Betrayed (10 page)

“Ye know I had no other choice. He would have taken the cattle without a moment's thought. Jeannie tells me Margery and Elsbeth met secretly with their laddies all the summer long, and that Margery was with child on her wedding day.
’Tis
true I didn't know all that, but what else could I do, Flora?”

“There was nothing ye could do, my lamb. Ye remembered yer promise to yer own sweet mam to care for her lasses. She knew ye would have to sacrifice to keep yer promise.”

“Would she be proud of me, Flora?”

“Aye,” the old lady said, “but I canna help but think she would have hoped that ye wed with the laird. He has a good heart, my lamb.”

“The laird doesn't want a wife, and he doesn't want me in particular. He said I would besmirch the honor of the Gordons of Loch Brae. As if I wanted to wed the arrogant fellow!”

“Ye
must
make him wed ye, lambkin,” the old servant said. “No other will have ye now that he has robbed ye of yer virginity.”

“Is that all a woman's worth is valued at, Flora? Her virginity and her ability to bear bairns? I want a man who will love me for more than those qualities, and Black Angus doesn't love me at all. To him I am no more than a thief. A thief who is now his mistress. When he is done with me, I shall return to the ben, but Anne, Elsbeth, and Margery are properly wed, and Jeannie and Morag will have fine husbands one day.”

“And ye have provided for my Tarn and me as well,” Flora said quietly. “I am happy to be off the ben. I never liked it, but yer mam was our lady, and then when she died, we could not leave her bairns.”

“I know,” Fiona said, “but now yer old bones will
have warm fires for ye to sit by while ye watch my sisters grow up. I would not have left ye on the ben.”

“There are things I must tell ye before I leave,” Flora said to her mistress. “There are certain precautions that ye can take to prevent yerself from having a bairn if ye don't want one. The seeds from the wild carrot, the plant with the lacy white flowers, will keep ye from mischief. Take a spoonful of the seeds, followed by a goblet of warm water. Or chew the seeds if ye will. A dose of pennyroyal can help, too. Don't bear the man a bastard if ye can prevent it, lambkin.”

“Greymoor isn't far,” Fiona said. “I'll come to see ye for advice as I have always done. I'm learning to ride a horse.”

Flora nodded. “Still,” she said, “I should have told ye before the laird bedded ye. If ye find yerself with a bairn, come to me, and I will help ye to rid yerself of it.”

Fiona was surprised by Flora's knowledge, but she was grateful for it. “How often do I take the seeds?”

“Once daily, and I'll give yer Nelly a bag of them to tide ye over until next summer when the plants bloom again. Yer mother used them when she wanted to defeat yer father of a son, though ‘twas not often enough. She feared he would learn of her deception, for he scattered his bastards far and wide.”

“Aye,” Fiona agreed. “He would have been suspicious, for he so wanted to regain the lands in the glen.” Arising from her seat upon the floor, she shook her skirts out, then offered Flora a hand, pulling her from her bench. “’Tis past time we were in bed, old woman.”

Hamish Stewart came for the two Hay sisters. “Yer sister, clever lass she is,” he said to Angus with a pleased grin, “seems to be breeding again. I hope it is another lad, for we surely have a houseful of lassies, and here
we are adding more.” He chuckled. Brown eyes twinkling, he glanced from his brother-in-law to the two girls. “Are these the little Hay girls, Angus?”

Amazed, Jeannie and Morag looked at Hamish Stewart. He was the largest man that they had ever seen. He stood at least six inches over six feet, and his big round head with its mop of hair was as red as fire, as was his bushy beard. “Be he a giant, Fi?” little Morag said, eyes wide.

Hamish Stewart's laughter rumbled forth. Lifting the little girl up into his arms, he grinned at her. “No, no, lassie. My mam and my father just grew me big.” A thick finger tickled her, and she giggled. “Be ye Mistress Morag Hay?” he asked her.

“Aye, sir,” Morag said, and then, surprising everyone, she demanded of Hamish Stewart, “Will ye be my father?”

“Morag, what a thing to ask” Fiona gently admonished her littlest sister. “Lord Stewart will be yer guardian.”

“I want a father!” Morag said adamantly. “I have never had one!”

“She was only a wee bairn when our father died,” Fiona explained.

Lord Stewart's eyes were warm and sympathetic. “I'll be happy to be yer father, lassie,” he replied. He set the little girl down again.

Fiona pushed Jeannie forward, and the girl made her curtsy to the big man. “I am Jean Hay, my lord,” she said.

“Ye don't look old enough to be a shameless wench, but my young brother-in-law seems to think ye are,” Lord Stewart said with a chuckle. “Are ye, Jeannie Hay?”

Jeannie grinned. “Only where my Jamie-boy is concerned, my lord. I promise to comport myself in most ladylike fashion otherwise.”

Hamish Stewart roared with laughter and, turning to the laird, said, “I can see that my household will be all the more exciting for the addition of these two lassies, Angus.” Then, taking up Fiona's hand, he kissed it. “Ye will be Mistress Fiona Hay,” he said quietly. “Let me assure ye, Mistress Hay, that I will take care of yer sisters as if they were my own bairns, and yer two servants will be well treated. Ye are always welcome at Greymoor, lassie.”

“Thank ye, my lord,” Fiona said. Tears pricked her eyes, but she fought them back. She did not need her sisters weeping at their departure. “Please send my felicitations to your good lady upon the expectation of your next child. I am grateful to ye both for your thoughtful kindness of my sisters.” She curtsied prettily.

There was approval in Hamish Stewart's eyes at her words. His wife had been correct. Fiona Hay would make Angus a fine wife, if the bloody fool could only see past his overweening pride.

The girls’ baggage was loaded into a mule-drawn cart along with old Flora and Tarn.

“I have given Nelly the bag,” Flora whispered as Fiona kissed her worn cheek.

“I have brought ye mounts I thought ye would like to have for yer own,” the master of Greymoor told his new charges. Helping Jeannie onto a small dappled gray mare, he then lifted Morag onto a fat black pony. “Yer mare is called Misty,” he told Jeannie, “and the pony, my bonnie Morag, is Blackie.”

“Oh,” Fiona said enthusiastically to her sisters, “how fortunate ye both are to have such beautiful beasties for yer very own!” She kissed Morag on her
rosy cheek and squeezed Jeannie's slender hand. “God bless ye both, sisters. I will come and see ye soon.”

Hamish Stewart signaled their departure, for he knew if he waited much longer there would be weeping. Fiona walked with the slow-moving party to the bridge. Then with a cheerful wave she turned back to the castle, listening to the steady
clop-clop
of the horses’ hooves as they clattered over the wooden span. Although Jeannie had been uncharacteristically silent as they parted, Fiona could hear Morag chattering away to Hamish Stewart. She smiled weakly. It was the right thing for both girls.
It was!

She was saddened by her loss, and the rest of the day she wandered about the laird's small island aimlessly. She found a large boulder by the shore with a smooth indentation partway up the rock facing the loch. Seating herself within the surprisingly comfortable notch, she gazed out upon the blue water. It had a soothing effect and helped allay her fears for having rearranged her siblings’ lives so quickly. She now wondered about her own. What was she to do with her life? Although she didn't think the laird was particularly taken with her, he seemed to want to retain her company, although why, she didn't know. He hadn't come near her since the night they had arrived at Brae Castle. Was her maidenhead really all he had wanted of her, despite his words to the contrary?

She stared out at the waters, becoming familiar with the rhythm of the small waves, spying a ripple of current. The shore beyond the island was treed right down to the craggy bluffs along the waterline. Here and there was a small patch of sandy beach. The trees were already beginning to show their autumn colors. The aspens and the rowan trees were turning a bright gold. The rowans would be heavily hung with orange
berries. The oaks would show russet and red, mixing among the tall stately dark green pines. Fiona sighed deeply. She dearly loved the autumn, but this year her autumn was tinged with sadness. For the first time in her life she was alone, without her family.

Above the treed bens the clouds began to mass, leaving torn patches of bright blue. The late afternoon sunlight turned the castle golden, reflecting brightly into the loch. It was so beautiful. She had never been in such a lovely place. Her father had taken so much from them in his cruel quest for Glen Hay, and in the end he had not even possessed a handful of ashes. Perhaps if he had made his peace with her grandfather, none of this would have happened. Perhaps she might have even been honorably betrothed to the laird of Loch Brae. Fiona shook her head, laughing softly at herself for being a fool. Dugald Hay had gone to his grave cursing his father-in-law and the unkind fate that had denied him what he believed was rightfully his. He had left his daughters poverty-stricken. And she, the daughter of a proud clan, had sold herself for the good of her sisters. She slipped from her niche and walked slowly back to the castle.

In her chamber Nelly greeted her worriedly. “Where were ye, lady? Black Angus could not find ye, and has been in a terrible state!”

“I am used to being out-of-doors, not confined within the walls of a castle,” Fiona said. “I didn't leave the island. There is a large rock by the shore with a notch in it. It makes a fine seat upon which to sit and think while watching the water.”

“Ye miss yer sisters,” Nelly said wisely.

Fiona nodded. “I have never been alone before. I don't know what to do with myself.”

“I have yer bath ready” Nelly replied. “After a
good soak ye'll feel better. The piper is to play tonight in the hall.”

When Fiona had bathed and dressed herself in a clean skirt and blouse, she followed Nelly down to the hall where Angus Gordon was already at the high board.

“Where have ye been?” he demanded, his dark green gaze fastening on her. “I thought ye had run off and that I would have to send the hounds after ye, lassie.” He shoved a platter with a roasted joint upon it down the table at her while signaling with his other hand that her goblet be filled with wine.

Fiona tore off a piece of the joint, taking a bite from it. “Because I am yer mistress, my lord, does not mean I lack honor. We have made a bargain, and I intend to keep it.” She chewed the venison, washing it down with the wine, then reached for the bread and cut herself a chunk. After smearing butter across it with her thumb, she bit off half of it. Her look was intractable. She would not be bullied by the likes of Angus Gordon.

He said nothing more, nor did she. When the food had finally been cleared from the board, a piper came forward, stood before them, and began to play. A faint smile touched Fiona's lips. The music made by the pipes was a raucous sound, yet it touched her heart to its core, understanding her sadness, sympathizing with it, soothing it. She sighed deeply as the piper finally ceased and walked away into the shadows of the hall. Without another word Fiona arose and went to her chamber, Nelly on her heels. Angus watched her go, his look, for the briefest moment, thoughtful.

Nelly helped her mistress to disrobe, handing her lady a soft linen camisia with flowing sleeves. Fiona tied the two halves of the garment closed at the neckline. After bathing her hands and face, then carefully cleaning
her teeth with pumice, she was ready for bed. Nelly busied herself with folding the discarded garments and laying them aside.

Fiona went to the window and pushed the shutters open. The night air was cool, autumnal. “Go to bed, Nelly,” she said. “I'm not yet ready to sleep. Too much has happened today.”

“God give ye sweet repose then, lady,” Nelly said, closing the door behind her.

There was a quarter moon tonight. It glowed brightly down on the waters of the loch, silvering the little wave tops. The wind was light, but definite in its course. Fiona smiled as it caught a tendril of her hair before she began to braid it. Fastening the single thick plait with a bit of ribbon, she sighed and, placing her hands on the sill, gazed deeply into the night.
She was alone.
For the first time in her entire life she was truly alone. Her sisters were all scattered. Old Tarn and Flora were gone from her. It was an odd sensation, almost like having no body or floating free and not knowing where she was going. What was to become of her, she wondered, but Fiona was neither sad nor frightened by her silent question. She was simply curious as to what life held in store for her. She could not remember a time when she was not responsible for her siblings. What on earth was she going to do now that they were all settled?

The arm that slid about her waist was not unexpected. She had sensed that he would come tonight. It had been more than a week since he had lain with her, and she was shy all over again, but at least this time she knew what to expect.

“What are ye thinking?” he asked, surprising her.

“Of my sisters,” she said, wondering if he would really understand.

“Ye miss them?”

“Aye, and I wonder what my life is to be now I no longer have them to care for, Angus Gordon,” she told him honestly.

“Ye are my mistress,” he replied, bending to place a warm kiss in the place where her round neckline revealed her skin.

Fiona laughed in spite of herself. “What does a mistress do, my lord?” she queried mischievously.

“Why she … she—” He stopped, confused by her question.

“Exactly,” Fiona told him. “If I were yer wife, I would have the care of this castle and its people, but I am not yer wife. What is it that I am, then? I am not a toy to be put in the corner when ye don't want me, my lord.”

The laird was astounded. By Fiona, by their very conversation. What did she want of him? “Una and Aulay have charge of the castle,” he began, but he realized that had he a wife, they would defer to her.