t want to borrow trouble from tomorrow. Tonight, I wanted only to be happy. “We are talking about alliances…”
The laird smiled. “I would like to negotiate an alliance with you, my future bride, in a place less noisy than this…”
Later, in the laird’s chambers, we sighed together with more happiness than I thought possible. Happiness marred only by the laird’s fading smile as he said, “I wish Ian wouldn’t go.”
“He must,” I replied.
“I s’pose he must. If he loves you even a wee fraction of how much I love you, it must destroy him to stay.”
“It isn’t me he loves most,” I said, tilting his face down to look at me. “I thought you found it too shameful to admit, but I think now you simply do not realize…can you really be so blind to it?”
“Blind to what?”
“That Ian loves you,” I said.
“I love him, too,” the laird said, gruffly. But then, upon examining my face, his eyes widened a touch. “Oh. No. You don’t mean…”
“My laird, Ian loving me, touching me was as close as he could come to—”
“No, lass. That’s…” He searched for some word to describe it, as if it was entirely unimaginable that a man who had shared his bed might desire him. I feared he might utter the words: profane, indecent, or sinful. But instead, he settled upon, “That’s not Ian.”
“Why not Ian?”
The laird sputtered. “Because he’s as strong and manly a warrior as ever served Clan Macrae!”
What that had to do with anything, I didn’t know. But neither would I push the matter. Not yet. It vexed my laird, too much. And on this night, I did not wish to vex him.
At least, not in this way.
“Oh, my,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes in a way that I knew enticed him. “I seem to have made a dreadful error.”
“What error could you make, mo chride?” he asked, nipping at my ear.
“I’ve worn a nightshift to bed…and I ought to know better.”
The laird growled, loving our game, but wary of its direction. “Och, you’re right. But I cannot paddle you with a wee bairn inside you. And I can scarcely do such things to you when you’re my wife!”
“Then I shall not consent to be your wife.”
He blinked. “Oh. It’s to be…it’s to be as it was between us that way?”
“Better than it was,” I said, reaching down between his legs to grasp hold of his stiffening cock.
He liked it. He liked it very much as I stroked him. And so did I.
Clearing his throat, he said, “…then I shall have to make you write in a book all the paddlings you’re owed after the babe is born.”
