Chapter Five
Hay land
"My lady?" Oran tilted his head, a perplexed look upon his face. Clearly the veteran retainer hadn't expected his mistress waiting for him in the stables.
"I spoke clearly enough," Alice said, aiming a withering look at the retainer. "You should understand my instructions."
Unlike Cray, Oran was no lad, but a mature, seasoned man. Several scars decorated his forearms lending testimony to his experience in battle.
"Perhaps it might be best to wait for the laird to return," Oran stated quietly. "He's only gone up to Lindsey land."
"If my husband were here…" She stressed the word ‘husband', "I would take the matter straight to him. However, winter's breath is already blowing on the back of our necks. I shall not leave that girl at the mercy of Puritan parents should she find herself with child."
"The way Cray tells it, they were no' together long enough for such a thing to happen," Oran insisted.
"Men often think in such a way," Alice added. "Yet it is a woman who will be cast out in her shift if she is considered soiled. I understand this girl is from a Puritan family. Just the knowledge that she was with Dugan, a Scot, is enough to have her considered ruined. It will bring a curse on us all…even a failed harvest perhaps. It is my duty as mistress of this castle to see her provided for."
Oran was wavering. A failed harvest was a horrific thing, the sort of catastrophe which had to be avoided at any cost. Even doubt had to give way to making certain bad luck didn't fall on the fields of the next season. Alice knew it was the perfect threat.
"Aye ma'am," Oran replied in a tired voice. "And if she will nae come with me?"
"Ye are not a young man, Oran," Alice informed him sternly. "You know what you have to do. It has likely never occurred to her that the family she breaks bread with might cast her into the gutter. She is young and likely to make a foolish choice. You mustn't blame her though—leaving one's family is difficult. I expect ye to bring her along for all our sakes, including hers."
Oran reached up and tugged on his cap.
Alice didn't linger in the stable. She wasn't going to give the man the chance to argue the matter further. She needed Oran and his men away before her husband returned.
Cormac Hay wouldn't fail to see what she was about. Alice knew it. Yet there would be little the laird could do if the girl was already on Hay land. He wouldn't be able to send her back, not to a Puritan family. Her reputation would be beyond repair.
And then there was Dugan. As devoted as her husband's bastard was to his honor, he'd wed the girl without delay.
Which was precisely what Alice wanted to happen.
This time, Dugan wouldn't be able to gain back the favor of the Hay retainers—not if he was wed to an Englishwoman. Scots might forgive being born a bastard, but they would never forget the blemish of wedding on the wrong side of the border.
Cormac would be furious with her, of course.
Yet the deed would be accomplished. Alice didn't need Cormac to like her. She'd born his son, so her position was secure.
All she had to do was ensure that Dugan was kept too busy to ride after Oran.
Erin appeared almost in the same moment that Alice took up her place in the large chair at the end of the great hall. Next to the hearth, it was a place of honor.
"Mistress? Did you wish me to fetch something for you?"
"Fetch Dugan to me."
Erin was obviously curious as to why. Still, as the mistress of the house, Alice didn't have to explain herself to a maid. Even if the girl was Cormac's spy, she was still a servant.
And while Cormac was away on Lindsey land, Dugan was bound to answer to Alice as well. At long last, she was free to do what was necessary to ensure Dugan would not stand in Rohan's path to the lairdship.
*
England
"Father found my mask."
Modesty stiffened. She had her apron pulled up in one hand as she searched out eggs in the hens' nesting holes. After looking around to make sure they were alone, she locked gazes with Prudence.
"What did he say?"
"Naught," Prudence replied.
Modesty's eyes narrowed.
"You should burn yours," Prudence said softly. "I should have done so the moment we were back." Hindsight wouldn't help her, but it might well save her sister.
Modesty nodded.
"What are you going to do?" Modesty asked.
"I do not believe there is anything to be done," Prudence answered. "He left the mask without a word, and in doing so, I believe he was making it clear that he was washing his hands of the matter."
Modesty was silent for a long moment.
"I admit, I would almost be glad of a reprimand," Prudence admitted. "For now, it seems I have been separated from his guidance."
There was noise from the yard. Modesty and Prudence went around the stone wall which had the hen holes built inside of it and saw four horses in front of the house. They snorted, their breath white in the air. The men riding them dismounted as their oldest brother came down to take the horses toward the stable along with one of their visitors.
"Guests?" Modesty muttered. "I am surprised."
So was Prudence. A chill touched her nape as she and her sister headed back up to the house. They entered through the kitchen, stopping to carefully place the new eggs in a bowl.
Their mother came in, her pace hurried.
"Modesty…there you are…" She came around the worktable and looked intently at Modesty. "Wash your face and hands. Our guests wish to see you."
"Yes mother," Modesty muttered before she went over to where the copper pot still had hot water in it, gently steaming. She ladled up some into the wash bowl before adding cold water from a pitcher. She turned to look at her mother. "They wish to look at me?" Modesty asked.
Their mother nodded. "You are at an age for a match to be arranged."
Modesty looked at Prudence with wide eyes.
"Prudence, you are to do the washing by yourself today," their mother instructed.
Her mother knew about the mask…
There was a clipped, cold edge to her words. If Prudence had had any doubt about what her father knew, that doubt was dispelled as she looked at her mother to find a harsh look of disapproval on her face.
"Mother," Modesty implored. "You have always sent us to do laundry together, lest one of us slip into the river."
"That is true," their mother said. "For family is a blessing. Yet it is earned through obedience to the commandments."
Honor thy mother and father….
This was her father's way of reprimanding her—denying her the comfort of another member of the family while she toiled.
Prudence turned toward the doorway to save her sister from incriminating herself. With eight people in the house, there was always washing to do. Any day without rain would see the laundry taking priority over inside chores.
"Be…careful, Prudence."
Prudence glanced back to see her mother watching her and worrying the fabric of her skirt. But she appeared to be resolved in sending Prudence out to the river alone.
"Yes, Mother."
She moved toward the back door where a basket of soiled undergarments waited for her. Prudence hefted it up and headed for the river.
Many people drowned while doing laundry…
She'd have to take care, especially since she was alone. The water was so cold that when one was first submerged, one would gasp uncontrollably. As well, the sturdy English wool her dress was made of was a good thing when dry, but if she went into the river, those same water-laden wool skirts would become very heavy, further dragging her down.
In many places, there were tiny docks built for women to kneel upon when they were scrubbing and rinsing garments.
Not so here.
Prudence looked at the flowing water of the river, trying to choose the safest place. There was little point in scrubbing near the shallows, for all she'd do was stir up mud. Dead leaves were thick along the banks as well, so in order to wash the laundry correctly, she'd need to venture further out into the current.
Complaining will serve you not…
At least she might indulge in her mental fascination about Dugan, for there was no one to see her.
And just those thoughts of the Scot would keep her warm.
*
Scotland
It was starting to snow.
It wouldn't stick yet. But that didn't change how cold the tip of Dugan's nose was. He tugged his bonnet further down to keep his ears warm but the knitted cap was already at his eyebrows. Brody grunted beside him.
"I cannae believe we've been sent on this fool's errand." Brody made a sound in the back of his throat. "What could lady Hay think to gain by sending us after her husband? Lindsey land borders our own, the man will nae get lost."
Dugan was surprised as well.
And suspicious.
Yet by the time the Lindsey stronghold came into sight, Dugan was too cold and hungry to care much about what lady Alice was about.
The Lindsey retainers allowed him in through the main gate. One of the Lindsey captains stood in the yard as Dugan and Brody dismounted. Dugan gave his horse an affectionate pat before one of the Lindseys led it away toward the stables.
"Ye're Laird Hay's bastard," the captain stated.
"I am," Dugan replied. That description was something he'd grown accustomed to.
"Come along," the captain said. "Yer father is in the hall with my laird."
Dugan reached up and tugged on the corner of his cap, then the captain turned and led the way. Inside the main keep, there was a double wide opening which led to the great hall. Several tables were there, close to the large hearth. Dugan agreed that it was chilly but the fire blazing in the hearth suggested that there was a blizzard raging outside.
As he moved closer to where his father sat, Dugan realized why the Lindsey staff had built up the fire.
Laird Lindsey was a frail man.
His hair was white and tufts of it poked out from beneath his knitted bonnet. The chair he sat in had a thick highland cowhide draped over it so that the fur might help protect the man from drafts. He was in good humor though, laughing with Dugan's father.
The captain walked closer, and both lairds looked up to see Dugan.
Laird Hay gestured Dugan forward. "Dugan, me boy, come closer."
Dugan tugged on the corner of his cap as he stopped in front of his sire.
"This is Dugan," Laird Hay said, introducing him. "Me bastard."
Laird Lindsey contemplated Dugan for a long moment.
"A grown son is a good thing to have," Laird Lindsey declared.
"No if ye ask me lady wife!" Laird Hay declared with a chuckle.
Laird Lindsey lifted his hand and waved it across the air. "She wants her own son to follow ye. Which is natural enough. But he's barely off the breast."
Dugan watched his father. Laird Hay knew well the art of being in charge of a clan. Every matter was weighed before commented upon.
"I see what ye are thinking," Laird Lindsey continued. "Yer lady wife is from fine lineage. Such a thing matters in this world, but none of us choose when the boat man comes for us, heh? I wager ye sleep better at night knowing ye have Dugan here, should ye end yer days before yer legitimate son is a man."
Dugan knew the set to his sire's eyes. Laird Hay didn't care for the conversation. "Why are ye here Dugan?" his father asked, turning toward him.
Dugan tugged on his cap once more. Aye, he was being overly attentive to his manners, but it was better than being accused of forgetting his place.
And there were a lot of eyes upon him at that moment.
"Lady Hay worries that ye do nae see the signs of winter," Dugan offered.
Laird Lindsey let out a bark of laughter, then slapped his thigh before he pointed at Laird Hay. "By the way yer lady wife orders ye home, I'd think she'd have more than two babes to show for her attention to ye!"
The Lindseys were amused by their laird's words. The hall filled with their laughter. But Laird Hay merely smiled.
The expression was forced. Dugan knew it.
And Laird Lindsey didn't miss it, either.
"Here now man." Laird Lindsey sobered. "Do nae deny me my amusements. If we can nae laugh at one another's wives, we're hardly fit to call ourselves lairds!"
This time, Laird Hay chuckled. He lifted his mug in a toast.
"Lad," Laird Lindsey said, looking at Dugan. "There is good in being whelped on the wrong side of the blanket, for ye will nae have to suffer someone bringing ye home a lady to wed!"
The hall filled with laughter again. Dugan couldn't help smiling.
"Would that I might be bastard born as well!" A newcomer raised his voice above the chuckling.
"Ha!" Laird Lindsey declared as he pointed at the man arriving. "Ye're me spawn and I cannae deny it, for ye are every bit as much a compatriot of Lucifer as I ever was! If I was nae there when ye were born, I'd doubt yer mother was yer dam. Ye have not a single bit of her calm demeanor in ye, Ruben."
Ruben stopped next to Dugan and tugged on his cap in deference to the two lairds at the table.
"I suppose I should send ye off in the morning," Laird Lindsey remarked as he sobered. "Ruben, take Dugan here off somewhere. I need to settle yer sister's future with Laird Hay's son. The boat man is coming for me, I ken it."
"Father—" Ruben protested.
But Laird Lindsey made a slashing motion with his hand. "Do nae argue with me like a woman. Anyone with eyes can see my bones sticking out of me skin. I am wasting away. Time to complete a father's matters concerning his eldest daughter. For all me jesting about the burden of lady wives, mine was correct to send Laird Hay a letter. A laird should make sure his children are settled before he heads on to see St. Peter. Off with ye both. This is the business of old men."
Ruben reached for his bonnet again, accepting his father's will.
Dugan mimicked the gesture, then they both left. Behind them, Laird Lindsey began to speak in a low tone as the business of the clan was conducted.
"I was nae jesting," Ruben confided to Dugan once they were well away from the great hall. "Me father has been intent on securing matches for us all."
"Ye have no desire to wed?" Dugan asked bluntly.
Ruben shrugged. "It is nae that. But the Douglases have decided I should have one of their daughters."
"The Douglases are powerful," Dugan offered.
"The lass is eleven winters old, man," Ruben exclaimed. "If I say I find her agreeable, I expect ye to smash me in the jaw, for it's indecent, no matter what we might be to one another in the future."
"Well, it looks as if ye will nae be settling down anytime soon," Dugan remarked with a grin. "I will do me best to help ye pass the time."
Ruben's lips twitched and parted into a grin. "Spring can nae arrive soon enough!"
*
England
"Modesty…" Temperance whispered after their lantern had been extinguished for the night. "Do you want to wed him?"
Modesty blew out a frustrated breath that was loud in the dark room. "How should I know? Father introduced me and sent me straight on to the kitchen to prove my housewife skills by cooking a meal."
"But I heard that father agreed to a match between you both," Temperance added.
"I know that well enough," Modesty exclaimed. "Yet I truly cannot tell you what color his eyes are, for he never looked at me."
Temperance was quiet, but not for long. The sounds of her whimpers filled the room.
"Honestly Temperance, I am the one being wed to a stranger," Modesty declared. "Why are you weeping?"
"Because I shall be next…" Temperance hiccupped. "After Prudence, of course."
"All the more reason to save your tears until a moment arrives which tests you beyond your control," Prudence advised her younger sister. "Without a doubt, it will come."
"Well spoken," Modesty agreed.
Now if Prudence could only manage to heed her own advice. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears. She drew in a deep breath, attempting to dispel them, for they were born of pity.
The midnight well wouldn't have its way when it came to her fate. Temperance was correct. Matches would be made for all of them in turn. There was an order to life, one which yielded confidence in the future, at least for her parents.
And she'd taste that apple and see Dugan's face in her dreams until the day she died.
It was simply the way real life was.
Longing was like a flame flickering inside of her. It was far too late to lament her choices, which had led to her meeting Dugan. But she wouldn't wish to forget him either. Not when he'd shown her that she might feel so intensely alive.
The door moved.
Was their father checking to make certain they were all in bed?
It appeared so, for the door opened and the doorway was filled with a large frame. Only the person didn't linger, but came straight inside the little room in a flash.
He was followed by others.
Prudence gasped. She might have screamed but whoever was in the room didn't give her the chance. She barely finished her swift intake of breath before a hand covered her mouth. She kicked but another man was kneeling on the bedding, holding her captive.
"Not a sound out of ye…or I shall cut down whoever comes to yer aid."
Scots?
Prudence felt her eyes bulging wide in horror.
Scots had often raided the English.
And they did… Well, she didn't know the details of what they did, only that it was horrible and to be feared.
There was a spark as a flint was struck. It fell into a little pewter bowl which was full of chaff. The dry husks caught easily, a bright yellow flame licking its way upward. The Scot held the candle from their lantern over it and the wick caught.
In the darkness, the single flame was bright, casting a circle of light over their modest beds and the men who had invaded their maiden's chamber.
"Which one of you is Prudence?"
The candle illuminated the face of the Scot who asked the question.
It wasn't Dugan.
Prudence felt her heart constrict as she looked at him. Fear nipped at her, but she realized it wasn't for herself.
When he spoke her name, she froze, no longer trying to pry the fingers off her mouth. She'd brought danger to her sisters. The guilt which descended onto her shoulders was crushing.
"Come now," the Scot continued. "Tell me who is Prudence and I will leave the other two be. No need for yer mother to lose all three of her daughters at once."
Lose…
Now she was afraid for herself.
But Prudence still worried more about her sisters. Temperance was but fifteen. Too young to die.
You are only nineteen…
She was and it appeared she would have to be content with her meager number of years. Prudence lifted her hand up, but Modesty snorted, and did the same.
Thankfully, Temperance was too terrified to move.
"Cray," the Scot called. "Get in here and tell me which of the two is the one Dugan met."
They were Dugan's kin at least.
That should not give you comfort!
After all, she had no idea what sort of man Dugan was. And even if she had trusted in their brief encounter, his kin could be an altogether different matter.
They were Scots, after all.
The leader shifted to the side, clearing the doorway and allowing the light to illuminate the men outside who had their swords drawn.
The single candlelight bathed those long lengths of steel, showing off the sharpened edges and the confident way they were gripped.
Prudence's parents' disapproval was suddenly naught compared to the idea of them being cut down because of her mistake.
Prudence pointed at herself.
The Scot peered at her intently, moving the candle so that it shone in her face. A younger man came through the doorway—Prudence recognized him as one of the men who had stood around Dugan.
"Is this the one, Cray?"
Modesty tried to speak, but her words were muffled.
"They are both claiming to be the one we're after," the first Scot said in a frustrated voice. "I don't care to deal with two females who will need minding all the way home. If ye're able to recall which is the correct one, we can take the one Lady Hay has sent us for."
Cray looked at Prudence and then over at Modesty. He scratched his head while he pondered the question.
"The one we seek is shorter than her sister," Cray suddenly recalled. He smiled at his superior. "We are looking for the shorter one."
Prudence was on her feet before her next breath.
Relief washed through her as Modesty was placed next to her.
The Scot in front of them narrowed his eyes.
"Not a peep…or I'll run yer kin through," he warned them again.
His voice was hard, much like the hands holding Prudence in place next to her sister. What was worse was the thought of her little brothers lying dead in the yard.
"I am Prudence."
But it was Modesty who spoke.
"She is not," Prudence argued. "I am known as Prudence."
"That's the one!" Cray exclaimed as he pointed at her. "I recall the voice."
"This one is slouching," the man behind Modesty stated. He gripped her by the neck. "It's a noble trait to want to protect yer sister, but Cray knows who we seek. Straighten up now. Better one, than both of ye gone, ye ken? Think of yer mother, lass."
Modesty didn't have much of a choice. The man squeezed her neck, and she lifted her shoulders to try and save herself from the pain. He released her, leaving her standing at her full height, before she gasped, and hunched over again.
"Too late for that ploy, mistress," the leader remarked. "Gag and bind her well."
Fear tore through Prudence.
But it was for her sisters.
The hand over her mouth lifted away for a moment as another man came forward with a length of knotted linen he intended to push into her mouth.
Prudence fell to her knees. "Do not harm my sisters. I beg you."
The men trying to bind her hadn't expected her to kneel. They dove after her, grabbing for her hands.
She wanted to resist—every fiber of her body seemed to be screaming for her to fight. Prudence quelled the demands. Better that she suffer her fate alone.
"Ye come along quiet, and I will not hurt yer siblings," the man stated.
Prudence heard the doubt in his tone—he didn't really trust her—and so she wasn't surprised when his men tied her wrists together and gagged her.
And she suffered through it without protest.
It was only as she was being lifted up and onto the back of a horse did she remember that she had brought this upon herself.
She only had herself to blame.