In Bed With A Stranger by Mary Wine

Chapter Eleven

“Oh now, don’t ye look lovely.” Helen fussed over the fire, poking it when it was blazing very well already. “I suppose I should leave ye to awaiting yer husband. Good night.”

Await her confession…

Anne swallowed roughly, trying to maintain her resolve to do as she’d promised herself she would. She had to do it. Find the courage to trust in the love he’d offered her.

There was no more time for her. Besides, she did not have the heart to deceive him further. She could not do that to the man she loved.

But the candles burned low and the fire became a bed of coals blanketed by thick ash. The warm coverlet lulled her into slumber long before the chamber went dark.

Anne awoke at dawn, a sleepy yawn on her lips. She was the only one in the bed, the sheet beside her still smooth. A patch of scarlet caught her attention even in the dim light. Moving from the bed, she pulled the window curtain to let the rising sun shine in. A piece of silk was carefully folded around a box, a parchment sitting on top of it that bore the wax seal of the Earl of McJames. Her hand shook when she reached for it. The wax snapped in the chilly morning air, the sound as piercing as a pistol shot.

Dearest wife—

With regret I must go to court by royal command. Be very sure that it took a King to summon me from yer side.

Write to me…Yer letters will strengthen me.

Brodick.

She traced his name with a finger. Never once had she had a love letter. Today she did.

Brodick.

Only that name that she used in their bed. It was a sweet intimacy that touched her heart. Setting the letter aside, she unwrapped the silk to find a lady’s writing desk. It was smooth and crafted with skill. Two hinges allowed the top to lift up. Stored carefully inside were sheets of paper. A small pottery jar with another piece of expensive and rare cork stood there. Two bone quills lay near the ink well. There was a scarlet strip of wax and a small brass seal along with it. Lifting the seal, she choked on a sob when she noted the rampant lion of the McJames. There would be very few of these seals because they represented the earl. Each one would be carefully guarded.

It was a gift worthy of the mistress of the manor.

Anne carefully closed the lid. She finally understood her mother completely. Ivy Copper was in love and that emotion blinded her to every insult or slur the world cast at her. She could no more stop loving than she could cease breathing.

“Och, I thought I heard ye moving about.” Helen lacked her normal joy this morning. “I see ye found the lord’s letter. He was most distraught at leaving ye. But those toads from court wouldnae hear of waiting. Kept him up most of the night arguing with him over this and that until the earl just mounted his horse and rode, wanting to end the matter the soonest. He wrote that letter with his own hand.”

That was a gift of intimacy. A man of Brodick’s station normally did not write his letters himself. She had written most of Philipa’s. There had been a time when a part of the value a noble bride brought to her husband was her knowledge and finesse of being cordial with all the other great houses. She would carefully dip her quill and pen letters that maintained friendships with all the correct people.

Helen bustled about, pointing the two maids with her toward tasks. “Still ye’ll have to get used to it. Being an earl means answering to yer king. Ye must have learned that in yer years at court.”

Anne lost her focus, losing track of what Helen was saying. Her stomach rolled violently, sweat beading her forehead. There was no mastering the nausea this morning. She flew towards the garderobe, the contents of her belly rising.

Anne was trembling when Helen gently pulled her off her knees.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t feel ill.”

Helen led her back across the chamber, using a wet cloth to soothe her brow.

“I see now why ye had naught but stale bread in yer chamber.” Helen looked up, snapping her fingers at one of the maids. “Fetch some bread and be quick.”

The girl smiled so broadly all her teeth showed. “Aye, right away.”

Anne stared at the empty doorway, trying to understand why the girl was so happy. Sickness in the castle was cause for alarm.

“Such a shame the lord was called away.” Helen was practically dancing. “But better now than when yer time comes.”

“My time?”

Helen turned, confusion on her face. She stared at her for a moment before a similar bright smile covered her face. “Och now, I forget that yer so newly wed. But a blessed union it is. You havenae had any monthly curses since leaving England, have ye?”

She hadn’t.

Anne felt her eyes go wide. If she hadn’t just retched, she would now. Philipa’s ugly, evil, twisted face filled her thoughts. For sure she was breeding. Being a maiden didn’t mean she was ignorant of the facts surrounding a woman’s body. The kitchen at Warwickshire was often ripe with talk about pregnancy and its symptoms. How else had she learned of French kisses? Despair filled her because now there was an innocent babe to think of as well.

But it was replaced by the sight of Brodick waiting in the yard for her. The way he stood so proud and strong. Giving him a child was the greatest gift she might ever bestow on anyone. He was worthy of that.

But he wanted Mary’s child, not a bastard half-sibling’s child.

“Och now, look at ye. ’Tis a happy time. I’ve waited so long to see this day. I cannae wait until your belly is plump and round.”

Helen chattered away while Anne tried to feel the tiny life growing inside her.

“We needs get the seamstresses to plying their needles at once. No more long stays for you.”

Helen turned to reveal a creamy sheet of paper laid out squarely on the writing desk. The ink well was carefully placed in a small cutout made for it so that it would not spill while the cork was removed.

“You must write to the earl. Once a fortnight his messenger will bring you a letter and you may send yers back with him. He’ll be so very happy to learn of the babe.”

“I shall write, but not just this moment.”

Helen shook her head, turning to replace the cork in the jar of ink. “Och, listen to me. Yer belly is heaving. ’Twill pass. We’ll send the lads for Agnes.”

Anne placed a hand over her mouth, horror filling her. She could not condemn her child to being bastard born.

If she remained at Sterling, that would be what happened. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked at the writing desk. She could not confess who she was. Not now.

Not ever.

Two weeks later a letter arrived as Helen promised. Anne didn’t think she had ever been so happy to receive anything. To be sure, her sire never wrote to his wife when he was away at court. For that reason, she had tried not to expect a letter. Brodick was at court after all, and he had important things to attend to. All wives had to endure being second to the monarchs.

There was much to do and she threw herself into the fast pace of spring. There was planting and early harvest, lambs being birthed and soap to make now that the weather was good enough to use the large iron caldrons. They built fires beneath the huge pots and stirred the soap with boat paddles. Time had dragged on, in spite of her best efforts to fill it. She still awoke at night, searching the bed for Brodick. She told herself a hundred times to stop thinking about him, stop longing for him, that it was impractical and even insane to love him.

Her heart refused to listen.

Instead she impatiently saw to making sure the messenger was fed and new clothing brought up for him. She paced while he lingered in his bath, refusing to ask for the letter before she had shown the man good hospitality. When at last the night was creeping over Sterling, he untied his leather bag and handed a sealed parchment to her.

“Oh now, yer nae to read that here.”

Helen whisked it out of her grasp before she closed her fingers. “Helen!”

“Nay. Ye listen to me. Wait. ’Twill be much better if ye wait to read it in yer chamber.”

Anne frowned. She did not want to wait. Helen smiled gently at her.

“Follow me, mistress, and I’ll show you how to read a letter from yer true love.”

Her face transformed into a tapestry of sensitivity. Her eyes shimmering with a knowledge that was both deep and sultry. It was not about mistress and maid. It was a moment when Anne looked into the eyes of another woman who understood love for a man.

Helen held the letter up, beckoning her towards her chamber. The maid left the parchment on the bed as she removed her clothing, leaving her in only a chemise. Spring was well on its way to giving over to early summer so the air was warm. The fire kept the stone floor inviting for her bare feet. Helen removed the pins from her hair, brushing it out. But she didn’t braid it as she normally did.

“There now. That’s the way to read the letter. Just as ye would welcome him at night.”

Helen replaced the brush on the vanity. The two maids with her pulled the bed curtains to close the sides. Sitting on the foot of the bed, Anne fingered the seal. Helen sent the maids away, pausing to extinguish the candles. She left a single one burning on the vanity. Its yellow flame danced over the sheet of paper she had laid out on the writing desk. The quill sparkled in the candlelight, looking magical.

“Enjoy it, mistress, and make sure ye write him back. The carrier will leave at dawn.”

The chamber was left in deep quiet, the sort that allowed you to hear the crackle and pop of the wood as it caught fire. She heard the whistle of the wind outside the window. Anne still sat upright but Helen had tucked the coverlet around her.

The parchment crinkled as she broke the seal and opened it wide. The black ink danced across the page, in neat letters. She drank in the words, for the first time getting to know the man who had taken her from Warwickshire. They had never spoken of simple things. Brodick wrote of them now. Telling her about his likes and dislikes. That he preferred small beer to ale and heather to rosemary. The letter had many dates on it, like a diary. He would date the top of each entry, letting her know that he thought of her each night. Several drops of wax shone on the parchment, proving that he’d remained up past sunset to write to her.

The way they loved when together was exciting, their bodies creating heat and passion so hot it might even be explosive. But his letters were a different sort of intimacy. There was tenderness and trust as he shared things with her that were neither noble nor politically correct. They were often silly or whimsical. That endeared him more to her heart.

Crawling out of her cocoon, Anne went to the writing desk. It was as if he was there with her. As she dipped the quill into the ink, she felt the loneliness fade away for the first time since awaking to the news that he was gone. The sharp tip scraped softly against the paper as she returned it to the ink well over and over. She was careful to not smudge the drying ink, waiting to begin the next line until the candlelight no longer glistened in it. She did not care that it was a slow process. She lingered over her composition, savoring the next line. The candle burned lower as she began a second page, writing of small things just as he had, sharing who she was with him.

A tap on the door broke the mood. Helen held a tin lantern in one hand as she peeked in.

“I’m just finishing.”

Blowing on the last line, Anne made sure it was dry before folding the parchment to conceal what she had written. Holding the wax over the candle, she turned it round and round until it shimmered then pressed it firmly onto the place where the edges of parchment met. The heated portion puddled into a round glistening circle of wax. Anne pressed the seal firmly onto it, holding it still while the cool metal drew the heat out of the wax setting it.

When she pulled the brass seal up, it left a mold of the rampant lion in the scarlet wax.

“Thank you for waiting, Helen.”

“’Twas a pleasure.” She set the lantern down and went to the bed. Pulling the coverlet to one side, she waited for Anne to get back into bed. She went, enjoying the comforts because who knew when they might end. For tonight it was enough to simply enjoy.

Helen blew out the candle. She took the letter and left. The chamber was quiet and dark. But the babe inside her began to move. A tiny, soft motion like a flutter of butterfly wings inside her belly. Her breath froze in her lungs and the movement came again, confirming that she was not dreaming it. Laying a hand over her slightly thickened waistline, she cradled their child.

It would be born in love even if she had to see Mary cradling it. Many mothers gave up as much for their children. Tears fell onto the pillow as she refused to lament the ache in her heart. She would not repent for loving. Even if it broke her heart. To love was to taste life for the first time.

But her babe needed more than that. Her life was an example of what happened when you tried to pit love against the way the world was organized. Mary was the rightful mistress of Sterling. If Anne confessed to Brodick, she might remain as his leman, but her children would lead the same life she had when Mary was found out and was forced to take her position as wife.

But if she returned to Warwickshire and allowed Mary to pretend that her babe was hers, her child would enjoy all the benefits of legitimacy. Brodick would keep the dowry land.

She wiped the tears from her eyes. It would be done. Yet not until right before the babe was due, because Brodick would come for her. Bonnie had seen it. So she would have to deceive him for the sake of their child. It was the greatest gift she might give her son.

That thought lulled her into sleep. Brodick’s face was there in her dreams.

The Scottish court

Arriving at court was not an easy thing. Brodick spent five days just finding a place to lay his head. With the king in town, most of the better homes were rented and he didn’t keep a town house. His father had avoided court as well. Riding hellbent toward the royal castle hadn’t gotten him any closer to seeing his king. His clothing had to follow, making it longer still until he was at last ready to present himself at court.

At least the royal hounds were off his back. They left him the moment he began setting up house. The city was teeming with people. The different clan tartans denoted other titled men. Some clansmen still clung to their plain wool kilts without plaid striping. Not all clans had adopted the newer kilts.

It was a full fortnight before he was ready to appear at court. Showing up any earlier would have been a waste of time. The first thing he needed to do was send a formal message to the King’s chamberlain advising the man that he’d arrived as summoned.

James Stewart had been raised by courtiers. His mother had long ago lost her head in an English castle. It was an ironic twist of fate that left him the heir to Elizabeth Tudor’s throne, since she had signed his mother’s execution order.

But that didn’t seem to matter much now. Brodick walked into the main receiving hall to find it bursting with ambassadors from all over the world. They were dressed in fine clothing, attendants trailing them. Foreign languages bounced around the hall—Portuguese, French, Italian and even Spanish. His temper strained against his control as he viewed the number of men waiting to see the king. This was the outer hall. They weren’t even in the main court yet. James might keep him waiting for a month if he was of a mind to do so.

“It seems we Scots have gained a wee bit o’ favor since I was last here.” Druce looked around, his face pensive. “Now that’s a change.”

“It explains why Jamie is so concerned with raiding these days.”

“Aye, it does.”

Brodick watched the blending of new fashion with Celtic tradition. Kilts were still worn by at least half the men but now there were velvet slops and Venetian pants as well. Many of the ambassadors wore lavishly decorated short capes that shone with gold and jewels. He and his men were wearing doublets with sleeves, the green wool a mark of the McJames clan for a century. But he didn’t think even being in the presence of his monarch meant he should have sewn gold baubles onto his clothing. Such frivolity was for women and fops who eyed young men for trysts.

“But I must admit that I’m a bit surprised at the fashion on display.”

His brooch was gold and set with twin rubies for the lion’s eyes. It had been his father’s and someday it would be worn by his son. On his right hand was a signet ring with the seal of the Earl of McJames. It did not leave his hand unless he handed it to a man willing to defend it with his life. That was a promise his father had extracted on his death bed.

Druce scoffed at him. “I’ll remain a happy man in my kilt.”

“Agreed.”

They all froze as McQuade came into view. The man stood with his retainers, frowning at the great number of men waiting to see the king. The royal guards kept the door barred while everyone awaited the call of the chamberlain announcing their name. Without that, they stood waiting.

“Thieving mongrel McQuade.”

“Easy, Cullen. We’re here to defend the fact that we nae started the fighting.”

This time.

Brodick had to give the man his due; there had been a few nights that he strayed onto McQuade land. But he didnae fire the homes of the farmers.

Druce slapped Cullen on the back. “What’s the matter, lad? Don’t ye like the look of yer future father-in-law?”

“Did I miss something important?” Brodick watched his brother bristle but he clamped his mouth shut for a change.

The chamberlain stamped his white staff against the floor three times. The brass plate on the bottom of it echoed through the hall. Everyone fell silent.

“Oyee, oyee, oyee. His Majesty will receive the Earls of McQuade and McJames.”

A sound of frustration rippled through the men who did not hear their names. Several waved scrolls under the nose of the chamberlain, trying to get the man to notice their pleas. He stood straight, staring forward.

“At least Jamie’s nae in the mood to see us cooling our heels.”

Brodick moved forward, eager to see his king and quit the court. He had no ambitions that included remaining for any length of time among the schemers. The only favor currying he wanted to do was back home with his sweet wife. He’d gladly spend every night seeking her favor.

The guards uncrossed their pikes, allowing him and his men into the inner hall. It was decked out with the banners of the royal house. Here there were ladies wearing velvet and silk gowns. Their faces were painted but not the ghastly white of the English court. They still looked ridiculous to his eyes, their cheeks bright red and their lips the same shade.

Brodick lowered himself to one knee, Cullen and Druce mimicking him. He swung one fist against his left shoulder.

“Yer Majesty.”

James Stewart was an interesting cross between Scots and European style. He was seated on a throne at the end of a red carpet.

“McJames and McQuade, join me in my private chambers. Two men each.”

McQuade slid Brodick a sinister smile. The older man knelt on one knee the same as he had. The king stood and left the throne room. Brodick stood up, eyeing his nemesis.

“Ran crying to the king, did ye, McQuade?” Brodick smacked his lips. “Always knew ye were a whining bastard when ye lose. Like yer father before ye.”

The older man’s face turned ruddy. “And yer the son of a thief that waits ’til a man is in his cups to challenge him to a game of wits.”

Brodick smirked. “My father often said I look a lot like me mother. Since ye knew her, do ye agree?”

McQuade spat on the floor. “She was mine.”

Cullen scoffed at him while stroking a lock of his lighter hair that was the same shade as their mother’s had been. “Nay, man, we’re living proof that she was had well and good by our father.”

McQuade smiled. “Well, now we’ll be seeing just who has the last word.”

He moved toward the king’s private chambers, his spurs clanking against his boots. Druce patted Cullen on the shoulder once more.

“That had a nice ring to it.”

Cullen smirked. “Ye think so?”

“Oh, lad, aye.” Druce tilted his head to the side. “I think ye’re going to be quite the family when ye make good on that threat to tame Bronwyn.”

Cullen glared at Druce, his fingers tightening into a fist. There wasn’t time for more as they came into the king’s presence and hit a knee once more.

“Rise.”

James Stewart eyed McQuade first. The older man lifted his chin, stubbornly resisting the look from his monarch to soften his stance.

“McJames, tell me why ye wounded several of McQuade’s men last month.”

Brodick resisted the urge to grin. James might be dressed like a European king but beneath his pants he was pure Scot.

“Because I caught them burning some o’ me farmers’ homes.”

“’Tis not so.”

Druce stepped forward. “It is. Saw it with my own eyes.”

The king held up a hand. He looked at Druce.

“Ye swear that?”

“On the title of Bisbane. I was at Sterling for the celebration of my cousin’s marriage.” Druce pointed a finger at McQuade. “I rode out with Brodick and saw the torches myself.”

McQuade didn’t look repentant. Quite the contrary, the man’s face lit with satisfaction. The king grumbled beneath his breath.

“What am I going to do with ye, McQuade?” Jamie sat down and propped his hand on his knees. He rested his chin against one palm while considering McQuade and his men.

“The eyes of the world are on Scotland. We’ve no time for raids and quarrels long past settling. Man, that woman is long ago wed and her sons grown to men.”

McQuade shook his head. “I want a portion of the dowry returned. That will satisfy me.”

“Ye married a woman with a good dowry.”

“But no land. ’Tis the two-hundred measures of land I’m wanting. They were promised to me.” McQuade was yelling by the time he finished.

“No chance o’ that happening.” Brodick wasn’t much calmer. “Ye dragged me here for no reason. Yer men were raiding and I sent them back to ye whining like their master.”

“Enough.”

Jamie stood up. He pointed at McQuade. “Ye’ve wasted my time, man, and I’ll nae thank ye for that. That land went with the heiress. There will be no arguing with what a father settled onto his daughter thirty-five years ago. I suggest ye look to arranging a good match for yer sons if it’s a larger holding ye want.”

“But that bastard just took an English bride who will double his land yet again.” McQuade shook a tight fist in the air. “I want that land.”

“I said nay.” Firm authority rang out of the king. He looked at Brodick.

“Ye claimed yer bride?”

Brodick lifted his chin as high as McQuade’s, but with a far different emotion. “Aye, three months ago.”

The king didn’t respond for a long moment. McQuade began to shake his fist again.

“Ye see?” McQuade stepped closer to the king. “The man is power hungry. He’s setting himself up to challenge ye.”

“That’s nae true.” Brodick glared at McQuade. “Watch yer insults, man. I’m nae a traitor and willnae hear any man say I am.”

“Enough!”

The king’s guards reinforced their monarch’s order with lowered pikes. McQuade shook with his rage, but the man stepped back in the face of cold steel leveled at his belly.

“The pair o’ ye will remain with the court for the summer. I’ve not the time to deal with yer fighting.”

“I’ve got a new wife that’s breeding.”

The king lifted an eyebrow. “If her belly’s full, she dinnae need you anymore. Ye’ll stay.”

Brodick clenched his fists. Even the guards behind his king didn’t settle his temper. Jamie waved a finger at him. “I’ve need of ye, McJames. This court is full of tale-spinning lords who want to keep raiding each other over things that can never be changed. Yer clear thinking will be welcomed.”

“My King—”

“I’ve spoken, man.” Jamie’s voice rang with a royal decree. “And ye will serve me for the summer. I’ll send ye home in time to see yer son born.”

McQuade snickered.

“And ye, McQuade, will remain in the outer hall awaiting my summons.”

“Yer Majesty—”

“Ye have that correct, man. I am yer king and I nae appreciate ye spinning tales in my ear like I’m some lack-wit. There’s men out there who have waited months to have their issues settled. Quarrels that can be resolved, unlike the question of a bride who was lost decades ago. Good God, man, stealing a bride is as Scottish as a kilt. Ye should have planned things more secretively if ye didnae want someone to try and lift her out of yer keeping before the consummation.”

Jamie lifted his chin, looking every inch the king.

“Go and ye had better be waiting in the outer hall when I summon ye.”

“’Tis an insult, even coming from me king.”

Jamie pegged him with a hard stare. “And ’tis also better than being locked into shackles for bearing false witness against a fellow lord.”

McQuade snapped his mouth shut. He glared at them both before staring at the points of the pikes. He lowered his head before storming from the room.

“That man is going to hound ye until he’s dead.” James shook his head and reached for a goblet. He took a long drink from it, his guards resuming their positions of vigilance behind him. “No doubt his sons have been raised to detest ye as well. ’Tis a good thing ye didn’t let him get wind of yer impending nuptials. He’d have stolen the bride if he’d known.”

“He might have tried.”

Jamie laughed. “Aye. He’d have done that sure enough.”

The king snapped his fingers and a servant offered goblets to them all. Brodick took it but he wasn’t interested in the French wine. He had no taste for the strong brew. It made mush out of a man’s thinking. Jamie scoffed at him.

“McJames prefers small beer.”

Brodick let the servant take the goblet. “Ye remember.” He was slightly impressed. The last time he and Jamie shared a drink was a full ten years past.

“I’d have been dead years ago if my wit wasnae sharp. There’s plenty o’ men that dinnae want me succeeding the throne of England.” The king waited until the servant returned with another drinking vessel. This one was a tankard far better suited to small beer. Druce looked ready to weep until he noticed the second servant with two more tankards.

“I really do need ye, man. We’ve delegations from every royal house on the continent. This is a summer when Scotland needs her earls at court.” James pegged him with a firm look. “I need ye here, and I’ll keep McQuade on a leash so you’ll nae have to worry about him harassing yer people.”

“What about the man’s sons?” Druce asked.

The king nodded. “I’ll summon them to wait with their father. A few months cooling their heels in my outer hall should teach them to carry tales. But I’ll nae promise that it will keep them from raiding ye in the fall.”

“I need no help with running him back to his own land.” Brodick looked at Druce and Cullen. Both smiled unpleasantly. The king grunted.

“But I need ye, man.”

To serve his king was an honor.

But that meant not returning to Sterling…

Brodick hid his disgruntlement behind the tankard. He’d judged older men harshly because they wanted nothing more than to return home. Look at himself now. Young lads didn’t know what they were missing. He hadn’t until he was forced to leave it behind. Still he was blessed and needed to remember that.

The only thing that vexed him still was the fact that his wife hadn’t told him about their child. Her letter was sweetly written, more than he’d expected salving the wound that was left when he rode away from Sterling.

But it didn’t contain the news that she was carrying. That had come in a second letter written by Helen. He didn’t feel any remorse over commanding the maid to write him in secret. There would be no surprises when he returned home this time. He needed to know that his wife was cared for. Needed to know that she was not wasting away to a sack o’ bones.

Something felt wrong but he couldn’t place it. Just that inkling of a feeling that tingled down a man’s neck when he knew he was being watched.

But for the time being, he would serve his king. It was the McJames’ duty.

England, four months later

“Mother, I’m bored! I will go insane if I am forced to endure much more of this confinement.”

Mary Spencer snorted while she paced in a wide circle. She wrinkled her nose and picked at her sleeve.

“And I detest this wool. It stinks like a sheep. I want my velvet dress back. It has been forever since that Scot took Anne away.”

“It has been only seven months.” Philipa sounded tired. She cast a strained look at her child.

“Seven and a half months. The summer is waning.”

“Still not enough time has passed.”

Mary groaned long and loudly. Philipa rubbed her forehead. She was sick unto death of the demands of men, no longer caring if the church preached that it was her place to shoulder such. Mary huffed and sat in a puddle of wool skirts, her expression unhappy.

“Don’t fret, my lamb. We’ve almost bested this marriage your father negotiated. A few weeks more is all.”

“What if Anne isn’t with child?”

Philipa frowned. “She had better be.”

She had better be.

Philipa felt her temper heat. Oh, she would enjoy letting her wrath fall on Ivy Copper and her litter of bastards. She’d wanted to drown them all the day they were birthed. Anne had better be with child. A son. She didn’t dare risk leaving the girl with the Scots household too long. Servants talked. Even when you whipped them.

Philipa sighed. It was certainly difficult to make it through life’s hurdles. She would just have to endure like her daughter for a few weeks more. She frowned, considering how long Anne had been treated as the mistress of a house. It was possible the bastard might forget her place. Even the threat against her family might lose its sharp edge when she was safe and pampered so far from Warwickshire.

Something would have to be done about that. Something to drive it deep into her heart. Philipa paced, considering her methods.

Yes…something very frightening to a girl.

Sterling, one month later

Surcoats were evil.

Anne snarled as she tripped on the edge of her loose gown. Grabbing two handfuls of the fabric, she lifted it out of the way of her feet. Now that her belly was swelling large, she could not wear her skirts. Without a waistband, the fabric puddled on the ground every time she bent over, even a little bit. It was frustrating because she felt wonderful and didn’t want to be slowed down by the loose garments needed for her ripening figure.

“Get on the other side of the flock, Ginny. Hurry.”

Anne ran the opposite way, flapping her surcoat in the wind to get the geese into the pens. It was time to wash them and remove the thick down that had grown over the winter. Now that it was full summer, the feathers could be thinned. There would be enough time for it to grow back before winter returned.

Anne ran and headed off a large gander. The animal honked at her, flapping his wings.

“Get on with you. I want a down comforter to keep me warm. You will never miss the feathers, I promise.” Raising her hands, she sent the bird back toward the pens on the riverbank. Water made it much easier to remove part of the down.

Her baby kicked. Anne lowered her arms to softly stroke her rounded tummy. She was as ripe as a fall pumpkin, her child pushing her womb out. The bells began to ring. Her heart accelerated as she looked toward Sterling. A cloud of dust was rising on the road and she peered at it, willing her husband to ride out of it.

“Mistress, ye need to get within the castle walls.”

One of the captains was always with her when she left Sterling. Anne looked up to see the man frowning at the approaching riders.

“Forgive me, ma’am, but we needs to go now.”

There was a solid ring of duty in his voice that didn’t hint at any argument from her. He reached for her hand and helped her into the cart the man insisted she ride in. Her mare having been denied her the second Helen told all at Sterling that she was with child. Ginny and the others were left to deal with the geese. But for her, she was returned to Sterling in haste. Brodick had kept his promise to have her accompanied anytime she left the imposing walls. They rode through the gate well before the riders reached them. Helen stood on the steps waiting for her.

“There ye be, ma’am.”

“Is it the earl returning?” Her voice was full of anticipation.

Helen shook her head. “The lord doesnae have the bells rung on his return. He claims ’tis an honor he has yet to earn.”

A shiver went down her spine. Her babe kicked hard as she lifted her chin and watched the gate. The riders drew in close enough to see and the banner of Warwickshire flapped boldly in the afternoon sun. Horror flooded her, stealing her breath as they filled the inner yard. But the worst was yet to come. The man leading them yanked his helmet free and shook out his long hair.

It was a face that she wished she might forget.

Cameron Yeoman was an evil man. One of a handful of men Philipa employed to keep the staff in hand at Warwickshire, the man often gained compliance with his brute strength. He flashed a sneer at her, his gaze settling on her distended belly. The tip of his tongue appeared on his lower lip, swiping back and forth across it a few times.

“Good day to you, ma’am. Your Mother, Philipa, sends her greetings.”

Anne paled. She felt the blood draining from her face. Cameron waved a horse forward and she heard a faint tinkling of laughter. Her sister Bonnie rode confidently up beside Philipa’s strong man. Her cheeks were red, a haunted look in her eyes.

“I brought you a letter. The mistress commanded me to bring it to you.”

Anne moved down the steps as fast as possible with her belly so large, unable to see her sweet sister so close to such a monster. More than one maid at Warwickshire had suffered his rape. The man was a monster, often beating a girl even after she bent to his will. Bonnie reached into a leather pouch and pulled a folded parchment out. She shuddered but hid it almost in the same moment that it shook her slight frame.

Anne took the letter, but was more intent on getting her sister away from her escort. Cameron stared at her belly, a twisted smile on his lips.

“Dismount, Bonnie.”

“Hold.” Cameron held up a hand. Bonnie flinched but froze with her hands tight around the saddle horn.

Captain Murry, charged with her protection outside the gates, had shifted away, leaving her at the mercy of her visitors. Work was resuming around them. Even Helen had joined several women working on washing wool. Everyone seemed to be granting her privacy to talk to her guests, thinking it a kindness.

Cameron swung a leg over the head of his horse. He moved close enough to keep his words between them.

“Your sister stays on that mare.” He reached into his leather doublet to pull another letter from it. His smile grew. “This is a proxy marriage, giving me full rights to your sweet sister. You can say anything you wish but no man in this castle will deny me the rights to my wife.”

“No…She’s but fifteen.”

“Aye, you heard correctly. I confess that I like the young ones best.” Depravity danced in his eyes. He licked his lower lip, enjoying the horror the gesture bred in her.

“Find a way to take a ride with me and leave your guardians behind or I’m going to enjoy the trip back to Warwickshire. Your sister won’t.” He sniffed. “But every wench has to learn to take a man inside her at some point.”

“I think I shall just have you thrown out like the filth you are, while keeping my sister safely at my side.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow at her. “Maybe you’d better read that letter in your hand before you open your mouth. I really don’t care. Your sister is mine if you choose to stay. You can’t keep me locked away forever, and slapping me in shackles won’t dissolve my marriage. My men are really looking forward to getting to watch me consummate it. I might even share.”

Anne ripped the seal open. She didn’t want to read Philipa’s words, didn’t want to give the woman any of her time ever again. But seeing Bonnie in his care was too much. She could not abandon her to Cameron. He’d do it, all of it and more.

“Your brothers will be sailing for the New World if you don’t return with me.”

That was a death sentence. All of the brave men and women who had set out to found Roanoke had disappeared, their fate unknown in the vast wilderness that was Virginia. But the Privy council was determined to see an English colony in the new world. They sent ships every few years, and few of them returned.

The letter in her hands confirmed Cameron’s words but it went on snagging her attention.

Do you really believe that your child will be welcomed any more than you are at Warwickshire? Return and let your babe be accepted as Mary’s. The world will see the child as legitimate. It’s a gift that will see him enjoying all of the comforts that you have sampled as the mistress of Sterling. Think about that before hiding behind the Scottish border.

Philipa was horrible, but she wrote the truth. Even if Brodick did not cast her out, her child would bear the stain of being born bastard.

It didn’t have to be.

She trembled, rubbing her belly with a soothing hand. Her throat had tightened, making it difficult to breathe. Anne forced the lump down. She had to do the best for her baby. The innocent growing inside her could be as respected as his father or as scorned as she.

She could not place her own life above her child’s. There could be no joy in her heart if she knew her happiness was purchased through the sufferings of her siblings.

“There is a valley below the castle, out of sight of the walls. Wait for me there.”

Cameron grunted, but Anne stepped away from him, not wanting to hear anything else he had to say. Climbing the steps, she lifted her chin.

“I am sorry to hear that you cannot stay for supper. Thank you for your service in bringing Bonnie to me.”

Cameron scowled but covered his displeasure when Helen moved up beside her.

“The young miss is staying?”

“Indeed she is. Captain Murry, will you help her dismount?”

The captain turned and walked swiftly across the yard. He reached up toward Bonnie. Her sister swallowed another whimper as she placed her hand in the man’s. Relief showed on her face. The captain led her away from the mare, while Cameron’s men looked at their leader. He stared at her while tucking the marriage license back into his doublet. He patted it in warning.

“I understand that Warwickshire is as busy as Sterling. I bid you good journey.”

Anne glared at Cameron. His gaze moved to Bonnie. Lust danced in his eyes but he tossed his head when Anne stepped slightly in front of her sister.

“True.” He swung up into the saddle. Aiming a hard look at her, he turned around, grabbing the reins to Bonnie’s mare. He and his men quit the yard quickly.

“He’ll come back for me.” Bonnie’s voice was hollow. “He promised…promised to do terrible things to me.”

“Do not think of it,” Anne whispered in her sister’s ears as Helen watched them. The senior maid frowned.

“Ye look as though ye didnae sleep a wink last night, child.”

Anne welcomed the distraction. “Aye, it does seem that traveling does not agree with young Bonnie. Will you please take her to the bath house, Helen? I believe she needs a bit of comforting from your skilled hands.”

“But…” Bonnie began.

“Hush now, Bonnie. There is no one better than Helen. She has taken such good care of me. I feel almost guilty.”

Helen beamed under her praise. She proudly took Bonnie’s hand.

“Follow me and we’ll see you feeling fresh and new.”

Anne followed them up the steps but continued on up to the second floor chamber that had been hers for so short a time.

She would never forget it.

Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall. She knew what she had to do. In her heart she knew that it would be better to face Philipa than watch Bonnie ride away with Cameron. The Church held more authority than either Queen Elizabeth or King James. The proxy marriage license would be respected in either country. Even if the captain of the guard disliked the union, he could not prevent Cameron from taking Bonnie. At least not without a mark on her to prove that the man was a beast.

Aye, Cameron was as evil as Philipa. Both knew how to choose their threats well.

She looked at the bed and more tears fell. But this time she was happy. Running her fingers across the coverlet, she smiled for the joy that she’d known there. No one could ever wipe it away from her mind. Grasping one of the pillows, she shoved it beneath the coverlet. Pulling on the bedding, she rumpled it to look as though she were sleeping. Jerking the bed curtains closed, she left only a small opening at the foot of the bed.

She needed time to make it far enough away from Sterling. The McJames’ retainers would not cross into England without their lord.

Sitting down, she wrote a last letter to Brodick. Telling him at last about their child and how happy her heart was to carry his babe. She sealed the letter, confident that her babe would return to Sterling and his rightful place.

That was the greatest gift a mother might give. It was the thing that prompted many a noble daughter to marry without love. The knowledge that her child would have a better life.

She wrapped another surcoat over the one she was wearing and left. The yard was full of busy labor. But it was the young McJames’ captain that she had to escape the watch of now. He was instructing a younger lad with a bow, showing the boy how to aim. They let the arrow fly and it soared over the stable. With a good-natured laugh, the captain climbed onto the roof to seek the arrow out.

Anne hurried out of the gate while he was distracted, searching along the thatched roof for the arrow shaft. If fortune favored her, he would never know that she had descended from her chamber. There were many on the road. Carts full of newly cut grass and goods. She was merely one more walking with the others, her woolen surcoat blending with the tartans of the others.

The bells did not ring. She kept walking, hugging to her heart the knowledge that Bonnie was safe. Her child kicked and she walked faster, determined to see him born legitimate.

Helen peeked into the chamber that night. Lifting a hand to her lips, she cautioned the maids to be quiet. Pointing them toward the fireplace, she stepped lightly across the floor to retrieve the letter.

Bonnie stood quietly on the steps, waiting to be told what to do.

Helen did not worry that the mistress had retired early. Her time was growing near, the babe taking more of her energy. News from her mother had no doubt made her teary as well. Tomorrow she’d try to keep the mistress away from herding geese. Soon it would be time to have Agnes moved into Sterling. The arrival of first babes was always hard to anticipate, but if the mistress was taking to her bed, the time must be growing near.

Motioning to the maids, she hurried them from the chamber. The fire popped and crackled. Helen shut the door to leave the mistress in peace.

“Och now, she’s sleeping already. I’ll see to settling ye and ye may spend tomorrow chatting.”

Bonnie let the kind hands of the maid shepherd her to a bed. Horror and fatigue made it impossible to think. All that mattered was that she and Anne were sleeping someplace far removed from Cameron. She fell into a fretful sleep.

Cameron pressed his men to ride through the night. The trip was faster because a good amount of it was downhill. Anne did not care for she wouldn’t have slept anyway. Not with having witnessed the unseemly lust in Philipa’s lackey’s eyes. Instead, she noticed the stark difference between her two journeys. Brodick’s retainers with their honest service and Cameron with his bullies. She had willingly stayed near the kitchens at Warwickshire because Cameron’s group of men were known for debauchery. Philipa never reprimanded them because they did her bidding, no matter how foul.

They crossed onto English soil shortly after dawn. Anne tightened her hands on the saddle. By night, she’d be standing in Philipa’s presence again.

Sterling

Helen screamed for the first time in years. She ripped the bed curtains as she tried to find her mistress. It made no sense!

The maids flew from the chamber, their shrieks awakening the manor. Retainers rushed in from the yard, hesitating for a moment when they realized the commotion was coming from the mistress’s chamber.

“The mistress is missing.”

Helen shouted, pulling on her hair. “I dinnae ken. She mussed the bedding to look as if she were there. I should have checked.”

“You cannot blame yourself.” Bonnie’s soft voice froze everyone in their tracks. She stood at the door, her face shining with tears. “Philipa has always hated her more than any other.” She shuddered, hugging herself. “But my sister is the kindest soul, always thinking of others first.”

Captain Murry gripped her by the upper arms.

“Tell me where the mistress is.”

Bonnie recoiled from his touch, her heels sliding on the stone floor as she tried to escape. Panic held her features as she pushed and struggled. The man looked confused by her reaction.

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.” Bonnie’s voice was a thin wail that stirred pity in everyone in the room.

“I’ll let ye loose if ye tell me what goes on here.”

Bonnie bobbed her head up and down. The captain released his grip on her, careful to do it slow enough so that she didn’t fall in a heap. He placed his body between her and the door, making it clear that he would get what he wanted.

“Philipa has ordered her back to Warwickshire else she will set our brothers to sea for the New World.”

“That’s insanity. There is nothing across the ocean save death for those foolish enough to sail toward it.” Helen shook her head and even made the sign of the cross over her body.

“That’s why Anne went. She knows that Philipa means to do it if Anne does not return.”

The Captain held up a hand for silence. “Did ye say brothers?”

Bonnie nodded. “We are two sisters and three brothers born to the Earl of Warwickshire’s leman. Philipa sent Anne in her daughter’s place to conceive a child because Mary did not want to marry. Anne was ordered to return when she was with child or Philipa would turn our mother out. When Anne still didn’t return, Philipa grew angry and sent Cameron here with new threats to force Anne to obey her. Philipa married me to Cameron because she knew Anne would protect me, as she always had.” Silent tears glittered on Bonnie’s cheeks.

There was silence. Helen grew pale but she suddenly snarled like a angry bear.

“Captain Murry, fetch the mistress back.”

The captain seemed unsure. He looked at Bonnie and back to Helen.

“If she is nae the Earl of Warwickshire’s legitimate daughter, she’s nae the lord’s wife.”

“Nae his wife? Are ye daft, man? She’s round with his son.”

“His bastard.” One of the maids spoke the words. Helen rounded on her like a storm.

“She was pure when the lord took her to his bed. She is also the Earl of Warwickshire’s daughter. Mark my words. It will be the legitimate daughter who suffers for nae taking her place. The earl’s wife stood there and sent her as the bride. They are both daughters of the earl, the proxy will hold up in court because our lord was deceived. The Church will annul the first proxy and then the lord can marry the mother of his child.”

Captain Murry nodded slowly. “I see yer thinking, Helen, but there are those who will nae agree.”

“There is no time for debating now. Ye need to ride after her.” Helen wrung her hands.

The captain shook his head. “No time at all. They’re too close to England by now. The mistress planned this well enough. I might have caught her if she’d been discovered missing yesterday.” The captain shook his head, his hand tightening on his belt. “We need the earl to settle this matter. They’ll nae even open the gates for us at Warwickshire, much less admit to such a deed now that the proof is in their hands.”

“That babe will be born inside a fortnight.”

Murry paused at the door. “Then I shall ride through the night to alert the lord.”

He quit the room, his men following close on his heels. There was no hint of reluctance in any of them. Helen looked at the chamber, tears of sadness in her eyes.

“Och now, how did such a thing happen?”

“Love is a curse.” The same maid spoke once more. “My sister has a bastard because of falling under love’s spell.”

“’Tis not always a bad thing.” Helen just wished that she believed her own words, but they sounded hollow. The entire chamber echoed with emptiness. She felt the chill of it creeping across her skin.