The Captive Heart (32 page)

Fiona arose from the floor where she had been sitting and came to join them by the hearth. “Am I to be betrothed?” she asked. “Have you found a husband for me? Is he handsome? Is he rich? How old is he?”

The laird laughed. “Ever since you visited the king you have been fixated upon a match for yourself. Nay, lass, I am not of a mind to let you go yet. Perhaps when you are thirty or forty I may consider it.”

“Da! You know I should be wed by the time I am fifteen or sixteen else I be too old,” Fiona scolded. “Well, if it is not a marriage, then what is it?”

“Your mam is with child,” the laird told his daughter. “You will have a brother or a sister come the spring.”

“I hope it’s a brother,” Fiona surprised them by saying. “I don’t want to be the heiress of Dunglais. That would mean I would have to stay here and have a second son for a husband. I want only a first son and an even bigger keep of my own.”

“Gracious!” Alix exclaimed. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“I will be eight this year,” Fiona said. “The young king explained to me the importance of making a good match and making it early. Why, surely you remember that before the old king died he made a match for our king with the king of Denmark’s daughter, and James is but two years my senior. But his bride is younger.”

“The old king began the marriage negotiations, but they are not yet confirmed,” Alix told Fiona, “although Queen Marie says they will be. It takes time to negotiate a proper marriage contract between kings.” She reached out and smoothed her daughter’s dark hair. “Are you content you are to have a sibling, my daughter?”

“Aye,” Fiona said with a smile. “But, Mama, please have a lad.”

The laird laughed. “I am pleased to see you will not be jealous,” he told his child.

“Da!” Fiona gave an exasperated sigh. “Why would I be jealous of a bairn? I shall be married and gone long before he is grown. I have seen bairns in the village. They suck, shit, and sleep, and then suck some more for at least a year. They are really not very interesting at all.” Then she put her arms about Alix. “I am glad for you, Mama.” And she kissed Alix’s cheek sweetly. Then she ran off to find her cat, who had disappeared from the hall.

“I suppose you must begin considering a match for her,” Alix told her husband.

“Not until she is twelve and her beauty can be seen. Her dower won’t be a great one, and so it is her beauty that must help us to make Fiona the best match we can.”

“You know I saved some of what my father gave me for myself after I gave you a dower portion,” Alix said, and he nodded. “I will have a gold piece for Fiona’s dower.”

“How fortunate I was that you were found on my lands, lambkin,” he said. Then he reached out and gently touched her belly.

“How fortunate I was that it was your men who found me and not some hungry beast,” she answered him, holding her hand against her still-flat belly.

In the hall that night Malcolm Scott announced to all there that his wife was with child. A child to be born at the very end of the winter. A health was drunk to the laird’s wife by all there. By the following day all of the Dunglais folk knew that Alix was expecting a bairn. Walking or riding through the village she was smiled at and blessings called out to her. Dunglais would have an heir, for it was certain that the laird’s wife would have a son, all the women of the village decided.

The autumn arrived and one bright blue and gold late October day Alix decided that she would ride out one final time, for now that her belly was beginning to grow round she thought perhaps it would be wiser to forego her daily ride. And the winter would set in before long, making it impossible to ride anyway. She was accompanied by two of the castle’s men-at-arms and little Fiona. The sun was warm upon their backs as they rode.

But as they topped a hill they unexpectedly came face-to-face with a large band of men coming up the other side. Immediately one of the Dunglais men-at-arms reached for the bridle of little Fiona’s mount, and turning, began to dash back towards the keep. The other soldier with Alix called to her to do the same while he remained behind to give her a head start and defend her flight. A band of armed men in daylight upon the moor could only presage a raid or some other mischief. Alix took flight, as she had been bid.

She turned back once to see the Dunglais man battling valiantly, but he soon fell to the ground mortally wounded. There was also a group of men galloping after her. Alix urged her mare to greater speed, but to no avail. The creature could only go so fast. She was shortly surrounded. A man reached for the mare’s bridle. Alix slashed out at him with her reins. “Take your hands from my horse!” she shouted at him. “How dare you attack a woman out riding upon her own lands?”

“You have a choice, madame,” the obvious leader of the group said. “You will come quietly with us upon your own mount, or I will take you by force upon mine.”

“Do you know who I am?” Alix said. She was terrified, but would not show it.

“You are the Laird of Dunglais’s mistress,” the man replied.

“I am the laird’s lawful wife, you fool!” Alix snapped back.

“Not according to the church in England,” the man said.

“We are not in England,” Alix answered, but an icy chill ran down her spine.

“We will be by tomorrow” came the reply.

“Sir, I am with child,” Alix told him. “My husband will pay the ransom you ask, if you will but approach him. Even now my daughter has regained the keep and given the alarm. You will quickly be caught. Do not be foolish, and endanger your life or that of your men. My husband is a fierce fighter.” Alix attempted to bargain with the man.

“Madame, I have been sent by your betrothed husband, Sir Udolf Watteson, to retrieve you from the shameful captivity in which you have found yourself,” the man told her. “I have come to bring you home to Wulfborn. What Sir Udolf does with the bastard you now carry is not my affair. I have but one mission. To bring you back to Sir Udolf. Only then will my men and I be paid.”

“Sir Udolf is
not
my betrothed husband,” Alix said, struggling to keep calm. “I am wed under Scotland’s laws and in Scotland’s Holy Catholic Church to Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais. It is his heir I carry. Please, sir, I beg of you, allow me to pass and return to my home.”

“For the sake of your unborn bairn, lady, I advise you to come quietly,” her captor said. “I am a man of my word, and I gave it to Sir Udolf.” He reached out again for her bridle, and Alix again lashed out at him, but this time he grabbed the small riding whip from her, yanking it roughly from her gloved hand and flinging it to the earth. Then, grasping her horse’s bridle, he leaned over and clipped a leading rein to it.

Alix opened up her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her cries were of no use, for her captors led her away nonetheless. She continued to shriek until she could cry out no longer and her throat was raw with her efforts. Then they rode in silence, and they rode swiftly, putting as much ground between the laird who would be pursuing them shortly and themselves. They did not stop the day long, only slowing now and again to give their horses a chance to catch their breaths. Alix was hungry and very thirsty by the time they finally came to a halt.

They stopped in a deep hollow even as the sun set. She was lifted from her horse, and to her embarrassment her legs gave way beneath her. The captain of the raiders caught her and set her down carefully in the grass. He gave her a drink from his own water bottle and handed her an oatcake to eat. Alix was exhausted and fell asleep shortly after she had managed to swallow down her small nourishment. She was astounded to be awakened while it was yet dark, and protested.

“There’s a good bright border moon rising tonight, lady,” the captain told her. “The horses are rested enough to go on, and so must we.” He pulled her to her feet. “Your mare has been watered and grazed for the past few hours. We must be on our way.” He helped her to her horse and boosted her into her saddle before she might protest further. “We’ll get to Wulfborn by midmorning if we leave here now,” he said.

Alix had always preferred riding astride when she could. As part of the queen’s household she had been forced to ride sidesaddle when she was with her godmother, but when she was not she rode astride. She was relieved she knew how, for it made the pace they were keeping easier for her. A full moon was just rising as they began their journey again. Soon the bright moon made it almost as bright as daylight. But it was cold and slightly damp. Alix was glad she had her cloak with her. It helped some, but she was still chilled to the bone. Where were Colm and his men? Why hadn’t they caught up to the raiders by now?

The Laird of Dunglais had already heard the shouting in the courtyard of his keep when his little daughter burst into the hall screaming his name.

“
Da! Da!
Some men have taken Alix!”

The man-at-arms who had accompanied Fiona back to the keep ran into the hall. “My lord! My lord! The lady has been stolen by raiders. Tam remained to defend her and allow her retreat, but when I looked back I saw them reach her and lead her away. Tam can only have been killed, for he would fight to the death to defend the lady.”

“Fenella!” the laird called out. “Take care of Fiona!” And Malcolm Scott, hurrying from his own hall, called out to his men and for his stallion. “Bar the gates and lower the portcullis,” he instructed the few men who would remain behind. “Open to no one but me no matter what they say to you. Do you understand me?” And when he was assured that they did, he mounted his horse and rode from Dunglais Keep, a large party of men accompanying him.

Led by the man-at-arms who had been with Alix and Fiona, they reached the spot where Alix had last been seen. Noting the trampled grass, the laird could determine that it had indeed been a large party of raiders. Now they had to discover in which direction these strangers had gone. At first the riders had gone in one direction. East. But then after several miles it appeared as if they had broken into two groups. The laird stopped to consider. One group had turned northeast while the other had gone south. Malcolm Scott considered carefully before turning northeast, but night set in quickly as it was late October. They were forced to stop.

“We’ll rest here until moonrise,” the laird said, “and then continue onward.”

And when the moon arose they moved out again, until suddenly, to their surprise, they came upon an encampment of men, all sleeping but for the watch, who had little time to cry out before the laird’s men were upon them.

“Which one of you is in charge?” the laird demanded when all the sleepers had been roused and stood before him. No one spoke. With a sigh the laird stepped forward and yanked one of his prisoners to him, pressing his dirk to the man’s throat. “Who is in charge?” he asked again. The man in his grip shook his head, and so Malcolm Scott pressed the sharp tip of the dirk into the flesh beneath it, drawing a small bubble of blood. “You have taken my wife,” he said in a cold, hard voice. The dirk pressed deeper, and the flow of blood grew just slightly. “Now, who is in charge? Fail to answer me this time, and I’ll slit your throat and move on to someone else until I have gotten my answer. Or killed you all. You understand me?”

The man’s eyes bulged with fright as he looked into the laird’s merciless face, and with a small whimper he pointed to another man among the prisoners, gasping out one word.
“Him!”
Then, as the laird released him, the man fell to the ground, soiling himself in relief, although he still wasn’t certain they wouldn’t all be killed.

The Dunglais men grabbed the man pointed out to them, dragging him to where the laird stood and forcing him to his knees.

“Where is my wife?” Malcolm Scott asked in a soft but deadly voice.

“I don’t know,” the leader of the raiders said, yelping as one of the laird’s men hit him a fierce blow. “My lord, I swear I do not!”

“Do you deny taking her?” the laird asked. “Lie to me, and I will personally see you suffer a most painful and drawn-out death.”

“Nay, my lord, we were part of the band that took her, but we do not know where she has been taken,” the man said. “We are Douglases from near Jedburgh. We were contacted by some of our English kin a few months back. They told us the wife of an English lord had been taken and he wanted her back. When the time was right they would send for us. We joined with our kinfolk yesterday and took the woman. We were then paid for our trouble and told to go home. But we don’t know who this English lord is. I swear to you, we don’t!”

“But I think I may,” Malcolm Scott said. “I am the Laird of Dunglais, and rest assured I will inform the king of this treachery. Do you Douglases have no loyalty except to yourselves? Do you always betray your fellow countrymen?”

The Douglas captain flushed angrily, but he held his peace except to say, “You are free, my lord, to inform that puling brat who is our king. We Douglases care not!”

“Take their horses and the coins they were paid for their perfidy,” the laird said coldly. “I will have something for my trouble before we ride after my wife.”

“But we’re miles from home!” the Douglas captain protested. “And we earned that coin fairly, my lord. How are we to feed our families if you steal from us?”

“You purloined from me something far more precious than a handful of coins. You took my wife who is with child. While you are walking, consider the sin of disloyalty,” the laird snapped. “And the coin you earned was hardly acquired honestly, stealing my wife to deliver to some English lordling!” Reaching out, he cut the purse from the Douglas captain’s belt, hefted it in his hand, and smiled at the weight of it. “Aye, this will compensate me somewhat for my trouble.”

While the laird had berated the Douglas captain, his men gathered up their horses and were ready to depart. Malcolm Scott mounted his stallion, and without a further glimpse at the Douglas clansmen, rode off with his own men and their newly acquired beasts. As they rode towards Dunglais, the captain of his men-at-arms spoke up.