In Bed With A Stranger by Mary Wine

Chapter Two

Warwick Castle, 1602

“Hurry up with you, Anne. The mistress is in a snit today.”

“As if that’s any change.”

Joyce shot a stern look at her charge, her nose wrinkling. “Mind that tongue, miss. She is your better, above you, placed there by God.”

Anne lowered herself, while balancing a tray of morning offerings for the lady of the house. She did need to mind her tongue. However, not for herself. She had little care for her own comforts yet it was a poor child that heaped burdens on her mother. Lady Philipa wouldn’t punish only her. The lady would cheerfully lay her wrath on Anne’s mother as well.

With a sigh she followed Joyce toward the west wing, hurrying so that the tray would still be warm when the mistress was roused. Polished silver domes covered the mistress’s morning meal. Each was ornately carved with flowers and birds, the precious metal heated over the fire before being placed on top of each plate to retain the heat.

She, herself, had risen with the first rays of dawn in order to be present when the lady of the house was ready to be woken. That duty had been hers since she began her woman’s flow. The first few months, her wrists had ached from the weight of the tray with its silver, but now she was steady as she moved. Philipa had ordered that Anne dress her each morning to ensure that Anne slept in the maid’s chamber behind the kitchens under the eye of the housekeeper. There would be no trysts. Her body was expected to remain virgin.

The reason was simple. Even bastard born, her blood was too blue. Philipa might detest the very sight of her and her siblings but she was also a keen mistress of the house. She wasted nothing, overlooked not one single resource. Anne’s blood might be useful in some marriage negotiation. There were lesser knights who valued noble, blue blood in a wife. It was also just as likely that Philipa would see her as a courtesan, serving on the whims of some fat merchant. Whatever the lady had in mind, she had yet to unveil it.

So, Anne stood silently as the bed curtains were opened and Philipa turned her head to look at the assembled staff. Her eyes roamed each of them, inspecting their uniformed livery from pressed cap to skirt hem. Philipa missed nothing. Her lips never seemed to smile and her face bore the wrinkles to prove it. A painting in the lower hall showed her in her youth when she had been a bride, but there was little of that sparkle left in the woman before her. Anne watched Philipa through her eyelashes as the line of maids lowered their heads in deference.

“My feet were cold last night.”

The covers were drawn back as the lady sat up. Plump pillows were moved behind her back as she adjusted her position.

“The fire was not laid correctly; the coals lost their heat.”

None of the maids said a word. They lowered their heads each time Philipa spoke as they moved in a practiced team around the chamber. The heavy tapestry curtains were pulled aside with a care for how expensive such fabric was. The huge fireplace was quickly cleaned of its ashes and another fire built to warm the chamber. Anne waited until the lady looked settled before placing the tray across her lap. She was careful to make sure that the small brass legs of the serving tray didn’t touch either of her mistress’s legs but slid smoothly onto either side to hold the tray above Philipa’s thighs.

The lady began to inspect what was hidden beneath the polished silver domes on her morning tray. Her lips pressed into a hard line as she dropped one dome back over whatever the cook had prepared.

“Tell the cook to present herself at noon.”

Every maid tensed just the slightest amount because they had all been the unfortunate recipients of the lady’s displeasure before. The cook would not have a pleasant day. Philipa began eating one of the offerings while she watched the servants with a critical eye. Every one of them had learned to move on carefully soft steps, so as to not bring notice to themselves. All eyes were kept downcast for fear that the mistress might single them out.

“I am ready to rise.” Philipa dropped her eating wares with a clatter. The tray was removed almost in the same instant. Another maid pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed.

Anne joined the maids bringing in water to begin dressing the mistress. Depending on Philipa’s mood, it might take up to two hours to dress their mistress. The maids flowed around Philipa cleansing her feet and hands before easing the knitted stockings up each of her legs. A fine chemise was lowered over her head and a quilted petticoat followed. It was a lovely garment, the harsher wool covered with expensive cotton from India and thousands of tiny stitches worked in pleasing designs to hold it together. Even in early spring it was needed to keep the lady warm. Warwickshire was the last estate under English rule before the land belonged to Scotland. The lord of the manor was constantly being summoned to court because of his importance as a border lord.

Anne missed her father greatly.

Times were good when the earl was in residence. Her lips twitched and she clamped them back into a firm line lest she offend Philipa. But her heart was happy as she thought about her father. Her mother was always filled with joy when he returned, even dancing at her age when the front riders burst through the gate to announce the approach of the lord of the manor. He had been at court all winter. Four long months of Philipa’s sour disposition to tolerate without his loving attention. He did adore her and her siblings but clung to tradition. Philipa was the lady of the house, so Anne fell under her direction.

Still, it was better than many others had. She had a roof over her head and food on the servants’ table below. There was a good wool dress on her back and shoes on her feet that had been made for her, not passed on from someone else. There was much she had to be thankful for. One unhappy mistress was less than many had to suffer.

At least Mary wasn’t at home.

Anne shuddered. The legitimate daughter of the house was a mean-hearted bitch and she didn’t feel a bit of shame for thinking it, either. Mary whined like a babe and could throw tantrums better than a madwoman. Even going so far as ripping good fabric because it was not as fine as something one of her friends attending court had. Philipa coddled such outbursts, finding money in the estate coffers to buy the things her daughter demanded.

Anne frowned as she faced away from Philipa. More rightly put, it was she who found the funds that made Lady Mary stop her howling. By tradition the ledger books should have been kept by Philipa and the duty taught in strictest detail to Mary. ’Twas not the case here at Warwickshire. After seeing to the duty of dressing Philipa, Anne would spend the rest of the daylight hours and even more into the night ensuring that the estate books were balanced. Her lord father had insisted that she and her siblings be educated. Yet Philipa was the one who directed where their education was put to use. Anne’s duty was the estate books and making sure that the budget was tight. Every time Lady Mary demanded more gold, it was Anne who was set the task of finding it where the lord would not notice. The funds were found either from the sale of lambs or from the cloth woven by the household staff. Anne hated seeing the waste. Warwickshire would be stronger if it wasn’t being plundered so often for vanity.

A heavy thud came from the door. A maid hurried to open it. As the wide wooden panel swung wide, the ringing of the wall bells became clear.

“The master returns, madam.”

Philipa scowled. “Well, finish dressing me you lack-wits.”

Everyone hurried while keeping their eyes lowered. Anne handed things to the other maids because she’d learned to keep out of the mistress’s reach when she was getting ready to receive her husband. Philipa was quick with a slap when she was anticipating a conversation with the earl. One of the girls fumbled a shoe and there was a sharp pop of flesh on flesh. “Get out.”

The maid lowered her head even as she backed toward the open doorway. A bright red splotch marked her face. Anne tightened her courage and knelt to take up the shoe.

“Why is it I am cursed with the worst staff in England? These Warwickshire families all breed idiots for daughters.”

No one spoke but a few stares met behind the mistress’s back. Disgruntlement was shared with silent glares. Anne stood up, grateful to have finished her task. Philipa eyed her when she failed to lower herself promptly upon standing in her eyesight.

“Bastard.”

Anne hurried to give her deference. Philipa sneered at her. “Bastard born means conceived in sin. Better be grateful that the church has pity, else you never would have been baptized.”

“Yes, madam.”

Truly the insult didn’t hurt. She had grown scars long ago from Philipa’s lashing tongue. It was much easier to endure than her slaps.

In a flutter of silk skirts, Lady Mary flew into the room.

“Father married me off! Oh, Mother, I don’t want to go to Scotland.”

Lady Mary flung herself at her mother, crying on her chest loudly. “Tell me I don’t have to go, Mother. Please.” She began wailing loud enough to wake the dead. Huge tears flooded her eyes as she tore at her mother’s dress.

“Tell him I won’t go to any Scot’s bed.”

“That’s enough out of you, Mary.”

Everyone in the chamber turned as the lord of the castle entered. Even crowned with silver hair, he was no less powerful, no less the master of the home. Even Philipa lowered her head in deference, dragging her daughter with her.

“And I’ll be damned if you will shame me, Daughter. It’s a solid match with young Brodick. He’s already a titled man.”

“Of Scots.” Mary’s lip protruded as she whimpered.

“Times are changing, Daughter. We’ll soon be a single nation, united under a Scot-born king. McJames will be a good match, better than many of your court friends will have.”

The earl looked at his wife but his attention strayed to Anne. Anne couldn’t stop her lips from curving upward in welcome even as she lowered her head. A sparkle lit her sire’s eyes but there was a low hiss from Mary as she noticed the exchange. Anne’s half-sister looked over her mother’s shoulder, hate glittering in her eyes.

Her father stiffened, his gaze returning to his wife’s. “The Earl of Alcaon’s retainers should be here within the week. I was only granted leave to escort Mary home. I leave for court at daybreak.” He pointed one thick finger at Mary. “You’ll take your place as I’ve arranged it and there will be no more tears. Childhood is finished. See to it, Philipa.”

“Must she marry?”

The earl scowled. “Good God, woman! She’s twenty-six years old. This child has turned up her nose at every match I’ve laid before her. There will be no more discussion. It’s my own fault for giving either of you a say in the matter. Mary should have been wed four years ago but I tried to wait until she agreed with a match or brought me one of her own thinking. Madam, it’s been eight years since we placed her at court.”

“But he’s Scots, Father.”

“He is an earl, madam.” Mary sank back as her father moved toward her. “A man whose land borders ours which makes him a fine choice as husband for you.”

Mary sobbed louder and her father made a low sound of disgust. He turned his displeasure on Philipa.

“You see there, Wife? This is the only child you had to see to and she is a whining whelp, ungrateful for the good match that’s been made for her. What would you have of me, Daughter? Would you be a spinster? Or one of those disgraced courtier friends of yours with bastards growing in their bellies? There are not many lords who will have you due to the fact that your mother never birthed a son.”

Mary shuddered and stood up, her eyes round with horror. Her head shook back and forth as her father glared at her. Anne did pity her half-sister; the world was most cruel to daughters because they carried the stain of their mothers. Because Philipa refused to give her husband an heir, Mary was suspected of being a poor choice for a wife as well.

“Aye, now you’re seeing the truth of the matter. Another year and who will have you? It’s time for marriage and children. ’Tis not an engagement, Daughter. You’ve been wed by proxy. Young McJames was not in the mood to be delayed by having to wait for a wedding to be arranged. The matter is sealed. You are now a wife with duties to attend to.”

The earl turned and left, his spurs clanking against the stone floor. His men followed, having witnessed the entire event. But Philipa was oblivious to the maids in the chamber with her. Privacy was an extreme luxury. As wife to an earl, Mary would have to learn to deal with the many eyes that would know her every movement. Better now than on an estate she was expected to manage.

“Mother, you must give me Anne. For the books. I don’t know how to keep them.”

Anne’s throat constricted as she caught the look her half-sister aimed at her. It resembled the way the lady looked at a new mare she was considering buying. Philipa turned to consider her and Anne lowered her head even as her temper began to simmer.

“Everyone, out! Except Anne, you stay.”

Joyce cast her a helpless look as she herded the rest of the maids out the door.

“Come here, Anne.” Philipa was in her element, her voice full of commanding authority.

Anne moved toward her without a scuff from her boots. She might be bound to serve the lady but she was not afraid of her. Fear was for children and fools.

“Remove your cap.”

The linen head covering was held in place by a thin strap running under her chin. There was a single button on the left side of it that kept the cap on her head and her hair out of sight. Removing it, she looked at the lady to see what she wanted. Philipa studied her for a long time, her eyes roaming over every detail.

“Leave.”

Replacing her cap, Anne made it halfway to the door before Philipa stopped her.

“Have you been attentive in your studies, girl?”

Turning back to face the lady, Anne answered, “Aye, lady.”

But not because of your dictates.

Her temper would be the worse for her but she couldn’t stop it from rising. Still, she studied hard because learning was something that was a skill. It resided inside her and could never be stripped away.

“Take yourself up to the books and remain there.”

Anne lowered her head because she didn’t trust her voice to be smooth or anywhere near respectful. Lady Mary getting married wasn’t any reason for the mistress to turn sour. Anyone with half a wit in their head had been expecting such an announcement for years. Having to be dragged home by her father—now that was reason for worry. Mary was fortunate her new husband didn’t know what a brat she was; otherwise she just might gain her wish and escape consummating the marriage. But that would brand her a spinster and the gossips would have a heyday with it. Suspicion would grow as everyone wondered why Mary was so loath to commit to a marriage that would gain her a better estate than her mother governed. With her dowry to join with her husband’s land, their children would live a better life than they did. It was a grand match.

Lady Mary was simply too childish to understand how food appeared on the table when she sat down for supper. Anne knew where the grain for every loaf of bread came from. She knew when the harvest was slim or the sheep not lambing as often as they should. It took a keen wit to balance everything and ensure there was enough stock to see the castle population through the winter. If you sold too much, there would be empty bellies. A true noblewoman was the mistress of the castle, shouldering the responsibilities of running the estate.

“What did she want?”

Joyce was hiding around the corner, the senior housekeeper wringing her apron as she waited to hear what had happened after she left the chamber.

“She ordered me to the books. I’d wager she plans to raid the coffers again for Mary’s wardrobe.”

“That tongue of yours came from your father. Only a noble would talk that way. Better have a care, girl; the mistress has no love for you.”

“I know it well.”

Joyce softened her stern look. “Oh, my lamb, I’m sorry as can be. She’s a mean-spirited one. You’ve been a faithful daughter. Your father should be proud of the way you give that sour cow her deference.”

Anne felt her face brighten. Her father was home. At least she might enjoy the secret that he’d be in her mother’s chambers tonight. He always came when he was home, much to Philipa’s disdain. Sometimes Anne suspected that he did it to annoy his fine-blooded wife.

After sunset

Anne hurried along the corridor; her duties had kept her late tonight. A smile brightened her face when she neared her mother’s chamber. It was on the far end of the castle, facing north. It could be a bit chilly in the winter but Ivy refused to leave it even when the earl suggested it.

Ivy didn’t want trouble. Her family had to live with Philipa while the lord was away at court. The lady had given her the chamber, so she would be content in it. Winter chill or not.

Anne opened the door. Yellow light shone out from several candles.

“There’s my girl. My wife claims you’re the worst maid she’d ever had to tolerate.”

“Good evening, Father.” Anne lowered her head, for once meaning the respectful gesture. Her sire nodded with approval. His face was unreadable for a long moment before he spread his arms wide.

Anne flew into his arms, laughing as he squeezed her tight. He released her and thumbed her nose.

“You’re a good girl to not complain. Nothing pleases my wife but ’tis not your fault.”

“I promise to try harder tomorrow, Father.”

The earl smiled. “I know you shall. Just as I know that Philipa will still be unsatisfied. But I am not here to talk about my wife.”

He laughed as he reached for Ivy. Drawing her close, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “I have missed you all very much.”

“Tell us about court, Father.” Bonnie, her parents’ youngest child, eagerly awaited her father’s tales.

The earl held up a thick finger. “I suppose I might tell you about the mask the Earl of Southampton presented last week…”

Bonnie wiggled with excitement. Anne enjoyed watching her younger sister. She reached for a dried fruit sitting on a plate. The humble table that often held only porridge and whey tonight offered fruits, scones and small beer. Brenda must have snuck the fruit tarts out of the kitchen in response to the tongue lashing Philipa had given her that morning. Such treats were only made for the mistress of the house but since the lady of the manor didn’t know the first thing about how to prepare a meal, her servants could retaliate by using more than they needed. Philipa would have a fit if she witnessed Anne’s children eating the same fine fare that was presented to her and Mary.

That fact made the tarts taste so much better.

Anne tried to reprimand herself for thinking so meanly but failed.

The rich fare made for a holiday humor but it was her father’s attention that all the occupants gorged on. The chamber was lit well into the night, laughter spilling beneath the doorjamb. When Anne finally sought her bed, her heart was full.

No, Philipa’s insults could never puncture such love as Anne had from her father. The mistress of the house might believe herself powerful but she could not break the bond Anne’s sire had with her.

Everyone had something distasteful to bear in life. Philipa’s disdain was hers to bear. It was nothing to worry about. It was, frankly, not important at all.

Sunrise

The Earl of Warwickshire swung up into his saddle with as much skill as any man riding with him. There were no fine clothes on him, but good English wool to keep the chill at bay. Anne watched from a second-floor window, the shutters pushed open, her sister Bonnie sharing the last view of their father.

“Do you think Father will bring you back a husband next time?”

Bonnie, at fourteen, was still unaware of the harsher realities of being born out of wedlock. Of course, the entire family went to great lengths to shelter her. Bonnie would grow up soon enough.

“I don’t know, sweet, but I will try not to worry. Father always takes care of us.”

Bonnie laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. “I think he shall bring you a knight. One who earned his spurs doing a noble deed for the queen and she dubbed him a knight with her own hands.”

Bonnie sighed, lost in girlish foolishness. Anne couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. Even she liked to believe that there was happiness for everyone. Tugging on Bonnie’s hair, she smiled at her.

“Maybe that knight is waiting for you to grow up.”

Bonnie’s eyes glittered as her chin dropped and her mouth hung open in surprise. “Do you really think he might?”

“I do. Every town from here unto London knows what a treasure you are. You will likely have to choose between suitors.”

“You are teasing me.” Bonnie’s lips twitched. “That isn’t very nice. I might become vain.”

“Now, sweet, I am but joining you in your daydream. You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you?”

Bonnie lifted a hand, waving to the earl. Their sire spurred his mount and started for the outer gate. Anne left her hands on the wooden window casing because she knew that her sire would not turn to look back. He never did. Philipa and Mary stood on the front steps, in their place as the ladies of the house. Her father never looked back at them when he left.

“You will have a husband, Anne, I dreamed it last night.”

Anne pulled the shutter closed, ensuring the lock was secure. Casting a glance down the hallway and back the other way, she shook her head at her sister.

“Bonnie, you know what Mother has told you about your dreams.”

Bonnie refused to be contrite. She raised her chin high in stubborn display.

“Well, I did dream it and I’m only telling you because you’re the one he’s coming for. By next spring you will have a baby growing in your belly. It will be a boy born before harvest moon. I saw it. Do not fear, you will not die.”

A shiver went down her spine as Anne stared at her sister. Bonnie had the sight. The whole family knew it and tried to cover it up. There were men who burned people at the stake for less. With the queen so old, the local magistrates wielded their power with iron fists.

“You told no one else?”

Bonnie shook her head. “You know I promised Mother I wouldn’t talk about my dreams. Only it was about you, and Mother did say no one outside the family, so I haven’t broken my word.”

“Very good, sweet, make sure you hold your tongue. Knights don’t like women who act like ravens, chattering all day long.”

“But he is coming for you, Anne. I saw him on a black steed. He has a huge sword that he wears on his back like the Scots we saw at the faire last spring.”

Anne shook her head. “Lady Mary is married by proxy to a Scot, not I. That is what you saw.”

“No, I saw you. I saw him riding into the lower courtyard looking for you. He has midnight eyes.”

There was a part of her that was tempted to listen to her sister, but Anne silenced it. Life was hard. Taking solace in girlish dreams wouldn’t help her. All that would do was make it harder to shoulder whatever burden Philipa placed upon her shoulders next. Joyce and the rest of the household staff could dream of love but not her. Bonnie would learn that soon enough. Their father’s blood was as much curse as blessing and there was no way that she might ever have a true love.

None.

McJames land

“You’re in a foul temper and that’s for sure. I thought this was what ye wanted.”

Brodick McJames snorted at his brother. Cullen snickered softly in return.

“I cannae marry for my own desires, Cullen. Her land borders ours. The dowry will increase McJames’ land. And it’s nae just land; it’s fertile, rich farms with water. If her father has no more legitimate children, the entire estate will someday pass into our hands.”

“Well, I still say ye sound mighty angry about it considering how good it is for everyone.” Cullen reached for an oat cake but he didn’t bite into it. “Maybe it’s the bedding that has you so worried. You know, Brother, not every man is as blessed as I am. You shouldnae be envious of my skill with the lasses. That’s a sin.”

“So is bragging.”

Cullen flashed his teeth at him. “Not so, I’m telling the truth. My cock is…”

“Save it for the lasses, Brother.”

Cullen laughed as did a few of the men sitting nearby. Brodick stood up, pacing away from their campsite. Cullen had the right of it; he was in a sullen mood for sure. Fetching his bride should have been a duty that he took to in a lighter frame of mind.

It was a fine match, to be sure.

Good for his people, good for his children, but that didn’t change the fact that he was dreading taking an English court lady back to his home. He’d been to the English court and would cheerfully go to his grave without ever setting foot in the place again. The women were conniving, deceitful creatures with more paint on their faces than the highlanders wore into battle. The dresses they wore were great hulking creations that hid the natural shape of a female, taking away any interest he might have had for them. Except for their breasts. His temper flared as he considered the way those court ladies had taken to painting their nipples because their dresses were cut so low that you could glimpse them. He wasn’t a jealous man by nature but neither would he wear the horns of cuckold. His English wife would display her nipples only to his eyes.

And that only fouled his temper further. Looking down onto the border, he cursed under his breath. In spite of their land joining, he and his intended bride were as different as night and day to one another. He wouldn’t allow her to behave shamefully and that would make her hate him. Their union held little hope of being peaceful much less pleasurable. Being the eldest, it was his duty and it weighed his shoulders down.

And Cullen didn’t know why he was foul tempered. With a snort, Brodrick kicked a rock. He was saddled by tradition to take a wife who would enhance his peoples’ lives. It was his lousy luck that that woman was going to be discontented in his home.

But he was the Earl of Alcaon.

Pride filled him as he drew a deep breath. Being an earl meant more than lowered heads as he passed. It was something he’d spent years earning the right to wear. His northern borders weren’t as peaceful as his southern ones. When his father had taken an ax to his leg during a skirmish, it had fallen to Brodick to lead the McJames’ retainers. In a lot of ways, he preferred battle to marriage. Stiffening his resolve, he looked down onto the English land that was shortly to become his.

In a way marriage was exactly like battle—only the strong became victorious. He’d claim his English bride and plant a McJames son in her belly so that the dowry would remain his. He was the McJames, a McJames who didn’t know how to lose.

Warwick Castle

“Lady Mary is taking a bath and you’re to attend her.”

Brenda the cook flung her words over the hissing of water as it was poured into twin copper jugs sitting on top of the stove. She poked the fire in the belly of the huge stove, adding a thick log.

“Wait for the water.”

Rubbing her eyes, Anne looked at the stove. The flames mesmerized her tired eyes as she resisted the urge to let them close for a few moments of needed rest.

“Here now. No napping for you.”

Anne laughed. “Oh ’twas a late night but a dear one.”

Brenda grinned. The water boiled and Anne placed a wooden yoke over her shoulders to carry the two pots.

“Off with you and don’t scald yourself.”

Keeping her steps tiny, Anne hurried up the stairs to the top floor. The ladies of the house bathed in their chambers, which called for the hauling of water. Steam rose from the copper jugs as she knocked on the servants’ door that would allow her to enter the lady’s chamber from a small side entrance. It was even a secret from most of the castle inhabitants, only known to those the housekeeper or cook allowed to be told.

“Enter.”

Mary was still completely dressed. Anne stared at her in confusion as she took the hot water toward the tub waiting near the fire. Lengths of linen were warming over a rack and more jugs of water were lined up on the floor for rinsing. Costly French soap was sitting on a silver tray, awaiting the lady.

“Bar the door, Mary.”

Mary looked as shocked as Anne did when Philipa spoke. The lady frowned at her daughter. “Hurry up. We need secrecy here. Not whispers among the staff. Unless you have changed your mind, Daughter, in which case, you may bathe.”

Mary shook her head and ran toward the door. She dropped the thick wooden beam across it before turning back around to stare at Anne.

“Dump that water, Anne.”

“Of course…” Anne clamped her jaw shut as she realized that she was speaking. Philipa’s eyes narrowed as a faint crimson colored her face. Anne reached for a jug, wrapping part of her skirt over the hot handle as she waited for the lady to blister her ears.

Nothing but the sound of water filled the chamber. Anne reached for the second jug and poured the hot water into the tub.

“Anne, take that dress off and get in.”

Turning around, Anne stared at the lady, certain she had misunderstood. Philipa was staring straight at her. The mistress glared at her with firm authority.

“You’re to bathe, Anne. Mary and I will help you.”

“Here?”

Anne didn’t care if her voice wasn’t properly smooth and meek. Philipa was clearly soaked with wine.

The lady snickered. It was an eerie sound that sent a shiver down her spine. There was a smile on her lips as Philipa clapped her hands.

“Yes, here. You will get in that bath and wash from head to toe. You are finally going to earn every silver shilling I have been forced to spend on your mother and her whelps. Disrobe. Now.”

Anne stared at the woman. Hate was an ugly thing and it distorted Philipa’s face. She now understood why the lady looked nothing like her portrait; her soul was rotten from hatred.

“Disrobe, Anne. You are going to take Mary’s place with this Scots earl.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Anne spoke simply because shock kept her from tempering her response.

Mary gasped at the tone of her voice but Anne spared her little attention. Philipa smiled at her. A slow curving of her lips that sent a shiver down Anne’s spine.

“You think not? You shall do my bidding or I shall turn your mother out. Tonight.”

Anne gasped, horror flooding her. “My father will not allow such a thing.”

“My husband is not here and if I turn your mother out, she’ll be dead long before he returns.”

Raising a hand to cover her mouth, Anne hid her disgust behind it. “That’s murder, my lady. A deadly sin.”

“I call it justice.” Philipa shook with her rage. She recovered and raised an eyebrow. “It is a simple thing to avoid. Mary is gently bred and has no stomach for a man’s touch. You, on the other hand, are the spawn of a light skirt so enduring a few nights with a man using your flesh should not be too difficult for you.”

“My mother is a leman. She has no other lovers.”

Philipa waved her hand, dismissing her words. “If she’s a woman of some character, all the better. I expect that you might have been raised with some sense of responsibility if your mother is as honorable as you say.”

Philipa reached for the strap holding Anne’s linen cap in place. She popped the button open and pulled it off her head. “You will bathe and dress as I direct you.”

“I cannot.” Anne’s voice did not shake only because of a lifetime of not arguing with the lady of the house.

Philipa snorted at her. “You shall. And mind me well, miss, you will play the part to perfection if you do not wish for your siblings to suffer unkind fates.”

Anne felt her eyes widen. Philipa snickered as she noticed the horror on Anne’s face.

“Now I have your attention. You will take Mary’s place, or I shall see your two sisters wed before dark to the meanest men I can find! As for your brothers, I know a few prostitutes who need husbands. We need to think of their Christian souls. Marriage might be just what they need to make them repent their whoring ways.”

“You are despicable.” Anne refused to hold her tongue. Even God wouldn’t condemn her for stating something so true.

“I am the lady of this house and my word is law.”

Philipa waited, her eyes glittering with triumph. She pointed at the bathtub, her face set like stone.

“I am not a liar. I wouldn’t know how to deceive a man.”

Philipa waved her hand again. “There will be no need for lies. You are the earl’s daughter. You are being sent to the Scot’s bed. Simply keep your mouth shut and all will be well. When you find yourself with child, you will beg to come home to have your mother at your side when the birthing time comes. You see? Simple.”

“Surely you do not believe this earl to be so slow witted as to not notice you have changed his wife for another.”

Philipa waved her hand again. “The man is a Scot. I wouldn’t expect a servant to understand but they are war-loving people. He’ll likely plow you a few times, make sure you’re breeding, and take off for more war among their clans. No man has any interest in a pregnant wife and Scots prefer their women uncivilized. He’s got a mistress for sure, and your bed won’t hold any interest to him once he knows his child is planted in your womb. By the time the babe is born and he comes to see his son, it will be more than a year. Changing places will be easy. The man will not even remember what color eyes you have. Besides, you and Mary look very similar. Mark my words, girl, you’d better set your mind to producing a son.”

“I can’t be a part of such a foul scheme. My father has bound Mary to this man.”

“And I am giving him a daughter, a different daughter, yet still his child. As lady of this house, I can do that.”

“You aren’t given the power to lie about it. Dishonesty is a mortal sin.”

Philipa frowned. “Make your choice, madam. Shuck your dress and bathe or prepare to watch your mother walking out of the gate while your siblings are bound to remain in the castle. The charge of theft should be enough to convince the guards to throw her into the road. With your father at court, whom do you think the captain will believe? The lady of the house, or you?”