Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

E sme was sweating and shaking when she returned to the kitchen with the pot. Dumping the contents into the sluice drain, she ladled more oats and salt into the pot and hung it over the fire after adding water. It would take a good while to cook up, because the oats had not been soaked in the water overnight, but she needed that time to regain her nerve.

There were several servants and serfs already at work in the kitchens, but their job was to start peeling turnips and making the trenchers and bread for dinner later on that day.

One of the servants noticed the pot hanging over the flames. “More porridge? Cook will want to ken why the sack o’ oats is lighter.”

In no mood to worry about such a trivial thing, Esme retorted. “I guess I’ll fret meself aboot such a silly concern when it happens!”

Four of the men in the great hall had eaten at least some of the porridge. It was as good a time as any to go back and see how quickly they were dying. Growing up in the beach village, Esme had seen the housewives harvesting those mushrooms whenever they wanted to rid the house of rats or other vermin. Some women sprinkled dried mushroom powder under the thresh to stop insects from breeding there.

They would dip the fungi in hog fat and leave it in all the ratholes in summer. It was a sure way of keeping the cottage pest free—and that was how Esme saw the men who had murdered her family. They were rats, pests that must be eradicated before life could continue as normal.

That was the reason she had chosen to work at Clyde’s household; she had free access to their food. How she longed to see them suffer the way her poor family and clan had done. Death was too good for them.

Standing quietly at the door, she looked at the head table. The four men were still there, complaining angrily about the lack of palatable food. But when Esme looked at the bottom of the hall, she saw that the Highlander’s dark eyes were watching her carefully.

Panicked, she turned to walk back to the kitchen. Did he suspect something? Esme was sure she had seen a sparkle of amusement in his eyes just now!

But there was no way she could ever serve the Highlander toxic food. Bruce Sterling had shown Esme how lovely joining her body to another’s could be. He might be a traitor to her people. He might be the laird’s spoilt favorite warrior who got every single one of his whims and desires fulfilled the moment he wished for it. However, Bruce would always be the man who showed her a little piece of heaven when he slid himself so slowly, so tenderly inside her.

Risking another quick look at the tables higher up the hall showed Esme the men were still in rude good health. Puzzled that such a strong dose was having no effect on them, eaten as it was on an empty stomach, she returned to the kitchen.

The oats were cooked well enough to be edible. Adding lots of cream, she told one of the baker serfs to serve it in the hall for her while Esme took over kneading the bread. She waited for the news that three or four of Clyde’s men were sick all day, but it never came.

He came for her that night. Pushing open the slaves’ bedchamber door so hard that it slammed against the wall, Clyde ordered her out of bed.

“Come! You with the long, brown hair. Come, wench. You must sleep with yer master tonight.”

While the other girls hid their heads under the covers, Esme tried to make sense of what was happening. “I am married. Ye cannae take me to bed. Me husband will object in the Kirk. Ye will be excommunicated!”

Clyde gave a harsh guffaw of laughter. “Ha! You think I care about such things? A fleet of mainland ships came past this evening, and not one of them had ever heard of a man claiming you to be his wife. No Kirk has your marriage union registered in its book. And if your husband ever does put in an appearance, pretty little Esme, I will pay him off with gold.”

She was frozen in place, unable to force her legs to walk towards him. Dithering, Esme held her arisaid around her shoulders as she searched for her kirtle. “You won’t need that,” Clyde told her, “Come as you are. I’ll give you finer clothing in the morning. After you have become my official mistress.”

Esme could not stand the thought of this man touching her in the same way Bruce had touched her. Clyde McFletcher was altogether loathsome, with his protruding belly and fingers like sausages. His red face was blotchy from drinking too much wine, distorting any nobility in his features.

How she regretted choosing Clyde’s household instead of Bruce’s! And now it was too late. This bully would put a bairn in her belly and then she would be just like all the other poor wretched slave girls on the island, too scared to leave their children behind to escape.

Weeping quietly, she followed Clyde out of the bedchamber. His heavy steps guided her to the small cottage next to his own. He showed her inside. It was a cozy structure, with its own hearth and a small bedchamber to the side. Clyde lit a rushlight in the ashes of the hearth and used it to spark an oil lamp.

The bed was neatly made and the bolster was thickly stuffed with goose down. It was luxury compared to what she had left behind, but the price of the luxury was one Esme was unwilling to pay.

Sitting down on the stool, Clyde began to undress, pulling the jerkin over his head and loosening his breeks. He glanced over to her. “Come, ready yourself for me in an enticing way.”

Esme had no idea what that meant, so she went to sit on the edge of the bed. Her body sank onto the soft bolster mattress as if it were soft butter.

“Oh ho!” Clyde looked at her with a lustful, greedy expression. “So you want to play it shy, do you? Very well. I won’t complain, not the first time.”

Crawling up onto the bed, he pushed her down to lie beside him, hoisting up her skirt as he held up his shirt too. Licking his lips so that they glistened in the lamplight, he got ready to plunge himself into her. Esme wept uncontrollably. Nevermore had she longed to be dead. And then, “Ach! Why did you not tell me it was the time of your moon cycle, Wench?”

Rolling off her, Clyde vaulted onto the bedchamber floor as if she had turned into an old crone. “Do you not know that it saps a man’s strength to lie with a woman during such a time? No wonder your folk are so weak and cowardly if you indulge in such disgusting practices! I will be back in seven days, and see that you are clean for me then!”

Barging out of the door, he left Esme alone. Murmuring heartfelt prayers of thanks, she looked down at her shift. The back of the thin linen garment was stained with the last blood of her maidenhead. She must have missed it when she cleaned herself with the rag at the brewery.

She was not the most superstitious woman, but Esme was finding it hard not to imagine that the rough Highlander with the dark hair and hypnotically black eyes had saved her from Clyde once more. Hugging the warm blankets around her and collapsing back on the feather-soft bolster, Esme fell asleep with hope in her heart.

Waking to a world full of fresh hope, Esme left the soft bed reluctantly and went to dress next to the hearth. The sun was rising closer to midnight every morning as the summer solstice approached. Moving to the bowl on the table, she rinsed out the pink stain from her shift gown before putting it back on. The damp spot stuck to the back of her thighs, but it felt cool and fresh in the warm morning air.

Supposing that she should go back to the laird’s kitchen to help prepare the bread for dinner, Esme opened the cottage door, stepping down the stone stairs with her arisaid wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Bruce was standing outside. He was silent, only watching her as she walked out the door. This time, there was no use Esme denying where she was or why she was there. It was the Lairdsson’s mistress’s cottage, built next to his house for easy access so that he could visit without disturbing Anna, his wife, as she slept in her chamber.

Esme stepped forward with her hand held out. “Bruce, wait! I can explain—” but he had already retreated into the early morning mists that drifted silently around the stone walls of the houses.

In the kitchen later, the man who tended the fires brought dry kindling from the scanty bushes on the island. He also brought them news. “I hear yon Highlander has finally had his fill o’ the Norsemen. He’s petitioning the laird to end his contract.”

“Contract?” The cook was in the mood to be entertained with gossip, even if it meant chatting with the lowly woodcutter. “Did he sign his life away to be a mercenary to the laird?”

The woodcutter shook his head. “I should rather call it a deal, the Berserker signed no contract. I have nae idea why such a fierce man would choose to waste his mighty life away in such a god-forsaken spot anyway, but there’s nay accounting for taste.”

One of the elderly ladies kneading bread spoke up. “Me brither is a fisherman over at beach village. He tells the story aboot how the Highland warrior fell desperately in love with a bonny Selkie lassie. They say she pushed his boat to safety and beached it on this isle. He woke to see her comely face gazing doon at him, but she swam away oot o’ reach when he tried to touch her. He fell in love on the spot and was preparing to swim after her, but the laird’s daughter rode past and turned his mind to other things. But he stays on the island, hoping to see his love for one last time.”

“That’s hogwash,” the cook cackled with laughter. “No great Highland warrior is going to throw his hat over the rainbow for a mermaid!”

“Dinnae laugh!” the baker frowned at the cook, “It is a great tale of love and loyalty. The man has shown nay sign of wanting to wed Mackenzie McFletcher, has he? It’s been nigh on three years the woman has been warming his bed noo.”

Esme was listening intently to the story. Since she had been dragged over the island to work here, she had totally forgotten about how she first met Bruce. Her thoughts of vengeance had turned her heart away from him, sucking the innocence and love from her mind like a monstrous ghoul.

And now it was too late. Bruce believed she had given her body to Clyde McFletcher willingly. She had to find him before he left. He must not leave without knowing the truth. When he had taken her maidenhead so sensually down in the musty brewery, it had not only given Esme her first taste of ecstasy, but it had also saved her from being ravished by that porcine Lairdsson too.

Where could she find him? Was it too late to apologize? Had she burned her bridges? Much to Esme’s frustration, the cook noticed her skulking in the kitchen and put her to work kneading and baking bread.

There must have been bad air in the kitchen that day because the bread came out flat and hard. Finding the easiest person to blame, the cook grabbed Esme by the scruff of her neck and gave her a hard buffet in her ear. “You pestilent wench! I should have your heavy hands whipped at the post. Begone from here at once and go scrub the paving stones in the stables.”

Accepting her punishment meekly, Esme went out to the stables, hauling a pail of water and some lye soap with her. Dropping the pail on the floor, she set the scarf hiding her hair straight, and got down on her hands and knees. The tack room was exceedingly basic, being just a wooden table and some hooks on the walls to hang the bridles and reins.

The harsh lye soap burned the skin on her hands, but it was better than lying on the bed in Clyde’s cottage.

For one moment, she puzzled over how the mushrooms had not killed those men, and then a shadow blocked out the light. “Bruce!” holding up one raw, red hand to guard her eyes from the sun so that she could see who it was, Esme was so happy when the dark silhouette resolved to show the Highlander standing in front of her. He was looking down at her with a frowning face. Clambering to her feet, Esme had never wanted to hug someone more in her life. “I…I am glad ye’re here.”

Scowling down at her, his upper lip curled. “Yer new lover will be upset to hear ye trying to charm me like that, Esme. How can ye look at me with a smile on yer face after playing me such a backhanded trick! Ye hardhearted doxy!”

Unthinking, Esme raised her hand and slapped him across the cheek. Aghast at her behavior, she cowered back and waited for him to hit her back. He spat the words out at her. “I will nae hurt ye, Esme. A woman is free to change her mind at will. Ye are nae a slave in me eyes—ye are equal to me in spirit and bravery—but ye twisted the knife when ye spread yer legs for yon Clyde.”

His expression was far more stern than his words were. Ignoring his accusation, Esme cried out, clutching the edge of Bruce’s jerkin. “Did ye ken aboot the porridge? Tell me noo!”

Dragging his hands down his face with frustration, Bruce raised his eyes and his fists to the ceiling. “Aye, aye. I came looking for ye that night—just like I come looking for ye every night—and I saw ye taint the oats. It was me who swapped oot the contents.”

Lost to her despair, Esme backed against the table so that he could not see how hard she was crying. He thought she had slept with Clyde and now, without Bruce to protect her, she really would have to do so in seven days.

“Why did ye nae let the men eat me porridge, Bruce? That was me plan and ye ruined it.”

His rage was like a black storm as he flung himself back from her. “Yer foolish foutering plans! Are ye insane? Do ye ken what they would have done to ye if they had found oot? It’s best that ye go back to yer blond lover and ride his rump as best ye can, lassie, because Clyde’s fondness for ye is the only thing that will save yer arse from the fire when ye are found out to be a poisoner!”

Esme raised her hand to try and hit him again, but he caught her wrist. Now, it was Esme’s turn to spit out the words of denial into his face. “Lairdsson is nae me lover…yet! He saw the blood spot of me maidenhead on me shift and believed it to be my moon cycle. I am untouched!”

Relief flooded Bruce’s face. They glared at one another, their faces only an inch or two apart. And then they fell upon each other with a desperate hunger, their passion fuelled by the rampant emotion burning inside their hearts.

Crushing her against his hard chest, Bruce murmured loving words as he kissed the top of her head. “Me darling lass, I thought… I dreaded to think; I couldnae stand the thought o’ ye lying with another man. It would kill me if ye did.”

Esme was too relieved to be back in the protection of his arms to worry about the unfairness of her lover’s demands. “Dinnae say such mad words to me, Bruce. We come from different worlds. I am a serf, born to slave for another’s whim. Ye are a free man. Is it true that ye want to leave the island?”

Kissing her fiercely, the words he murmured were half-crazed with ardor. “I’ll nae leave this island withoot ye, Esme. I have nae been able to leave this cursed place for three long years because it is only here that I can find ye.”

Those loving words brought Esme back to earth with a bang. Pushing him away from her, Esme’s eyes were wide with frustration. “But what aboot yer bedfellow, Mackenzie? Don’t ye stay here for her too?”

Once again, Bruce must have felt the frustration rise inside him. “I am fond of her, Esme. I cannae deny it. But she is nae ye, darling lass.”

Pushed by an unfathomable feeling of outrage, Esme found the strength to put him on the spot. “Och, ye great beast! How can ye play with two poor women’s feelings like this? Have ye nay compassion?”

Her indignation made him laugh out loud. “Ha! Ye ken nothing o’ the matter, darlin’. It is Mackenzie who plays with me. All I am to her is a hard body in bed at night to romp with. She is the very definition of a bedfellow. We are friends who fouter around together when the mood takes us. Oor feelings are nae involved.”

Esme blew air out of her mouth in a scornful puff. “Pfft! Ye ken nothing aboot women if ye think that, Bruce. No woman can bed a man for so long and only feel friendship for him.”

“I dinnae care,” he growled, gently wiping the strands of hair off her face with one hand so that he might kiss her again. “I only care aboot us, Esme. Ye and me.” His kiss told her that no matter what, Bruce’s blood ran hot whenever he touched her.

It was pure bad luck for Esme and her Highlander that Mackenzie chose that time to come down to the stables.