Chapter Four

Prudence dreamed of Dugan.

When she woke, her cheeks were still warm. She still couldn't believe she and Modesty had had the nerve to sneak out and go to the bonfire. The bonfire where she'd spent time with Dugan…

He was a Scot. Yet he was clean shaven, something which did not fit with the tales she'd heard of the Scots and their savage ways.

His man Brody had a beard though.

However, Brody's beard wasn't unkept or greasy. And both men smelled good—something that could not be said of many of the members of the congregation with whom they sometimes attended services. There was more than one Puritan who believed bathing was a vanity and soap doubly so.

She looked down and saw her mask on the floor beside her bed.

Prudence gasped, and reached down to swipe it off the floor before it might be discovered. She folded it and pushed it into her bodice before putting her partlet on and tying it securely in place. She was covered from neck to ankle now.

She should burn the mask. Such would be the safest course of action.

Yet she discovered herself loathe to do so.

It was a memento.

A treasure…

Something that would help her to smile in the long, dark days of winter when there would be naught but piety and devotion.

Of course, she realized she was fortunate to have her family with her. It was a blessing many did not have. Even knowing that didn't stop her from thinking of the music from the night before with a blissful smile on her lips.

How had that tune gone? If she concentrated, she could recall the notes…and the tempo…

"Prudence? I have called you four times at least…" Her mother appeared in the bedroom, making Prudence jump.

Her mother frowned at her. "You are still brushing your hair out? It is fully past first light."

"Forgive me," Prudence answered quickly. Wasting sunlight was never a good thing. And with winter arriving, there would be plenty of dark night hours in which to ponder her thoughts.

"Finish up," her mother instructed in a mild tone. "Best to get to the washing, for I expect it's as warm as it is likely to be today."

Which meant she should expect the water to be freezing.

Prudence could already feel her fingers protesting but she hurried to braid and secure her hair because she'd rather suffer stiff fingers than have her father decide that bathing and washing were a vanity. She could live without luxuries well enough. But smelling was truly something she doubted she could ignore.

Can you live without seeing Dugan again?

Prudence froze as the thought came to mind.

And she couldn't push the thought aside. In fact, the Scotsman's face suddenly filled her mind as clearly as though he was standing in front of her.

Something had awakened inside her.

Doing her best to forget, Prudence pulled her linen cap down and over her hair with a firm tug. Her fascination was giving way to irritation—there was no future in her recollections. Except to torment her with what could never be hers.

And the daylight was wasting!

*

Hay castle

Alice Sinclair enjoyed her position as lady of the Hay clan.

And truly, she had every right to, for it had taken careful planning and perseverance to secure her position.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye. Alice shifted her gaze to the side in time to catch the maid who stood there fingering her apron.

Alice considered just what to do with the girl. She was her husband's spy, of course.

But a young retainer named Cray walked past the hearth just then. He paused and placed his hand on the mantel, staring into the fire for a moment. He left a moment later, heading for the place where Alice had previously instructed him to meet her when he had information to pass along.

"Erin," Alice said to the maid. "I crave some marzipan."

The girl lowered herself into a curtsey before she headed off, her pace brisk, betraying how happy she was to have a reason to leave the hall. She'd dawdle for certain, giving Alice plenty of time to meet with the retainer.

Alice waited until the girl disappeared behind the opening in the wall which connected the great hall to the passageway which ran to the kitchens. The moment Erin was gone, Alice rose and went out another doorway, this one leading to the stairwell which wound its way up into the keep at the far north end of the hall.

Cray would never use the stairs, for her private apartments were on the top floor. Alice had not worked so very hard to become lady of the manor only to be accused of infidelity.

Lucky for her, there was a secret door that led into a storeroom beneath the ground floor—an escape tunnel built by one of the past lairds. Now, Alice made good use of it. She found Cray waiting for her in what had once been a ladies' solar. Now it was the lowest level of the keep and a storeroom.

"Where did my husband's bastard go last night?" Alice asked, wasting no time in getting to the subject which most concerned her.

Dugan was illegitimate, but he was still a son, and a grown one. His less than proper entrance into the world might well be overlooked if Laird Hay died before Alice's own son came to his maturity. And that was something Alice would not allow to happen.

"He went to a Samhain celebration on the English side of the border ma'am," Cray reported dully.

Alice made a motion with her hand for Cray to continue. The retainer thought for a moment, not accustomed to being allowed to freely speak to her.

"He…he was crowned the Laird of Misrule and drank and ate his fill…." Cray continued.

Alice was making a slow circle around the room while she listened.

"Oh…and there was a young miss presented to him…as a consort of sorts."

Alice turned so quickly, her skirts spun up and away from her ankles. "Did they consummate the union?"

Cray shook his head. "She was a proper lass. Linen cap and covered up to her chin. The merrymakers stripped her down a bit, startling the lass, but Dugan was a fine, honorable man about it all. Ye may be proud of his behavior. He took her on home when things started becoming too heated."

"So they were alone," Alice said, picking up on that part of the tale.

"No precisely," Cray argued. "Ye ken Brody and the others never leave Dugan on his own. The laird would have their hides."

"Yes, I know it very well," Lady Alice confirmed.

And there was the difficulty. Her husband had a deep affection for his firstborn son. So did a great number of the Hay retainers. Unfortunately, Alice's own son was barely ten winters old. His position would never hold up against Dugan if the clan needed new leadership. In Scotland, a child could never be laird.

And that was why Dugan had to be watched.

Alice circled the room, pacing while Cray held his tongue and waited.

"Go and find out about the girl," Alice decided. "I want to know everything about her, including her family status."

Cray looked at her strangely, obviously not understanding what Alice was asking.

Of course, he didn't. He was a young man who'd earned his rank through his strength and obedience. As a woman, she had to employ her wits. Making sure Dugan couldn't become laird was one of the most important duties she had to complete, if her own son was to eventually rise to power.

The retainer tugged on the corner of his cap before he carefully left the room, his lack of enthusiasm for the task she'd given him pronounced.

It might come to nothing. However, Dugan was an honorable man, which was another thing which concerned Alice. If he were lecherous or a drunkard or arrogant, she would rest much easier at night. Diligence was the only weapon she had against her husband's bastard. She had to press forward and refuse to give up. Every man had a weakness, and she was determined to find Dugan's.

Whatever it took, she'd find a way to remove Dugan from Rohan's path.

*

"Get up Rohan!" Cormac roared at his young son. Rohan scrambled to get back onto his feet. When he succeeded, his father frowned at him.

"Again!" Cormac ordered.

The bigger boy who had sent Rohan to the ground didn't like the order. He stood still, a wooden training sword in his hands.

"I am yer laird boy. I told ye, go again." Cormac growled. "Rohan, ye wanted to go riding with Dugan but ye see how little strength ye have."

The older boy offered Rohan a look of pity before he brought his wooden sword into action again. Rohan gritted his teeth, bringing his own wooden sword up to defend himself. There was a solid sound of wood hitting wood. The boys locked, but Rohan's arms just didn't have enough strength to hold the other boy off.

Rohan went rolling through the mud of the training field…again.

This time Cormac lifted Rohan up with a handful of his soiled shirt. Rohan looked at his father, resentment flickering in his eyes.

"Ye think me harsh Rohan, I know it." Cormac said. "But when ye ride out with the retainers, the men ye face will cut ye down if they can. Outside the walls of this stronghold, there is no mercy. Do nae go to the stables again without permission."

"Aye father," Rohan answered.

Blood trickled down his chin from a split lip, but he stood straight and tall. Cormac reached out to ruffle his hair.

"Take heart, Rohan. Ye will grow into a fine man someday."

Cormac pointed his young son back toward the lines of youths training with wooden swords. Rohan retrieved his wooden training sword and went back to his spot. Cormac stood for a moment, watching the way the lads resumed their exercises.

But his attention moved to where Dugan was doing the training. His eldest son was in his prime, his body strong and his motions lethal. He was everything a father might desire in a son and all the things a laird wished for, as well.

Cormac headed back to the warmth of his study, only to find his wife waiting for him.

"You should not have made a mockery of Rohan," Alice growled.

Cormac settled down into his chair. "He tried to go riding with Dugan."

"Yer bastard knows better than to take him," Alice bit back.

"Aye, Dugan does," Cormac said. "Rohan is the one who needed to be reminded of his place. And so he has been."

"But before all?" Alice wasn't willing to concede the point. "He is yer heir."

"Which is why he must never be allowed to disrespect the order of this stronghold." Cormac flattened his hand on the table in front of him. "Rohan went to the stables where the retainers were, so he was reprimanded in the yard in front of those same men. He will not be coddled."

There was a glint in his wife's eye which warned him that Alice did not agree with him. But she held her tongue and left his study. Her mother's instinct was fierce. He sincerely hoped Rohan had inherited that fire.

*

One week later

Alice returned to the storeroom. It was time to find out what her man had uncovered.

Cray reached up and tugged on his cap once more. "The girl is called Prudence."

Alice wrinkled her nose in response. Cray nodded to assure her she'd heard him correctly.

"Her family is known as Hawlyn, newly arrived from the south. They are fleeing the restoration of the Catholic church that the English queen is demanding of her subjects," Cray continued.

"Protestants?" Alice asked.

"According to those in the market, the family is strictly Puritan," Cray answered.

"Puritans? Are you certain?"

"Aye, Lady," Cray nodded confidently. "There was no missing the way the daughters of the house stood apart from the others in the market. No' a bit of trim on their clothing and they were covered from head to toe. I could not tell ye the color of their hair for how tightly their modesty caps were fitted to their foreheads."

"Sisters?" Alice felt a plan forming.

"There be three girls," Cray explained. "And the soap seller told me there are another three lads, all younger. It seems the master of the house turned to Puritan teachings in the hope of having sons when the third daughter came along."

"Since it appears to have worked, the family has obviously fled all the way to the border in order to maintain their devotion," Alice said, thinking out loud.

"That seems to be so," Cray agreed.

"How old is this girl?" Alice demanded.

Cray frowned. "Well, as I said, she was wrapped up tight."

"Is she a woman or a girl?" Alice clarified.

"Och, well, when they took the…covering garment off her chest, I could see she had a fine pair of…." His mouth rounded in horror when he realized he'd almost said ‘tits' in front of his lady.

Alice smiled.

Cray didn't know what to make of her expression.

"Come with me," Alice declared.

*

Prudence didn't have time to think about Dugan.

The weeks following Samhain were long, filled with days where the family labored hard. The last of the harvest was in but there was still much to do in order to have that food stored properly away for the winter.

Her arms and shoulders ached from how many hours she spent over a large cooking pot. There was not enough room inside, so they'd set up in the yard. Still, she did enjoy the view even if the wind was biting on her nape.

And then there was the thrashing to do.

The barley and wheat needed to be beaten so that the kennels would fall away from the stalks. At first, her brothers found it a fun game, but they tired of it long before the task was finished. And that left Prudence and her sisters in the barn, wielding sticks, their faces covered with fabric to keep the finer particles from filling their noses and making them sneeze. They worked until every last bit of daylight was gone, for the rains would soon begin, making the air moist. They had to get the grain stored away before it became moldy.

There was satisfaction in the work though. Prudence stretched her arms up into the air and heard her neck pop, making her laugh.

"You are due your enjoyment daughter, for you have labored long and hard."

Prudence lowered her arms to find her father watching her. He was a quiet man, who walked on silent steps, and always pondered what he said before opening his mouth.

"Thank you, Father," she answered him.

He'd stopped to inspect one of the large, pottery jugs which was now brimming full of grain.

"This country manor is seen by many as a place of banishment," her father continued. "Yet it provides very well for those of us who are wise enough to see the merit in a simple life."

There were times when Prudence wasn't certain if her father meant his words for her or for himself. She watched the way he scooped up a handful of grain and stared at it.

"The yield was good," she muttered. "We'll have ample bread through Lent."

"Do you see the blessing Daughter?" her father asked earnestly.

Prudence nodded, feeling as though she was missing something. A sense of foreboding was nipping at her.

Her father made a small sound in the back of his throat. "Finish up now. There is supper on the table."

"Yes, fFather."

Prudence picked up a stick to beat her skirts and remove the chaff clinging to her. Her father had departed as quietly as he'd arrived. She saw him making his way toward the house. But when she turned around to cover the opening in the pottery jug with stiff, heavily waxed leather, she gasped.

Laying over the opening of the grain jug was her mask from the Samhain celebration.

Her father had somehow found it.

Well, actually he didn't know for certain what she'd done. But Prudence realized that just making the mask, even if she'd gone no further, would be considered a grave sin by her father. The desire was the true misdeed, for it showed the nature of her soul.

Yet he'd left without a word.

His reasoning dawned upon her as she held the little mask in her hands. A child would be reprimanded and punished, in the hope that they would learn there was a price to pay for disobedience.

An adult, though, was expected to understand that the true accounting of her behavior came at death, when she would face the final judgement.

Her father had decided she was grown.

Well, Samhain bonfires are not for children…

Her cheeks heated as she recalled just how much Dugan had made her feel like a woman.

You have disappointed your father. How can you think of Dugan?

She truly wished it were not so. For she loved her father.

But as she stood there with the mask in her hand, Prudence admitted to herself that what she truly wished was that her father hadn't discovered the mask. She wasn't sorry that she'd gone to the bonfire.

That was the truth inside her heart…

She didn't wish to disappoint her father, but she couldn't devote herself so completely to the time of her death.

Weren't there things to do before then?

The dancing and music had filled her with such a sense of life. Just recalling it made her smile.

No, she wasn't sorry she'd gone.

Prudence walked over to where a small lantern was hanging off a hook. She opened the little tin door and held the mask close to the flame. The fabric caught quickly. She held it up until the flames had licked their way more than halfway through the mask before she dropped it to the ground. She kept a close eye upon it as it burned and turned to ashes, making sure to stomp it several times to ensure no embers survived.

She was grown, which meant she needed to keep from troubling her parents. She knew their beliefs well. If she chose to act differently, then it was her job to keep such news from them, lest she distress them.

Of course, her father would not appreciate her thoughts. But she couldn't lie to herself and claim to agree with her parents completely.

Was that sinful?

Perhaps.

But at least there was comfort in knowing that she alone would answer for her actions.