Highland Wedding by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online Page A

wee daughter. Ye deny yourself all opportunity for some happiness. Aye and the lass.”
    “All I deny her is pain,” Iain said coldly, then abruptly changed the subject.
    He did not think on Alexander’s words again until he escorted Islaen into the hall for the last repast of the day. The way he planned to direct their lives was indeed unfair to Islaen, but he could think of no way to alter that. He was almost glad of Alexander’s company as they dined, for the man kept Islaen from being too troubled by his remoteness. It was an appreciation that warred with something even he recognized as jealousy, as Alexander kept Islaen well amused, flattered her and flirted with her. By the time Iain escorted Islaen back to her chambers, he was not sure whether he considered Alexander a blessing or a curse.
    “And what do ye think of Alexander?” he asked abruptly as they stopped outside her chamber’s door.
    A little startled by his question, as well as the fact that he had suddenly broken what had been an almost complete silence during the evening, Islaen answered, “He is verra nice.”
    “Verra nice, hmmm? An accomplished wooer of the lasses.”
    “Oh, aye, of course. A mon like that would take to wooing like a bairn to the breast of its mither. Do ye ken what makes him so good? He can do it and ye dinnae feel nervous or foolish or naught.”
    Smiling crookedly, he asked, “Nervous or foolish?”
    “Aye. ’Tis that voice of his, I am thinking. ’Tis as soothing as a nurse’s lullaby. He must get verra tired of people staring at him.”
    “Do ye think so?” Iain was finding her candid observations about Alexander amusing.
    “Oh, aye. The mon kens how fine he looks but I dinnae think he is vain. An he lost his beauty I think he might regret that the ladies didnae fall into his arms as they did, but not much else. He might e’en be glad of it for then people would cease seeing naught but his beauty and look at the mon he is. I should not like to be so beautiful.”
    “Ah, but Islaen, ye are lovely.”
    “Nay,” she demurred, coloring slightly over his soft flattery. “I have freckles and my hair is too bold a color.”
    “I dinnae find it too bold.”
    “Ah, weel, ye may do so when ye see it loose.” She blushed when she realized when that would happen. “Ye have just seen a few locks slipping free, disobedient as my hair can be at times.”
    “Islaen, sometimes ye try too hard to be honest.”
    Her subsequent good night was subdued. Once inside of her chambers she leaned against the door and sighed. She felt riddled with guilt. She was not honest at all although she had tried to be on several occasions. The words stuck in her throat, however. There was a confession she had to make to Iain and time was running out. If she did not make it soon he would find out rather shockingly just how big a liar she could be.

Chapter Four
    Frowning as she did so, Meg helped Islaen into bed. “T’will be the last night for that nightshift, lass.”
    Islaen looked at her attire, a sleeveless linen shift that only reached to mid-thigh. “I ken ye are right. ’Tis no lady’s wear.”
    “Aye. I have a few lovely ones sewn for ye. Now ye get your rest, for ’tis a wondrous busy day for ye on the morrow.”
    Reminding her of that was not the way to insure that she would get any sleep, Islaen thought, as Meg left. Ever fair, Islaen then admitted that she did not really need Meg’s reminders, for there was little else upon her mind. On the morrow she would marry Iain MacLagan and she was afraid, although not of marriage and all it entailed. She was afraid she would fail him and herself.
    Now and again he had slipped in his aloof pose but it always returned, sometimes stronger than before. She feared the pose would become the man, that she would never reach the person he tried so hard to hide from everyone. That failure would leave her wed to a distant stranger who held prisoner the man she wanted.
    Then too there was her