Highland Wedding by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online Page B

secret. There would be no hiding it in the intimacy of marriage. Several times she had gotten up the courage to speak to him only to lose it when she looked upon his face. For a while she had thought it best to leave it as a surprise but now she doubted the wisdom of that. Not only was it unfair to Iain but she would not be able to bear his disgust when he found out. It would wound her sorely to have him turn from her on their wedding night, the very night he should be making her his.
    Coming to a decision, she rose and searched out her houppelande. It was best to undeceive him now, before they had exchanged any vows. Somehow the wedding could be stopped if it was necessary. Even as she made a final check upon the fit of her houppelande she hoped Iain would, at the worst, insist that the candle stay snuffed for it might not feel as bad as it looked. Telling herself that exposure now was the only way, the only fair thing to do, she slipped into the hall and set out for Iain’s chambers.
    Though late at night, the way was not clear. Islaen was amazed at the number of people wandering about. It did not take many guesses to know that liaisons were plentiful. The fact that none of those about wished to be seen either made Islaen’s way easier. Her first and only difficulty came when she was but two doors away from her goal. A woman she knew was wed met a man who was equally tied causing her to press herself into a shadowed niche from where, to her increasing discomfort, she could both see and hear the couple’s rendezvous, a meeting that proved beds were not necessary.
    When she finally reached Iain’s door, she paused with her hand raised to knock. It might be the right thing to do but it was far from easy. No one liked to expose a fault or shame. Nevertheless, Iain had a right to know about her shames and faults before he was irrevocably tied to them, she told herself firmly. Her resolve strengthened, she rapped upon his door sure that her heart could be heard all along the hallway.
     
    Iain lay sprawled upon his bed. He was trying very hard to get drunk, blind drunk, but was failing miserably. He was certainly not sober, but he had failed to achieve the soddened oblivion he was seeking. Very colorfully he cursed Fate which seemed against him at every turn. He did feel that depriving him of the ability to get stinking drunk was an exceedingly cruel trick. It was also a sad waste of some fine wine.
    Admitting that it solved nothing to get drunk, Iain took another long pull of wine. Nothing had gone his way of late. He had felt like a good sulk, a thorough wallow in self-pity. However, even that was not working out.
    The king had thwarted his plan to wed Islaen away from the court, so that he could avoid the consummation. The maids in the castle would quickly report the lack of virgin’s blood. Since he could not explain that in any satisfactory way, Iain knew he would have to truly bed the girl. Even if he was very careful, there was ever the chance she could conceive, especially coming from as prolific a clan as she did.
    Briefly, he wondered if that made a difference. He had been deluged with tales of her tiny mother and seen seven of the healthy brood of sons the woman had produced. Just possibly Islaen could do the same.
    He then shook his head. It was something he could not chance. He freely admitted to cowardice. No matter what her heritage he could not gamble with another woman’s life.
    He groaned and poured another tankard of wine. As clearly as if it was occurring before him, Iain could see Islaen writhing upon her childbed, her screams filling the halls for long hellish hours until he feared to go mad from it. When it was over there would be nothing but a blood-soaked bed, a gruesome bier for her and their child. He could see Islaen and Catalina blended into one woman, the small lovely face still etched with agony, the pale lifeless body surrounded with blood and the bairn still wet from the womb, blue from the