A Dangerous Love (32 page)

Elsbeth laughed. “You will make a gentleman out of him, my chick,” she said.

“Nay.” Adair shook her head. “He will never be a gentleman, but if he would be my lover he will at least be clean. And in a few days I will have my horse,” she said triumphantly. “The winter is almost here, Nursie, and I must reach Stanton before the snows. Tomorrow is All Hallow’s Eve. I will be gone by Martinmas.”

Elsbeth did not argue. It was useless to argue this matter with Adair, but she would not allow her mistress to deliberately walk into danger. “I’ll have Grizel clean the laird’s bedchamber,” she said.

“We’ll air the mattress, and the feather bed too,” Adair answered. “And there must be fresh sheets. And when that is done Jack can take the bathtub up to the laird’s chamber. We’ll fill it after supper, before I wash him.”

Just as the sun was setting Conal Bruce, his brothers, and their men returned home. They had killed a stag, which they would take a day or two to dress before hanging it in the cold larder. They had several strings of
 
grouse, ducks, and rabbits, as well as three geese and a pheasant. Elsbeth praised them mightily, and then served them a dinner of roasted beef, broiled trout, and fine October ale. When she brought out a dish of pears poached in wine, and some sugar wafers, the brothers were ecstatic.

“Ah, Mistress Elsbeth, will you marry me?” Duncan Armstrong asked her with a mischievous grin as he slipped an arm about her ample waist.

Elsbeth cackled. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me, Master Duncan,” she told him, slapping the arm away. “I am a one-man woman, and my man is gone.” She bustled off back to her kitchens, where Adair was sitting with Flora, Grizel, and Jack. “They’re almost done with the meal,” she said. “Go up to the hall now, my chick.”

Without a word Adair arose and left the kitchens.

“So she’s come to an arrangement with him then?” 
Grizel said.

“There’s many a woman who would be happy to be in the laird’s bed,” Flora remarked. “They say Agnes Carr has tried to handfast with him.”

“Agnes is a whore,” Grizel replied bluntly. “A good-hearted lass, I’ll give you, but a whore. There isn’t a man for twenty miles around who hasn’t traveled the road between her legs now and again.”

“The laird needs a wife,” Elsbeth said.

“Aye,” Grizel agreed. “He does. If your lady can bind him, Elsbeth, then good luck to her, say I. She’s been wed before?”

“Twice,” Elsbeth said.

“And no bairns?” Grizel asked.

Elsbeth shook her head. “The first was a lad of fourteen. The marriage was a proxy one, and he appeared with her uncle one day. He never bedded her, and was killed in an accident before any damage was done.” Elsbeth thought it best not to say that poor FitzTudor had been killed by Scots borderers.

“And the second?” Grizel prodded.

“The son of a neighbor. ’Twas a good match, but he was killed with King Richard at Bosworth. She bemoaned the lack of a bairn, but perhaps ’tis better, given what has happened to her,” Elsbeth said.

Grizel nodded. “Aye. The raiders who took you would have killed the bairn, for they have no use for them. ’Tis a mercy, actually, for to steal the mam and leave the bairn would cause its death anyway. At least your lady has not that sorrow to suffer. ’Twas Willie Douglas who took you, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Elsbeth answered.

“He has a black heart,” Grizel said.

“He kept my sister for his wife,” Elsbeth replied.

“His wife is a poor, frail mouse of a creature, but he loves her, they say. If your sister is strong she’ll be safe,”

Grizel responded.

“Margery will cut his throat given the opportunity,” 
Elsbeth said.

Grizel laughed. “ ’Twould be a service to us all if she did,” she answered. “Did he rape your mistress? He always fucks the pretty ones.”

“He tried,” Elsbeth said, “and she fought and cursed him so fiercely that his manhood shriveled up to nothing. He was furious, so he beat her instead.”

“Poor lass,” Grizel said. “It really shriveled up?”

“You couldn’t even see it at all,” Elsbeth said. “He would have killed my chick had not one of his men reminded him that she would bring more unscathed. He’s a man who seems to like his silver. Go up now, you two, and clear the rest of the board for me. Jack, my lad, bring in more wood for the night. And tomorrow you must chop.”

The two serving women went up to the hall and cleared away the remaining cups and plates. Looking about, they saw the laird, his brothers, and Adair by the fire talking. Seeing Grizel and Flora, Adair called them over and asked them to have enough hot water heated
 
for the laird’s bath. When Duncan and Murdoc began to laugh she sweetly told them they would be hauling the water for the bath up to the laird’s bedchamber, and as there was hot water already waiting they might as well begin now.

Now it was Conal Bruce who laughed at the look of surprise on his siblings’ faces. “Go along, laddies. I am more than ready to be washed by my fair lassie. We’ll just wait here by the fire until you have all in readiness.”

“You give as good as you get,” Adair noted as the two brothers left them.

“I do,” he said meaningfully. “Do you?”

“Aye,” she told him. “You did well today. The cold larder is almost full now. Another deer or two; a few more braces of fowl, and we will be ready. Elsbeth would visit the village and see if she can purchase some hams once the pigs have been slaughtered, my lord.”

“There are few of those nowadays,” the laird told her,

“but let her go and see what she can find. Scotland grows poorer by the day.”

“Why?” Adair asked him. “England is not poor.”

“Trade brings wealth, and we have little to trade with the rest of the world,” he said. “And the king is more interested in spending the monies in the royal treasury on jewels to adorn himself, and on works of art. A man cannot eat art or jewelry. He is a weak king, is our Jamie.

Scotland needs a strong king.”

“How long has he been king?” Adair asked.

“Since he was barely out of leading strings,” the laird said. “The best thing about him is the queen. She is a fine lady, a good and pious woman. She’s given Scotland four fine princes and two princesses. She is a woman who knows her duty. A pity her husband does not. I am not an important man, but even here in the borders we hear rumors that the earls are not happy.”

“Will there be a war?” Adair asked. She hated war.

Her life had been ruled by war. Was there no place where peace reigned?

“Perhaps, but ’tis not likely to last long. Either the king will win or his opponents will win. Compromises will be made, of course. The young prince will make Scotland a fine king one day. But why would you be interested in such things, my honey love? You were made for loving, and not for weighty subjects.”

“My lord, I spent ten years in the royal court of King Edward,” Adair answered. “I was surrounded by such
weighty
subjects. I listened and I watched. ’Twas only prudent, for I might have been married into an important family one day. My knowledge would have been considered valuable. One needs important friends and influence to get ahead at the court. As the king’s brat, and with a title in my own right, I had some small value to my natural father. Sadly, he did not use that value wisely, but then, he was always a greedy man. He had a lust for life like no one I have ever met.”

He was surprised by her knowledge and her observa-tions, and perhaps a little taken aback by them. But then he concentrated on her beauty, and everything else faded away for Conal Bruce, the laird of Cleit. And while they spoke his brothers and the two serving women trekked back and forth from the kitchens through the hall and up to his bedchamber, each carrying two buckets of water with every trip they made.

Finally Grizel came over to Adair. “The tub is full,” 
she said.

“Are there two full buckets by it for rinsing?” Adair asked.

“Elsbeth told us,” Grizel said.

Adair stood up. “ ’Tis time, my lord, for your bath.”

Duncan and Murdoc snickered behind her.

Conal Bruce glowered at them.

“Grizel,” Adair said. “Come with me, for you will have to take the laird’s garments. Give them to Elsbeth.

Is there a nightshirt for him?”

“I don’t sleep in a damned nightshirt!” the laird ex
ploded, and Grizel and Flora jumped nervously at his tone.

“Neither do I,” Adair said calmly. Then she took his hand. “Come along, my lord.” And she led him from the hall, followed by Grizel.

Flora fled to the kitchens before the two men might remember she was there.

In his bedchamber Adair removed the laird’s worn boots. “See if you can bring some life back into these,” 
she told Grizel. She yanked the coverings from his feet.

“Burn them,” she said. “They are rotted and they stink.

Stand up again, my lord.”

He was fascinated by her efficiency. She stripped his clothing off quickly, handing each piece to Grizel with a pertinent comment.

“This can be cleaned. Wash these. Burn that. This needs mending. If he doesn’t have another shirt, can one of you do it before morning? And if he does have another shirt, see that it is clean and in good repair. I can see we will have to do some sewing. Get into the tub, my lord. You don’t want the water to get cold.”

He climbed in and sat down, his knees sticking up awkwardly.

Grizel took his clothing and departed the room.

Kneeling by the tub, Adair took up a small piece of cloth, dipped it in the hot water, rubbed soap lavishly over it, and began the task of scrubbing him. “I could not find a brush for the bath,” she told him as she rubbed the soapy cloth over his broad shoulders and long back, washing, rinsing, washing, rinsing. “Your neck is filthy,” she noted, and she scrubbed so hard that he yelped in protest.

“Are you trying to take the skin off of me, woman?” 
he demanded of her.

“I wouldn’t have to scrub so hard if you weren’t so dirty, and if I had a brush,” she told him as she attacked his ears. “Can you remember the last time you used soap, my lord? Probably not since your good mother 
died. Shame on you! I know she raised you better, for your brothers have genteel manners.”

His chest was lightly covered in dark hair. Andrew’s chest had been smooth. Adair washed the laird’s chest and his arms silently. He lifted a foot up, and she washed it, pushing the cloth in between each toe. He had very big feet, but then, he was a big man. She washed the other foot. The nails on both his hands and feet needed paring, and she would see to it before he got into bed with her. Next she attacked his dark hair, her fingers digging into his scalp to loosen the nits he certainly had living there. He protested again, and in reply she poured half a bucket of warm water over his head. Then she washed his head a second time, and rinsed it.

“I’m starting to smell like a damned flower,” he complained. He reached out to grab her, but Adair slapped his hands away.

“You smell far better now than when you got into this tub,” she told him. “Stand up, my lord. I am not finished yet.” Adair stood up as Conal Bruce lumbered to his feet. She washed his buttocks, which were tight and round, and the backs of his legs, which were firm.

“Turn about,” she said sharply, and plied her cloth down the front of his long legs, which, like his chest, were lightly furred, and over his flat torso. She wanted to avert her gaze from his manroot, but it was impossible. Gritting her teeth, Adair quickly washed his genitals. “There,” she said brusquely. “You’re done. You can get out now.”

He stepped out onto the bit of cloth she had spread on the floor for him, taking the drying cloth she held out to him. Slowly, carefully, he dried himself off, and then, wrapping the fabric about his waist, he went to his bedchamber door, opened it, and called out, “Duncan! Murdoc! To me!” And his brothers ran up the stairs from the hall. “Take this damned tub back to the kitchens,” he told them. “Empty it first out the window. And keep your randy eyes in your heads,” he warned them, for he
 
saw them stealing looks at Adair in her chemise as she knelt to pare his toenails and fingernails.

Duncan and Murdoc lifted the tub by its rope pulls and, going to the window, Murdoc pulled it open as Duncan struggled to hold the tub. Then they dumped it over the sill, the water splashing on the rocks below. The two brothers quickly closed the shutters, and then as quickly departed the bedchamber. Turning, Adair saw the laird turning the key in the lock of the door. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.

Conal Bruce set the door key on the table by the bed.

“Now, Adair, as I have kept my promise, and you have thoroughly washed me, you must keep your promise.

Take off your chemise and let me see you.”

Wordlessly she drew the sodden garment off and carefully spread it over the chair by the blazing hearth.

Then she faced him, meeting his gaze, for she would not show any fear. She stood tall, and while he let his eyes wander slowly over her body she reached up and, undoing her braid, loosed her long black hair, tossing her head as she did.

“ ’Tis a good thing Willie Douglas did not see you like this,” the laird said. “You are worth far more than a silver penny, my honey love.” He smiled a slow smile at her, and held out his hand. “Come here to me, Adair.”

Her legs felt heavy. She was surprised that she could move at all, but she walked across the chamber to him, shivering slightly as he drew her into his arms. A hand stroked her hair, following the line of it from the top of her head to the small of her back. The touch of his body against hers was startling. It had been a long while since she had felt such a sensation, and the soft curls on his chest tickled her. His hands cupped her buttocks and brought her hard against him. Adair gasped with shock that this new and closer contact with him brought her.

“If not now, when?” he demanded of her, looking down into her face.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes from his.