The Captive Heart (15 page)

“It could begin that way, but if it does it will end with Alix having a ring on her finger and the laird having one through his nose,” Fenella said with a throaty laugh.

The steward laughed too. “We’ll watch together,” he replied.

O
n Christmas Day Fiona Scott presented her father with the chemise she had made for him. She had, with Alix’s help, wrapped the garment in a piece of red Scott plaid, tying it with one of Alix’s green hair ribbons and decorating her parcel with a small bit of pine. “For you, Da,” she said. “I wish you a happy first day of Christmas.” Then she curtsied prettily as Alix had taught her and smiled up at him.

“Why, Fiona, what is this?” The laird was genuinely surprised.

“I made it myself!” Fiona told him. “Alix showed me.”

The laird carefully unwrapped his gift, untying the ribbon, unfolding the fabric. He held the garment up, admiring it.

“It’s a chemise!” Fiona crowed excitedly just in case he might not recognize it.

“It is indeed,” Malcolm Scott said. “And a finer one I will never own. Thank you, Fiona. And to think you made it yourself. I did not realize you could sew. I have some socks in need of darning.” His gray eyes, usually stormy, were twinkling.

“Oh, Da, I don’t know how to darn a sock,” Fiona told him.

“But you will learn,
ma petite
,” Alix said, “just as you are learning to sew.” Then she handed the laird her own parcel. “For you, my lord. A happy Christmas, or, as my mama used to say,
joyeux Noël
!”

He took the gift she offered him, and opening it, discovered a new shirt. It was exquisitely made, and her stitches were so tiny as to be invisible. “Thank you, Alix Givet,” he said to her. “This is most kind of you.” Their eyes met briefly, and then she looked away, color flooding her cheeks. The laird spoke again. “Girls who give gifts must receive them as well,” he said in a light, teasing tone. He stood up. “Come, both of you. Come and see what I have for you both.” He led them from the hall, Alix signaling to Iver to bring cloaks for herself and little Fiona.

They moved outside, following the laird across the keep. Reaching the stables, they were greeted by the head stableman, who, nodding to his master, disappeared back into the building, returning several moments later leading a pretty roan mare with a white star upon her forehead and a dappled gray pony with a dark mane. He brought them to a stop before the laird, awaiting further instructions.

Malcolm Scott took the pony’s reins and handed them to his daughter. “For you, my Fiona,” he said. “Since you have now learned from me how to properly ride, you should have your own beast. Happy first day of Christmas!”

The six-year-old girl squealed with delight. “Oh, Da, thank you! Does my pony have a name? Or may I name her myself?”

“What would you call her?” the laird asked his daughter.

“Stormy,” Fiona said. “Her coat is the color of a blustery sky.”

“Then Stormy she shall be,” the laird responded with a smile.

“Now talk to her, Fiona, so she may get used to your voice. And walk her about the courtyard so she begins to know your touch.”

The little girl stood on her tiptoes and whispered into the pony’s alert ear for a moment or two. Then she grasped the animal’s bridle firmly and began to walk it.

As Fiona moved away from her father and Alix, Malcolm Scott turned to the young woman. She had a small doting smile upon her face as she watched the child. Then, suddenly aware his eyes were upon her, Alix focused to meet his gaze.

“You could not have given her anything better,” she said. “Fiona loves to ride out. Until the spring permits her to do so again, her new pony will keep her very busy right here in the courtyard. And it will certainly help me to keep her mind upon her studies, for until they are done, and done well, there will be no riding.”

“You are a hard taskmistress,” he remarked.

“Queen Margaret and my mother taught me that you complete your duties first. And when you have done them well, then you may take your pleasure, but not before. It is not really a difficult lesson to learn. Fiona will be a much better chatelaine knowing it, my lord. Her hall will always be neat and fresh. Her husband will be content, too, surrounded by an orderly household and well-trained servants.”

“You are a very serious lass for one so young,” the laird noted. The horse by his side danced impatiently.

“Teaching a child well is a serious endeavor, my lord,” Alix answered him. “I have a duty to both Fiona and to you in this.”

“Happy first day of Christmas, Alix Givet,” Malcolm Scott said. “The mare is your gift from me. She is yours, and when you decide to leave Dunglais, as you eventually will, you will take her with you. Her name is Darach, which means ‘oak’ in the Scots tongue. She is a delicate beauty, but she is deceptively strong even as you are.” He handed Alix the mare’s reins.

“My lord, this is too generous!” Alix said, but she was already stroking the mare’s nose with gentle fingers.

Malcolm Scott was enchanted by the picture they made. Alix with her hood fallen back from her face to reveal her honey-colored curls as she lay her head against the roan mare’s dark coat. He had offered her a most extravagant compliment in addition to the horse, but she had not even noticed, so much was her delight in his gift. Most women would have twittered and demurred over his words. They would have taken what they considered an opportunity to flirt with him, to lead him on, but Alix had not.

Now she looked up at him. “I will not leave Dunglais as long as Fiona needs me, my lord,” Alix told him. “You have my word on it. If you remarry then of course I would go, for it would not be seemly for me to remain when you had a wife to watch over your daughter.” She rubbed the mare’s nose again. “She is beautiful, and I have never had a finer horse. I had to leave my beast behind when I departed Wu . . . my former home. You were right when you said I didn’t want them to know I was going.” She began to walk the mare about the courtyard following little Fiona’s pony.

“Why didn’t you want them to know?” he asked her softly.

“As I have previously mentioned, my deceased husband’s father wished to marry me as he had no wife and no other heirs. The very thought was repellent to me despite the fact he is a decent man. I know he would have been good to me, but I thought of him more like a parent than a husband. How could I lay with a man who had been a father figure to me? How could I couple with him and give him a child?” Alix shuddered. “I told him the church would not allow it. But he said he could get a dispensation since there was no blood involved between us. When he sent the local priest off to York with his request and a pouch of coins to expedite that desire, I knew I must flee. I waited until he planned a two-day hunt to stock the house larder for the winter, and then I made my own plans. I told everyone that I would fast and pray for two days while their master was gone, and I was not to be disturbed. And early in the morning, before my father-in-law was even gone off to hunt, I made good my escape. I did not take my horse, and it was mine not his, because I did not want it known I was gone.”

“It was a very brave thing you did,” the laird told her, “but where did you plan to go when you left? Why did you come north instead of remaining in England?”

“I was afraid to stay in England for fear someone would recognize me from King Henry’s court. The Yorkists are not kind to their enemies. I hoped at first I might return to Queen Margaret, but then I realized that would be the first place Sir Udolf would seek for me. And I knew that with his honorable offer of marriage the queen would send me back to him.” Alix sighed. “I thought then that if I could reach the Scots court your queen might take me into her service, and I would be safe.”

“But would not Queen Marie wonder why you did not return to Queen Margaret?” the laird asked Alix, curious.

“Your queen will give mine sanctuary, but nothing else. It is unlikely they will ever meet. Poor King Henry will never regain his throne, I think, and Scotland must deal with England. While a slim thread of blood connects these two queens, it is not enough for Queen Marie to endanger her own child’s throne by antagonizing England’s new king. And that king may bluster and blow, but he will not start a war over such a trifle. Henry of Lancaster is finished. Eventually he will be seduced into venturing back into England, where he will be captured and killed. If the queen and the prince travel with him their lives will be forfeit too,” Alix told the laird.

He was surprised by her grasp of the situation, but then he thought he shouldn’t be. She had been raised in a royal court. She was intelligent and understood the dynamics of the situation. “Aye,” he agreed with her. “You are correct, Alix Givet.”

“I want nothing to do with this situation,” Alix continued. “I never wanted to be a creature of the court like my mother. And in the end I suspect my father, except for his deep loyalty to his countrywoman, would have been content to settle in a quiet village somewhere and live out his life in peace. I would have liked that too.” She sighed.

They had traversed the courtyard several times now. Arriving back at the stable, Alix gave Darach’s reins back to the head stableman. “I will exercise her daily,” she told him with a sweet smile.

The man nodded. “She’ll be ready for you, mistress,” he told her.

“Fiona,” Alix called to her little charge. “Come now and bring Stormy back. She needs to go into her warm stable.”

The child obeyed, but both the laird and Alix could tell she was reluctant to leave her beloved new pony.

“You are good with her,” the laird noted. “She already loves you.”

“I love her,” Alix responded. “She is a dear little girl.” Then she said boldly, “Her blue eyes. Are they her mother’s?”

“Aye,” he said tersely.

“I thought as much, but everything else about her is you, my lord. No one would mistake her for anyone else’s daughter,” Alix remarked.

“Can I ride out with Stormy tomorrow?” Fiona asked, coming up to her father. She handed the pony’s reins to the head stableman. “Can I, Da? Can I?”

“There is too much snow on the hills right now, Fiona,” the laird answered.

“Daaa!” Fiona stamped her little foot.

“Fiona, your father has spoken true. There is too much snow outside the gates. And hungry wolves, and badgers too just waiting for a fat pony and a sweet little lass. We will ride in the courtyard,” Alix told the child. “And please do not stamp your foot again at your father. It is disrespectful.”

“But, Alix, I can’t gallop in the courtyard,” Fiona protested.

“We don’t have to ride at all,” Alix responded calmly.

Fiona’s lower lip formed itself into a pout. Her blue eyes were mutinous.

Alix took the child’s hand in hers. “Come, and let us go in now. I have it on the best authority that Cook is serving baked apples and sugar wafers today.”

The laird almost laughed aloud as the rebellion disappeared swiftly from his daughter’s eyes and the pout was replaced with a wide smile.

“I
love
baked apples and sugar wafers,” Fiona said as she trotted obediently by Alix’s side back towards the keep.

“Has a way wi’ the bairn, she does,” the head stableman remarked, and then he disappeared into the stable with Fiona’s pony.

The laird chuckled. Alix did manage Fiona very well. Everyone noted it. Fenella and Iver in the hall, and now the stableman. He was almost jealous at the lovely English girl’s way with his child, but he knew he couldn’t handle Fiona; and her old nurse, now happily ensconced in a cottage in his village, had not been able to since Fiona began to walk. It had been a miracle the child hadn’t done herself a serious mischief. It was a great relief to have his daughter in such good and capable hands. Now maybe everyone would cease their nagging about his lack of a wife. Fiona was his heiress, and that was that.

He had a young uncle, Robert Ferguson of Drumcairn, who had been responsible for bringing Robena Ramsay to his attention and helping him to arrange the match between the Scotts and the Ramsays. Ever since Robena’s betrayal of her husband, his uncle had been desperate to correct what he deemed his error in judgment. He was always riding over from his own holding to Dunglais, and each visit brought with it a new candidate for his nephew’s hand. And the more the laird refused, the harder his uncle tried. Malcolm Scott tolerated his uncle because he was his late mother’s much younger half brother, and she had loved him well. But he had no intention of remarrying and being made a fool of again by any woman.

Twelfth Night passed, and a hard winter set in with at least one snowstorm every few days. It was all the Dunglais folk could do to keep a path shoveled from the keep proper to the stables, the cow shed, the poultry house, and the granary. The laird’s cattle were brought into the cattle barns. His flock of sheep milled in a pen that had been built within the courtyard. The days were cold, and as he watched Alix with his daughter the laird began to find the nights colder and longer than he could ever remember them.

The English girl filled his hall with warmth and laughter. He noticed his servants deferring to her, going to her for instructions. He suddenly realized she was nursing the sick among them. Each morning they would come to wait outside of the small chamber Fenella now told him was Alix’s apothecary.

“She would make a good wife,” Fenella ventured one day when the laird had noted Alix’s busy day. “Everything is better with her here.”

“You ran the household well enough,” Malcolm Scott replied.

“I do it better with her instruction,” Fenella said dryly. “You need a wife, and your uncle would be pleased to see you take one and sire a son. Are the Scotts of Dunglais to die off because a Ramsay broke your heart? Broken hearts heal, my lord.”

“You forget yourself, Fenella,” the laird growled at her.