The Captive Heart (48 page)

And Fyfa had remained quiet, keeping a careful watch for any who might happen upon their isolated cottage that she might drive them away before the mistress could see them and work her wicked wiles. For over a year now there had been no victim for her mistress until they had found Sir Udolf Watteson on the moor. But he was neither young nor handsome. Oh, he was pleasant-looking enough, but the mistress liked them young, fair, and lusty. Sir Udolf certainly didn’t meet that criteria, yet when the mistress had seen the sick man’s cock her interest had been piqued. It was a fine cock too, Fyfa admitted to herself. God obviously had compensated Sir Udolf for his other deficiencies.

Several days passed, and it appeared that good food and good nursing were beginning to show results. The ague that Sir Udolf had caught out on the moor faded, leaving him with just his physical injuries. The soreness in his shoulder began to fade away. But he grew impatient and anxious to be on his way again.

“Give me the loan of a horse,” he said to Fyfa.

“We have no horse,” she replied. “We must walk wherever we go, sir.” Learning of her guest’s restlessness, the mistress of the cottage decided to pay him a visit. Fyfa prayed that Sir Udolf’s years and ordinary demeanor would keep him safe, but she was doomed to disappointment and grew fearful of what was to come.

“Fyfa tells me you are making progress towards good health again, my lord,” the beautiful woman said as she came into the chamber, closing the door behind her.

“I am indeed feeling better, madame,” he answered her. “Your kindness is most appreciated. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

“My name is Robena Ramsay, my lord,” she answered him. “You are restless, however, I am told.”

“I am an active man, Mistress Ramsay,” he told her. “And I must be on my way again. I have business that cannot wait any longer. Fyfa tells me you do not keep a mount of any kind, and I must walk.”

“That is so, my lord,” Robena replied. “What is so important that you would leave us? I could make your stay with us quite pleasant.” She smiled seductively at him. “I think I can cure some of your restlessness, my lord,” she said, coming to sit upon his bed. “Would you like me to do so?” Her bright blue eyes bored into him.

Sir Udolf Watteson suddenly felt more a prisoner than a guest. He did not quite know what to answer this bold woman, but, drawing in a deep breath, he finally said, “Madame, while I am grateful for your kindness and your hospitality, I require nothing more from you but directions to Dunglais Keep and the loan of some clothing.”

Robena Ramsay stiffened at his words. “Why do you seek to go to Dunglais?” she inquired of him, her blue eyes narrowing.

“I have business with its laird.”

“What business?” she demanded to know.

The question and the tone of her voice surprised him. But if an answer would gain him what he needed, directions and clothing, then he would give her an answer.

“My son, my only child died, and I decided that his widow being an orphan would make me a good wife, as I had no other heir. I sent to York for a dispensation, and it was granted. But Alix was frightened of the honor I was doing her. She ran away from me and crossed into Scotland. There she was captured by the Laird of Dunglais, a wicked man, I can tell you. He forced her to his bed. When I finally found her, this man claimed she was his wife. They already had a child and claimed another was coming.” Sir Udolf was abbreviating his tale and telling Robena the story as he wanted her to know it so he might gain her sympathy and her help. It was really not her business. A woman living alone but for servants out on the moor would not know the laird. “The laird’s daughter from another union attacked me, madame. The brat screamed I should not take her mother from her. But my Alix was not her mother. She was her stepmother.”

“If this wench had become the laird’s whore then why did you not just leave her?” Robena asked him. At the look upon his face she laughed, although she found herself suddenly filled with jealousy. “Ahh, she did not want to go with you, my lord, did she? She had made herself a new life, hadn’t she?”

“I had my dispensation from York saying that she was
my
wife!” Sir Udolf said angrily, and then his eyes grew teary. “But recently the archbishop sent to me to say that the dispensation given me was fraudulent. The priest who gave it to me was dishonest. I was told that the archbishop would have never given me permission to wed my daughter-in-law, and there was but one seal of his office on the document instead of two. I was told one seal was not official. But Alix Givet is mine!
Mine!
I shall go and fetch her from the Laird of Dunglais. He shall not keep my wife and claim she is his. The bastard she birthed him, the one she now carries in her womb, he may keep them. But Alix is mine, and I shall have her!”

Robena Ramsay had listened and as she listened she was filled with a burning fury. The bastard! Malcolm Scott had taken some little English girl and was calling her his wife? The bitch had probably given him a son. That was it. It had to be! He had gotten a son on his whore, and he wanted everyone to believe this Alix was his wife so the brat would be his legitimate heir. “You say this laird claims your woman is his wife?” she asked slowly. “Where is the mother of his daughter?”

“Dead, he says. And not only does he claim my Alix as his wife, he says that the bishop of St. Andrew’s sanctioned his marriage to her,” Sir Udolf said. “I must go to her, madame. I must bring her back to Wulfborn. Tomorrow, with your help, I will leave here. You have but to clothe me and give me directions to Dunglais.”

“Of course you must,” Robena said slowly, and in what she hoped passed for a calm voice. “And I will most certainly help you, my lord.” Her mind raced with her thoughts. How could Malcolm Scott wed another when he was married to her? He couldn’t! Aye, his whore had given him a son, and her belly was big again, was it?
And she has the temerity to mother my daughter while trying to displace her as Dunglais’s legitimate heiress with her bastard? She will not have my bairn,
Robena decided. Then she focused on her guest again. “We will have a celebratory supper tonight, my lord, as you do indeed seem healthy enough to continue on your mission.”

“You are most gracious, madame,” Sir Udolf said.

“And I shall see you are properly clothed for your trip. Fyfa will cut down a pair of her brother’s breeks, and I may have a sherte that will fit you.” She smiled.

“I am assuaged that you understand why I must go so hastily,” Sir Udolf said, sounding relieved. When she had offered herself to him—or had he misunderstood?—he had been very troubled by such boldness in a woman. But then a female living alone on the moor with but two servants was probably not very respectable, he decided.

“Of course I understand,” Robena murmured in dulcet tones. “You must do what you must, my lord.”
And so will I.
She arose from his bedside. “I shall go and instruct my servants to prepare us a good supper and find you some garments, my lord.” Then she departed the little chamber. Aye, she would find him some clothing. There had to be something one of her other unfortunate lovers had left behind that would fit him. She would lie and say they belonged to a distant relation who visited now and again. She hurried to find Fyfa.

“Well?” her serving woman asked as her mistress entered the tiny kitchen.

“I want a
special
meal prepared for tonight,” Robena told her.

Fyfa cocked her head to one side. “You mean to kill him before you have used him? What has happened to change your wicked mind, my lady?”

Robena was pacing the small space irritably. “It is what he has told me, Fyfa. Do you know the destination he sought? Dunglais! My husband, it seems, has taken a mistress and is attempting to pass her off as his wife. She’s already birthed one bastard son, and is big of belly again! But my husband’s whore is”—and here Robena laughed almost insanely—“the wench Sir Udolf means to marry! And even after the fact she has been more than well fucked by my husband, the old fool still wants her!”

“Perhaps he loves her,” Fyfa said quietly.

“Pah! Love is for fools, but, then, Sir Udolf is one, isn’t he?” Robena remarked scornfully. “Now to the supper. A capon if we have one to kill, and with a sauce. I smell bread baking. Serve it with that cheese I like.”

“I will see if there is any left,” Fyfa told her.

“And a custard with plum jam for the after,” Robena said thoughtfully. “I always like a sweet with these meals. It adds a certain piquancy to the occasion.” She chuckled.

“What about the wine?” Fyfa asked meaningfully.

“Prepare two pitchers as usual, but use small pitchers so the need for a second is not suspicious. The second will contain the sleeping draft and the poison. And make certain your brother does not mix the pitchers as he did that one time. If I had not made myself immune to the poison by ingesting a bit of it daily over the years, he would have killed me. As it was my head ached for several days from the sleeping potion.”

“I’ll see there is no problem, my lady,” Fyfa promised. Then she said, “Will any come seeking Sir Udolf?”

“I am certain he has no one as his only child is dead. He mentioned none other to me but for my husband’s whore,” Robena replied. “You have been with him more than I. Has he said aught to you, Fyfa? Sisters? Bastards?”

Fyfa shook her head in the negative. “Nay. I believe he is all alone, poor man.”

“So much the better for me,” Robena said. “Have Rafe dig his grave while it is still light. But out of sight of the house. We do not want our guest becoming suspicious. Now tell me. Do we have any male garments that would fit him? I must allow him to believe that on the morrow he will depart from here to continue on to Dunglais,” Robena told her serving woman.

“Aye,” Fyfa responded. “The small chest in the hall contains a number of garments from your past lovers.”

“Find something to fit him,” Robena instructed the woman. “Choose the best there is so his pride is not too damaged. As I recall, that merchant’s son was about his height, and his garments were particularly fine. If he asks, tell him that I have a cousin who sometimes visits now and again. And have Rafe polish up his boots. But remember to remove it all, including the boots, before we bury him,” Robena said. “Now I must go and attempt to rest myself. You know how excited I become before the kill, and I know I shall not sleep a wink this night afterwards.” And she was quickly gone from the little kitchen.

Fyfa heard her footsteps as Robena almost danced up the stairs, and she shuddered. The mistress was a terrible woman, but Fyfa knew she and her brother were safe. The lady needed them. She called to Rafe, and when he came Fyfa gave him his instructions, watching through the little kitchen door as he shambled off to dig the grave. The day was fair, and she wondered as she looked out over the gently rolling moor how long their lives would go on like this. Eventually a mistake would be made, and Robena’s wickedness exposed. What would happen to her servants then? Would they be held accountable too? Whatever happened, Fyfa thought to herself, their fate was already sealed. If they left the mistress alone and to her own devices, she would certainly attempt to return to Dunglais and then the laird would know of their betrayal and he would certainly seek them out to punish them. She and Rafe were caught as surely as two poor rabbits in a trap. There was no help for them now but to continue on and pray when the lady was finally found out the laird would have mercy on them. Then, as she looked out over the late-summer landscape, her eye caught a sudden movement on the hillside. Pray whatever it was it did not come this way. At least not today.

The horse grazing the hillside looked up as the rider approached. It did not resist as its reins, which had been hanging, were taken up, and it was led away. It trotted along obediently until it was led into the courtyard at Dunglais. The rider dismounted, giving the lad who ran forth instructions not to take the beast into the stables until the laird had come and seen it. Then Beinn hurried into the keep, making his way immediately to the hall, where the laird was eating his morning meal.

“I found a horse, saddled, without a rider, grazing out on the moor,” the captain informed his master. “I think you had better come and take a look, my lord. It’s saddlebag contains papers, but I do not read. It could be important, and there may be a rider injured somewhere nearby, though I saw no one, nor heard any cries for help.”

Malcolm Scott arose from his high board and followed his captain. As Alix was not in the hall, there was no need for an explanation. “How long do you think the horse has been out there alone?” he asked Beinn.

“Difficult to say, my lord. A few days, a few weeks. Its coat is roughened and it has not been curried in some while, yet the beast is sound, so someone once cared for it.”

The laird grunted. “Hmmm.” The creature before him was vaguely familiar. He reached into the saddlebag, pushing past the few garments, and drawing out several papers. His eye scanned the documents and then he swore aloud. “Christ’s bloody wounds! The man is mad! Totally mad!”

“My lord?” Beinn looked puzzled.

“The horse belongs to Sir Udolf Watteson. He has obviously decided to ignore the archbishop of York and the bishop of St. Andrew’s. He has come to claim my wife as his, Beinn. You did not see him?”

“Nay, my lord. There was no one near the horse out on the moor. Of course, if he were dead and lying in the heather I could have easily missed him. But I saw no carrion birds or beasts about at all. There would have been even if he had been killed a few weeks ago. His bones would not have been quite picked clean yet.”

“We must search for him, Beinn. I need to know where that damned Englishman has got to, and I need to know if he is dead or alive.” Malcolm Scott sighed. “God forgive me, but I hope the fellow dead. I will not have Alix distressed again by the man, and especially as she is now with bairn. Say nothing, Beinn. Gather a few of the men, and we shall go hunting this day for a sick old fox.”