The Captive Heart (49 page)

“And if you find him, my lord?” the captain asked quietly.

“I will have no choice but to put him out of his misery,” the Laird of Dunglais said with a deep sigh. “It is a sad thing when you must kill a man not in honorable combat.”

“You must do what you must do to protect your wife and bairns, my lord. There can be neither dishonor nor sin in that,” the big man responded. “The priest will surely grant you absolution for such a deed. I would seek him out now.”

The laird nodded, and without another word hurried off to find Father Donald. He discovered him in the little churchyard seated upon a stone bench in prayer. Malcolm Scott cleared his throat softly, and the priest looked up.

“Ah, my lord, is there some way I may be of help to you this fine day?” Father Donald said with a smile.

“Aye, Father,” the laird replied, and then he told the priest of the discovery Beinn had made out on the moor and what must be done should Sir Udolf be found. “I would seek absolution for any sin I must commit, Good Priest, but I see no other choice open to me in this matter. My wife and bairns must not again be distressed by this man.”

Father Donald did not hesitate. “Kneel,” he said to the laird, and when Malcolm Scott knelt before him he absolved him of the sin of killing, signing him with the cross as he finished, and his lord arose to his feet once again. “There is no choice for you, my lord. I see that, but pray God the man is already dead and in purgatory so your conscience need never trouble you again in this matter. You go with my personal blessing as well. Does the lady know?” Father Donald asked.

“Nay, and I would not tell her. She was so relieved when the matter was finally settled that I have not the heart to distress her, especially now.”

“Then the fewer who know the better. Let the men with you and Beinn believe that they are indeed out hunting game in preparation for the winter to come,” the priest advised his master. “If any learn the truth, it is certain to come to the ears of another, and another, until finally some serving wench hears it and tells Fenella or Iver.”

The laird couldn’t help but chuckle at Father Donald’s observation. “You’re right, and I will heed your wisdom,” he agreed. “Thank you.” And the laird hurried off again to tell his wife that he was going hunting.

“ ’Tis early,” Alix said. She was now seated in the hall at her loom, weaving a new tapestry. “Now even autumn yet.”

“But the day is fair,” he told her. “And who knows what kind of a winter it will be? I should sooner have too much than not enough game hanging in the larder. And if we cannot eat it all ourselves, we will share it with the village.”

“Oh, you are just restless.” Alix laughed, and then she waved him off with a smile. “I envy you, for I should enjoy a good gallop myself.”

He put a big hand on her rounded belly. “Birth the bairn first, my love,” he said, and gently patted the mound beneath his fingers.

“Don’t wake it,” she cautioned him.

“You are still not certain, as you were with our lad?”

Alix shook her head. “This bairn keeps its own counsel, my lord. I think perhaps I carry a future bishop,” she said with another smile.

He bent and kissed her lips. “If I find a pheasant, you shall have a fine feather or two for your blue velvet cap, my sweet Alix.” Then he was gone from the hall.

Alix watched him go, considering how fortunate she was in her husband. Then her attention was drawn to Fiona, who came skipping into the hall. “Are your lessons done?” she asked her young stepdaughter.

“Aye,” Fiona said. “May I put some of my own stitches in your tapestry, Alix?”

“How would you enjoy learning to make one of your own?” her stepmother asked.

“Oh, could I?” Fiona squealed, delighted.

“I will have Iver find another frame and set it up here in the hall near me,” Alix said. “Then we will stretch the fabric and fit it to the frame and begin.” She heard the sound of horses in the courtyard. “Your da has gone hunting,” she told Fiona.

“Oh,” Fiona said, sounding disappointed. “I should have liked to have gone with him.” But then she brightened. “But if I had I would not learn how to make a tapestry.”

“I would have liked to have gone with them too,” Alix said, and then she called to Iver to help them.

Outside, the laird and his men departed. As the point of the excursion was to hunt they did so while Beinn and the laird carefully scoured the hillsides they rode looking for any sign of Sir Udolf Watteson. Finally, as the two men traveled a bit apart from the main troop, Beinn spied something in the grass and, riding over, he reached down to pick it up. It was a dark velvet bag cap trimmed in rabbit fur, somewhat the worse for wear at this point, but the small tarnished silver broach with a little ruby proclaimed its owner as a man of rank or means or possibly both. He handed it to the laird.

Malcolm Scott examined the cap. “I couldn’t say if it is Sir Udolf’s or not,” he told his captain, “but it probably is. We can find no body. There are no carrion creatures about. Therefore I must assume the man lives. He obviously fell from his horse. Perhaps he was injured. But where could he be?”

“He could have been found,” Beinn said slowly.

“By whom?” the laird wanted to know. “And if he was found, why was he not brought to Dunglais? These are my lands, and there is no keep nearer.”

Beinn hesitated, and then he said, “
Her
cottage is nearby, my lord.”

“Jesu! Mary!” the laird swore softly. “I had forgotten. I think not of her anymore, Beinn. Not since my sweet Alix came into my life to show me that love truly exists.”

“Her servants are decent folk, my lord. If they found Sir Udolf injured they would have brought him back to heal his wounds,” Beinn said.

“And if he spoke with them he would have told them why he is here, and she will have learned of Alix and our bairns. Jesu! Mary!” Malcolm Scott swore again. “The bitch was always jealous even when there was no cause.”

“Shall I go, my lord, and investigate the matter?” Beinn asked.

“Not now, for the others would wonder where you have gone, and I am not of a mind to make explanations. If I do not, they will be even more curious. Tomorrow is time enough, Beinn. Ride out at first light. Reconnoiter, and see what you can find. Then report back to me when you have. Take a few days. Be in no hurry. If Sir Udolf is injured he will be within the house. I do not want us to tip our hand. If the bitch has learned of Alix, I will take care of the matter quickly. And this time I will show her no mercy. I should not have to begin with, but killing a woman, even one like Robena Ramsay, goes against my grain,” Malcolm Scott said.

“Aye, my lord, I understand. I will watch carefully,” Beinn told his master. And then together the two men rejoined the hunting party returning home to Dunglais late in the afternoon with half a dozen grouse, a pheasant, and a duck.

Robena Ramsay came down from her own bedchamber in late afternoon to the kitchen. She was dressed in a burnt-orange jersey gown with a low neckline, her long black hair contained by a simple copper caul. “Is the meal near to ready?” she asked her serving woman. “The day grows late.” She sighed. “I shall lament the loss of that fine cock of his. I had so wanted to enjoy it. It has been months since I enjoyed a good fucking. I am almost desperate enough to take your brother to my bed.”

“Mistress!” Fyfa looked both horrified and distressed.

Robena laughed. “Do not fret yourself,” she told her servant. “I know his mind is that of a lad, though he is long grown. One taste of my cunt and he would be lost to me forever. I certainly do not want a jealous, half-witted lover mooning about me. Especially when the next fine lad comes upon our little cottage. I can be patient, but I do hope we will have a lusty visitor or two before the winter arrives and we are snowed in for several months. Do you never get hungry for a sturdy cock, Fyfa?”

“I planned to go to the church, but when our da died, our brother would not give the nunnery my dower portion,” she answered. “But I do not have to be within a convent’s walls to maintain my virtue, mistress,” Fyfa said quietly.

Robena shrugged. Then she said, “Did you take him some garments?”

“I found breeks, a sherte, and jerkin to fit him, but I thought it would be better if you brought them to him. That way he could not flee us this afternoon,” Fyfa responded.

“Well considered, Fyfa,” Robena approved. “Give them to me. And serve the supper in a few minutes. I want him buried before moonrise.”

Fyfa took the clothing from the table where they lay and handed them to her mistress. Receiving them, Robena departed the kitchen and made her way to the small bedroom down the narrow hall behind the stairs. Entering, she found Sir Udolf standing by the single window staring out. “My lord, I have brought you some garments to wear. They belong to my cousin who comes to visit now and again. They are sturdy and they are serviceable though not, I fear, quite as elegant as a man of your rank should possess. But I was fortunate to have them. I had quite forgotten he left them, but Fyfa reminded me.”

“I am grateful to you, madame,” Sir Udolf replied. “The Laird of Dunglais will know who I am without my fine feathers, as will my dear Alix.” He pulled the breeks on beneath the simple chemise he had been wearing and then the sherte. He found the materials of both garments rough against his skin, but as she had said, they were serviceable. A leather jerkin completed his outfit. It had horn buttons. Clothed he felt stronger and more in control of himself again.

“Ahh, how well you look,” Robena complimented him with a small smile. “Now, come into what I refer to as my hall,” she invited him. “I did not always live in a cottage on the moor. Fyfa has prepared us a good supper. And in the morning I shall direct you to Dunglais, which is not very far.” She led him from the little bedchamber down the corridor and into a small rectangular room with a large hearth.

“It is still light,” he said. “Could I not reach Dunglais if I departed now?”

“If you had a horse, perhaps,” Robena replied. “But on foot? Nay, my lord. You will need much of tomorrow, and after your illness you should not overnight on the moor. Dunglais is several long miles, and if you will but gaze out my cottage door you will see the sun will soon set. It is no longer high summer, my lord. But come and have supper with me. Then you will tell me of your home and your woman.” She could see he was actually debating with himself as to whether to remain or set out. Robena quickly looked for the pitcher of wine and, after finding it, poured him a small goblet. “Here, my lord,” she said, handing it to him.

He took it from her almost absently, sipped, and then said, “I suppose you are right, madame. I do not really know the countryside, and might easily become lost again. And as I am now unarmed, there are wild beasts to consider.”

“Indeed, my lord, you are wise to remain but a few hours more,” she almost purred at him. “Ah, here are Fyfa and Rafe with our supper.” She led him to a table already set with a linen cloth where their meal was now being set out. “Let me serve you, my lord,” Robena said. “Thank you, Fyfa. Rafe, wait outside the door. If I need you I will call you.” She waved them from the room, and then proceeded to fill a bread trencher with capon, trout, and a potage of vegetables consisting of onions, peas, and carrots in a creamed sauce. Putting it before him, she served herself. She buttered some bread for him, adding a wedge of cheese.

They ate, and when he had finished, looking more relaxed than he had since they had brought him to the cottage, Robena served him a plate of Fyfa’s custard with plum jam. The first pitcher of wine was already emptied, and so she called to Rafe to bring another. “I find wine helps me sleep,” she remarked. “And you will want to sleep well tonight so you may start your journey early, my lord.”

“How far are you from Dunglais?” he wanted to know.

“About eight miles,” she told him. “You must go north and just slightly east from my cottage, my lord.” She filled his now-empty wine cup.

He shoved a piece of bread and cheese into his mouth and drank it down. The cup was filled again, and he sipped it thoughtfully. “I suppose I could not travel so far now with the sun set,” Sir Udolf remarked. “So I shall accept your hospitality for another night, but no more. A pity my horse could not be found.” He stood, clutching the cup, and walked to the door of the cottage to gaze out at the darkening skies.

From his place in the heather where he lay observing the cottage Beinn saw the man shadowed in the doorway. It was not the lack-witted Rafe, for Rafe was a big man. This fellow was of medium height, and stocky. So the bitch had found herself a lover to scratch that unquenchable itch of hers. Beinn thought back several years when Robena had been in residence at the keep and his master’s wife.

Several times while working in the stables he had thought that someone was watching him. It always amused him, for he knew that the serving wenches considered him a fine man. With his sherte off as he pitched hay or curried a horse, his muscles rippling, he could arouse their lust, and he was never above a quick tumble in an empty stall. Sometimes he even heard them giggling, and he would stop, pretending to be tired and, turning about as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead, give them a good glimpse of his brawny, hairy chest.

One day as he worked, a lass came up behind him, putting her arms about him, one hand reaching about and down to fondle his cock. He was easily aroused, and let the wench have her way. She’d pay for her boldness in a few minutes when he put her on her back and gave her a good fucking. Reaching about, he turned her around so that her back was to him. She giggled as he pulled her gown down from her shoulders to her waist so he might feel up her breasts. They were large and filled his big hands. He pulled her gown up after a few minutes, one hand cupping her mons. She was already so wet, her juices were running down the insides of her plump thighs. His finger found her little love button, and she squealed with pleasure.