The Love Slave

Prolo
g
ue

S
COTLAND

S
orcha MacDuff grunted sharply with her pain. Outside the gray stone keep, the early December winds keened mournfully, as if they shared her suffering. A grimace, almost a hard smile, touched her lips briefly as yet another pain tore through her frame. The room inside the keep was cold; so cold that its hard walls were lightly dusted with a thin overlay of frost despite the small fire in the fireplace. The tiny blaze struggled hard to maintain itself, crackling and sending small showers of sparks up the narrow chimney. Its energies were wasted, for the room was made no warmer by its presence.

The naked, straining woman did not feel the icy air creeping between the stones, or from beneath the closed door. She was far too intent upon bringing forth her child. It was her first childbirth, but there would be no others unless she remarried; and she had no intention of doing so. Her husband, Torcull MacDuff, the laird of Ben MacDui, was dead these three months past. Killed in a land dispute with Alasdair Ferguson, laird of Killieloch. Her child,
children
, she silently amended, for the midwife had said she would bear two bairns, would revenge their father upon the MacFhearghuis, and destroy all the Fergusons of Killieloch so that not a trace of them would remain in the history of the land hereabouts. She was exultant with the thought of her vengeance. “You will not have died in vain, my dear lord,” she whispered to herself.

The midwife brought her back to the present. “
Push, lady!
” the crone urged her. Sorcha MacDuff pushed with all her strength while the midwife groped between her outstretched
legs, muttering and nodding. “
Again!
” the old woman commanded her.

Sorcha bore down with grim intensity. Then, to her amazement, she felt something bulky and slimy sliding from her wet body. She struggled to sit up more and see. The midwife grasped the bloody infant by its ankles, held it up and smacked its bottom. The child instantly began to howl loudly.

“
Gie me my son!
” Sorcha MacDuff growled menacingly. “
Gie him to me this instant!
” She held out eager arms.

“ ’Tis a girlie ye’ve born, lady,” the midwife said as she swiftly wiped the birthing blood from the wailing child. Then wrapping a shawl about the baby, she handed her to her mother.

A daughter?
She had not even considered a daughter, but as the second child was certain to be a son, Sorcha decided that she was pleased to have a daughter as well. Two sons would have been difficult They would have probably spent more time fighting each other than fighting the Fergusons of Killieloch. Nay. A daughter was a good thing. She could be used to cement an alliance with an ally. Sorcha looked down on the baby in her arms. “Gruoch,” she said softly. “Ye’ll be called Gruoch. ’Tis a family name.”

The baby looked up at its mother with wonderful blue eyes. She was a very pretty creature with a tuft of gold down upon her head.

“Lady, ye’ve the other yet to birth,” the midwife said, breaking her reverie. “Hae ye nae pains?”

“Aye,” Sorcha MacDuff replied bluntly. “I hae pains, but I dinna mind them for I hae been too fascinated wi’ my wee lassie.”

“Ye hae best put yer mind to t’other one, lady,” the midwife said sourly. “A laddie is more important to the MacDuffs than the lassie yer cradling. Gie her to me now. I’ll put her in her cot where she belongs.” The midwife almost snatched the infant from her mother, tucking her into the carved cradle by the struggling fire so that Sorcha MacDuff could put her mind to the business of bearing the MacDuff son now striving to be released from her womb.

The second child, its passage unblocked by the birth of its
sibling, was born far more quickly. It pushed impatiently into the world, crying loudly as it came.

“
Gie me my lad!
” Sorcha MacDuff cried excitedly.

The midwife wiped the blood from the twin, peering carefully down at it as she did so. Then she shook her head sadly. “ ’Tis another lass,” she told the pale-faced woman. “The MacDuffs of Ben MacDui hae died wi’ out a laird.” She wrapped a shawl about the second squalling infant, sighing mournfully even as she did so. Then she handed her to her mother, but Sorcha MacDuff recoiled angrily.

“I dinna want her,” she hissed. “What guid is a second daughter to me?
I wanted a son!
”

“Will ye question the will of God above, lady?” the midwife demanded. The children were both girls, and there was no help for it. “God hae seen fit to gie ye twin daughters, lady. Both are healthy bairns. Surely ye canna deny them. Thank God for your guid fortune. Many a childless lass would envy ye.”

“I’ll nae deny my wee Gruoch,” Sorcha MacDuff said, “but the other is naught but a burden to me. Gruoch is the heiress of Ben MacDui now, but what good is the other?
I needed a son!
”

“ ’Tis a harsh land and time in which we live, lady,” the midwife reminded her. “The bairns are both strong now, but what if one took sick and died? Wi’out the other, there would be nae MacDuff at all to inherit. The secondborn has her place as well, I’m thinking. Ye hae best gie her a name too.”

“Call her Regan, then,” said the disappointed woman.