Chapter Fifteen

The church bells hadn't yet rung when Lady Alice arrived the next morning.

The mistress of the house came by, with a full half dozen matrons at her back. Dugan growled at being awakened by the chamber door opening so early in the morning.

"Out of bed with ye both!" Lady Alice commanded.

Braylin struggled to open her eyes. She reached up to rub them before she recalled that she wasn't wearing a stitch. Her hair flowed down but it did little to cover her.

But no one was looking at her. She was shoved back several paces when the matrons all went to look at the sheet on the bed.

Erin had come in with the women, but not for the same reason. She found Braylin's shift. "Raise yer arms." Braylin let out a soft little sound of gratitude and lifted her arms so that Erin could help her into the garment.

"You spoke the truth," Lady Alice said, looking at Braylin. There was a pleased little smile on the lady's face. She pointed at the sheet. "Smearing a bit of blood on the sheets doesn't look the same as a true deflowering."

There were several nods from the other matrons. Two of them were pulling the sheet off the bed.

"Since ye are satisfied, might I ask ye all to leave?" Dugan's words might have been polite, but his tone betrayed his irritation.

Lady Alice looked his way. "Not just yet."

The matrons carried the sheet to the window. They opened the shutters and tied the ends of the soiled sheet to them before they pushed the free end out of the window.

With the window shutters open, Braylin could see that the horizon was pink with the glow of a new day. The moment the sheet fell down, there was a cheer in the courtyard below.

The smile on Lady Alice's face faded. Braylin watched the way Alice's eyes narrowed slightly, seeing how many members of the clan had left their beds early enough to see the bed sheet flown. Dugan was clearly important to them.

Alice caught Braylin looking at her. A moment later, the lady abruptly turned around and left the chamber, with the matrons hurrying to catch up with her.

"They are gone," Dugan muttered after he firmly closed the door. "It's finished, lass."

The problem was, Braylin had a very odd feeling that matters were far from finished. There were too many voices in the courtyard.

And they were still cheering below.

Dugan's expression tightened. He walked over to the open window. When those below caught sight of him, they roared.

No, this wasn't finished. Because even in England, the master of a stronghold never wanted to share his position. Not even with his son.

*

"Ye are in a hurry this morning, Wife."

Alice froze when she heard her husband's voice. Cormac emerged from the shadows. The sound of cheering from the yard rose into a roar. Cormac made a motion with his hand which sent the matrons scurrying. He held his wife's gaze until the last of their frantic footsteps faded. Cormac closed the distance between them until there was but a single pace left.

"Ye are a fool, Alice," Cormac muttered. "Dugan is strong, and we are getting old."

"She is English," Alice insisted.

Cormac scoffed at her. "Strength is life in Scotland. Or have ye forgotten that I took the lairdship away from a wee little laddie the same age as our Rohan?"

Alice shook her head, still determined to resist what her spouse was saying.

"Rohan has alliances because of my Sinclair blood," Alice argued. "I have suffered yer bastard looming over my son's position long enough."

"Is that so, Wife?" Cormac asked.

Lady Alice raised one of her delicate eyebrows. "It is, Husband. My son will be laird of the Hay. I have made sure of it." With that, she walked away.

Cormac moved over to a set of stairs, climbing a few until he could look out of one of the archer slits in the wall. Cold air blew in to chill his nose and cheeks but the sight before him sent an icy jolt through his heart. His lady wife was a fool to have so much confidence in her scheme, for the Hay were clearly not at all concerned over Dugan's parentage.

And his English wife wouldn't be the first to meet with an untimely, early death if the clan wanted Dugan to be able to make a more beneficial match.

Cormac let out a sigh. A moment had come that he'd often feared. But just as his young nephew had learned so many years ago, Cormac had a taste for power. And no one was going to take his position.

Not even his own son.

Alice was correct about one thing; Dugan had been in the stronghold too long. The Hay retainers knew him too well, and liked him too much. The benefit of having a son leading his retainers had now tipped too far in Dugan's favor.

Dugan didn't want the lairdship now, but once a man wed, he began to think of his legacy. Dugan would be no different. He would start thinking of ensuring a warm home for his children instead of riding the uncertain borderlands. And the Hay men were loyal to Dugan.

Cormac needed to remedy that oversight.

Immediately.

*

The sun was rising now, lighting up Dugan's face. He turned his head and caught her watching him.

Braylin suddenly recalled that she was in naught but her shift. She looked around for her clothing, but it was all in the far side of the chamber where the women had left it after stripping her.

"Are ye regretting yer choice, Braylin?" Dugan asked.

Braylin stopped halfway to her clothing and looked back at Dugan. He was watching her with a guarded look on his face. "Ye are running, lass."

He was right. Braylin opened her hands. "It is just that I have never been so undressed before a man…in the light of day."

Their gazes meshed. She fought the impulse to break that connection, not wanting him to think she was being dishonest.

"That is something we have in common." Dugan's expression finally softened. His lips curved up into the smile she recalled from their stolen moments at the bonfire.

That was all it took for her to forget about how awkward she was feeling. Once more, there was only him, and the way he mesmerized her, making her feel as though nothing mattered but the pair of them.

Dugan reached her, drawing her into his embrace. When he leaned down, her breath caught. This kiss was gentle and sweet. Braylin laid her hands on his chest and felt his arms tighten around her in response, but Dugan broke away from her.

"Day has broken, lass," he muttered, his expression serious. "I needs get to the task of being a husband."

His words warmed her. The sensation was wholly unexpected. Then Dugan left the chamber, affording her a moment of privacy to smile.

Perhaps the future would be bright, despite the way they had come together.

It could be, if you get dressed and figure out how to be a worthy wife.

Her inner voice was spot on. Without a doubt, there would be challenges waiting on the other side of the chamber door for her to meet. She was still English and it was unlikely some of the keep's women had changed their opinion of her.

Well, as Dugan had said, the day had begun. The Hay were about to learn that Braylin was finished being their captive.

*

"Ye sent for me, Father?"

Cormac looked at his son across the expanse of his desk. There was a tightness in his body that he recognized, for it was always present when he needed to perform a necessary task that didn't sit well with him.

"Aye, I did."

Cormac watched his son reach up and tug on the corner of his bonnet. It pleased him that Dugan made certain respect was paid. The two retainers in the room needed to see that Dugan kept to his place, even in the privacy of the laird's solar.

"It's time for ye to have position within the clan," Cormac stated. "I have decided ye will have stewardship of Black Moss Tower and command over the retainers who call it home."

It was a gamble, giving Dugan a command, but the distance to Black Moss Tower balanced it out. The main body of Hay retainers wouldn't see Dugan every day, and therefore, not be able to compare his merits to Cormac's.

Cormac pushed a small leather pouch toward his son. Dugan picked it up, withdrawing the signet ring inside. Cormac had thought long and hard over giving his son this token of his trust, but knew it was the right thing to do. The ring would declare Dugan's new position as master of the tower.

"Father, I am honored," Dugan said.

"Put it on and wear it with my blessing. And may you have a long stewardship in service to the Hay clan," Cormac said.

Dugan looked at the signet ring for a moment before he opened his hand and pushed it down onto his finger. This was the seal of authority. It would be pressed into wax on letters and documents.

"I will strive to be worthy," Dugan said solemnly.

Cormac locked gazes with Dugan. "Ye shall leave immediately, in hopes of beating the full strength of winter. Yer retainers are already waiting for ye in the lower stable."

Dugan hesitated for a few seconds, then reached up and tugged on his cap once more. It seemed to Cormac that his son hardened right in front of him. Dugan had always been mature, but now, Cormac saw something glitter in his eyes, marking the final transformation from youth to man. His kilt swirled up and away from his thighs as he turned and quit the room.

Cormac was still for a long time. He'd always thought he'd have no trouble paying the price for being a laird. But it had never stung quite so badly before.

Still, every man needed to rise to the challenges of life. Dugan would be no different. If he wanted more from his life, well, Dugan would have to carve his place out just as Cormac had done. It was time for Cormac to see just which of his sons was more worthy to follow him. And to discover that, Cormac decided to follow the lead of the ancient Spartans—he needed to put Dugan out of the stronghold to see if he could survive.

The look in his son's eyes promised Cormac that Dugan intended to thrive.

*

Brody was shocked.

Dugan appreciated the moment because Brody wasn't a man who was easily shocked. Dugan pointed at the feathers on the side of Brody's hat.

"Ye can raise one of those up now, since ye will be me captain at Black Moss Tower," Dugan said.

Brody only continued to stroke his beard. "It will be a hard journey."

"Aye, it will," Dugan agreed.

Black Moss Tower was strategically placed at the edge of Hay land where the sea had eaten away at the rocky landscape to form a peninsula. Sitting on the high ground, it housed messenger birds which could be sent to the main stronghold.

But it was much further north and on the coast. They'd be riding straight into the breath of winter.

"Yer father is putting ye out—" Brody didn't mince words. "—to protect his position."

"That's one way to look at it," Dugan agreed.

Brody titled his head, clearly not seeing any other way to view their situation. But in his father's solar, Dugan had felt something shift inside himself—almost as if a door had opened in front of him. For certain he didn't know what was on the other side of it but a sense of anticipation had started flickering inside of him. Brody squinted at him, clearly baffled by Dugan's lack of concern.

Dugan looked at his man. "It is an opportunity to be my own man, Brody."

Understanding dawned on his friend's face. "Aye, well the Lady Alice is likely none too pleased to hear of yer new position."

"Aye," Dugan agreed. "But I am happy to be heading to a place where I can stop roaming the borderlands."

Brody took another long pull on his beard before he sniffed and nodded firmly. "Ye've earned it, lad," Brody declared. "I'll gather the men. You go collect yer wife."

His wife.

Would Braylin go with him? He wasn't sure. Trust was something that took time and they'd had precious little of that, as of yet. He knew she had courage. But riding out of the gate and into the unknown was asking a lot of even the strongest of men, much less a woman who had been torn from her home. He hoped she'd face the challenge with him because there was no way he was leaving her behind.

*

Cormac knew every inch of his stronghold—every stone passageway, even the ones which ran into the outer walls. To have a place inside the walls was considered a luxury, or at least better than a croft on the lonely fields in the dead of winter when all you might do is huddle close to a fire fed with peat.

But to be inside the walls meant a person needed to provide some service in return. The stronghold needed all sorts of labor—from the retainers, who stood watch on the walls and promised to put themselves in harm's way if needed, all the way down through the kitchens and laundry, to the meekest of servants who cleared out the privies.

In the outer walls, there were store rooms and bunks allotted to the lowest level of servants. Cormac headed into one of them, surprising several of his people who blinked with astonishment to see their laird so far from the great hall.

Cormac knew who he sought and just where his lady wife had banished her to. At the back of the walls, where they joined, was a space with four bunks. It should have been rustic and lacking in luxuries, but when Cormac made it to the doorway, he was greeted with warm light from several pottery lanterns. And there was the scent of beeswax instead of tallow from the candles. On the rough stone alcoves which formed the bunks, he could see thick pallets to make soft beds and there were pillows and other items which made for quite the cozy dwelling.

The occupants turned toward him, their faces lit with smiles of welcome until they recognized him. Fear replaced that welcome in a flash as the three women backed away from him. He knew any other man would have been made most welcome, in the hope of him purchasing their favors. But no one wanted to risk offending the mistress by bedding her husband.

Cormac looked at the three women. They were all fair and well-groomed. He paused inside the doorway, tapping a cake of fine soap that was sitting on a wash stand.

"It would seem ye are all doing very fine business."

Two of the girls' pallor turned pasty white but one of them looked him straight in the eye. Cormac immediately dismissed the other two. What he needed was boldness. "I require a service of ye, mistress."

Then he looked at the other two. "I was never here."

They both ducked their chins in obedience. "Aye, me lai—". The fact that they managed to bite off the word ‘laird' before finishing pleased him. "Go, and do nae listen at the door, or I will have ye taken to the convent."

The two girls hiked their skirts and ran without a backwards glance.

"Yer men will be very displeased should ye put us out, Laird Hay."

Cormac chuckled. "Ye have a sharp tongue."

The girl's eyebrow rose. "I assure ye, me tongue is very soft and subtle."

She came toward him. Cormac felt as though his shirt collar was suddenly too tight. There was a look in her eyes which mesmerized him, but she stopped short of touching him. Instead, she reached over to pick up the cake of soap.

Cormac cleared his throat when the woman lifted the soap to her nose and drew a breath.

"I know ye have a mistress already, me laird, so what brings ye here?" the woman asked pointedly.

Cormac felt a prickle of irritation over the woman's lack of respect but he shook it off. She was precisely what he'd come looking for.

"Being direct is likely a good trait in one of yer profession," Cormac stated bluntly. "What is yer name?"

The woman sat the cake of soap aside. "My name is Leana, me laird. Life afforded me a father who settled his debts with my maidenhead. After that, me sire bound me in servitude to a brothel owner who gave him a percentage of my wages. Now that I am free of that arrangement, if someone wants a service from me, ye had best be ready to pay a fair price for it."

Cormac reached into his doublet and withdrew a small leather coin purse. Leana's gaze went to the purse, her expression turning pensive.

"Me son Dugan is heading out to Black Moss Tower. I want ye to join his party as a laundress and when the moment is right, get caught in his bed by his new bride."

Leana's face became a smooth, unreadable mask. But in her eyes, Cormac could see that she had no liking for his request. Never in his life had he ever thought that he'd have to convince a whore to do his bidding, but this was more than just paying a fee for the use of her body. He needed her wiles.

Life had a way of humbling a man when he least expected it.

Cormac opened the bag and slowly emptied the contents onto the spot where the soap cake had been. Leana drew in a swift breath, obviously noting that the coins were gold instead of silver.

"Assist me in getting this English girl to leave on her own and I will give ye twice as much upon yer return."

Leana didn't jump at the offer. Cormac lifted a finger into the air. "If you succeed, I will send ye to Lindsey land with a personal letter so that ye can begin a new life far away from those who know yer past."

Now there was a different look in Leana's eyes—hunger.

Aye, she was hungry for a better life. It was only natural. And no one else could give it to her except him.

"The English girl is innocent," Leana argued. "She was forced to come here."

"I am not asking ye to harm her," Cormac continued. "Get her to abandon me son and go home." He pointed at the gold. "Give that to her as a dowry. Mange the matter before the next full moon and ye will go to Lindsey land with enough gold to live as yer own woman or wed as ye please."

Leana looked at the gold again.

"How do I know ye will keep yer word, me laird?" Leana asked. "I can hardly walk into the hall and demand justice."

She was weakening. Cormac felt the victory coming to him—he just needed to sweeten the deal a wee bit more.

"Ye were correct when ye said me men would be displeased if I sent away yer companions. Why do ye think I have never interfered with yer commerce?" Cormac shook his head. "If I did nae understand the value ye bring to me stronghold, ye can be very sure I'd question just how one of me wife's French soaps made it here."

Cormac wasn't really giving Leana a choice. If she refused him, there would be no further business within the walls of his stronghold. Understanding dawned in her eyes. There was a hint of bitterness there, but she nodded in agreement.

"Good." Cormac pointed at her. "Dress yerself and hurry to the yard."

At that, Cormac turned and left the chamber. He shrugged off the guilt that suddenly settled on him. He was just getting the English lass to go home. Other lairds would have sent some to break the lass's neck.

He surely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

*

"I will send ye back to the scullery if ye do nae pay attention to yer duties, Erin."

Alice watched Erin jump, whirling around and ducking her chin when she realized Alice was looking at her.

Alice let out a soft grunt. "What could be so interesting in the yard?"

Erin lifted her head, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Well, Erin?" Alice pressed for an answer. "What is happening in the yard?"

"The laird is…is sending Dugan to Black Moss Tower," Erin finally squeaked out a response.

Alice was stunned, blinking a few times as Erin's words sunk in.

"That cannot be," Alice declared. She stood and moved over to the window, pushing the shutter further open so she could lean out and get a good view of the courtyard below.

Erin had spoken true.

Dugan was there, along with a full three dozen retainers—far too many men for it to be a matter of Cormac sending Dugan on some errand.

"Erin, go down there and see if the laird has given Dugan the signet ring," Alice ordered.

Erin didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed her skirt and took off. Alice returned to look at the yard below, watching as Dugan was confronted by one of the older retainers. Dugan extended his hand to show the man the proof of his new authority.

Alice let out a profane word.

She paced across the chamber and back, trying to decide how to keep Cormac from elevating Dugan's position in the clan. But the signet ring was already on the bastard's hand. It was something which could not be undone and the news of it would spread through the clan, taking precedence over Dugan's wedding to an English girl.

Cormac was clever indeed. He'd managed to think of a way to throw a bucket of water onto the flames of the scandal she had so very carefully crafted.

She'd have to be cunning in return.

Erin came back into the chamber. She was out of breath and stood for a moment huffing and puffing. "He has the signet ring, Mistress."

Alice paced some more, trying to think of a countermove. Finally, she turned and looked at Erin. "You are going with them," Alice said.

"Mistress?" Erin questioned with wide eyes.

"Yes." Alice liked the idea the more she thought about it. "You are going with them to Black Moss Tower. And you are going to keep me informed about everything that is happening."

Alice hurried over to her wardrobe, withdrawing a small key from her belt, then fitting it into a chest that was inside the cabinet.

"This is a signet that the master of the mews will recognize." Alice handed over a small disk to Erin. "Keep it hidden, Erin, and tell no one of our arrangement. I expect you to write me a letter every week."

"Mistress, everyone knows I work for you," Erin protested.

Alice sent Erin a scathing look. "I do not have time to find someone else I trust. Think of a way or I will wed you to one of those dung shovelers in the stables before the week is out."

Erin's face twisted with horror. Alice grabbed the girl's hand and slapped the signet into it. "Hide that in yer bosom, girl."

Then Alice went into the small alcove where Erin slept. She grabbed the girl's worn surcoat and gloves.

"Here," Alice said, tossing them at Erin. "Get down to the yard before they leave."

Erin hugged the clothing to her chest, worrying her lower lip. But the stern look on Alice's face quickly had the girl hurrying from the room.

Alice went back to the window, watching for Erin to emerge at the bottom of the tower. When she did, Erin had donned the surcoat and was wrapping an arisaid around her head and shoulders. Alice smiled in approval. With the Hay colors covering her head, Erin easily blended in with the handful of women who were making ready to depart with Dugan.

Cormac wouldn't win this game.

Not while there was breath still in Alice's body.