Chapter 15

T he young Countess of BrocCairn was quickly and easily accepted by her husband's people. Her beauty drew them first, but they soon discovered her to be an intelligent, kindly, and caring woman for all that she had been born English. They protected her from Alanna Wythe, and life for the silversmith's daughter became even harder than it had been before Velvet's arrival. Little Sybilla, however, was not included in the ostracism of her mother, for the people of Broc Ailien considered that as Alex's child she was one of them.

Velvet spent the autumn restoring the gardens of Dun Broc and learning everything she possibly could about Alex's lands, people, and the way of life in the Highlands. In this Pansy was a great help to her, for as Dugald's wife and Morag Geddes's new daughter-in-law, she was accepted everywhere. The naturally cautious inhabitants of Broc Ailien couldn't help taking to Pansy with her deliciously funny accent, down-to-earth ways, and fine sense of humor. Velvet learned a good deal of local color and gossip, which aided her in being a good lady of the manor.

The autumn faded into winter, and there was no sign of a child. On New Year's Eve, Velvet and Alex stood with Bella and Ian upon the walls of Dun Broc and watched fires spring up over the hillsides as far as the eye could see as the church bell tolled in the new year of our Lord 1592. Alex had given her a magnificent rope of pink pearls from which hung three teardrop-shaped diamonds as a New Year's gift. As Velvet shared the news of her bounty with her sister-in-law, she thought that Bella looked pale, and she noticed a particularly ugly bruise on her breast when Bella bent over to halfheartedly admire the jewels.

Still, Annabella had said graciously, "It's a beautiful gift, Velvet, and I can tell ye're happy wi' my brother. I think he's a lucky man."

"Are ye finally wi' child," demanded Ian rudely, "that Alex would gie ye such a rich gift?" Ian had eaten a fine dinner that night and was full of Alex's good wine and whiskey.

Velvet flushed and looked mutely at her husband, who said in a level voice, "I think ye've partaken a wee bit too generously of my hospitality, Ian. Ye may be my sister's husband, but that doesna gie ye the right to ask such questions. When 'tis time to make an announcement, ye'll be one of the first to know."

"Then my lads are still yer heirs," came Ian's drunken reply.

Now Annabella flushed. "Ian!" she remonstrated.

"Ian," he mimicked her, and then said threateningly, "Dinna tell me how to behave, woman, or 'twill be the worse for ye." His eyes narrowed, and Bella edged nervously away from her husband.

Later when she was tucked up in bed with her husband, Velvet said, "I think Ian is beating your sister."

Alex laughed. "He wouldn't dare, lass. He hasna the guts for it. Besides, Bella wouldn't stand for it."

"Haven't you noticed how quiet your sister is lately, Alex? Usually she's waspish and quick, but recently she has been very subdued. I saw an ugly bruise on her breast tonight."

"Perhaps Ian was simply a bit rough in his loving, sweetheart. Dinna worry about Bella. She's nae been shy about voicing her displeasure over anything."

The winter deepened, Velvet's first winter in the north, and it was a ferocious one. Careful planning on their chief's part, however, kept the people of Broc Ailien from starvation and freezing. The granaries of Dun Broc doled out careful measures of grain to all on a weekly basis, and the earl permitted firewood to be harvested from his forests.

It was fortunate that the lovers enjoyed each other's company, for the heavy snows precluded visits from even the master of Grantholm and his wife, which was no loss in Velvet's mind. She liked her sister-in-law, but Ian Grant was another matter. He made her uncomfortable, and she could see nothing about him that should have attracted Bella to him.

Velvet was growing to love this land of her husband's. It was lonely, and God only knew it could be bleak on gray days, but even then the Highlands had a beauty all their own; the green pine forests sweeping down the snowy mountainsides, the deciduous trees bare and black against the flat skies. On clear nights the stars were big and bright, offering the illusion of nearness so that one was tempted to reach up and pluck them down. And somewhere in the forests below the wolves hunted, the packs stopping occasionally to howl triumphantly at the white winter moon.

Then as suddenly as winter had come it was gone, and the snows began to melt away during the longer days of spring. They were able to ride out again over the hills together, much to Velvet's joy; she would accompany Alex when he went to check on his cattle herds, which had grown enormous this spring with all the births. Together they watched as the calves gamboled awkwardly with their mothers in the glen pastures.

She sighed deeply, so deeply that her mount grew restive beneath her. "They make me feel so guilty that I am not yet with child," she mourned.

"We'll just hae to try harder," he teased her.

Secretly, Velvet was worried. She had become pregnant so quickly with Akbar's child. Why was it taking so long with Alex? His seed was not barren, as Sybilla and the Gordon faces upon a number of older children in the glen told her. Why could she not conceive his child? It did not help to have anxious faces peering at her each time she entered the village, nor did she like the fact that Alanna Wythe was spreading the rumor that it was her witchcraft that was keeping Velvet from conceiving.

"If I believed that for one minute," muttered Alex when he heard it, "I should strangle the bitch myself."

"You wouldn't have to," said Velvet grimly, "for I'd have already done it!"

The word coming from the south where the king and Lord Bothwell were still at odds boded ill for Francis Stewart-Hepburn. In late May the parliament under the orders of the king, no doubt encouraged by Maitland, ratified the sentence of total forfeiture against the Earl of Bothwell. Francis Stewart-Hepburn, claimed the king, aspired to Scotland's throne, and that was treason.

It was a ridiculous charge, and everyone knew it. The Scots nobility, usually at odds with each other as well as the throne, now saw John Maitland behind the king's actions. Maitland wanted to destroy them in an effort to take their power for his own and thereby rule the king. Without a moment's hesitation, they rallied behind the Earl of Bothwell in an effort to reconcile him to the king.

Francis Stewart-Hepburn wanted peace with his cousin, James Stewart. A brilliant intellectual, a man whose mind was far in advance of the time in which he lived, the one thing he did not want was to be king of Scotland or of any other land. The painful example of his late uncle, James Hepburn, the fifth Earl of Bothwell and the last husband of Mary, Queen of Scots haunted him.

When a proclamation for the raising of a levy to pursue the Earl of Bothwell was issued in early July, it was ignored by all. The king retired sulkily to his palace at Dalkeith for the remainder of the summer. On August first the earl was smuggled into the palace where the queen was to attempt to effect a meeting between the two. The king, however, suspecting something of this sort, sent his wife a message saying that he would punish anyone who attempted to introduce his outlawed cousin into his presence. Disappointed, Bothwell retired, returning to Hermitage in despair.

All of this was duly reported to the chiefs of the various powerful families in the Highlands. The Earl of Huntley, George Gordon, head of Clan Gordon, arranged for a secret meeting with Bothwell. If the Border lord fell, Huntley knew that Maitland would come after him next, for George Gordon was the most powerful man in the Highlands, the so-called "Cock of the North." Bothwell slipped away from Hermitage alone while his Borderers, led by his half brother, Hercules, and his mistress, the Countess of Glenkirk, continued to raid along the border giving the illusion that he was still there.

Bothwell was passed from safe house to safe house until he finally arrived at Dun Broc , his last stop before reaching Huntley. The Gordons of BrocCairn greeted him joyously, and as Bothwell swung Velvet up in an embrace she squealed to him, "Careful, Francis! I am with child! At long last I am to be a mother!" Lowering her carefully, he kissed her on both cheeks.

"Congratulations, sweetheart!" he said.

"Ye might at least hae told me first," grumbled Alex, looking somewhat aggrieved.

"I planned to tell you today, but when Francis swept me up I had to say something. Oh, Alex"—she hugged him—"I am so happy!"

Her delight was so infectious that he couldn't help but grin like a fool at her. It suddenly dawned on him that he was going to be a father! Velvet was to have a baby! He startled them all with a loud Highland whoop. Then, picking his wife up in his arms, he carried her into the castle.

"Put me down, you great fool!" Velvet protested. "I am not made of some delicate stuff that breaks easily. My mother bore eight children successfully. My sisters have never lost a child. Put me down!"

"I dinna want anything to happen to my son," he protested, but he gently set her upon her feet.

"I intend to take good care of our child, Alex," came her pert reply.

Bothwell grinned at them delightedly. Marriage had not changed Alex and Velvet at all. In an increasingly confused world he found that a comforting fact. "Madame," he said, looking at Velvet, "I stink of four days' hard riding, and I am ravenous! What do ye intend to do about it?"

"Why, Francis," she replied sweetly, "I intend to bathe you with my very own hands just like the good chatelaines of old bathed their honored guests. Then you will find that Mistress Geddes has prepared you a fine feast. Since I count Cat among my friends, however, you will have to make do with hot bricks between your sheets to warm your bed tonight."

"Let's start wi' my bath," Bothwell said wickedly.

"Come along, my lord," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs to a guest apartment. There in the bedchamber a large oak tub had been set up and filled with steaming hot water. Velvet whirled, hands upon her hips. "Well, sir, remove your clothing. I cannot bathe you with your garments on."

Bothwell tossed his cloak to a manservant and, removing his jerkin and belt, slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Velvet's face remained impassive as the shirt was removed, and he sat to have his boots taken off. He was beginning to grow nervous, for she showed no signs of leaving.

"Shall I help you with your kilt, Francis?" she asked him innocently.

A slow grin lit his face. "Ye would, too, wouldn't ye?" he demanded of her.

"Aye," she answered him. "You haven't anything I haven't already seen, my lord, or do you?"

The Earl of Bothwell howled with glee. "God's cock, Velvet! Ye're a wicked wench! I've always suspected it, but until now I wasna certain. Now get the hell out of here, madame, so I may bathe myself and regain my dignity."

With a wink and a chuckle, Velvet left the room and hurried off to see that the evening meal would be ready on time for her guest. Francis Stewart-Hepburn's laughter warmed her as she went. She did like him so very much, and it broke her heart that the king was being so cruel to him.

It was decided that night that Alex and a troop of his men would accompany Bothwell to Huntley the next day. Velvet wanted to go along, for she had not yet met Henrietta Gordon, the Countess of Huntley, who was a Frenchwoman and knew Velvet's grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins at Archambault. Alex, however, anxious about his wife's newly announced pregnancy, forbade it.

"Are you telling me I can't ride?" she exploded at him.

"Nay!" he quickly replied. "I simply dinna want ye riding such a distance as it is to Huntley. Besides, there'll be nae women there but for Henrietta. George has called together all the chiefs of the most important families in the Highlands to discuss a plan of action against the King. If we dinna aid Francis, then Maitland will pick us off one by one."

"Dinna underestimate Jamie," said Bothwell. "He plays the fool, and 'tis true he can be slow in some matters, but he is nae really stupid, and he is very wise about certain things. I believe he uses Maitland even as Maitland believes he uses the king."

"Are ye saying 'tis Jamie who wishes to take the earls' power from them?"

Bothwell nodded. "Aye, I do. Jamie has learned his lessons well, Alex. Look at the history of the Stewart family, man. Nae one of the Stewart kings has lived to reach old age, being either killed off by their rebellious nobles in wars or by assassination. They have not even been safe from their own sons in many instances as ye well know. James is the only logical choice to succeed Elizabeth Tudor. Who else has she got? Oh, there's Arabella Stewart, Jamie's English cousin, but after Elizabeth I will wager the English will want a king! Jamie intends to be that king, and he intends to live to come into his inheritance. English nobles are far easier to cope wi' than us Scots." Bothwell smiled ruefully.

"This land is always roiling wi' some turmoil or another," he continued. "Jamie knows he must control the nobility in order to live long enough to inherit England. What better way to control them than to destroy, or at least cripple, the more powerful earls both in the Border and in the Highlands? Our downfall would set a forceful example for the smaller clans. Hell, if the royal bairn can take on both Huntley and me, and can win , the others will believe that God Himself is on his side. In this, however, he hides behind Maitland, for though Jamie be clever he is nae too brave. Maitland, poor fool, is expendable, for chancellors are a groat a dozen. If Jamie fails in his efforts, he can blame the whole thing on Master Maitland, who, as we all know, is nae popular wi' the earls."

"Then we ride at dawn," said Alex quietly. "The king may have his power, but he canna hae ours, too."

Velvet was up to see them go, kissing Francis Stewart-Hepburn on the cheek and bidding him Godspeed. "When you return to Hermitage , give my love to Cat. I'm praying for you both that this thing will soon be settled."

He nodded his appreciation. "Keep well, sweetheart. Tis a precious burden ye're carrying for BrocCairn now."

Alex kissed his wife. "I'll be gone only five or six days, lass. Ye need hae no fear. We hae no near enemies, and the castle is impregnable against simple raids, and besides, we've hae no problems in recent years."

"Dugald can advise me," she said, and then kissed him back. "Go carefully, my lord."

She watched from the drawbridge as Alex's party made their way down the narrow road into the glen. It was the first time since their reunion a year ago that they had been separated. A year ago, she thought. Her daughter would be two years of age now. Velvet wondered what she looked like. She would be walking now. Her vocabulary would be increasing. Did she speak Persian or Hindi? Probably both. For a moment Velvet felt pain in the region of her heart, but she firmly pushed aside the temptation to feel sorry for herself. Yasaman was lost to her, but within her body a new child was growing. By the time another year had passed she would have another baby to love and worry over.

In the village below the people of Broc Ailien had come out of their houses to see Francis Stewart-Hepburn, for as careful as Alex had been to keep Bothwell's visit a secret, it was known that he would be passing. To the villagers he was a hero, and, knowing the danger in which he stood, they would not gossip about his presence or betray him to strangers. They would, however, enjoy this event amongst themselves.

Watching the earl pass, Alanna Wythe spoke to her lover, who stood hidden behind the doorway. "There is a reward on his head. God's nightshirt, how I wish it were within our power to collect it!"

"Dinna be foolish, Alanna. How could we possibly capture Lord Bothwell and get him to Edinburgh?"

"I know a way if only you had the retainers to accomplish it," she said, "but you don't, and so we can't. 'Tis a pity, Ian. I should like to go away with you as we have talked."

She had piqued his interest. "How?" he asked.

"Bothwell and BrocCairn are cousins, are they not?"

"Aye, they are. Cousins of the king as well," Ian replied.

"What is dearest to Alex in all this world, Ian? His wife! His precious Velvet Gordon!" Her voice was tinged with bitterness. "What if her ladyship were kidnapped, Ian, and the ransom for her safe return was the delivery of Lord Bothwell into the king's hands? Had we the men, we could arrange such a thing and bargain with Master Maitland for payment of the reward upon delivery of Lord Bothwell. We don't have the men, however, and so it is useless to even speak of it."

"Perhaps it could be arranged," he said slowly, "perhaps if I could find him it could be managed."

"Find who?" Alanna pounced on him. "We don't want to have to share the reward equally, Ian. There would be little left for us."

"The reward wouldna really interest him," Ian said. "He can hae Alex's cattle. 'Tis a huge herd this year and worth a good deal of gold. That would appeal to him."

"Who?" Alanna demanded.

"Ranald Shaw. They call him Ranald Torc, Ranald the Boar. He's an outlaw, a beast of a man, but he's just greedy enough to like the idea, and he's a man of his word."

"What's to prevent him from simply stealing Alex's cattle when he finds out that BrocCairn is away?"

"Ranald Torc is nae a fool, Alanna. He's afraid of Alex, as he should be. He realizes that his only security would be in having Velvet in his custody. He'll cooperate wi' us, dinna fear."

"We may not have much time," Alanna cautioned. "Find out how long Alex will be gone. Only then will you know. Jesu, Ian! What an opportunity this is for us! With the king's reward, we can leave this damned glen, that dank pile of stones that you hate so much, and Annabella! We'll be rich, and neither of us will have to owe our livings to the damned Earl of BrocCairn! Think of it, Ian!" She grasped his arms. "We'll be rich!"

He did think of it, and as he pondered it over and over again in his mind it occurred to him that he could indeed be very rich. It also occurred to him that he did not want to share that wealth with Alanna. He would rid himself of both his carping wife and his carping mistress, but first he would use Alanna to help him.

Riding up to the castle that morning, Ian intruded upon Velvet as she worked in her garden. "Is it true," he demanded without so much as a greeting, "that Alex has gone to Huntley wi' Bothwell?"

"Aye," she answered him, annoyed to be caught upon her knees pruning her roses.

He enjoyed towering over her. It gave him a feeling of power, a feeling of sexual excitement that surged through him. "How long will he be gone?"

Velvet rose to her feet, dusting her hands on her skirt. "What difference does it make to you, Ian?" she demanded irritably.

"None to me, but Bella wanted to know, for she is eager to invite you to Grantholm and needs several days to prepare. I'm only her messenger."

"Alex will be gone several days, five to six, he said." She smiled sweetly at Ian. "Tell Bella I have a fancy for sweet cakes. I simply cannot live without them these days."

He looked at her as if she had lost her wits.

Velvet laughed. "Why, Ian, as the father of two I would think you'd know what a craving for certain foods indicated. Did we not promise you that you would be one of the first to know when I became enceinte?"

"Ye're wi' child?" he said incredulously, unable to believe this stroke of good fortune. He could already imagine the golden reward he would gain from the crown for Lord Bothwell's capture, for Alex loved his wife, and would love her even better now that she was expecting his heir.

"Aye," Velvet confirmed proudly. "I am with child, but don't tell Bella. I want to be the one to surprise her."

Ian smiled toothily at Velvet. "Nay, my dear, I'll nae tell Bella. Ye'll have yer surprise." Then he turned and left her as abruptly as he had come, heading his horse for the patch of wild country to the west of Dun Broc where Ranald Torc held sway.

The territory actually bordered on lands held by the Gordons, the Grants, and Clan Shaw. Ranald Torc was a younger son of the Shaws who had gone wild, but he was not bothered by his relations, for he was too fierce a man to fight and he frankly frightened them. He might have had the family's entire holding but for the fact that he wasn't an ambitious sort. Relieved by this, the Shaws let him be, turning a blind eye when he raided their cattle and sheep or carried off an occasional woman.

Ranald Torc's mother had been the sister of Ian Grant's father. The two had played together as boys, and even though Ranald was politely ignored by his family, Ian still kept up the connection between them although he had never understood why. Perhaps, weakling that he was, he secretly admired the unorthodox ways of his rebellious cousin.

Ranald Torc's home was a dilapidated stone house deep in the forest. Ian knew that he was observed almost every foot of the way he traveled from the moment he stepped onto his cousin's lands. Still, he looked neither to the right nor the left nor behind him. He simply pressed onward until the house came into view.

"Hallo, the house!" he called as he stopped his horse. "Ranald Torc! 'Tis Ian Grant."

The door to the dwelling slowly opened, and then a figure stooped beneath the entryway and came forth into the clearing. Ian was, as always when he saw his cousin after a long period of time, amazed by the man's size. Ranald Torc stood close to seven feet in height with huge limbs and shoulders. His massive head was completely in proportion with his great body, his light brown hair cut straight across his forehead and hanging to his shoulders. His nickname, "The Boar," came from the fact that his light blue eyes were closely spaced, giving him the wary, suspicious look of a wild pig. That feature prevented him from being handsome, although he was certainly not an ugly man.

"Hallo, Mouse!" His deep voice boomed at Ian. "What brings ye into my lair?"

Ian flushed at Ranald Torc's use of the nickname he'd been given by his elder cousin during their childhood. His color was not lost on Ranald, who chuckled at Ian's discomfort.

"I've a proposition to make ye, Ranald. It'll bring ye a lot of gold if ye're interested."

"Come into the house then, Mouse." The giant ducked back under his doorway followed by Ian. Once his eyes became used to the gloom Ian could see about the huge room with its great fireplace. It was quite comfortably furnished. Ranald poured some whiskey into pewter goblets and thrust one into Ian's hand, motioning him at the same time to be seated.

"Well, speak up, Mouse! How can I get myself this gold ye're babbling about?"

"I'll need yer word first that ye'll aid me in a small undertaking of my own, Ranald. My undertaking will earn me a great deal of gold, too, but that gold I'll nae share wi' ye. Besides, it will take longer to get than the easy gold I hae in mind for ye."

Ranald Torc shrugged. "Ye were always the smarter of us, Mouse. If ye say I'll be satisfied, then I believe ye, for we're kin, and I know ye'd nae cheat me because ye know if ye did that I'd kill ye. I'll aid ye in yer undertaking, cousin. Now, say on!"

"Lord Bothwell is at this very minute on his way to Huntley wi' BrocCairn. There's a good price on his head, but no one can catch him. I know how to catch him, however. He and BrocCairn are cousins. He's very fond of both Alex and Alex's wife, who is expecting BrocCairn's heir. Help me to kidnap Velvet Gordon, Ranald. Bothwell wouldn't let anything happen to his cousin's wife and child. He's too much the gentleman. He'll turn himself in, and I'll gain the king's reward for his capture, and ye'll gain BrocCairn's cattle, for we'll steal them as well as his wife. He's got a huge herd, Ranald! Since we're at peace, most of BrocCairn's men hae gone wi' him, and the cattle's unguarded."

"Hae ye thought of how ye're going to get Lady Gordon out of that fortress, Ian?"

"Aye! Ye can capture her when she comes to visit my wife at Grantholm. Ye know the stretch of lonely road between Broc Ailien and my holding. It's the ideal place to take her!"

"And what's to prevent BrocCairn from coming after her and killing me and mine?" demanded Ranald Torc. "A good wife can't be replaced easily."

"Ye need not fear Alex, Ranald. He adores Velvet, and the bairn she carries will be their firstborn. He won't want anything to happen to her, and neither will Bothwell. They'll cooperate, and we'll both be rich men!"

"What does yer wife think of this, Mouse? Is she in agreement wi' yer plan?"

"Annabella doesna know, Ranald. I'm leaving Grantholm when this is over."

"Ah." The giant smiled. "There's another woman, is there?"

Ian laughed. "I'll be leaving her, too," he said. "I'm not of a mind to exchange one complaining woman for another. Here's the best part, cousin. My mistress was Alex's mistress! He brought her from England before his wife came, but he grew tired of her. She has his brat, a daughter. No one, not even my wife, knows that I've been using her."

"Is she pretty?" Ranald Torc inquired.

"Aye. She's got long yellow hair she wears in thick braids, and the biggest pair of tits I've ever seen on any woman, let alone one who just stands over five feet in height. Her skin is good, for she's nae pockmarked like so many." Then suddenly Ian had another idea. "Would ye like her, Ranald? I'll gie her to ye! Alex's cattle and Alex's whore! 'Tis nae a bad deal, is it?"

"Well," Ranald Torc considered, "I've nae had a woman in a long time. I dinna like hurting them, and ye know my problem."

Ian did indeed know his cousin's problem. Ian was himself very well endowed sexually, but his cousin was considered to be deformed, for his genitals were more like those of a stallion than those of a man. As young men are wont to do, the cousins had once compared the sizes of their cocks. To Ian's intense embarrassment, Ranald was almost twice his size, and it wasn't until Ian saw how he stood among other men that his confidence was restored. Ranald Torc was simply too big for most women, and even paid whores refused to risk injury when they saw his male parts. But he missed a woman's warmth. Ian's offer was a tempting one.

"If ye're sure ye dinna want the woman anymore, Mouse, then, aye, I'll take her. If I kill her it'll nae matter since she's an English whore, but won't she object when she finds out ye're leaving her?"

"Let me handle Alanna. I'll tell her ye'll nae help us unless she spreads her legs for ye. She'll do it. She's a greedy bitch."

"How long do we have before BrocCairn returns?" Ranald was now making his plans.

"He'll be gone five or six days, but we'd best do it quickly."

"Aye, I'd agree wi' that, Mouse."

"Will ye bring Alex's wife here?" Ian asked.

"Nay, cousin. That's too obvious. We'll drive the cattle south and sell them there. Then we'll go to Edinburgh to await yer reward. I'll hae my gold, and it'll be harder for the Earl of BrocCairn to find us in the city than here. I'd like to live to enjoy my ill-gotten gains." He chuckled.

"Lady Gordon is newly wi' child, Ranald. Ye canna endanger her life or that of the child. Alex would kill me if ye did. I dinna like the bastard, but I'm no murderer," Ian declared.

"Ye dinna think he'll kill ye for leaving his sister, Mouse?" "Bella willna let him. I know her; she'll be hoping that I'll return to her." "Will ye?" Ranald asked.

"Nay. I'm for France where I'm told a man can live well wi' a goodly pile of gold. I never thought to hae such a chance, but Alanna is a wise wench and 'twas her idea, all of this."

"I'm thinking then that ye're a fool to let such a woman go so easily, Mouse."

"A woman, Ranald, is a woman, be she wife or mistress. Keep one around too long, and they all begin to sound alike, to say the same things, to carp and complain without ceasing. From now on I intend to have a different woman every week, and that way I'll never be bored again!"

"I'll gie my men their orders then, Mouse, and ye and I will ride down to Broc Ailien. I'm anxious to meet this Alanna."

It was already nightfall when they slipped into Alanna Wythe's cottage. Alanna was in her nightshift, and the fire was low when they arrived. Sybilla lay asleep in her cot.

"And who is this giant?" demanded Alanna crossly. "I didn't give you permission to bring your friends here."

"This is Ranald Torc, Alanna. He's agreed to help us. We move tomorrow. I'm going home tonight to Grantholm to get Annabella to send a message to sweet Velvet to come and visit wi' her tomorrow afternoon. Ranald's men will take her on the road between the village and my home. Then they'll take BrocCairn's cattle, and we'll be gone."

"What happens when your wife gives the alarm because Velvet hasn't arrived, Ian? You'll have to send the message in Annabella's name so that she doesn't know there's been a message. That way we'll have more time. You can even send another message to Dun Broc later, saying her ladyship has decided to spend the night at Grantholm. That way there'll be no alarm until the following day, and by the time they reach Alex, we'll all be very long gone."

"By God!" Ranald Torc said, "I like a woman who thinks like a man. Now, mouse, tell the wench my condition for helping ye."

"Mouse?" Alanna looked at Ian and laughed. "Aye, I can see it! What condition?"

"He wants to fuck ye," Ian said bluntly. "He'll help us if ye'll let him."

Alanna let her eyes roam over Ranald Torc. Her gaze was bold and noncommittal. "He's got to wash first," she said.

"What?" Both men spoke in unison.

"He smells like a pig byre. I'll fuck him, but he's got to be clean." She didn't give either man the chance to think, instead saying, "Ian, get the tub I use in the pantry, and I'll start heating the water."

Ranald Torc was fascinated. He had expected a shriek of outrage, which he would follow with the rape of the Englishwoman's person. Instead she was ordering him to bathe, and, by God, he was going to do it! He had never met such a woman in his entire life. He gave a barely perceptible nod to his cousin, and within a short time the tub was filled with warm water and set before the fire, which Alanna had built up so that its warmth filled the room.

He handed her his shirt and his stockings which she immediately threw into a smaller tub to wash. Ian, having yanked his cousin's boots off moments before, had already fled the cottage. He didn't want to be around when Alanna got a good look at Ranald Torc's private parts.

"Get into the tub," Alanna ordered the giant, pulling his kilt from him and turning to shake it out the back door. "Now," she said, "just sit there a few minutes until I get your shirt and stockings clean. 'Tis no good putting a clean body into dirty clothes."

It was obvious she hadn't taken a good look at him yet, he thought, or she'd be screaming the cottage down. He did as he had been told and sat himself in the tub, considering even as he did so how foolish he must look, his knees sticking up into the air. Within a few minutes, as she had promised, his shirt and hose were washed and spread before the fire to dry. Alanna now turned to the task of bathing Ranald Torc, and she showed no mercy as she wielded a boar's-bristle brush on him.

"Jesu!" he complained as she soaped him with a small cake of soap. "I smell like a damned flower."

"You smell clean, you great oaf! A rare departure, I don't doubt! Stand up! I can't bathe what I can't see!"

Ranald Torc stood and waited for her scream to come. For a long moment she was very quiet, and then Alanna said, "I thought that Ian Grant had the biggest cock in Christendom, but I was certainly wrong, wasn't I?" She soaped him, her hands lingering lovingly over his male parts. "God almighty, you're built like a bull, Ranald Torc!" She cupped the pouch of his sex in her hands, and it overflowed her palms. She ran her tiny fingers sensually down the long, long length of him, sighing voluptuously as she did so, and his manhood stirred violently in her grasp. "Sit down and rinse yourself," she said in a tight voice. "The sooner you're clean, the sooner you can fill me up with that great pole of yours!"

No woman had ever spoken to him like that. Usually they howled and wept with fear at the sight of him. He looked up at her. She really was a little bit of a thing next to him. He was suddenly afraid he'd kill her with his bigness, and for some reason he couldn't quite explain he didn't want to.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, "You'll have to go slowly until we see how much of you will fit."

He nodded and, standing up, stepped from the tub. She rubbed him dry with a small square of toweling, and when she had finished he found that despite his nudity he felt himself in full command of the situation, no longer so nonplussed by the small, blond woman who spoke so boldly to him. "Well," he said slowly, "ye've had a good look at what I hae to offer, now let's see yer goods, woman!"

With a slow seductive smile, Alanna dropped her shift, and her smile broadened at his intake of breath. She was very proud of her body. She might be tiny in stature, but her limbs were pleasingly rounded, and her breasts were big and full. Reaching out, he gently hefted one of those large breasts, and a smile spread on his face as the nipple puckered at his touch. Taking him by the hand, she led him up into the loft above the cottage's main room where her mattress was spread. They knelt facing one another, and he let his hands run eagerly over her lushness. Overwhelmed by the bounty offered him, he couldn't decide where to begin. His big hands reached around to squeeze her buttocks, which were plump and firm. Alanna lifted her breasts and rubbed them against his hairy chest. His whole body was, she saw, covered with darkish hair. For a few moments, they explored each other, but the truth was that she excited him tremendously, and, seeing it, Alanna lay on her back and spread her legs wide.

"Go on," she encouraged him, "stuff me with that monster cock of yours, Ranald Torc!"

With a groan, he fell on her and began to push himself steadily into her. At first Alanna felt she was being torn asunder, but she forced herself to relax, and he restrained himself from hurrying. Suddenly, to her surprise, he was buried completely within her. With a pleased grin he kissed her heartily on the mouth.

She pulled her head away, though, and said, "Now fuck me, you brute! We know now you can't kill me."

Ranald Torc complied with Alanna's request most willingly. She was the first woman he'd ever taken who accepted him easily and at the height of her passion begged him for more. He spent a long and happy night loving this tiny English-woman. If the truth had been known, she actually wore him out, and he loved her the more for it. When the dawn came, she arose to cook him a large breakfast of porridge, ham, eggs, and scones.

Ian Grant, creeping back and expecting to find his mistress dead, instead found her eating quite contentedly with his cousin.

"She's my woman now," Ranald Torc said bluntly.

"Ye fucked her?" Ian was astounded.

"Aye," came the reply.

"But ye usually kill them wi' yer cock," said Ian.

"Aye, but this time 'twas different," Ranald answered.

"How?"

"There's nae doubt that I've the biggest cock in Christendom, but, Alanna"—he smiled broadly at Ian—"well, it seems that she has the biggest cunt in Christendom! We're a perfect match, Mouse! Now sit down, man, and hae something to eat. We've a long day ahead of us."

Bemused at this unexpected turn of events, Ian sat down. Alanna slammed a bowl of oat porridge in front of him. "I sent the message to Velvet first thing this morning," he said. "I've the other message ready to send to Dun Broc once we hae her in our custody."

Ranald Torc grunted approval.

"What are ye going to do wi' Sibby?" Ian asked Alanna. "Ye canna take her wi' us, can ye?"

"I'll ask Mistress Lawrie to take care of her," Alanna replied. "The brat spends most of her time with that woman anyhow, and the bitch seems to have a weakness for her despite all her own children. When they see I'm gone, you can be certain Jean Lawrie will take Sibby in. If she doesn't want another mouth to feed, she can give her to her father when he returns. It makes me laugh to think of her high-and-mighty ladyship returning home when this is over to find she has to raise my child. She'll do it, too, for she's softhearted. I've seen her with the children here in the village."

"Ye'd leave yer child to another?" Ranald Torc asked.

"Would you take me with you if I insisted upon bringing her along?" Alanna countered.

"Nay, 'tis no life for a child," he answered.

"Do you want to leave me, Ranald Torc, until this is all over?" she demanded. "I thought you liked fucking me."

"I'll nae leave ye ever again, Alanna," he replied. "That itch of yers needs my scratching, but be warned: If ye so much as look at another man, I'll beat ye senseless. Leave the brat. Ye're my woman now, and I'll gie ye more bairns to raise."

"Not unless ye marry me, ye won't!" she snapped.

"In Edinburgh, I will," he promised her, "and those who know me know my word is good."

Ian Grant was completely amazed by the conversation that was taking place as if he weren't even there. He was somewhat aggrieved that Alanna, having been his mistress for so many months, was so easily and effortlessly discarding him. He had forgotten for the moment that he had intended to leave her, that he had without a thought turned her over to his cousin whose mighty attentions could have either seriously injured or killed her. Ian fancied himself quite the lover, but Alanna Wythe seemed not to care. She was, he decided, an English bitch without the good taste to comprehend what she was throwing away in order to marry that monster of a cousin of his. Well, good luck to them both. They were going to need it if BrocCairn came after them. He, on the other hand, would be safe in France living as he was always meant to live.

Before the sun had sent its slender, golden rays into the glen, both Ian Grant and Ranald Torc were gone from Alanna Wythe's cottage. Not even little Sybilla knew that they had been there. The breakfast dishes were washed and returned to their cupboard before Alanna roused her child from her slumber. She bathed her and fed her lukewarm porridge with a scone that had a dab of honey on it. Dressing the child in clean clothes, she braided her reddish brown hair, then led her from the cottage and walked the few steps to Jean Lawrie's cottage.

Alanna entered the house without knocking, and Angus Lawrie, seated at his table, looked up, not quite able to hide the admiration in his eyes. "Good morning, Angus," she said sweetly, "I've come to see Jean."

"If ye could take yer eyes off my man long enough," snapped Jean Lawrie, "ye'd see me right here by the fireplace. What do ye want, Mistress Wythe?" Jean Lawrie was nursing her young son who was almost a year old now.

"I want to go into the forest today to look for roots," Alanna said. "I don't like bringing Sibby with me because she won't obey me and stay still. I'm always afraid she'll be hurt. Will you watch her until I get back? I'll make you a good medicine for coughs that you can use this winter if you do."

"I'd watch the lass in any case," Jean Lawrie said softening. "Go on. She's safe wi' me."

Alanna knelt down and looked into her daughter's face. "Be a good girl, Sibby, and obey Mistress Lawrie," she said, and then, standing up, she was gone.

At the very moment Alanna was leaving her daughter with Jean Lawrie, Velvet received an early-morning message from her sister-in-law. Annabella wanted her to come and visit today. Ian was going hunting, and as Alex was away at Huntley perhaps she would be free. She had to come. Annabella was so totally bored. This was Annabella in a far lighter mood than Velvet had seen her recently, and Velvet very much wanted to be friends with her husband's sister. Other than Bella, there were no females but the servants within visiting distance. Velvet was lonely for another woman's company. After her close relationship with Jodh Bai and Rugaiya Begum, and especially now that she was expecting a child, she needed female companionship. Pansy, bless her, was so involved in her own new life that Velvet didn't feel comfortable imposing on her.

"Pansy!" she called now from bed, and her tiring woman hurried into the bedchamber. "Good morning, m'lady!"

"We're going to Grantholm today, Pansy. Can you still ride, or shall I have one of the maids go with me?"

Pansy, in the fifth month of her second pregnancy, patted her rounding belly, saying, "I'm good for a little while longer, m'lady. I'll go with you. With or without child, I still ride better than any of those flighty lasses."

Velvet hid her grin. Pansy was fiercely protective of her place in Velvet's life. She had no intention of allowing one of the local Scots girls the opportunity to steal it from her. Pansy was the Countess of BrocCairn's tiring woman, and she would let none forget it.

"Will you wear a gown or your usual riding garb, m'lady?"

"Not a gown, Pansy. The road is dusty. Bella will just have to take me in trunk hose."

Pansy agreed with her mistress and quickly assembled Velvet's hose, shirt, belt, jerkin, and boots. Then she arranged for her lady's bath, adding gillyflower bath oil to the steaming tub. When Velvet had bathed, Pansy helped her to dress. While her mistress ate her breakfast of eggs poached in cream and sherry, thin slices of newly caught and broiled salmon, freshly baked scones with honey and butter, and watered wine, Pansy hurried to exchange her own garb for one a little less conventional so that she might ride, too.

Learning that his wife was riding out with her mistress, Dugald fretted, "I dinna want ye losing the bairn, Pansy lass."

"Leave her be," snapped Morag Geddes, who seemed always to side with her English daughter-in-law. "Pansy's a good, strong girl, and she'd nae endanger her bairn. Didn't she bring our wee Dugie safely home from that heathen land? Go along wi' ye, Pansy," she commanded, and with a wave Pansy hurried to join her mistress.

As Dugald looked after his wife, his mother remonstrated him, "Ye're worse than an old woman, Dugald. 'Tis but two miles to Grantholm."

Velvet was already mounted upon her black mare, Sable, when Pansy joined her to climb up on her sturdy, black and white pony whom she had named Bess "in honor of Her Majesty," she had told her mistress. Half a dozen men-at-arms would ride with them, but only for show as these were BrocCairn lands, and there was peace in Scotland.

There was the faintest nip of early autumn in the air as they departed from the castle, their horses' hooves thrumming over the drawbridge and onto the road. They could feel a brisk breeze, and the sun was playing a game of peekaboo with the bright, white clouds. As they passed through Broc Ailien, the villagers called their greetings to their countess who, like her husband, called back to them, using their names, knowing small bits of their lives, which she commented upon. As they loved Alex, the people of Broc Ailien loved Velvet now, too. She saw little Sibby playing before Jean Lawrie's cottage, and was for a quick moment reminded of Yasaman. She blinked the tears from her eyes, all the while thinking that something should really be done for Alex's daughter, who was a nice little thing despite her odious mother.

They left the village behind. It was only another mile or so to Grantholm , the manor house where Annabella and Ian lived with their two sons, James and Henry. The road wound through the woods, which were thick and green, and it was at the deepest part of the forest that they suddenly found themselves surprised and surrounded by a band of men wearing the green and blue tartan with the narrow red stripe that the BrocCairn men recognized as that of the Shaws. Instantly the six men-at-arms surrounded their countess and her tirewoman, but, badly outnumbered, they were quickly cut down.

"Go, Pansy!" shouted Velvet over the din of the short battle, and kicked Sable's sides. Her flight, and that of Pansy's, was quickly halted, however, by a giant bear of a man who, reaching out, yanked at both Sable's and Bess's bridles, successfully stopping them. Velvet lashed out at the man with her crop. "Let go of my horse!" she shouted. "I am the Countess of BrocCairn! How dare you attack me on my own lands!"

Ranald Torc burst into loud laughter. "BrocCairn's bride is a fire-eater, Mouse! Ye dinna tell me that her ladyship had spirit, but, by God, I like that in a woman!" The battle over and the BrocCairn men dead where they had fallen trying to protect Velvet, Ranald Torc turned to speak to the countess. "I am Ranald Shaw, called Ranald Torc, madame. Ye've been captured fairly. Will ye yield to me and gie me yer word ye'll nae try to excape?"

"Go to hell!" she shouted at him. "How dare you, you big ox!"

Ranald Torc laughed again. "Torc means boar, madame, nae ox."

"Very well, Ranald the Pig, I demand an explanation of your conduct! There is no feud between the Gordons and the Shaws."

Ranald Torc's face darkened at the word "pig." This was not going to be as easy as Ian had made it sound. The countess should be swooning with fright at this moment, begging for her life and her honor. Instead this auburn-haired hellion was spitting at him like a wildcat and asking for answers to difficult questions. Irritably he looked about. "Ian," he shouted. "This is yer place, nae mine."

It was then that Velvet noticed her brother-in-law for the first time. "Ian! What in hell is going on here?" she demanded.

Ian Grant moved his horse forward to come abreast of Velvet. He was very much in his element now and enjoying every minute of this drama. "Good morning, Velvet," he said cheerfully. "Ye would like to know what this is all about, wouldn't ye? Well, my dear, I am tired of being BrocCairn's poor relation, and so I hae decided to grasp fortune by the neck, as it were. There is a very large reward on the Earl of Bothwell, who at this very minute is wi' yer husband at Huntley. I should like to collect that reward, and since I doubt that either Alex or Lord Bothwell would like to see ye hurt, especially considering that ye carry BrocCairn's heir, I hae decided to offer them a bargain. I will return ye to Alex in exchange for Lord Bothwell. I dinna think they will refuse me, do ye? Now all ye must do is be a good lass for the next few weeks while this delicate exchange is arranged."

"Ian, I'd kill you if I could," said Velvet furiously, "and you'd best not to get too near me, you damned bastard, or I will!"

"Ho! Ho!" Ranald Torc chuckled. "I believe her ladyship would indeed slit yer throat given the chance, Mouse. Ye'd best be wary."

"Nay, cousin," said Ian calmly. "Velvet will behave herself, for her husband is as close to committing treason as any man, and if she doesna wish to see him executed for it, she will cooperate wi' us, won't ye, my dear?"

"What do you mean, treason?" Velvet demanded.

"Bothwell's been put to the horn, Velvet," said Ian. "Here in Scotland that means he's been outlawed, all his possessions forefeited to the crown. The king has accused him of treason."

"A ridiculous charge, and all of Scotland knows it," Velvet snapped back.

"Aye, but, nonetheless, James Stewart's word is law in this land, and by aiding Bothwell the outlaw, yer precious Alex is as guilty. Now shut yer mouth, yer ladyship! We hae a long way to travel before we'll be safe."

"You'll never be safe from Alex, you little bastard!" snarled Velvet. "And what of Bella?"

"I suppose she'll miss me," he said easily.

Velvet stared at him, outraged, and angry for poor Annabella. "I hope I'm there when Alex kills you," she said venomously.

Ranald Torc looked directly at Velvet, but her gaze never wavered. He knew Alex Gordon, and he thought that this woman was a fit mate for BrocCairn. She was canny, bonny, and very brave, he had not a doubt. "Enough of yer battling," he said firmly. "We must go now. There's still the cattle to take. Ian, ye bring her ladyship to safety wi' Alanna, and we'll meet ye."

Velvet could see that it was Ranald Torc who controlled this band of outlaws. "Let my tiring woman go back to Dun Broc," she pleaded. "She is five months gone with a bairn."

"She'd raise the alarm," said Ranald Torc. "We must go quickly, but we'll go carefully, madame, for I hae no wish to harm either of ye or yer bairns."

Ian leaned down and, taking Velvet's bridle, led her off, Pansy following along. Velvet recognized the route they were traveling as the same one that had brought her to BrocCairn. She had not been out of the glen in the year since her arrival. At the crest of the hill, she saw Alanna Wythe waiting.

"Is she your whore now?" Velvet demanded of Ian.

"She was for a while," he said easily, "but she seems to prefer my cousin, Ranald. They're to be wed in Edinburgh, although having declared their intentions before me, they're handfast and as good as married now."

Velvet glared at Alanna as they came abreast of the woman. "Where is your daughter?" she demanded of her.

"With Jean Lawrie, not that it's your business."

"You're leaving her?"

"She's better off in Broc Ailien with Jean," said Alanna. "My husband's an outlaw, or perhaps you didn't know that. 'Tis hardly the proper life for the Earl of BrocCairn's daughter, is it?"

"You're a cold bitch," said Velvet evenly. "When I return to BrocCairn, I'm going to take Sibby and raise her myself. I'll see she never even knows you exist!"

Suddenly Alanna found herself very discomfited by the situation and, with a toss of her head, said, "I'll come to see Sibby whenever it suits me, madame."

"If you ever come near Dun Broc again, I'll set the dogs on you, Alanna Wythe."

"Cease yer bickering," snarled Ian Grant. "We've miles to go before we meet up wi' Ranald Torc again, and I'll not waste the daylight hours listening to the pair of ye squabbling like two barnyard hens over a cock."

With surprising speed, Velvet lashed out at him with her riding crop. "Don't you even speak to me, you little bastard!" she shouted at him.

Stunned, Ian Grant ran his hand down the weal she had raised on his handsome face and was surprised to find that the side of his face by his left eye was bloodied. Anger poured through him. The bitch had marked him!

Velvet saw his anger, and a slow smile touched her lips. Her voice was low and even as she spoke. "Lay a hand on me, Ian, and you're a dead man where you stand. You know what Alex would do to you if you touched me, don't you?"

Several of Ranald Torc's men had accompanied Ian, and now the leader of the group leaned forward and said, "The earl will nae pay ye for damaged goods, Ian. Let it be."

Frustrated and furious, Ian Grant kicked his mount into a trot, and they were off. They did not meet up with Ranald Torc and the main body of his outlaws until close to evening. His band had successfully stolen the BrocCairn cattle and had driven them around the mountains on a deserted track. They were far enough from BrocCairn to discourage pursuit from the few men that had been left there, most having gone with their earl to Huntley.

Ranald Torc could not take the chance of being seen, and so they camped out in a meadow where the cattle could rest and graze the night away. Two small campfires sprang up, and a cow was butchered and roasted over the open flame, to be served with oatcakes that the men kept in their pouches and washed down with water from a nearby stream or whiskey from their personal flasks. Ranald Torc did his best to see that his two prisoners were comfortable, for Ian was still angry and would not go near Velvet and Pansy.

Alanna had passed on what had happened between them, and Ranald chuckled richly. "She's the badger's bitch all right," he said. "She'll breed up hell-raising sons and daughters for BrocCairn."

"You sound as if you like Alex," said Alanna, somewhat confused.

"I do," came the outlaw's reply. "He's a good man in a fight and a good lord to his people. I've nae quarrel wi' Gordon of BrocCairn."

"But you stole his cattle!" Alanna said.

"Stealing a man's cattle doesna mean ye dinna like him," said Ranald. "Cattle stealing is an old Highland tradition, Alanna. Ye've much to learn, lassie, but ye'll find me a good teacher." He rose to his full height. "I've got to see that Lady Gordon and her woman are comfortable." Leaving Alanna to await his return, Ranald Torc walked over to where Velvet was seated and squatted down beside her. "I've given orders that ye not be disturbed, madame, and, believe me, none of my men will disobey me. I regret I canna offer ye more comfortable accommodations. There's a bit of a nip in the air tonight. Will ye be warm enough?"

"We've our plaids to wrap about us," replied Velvet. She was not afraid of this giant who was really not much taller than her own father. She was used to big men.

"Can I get ye anything before ye sleep?"

Velvet chuckled. "My husband," she said, and Ranald Torc grinned at her.

"Ye're nae afraid," he said. "Good! We'll nae hurt yer ladyship."

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"South to sell the cattle, and then to Edinburgh. Has Ian nae spoken wi' ye?"

"Keep that little turd away from me!" Velvet exploded. "I swear if I get the chance I'll slit his throat with his own dagger! I'll not speak with him. You tell me."

He nodded, understanding her feelings. She was a Gordon of BrocCairn, and Ian Grant had been disloyal to the Gordons in the worst way: stealing from his brother-in-law, deserting his Gordon wife and his sons, attempting to betray Scotland's greatest nobleman as Judas had once betrayed his master. Ranald knew his cousin was no prize. Aye, he understood Velvet's anger and desire for revenge. "Tomorrow," he said, "two of my men will deliver a message to Huntley from Ian saying that ye're being held in his custody; the ransom being Lord Bothwell's person. Lord Bothwell will turn himself over to Ian Grant in Edinburgh at an arranged location. When Ian has given up his prisoner to the crown and received his reward, then ye and yer woman will be free to return to yer home at Dun Broc."

"And how much of the reward will you share?" she asked him scornfully.

"I'd nae betray Francis Stewart-Hepburn," said Ranald Torc. "He's naught to me or mine."

"Then why are you involved in this?" said Velvet.

"Because I promised my cousin, Ian, my aid before I knew what he had in mind. I am a man of my word, come what may. Yer husband's cattle were all I wanted, and because BrocCairn was so foolish as to leave his herds unguarded and because he will not come after me for fear of my harming you, I'll soon be a rich man. But dinna accuse me of betraying Bothwell. I hae no part in that."

"Without you, Ranald Torc, Ian could not accomplish his goal. The king accuses Lord Bothwell unfairly on the advice of his chancellor, Maitland. Do you want Maitland ruling Scotland through Jamie Stewart? Send me home tomorrow. You've gained the cattle, and if you speak the truth, 'tis all you really wanted."

"I hae given my word," replied Ranald Torc. " 'Tis my most precious possession, Lady Gordon. I canna violate it."

"Then be warned, Ranald Torc, that I shall try to escape, for I would not want to be the instrument of Lord Bothwell's downfall." Then, wrapping herself in her plaid, she lay down, turning her back to him.

Neither she nor Pansy, however, was given the opportunity to escape. The following day, as they set out, the women found that leading reins had been attached to both sides of their mounts' bridles and armed men rode on either side of them, the leading reins in their grasp. Velvet was furious, but there was nothing that she could do, so she was forced to ride along quietly.

"We'll have our chance in Edinburgh," Pansy whispered to her in the night. "We'll escape the little toady in the city, and he'll not find us."

"But once Maitland learns of Ian's plan, even if I escape my bastard brother-in-law, I'll not be safe," fretted Velvet. "The king is not above using me himself to get at Francis. He simply never thought of it, Pansy. When Ian tells them of how he plans to capture Bothwell, the king and Maitland won't hesitate to use me. We must escape Ian Grant before he reaches them. If he doesn't have me, then perhaps Bothwell will be safe. Ian isn't stupid enough to go to the king and present his plan unless he has his hostage. Without me they'll throw him out of the palace."

Several days later Ranald Torc sold BrocCairn's cattle at a fair where, in light of the herd's excellence, no questions were asked. Then they were off to Edinburgh: Ranald Torc, Alanna, Ian, Velvet, Pansy, and half a dozen of Shaw's outlaws, the rest being sent back to their home for they were too expensive to maintain. Alanna insisted that Ranald Torc make good his promise to wed her, and at a small kirk near the city they were married, having declared before the preacher their state of handfast.

Then fate played into Velvet's hand, for Ian, beginning to realize the enormity of what he had done and was about to attempt, decided that if he was to make good his escape to France before Alex found and killed him, they would be safer staying in Edinburgh's port town, Leith. Knowing Bothwell's favorite tavern in Leith to be the Golden Anchor, Ian decided that the exchange would take place there, and one of Ranald Torc's men was dispatched to find the earl and tell him.

Ranald and Ian hid themselves and their captives in a slum near the waterfront, pretending to the landlady that they were two married couples—cousins they told her—and their servant. Ranald Torc had insisted that the rooms they rented be on the ground floor of the house to facilitate a quick escape should that become necessary. Ian was extremely irritated, for rooms at the top of the house would have cost him less.

There were only two rooms available, and at night the honeymooning couple closeted themsleves into the smaller room from which, much of the evening, there emitted a series of strange sounds. Added to this was the noise from the street outside, and the rats and fleas that infested their quarters. Ian spent his nights snoring loudly in a chair in the room with his captives, but Velvet did not get much sleep, and she began to fear that it would be impossible to escape, for neither she nor Pansy was allowed out of the apartment.

It was small consolation that Ranald Torc's men were not sharing their quarters, there not being enough room. Those five were forced to fend for themselves, usually sleeping in doorways, alleyways, or, if they were lucky, with a friendly whore. Alanna and her new husband spent their days sightseeing, leaving Velvet and Pansy to bear Ian's dull company and that of one or two of Ranald Torc's men. Usually Velvet spoke with the outlaws, for they were simple men who, though they made their living in the world by robbery and occasionally killing, were basically friendly and respectful of the Countess of BrocCairn. They did not understand what was going on at all, but they obeyed their leader, and Ranald Shaw had brought them to Leith.

Their food came from a nearby cookhouse, Ian fetching it at midday, or if he was drunk, which happened more frequently, sending one of Ranald Torc's men for it. Ian was becoming increasingly nervous and irritable. It had been ten days since he had kidnapped his sister-in-law and aided in the theft of his brother-in-law's cattle, and they had not heard from BrocCairn, nor had the two messengers they had sent to Huntley returned. Until he heard from Alex, Ian dared not contact Maitland.

Velvet's calm began to annoy him, and one day he shouted at her, "Perhaps BrocCairn doesna want ye back, after all! Perhaps he has thought better of taking to wife an infidel's whore."

Velvet was not disturbed by his words. She knew her husband and she was certain she had his love. Looking at Ian Grant, she said wickedly, "Perhaps it's just that he's coming to murder you, Ian. This is Lord Bothwell's territory. Remember, he was once lord admiral of Scotland. They're looking for you, Ian, and when they find you, you're a dead man! I warned you!"

"Ye bitch!" he shouted at her, leaping to his feet a trifle unsteadily, for he'd been drinking most of the day. "I'll nae be cheated of my gold! I'm going to Maitland now! I'll turn ye over to him and be done wi' ye! I'm tired of yer face, and Maitland will gie me my gold. I'll nae be cheated of it! I won't!" And then he stumbled from the room and out into the street.

Surprised, Velvet and Pansy looked at one another. They were alone, their guards having gone to the cookhouse for the evening meal. Wordlessly, they grabbed their cloaks and fled the apartment before Ian realized what he had done, or their guards returned, or Ranald Torc and Alanna came back. Grasping her tiring woman by the hand, Velvet hurried her along, not quite knowing where they were going, but remembering vaguely that they were near the waterfront itself. It would soon be dark, and she was terrified that they would be caught on the streets in this strange place by men looking for whores.

"Where are we going, m'lady?" gasped Pansy as they ran. "To the docks!" replied Velvet.

"But why? Can't we go straight home to Dun Broc?"

Velvet could smell the sea now, and, pulling Pansy with her, she rounded a corner. To her relief, she had somehow managed to find her way to the waterfront, and there was a fairly respectable-looking tavern, its sign a brightly painted golden anchor proclaiming its name. "Pull your hood up," she commanded her tiring woman, and Pansy obeyed. Together they entered the inn, and when the landlord came forward, Velvet said, "I am seeking passage for France for my servant and myself. Can you recommend a respectable ship?"

"Any particular port?" demanded the landlord.

"I am bound for Nantes," she said, "but if you know of a decent vessel headed for any French port that would accept a gentlewoman and her servant, I should like to book passage."

"There are several vessels leaving wi' the tide tonight, but only one I know is calling at Nantes. 'Tis an O'Malley-Small trading vessel headed for the Levant. It's captained by a young lad wi' his first command, a protégé of one of the owners. His name is Michael Small, nae relation to the owner, but he took his name, I understand, from the man who took him in as a boy. He's a good man, and I'll arrange it for ye if ye like."

"Thank you," said Velvet, "I would appreciate it, sir." She reached into her jerkin for her purse, but the landlord cautioned her severely.

"Dinna show me yer gold, madame, until I know whether he'll take ye or not. Ye dinna know who's watching."

Warned, Velvet removed her hand and asked, "Is there a private place where my servant and I might wait, and could you bring us some food?"

The landlord led them to a small private room, and shortly afterwards a rosy-cheeked serving girl brought them first warm water with which to bathe their face and hands, and then a hot meal that consisted of a roasted chicken, two small, steaming meat pies, bread, cheese, and baked apples with cream. There was good brown ale to drink, and both Velvet and Pansy stuffed themselves. The food that Ian had given them hadn't been very appetizing, and they had eaten it merely to stay alive long enough to be freed.

"God, I wish I could have a bath," Velvet said feelingly. "I'm beginning to smell, but without clean clothes what good would it do?" She sighed.

Pansy nodded mournfully. "Perhaps once we're on board ship and we tell Captain Michael Small who we are …"

Velvet did not let her tiring woman even finish. "No! We cannot tell him, Pansy. No one must know who we are, especially Captain Small. Uncle Robbie found Michael, beaten, in an alley many years ago," Velvet continued. "He was only a boy then. Uncle Robbie brought him aboard his ship, healed him, and made him a cabin boy. It was before I was born, Pansy. Michael couldn't even remember his last name, and so Uncle Robbie gave him his. We'll be safe aboard an O'Malley-Small ship, but Captain Small doesn't know me so he won't be able to tell anyone where we are."

"But why are we running away, m'lady?" asked Pansy. "We've escaped Ranald Torc and Master Grant. Why can't we go home? Dugald's going to be having a fit for certain." She chuckled to herself and then shared with her mistress the cause for her humor. "Dugald didn't want me to ride with you that morning, but Morag sided with me, saying it was only two miles."

"Pansy," said Velvet seriously, "if you want to go home, you should, and the more I ponder it I think that you had better. But I cannot. Ian has gone to Maitland, and once Maitland hears his plan he will throw him out, for Ian is of no importance, but Maitland will use his idea. They will hunt me down and use me to get to Francis. I cannot let that happen! I daren't even send a message to my mother, lest it be intercepted, and who could we trust to even take such a message? No—in a few weeks' time the king will realize that I cannot be found, and they will forget me. Then I can return home secretly. In the meantime, I must be where the Scots crown cannot find me. They will look in all the obvious places, Dun Broc , and probably send agents to Queen's Malvern , but I shall not be there. I shall go where no one will find me; but you must go home, my dear Pansy."

"Go home?" Pansy looked horrified. "Leave you to run off on some wild adventure by yourself? Never, Mistress Velvet! Me mother would kill me, and that would only be after m'lady Skye and his lordship and yer husband and mine had had at me. Wherever we're going, we'll go together, m'lady. Who, I should like to know, would take care of you if I weren't around?"

"Oh, Pansy, are you sure? I don't want to endanger either you or the baby."

"You're with child, too, m'lady. You need me," came her servant's calm reply.

"Aye," Velvet admitted, "I do need you, Pansy."

"Well, then, 'tis settled," said Pansy. "Where are we going to hide in France? Surely not at your grandparents'? They'd get right in touch with your parents, who would tell the earl, and then the fat would be in the fire."

"We're going to Belle Fleurs , Pansy. It is my parents' home in France, but they rarely go there anymore. We will be safe there, and when James Stewart has decided that I am not worth bothering with, then we shall come home to our husbands and Don Broc again."

"Amen to that!" said Pansy reverently.