The Captive Heart (16 page)

Fenella laughed at him. “We’re blood kin, Malcolm Scott. My mother may have been a cotter’s daughter, but my father was your own grandfather. I have always spoken my mind, and I always will. If it displeases you, I will gladly take myself back to my mam’s cottage.”

“If you didn’t look so much like the portrait of the old devil in the gallery,” the laird told her, “I would doubt your paternity, as did most in the village when you were born. The lusty old devil had to be near seventy when he put you in your mam’s belly. Nay, Fenella, don’t leave us, but cease your gab. I have my uncle to bedevil me about taking another wife, but I’ll not do it. Robena Ramsay killed my taste for married life.”

“Yer as lusty as your father and your grandsire, my lord. How long has it been since you’ve bedded a woman? There is no gossip in the village. Mistress Alix is a lady born. She does not appear to me to be flighty as was your wife. And see how well little Fiona has come to love her.”

“I’d bed her,” Malcolm Scott told his housekeeper, “if she were of a mind. She’s pretty, and sweet-natured. I will admit she tempts me of late. I should not object to taking a fair mistress, Fenella. A mistress can be disposed of, but a wife cannot.”

Fenella sighed deeply and audibly. But as she left the laird she considered that if he took Alix for his mistress the young woman might become with child by the laird. He wouldn’t want his son born a bastard, she was certain. Fenella smiled. Aye. He’d take her to wife then, but he would be content with Alix, she was certain. She was the total opposite of Robena Ramsay.

Robena had been high-strung and childish, but she had also been incredibly beautiful, with snow-white skin, bright blue eyes, and long, dark auburn hair. Malcolm Scott had been dazzled by her. And in the beginning Fenella believed that Robena had loved him back. But then, as the laird’s desire for an heir grew, Robena’s wish to go to court increased. There were none at Dunglais to admire and flatter the laird’s beauteous wife. She needed a larger stage, but then Robena found herself with child. Furious, she sulked her way through her confinement. When little Fiona had been born she was beside herself with anger that she had birthed a daughter and not the longed-for son. She refused to nurse the infant and would not hold her.

And then Robena fell into a deep depression. Nothing the laird did could console her. He brought her little gifts. She would look at them, sigh, and turn away. There were days when she could not arise from her bed, and she wept inconsolably. Finally Malcolm Scott told his wife that if she could not recover from her melancholy he could not take her to visit the court. Within three days the laird’s wife had recovered from her unhappiness. She grew more excited each day with the anticipation of their visit to court.

And it was, Robena told Fenella upon their return, everything she had imagined, and even more. She had been admired, flirted with, and courted by important men. The king himself had kissed her, and not upon the hand or cheek. But upon her lips, she giggled. She had wanted to stay, but her husband had grown jealous of all the attention paid her, forcing her back to Dunglais, Robena said. He wanted a son. But another child would spoil her body for certain. She would be unattractive to other men. And it was then the laird’s wife began to deny him her bed.

He was patient at first, Fenella admitted to herself. And even when she began riding out alone, he tolerated her behavior because she seemed so nervous and skittish. But her mood seemed to soar from another near depression to a near hysteria of excitement that grew with each passing day. Fenella suspected that the laird’s wife harbored some secret, but because she wasn’t certain, she held her peace.

And then came that fatal day that Robena Scott had ridden out, and the girl who served her came to Fenella to tell her she had seen her lady taking her jewelry and secreting it on her person before she had gone. Fenella sent the girl to the laird with this news, for she did not want to bring it herself. The housekeeper now knew her suspicions had been correct. Robena Scott had a lover and was now planning to run away with him.

And Malcolm Scott had ridden out to return with his bastard brother’s body to be buried. His wife, however, was never seen again. Fenella did not believe the body found months later out on the moor was Robena’s, but the laird had sworn to the Ramsays that he had not harmed Robena, and Malcolm Scott’s word was good in the borders. Still, there were times these past four years when Fenella wondered that if the laird had not harmed his wife he knew what had happened to her.

Was she still alive? Somewhere. Was that the true reason for his obstinate refusal to marry again? Nay. Malcolm Scott would have followed Robena to the ends of the earth if for no other reason than to finish their alliance properly. The bishop of St. Andrew’s was not above helping a gentleman end a bad marriage and especially if the wife could or would not give her lord a son. Nay. Robena Ramsay was dead, and good riddance to her. Now Fenella decided she must manage to get sweet Alix into her kinsman’s bed. The lass needed a husband every bit as much as the laird needed a wife. And besides, little Fiona was already thinking of her as her mother.

January drew to an end and February promised more snow. The laird’s ewes were birthing their lambs in a small hay-filled barn where they would remain safe from predators who now and again managed to creep into the keep’s courtyard in the dark of the night to steal a tender lambkin. Each time the dogs set up a barking the laird’s men would take up their staffs and lanterns to patrol the keep, making certain all was secure, and the thieves, both two and four-footed, remained on the other side of the keep’s stone walls, not within them.

The laird could not help but watch Alix as she moved about his hall directing his servants, as she sat by the great hearth carefully instructing Fiona in her writing, or when she sat by his side at meals. Her fragrance was elusive. Sometimes a hint of wild rose. Sometimes the fresh scent of a wind across the fields. He would survey her delicate hand as she reached for the cottage loaf on the table. His eyes caressed her graceful form as she came towards him, smiling, a welcoming goblet held out to him.

Malcolm Scott struggled to keep his lust in check, but it was a losing battle. What in the name of all that was holy had made him believe that a lovely young woman in his household would simply be another Fenella? He had been without female companionship for far too long. Longer than any could imagine. Unlike most men who found it simple to casually bed a woman merely to satisfy their lust, the Laird of Dunglais did not. Oh, in his youth he had been like other men, rollicking and wenching. But then Malcolm Scott had fallen in love with Robena Ramsay, and lust satisfied upon the body of someone you loved, he discovered, was far more satisfying than mere lust satisfied.

But he would never love again. And his needs had to be met, didn’t they? He did, of course, now and again visit one of the village women. She was a pleasant, clean widow who had no illusions about why her master was using her body, and was grateful for the silver coin he always left her, the brace of rabbits, or the game bird that always came to her afterwards. Her children were well clothed and fed because of it, and she frankly enjoyed his visits. But no one would have called her his mistress.

A mistress lived in her lord’s house and met all her lord’s needs. Unlike a wife, she could be cast off when her lord became bored with her or brought a new wife into the house. But the Laird of Dunglais would not be bringing another wife into his house. And if he managed to make Alix his mistress he still needed her to be there for Fiona until his child was grown. What if she did not please him in his bed? Once he had taken her, their relationship could never again be the same even if he had her only that one time. She wasn’t a virgin, and had been taught the sensual arts by another man. Malcolm Scott paused for thought. She hadn’t been wed that long. She could be retrained like any intelligent creature, couldn’t she? Yet what if he did not please her, or she did not wish to become his mistress? He shrugged. Did it really matter? She would lie like all women lied, and she would be content with being in his favor.

Alix had become increasingly aware that the laird was contemplating her in a different manner than he had before. Raised at a royal court she had watched the byplay between lustful men and the women they sought to seduce. The interest in Malcolm Scott’s eyes as he watched her bespoke a hunter stalking his prey. She began to avoid the hall as much as she might, departing for her own chamber immediately after the evening meal. And sometimes Alix would make an excuse not to sit at the high board at all, and eat in the kitchens with the other servants. She wanted no man, and she certainly did not want him to mistake her growing love and care of little Fiona for anything else than what it was. She certainly did not want him to believe her kindness stemmed from a desire to attract him to her bed.

Then one night his hand touched hers as she reached out to cut herself a wedge from the half wheel of cheese upon the board. “Let me do that for you,” he said.

Alix flushed, pulling her hand quickly away from his. “I can do it,” she said.

“But I should like to do it for you,” he responded. “There is much I should like to do for you if you would let me, Alix.” His gray eyes locked onto her green ones.

“I need nothing more than I have, my lord,” she quickly told him, the blush on her cheeks now receding as she grew pale with the shock of his words. All along she had hoped it was her imagination playing tricks upon her where the laird was concerned, but now she knew her instincts had been right all along. He had begun to lust after her. What was she to do? How could she remain at Dunglais if he forced himself upon her? What would happen to little Fiona? What would happen to Alix Givet?

Malcolm Scott cut a slice of the cheese, holding it out to her on the tip of his knife. A faint wintry smile touched his lips but briefly as he let his eyes linger a moment on her. “Here,” he said softly.

Alix took the cheese. To refuse when she had been attempting to cut it herself would have been inelegant. Her fingers plucked the offering from his knife. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, and quickly looked away.

He laughed softly. A cruel sound. A knowing one. The battle had been engaged, and she was wise enough to know it. How long would it take him? he wondered to himself. How long until he could bed her? Her honey-colored hair looked soft. Was it? Her breasts beneath her simple brown jersey gown were nicely rounded. His fingers itched to fondle those sweet globes. To suckle upon their nipples. To his surprise he felt his manhood tightening in his breeks. It had been a long time since he had thought such thoughts, had his member behave in such a way.

Alix ate her cheese, but suddenly it was tasteless in her mouth. Jesu and his holy Mother Mary help her! What was she to do? Reaching for her goblet, she took a long drink of her wine. She recognized lust on a man’s face, in his eyes, when she saw it. Unable to help herself, she arose quickly from the high board. “If you will excuse me, my lord. Fiona. I find I am suddenly unwell.” Then she fled the hall.

“Poor Alix,” his daughter said sympathetically. “She works very hard, Da. We must be kinder to her, I think.”

“Indeed, my daughter, I have been thinking exactly that,” the laird agreed with his child. “I will send Fenella to make certain she is all right.” He called for his housekeeper and instructed her to go to Alix and see if she needed anything.

Fenella departed the hall. She knew she would find Alix in her bedchamber, but when she reached it the door was barred to her. “Alix, are you all right?” she called through the door, rattling the handle as she did.

“I am not feeling well,” Alix said.

“Let me in,” Fenella said in a firm voice.

The door opened to reveal a pale-faced Alix.

Fenella entered the chamber, closing the door behind her. “What is the matter, Alix?” she asked. “The laird was worried when you left the hall.”

“I should not have left it were I not afraid of him,” Alix replied.

“
Afraid?
Why would you be afraid of the lord? You have certainly never before been afraid of him. What has he done that you fear him?”

“His attitude has changed towards me,” Alix said, and she sat heavily upon her bed. “He looks at me when he believes I do not notice, but I do. I have seen men look at women like that before. I do not want him to look at me like
that
!”

Fenella sat down next to the young woman. “He cannot help himself,” she said. “Dunglais has been without a woman in residence ever since his wife ran away.”

“Are there not women in the village for him?” Alix replied.

“Aye, there is a widow, but he visits her only when he must,” Fenella said.

“I do not want another husband,” Alix said. “I am content as I am.”

“And the laird does not want another wife, or so he says,” Fenella surprised Alix by saying.

Alix grew even paler. “Then what does he want?” But she already knew the answer to her own question. “Oh! It is unkind that he would insult me in this way!”

“You are offended that he would take you for his lover?” Fenella inquired. “But if you do not want a husband, and you do not want a lover, what do you want?”

“I want everything to be as it was. I want to take care of little Fiona and see to her education. Nothing more. I want no man, Fenella!” Alix cried, and she began to weep bitterly. “If the laird cannot understand that then I must leave Dunglais as soon as the snows are gone and I can travel in safety.”

“Did you love your husband so much, then?” Fenella said. “I did not think it so.”

“I despised Hayle! He didn’t want me for his wife. He wanted his mistress. A miller’s daughter, but his father would not have it. I knew that when I agreed to wed him, and I did so only that my poor father could have a safe place to lay his head in his last days. Still, I was willing to take this man for my husband, keep his hall, bear his children. I did not ask for him to love me. I asked him to respect me, to respect my position as his lawful wife. But he hated me, and took every opportunity to show it. Hayle killed himself, you know. Oh, his father and I told the priest it was an accident, but even the priest knew it wasn’t, although he said naught. My husband killed himself when his mistress and their son died in childbed. He was not able to accept my sympathy, to at least try to begin anew with his wife. He wanted to be with her, and because he loved her that much I could not fault him. But his death, and that of my own father, freed me. I will never again allow any man to have dominion over me.” Her tears had stopped now with the recitation of her tale. “Tell your master that he must treat me with respect, Fenella, or I will go. You are his friend. He will listen to you.”