Chapter Sixteen

Braylin discovered a new appreciation of her plain brown wool dress along the road toward Black Moss Tower. Lady Alice's gift dress would never have held up against the bitter wind. Even the livery Ryesen wore was of a finer grade of cloth and better suited to the inside of the Hay stronghold. Ryesen had a long piece of wool wrapped around her shoulders that she called an arisaid. Even so, Braylin could see that the chill of the encroaching winter cut through the fabric.

Braylin leaned over, trying to shield her fingers. The Hay retainers all had sturdy gauntlets to keep their hands warm.

The horses didn't start the journey eagerly. The animals snorted and protested being urged toward the gate. Braylin pitied the creatures, for they had no say.

Neither do you…

Well, she'd had her say the day before. A flicker of heat rose in her cheeks. Braylin welcomed the blush, refusing to shy away from the memory of the way she'd willingly wed Dugan…and invited him into her bed.

At the time, it had seemed right. Of course, in the light of day, reality wasn't nearly as nice. She looked around at the people joining them on their trek to Black Moss Tower. They were all being put out—because of her.

Braylin wanted to think of Dugan's new position as a good thing but the looks being cast her way from the Hay retainers made it clear they thought she'd brought disaster upon him. Seeing the way Ryesen shivered, Braylin found the joy she'd experienced the night before dissipating. Their future wasn't going to be simple.

Her temper stirred at last. Even if she understood that life wasn't fair, it seemed to her that both she and Dugan had received their allotment of unkindness.

But what she thought didn't matter. Dugan had married an English girl. If she'd come from a powerful bloodline there might have been some measure of acceptance, but she was a common girl without even a dowry to ease her arrival into the Hay clan. And they were both paying the price for it, she thought, as two more of the Hay retainers glanced her way, disgust on their faces.

Braylin suddenly sat up straight. She tightened her grip on her composure and earned a raised eyebrow from one of those men watching her. She would not be weak in front of them. Braylin swallowed her doubts and looked toward the open gate.

Dugan lifted his hand, giving the signal for them to ride out of the yard. He never looked back, so she wouldn't either.

*

Black Moss Tower was ominous.

Braylin was bone weary and half frozen and still the sight of the fortification made her wish they were just going to ride past it.

It had three towers, each one of a different height. The center of it had a roof as well, which formed a hall to gather and break bread in.

The fortress was set on the edge of a ravine. The tallest tower overlooked the gaping canyon that looked like a huge beast had just taken a huge bite out of the earth. Behind half of the tower, there was a cliff with more exposed boulders and ground. There was a set of steps cut into that cliff because on top of it stood another lone tower.

The stone was black with moss. Wind howled up through the ravine, carrying rain that made that moss glisten.

"It is fearsome lass, but that will ensure ye feel safe within its walls."

Braylin had been so absorbed with looking at the towers, she'd failed to notice that Dugan had ridden up beside her.

Her husband…

She found it hard to use the word still, but it made her tingle when she thought it.

Dugan smiled at her. "We'll make it a fine home. I saw ye working on the flax linen, Braylin. Together, we will build a fine life here."

Dugan was eager to begin. He kicked his horse and went riding up to the front of the line of retainers. All of the horses were picking up the pace now that the animals could see an end to their journey.

"Only a fool would see this place as something to celebrate…"

The words floated back to Braylin from a cart in front of her where six women huddled together on top of what appeared to be sacks of provisions. The ride was bumpy, and a pair of retainers had to walk behind the cart to shove it forward when the wheels got stuck in ruts or against rocks.

The men were splattered with mud and debris, the scowls on their faces making it plain how dissatisfied they were with their duty. The women rolled and swayed, their fingers digging into the ropes which crisscrossed the sacks of grain to keep from being tossed over the sides.

"The bastard has never had anything of his own…"

"And this will be his lot, so long as he keeps that English wife."

Braylin looked back up toward the towers so the women wouldn't know she'd heard them. Part of her wanted to look straight at them and refuse to be upset by their words.

But there was another part of her that ached because she knew there was truth in what they said. All of her wishes meant nothing against the immovable hatred between Scot and Englishman. Henry VIII had wed his own sister to the Scottish king in an effort to unite the two countries, yet here, on this rocky road, there appeared to be no softening of hearts. She might have borne it if it was just herself but it would affect Dugan, as well.

She'd become an anchor weighing him down.

*

The bed was warm.

Braylin shifted closer to the source of heat, catching the scent of Dugan's skin.

Heat stirred in her belly.

Somewhere between slumber and waking, she couldn't resist the urge to nuzzle against him. That flicker of heat inside her grew. Dugan obviously felt it as well, shifting and stroking her. Every place where their skin met produced pleasure on a scale that simply overwhelmed her.

Lost in the extremes of her reaction to him, she could only sigh when he pushed her onto her back and filled her body with his. The intensity of the moment built, becoming a wave that rushed toward the shore. When it broke, pleasure rushed through her and left her clinging to her partner.

"Och, lass, ye tempt me to hurkle-durkle with ye," Dugan said against her temple. He pressed a kiss there and drew in a deep breath.

"Hurkle-what?" Braylin asked.

"Hurkle-durkle…lay about and do naught," Dugan answered her. "Except please myself and ye!"

She opened her eyes to take a good look at him. This was an intimate moment, to be sure. His hair was tousled and there was three days of whisker growth on his chin. He reached up and ran his hand over his unkept chin.

"Another thing I need rise and attend to," Dugan muttered.

There was a groan from the bed ropes and then a draft of frigid air when Dugan lifted the covers and left the bed. He grabbed his shirt and shrugged into it.

Braylin averted her eyes, and took a first real look at her surroundings. The night before she'd been so tired and cold, she'd eaten a bowl of hastily prepared porridge and climbed into bed.

Now she could see that the chamber had cobwebs in every possible place. Dust was so thick on the tops of the other furniture in the chamber, she wouldn't have been surprised to see a plant spouting out of it.

There were baskets and sacks and piles upon piles reaching all the way to the roof line in places and now that she was completely awake, she caught the scent of moldy food in the air.

Dugan had finished pleating his kilt and belting it around his waist. He stood and caught the look on her face.

"You are not the only one who cannot be lingering in bed," Braylin muttered.

She heard a chuckle from him before he turned and grabbed his bonnet on the way out of the chamber.

Hurkle-durkling?

Well, there would be none of that for a very long time!

*

The mews were on the very top of the rise at Black Moss Tower.

Erin shivered on her way up the step stairs, tucking her skirts up because they kept getting in the way. It seemed an impossible distance, but she finally heard the birds. Their calls came from the lone tower on the top of the hill. When she made it to the base of the structure, the sound of the animals was much louder.

"What is yer business here?" a voice greeted her when she opened the door.

The man who tended the mews was huge. Scars decorated his face and hands—long scars from swords or knife blades and other round ones that might have been made by spikes.

"Close that door, girl."

Erin was frozen in terror. The man growled, reaching over to grab a handful of her arisaid. He tugged her inside and firmly shut the door. There was fluttering above her and several disagreeable squawks.

The man pointed up. "Birds do nae fare well in the cold."

The tower itself was rather wide. The floor was covered with rushes like her grandmother's home had been. Above her head, where the roof rose into a cone, there were dozens upon dozens of branches stuck into the walls. Birds perched on many of them, their eyes bright.

There was a sound of exasperation from the man.

"Yes," Erin said, recalling her purpose. She produced the signet disk.

The man's eyes narrowed. He took a long look at the disk before he grunted and extended his hand. Erin gave him the tiny scroll that she'd written her message on.

"Don't let the heat out when ye leave," he ordered.

Erin knew she'd been dismissed but she did linger long enough to see the man look up. He seemed to select a bird, letting out a whistle. A moment later there was a flutter, and the bird came down to perch on the man's shoulder. He reached into a pouch hanging from his belt. Some of the other birds began to cry out when he did it but the food he withdrew was offered to the bird on his shoulder.

"Eat up now, ye have some work to do," the man cooed. He sent Erin a side glance. "Get on with ye girl. I do nae need yer mistress accusing me of trifling with ye."

Erin went back out into the cold weather. But the wind was not what made her shiver. No, it was the sinking feeling that by being obedient, she'd somehow committed a grievous transgression.

*

Hay stronghold

Cormac looked up from his desk. One of the retainers who guarded his study had entered, followed by another man—the master of the mews, who wore a leather hood and collar around his shoulders.

Cormac gestured for the man to enter.

"Another letter from Black Moss Tower so soon?" Cormac asked as the man tugged on his cap in respect.

The man cleared his throat. Cormac squinted at him. "Spit it out, man."

The man reached into his jerkin and withdrew a letter. "It's from Black Moss Tower sure enough, me laird but…it was sent to Lady Alice."

Cormac shot up out of his chair. He grabbed the letter, nearly tearing the tiny scroll in his impatience to see what was written on it.

His wife had planted a spy in Dugan's party.

Cormac snorted with disgust, but there was something else burning in his gut too—satisfaction. He was going to enjoy dealing with his wife.

He found Alice in the great hall, another girl standing uselessly behind his lady wife in case Alice needed anything.

"I warned ye Alice. I warned ye to leave Dugan be," Cormac said, reaching his wife.

Alice looked up just as Cormac tossed the scroll at her.

"You forced him to wed that English lass, and I put them out, but ye are still not content!" Cormac didn't care who heard them. "Ye are a selfish bitch, Madam."

"I am protecting Rohan's rightful place," Alice declared.

His wife was on her feet, squaring off with him while members of the clan watched. Cormac knew his men—and the maids from the kitchen—were all edging closer to make sure they didn't miss a single word.

To be the master of the house, he had to put Alice down.

"Dugan is my son." Cormac spoke slowly to ensure his words did not run together. "He will have a share of what is mine. Ye were told that the very day ye arrived to wed me, Alice."

"Name Rohan yer heir, and me as his Regent, and I will leave yer bastard be," Alice demanded.

"Why sort of fool do ye think I am?" Cormac asked incredulously. "The moment I seal such a document, yer kin will send an assassin down here to help me into me grave."

Alice jutted her chin out. "I will accept nothing less."

Cormac shook his head. "Ye are selfish, Alice, to deny Dugan a place of his own."

"He is bastard born," Alice growled. "My father would never have sent me to wed ye if ye had not agreed to give my children everything. I have royal blood in my veins."

Cormac took a moment to think about that. His wife did come from a very well-connected family. Such a thing had been important when he'd wanted to take over the position of laird, and now, he had to deal with it. She knew her worth and wouldn't be bridled easily. While such a trait was desirable in his son, in his wife, well that needed to be managed with an iron grip.

"Ye are greedy Alice, and it pains me to see how consumed ye are with material possessions." Cormac shook his head again. "Ye had that English lass brought here against her will. Dugan wed her to please ye, in spite of knowing I would have made my son a far better match but…." Cormac lifted his finger into the air. "Ye are still not content with how much ye have taken away from Dugan. Now ye have a spy in his house."

"Bastards have no right to anything," Alice countered.

"Well now, if I were to leave the boy with naught, that would be ignoring my own part in just how the lad came to be here," Cormac argued. He heard a few snorts from his men. "A laird can nae shirk his responsibility, not ever. Dugan is due a place in me house."

"The place he wants is to be laird." Alice declared. "Well, I have seen to it that he will not have what is rightfully Rohan's."

Cormac held up the scroll. "Dugan has already wed the English girl. Why did you feel the need to put a spy in their midst?"

Cormac was baiting her. And now, Alice was too far gone in her rage to consider how her words might sound to those listening.

"Because I need to know if his seed takes root," Alice declared with a huff. "Yer bastard cannot have a son. I will not allow it."

There was more than one gasp in response to Alice's words. Cormac held his tongue, allowing her words to ring through the hall. Alice's eyes widened, obviously recognizing her mistake. She looked past him, her face turning red when she saw just how many people were watching them.

"Alice, I am fearful for yer immortal soul. It is the duty of a married woman to produce children. Ye are the one who insisted on them being wed," Cormac said at last. "In the morning, I will have ye taken to the convent for the winter. I hope ye will cleanse yerself of this obsession with greed. It is a bad example for our children."

His wife's eyes narrowed, but Cormac simply turned and walked away. Several of his retainers were boldly standing there, making no attempt to hide the fact that they'd been listening. Cormac made sure to appear concerned when he passed by.

The chill in the air suddenly pleased him. He was going to enjoy having the winter to indulge himself with his mistress without his wife there to bother them.

*

"Don't think I'll be minding a word that ye say."

Braylin admitted that her patience was wearing thin. She fixed the newest Hay woman who was intent on disliking her before they were even introduced with a firm look. The head of house of Black Moss Tower was a round woman wearing an apron with dozens of splotches on it. She was eating what appeared to be a piece of sweet bread with jam glistening across its top. She bit into it and chewed with loud smacking sounds.

Braylin realized she wasn't just low on tolerance; she was completely out. She reached out and grabbed the piece of sweet bread from the woman.

"Here now!" the head of house exclaimed. "Taking the very bread from my hand, are ye? Just like the English!"

"How dare you serve my husband and his men naught but thin porridge two meals in a row and keep such a fine treat for yourself." Braylin held it up when several of the Hay retainers turned toward her, ready to defend one of their own. But they stopped short when they looked at the piece of sweet bread. A couple of them actually sniffed the air and licked their lips when they caught the scent of the jam.

"I didn't know ye were coming," the head of house said, defending herself.

"Do you mean to say that Laird Hay gave Dugan the signet ring, but failed to send a message here?" Braylin questioned. "Let me ask the master of the mews if there was a scroll delivered."

The head of house jutted her chin out in defiance. "Alright…there was a scroll, but the Lady Alice made it plain what allotment a bastard and his English slut were to be given."

"I am not a slut," Braylin growled.

"I understand ye crawled into that bastard's bed quick as could be! Yer parents must have been relieved to be rid of ye…English slut!"

Braylin saw red. For the first time in her life, she understood the meaning of the word ‘rage'.

It flared up inside of her so intensely, she didn't have time to think. She lunged toward the portly head of house, intent on clawing her, but never made it even a foot. Someone grabbed her dress and yanked her backwards.

Braylin turned to find one of the retainers looking at her with a bored expression on his face.

And jam in his beard.

"Shavon is the head of house here and Lady Alice is the mistress of the Hay," the retainer informed her before his tongue made a swipe along his upper lip. "So get on with ye and stop making trouble."

Don't give up.

Braylin really wanted to heed her inner voice, but she was at a loss as to how to proceed. She looked at the floor and saw a bucket. It was full of water and looked like a gift from heaven. Braylin stooped down, picked it up, and tossed the contents into Shavon's face.

Shavon let out a scream, the sound bouncing between the walls of the hall. There was a stampede of footfalls in response. Those who had been beyond the hall or in the yard came running, thinking there had been some accident.

Instead, the entire household skidded to a stop when they realized who was facing off with whom.

Shavon was sputtering. Her face was red, and she opened and closed her mouth, looking like a freshly caught fish.

"I do hope washing your face helps you see clearly," Braylin announced, then turned to look at those watching. "Perhaps the rest of you need to wash your eyes out as well, so you can see how much food she keeps for herself and her friends." Braylin looked at the retainer who had a wide waist. "While the rest of you get naught but porridge."

"English…"

"Meddling…"

The inhabitants of Black Moss Tower weren't going to go against one of their own, even if they were a pitifully thin bunch.

Just then, Brody arrived, having obviously heard Shavon's scream. He came forward, his expression promising Braylin nothing.

Dugan was impressive but his man Brody was hard. There were scars on his thick forearms which attested to his less-than-easy life. Brody stopped beside the retainer in question. He fixed the man with a hard look before poking him in the belly.

"Ye eat well…very well," Brody announced. He looked at Shavon. She scrunched up her face and opened her mouth, but Brody cut her off. "Far better than I have beneath this roof."

"I am the head of house!" Shavon declared. "Lady Alice is me mistress."

Brody looked at her. "If ye want to remain in yer position, I suggest ye wipe yer eyes and look closely, for there is a new master of Black Moss Tower. I do nae think he will take kindly to unfair treatment of any of the people who honestly toil to serve this house."

Shavon shut her mouth. Brody looked around, locking gazes with everyone watching. When he came to Braylin, he paused, then reached up and tugged on the corner of his cap. "Mistress."