A Newfound Land (2 page)

It was strange that the few times she was truly homesick it wasn’t for her life in the twenty-first century: it was for Hillview, the small manor in Ayrshire that they’d left one cold and drizzly March day four years ago. She’d spent weeks saying goodbye, walking for hours through the woods, standing silent by the edge of the moss. Worst of all had been the last time she and Matthew had stood together in front of Rachel’s grave, bowing with the pain of forever leaving behind this one tangible reminder of their daughter’s brief time on Earth.

“Rachel,” she said out loud. She did that sometimes: she called her dead daughter, and just by saying her name she was making sure she wasn’t forgotten. Now she closed her eyes and Rachel sprang to the forefront of her mind, her hair a messy tangle down her back – just like she’d been the last day of her life, her little face contorted with fury as she flew to the defence of her beloved Da.

“Mama?” Ian materialised beside her and Alex turned away. “Are you alright?”

Alex nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before facing him.

“One of those moments.” She suspected Ian had quite a few such moments himself, but he chose to keep them to himself. Alex stood on her toes and pulled out a couple of cockleburs from his hair.

“You’re too tall,” she grumbled, and Ian grinned and sat down, crossing his legs. Alex knelt behind him and extracted her comb from her apron pocket to comb his hair free of debris. “Where have you been? Chasing deer through the undergrowth?”

Ian mumbled something unintelligible in reply.

Alex smiled down at the back of his head and went on with what she was doing. They sank into a companionable silence, broken every now and then by the loud calling of a bird or the rustling of something moving through the forest that surrounded them.

“There.” Alex sank back on her heels and returned her comb to its keeping place. “You’re so like him,” she said, studying her teenaged stepson, who had now gotten to his feet. A younger version of her Matthew, tall and well-built with the same hazel eyes, the same dark hair that went chestnut under the summer sun, and the same generous mouth.

“Is that good or bad?” Ian teased, helping her to stand.

“Good, obviously.” She bent to pick up her basket. A flurry of movement made her rear back as something mid-size and grey rushed by her.

“A wolf?” she asked tremulously.

Ian laughed, shaking his head. “Raccoon. Curious as to what’s in yon basket.”

“Nettle shoots – will make us all a very nice soup.” She was very happy with her find, thinking that she’d poach some eggs to go with it.

Ian eyed the contents with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “Eat nettles? Won’t it blister our mouths?”

“Of course it will. It will make all of you shut up for days and days.” Alex elbowed him hard. “Idiot,” she added, making him laugh.

“What happened to your promise to fix the hen coop?” Alex took hold of Ian’s hand when they clambered over a mossy trunk.

“I’ll do it now,” he said, his cheeks staining a suspicious red.

Alex studied him narrowly: grasses and leaves all over his clothes, all that stuff he’d had in his hair... She smiled and hefted her basket higher onto her arm. Apparently young master Graham was discovering the pleasures of the opposite sex. She wondered if it was Jenny he’d met up in the woods – she sincerely hoped it was Jenny Leslie, given that Matthew and the girl’s father were very much in agreement regarding the desirability of such a match.

Ian turned towards the house. Alex dithered; she had to find the girls.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“Soon, I...well, I need some more nettles.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I’ll be fine on my own.”

He shook his head. “I’ll come, aye?” Great, absolutely marvellous. Those protective genes so prominent in his father had made it down to the next generation unscathed. From the way Ian’s mouth set into a line, she knew there was no point in arguing and, anyway, what did it matter if he saw the girls – he’d never tell.

“Da said you’ll be staying with the Leslies when we ride down to Providence,” Ian said.

Alex made a face. She was fond of both Thomas and Peter Leslie – although she should probably revise her opinion of Peter given what those girls had told her – but Mary Leslie, Thomas’ wife, had the intellect of a dormouse, and as to Elizabeth...

“Aye,” Ian said, following the train of her thoughts. “She is a bit much at times.”

“Very,” Alex agreed, thinking that Elizabeth Leslie must be an awful cross to carry for a man as mild-tempered as Peter.

A high wail had Alex almost jumping out of her skin. “What was that?” She stooped to pick up the nettles she’d scattered all over the ground.

“I don’t know.” Ian frowned.

Yet another shriek, and now there was no doubt – this was a human voice, raised in fear and pain. The girls! Oh my God, and now they were being eaten alive by a bear, or were surrounded by wolves, or... Alex flew down the slope, making for the terrified sounds. Another voice: low, male. Someone laughed, harness jangled, and Alex faltered. Could it be one of the Leslie brothers?

“No, please! No—” The sound was cut short.

Ian’s hand closed on Alex’s arm, bringing her to a halt. They crouched behind a screen of bushes, silent spectators to what was happening in the small clearing. Three men, unrecognisable in broad-brimmed hats, and then there were the two girls, one of them fighting like a hellcat, while the other was gagged and hogtied, squirming like a caterpillar where she’d been thrown across a horse. To the side stood yet another man, eyes trained on the surrounding woods and musket held at the ready. Alex did a double take; she knew this man from somewhere. Thinning hair, a long narrow face with a rather prominent mouth, and dark eyes sunk into deep hollows. Yes, she had definitely seen him before, but when? Where?

“We must do something. Those poor girls!” She made as if to stand but was arrested by Ian’s hold on her hand.

“Nay,” he whispered, “there’s nothing we can do – not the two of us against them.”

However much she hated admitting it, Ian was right.

In the clearing, the screaming girl was slapped – repeatedly. The last slap was so hard her head snapped back. The man who had hit her laughed, watching as his companions wrenched her hands behind her back and tied them, before sauntering over to the sentry, saying something in a low voice. He took off his hat, releasing black hair to fall like overlong bangs over one side of his face. A handsome man, his face a collection of sharp planes and angles, complemented by a square chin and a chiselled mouth. A cruel face, Alex decided – or maybe that had more to do with what she’d just witnessed. His eyes wandered over the closest bushes and Alex had never before seen eyes so disconcerting. Irises so light as to look almost white, the pupils like black, miniature well shafts. For some reason, Alex knotted her hands together and held her breath – anything to make sure he wouldn’t discover her.

The man took a step or two to the side, unlaced himself and pissed, talking with his companions over his shoulder. It was evident he was the leader, the sentry nodding at whatever it was he was saying. Alex caught the word
Virginia
a couple of times and focused her attention on the sentry. Why did he seem so familiar, all the way from his obsequious grin to how he stood, slightly pigeon-toed? There was a flurry of movement, the men sat up, and then they were gone, horses whipped into a canter as they set off towards the south.

Chapter 2

Matthew didn’t like this: four men, riding through his lands, and on top of that they had the temerity to abduct two lasses. Thank the Lord Ian had been with Alex, because God knows what his temperamental wife might have done had she been alone – attempted to intercede, no doubt.

Even more, it concerned him that Alex insisted she’d recognised one of them, although she could put neither name nor place to him. He set his jaw. Peter Leslie would be most upset, and as to the two lasses, there’d be days when they wished themselves back under Elizabeth’s stern care.

He dispatched Ian to ride with the news to the Leslies, and walked over to inspect the small clearing but gleaned nothing from the trampled ground. What would those men be doing here in the first place? He backtracked them and concluded that they’d ridden in from a north-westerly direction. Traders or trappers, mayhap the kind of white men that dealt regularly with the Indians. But still, to ride through claimed land and not come by the main house. And it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t have noticed this was settled land, because through the screen of trees the house was visible, however distant.

“What will happen to them, do you think?” Alex asked later that afternoon, trailing Matthew on his way to the river.

“No major change: they’ll sell them as labour to someone else.” He shed his clothes and, with a few hissed expletives, submerged himself in the cold water.

Alex threw him the pot of soap and sat on the bank to watch him. “Do you think they’ll be back?”

“Who? The men? Nay, I think them opportunists, no more. They recognised the lasses for what they were – bond servants – and stole them.”

“Will the girls mind?”

“Mind? Of course they will, and I dare say they’ve been badly frightened.” And hurt, and probably raped, but he didn’t tell her that.

She moved over to him as he came out of the chilly waters, laughing when he grabbed her by the waist and gathered her close.

“Nice,” she murmured when he released her lips, her hands moving down his back to give his buttocks an appreciative squeeze.

“But now you’re all wet, far too wet to walk back like that. You might catch a cold.”

“And I won’t if you undress me here?” she said, trying to help him with her laces. He batted away her hands, took his time undoing knots, sliding fabric down her hips, off her arms.

“Nay, I’ll warm you up soon enough.”

Matthew enjoyed loving his wife outdoors, finding more privacy here than in the house. A stand of shrubs afforded some protection against prying eyes – not that they needed it, because his elder sons knew better than to disturb them when Matthew took their mother with him down to the river.

He ran a finger over Alex’s lips, over her cheek to circle her ear, and up to draw the high arc of her brows. He kissed her, one hand drifting down to stroke her breast through the damp material of her shift, and she stretched like a cat, a low, humming noise deep in her throat. His arms were full of her, of warm flesh and soft curves, of strong muscles and soft skin.

“Here.” He spread her skirts as a makeshift blanket and eased her down on her back. She was right bonny, his wife, all pink skin and a cloud of curling hair. Matthew sat back on his heels to properly savour the sight of her, sprawled half-naked on the ground. “Beautiful,” he murmured, walking his fingers up her legs. Her toes curled and she held out her arms, making him smile; impatient as always, his Alex.

She moaned when he entered her, her legs coming up to cradle him. He pushed deeper, and she tilted her hips so that their pubic bones pressed together. Again, and she breathed his name, her lips kissing his neck. His woman… This time she was going to conceive, or at the very least they were going to begin trying for yet another child. One, perhaps two more bairns, he thought fuzzily, concentrating on the sensations that settled round his cock.

He slid a hand in under her bottom and lifted her closer. She made a breathless noise and for an instant was absolutely still, eyes the colour of budding bluebells locked into his. Matthew brushed his nose against hers and began to move, a steady coming and going that increased in pace and intensity until he voided himself inside of her. He didn’t move for some time, relishing being where he was. Under his hand he could feel the beating of her heart.

He lifted his head and met her eyes. There was a slight frown on her face, something dark shading the bottom of her eyes.

“It’s not a safe day,” she said.

He almost smiled. He knew that – he always knew. He rolled off her, lying naked on his back beside her. He fumbled for her hand and raised it to his lips. “Do you mind?”

“A bit late to ask.”

“It’s just…” He picked at her hair, curling and uncurling a long lock round his finger. “I like it when you grow all rosy and round, and it’s with my seed, my bairn…” He felt terribly embarrassed admitting this, but it was clearly the right thing to say.

His wife smiled and kissed his cheek. “Well, if we’re going to go for yet another kid, we might just as well enjoy the making. And personally I hope it takes months.”

“I always enjoy it.” He tightened his hold on her hand.

“So do I,” she replied, just as solemnly.

*

Next morning Alex was returning from inspecting her potato patch when Mark’s voice made her come to an abrupt stop behind an overgrown bramble.

“Do you think it will be the same?” Mark said.

“Will what be the same?” Ian’s voice said.

“For you, with Jenny.”

There was an irritated snort from Ian. “The same like what?”

Mark sighed loudly. “Like with Da and Mama.”

Alex sank down on her haunches. This was a conversation she intended to eavesdrop on.

“I want my wife to be like Mama,” Mark went on. “I want her to smile at me like she does at Da.”

Ian made a sound of grousing agreement.

“So?” Mark asked again. “Will it, do you think? Be the same for you and Jenny?”

“No,” Ian snapped, “on account of me not loving her. Or her me.”

A stone whistled through the air and landed with a soft thud at Alex’s feet.

“Come on then,” Ian said. “Da’s waiting.”

Alex remained where she was, thinking: first of all of how to tell Matthew Jenny might not be an adequate match for Ian, and secondly about who the girl might be Ian was meeting in secret in the woods.

*

She didn’t have much time to think about this girl over the coming days, her waking time spent preparing for Matthew’s trip to Providence. Pelts were packed in neat rolls; smoked trout were wrapped and stacked in the pannier baskets; Alex wrote list after list of things she wanted, crossed them out and wrote lists of things she needed instead. Spices and salt, some precious sugar, perhaps some tea – but only if the money was enough – bolts of linen and serge, needles and thread... On top of that, she packed clothes for Matthew, Mark and Ian, prepared food for them to take along, and worried about Fiona and Jonah: would they cope all alone? Matthew assured her that they would, helped her with the last of the packing, and one early morning they set off, one long caravan making for the Leslie home.

*

A couple of hours later, Alex and her younger children were installed at Leslie’s Crossing. She trailed Matthew out to the yard, at present a somewhat chaotic place what with all the horses and the loaded mules. Ian and Mark were already astride, eager to be off.

“Will you be alright?” Matthew kissed Alex on her brow.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she stage-whispered. “Ten days with Elizabeth may impair my mental capacities.”

He laughed into her hair. “Behave. Be sure you’re a credit to your husband – meek and demure.”

“When pigs fly. And whatever you may call Elizabeth, paragon of womanly virtues that she is, it is neither meek nor demure.”

“Nay,” Matthew whispered into her ear. “She’s a right dragon.”

“Yeah, the fire breathing kind.” Alex took a step back. “Like mother, like daughter, Matthew,” she said, seeing his brow crease in confusion.

She watched him ride off, flanked by his sons and Thomas Leslie, before turning to smile at her hostess.

“So, aren’t you going to show me your new dairy shed?” If she didn’t ask, she’d be dragged there anyway. Since they’d gotten here, Elizabeth hadn’t stopped talking about it. To be fair, Elizabeth was an excellent cheese maker and had sent off several rounds of well-aged, pale yellow cheese with Thomas to be sold at the market.

“It brings in money,” Elizabeth said as they walked across the yard. “God knows very little else does.” She broke off to offer a hasty apology for using the Lord’s name in vain before ushering Alex into her little kingdom.

Three girls were working in the dairy. One of them was cutting up the stomach of a recently slaughtered calf and putting it to soak to make rennet, while the two others were busy cutting the latest batch of curd into small cubes.

“I haven’t seen two of those girls before,” Alex commented on their way back to the main house.

“They came in on the first ship this season.” Elizabeth went on to add that her husband had acquired not only two maids but three field hands, and had in the process also received a further five hundred acres in headright – as yet uncleared land, but all in all Peter Leslie had a sizeable tract of land under his name, coming close to eight thousand acres.

“Ah.” Alex tried to look suitably impressed. Matthew had bought two thousand acres at a nominal price upon arriving and had since then acquired three hundred acres more, for Fiona, Jonah and Paul, who drowned the same winter he came out. More land than he could have dreamt of back home, he said to Alex, but he wasn’t comfortable with taking indentures, no matter that both Jonah and Fiona were voluntary bondsmen, escaping from hardship back home.

“But now we’ll need more, what with those two silly girls letting themselves be abducted. No great loss, either of them, and one of them was pregnant.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “These Catholic girls, brought up without strong moral values.”

Alex eyed her with dislike. “She may have been abused.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Not she. I saw the way she looked at my Nathan, all doe’s eyes and pouting mouth.” She threw a fond look at her eldest son, reclining in the shade of an impressive chestnut tree. “Fortunately we’ve found him a wife, a sweet girl from a good Puritan family.”

“How nice,” Alex said. “And do they like each other?”

“They haven’t met. How can they, when she’s down south? Peter and Nathan will be riding down for her sometime in June.”

“They’re getting married now?” Alex swung to look at Nathan.

“He’s eighteen, an adequate age.”

“And the girl?”

“Of an age,” Elizabeth replied with a shrug, and rushed over with surprising speed to stop her youngest, James, from throwing himself in the trough. Ten live children, Alex thought with a slight shudder as Elizabeth bundled James into a firm grip and carried him off in the direction of the house. Ten ranging in age from twenty-nine to three, and as she understood it there had been five others as well.

*

It always made Alex grin to see Peter and Elizabeth Leslie together. When Peter strode into the kitchen, she surreptitiously studied them both. Elizabeth was a broad, strong woman, of a height with Alex and with hips the width of a cow’s according to Matthew. And that he meant as a compliment... Her grey hair was wound into a tight bun and covered by a cap, and in her face a plump and soft mouth was disconcertingly offset by a rather bulbous nose.

Peter, on the other hand, was tall and willowy, with an impressive head of curling blond hair and a receding chin that gave him a false air of malleability. In reality, Peter was as hard-headed and stubborn as his wife, and together they made an impressive couple with an eye out for any opportunity of advancement for their children, which was why Jenny Leslie was proposed as a wife for Ian, the match ensuring Jenny would in time be mistress over a sizeable property as well as staying close to home.

“Alex.” Peter Leslie smiled a bit too widely, making Elizabeth glower.

“Peter.” Alex twisted her face to receive his kiss on the cheek, not on the mouth as intended.

“Have you seen the new dairy?” Peter said.

“Yes, quite impressive, and the cheese is delicious.” She nodded in greeting at Jenny, who had trailed her father into the kitchen, and received a quick curtsey in reply before the girl set down the basket of folded linen on the table.

“It’s hot,” Jenny said.

“Yes, most unseasonal.” Peter smiled at his wife, accepting a brimming mug of beer. “Somewhat of a shock for the new men. One of them just sat down and refused to work during the midday hours, complaining that the sun was making him ill.” He shook his head. “I don’t much like it, but I fear that one will need to be punished.”

“Which one is that?” Jenny asked with a gleam of interest in her pale blue eyes. “The one with the dark hair, the fair one, or the one with no hair at all?”

“They have names, I assume,” Alex cut in, making all three turn to look at her.

“They do,” Peter said, “but I won’t have my daughters on first-name basis with them. The less they see of each other the better.”

Well, that clearly wasn’t working, Alex thought, giving Jenny a curious look. The girl met her eyes for an instant and went over to sit by her mother.

Jenny was a pretty enough girl, with the complexion of a dewy rose. Her dark hair was mostly covered by her cap, but here and there a strand had escaped to hang in a soft curl. As Alex recalled she was nineteen, two years older than Ian. Maybe that was why she was more interested in her father’s indentures than in Ian. The girl leaned closer to her mother and murmured something which made Elizabeth nod, one capped head very close to the other.

“So when will you hold the wedding?” Alex asked over supper.

“The contracts have already been signed, and there will be a wedding at her home when we come for her.” Peter grinned slyly at his son. “And a wedding night.”

Nathan nodded, looking rather unenthusiastic, and served himself a large helping of stew.

“And will you live here?” Alex asked Nathan.