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It did not get much easier but after the laird's reaction, Gwyn had assumed that would be the way of it. She thought of all that had transpired since her youngest brother had been laid to rest within the ground.

"Who ever said these times would be easy? I have vowed to meet each of these challenges with a strong heart and mind."

She smiled decisively as she acknowledged again aloud.

"I am a MacLaren, after all."

She also realized she was now a Chattan. As she drew in her breath deeply, she spoke again.

"I truly wonder what being a Chattan will exactly mean."

Time went by and Gwyn immersed herself in the daily life of the keep all the while avoiding the Laird Chattan as much as possible.

This kept her busy and laboring throughout the day and allowed her to fall quickly to sleep at night.

That was, unless, she began to dwell on what was occurring just on the other side of her laird's door.

It was not that she wished to grace his bed.

In reality, that thought made her fearful.

What she had hoped for in a husband was the tenderness and the closeness the laird and Philomena obviously shared.

Even though she had been wed to this clansman, there appeared there would be none of that for her and it saddened her immensely.

Gwyn thought back to her own home at the MacLaren.

Before these recent years when her mother had become so distraught over the loss of her sons, there was always such a tenderness between her parents.

They expressed their love so openly and she had secretly wished for some of that for herself.

While she knew her presence had been forced upon the laird, she had still hoped to find at least a small sense of friendship and someone to whom she could confide.

The reality was, he had not even spoken to her once since she had revealed all within her chamber.

That was of course, beyond his angry words that very first day after they had wed.

Since that time, he had said nothing beyond a simple 'yes', or 'no' answer when a question was asked.

His stifled reactions pained her more than she would admit.

It was then when she realized she was lonely.

Yes, the servants had been kind but she often wondered if they had been so because of who she was and felt obligated to treat her with a semblance of respect. With a true understanding, she realized they were most likely amiable because they felt they were forced to be.

As the days turned into weeks, nothing much had changed and the loneliness grew. However, Gwyn did not allow herself to wallow in her self-pity for long.

It was just barely four months from the time that she arrived and there was a missive from her father.

The message was cryptic but she had expected as much.

Secrecy was still considered paramount including from those who would deliver the directive.

From what she could surmise, she was to begin her ruse and would leave within a few short weeks.

That next morning and before she went down into the kitchen to partake of what had become her daily routine, she took an abundance of dried Thyme and put it in a tankard of heated water.

Once it had steeped appropriately, she nearly gagged at its potent smell as she lifted the mug of the murky liquid to her lips.

Slowly, she forced herself to drink the full of its thickened contents knowing the eventual effect it would have upon her.

She then made her way down into the kitchen as if nothing were amiss.

It was not long and the effects of the drink took hold. Her stomach began to churn and within moments, she found herself in the corner of the room over a basin. She found herself retching the entire contents of her stomach. Over and over her body convulsed until there was nothing left inside.

As Gwyn sat back upon the floor mopping at her dampened brow, she heard someone approach from behind.

As she turned her head, she found herself staring up into the face of the Laird Errol.

It was not only the surprise for his presence but it was the look of anger upon his face that nearly made her cringe inside.

When Alphina approached, Gwyn watched as he quickly masked his rage and placed a concerned look upon his face.

For the first time in many weeks, she heard his voice.

"My dear lady. Here, let me help you to rise."

Gwyn nearly recoiled from his touch as he held her a bit more tightly then was really necessary. She could feel as his fingers callously gripped at her arms while he pulled her to a standing position. Awkwardly, he left his hands upon her arms while leading her to the nearest chair.

"I am not quite certain what came over me, my laird. But I am better now, truly I am."

Alphina looked deeply into Gwyn's eyes with wonder.

"Your monthly, my lady. When was it last?"

The burn and the immediate crimson of her blush rose upon Gwyn's face as she dropped her head.

Even though she knew this would be the logical question to be asked, it was still nothing she had ever spoken of especially in the presence of others.

When the Laird Errol was near, it made it just that much more difficult.

"Not since….not since before I arrived."

It was Alphina who suddenly had a smile upon her face and a glow within her eyes.

Gwyn attempted a small smile but suddenly thought with a sadness how she wished the look of joy had been upon the laird's face.

However, knowing what she knew, Gwyn understood that was impossible.

A sudden brashness came over her as she spoke the words without further thought.

"Does this not please you, my laird?"

Once the words had been spoken, Gwyn wished she could take them back realizing the fury upon his face was undeniable. No words came from her husband, so instead Gwyn quickly mumbled.

"I believe, my laird, while there is still time, I would like to journey home and visit my mother. She will be so pleased with our news and that she is to become a grandmother. I believe I will leave within a fortnight."