Betrayed

Chapter 1

The silvery blue mists hung in streamers over the late summer field where the shaggy, large-horned cattle browsed placidly in the light of early dawn. The clansmen, hidden in the shadows of the tree line, watched as a lone figure moved carefully among the beasts, separating Several of the creatures from the main herd and driving them off in the Opposite direction.

"He's a cheeky devil," Jamie Gordon remarked softly, and not without some small admiration, to his eldest brother, the laird of Loch Brae.

Angus Gordon's eyes narrowed, a certain sign of his acute annoyance. Then he said in a cold, measured voice, "He'll be with his master in hell before the sun reaches the mid-heavens this day. Loose the dogs!"

Freed of their leads, the canines leapt forward, barking and baying frantically as they scattered the cattle in their desire to chase after the intruder violating their master's pasture. It was a mixed pack. Smooth-coated greyhounds, as gray as the skies above, and darker, wiry-coated deerhounds, bigger, bulkier dogs capable of bringing down a man on the run.

"After him, laddies," the laird called to his men. "We'll hang the thieving bastard from the nearest tree when we catch him!"

The Loch Brae clansmen moved from the shelter of the trees, running across the meadow after the now fleeing cattle thief, who was making for the forest on the far side of the fields. The clansmen knew their best chance of catching the thief was before he reached the safety of the woodlands, but their quarry knew it, too. That knowledge added speed to his desperate flight. He ran as if wings had been attached to his heels.

"God's boots!" the laird swore violently as the thief disappeared into the trees, the dogs close on his heels. "We've likely lost him."

"The dogs could still bring him down, Angus," his brother said hopefully. "Let's follow a bit further."

The laird shook his head as they ran. There was a stream not far into the woods, and if the thief was familiar with this territory, which he surely was, he'd head straight for it. The dogs would lose the track. Nonetheless he led his clansmen into the trees. Ahead of them the dogs continued to bay and then suddenly stopped. Almost immediately there was the sound of barking and whining.

"They've lost him," the laird said, irritated. "He has gone to water."

They came upon the dogs, milling about at the brook's edge. Jamie Gordon dashed across the stream, seeking to discover where the thief had exited the bank, but he was unable to find any tracks. Shaking his head, he crossed back over to his brother.

The laird was moving slowly along the bank, his eyes lowered. Surely the fleeing felon would have left some mark in the soft earth. Finally Angus smiled wryly. "Our thief is experienced at evading pursuit," he said thoughtfully. "Interesting." He signaled to his men. "Spread out upon both sides of the stream, and see if we can pick up the bastard's track. He canna have vanished into thin air."

For some time the Gordon clansmen moved carefully along the swiftly flowing water, but no trace could be found of their prey.

"Where could he have gone?" Jamie asked.

The laird shrugged. "We have saved the cattle," he said, "and while I should have liked to have hung the pilferer, I must be satisfied to have prevented their loss, Jamie-boy. Let's go home." Calling to his men, he turned and made his way out of the woodland, the clansmen following. When they had again reached the laird's pasture, however, Angus Gordon burst out swearing.

"Jesu! Mary!" he said angrily.

"Angus, what is it?" his brother asked.

"Look, Jamie-boy! The herd is short by eight head. God's boots! The son of a bitch doubled back!" Then comprehension dawned in his eyes. "No wonder we could not find a trace of him. He hid himself up in the trees. That great branch over the water! Of course! He went into the stream, throwing the dogs off, and swung himself up into the trees. That's why there was no trace of him, the clever devil. I have been a ruddy fool! We have been neatly diddled." He turned to his head herdsman. "How many does that make in the last twelve-month, Donal?"

"An even dozen, my lord," the herdsman answered. "Four last autumn, and now eight today. 'Tis bold, our thief is."

"Aye," the laird agreed grimly. "Bold as newly polished brass and a wee bit too clever for my taste, but mayhap not clever enough. The ground is yet damp from yesterday's rain. Not wet enough to betray our fleet-footed robber, but certainly damp enough for the heavy-footed beasties he'll be driving to make their mark in the earth. I'll wager we can track my cattle now. We'll give our thief a good bit of time to believe he has managed to outfox us; then we'll see if we can find his trail and follow it to his lair. I want him to have time to reach his destination. I don't want my cows stampeding among the trees and doing themselves an injury."

The laird, his brother, and their men settled themselves down to wait for a time. Pipes were lit. Oatcakes and flasks of cider were pulled forth and consumed. The talk was low. Finally Angus Gordon rose to his feet. He stretched his length in leisurely fashion.

" 'Tis time," he told the others, and they all got to their feet obediently, pipes knocked free of ash, flasks empty. "All right now, laddies, let's go!" the laird said. "A silver piece to the man who first finds the trail!" The clansmen spread out and shortly found the track of the laird's pilfered cattle. It led back into the forest at a different point, and across the same stream their earlier quarry had half forded. Then they began to climb a barely discernible path up the ben. The imprint of the cows' hooves was visible in the ground. A fine rain had begun to fall, but the trail clearly led to this path, and there was no other way but the way that they went. The woodlands were thick with the summer's green growth.

"Donal"-the laird turned to his chief herdsman-"where does this trail lead? Do ye know?"

"These be the lands of the Hays of the Ben, my lord," Donal replied, "but that old devil, Dugald Hay, and his wife, God assoil her good soul, are both long dead. I heard they had bairns at one time, but 1 don't know anyone who has ever seen them. I canna even be certain there is anyone left of that family."

"There is someone left, for they've taken my cattle," the laird replied grimly, "and when I catch the thief, we'll hang him as a lesson to all who would think to steal Gordon cattle."

Suddenly the pathway opened into a clearing on the edge of the mountain. Nestled against the top of the ben was a stone tower house. Beyond it was a barn built of the same material. And there was a small meadow in which eight cattle were grazing placidly. The laird of Loch Brae smiled, well pleased to have found his property, for he had no doubt it was his property. Now he had but to find the thief and punish him. Leading his clansmen, he walked boldly up to the sturdy oak door of the tower house and pounded upon it with his clenched fist. It opened almost immediately.

"My lord?" Before him stood a little old woman with sharp brown eyes. Her gown was clean, if well worn. Despite her size, she most successfully blocked his entry.

"I am the laird of Loch Brae," Angus Gordon said loftily. "I wish to see yer master."

"Well, ye canna see him unless yer willing to go to hell, and if ye did, 'tis unlikely from the look of ye that the devil would let ye come back," the old woman said sharply. "Dugald Hay be dead these past five years, my lord. Now I'll ask ye again, what is yer business here?"

"Who are ye?" the laird demanded, refusing to be intimidated by the old woman, especially in front of his clansmen, although he would wager that many were cowed by her.

"I am Flora Hay, the housekeeper here at Hay Tower. Whatever it is ye want, we don't have it!"

"How do ye know what I want?" the laird said, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He was curious as to who, or what, the old dragon was protecting as she stood so defiantly barring his way.

"I don't know what ye want," Flora told him, "but whatever it is, 'tis not here, my lord. As ye can surely see, there is little here of any value." She curtsied and attempted to close the door on him.

Angus Gordon swiftly placed his booted foot in the door, preventing her. " 'Tis a fine herd of cattle ye have in yon field," he said.

Flora nodded. "Aye."

"And just where did ye get such fine cattle?" he asked her.

"Get? We didn't get the cattle, my lord. We raised them. They are all we have, and are to be used to dower two of my young mistresses," Flora told him, looking straight at Angus Gordon without so much as a blink.

"These lasses are Dugald Hay's get?"

"Aye."

"And how many lasses did that devil's spawn beget?" the laird demanded.

"Flora! Flora! For shame! Don't keep the laird of Loch Brae standing on the doorstep. Ask him into the hall for a cup of cider." A young female had appeared behind the housekeeper. She was tall for a girl, and almost too slender. She wore a simple wool gown, dark in color, and draped across her chest was the red and green Hay plaid, which was fastened to her shoulder with a rather fine silver brooch. "I am Fiona Hay, my lord, the eldest child of Dugald Hay and his wife, Muire," she said quietly.

It was impossible not to stare. Fiona Hay was absolutely lovely. Her hair was the color of a raven's wing, with the faint hint of a blue sheen. She was very, very fair of skin. Her features were perfectly set in a heart-shaped face. She had small white teeth, a slim, elegant, straight nose, a lush mouth, and a pair of oval-shaped emerald-green eyes, fringed in thick dark lashes, that were looking directly at him.

"A-Angus Gordon, mistress," the laird finally managed to grate out, tearing his gaze from the girl.

"And yer business with the Hays of the Ben, my lord?" she asked him coolly, ushering him into the tower house.

"I want my cattle back, lady," he said bluntly.

She turned her emerald-green eyes on him, saying as she did, "I don't have yer cattle, my lord. Why would ye think I have yer cattle?" Her tone was deceptively innocent. She led him up the stairs into the hall. "Flora, cider for the laird."

"There are eight head of cattle in yer meadow, mistress," Angus Gordon said evenly as his brother and clansmen entered the hall behind them. "Eight head of cattle were stolen from my herd this very morning. The trail led up the ben to yer meadow, where eight head of cattle now graze. Ye don't have to be clever to solve such a puzzle."

"The cattle in the meadow belong to me, my lord," Fiona said calmly. "They are my twin sisters' dowry. I am sorry ye have lost yer beasts, but those in my meadow are not they."

How could anyone look so sweet and innocent and be so bold a creature, the laird wondered. He knew damned well that the cattle in the field beyond the tower house were his. She knew it, too, yet she could look directly at him and lie without a quiver. She was obviously her father's daughter. Of that he had no doubt, but it would shortly be settled. ' 'My brother has just examined the cows for a specific marking that all my cattle bear. If the cattle bear that marking, then there can be no doubt that they are mine," Angus Gordon told her sternly.

"The cattle are mine," Fiona Hay said sweetly. "I mark each of our beasts by nicking them on their left ear."

He was astounded. This was the sauciest wench he had ever met in all of his life! "What a most odd coincidence," he replied through gritted teeth. "My cattle are marked in the exact same way."

"Then it is simply my word against yers, Angus Gordon," she said in a dulcet tone.

"Ye know verra well that the cattle are mine, mistress," he responded angrily. "They are mine, and I mean to take them back!"

“The cattle are mine,'' Fiona responded, but then her voice softened. "My younger sisters, Elsbeth and Margery, are to be wed tomorrow. Each brings her bridegroom four cattle apiece, my lord. Would ye ruin the only chance these poor lasses have to be respectably married?"

He had not yet gotten his cider, and he badly needed it, he decided. His own men were crowded about, listening avidly to the exchange between their chieftain and the lovely girl. He could see that their sympathies lay with the girl, not because they were disloyal but because Fiona Hay was fair, orphaned, and obviously doing her best by her family. Or so it would appear. He muttered a dark curse under his breath.

"Yer cider, my lord," Flora said, shoving a tarnished silver goblet into his hand while casting him a black and disapproving look.

"Jamie-boy, the cattle?" he asked his brother.

James Gordon nodded in the affirmative. "Left ears, all notched," he said cheerfully. "They could be ours, Angus."

"Could?" The laird shouted at his younger brother. "Could?"

"Well, Angus," Jamie replied, nonplussed by the outburst, "if Mistress Hay notches her cattle on the left ear as we do, then who can tell whose cattle they are, unless, of course, the beasties could talk."

The clansmen in the hall chuckled, only to be silenced by a fierce glare from their master.

"Angus." James Gordon spoke low so that only his brother might hear him. "Don't be so stony-hearted. If the cattle are indeed ours, then the lassie was damned clever to have stolen them from beneath our very noses. Ye have more cattle than ye can count. Without them her sisters will not get their husbands. Ye canna take them back now. Besides, there is the chance they might be hers, and then ye would do a great injustice to the Hays."

"The cattle are mine," Angus said in a near whisper to James. "For God's sake, Jamie-boy, look about ye. 'Tis a poor excuse for a chieftain's house, this tumbling-down tower. And look to the girl. Beautiful, but as thin as a sapling, and the old woman, too. I will wager there is nothing in the stable even worth stealing. Did ye look?"

"An ancient plow horse and a pony, both as thin as their mistress."

"Then how, ask yerself, could they have a herd of eight fat cattle?" the laird said reasonably. "The cattle are mine. If I allow the lass to steal them and I don't punish her, or at least collect payment for them, every petty thief in the district will come to try and steal my cattle. I will forgo punishing her, for she is but a lassie, but she certainly canna give me their worth in any kind. So I have no choice but to take them back."

"At least give her the option of purchasing them," softhearted James said.

"Yer a kind lad, Jamie-boy," his elder brother said. Then he turned back to Fiona Hay. "The cattle are mine, Mistress Hay. We both know that is the truth of the matter. I will argue it with you no more. If, however, ye wish to purchase the beasts from me, I will gladly sell them to ye." He looked her directly in the eye.

She stared back. Tall with a hard-looking frame he was, Fiona Hay thought. Hair as black as hers, and green eyes, too, but a dark green, not the emerald of her own eyes. He couldn't take the cattle, she thought desperately. He couldn 't! Not with Walter Innes and Colin Forbes coming on the morrow to wed her sisters. Why had she waited until the last minute to steal the damned beasts? If only she'd taken them two at a time over the last few months, but the truth was she hadn't the means to feed them. The cattle would have lost weight if they had been in her care for too long. She couldn't offer her prospective brothers-in-law scrawny cattle. She had attempted to take the creatures last week, but the cowherd's dog had set up a barking to wake the dead. She supposed that was what had alerted the laird of Loch Brae to watch his cattle more closely. What on earth was she to do?

"Well, Mistress Hay? Will ye buy my cattle, or will I drive them back down the ben to their own meadow?" Angus Gordon demanded.

A proposal, outrageous but possibly workable, entered Fiona's mind at that moment. He could not accept, but he would certainly be shamed by it and leave her in peace. "I have only one thing of value that I might give ye in exchange for the cattle, my lord," she told him, refusing to admit even now that they were his. "It is my most precious possession. Will ye have it?"

"Take it!" James hissed at his elder sibling. "Honor will be satisfied, and none will call ye weak, Angus."

"I would know what this valuable property is first, Jamie-boy," the laird told his brother. He looked again at Fiona. "What is this most precious possession that ye would offer me in exchange for my cattle, Mistress Hay? A dozen head of cattle don't come cheap, lass."

"Eight, my lord," Fiona replied softly.

"Twelve, including the ones you stole from me last autumn," he answered her as softly, his eyes meeting hers.

"Twenty head total. I'll need eight more head to dower my two youngest sisters, but they're only seven and ten years of age now, so I would not want them until Jean and Morag are old enough to wed. I canna feed them."

She was the most outrageous lass he had ever encountered, Angus Gordon thought again, amused in spite of himself. She audaciously stole his cattle, yet when caught, attempted to bargain with him for more of them. He was not as hard-hearted as Jamie thought, but if he allowed the girl to evade the consequences for her thievery, he'd have no end of trouble. He managed to keep the look on his handsome face severe, but it was not easy. His brother was right. Fiona Hay was a very clever wench. However, he was no fool. "Twenty head of cattle is a costly amount, Mistress Hay. Ye must be certain that what ye offer me in exchange for them has an equal or even greater value. Just what do ye propose to give me in exchange for my beasties?"

"My maidenhead," Fiona said quietly, her gaze never leaving his. She stood tall and proud and defiant.

"Jesu!"

The laird's amazement was evidenced only in a slight widening of his dark green eyes. It was the most brazen proposal he had ever heard. Then he realized that the girl did not expect him to accept her offer. He was obviously supposed to be so taken aback by her boldness that he would demur and depart, leaving her with his cattle. He smiled wolfishly at her. "I accept yer offer, Mistress Hay. Yer maidenhead in exchange for twenty head of my cattle. It seems a fair bargain, although I think ye may have gotten the better of me."

He had accepted her! Fiona grew very pale with shock. What kind of a man was he that he had accepted her? What kind of a fool had she been to have even made such an offer? The laird of Loch Brae spit into his palm and held it out to her. Her knees were suddenly threatening to give out on her. The Hays of the Ben might be poor, but they were honorable, or so her mam had always said, and Fiona had no choice now, lest she bring disgrace upon her family name. Spitting into her own palm, she reached out and shook his hand. "Done, my lord!" she told him, never once looking away, although her stomach was roiling with nervousness.

"Oh, no, Fi! Ye canna do it!" two young voices cried in unison.

The two girls pushed through the Gordon clansmen to where their elder sibling stood. They were auburn haired, amber eyed, and identical in features. Their distress was more than evident.

"The bargain is now struck, sisters," Fiona said.

"But if ye give him yer maidenhead, who will have ye to wife one day?" asked Elsbeth, tears in her bright eyes.

"If I don't give him my maidenhead, who will have ye to wife, Elsbeth? Or Margery either?" Fiona asked. "The Forbeses and the Inneses will have their dowries or they will not have ye, I fear. Besides, by the time I see Jeannie and Morag safely wed, I'll be much too old to marry. I won't mind growing old here upon the ben." She patted her sisters, comforting them as best she could.

"But what if he gives ye a child?" asked Margery.

"The Gordons take care of their own, Mistress Hay," the laird reassured her. "If yer sister bears my bairn, I will not desert either of them."

The twins began to weep simultaneously.

"Flora," their elder sibling said, "take my sisters to our chamber and stay with them until I call for ye."

The older woman shepherded the two girls off, alternately scolding and cooing at them as they went. "Now, hush, ye two. Up the stairs with ye! Embarrassing yer sister. And her so brave and only looking out for yer happiness."

"Tam, where are ye?" Fiona called out to Flora's husband.

"Here, mistress." An old man shoved through the clansmen.

"Have we cider enough to quench the thirsts of all these men?"

"Aye," he answered dourly.

"Down the stairs and outside with ye, laddies," the laird ordered his men. "Tam will bring ye cider. Refresh yerselves while Mistress Hay and I make final our arrangement. Ye, too, Jamie-boy." Angus didn't need James appealing to his conscience.

When the hall had emptied, Fiona invited the laird to sit by the fire. "I canna offer ye wine," she told him honestly. "I have but two barrels left in the cellar. The Forbeses and the Inneses are mighty drinkers."

He nodded and raised the goblet. “This cider will be fine. The weddings are tomorrow?" He settled himself by the hearth, but the blaze was small, offering little warmth.

"Aye, Colin Forbes is to wed Margery, and Walter Innes will wed Elsbeth. They'll be here with their clansmen and pipers early in the day. A priest is coming from the abbey at Glenkirk to perform the ceremony. We don't have our own priest. My father didn't like priests, although my mother insisted on calling one each time she gave birth so we might be baptized, or buried. When she died giving birth to our Morag, he would not send for the priest. Morag is not baptized, nor was our mam shriven before she was buried. When our father died, I didn't call the priest for him, though he begged me to do so," she said with a fierce satisfaction. “I shall ask the priest to baptize wee Morag tomorrow after my sisters are wed. 'Tis not right she be a heathen."

"Ye’ll come with me to Brae Castle after the weddings," the laird told her. "And yer two little sisters, and the old servants. They can't remain here, Fiona Hay. I'm amazed this tower has not fallen in by now. Ye’ll all be safe with me." What on earth was he letting himself in for? Angus Gordon wondered. But of course he could not leave the two elderly servants alone to care for the two small girls in a dwelling about to tumble down about their ears.

"This is my home, my lord," Fiona said proudly. "It may not be as fine as yers, but I won't abandon it. Ye haven't the right to ask me. I have offered ye only my maidenhead. Though I know nothing about the business, ye can only take it once, I believe."

Angus Gordon had to laugh. She was as bold as brass, though he suspected she was afraid, even if she wouldn't show it. "Don't think for a moment, lassie, that I intend letting ye off for yer offenses, for I will not, but a maidenhead, even a royal one, is scarce worth twenty head of my cattle. Ye’ll come back to Loch Brae with me and live there as my mistress until 1 deem that ye have worked off yer debt to me," he told her. "I'm a fair man, Fiona Hay. Yer sisters will live with ye, and yer servants, too. They will be well treated. I will care for them as if they were my own family. You will have regular meals, for if the bairns are as thin as ye and the two brides, then good food will not be amiss."

"We don't need yer charity!" Fiona cried.

"Charity? Nay, lassie, 'tis not charity. Ye’ll pay me back for every penny, I promise ye." Reaching out, he took her hand, smiling slightly at her startled look when his fingers enclosed hers. "How old are ye, Fiona Hay?"

"Fifteen," she told him. Her hand trembled in his.

"When did yer mam die? I remember her long ago. She was to have been my father's second wife. The twins are her mirror image, but for their brown eyes."

"She died when Morag was born. I was but eight, but I became the woman of the house then," Fiona told him. "Our father died when I was ten."

He was astounded. Except for her two old retainers, she had been alone up here, raising her sisters since she was ten years old. "How did ye manage to make matches for yer sisters?"

"We went to the games last summer," she told him. "Anne met Duncan Keith there, and they were married last autumn. Margery and Elsbeth met Colin and Walter then, but they were too young until now to wed. Thirteen is a good age to marry, I think. Anne will not be here tomorrow, for her bairn is due to be born soon, and she has not been wed even a year. Duncan is verra pleased that she is such a good breeder."

He smiled at her. "Yer mother was, too."

"Aye, but Mam only birthed live daughters. Her three sons were born dead, or died soon after birth. 'Twas my grandmam's curse on our father, ye see," Fiona told him solemnly. " 'Tis why ye have the glen lands that belonged to my grandfather Hay. Did ye know him?"

"Aye. Ye didn't?"

''My father would not allow us to go into the glen, or our mam either, after he took her forcibly from her parents," Fiona explained. "He said our grandfather was a stubborn old man who would not see reason and would give away Hay lands rather than admit that he was wrong. He never forgave our grandfather and cursed him with his dying breath."

"Ewan Hay never forgave yer father for stealing his daughter away, but he was a fair man, proud and good. He would have liked ye, lassie, although I don't think he would have approved of yer bold ways."

"Would he approve of yer bold bargain with me, my lord?" Fiona asked him slyly. "I may be brazen, but I have done what I had to do in order to see to my sisters' futures. They have only me to look after them and protect them."

"Ye’ll not shame me, Fiona Hay, with yer goodness," he teased her. "Ye must see, however, that I canna allow ye to go unpunished for yer crimes against me. If I did, I should open myself up to all sorts of difficulties from our neighbors, who would think me a weakling. I must help to keep this region peaceful for the time when the king returns to Scotland. I canna do that if I am thought ineffectual or craven. No, lassie, ye'll have to pay the piper."

"Do we have a king?" she asked, surprised. "I thought the Duke of Albany was our ruler."

"He was regent in the king's name, for King James has been held captive in England since before ye were born," he explained. "When the duke died two years ago, his son, Murdoch, took his place, but he is a weak fool. Negotiations are under way even now to bring the king home at last. I have spent time in England with the king. We are kin. Both our grandmothers were Drummonds."

Fiona managed to extract her hand from the laird's gentle but firm grasp. It was difficult to think, she found, when she could feel the heat of his skin. "Why has the king been in England instead of here in Scotland, my lord?" Her curiosity was overcoming her nervousness.

"Because he was captured by the English when he was but a wee lad. Ye see, his father, old King Robert, was not a strong king. He was past fifty when he came to the throne, neither sturdy of body nor majestic of presence, and he was given to deep black moods. He was truly unfit to govern, but he was a decent prince, and 'twas thought it better to proceed with the coronation. After he was crowned, however, his brother, the Earl of Fife, was made Governor of the Realm by the lords. There was much corruption, with lawlessness increasing daily. The king, a good man even if he was ineffectual, finally recommenced his responsibilities with much urging from the queen, Annabella Drummond, my grandmother's own sister. For the next few years he tried to rule,

but 'twas not easy, for the high lords were used to having their own way.

"Then, two years before the queen died, she attempted a small coup. She saw the danger her brother-in-law posed. She wanted to be certain the oldest of her sons was secure in his position as heir to Scotland. The eldest of the royal sons, Prince David, was created Duke of Rothesay, and made Lieutenant of the Realm. The king's brother, however, objected so strenuously that the king felt he had to name him Duke of Albany. The queen died. Then David Stewart died mysteriously while he was with his uncle.

"The king feared for his only surviving son, Prince James. He decided to send him to France for safety's sake. Unfortunately, the merchant ship upon which the prince traveled was captured by the English. The wee prince was sent to King Henry. The shock of learning of his son's capture killed old King Robert. His uncle, now Scotland's ruler, didn't try verra hard to regain the laddie's person, which was, perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. He surely would have killed the little king. The English, however, took good care of the lad."

"So now the king is coming home to Scotland?"

"Aye, he is. And Scotland will be the better for it, lassie. King James is a strong man. He'll keep a tight rein on his kingdom."

"He'll not be able to tell the clans what to do," Fiona said wisely. "The old chieftains don't like being told what to do. My father always said that those in the south never understood those of us here in the hills. And those in the highlands, he said, were even more independent. No king can rule all of Scotland in truth, I fear, my lord."

"King James will do his best," Angus Gordon said, allowing himself a small smile at her rather astute assessment of the political climate in their country. It seemed that as each year passed, the peoples in the south and those in the north grew further and further apart.

Old Tam came in, bringing a pitcher of cider. He refilled the laird's cup and poured one for his mistress, then disappeared again.

"You know the king," she mused.

"The English didn't mind the visits, for in a sense all of us who came to be with the young king were hostages for Scotland's good behavior. We came to keep company with our liege lord and to be certain he did not forget his own country, for the English captured him when he was verra young." He suddenly changed the subject. "Where am I to sleep tonight?"

"Surely ye don't mean to-" Fiona stopped, pale of cheek. "Not tonight!''

"Jesu, no, lassie!" Looking closely at her, he said, "Yer a sly wench, Fiona Hay. If I find yer not a virgin, I'll kill ye, I promise ye. Do ye swear to me that ye never have been with a man?"

"I am a virgin, my lord, and not dishonest, I promise ye. It's just that the house is small. My sisters and I sleep in the room above the hall, while Flora and Tam have their bed in the attic above us. Ye may sleep in the hall by the fire. There is no other place for ye but the stable. Yer men may rest there."

"When I take ye to my bed, Fiona Hay," he told her seriously, "it will be a pleasant experience for ye, I promise-and ye will not be afeared." He tipped her face up, looking intently at her with his dark green eyes. "Yer a pretty lass, but I see none of yer mam in ye."

"I look like my father, I am told," Fiona replied. "It is not surprising, for I was conceived, my mother told me, the day of her marriage to my father. She didn't love him, ye know, nor he her. He wanted her for the glen, but he didn't get it. He loved me, or so he said, for I was his firstborn, but then when my sisters kept coming and my brothers kept dying, he became impossibly cruel. The night our Morag was born, he took one look at her and howled his outrage. My mother lay dying, yet she somehow found the strength to laugh at him. He had taken her from the only man she always told me she loved, and only for the glen, but in the end she beat him, and he knew it. I believe my mam died a happy woman, my lord."

"My father never stopped loving her," he said, releasing her chin from his hold.

"I might have been yer sister," she said softly.

"But ye are not my sister, Fiona Hay. Yer a defiant little thief who will shortly be my mistress, though why I even accepted yer offer I'll never know. Ye will, I suspect, be more trouble than ye are worth. Still"-he chuckled-"ye'll not bore me, I'm thinking."

"No, my lord, I'll not bore ye."

He wasn't certain whether her words were a threat or a promise, and that in itself was intriguing. Standing, he stretched his long frame. "I must see to my men, Fiona Hay. May I take supper with ye?"

She nodded. "Ye may, and yer brother, too, my lord."

Finding Jamie, he proffered the invitation, but his brother refused.

"I want to return to Brae Castle and bring back our piper for the wedding," Jamie explained.

"Also bring back two casks of my best wine and two sheep ready for roasting, Jamie-boy. Mistress Hay will not be embarrassed by the scantness of her hospitality tomorrow. If I am to have the responsibility of the lass and her sisters, a poor reception would reflect badly on the Gordons of Loch Brae. Go now, and come right back in the morning, for the bridegrooms are due early."

Angus Gordon joined the Hay sisters for supper. It was a simple meal of rabbit stew, bread, and cheese, but it was served upon a polished high board on pewter plates with silver spoons. Fiona, very well mannered to his surprise, had introduced him formally to the two brides-to-be, Elsbeth and Margery. Then she had presented him to her two younger sisters, Jean, who was ten, and Morag, who was seven. Like the twins, Jean was auburn haired and amber eyed. She had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her elegant little nose.

"Are ye really going to make my sister yer mistress?" she asked him bluntly.

"Aye," he drawled, amused. Turning to Fiona, he inquired, "Are all the Hay women as brazen as ye, lassie?" To his great amazement he saw that Fiona had blushed at her sister's inquiry.

"Jeannie, mind yer tongue!" she scolded her sibling.

"Well, Margery says ye are," Jean replied. "Didn't ye think we ought to know such a thing, Fi?"

Fiona ignored the query and introduced the youngest of the sisters. "This is our wee Morag, my lord."

Morag Hay was but a younger version of her eldest sister. Her emerald-green eyes surveyed the laird of Loch Brae. Then, following Jeannie's example, she curtsied carefully. "How do ye do, my lord," she lisped prettily.

"I do very well indeed, lassie," he answered her, enchanted.

Morag favored him with a brilliant smile, and when he grinned back at her she giggled. It was a wonderful sound, like water tripping over small rocks on a clear bright day.

"She does not usually take to strangers, particularly men," Fiona observed, surprised. "She isn't used to men. By the time she could distinguish between men and women, most of my father's clansmen had run off back to their relatives in the glen."

"I was raised with two sisters, and they have daughters, although not as old as Mistress Morag. I believe yer sisters will like Brae Castle," he told Fiona. "It is set upon a small island in the loch, and connected to the shore by a causeway. The lasses can learn to swim, and row their own boats."

"Ye speak as if we have some permanent arrangement," Fiona said to him, "and we don't, my lord."

"For now it is permanent. Afterwards, who knows? No matter, I don't believe yer grandfather, Ewan Hay, would approve of my leaving ye here upon the ben now that I've found ye. I think if he had but known ye, the lands in the glen would have been yers, and ye an heiress. Yer father was not just a cruel man; he was a foolish one as well, I fear. Ye could easily be in danger now that so many are aware of yer existence. Keiths, Innes, and Forbes all know ye live here upon the ben, alone and unprotected with but two elderly servants. Any of them could attack ye and steal yer lands, poor as they may be. Ye and yer sisters will be safer with me. Tomorrow I will make certain that yer brothers-in-law and their clansmen know that ye are under the protection of the laird of Loch Brae."

"I wonder, my lord, who is more dangerous? My brothers-in-law or ye?"

Angus laughed. Then, reaching out, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "In due time, Fiona Hay, ye will learn the answer to yer question. For now I would but ask that ye trust me." He kissed the hand in his, turning it over to press his lips upon her upturned palm, his eyes never leaving hers.

Fiona felt as if she had been struck in the belly. She couldn't breathe, and she could feel her heart leap suddenly, then pound wildly in her ears. Startled, she pulled her hand away.

He gave her a slow smile. "Don't be afraid, lassie," he murmured so only she might hear him, and not be embarrassed. "I will not hurt ye. Harming ye is the furtherest thing from my mind." This morning, he thought to himself, suddenly bemused as to his softening in attitude, he had wanted to hang the thief who had stolen his cattle. Now all he wanted to do was cover her face with kisses. What sorcery was this wench practicing upon him? She had made a bold bargain with him that he fully intended she keep. She would pay in full for the cattle she had so daringly pilfered from his meadows. There would be no escape for Fiona Hay from Angus Gordon's bed.

Fiona arose quickly from the high board and shepherded her sisters up the stairs to their chamber. "We'll have to waken early so we can bathe. Ye’ll not go to yer husbands dirty," she added, looking at the brides-to-be.

"He's verra bonnie," Elsbeth remarked as the door to their chamber closed behind them.

"Who?" Fiona asked.

Elsbeth laughed. "The laird, ye witless fool."

"He has the look of a rogue," Margery said primly.

"I like him," Morag said.

Jean looked thoughtful. "I wonder if he'll give us our own ponies? I'm going to like living at Brae Castle."

"How can ye be certain? Ye've never even seen it," Fiona said.

"It will be warm and dry, and we'll get to eat regularly," Jean said, thinking practically. "I'll like it!"

Fiona felt guilty at her sister's words but then wondered why she should. She had done her best for her siblings, especially in the years since their father had died. But it was true that Jeannie was always hungry and complaining about it, whereas the others, if they were also hungry, had not whined and fussed. "Wash yer faces and get out of yer clothes," she ordered the girls. "Morning will come before ye know it, and there'll be water to draw and heat for the baths. Elsbeth, Margery, are yer trunks packed for the morrow?"

"Aye," the twins chorused.

"Then see to the younger ones and get to yer beds. I must make certain the laird is settled and comfortable before I can sleep," Fiona told them, hurrying from the room before they might tease her further.

"She is giving up a great deal for us," Margery said slowly. "I wonder if it is right that we let her do it."

"And if we don't, what would happen to the rest of us?" Jean asked, with far more wisdom than her years allowed. "We'd all die old maids here upon the ben. No, tomorrow ye two will wed with yer laddies because that is the way Fi wants it to be. Then we shall go off to Brae Castle to live. If Fi pleases the laird, he will probably find fine husbands for our Morag and for me."

Fretting, Margery asked, “But what would our mother think of such an arrangement as Fi has made?"

Jean snorted. "Our mother did what she had to do to survive our father, and Fi will do the same to survive the laird."

"Ye don't know that," Elsbeth said. "Why, ye can't remember our mother, for she died when ye were barely three."

"No, I don't remember her," Jean admitted, "but Flora often says how like Mother in character Fi is, even if she looks like our father."

"Did I know our mother?" Morag wondered aloud as Margery wiped her face clean of the supper stew.

"Mam died when ye were born," Margery, said.

"Why?" Morag said. She always asked why, though she knew the answer that she would be given.

"Because God wanted her in heaven, our Morag," Elsbeth replied in kindly tones. Margery drew off the child's gown, leaving Morag in her chemise to climb into the large bed she shared with the twins and settle herself in the middle, which was her usual place. "Now shut yer eyes, and go to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day for us all."

The three other girls finished their ablutions and, garbed only in their chemises, climbed into bed.

"I'll leave the candle burning for Fi to see by," Jean said, snuggling down into the feather bed she shared with Fiona.

In the hall below, Fiona found the high board cleared, but her two aged servants were nowhere in sight. She suspected they had already climbed to their attic and gone to bed. Folding back the wooden shutters on a sleeping space set in the wall near the fireplace, she hauled a feather bed from a storage chest and placed it in the space, adding a pillow and a coverlet. "When yer ready to sleep, my lord, ye'll find the sleeping space comfortable," she told the laird.

"Have ye slept in it, then?" he teased her.

"Aye," she said shortly. "Whenever our father wanted to use our mam, he sent us to the hall to sleep. Good night, my lord." Fiona hurried back up the stairs to her chamber.

Watching her go, he contemplated what a strange female she was. Saucy and bold she was without a doubt, yet loyal and protective of those she loved. She seemed to have little use for Dugald Hay, her sire, but then few had ever had use for the Hay of the Ben. He had not been a well-liked man, particularly after his rape of and forced marriage to Muire Hay, who had been betrothed to Angus Gordon's father, Robert. Dugald had kept to himself after that, siring child after child upon his unfortunate wife in his desperate attempt to gain his father-in-law's lands, for those lands would only be his if he sired a son on Muire. What had he been like in the years after Muire's death? How had it affected his daughters, particularly the fierce Fiona?

He smiled. She was really quite lovely. He would enjoy initiating her into the amatory arts. Even though he had earlier questioned her virtue, he knew without asking that she was absolutely ignorant about what transpired between a man and a woman. She had been too young for such things when her mother had died, and it was unlikely Dugald Hay had enlightened his daughter. Unlikely? Unthinkable!

Tomorrow night they would be safe at Brae Castle. Tomorrow night she would be his. Why did the thought excite him so? He had just met the lass. He hardly knew her. Yet he wanted to possess her, wanted to taste that ripe mouth, wanted to caress that fair white flesh, wanted to feel her lithe body beneath his. The laird of Loch Brae climbed into his bed space and, not without some difficulty, finally fell into a restless sleep.

He awakened slowly, realizing that it was still dark, although the skies outside the tower's window were graying. He heard soft sounds in the hall, saw shadows moving about. He reached for his sword and waited to see who the intruders were and what they could possibly want from this poor place. Then suddenly he heard a giggle, followed by an authoritative "shush," and he realized that there were no intruders. It was the Hay sisters.

He watched from his bed space as they struggled to maneuver a large oaken tub from its storage nook at the end of the hall, pushing and pulling it down the length of the room, setting it before the fire. The door to the hall was flung open then, allowing him to observe the girls as they carried bucket after bucket of water from the well outside, heating it in an iron cauldron over the fire, and pouring it into the tub until finally it was filled to Fiona's satisfaction. Two of the girls dragged a screen from another cranny, fitting it about the tub area.

"Elsbeth and Margery first," he heard Fiona say. There followed much whispering and giggling from behind the screen as each sister took her turn in the oaken tub.

Angus Gordon lay quietly, enjoying the sounds, his bed space quite cozy with the freshly built fire blazing away. He, too, came from a large family. Besides his youngest brother, Jamie, he had another brother, Robert, who was two years his junior, and two sisters, Janet and Meggie. His mother had been Margaret Leslie, the daughter of the laird of Glenkirk. She had borne her children over an eight-year period, dying as Muire Hay had in childbirth. How strange, he thought, that both he and Fiona Hay were the eldest of their siblings, and had each lost mothers when they were but eight years of age. At least his father had lived until he was grown, Angus thought gratefully. He had been a good man who grieved hard the wife he had loved and lost, as well as the lovely Muire Hay, whom he had also loved-and lost in an equally cruel manner.

"Upstairs, all of ye," he heard Fiona ordering her sisters. "I'll be with ye in a few moments' time. Flora, good, yer up! Is the bread baked yet? Give the lasses a loaf, some butter, and honey before they dress. I want to bathe, too."

"Oh Fi! Honey? This really is a grand day," the laird heard Jean say enthusiastically to her sister.

The hall grew silent. He could hear the sounds of splashing behind the screen. He could hear Fiona humming softly. Sliding from the bed space, he pulled on his boots and wrapped his kilt about his lean frame. He needed to pee, but first he would bid his hostess a good morning. It was simply too irresistible. Striding the hall, he moved around the screen.

"Good morrow, Mistress Hay," he said cheerily.

The emerald-green eyes looked up, slightly startled, but she made no great outcry. "Good morrow, my lord. I imagine we awakened ye, but ‘twas time," she said calmly. Then she washed her face. Little else of her was available to his eyes but her shoulders and upper chest, for the tub was deep and well filled.

The most incredible urge overcame him. He wanted to lift her dripping from the tub, and kiss her cherry-red lips! He wanted to pull the pins that secured her black hair atop her head, and let it fall over her wet shoulders, where he might bury his face in the soft, fragrant mass of her tresses. Then he wanted to carry her to the dark security of the bed space he had only recently vacated, and make love to her until she cried with the pleasure he would give her.

Instead he bowed politely to her, saying, "Ye were a verra courteous hostess, Mistress Hay, and I thank ye for yer hospitality. I hope ye will not be offended, but I wanted to repay that hospitality. I sent my brother back to Brae for two whole sheep to be roasted and some casks of wine. By the time ye run out," he told her with a smile, "the Forbeses and the Inneses will be verra drunk, and fortunate to find their way back down the ben to their own lands."

" 'Tis most generous of ye, my lord," Fiona acknowledged as she vigorously scrubbed her neck. "I'll serve yer wine first, for it's certain to be better than the poor stuff my father had in his cellar. Would ye hand me my towel, please?" she requested sweetly.

Why the little vixen, he thought, half-amused, as he complied. He had sought to tease her, but she was giving him back as good as he had given her. Would she really arise from the dirty water in the tub while he was still with her? He decided to wait and find out.

Positioning the towel carefully before her so that he could view nothing of her charms, Fiona stood and wrapped the cloth tightly around her body. Then with the grace and dignity of a young queen she descended the narrow little steps from the tub to the hall floor. "Thank ye for yer help, my lord," she gently mocked him, turning and running up the stairs on slender white legs to the chamber she shared with her sisters. As she gained the landing, she looked down and stuck out her tongue at him.

The laird of Loch Brae burst out laughing. "Ye’ll pay for that insult, Mistress Hay," he vowed, shaking his fist at her. He went out into the clearing before the tower house, where he found his men preparing themselves for the wedding.

James had obviously returned. Two shallow pits had been dug in the earth, and the sheep were already roasting slowly upon their spits over the hot fires. Angus Gordon walked into the woods near the tower and relieved himself, but even emptied of his waters, his manhood was still swollen and sensitive. He cursed softly beneath his breath. How could she be affecting him so strongly when he scarcely knew her? He had never known his lust to be so quickly engaged as it was now. He would have to slake that lust immediately, or she would drive him mad. He thanked God that she was too young and innocent to understand the effect she was having upon him.

By midmorning the priest had arrived from Glenkirk Abbey. His first order of business was to baptize Morag Hay. Then he went into the Hay burying ground and prayed over the graves of Muire and Dugald Hay. The skirl of pipes was heard coming up the ben from first one side, then the other. Elsbeth and Margery were almost sick with excitement. Which of the clans would reach the crest of the ben first? The Forbeses or the Inneses? A clan feud was averted, however, when by prearrangement the two families marched into the clearing before Hay Tower together. The Forbeses, in their blue-and-green tartan with its single white stripe, had come up one side of the ben. The Inneses, their tartan a more complicated plaid of red, black, and green with narrow stripes of yellow, white, and blue, had come up the other side. Each had a single piper with them and together with the Gordon piper brought back by James, the ben rang with wild and savage music such as it had never heard.

Fiona Hay, dressed in a fine green velvet skirt and white linen blouse, the red-and-green Hay tartan across her bosom, a small flat green velvet cap with an eagle's feather upon her dark head, stepped from the house. She wore the clan badge of a Hay chieftain on her shoulder, and her family's plant badge, a sprig of mistletoe, was pinned to her cap. "I bid those who are to become my kinsmen welcome," she said. "Have ye come in peace?"

"We have," the Forbeses and Inneses chorused.

"Come into the house, then, that we may celebrate the marriages between our families." She ushered them into the hall.

The hall had been swept clean. A roaring fire burned in the fireplace. The Gordon wine casks had been set up to one side of the hall. The high board glowed with candles. The clansmen crowded into the hall, Forbes, Gordon, and Innes plaids mingling. The two fathers of the bridegrooms immediately saw the laird of Loch Brae and hurried to pay their respects, for he was the most important chieftain in the near region. They wondered why he was there. Then, simultaneously, each remembered that Angus Gordon had inherited the lands in the glen that had belonged to the Hay sisters' mother's family. Perhaps the laird felt some sort of responsibility because the lasses had been so unfairly disinherited, and had come to the wedding to smooth over any hard feelings.

Andrew Innes introduced his son, Walter, to the laird. Then Douglas Forbes presented his son, Colin. Angus Gordon was gracious, wishing both young men a long and happy life with their brides and, of course, a houseful of sons.

The Innes chief, bolder than his companions, asked, "What brings ye to Ben Hay, my lord? I was not aware ye knew Dugald Hay's lasses."

"Mistress Fiona purchased the cattle yer sons are receiving as dowry from me," Angus Gordon said pleasantly. "I have decided to take an interest in the welfare of the Hay sisters from now on, Andrew Innes. 'Tis not easy for them, although I will admit that Mistress Fiona has done well by her sisters so far. Still, when none knew they were living upon the ben 'twas safer. Now, however, I fear for them. I shall take Mistress Fiona, Jean, and Morag back to Brae with me today and set my own men upon the ben to watch over it for them."

"An excellent idea, my lord!" Douglas Forbes said jovially, with a smug grin at Andrew Innes. The Forbes chieftain knew that Innes, a recent widower, had planned to court Fiona Hay this very summer, with an eye to annexing the lands upon the ben for himself. And he hadn't intended taking no for an answer. Douglas Forbes chuckled softly to see Andrew Innes so neatly foiled. He had not been happy at the thought of an Innes taking over the ben, and its lands, but he had a wife, and all his sons were wed.

The priest from the Glenkirk Abbey announced that he was ready to begin the ceremony. Fiona Hay led her sisters down the stairs, putting Elsbeth's hand in that of Walter Innes, and Margery's hand in that of Colin Forbes. The twins were garbed as their elder sister, in green velvet skirts and linen blouses. Neither wore a plaid, or a cap upon her head. Instead their hair was loose and flowing to signify their innocence and virtue. In their hands they carried posies of wildflowers that Jean and Morag had gathered for them earlier. The priest performed the ceremony for the two bridal couples together. When he finally pronounced them man and wife, each of the bridegrooms carefully laid their own clan tartans, in sash form, across the breasts of their brides, affixing them to the girls' shoulders with pretty pewter pins. Margery's was decorated with a piece of green jasper; Elsbeth's was studded with black agate. As the pipes began to play once more, the young couples kissed each other, and congratulations rang through the hall.

Fiona noted with gratitude several Gordon clansmen aiding her two aged servants in passing wine to her guests. The wedding party settled itself about the high board. There were trestles below for the others. Plates were heaped high with lamb, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. The goblets never seemed to grow empty. When everything had been eaten but there was wine yet to be drunk, the trestles were pushed back to the sides of the hall. Crossed swords were laid upon the floor, and as the pipes began to play, the laird of Loch Brae danced for the entertainment of the guests, nimbly treading between the swords, slowly at first, and then prancing more quickly until the dance reached its ending. With a shout each bridegroom followed him. The hall rang with merriment and goodwill.

"Yer most graceful, my lord," Fiona said. "Ye have made more than one contribution to this day, and I am grateful to ye for it. I don't believe this wedding would have been as fine without ye."

Angus Gordon nodded in acknowledgment of her appreciation, and then he said, "That silly fool, Andrew Innes, lusts after ye. Have ye noticed it, mistress?"

"It isn't me, my lord," Fiona laughed. " 'Tis the ben and its lands he wants. That's all."

"Then he's a fool, Fiona Hay, for yer far more valuable than the lands ye believe he covets, and tonight ye shall be mine!" His voice was ragged with his desire, and he silently cursed himself for being so open with her. She would learn soon enough her power over him.

She could hear the hunger in his voice, a hunger she could not understand. A hunger for what? The intensity of it, however, sent a ripple down her spine. For a brief moment she closed her eyes in order to regain her composure. It wasn't that he frightened her, because he didn't. Rather, he excited her with an unspoken promise of something wonderful to come. She should probably be very ashamed of herself, Fiona thought, but she wasn't. She had made an outrageous bargain with this man, but what else could she have done if these marriages were to be brought successfully to a favorable conclusion? She had done the right thing. What happened to her did not matter. Fiona would put a high price on herself, for if she was to be the laird of Loch Brae's mistress, Jeannie and Morag would get better husbands for themselves. Fiona promised her mother when she had died that she would look to her lasses, and Fiona had done so.

It was two hours past noon, and time for the brides to depart with their new husbands. Their chests with their clothing and linens were lifted up by their new clansmen. Outside the house, Fiona turned over four cattle apiece to each of her brothers-in-law. "The dowry, paid in full," she said, and they accepted them, nodding in agreement. With each clan's piper playing and leading the way, the Forbeses and the Inneses departed down their respective sides of the ben, driving the beasts before them. The brides hugged Fiona, Jean, and Morag but once, then were happily gone, arms linked with those of their new husbands. The remaining Hay sisters stood with Flora and Tam until the sound of the pipes had faded completely. It had been a gray day, but they had not noticed until now.

Flora sniffled, wiping her rheumy eyes with her apron. "God keep them safe, my bairns," she sobbed.

"Now, then, old woman," her husband said gruffly, but Flora cut him short.

"Don't ye scold me, Tam Hay!" she said fiercely. "Yer just as brokenhearted as I am, and don't ye attempt to deny it!"

The Gordon clansmen were beginning to regroup in the clearing before the tower house. "It is time for us to go, too," Angus Gordon said to Fiona Hay. He turned to the elderly servants. "I would have ye stay here tonight. Pack the lassies' belongings, and tomorrow my brother will return with the men to bring ye to Brae."

"Aye, my lord," they chorused, accepting his authority, and Flora curtsied to him.

"Can we walk to Brae by nightfall?" Fiona asked him.

"Jamie has left the horses at the foot of the ben," the laird told her. “Have ye ever ridden?"

"The pony, but not often," Fiona admitted. "I would like to learn to really ride, my lord. Will ye teach me?"

"Aye, lassie," he promised her, taking her hand in his. "I will teach ye to ride all manner of beasties before much more time has passed. Come, now, and let us go home to Brae." He turned and called to the two younger girls. "Jeannie, Morag, we are ready to go. Follow closely now, and don't get lost in the trees."

"Will I ever come back here, my lord?" Fiona asked, suddenly unsure of herself for the first time. Had it been only yesterday when he had come into her life? Somehow it seemed much longer.

"The ben is yers, lassie, as Dugald Hay's eldest child," he reassured her. "I'll keep it safe for ye, and I'll keep ye and yer sisters safe, too, but first we have a wee matter of payment for the eight cattle that have gone off down the ben with the Forbeses and the Inneses, and the four that went with the Keiths last autumn. Are ye ready to meet yer obligations, lassie?"

"Aye," she said slowly, and her heart beat just a little faster as he squeezed her hand.

Chapter 2

Fiona Hay had never been farther from home than Glen Hay, a small valley separating the bens of Brae from her own mountain tower. They had walked down the treed slope to the glen, where the horses were waiting for them. The laird had casually ordered that two of his men take Jean and Morag up upon their mounts. Little Morag had gone, wide-eyed, with a big, red-bearded clansman, a man called Roddy, who lifted the little lass up and, giving her a kiss on the cheek, set her before him. Jean Hay, however, chose her own companion.

"Take me up with ye, Jamie-boy," she wheedled the laird's brother, giving him her most winning smile.

"And have all the lasses at Brae laughing at me for carrying a bairn like ye? I think not, Jeannie Hay." James Gordon was seventeen and thought himself quite a man.

"Then I must walk all the way to Brae, for I'll ride with no other, Jamie-boy," Jean answered him boldly, not in the least discouraged by his rude refusal, or the fact that she was only ten.

"Take her up with ye, Jamie-boy," Angus Gordon ordered his brother sternly. "We don't have time to stand here and argue." He bent, and lifted Fiona into the saddle before him. "Are ye comfortable?" he asked.

"Aye." She nodded as they moved off. She had never been in such close proximity to a man before. The hard arm, firmly clasped about her narrow waist, was disconcerting, but even more confounding was that the only way she could be truly comfortable was to lay her head against his shoulder. The leather of his jerkin was soft against her cheek, its coolness offsetting the heat she felt in her face.

"If ye don't breathe, Fiona Hay," he said to her as they rode, "ye'll soon swoon. There is nothing to be afeared of, lassie." He struggled with the urge to kiss the top of her head in its velvet chieftain's cap. What on earth was the matter with him?

"I'm not afraid of ye, Angus Gordon," she replied. "I am simply in awe of so many new places and experiences. I've never been farther than the glen in all my life, and we only just came to the glen last year for the games. Our father didn't want confrontations with our grandfather." She drew a deep breath, blew it out gustily, and then she laughed up into his face. "Aye, that's much better!" she said.

"Have ye any idea of what ye have really agreed to, Fiona Hay?" he asked, suddenly overwhelmed by a surprising wave of guilt. This was no simple peasant lass. This was a maid of good family. Despite her thievery, it had been as wrong of him to accept her brazen proposal as it had been for her to even make such a suggestion of payment to him. Yet had he not, he would have looked the fool before his men… before everyone. Now, however, he was having second thoughts.

"Tell me exactly what I have agreed to, Angus Gordon," Fiona asked. "In truth I have never known a man. I have never even kissed one. I know a maidenhead is the most valuable possession of any woman. I know when it is lost outside of marriage a lass is not considered pure. I realize that in giving myself to ye I will not be fit to become any man's wife, but I don't mind. I promised my mam on her deathbed that I would see my sisters safely wed. It is great good fortune that my sisters have fallen in love with the men they married. My mam insisted that they not be sent to loveless marriages." She took a deep breath. "Now, tell me what I face."

The simply spoken frankness of her words, said without any remorse, or even a touch of self-pity, impressed him. He realized that Fiona Hay was as proud as he was. She would insist upon keeping the bargain she had made with him. She would never admit to having stolen his cattle, he suspected, but her innocent willingness to meet her obligation to him stemmed from an innate honesty. Only Fiona's deep desire to keep her promise to the desperate, dying Muire Hay had driven the lassie to the pilferage of his herds. He should have looked to the welfare of Ewan Hay's young granddaughters before he had so casually annexed the glen to the Gordon holdings. Perhaps if he had, this situation would not have arisen.

"My lord?" She looked anxiously into his handsome face.

"Between yer legs," he began slowly, "is an opening into yer body. 1 will join my body with yers through that opening." He didn't know how else to explain it to her. He wasn't certain there was another way.

Fiona looked a trifle confused. "How?" she asked him. "How will ye join yer body to mine, Angus Gordon? Certainly there is something ye are not telling me." A small chuckle escaped her. "This is as hard for ye as it is for me, I expect. I don't imagine that ye have ever had to make such an explanation to a lass before."

He laughed, almost relieved by her practical approach to the whole matter. “No, sweetheart, I have never had to explain bedsport to a maid, and yer right. I have forgotten something. We will be joined by an appendage that all men are blessed with."

"I think I have heard of such a thing," Fiona said thoughtfully. "Is it called a manhood?"

"Aye," he answered. "Where did ye hear of one before?"

"When our sister, Anne, married Duncan Keith, she came after a few months to tell us that she would have a bairn by Lammas next. I asked her if she was still happy with her man. She said, aye, she was, that Duncan has a verra fine manhood, and kept her happy. I asked her what a manhood was, but Annie just laughed. She said 'twas not for a maiden to know such things and that when I wed would be time enough for me to learn about manhoods."

"I have told ye enough for now," Angus said. "Ye will learn by example, Fiona Hay, but I promise ye that I will not be rough with ye. There are certain men who enjoy being cruel, but I am not one."

When they had finally reached the shores of Loch Brae, Angus Gordon drew his horse to a stop so she might see the castle in all its beauty. He loved his home deeply and never grew weary of it, happy to remain there. "Brae Castle," he told her.

Fiona caught her breath in wonderment. She had never in all her life imagined such a beautiful place.

Brae Castle had been built in the year 1295, in the reign of John Balliol. This unfortunate king had sworn his fealty to the English king, Edward I, better known in Scotland as the Hammer of the Scots. The castle was situated on an island just off the north shore of an inland loch. The loch was considered small in comparison to the more famous lakes of Scotland, but it was big enough, being almost a mile and a half across at its widest point and four miles in length, for protection.

The island was connected to the shore by a wooden bridge. The builder of the castle had originally thought to construct the bridge of the same stone as the castle, but his wife, the legend went, had pointed out that in case of an attack, an enemy could march easily over a fine stone bridge right up to the doors of the castle, whereas a wooden bridge could be torched, making it difficult for an enemy to reach the island.

The area between the bridge and the castle itself was kept in field. There were no trees or large bushes behind which an intruder might hide. The shoreline had no sandy beach. It was very rocky, making it difficult to gain the land unless one came over the bridge itself, or via boat to the small landing on the south side of the castle, which was guarded round the clock.

The laird nudged his horse around a bend in the shore to the bridge that connected with the castle, and they crossed over. Grooms came to take the Gordon brothers' horses as they clattered into the stone courtyard. The laird dismounted, lifting Fiona down, setting her gently upon her feet. He then took Morag, who was already half-asleep, from Roddy. The little girl's head fell heavily against his shoulder. Angus Gordon handed her to a young maidservant, who hurried from the house, instructing her where the child was to be put to bed.

"Jean will share the chamber with her," he told Fiona, who looked about for her.

Jean still sat upon James Gordon's horse. "Will ye not help me down, Jamie-boy?" she cooed at him, her amber gaze soft and inviting.

The young man flushed beet-red, and with obviously gritted teeth he reached up and set her upon the pavement. "How old is this wench?" he demanded of Fiona.

"Ten," she replied. "Why do ye ask?"

"She is not ten," he muttered balefully. "And if she is, she is possessed by the demon of a well-versed courtesan. Ye would not believe the things she said to me as we rode down the ben."

"Jeannie!" her elder sister said, scandalized by the young man's words. "What have ye done? And what did ye say to James Gordon?"

"Only that when I was older I wanted to lay with him," Jean Hay replied sweetly. "He is verra bonnie, is he not, Fi?"

"Jean Hay, ye will remain chaste until I find a good husband for ye," her sister said in her most severe tones.

"Oh I don't mean to be his mistress like ye will be the laird's mistress," Jean said blandly. "I mean to marry Jamie-boy one day, Fi. I think he will make a grand husband!"

"I'd never wed a bold baggage like ye!" James Gordon declared.

"Aye, ye will," Jean told him calmly. "When I finally get my titties grown, ye'll not be able to resist me, Jamie Gordon. Just ye wait and see." She smiled sweetly at him.

"Jean Hay," the laird said sternly, "ye'll behave yerself, or I will personally paddle yer skinny little rump. I can see ye'll need to be kept busy while yer in my custody, and busy I shall see yer kept. Now, follow along after Giorsal, who will show ye yer chamber. If yer hungry tell her, and she will bring ye food."

"Thank ye, my lord," Jean said, not in the least put off by the scolding she had received. "Good night, Jamie darlin'," she said, and hurried after the maidservant carrying little Morag.

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, James Gordon disappeared toward the stables, and only when both of them were out of earshot did the laird burst out laughing. "He has not a chance against her." He chortled. " 'Tis not a bad idea either, unless, of course, in the next four years either of them falls in love with another. Would ye accept James for yer sister Jean, Fiona?''

"If he learns to love her, aye. I've never known Jeannie to behave so boldly," she said apologetically.

"She knows what she wants," he told her with a smile, leading her into the house. "Still, she will have to obey me while she lives under my roof. How old was she when yer father died?"

"Five," Fiona said, "but she remembers little about him. Ye see, he was disappointed when I was born, but I was his first child, and he loved me in his strange way despite the fact that I was not the son he so desperately desired. I think he felt a wee bit of guilt for the manner in which I was said to have been conceived. I was born nine months to the day my parents were married. I think he always believed I was the result of his rape of my mother, and I may have well been."

"Ye know the whole story?" the laird asked, a trifle shocked.

"Aye," Fiona nodded. "Flora and Tam were my mother's personal servants since her childhood at Hay House. They hated Dugald Hay with all their hearts for what he did to my mother. Because he loved me, they made certain that I knew his sins, for they did not want me growing up estranged from my mam. But my father was not so loving of any of his other daughters. Each one was a reminder to him that unless he sired a son on my mam, he could not have the glen. We kept my sisters out of his sight as much as possible," Fiona told the laird. "If any of them came too close to him, he was just as apt to beat them for their mere existence as for any fault they might have. He slapped Anne so hard once that she lost a tooth, but she was young and another grew in its place, praise God! Jeannie and Morag, being the youngest, hardly knew him at all, and are not used to men in their lives. I think ye'll take some getting used to, Angus Gordon."

He laughed again, escorting her into the Great Hall.

A tall, austere-looking man hurried forth. "Welcome home, my lord!" His bright blue eyes fastened upon Fiona Hay. "I understand that ye have caught the thief who was pilfering yer cattle."

"Indeed I have, Aulay, and I have been offered payment in full for the cattle. The matter is closed. This is Mistress Fiona Hay. She and her sisters are now in my custody. They were all alone upon Ben Hay with only two old servants in attendance. She and her two little sisters are safer here at Brae. Her servants will arrive tomorrow. They are elderly. See they are made comfortable." He then turned to the girl by his side. "This is Aulay, my steward, Mistress Hay. He will assign a maid to ye."

"Nelly, I would think," the steward said, his blue eyes twinkling. "She is a young lass, too, but she has more sense, I'm thinking."

"Indeed?" Fiona said sharply. She would not be cowed by any man, but particularly not by a servant.

"Aye," Aulay responded calmly.

"Don't try to get the upper hand with Aulay," the laird warned Fiona. "He's been at Brae since the day of its creation, I think, and is the real power here, are ye not, old friend?"

"If my lord says so," the steward said with a small smile and a bow.

"Are ye hungry, lassie?" the laird asked, and Fiona nodded. "Come," he said, leading her to the high board and seating her.

Almost at once their goblets were filled with a fine red wine such as Fiona had never tasted. It had a fragrant bouquet to it, and she drank half her portion before she even realized it. Platters were set before them. One held thinly sliced salmon on a bed of greens. Another contained a fat duck, and the third a haunch of venison. A loaf of hot bread was brought, along with a small tub of sweet butter and a half wheel of hard cheese. There was a bowl of small green peas. Fiona's eyes widened. She had never seen so much food and so much variety on a table in her life. Meals at Hay Tower had always been simple. One dish, bread, a vegetable if she could find one. She ate heartily and unabashedly, taking from each platter and dish, devouring half the loaf herself, and almost half of the sweet apple tartlet that was brought to conclude the meal. She downed two cups of wine without so much as a blink.

The laird watched her with a mixture of awe and amusement. He had never seen a woman of such good appetite. "Ye enjoyed yer meal?" he asked her with droll understatement.

Fiona smiled blissfully, her green eyes narrowing, catlike. "Aye! I've never had such a feast. Do ye eat this way every day, my lord?"

He nodded, and then said, laughing, "But ye canna, sweetheart, or ye'll grow as plump as the cattle ye stole from me."

She laughed with him. "No," she promised him. "The women in my family don't run to fat, my lord."

"I'll be watching ye closely, Fiona Hay," he teased her.

"How many servants do ye have?" she asked him.

"Ye met Aulay," he began. "His wife, Una, is my housekeeper. Beathag is the cook, and she has a helper, Alice. There are four maidservants, and when we need them several of my clansmen help within the castle. There are stableboys, a gamekeeper, several herdsmen, and some others I canna remember, lassie."

"With all those mouths to feed," she wondered, "will there really be room for Flora and Tam, my lord?"

"Aye," he reassured her. "Aulay will be happy to have Tam to help him, and Flora must look after yer sisters as she has always done. I will give her Giorsal to help her, for I can see the old woman is a wee bit frail now, but I will not relinquish her duties out of loyalty to yer late mother, may God assoil the sweet soul of Muire Hay."

"Thank ye, Angus Gordon. Yer a good man," Fiona said quietly.

He flushed at her words. She almost made him feel in her debt instead of the other way around. "Ye will want to go to yer chamber now, lassie," he told her. He looked about for someone to show Fiona the way, and Una seemed to materialize out of a dark corner of the hall.

"I will show Mistress Hay, my lord," Una said. Like her husband, she was tall and spare. "Come, lassie. Ye’ll want a bath, I've no doubt, to rid yerself of the stink of the horses and yer journey."

Fiona followed her obediently, asking, "Are my sisters settled, please? I don't want them to be afeared. They have never been away from home overnight before, and they will miss our Flora."

"They are fine, lassie," Una reassured Fiona. "The wee one has been fed and put to bed already. The other is eating down in the kitchen. I have never seen a child tuck away so much food as that bright-eyed girlie is now doing."

"Ye didn't leave Morag alone, did ye? She is fearful of the dark when there is no one with her," Fiona said worriedly.

"No, lassie. Giorsal is sitting by her cot, and there is a light burning as well. Don't fret. The bairn will outgrow her fear eventually. Yer mam was like that when she was a wee one, and she outgrew her fears by the time she was six."

Fiona was amazed. "Ye knew my mother?"

"Aye," Una said calmly. "I was born a Hay, lassie. I only became a Gordon when I wed with my Aulay." She led Fiona down a corridor and up a flight of stone stairs into another hallway. “Did ye really steal the laird's cattle?" she slyly asked the girl as she opened the door to a large chamber and ushered her inside.

"He believes I did," Fiona said, refusing to admit her guilt to anyone, even now.

"Yer grandfather, God assoil his good soul, would not approve the arrangement ye have made with the laird," Una said frankly.

"Then he should have made provision to dower his granddaughters," Fiona snapped. “Instead, he and my father continued their feud to their graves, leaving me with five little sisters to provide for, and not so much as a merk to my name to do it with, may God help me! Well, I have married off Annie, Elsbeth, and Margery to their sweethearts, and my arrangement with the laird will assure that Jeannie and Morag will have fine husbands. I do what I must, and I'll hear no more about it, Una Gordon!"

Una nodded, not in the least offended by the girl's outburst. She had learned what she wanted to learn. The lass was no adventuress out to take advantage of her master. She was her mother's daughter, for certain, accepting her fate for the sake of those she loved. "Ye’ll be verra comfortable in this chamber," she told Fiona calmly. "The fireplace draws well and is large enough to heat water for yer bath, as ye can tell by the cauldron hanging there now. I see Nelly is already attending to her duties. She is my niece, and a good lass. I canna imagine where she has gotten to, however."

Her words had scarcely died when the door opened and a young girl hurried into the room, carrying a silver tray upon which was a carafe of red wine. Sticking out from the pockets of her apron were two silver goblets. She was a pretty creature with bright blue eyes and carrot-red braids. Placing her burden upon the table, she then curtsied to the two other women. "I have already begun warming the bath water, Mistress Una," she said politely.

"Aye," Una answered approvingly, "and ye have fetched wine. Good. Well, I can see ye have yer duties well in hand, Nelly. Greet yer new mistress, Fiona Hay, and I'll be on my way."

"God's greetings to ye, lady," Nelly said, curtsying prettily.

"God's greetings to ye, Nelly," Fiona returned. The girl looked to be about her own age.

"I'll bid ye good night then, Mistress Hay," the housekeeper said, and she departed the room.

"I'll get the tub," Nelly said briskly. "Whew! I can smell the horses on ye. Did ye ride far today, lady?"

"From the bottom of Ben Hay," Fiona replied, then looked about the chamber.

This was to be her new home, and it was far grander than anything she had ever had. She wondered if her sisters were as finely ensconced. It was, to her eye, a very elegant chamber. There were heavy draperies of crimson velvet drawn over the shutters that covered the windows. There was a fine big bed with curtains of scarlet and cream-colored brocatelle hanging from polished brass rings. But the ultimate luxury was indeed the fireplace. There had been but one at Hay Tower, in the hall, but their bedchamber above the hall had been so cold on many a winter's morning that the contents of the nightjar had frozen.

"Can I help ye?" she asked Nelly as the girl struggled to wrestle a round oaken tub from its storage space behind a small door.

"No, thank ye," Nelly said, rolling the tub before the fireplace. " 'Tis just getting it out 'tis tricky." She began emptying a line of buckets set up by the fireplace into the oaken tub. "The lads will be up with more hot water any minute now. It cools on the way from the kitchens, but that is why I have this big kettle over yer fire." No sooner had she spoken than there was a knock upon the door. At Nelly's bidding the door opened to admit a line of young clansmen bearing two buckets apiece, which each dutifully dumped into the tub.

It was a fine tub, Fiona thought. It stood about three and a half feet in height. The sturdy oak was made even stronger by several iron bands that had been wrapped about the tub. The outside of the tub was polished smooth and clean, and she suspected the inside would be as well. Despite her early morning bath she was beginning to look forward to a lovely long soak in the tub, for her muscles were starting to tell her that riding was a sore business. The last of the water bearers disappeared out the chamber door, Nelly closing it firmly behind them.

Fiona pulled off her cap and laid it aside.

"I'll help ye, mistress," Nelly told her. " 'Tis me duty." She quickly undressed Fiona, then said, "Pin yer hair up, lady, while I add the boiling water. Do ye like it good and hot?"

"Aye," Fiona said, a trifle embarrassed to find herself totally naked before a stranger, but Nelly didn't seem to take any notice as she cheerfully went about her task of swinging the iron arm holding the black kettle of boiling water out from over the fire, lifting it up using a cloth to shield her hands, and pouring it gingerly into the oaken bathtub.

"There now, and we're ready," Nelly said briskly as she helped her new mistress mount the two steps up so she could enter the tub.

Fiona sank down into the hot water with a gusty sigh. "Ahhh, Nelly lass, nothing ever felt so good to me as this does now," she said.

Nelly chuckled. "Ye've never been on a horse before?"

Fiona shook her dark head. "They're hard creatures, and I've a soft behind, I fear."

Nelly laughed. "I prefer me own feet, thank ye," she replied.

Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening, and a tapestry hanging upon the wall by the bed was lifted up as the laird stepped into the room. "Good evening, my dearie," he said to Fiona. "Ye may continue in yer duties, Nelly." Then he sat down upon the bed.

“My lord!'' Fiona had finally managed to find her voice.

"Aye, lassie?"

" 'Tis most unseemly that ye be here in my chamber while I bathe," Fiona protested heatedly. "Please leave at once!"

"Lassie," he explained in an amused voice, "watching one's mistress bathe is a pleasure, and I'll not be denied it. Besides, I see little more of ye than I already have seen. Nelly lass, bring me a goblet of wine before ye begin washing yer mistress." He stretched his length out upon the bed, the pillows at his back, accepting the silver goblet the wide-eyed Nelly handed him. "Thank ye, Nelly."

Blushing, Nelly curtsied and hurried back across the chamber to the tub where Fiona sat glaring angrily at the laird. "The soap has a nice fragrance of heather," the girl said softly as she set to work to wash her mistress. Lathering her cloth, she gently scrubbed the creamy back and shoulders, the slender neck and arms, quickly rinsing them. "Ye’ll have to raise yer legs, one at a time, lady, or I canna do them," she whispered. Grimly Fiona followed the girl's soft instructions. "Oh lady, how are we to do the rest if ye canna stand up, and ye canna with him here."

Fiona's eyes met the wicked glance of the laird as he sprawled lazily upon her bed. With a small mocking gesture he raised his goblet to her. Not a word passed between them, but Fiona was aware of the silent challenge. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, saying as she did, "Hurry, Nelly, 'tis chilly. When ye've finished, I'll want to soak a bit. While I do, please warm my night attire."

Nelly swallowed hard but went swiftly about the task of finishing her mistress's bath. She heard the laird's deep chuckle, yet did not see him once again raise his goblet to Fiona in appreciation of not simply her charms but her defiance. As for Fiona, she kept her glance impassive, although she was frankly mortified at having to display herself. She knew she was too damned slender, and her breasts were no bigger than young apples in early autumn. They would never really be big, she feared.

Angus Gordon drank his wine, but he hardly felt the heat of the liquid as it slid down his gut. He viewed Fiona's nakedness, astounded by the sensuousness of her form. Everything was in perfect proportion, even her pretty little breasts. They would grow a bit fuller in time, he suspected, but he hoped they would never lose their curvaceous charms or the pert sauciness of their pink nipples. He could not see much else, for the height of the tub precluded it, and Nelly was discreetly attempting to shield Fiona from his curious gaze. After draining his cup, he set it aside and stood up, even as Fiona sat quickly back down in the tub.

"Ye've done yer duty nicely, Nelly," he complimented her. "Now go to bed. Yer mistress won't need ye until the morning." Firmly, a hand beneath the startled girl's elbow, he ushered her from the room. Closing the door behind Nelly, he made a great show of turning the key in the lock. Then he came to perch upon the edge of the tub. Reaching out, he twirled a damp tendril of Fiona's hair between his fingers, noting with admiration the creaminess of her neck and shoulders.

"Yer as bold as ye accuse me of being, my lord," Fiona said softly, surprised to find that her voice was in working order.

"A man should be bold, but a woman should not be," he answered her quietly. Her emerald eyes were really quite spectacular, he thought.

"Are ye just going to sit there while I soak?" she demanded.

"Aye," he said calmly. "Ye canna soak forever, lassie."

Silence descended, a silence so heavy it felt oppressive. Fiona hunched down as far as she dared without being cowardly. For a time the water was warm, but then it began to feel cool. She sneezed. Angus Gordon said nothing. Then he stood up and lifted her dripping form from the water, wrapping her in a towel. She was so surprised by his action, she had no time to protest it.

"Don't be witless, wench, and catch yer death. Ye have yer sisters to consider. They're better here with me than with one of yer brothers-in-law's families." He began to rub her down.

"Take yer hands from me," she snapped, her composure returning. "I'm completely capable of drying myself off."

"But I am enjoying doing it," he said, continuing. "Since ye are to be my mistress, Fiona Hay, 'tis time ye began learning what is expected of ye. For the present, until I tire of ye, I own ye, lassie, body and soul. Whatever I desire of ye, ye will do."

"Why, ye pompous lout!" Fiona returned, snatching the towel from him. "I promised ye my maidenhead for those damned cattle, and no more. 'Tis ye who have changed the bargain, and after we shook on it!"

"The maidenhead of the Blessed Virgin would not be worth twenty head of cattle," he shouted back at her. "A lass's virtue is worth so much and no more, Fiona Hay. Do ye think me a fool?" Grasping the towel, he yanked it from her and stared hard. She was outrageously lovely with her dainty breasts, slim waist, and long shapely legs. "Jesu!" he muttered.

Frozen, Fiona couldn't move for a moment. There was something in the tone of his voice that bespoke danger, but she would not flee him.

Angus drew her slowly into his embrace. He touched her face, and her cheek was hot. She stared at him, wide-eyed, but there was absolutely no fear in her. He felt the gentle pressure of her bosom against the linen of his shirt. "Unlace me," he growled at her, his voice fierce and commanding. Her fingers trembled slightly as she obeyed him. "Push my shirt off, lassie!" Her hands on his chest were soft as she removed the garment. He pulled her back against him, reveling in the sensation as skin touched skin. He ran his fingertips down the soft swell of her buttocks.

Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her vision was becoming blurry. She couldn't breathe. With a soft cry Fiona did what she had never thought to do. She fainted.

Angus Gordon shook his head as he carried her to her bed, where he gently laid her down. If her brazen demeanor had ever led him to question her virtue, he now knew for certain that she was indeed a virgin. The look upon her face just before she swooned had been more than enough to convince him. It had been a mixture of slow sensual awakening and absolute terror. He didn't know if he was up to this. Cudgeling his brain, he tried to remember the last time he had deflowered a virgin. Then it dawned upon him. He never had. In fact, he had carefully steered clear of such lasses, for virgins were a capricious lot, forever falling in love with you and wanting to marry. Or so his late father had warned him. "Couple with the ones who enjoy it, laddie, but avoid the others, especially virgins, unless ye plan to wed one," Robert Gordon counseled his son, going on to explain why.

He should have listened more closely to his father's advice, Angus Gordon thought ruefully. Still, the lass owed him a debt, and he'd not be made a laughingstock before all the world. Pouring a bit of wine into his goblet, he cradled the girl with one arm while forcing a bit of the liquid down her throat with his other hand upon the cup. Fiona Hay was going to meet her liability to him, but perhaps he could go a bit more slowly with her. She coughed, pushing his hand away, and some of the ruby liquid spilled onto her chest. He had the worst urge to lick it off, but restrained himself lest she swoon again. If a hand upon her shapely bottom could cause her to faint, surely his tongue between her untutored breasts would send her into fits.

"Are ye all right now, lassie?" he asked solicitiously.

Fiona nodded slowly, her head beginning to clear. "I don't know what happened," she said. "I am not craven," she defended herself.

"I know," he said, "but yer a virgin, and don't know what to expect. I was clumsy in my approach, for if the truth were to be known, Fiona Hay, yer a lovely lass, and ye have aroused me."

"Aroused ye to what?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Ye've aroused my lust," he said, honestly answering what he realized was an honest question. "I want to couple with ye, lassie." Gently he cupped one of her breasts, caressing it lightly.

Eyes wide, Fiona stared at his hand, amazed as his long fingers brushed over her skin, sending tiny tingles throughout her whole body. It was certainly not an unpleasant sensation, she mused, wondering at the same time what he expected of her. Their eyes met as she looked into his face. It was a strong face. Long in shape with a cleft in his chin and an aquiline nose. His cheekbones were high, his eyelids heavy, his mouth a narrow elongation.

His hand moved up from her breast to take her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. He brushed his lips across hers, and she caught her breath softly. Angus Gordon smiled, and the smile extended to his dark green eyes. "Yer not afraid, are ye, lassie?"

"I never imagined…" Fiona carefully considered her words. "I don't know what to expect, my lord, but it would seem that if I please ye, then ye will please me."

He couldn't help but grin at her. This was hardly the sort of conversation he had expected to have with the brazen hussy in the midst of his seduction. "Ye talk too much, lassie," he said even as his mouth took firm possession of hers. He kissed her hard, wanting her to understand that he would not be deterred in his purpose to have her maidenhead. Holding the naked little witch in his arms, he could hardly resist her as it was. She smelled delicious, and her skin was silken and sweetly resilient beneath his touch. He pulled the pins from her hair, then let it tumble around his hands.

It was her first real kiss, and it was wonderful, Fiona thought as she let herself drift within the security of his strong arms. Her belly kept knotting and unknotting. She was being assailed by a hundred different sensations. The kiss was harsh, yet it was sweet. Her mouth softened beneath his instinctively, her lips parting, their breaths mingling. She sighed as the pleasure deepened. Whatever had caused her to faint earlier had been dispelled in the magic of his kiss. Finally he broke off the ardent embrace, for he knew she had much to learn.

Fiona stared into his face. " 'Twas verra nice, my lord. I like this kissing. Did I do it well? I haven't done it before, but it seems to come naturally to a body."

His breeks had never seemed so tight. Laying her back upon the bed, he stood and began to divest himself of the remainder of his garments. "Aye," he agreed, his eyes never leaving her face, "kissing is a most natural thing, and ye do it well, lassie." He pulled his boots, hose, and breeks off. He kept his face impassive as his drawers fell to the floor. He kicked them aside as her eyes widened, although she said nothing.

Could a man be called beautiful, Fiona wondered? His limbs were long and straight, and pleasingly curved where they should be. He had nicely shaped buttocks, round yet firm. He turned back to her, slipping again onto the bed. Fiona glimpsed his male appendage, pale and bobbing from a nest of curls as dark as her own. He saw where her glance had fastened itself.

"Are ye afeared again, lassie?" he asked her in a quiet voice. "Ye don't have to be afraid of it, ye know. He's a braw fellow, my Gordie is, and will give ye much pleasure once he's become acquainted with ye."

To his utter amazement Fiona reached out and touched his manhood, her face thoughtful as well as curious. He flinched with surprise, and she said in a serious voice, "Does it hurt when I touch it?"

"No."

"Then why did ye start?"

"I would not have thought a virgin so curious."

"Do virgins usually quail at the sight of yer Gordie, then?"

Her fingers slid along his length, and he swallowed hard.

"I don't recall," he muttered.

He felt as hard as iron and near to bursting beneath her gentle yet bestirring touch. Her boldness was confusing to him. It wasn't that he wanted her shrieking and swooning with fear, but should not a virgin be more respectful of his male member? Just a few moments ago she had fainted at his touch, and now here she was, boldly stroking him with fingers as skilled as any whore's. He would have remonstrated with her but that he could see her actions were actually born of curiosity, and the fact that she truly did not know how a respectable lass should behave in such a situation.

His fingers closed tightly about her wrist. “Enough, lassie. Yer touch sets me afire with lust." He pushed her back into the pillows, kissing her hard again.

Fiona pulled her head away. "Show me where it goes," she demanded of him.

"Jesu Christus!" Angus exploded. "Is there not any delicacy in ye, lassie? What kind of thing is that to ask a man?"

"I don't like the uncertainty," Fiona told him. "Ye kiss me and ye caress me till I can bear it no longer! Will ye not take my maidenhead and be done with it, my lord?"

She was afraid! He realized it in that brief moment, but of course she would deny it and claim once again that she was not craven. He moved his body so that it was partly covering hers. His hand gently touched her cheek. "When a man makes love with a woman, lassie," he began, "it should not be a quick coupling. There is little pleasure in quick coupling. Particularly the first time. It should be slow, and hot, and verra sweet between them." His lips brushed her lips and then her purpled eyelids. His hand plunged into the mass of her dark hair, taking a fistful of it up, inhaling the clean fragrance of it against his nose.

Fiona shifted nervously like a mare newly brought to the harness. Why did his voice sound so intense? Why did her breasts ache and her nipples feel so irritated against his smooth chest? His presence was suddenly very overwhelming. She bit her lip in her effort not to cry out. Her eyes closed as if in doing so she could shut this all out, but the very scent of his masculinity assailed her nostrils. It was a powerful and exciting fragrance that seemed to call out to something equally primitive within her. Her hands smoothed slowly over his shoulders.

He kissed her again, but this time he gently forced her lips open and pushed his tongue past her teeth to find her tongue. Fiona shivered violently as their tongues touched, sleeking back and forth, intertwining in an amorous first mating. She sighed and arched her body, pressing it more tightly into his.

"Ummm, 'tis nice," she murmured against his mouth. "Ah!" she sighed as he broke off the kiss, his lips spreading kisses across her smooth chest and down to cover her breasts. Her belly contracted almost painfully as his mouth fastened itself over a nipple, tongue teasing tenderly, lips drawing gently upon her flesh. "Oh!" she half moaned. "”” Oh!" His fingers were teasing the curls on her Venus mons, pushing between her nether lips.

"This is where it will go, lassie," he told her, raising his head from her sweet young breasts. Gently a single digit invaded her now trembling body, pushing itself carefully into a place she had not until just a moment ago even known existed. Reaching the barrier of her maidenhead, he stopped, withdrawing the finger slowly.

Fiona's eyes were wide with a mixture of shock, surprise, and a budding desire. "Yer Gordie is too braw a fellow to go where ye just went with yer wicked finger," she told him.

"Nay, lassie," he reassured her. "Yer wee slit will open herself wide so my Gordie may forage in yer honeypot for its sweetness." His dark head moved down her torso, spreading kisses as it went. Once again his finger slipped through her nether lips, this time touching her in another place she hadn't before known. " 'Tis yer sugar button," he told her, teasing at the small fleshy nub.

Fiona's head whirled with shock as a wave of delight spread over her entire body, rendering it weak with her pleasure. How was a finger capable of giving her such enjoyment?

"Don't stop!" she begged him, a burst of stars exploding behind her eyelids. "Oh. Ah. Ah!" She was suddenly weak with gratification.

"So ye like that, do ye?" he murmured low as he swung himself over her slender frame. He spread her thighs with firm hands, and then, while she was still in the throes of dawning awareness, he grasped his manhood, positioned it, and leaning forward over her, pushed firmly into her body. She opened for him like a fragrant flower, encasing him inch by inch within her velvet sheath. Angus Gordon groaned with anticipation.

She felt it. It pressed relentlessly into her, thick and hot, driving deep. Fiona had never imagined such an invasion of herself. Instinctively, she stiffened.

"No, no lassie," he whispered hotly in her ear. "Don't fight me now. Ah, yer sweet! Sweet!"

He pushed onward, finally meeting with the barrier between Fiona Hay's girlhood and womanhood. Swiftly, he crossed it, thrusting as far as he could, then resting.

She felt a sharp sting of pain that spread down into her thighs and up into her chest, rendering her breathless for a long moment-and then the burning melted away. Fiona gasped, drawing a great draught of air into her lungs, which she almost immediately expelled. "Does it hurt all the time?" she managed to ask, finding it impossible to understand why anyone would enjoy this if it did.

There was an almost pained expression in his eyes. "No, lassie," he whispered against her lips, kissing her softly. He began to move upon her, pinioning her lightly, his big hands pressing down upon her wrists on either side of her head. With an almost primitive instinct she began to move in rhythm with him. He stared down into her face, amazed at the savage beauty of it as she began to experience passion. He was surprised that despite her inexperience he was finding great pleasure in coupling with this girl. The tightness in his groin was building and building.

The pain gone, Fiona closed her eyes again. The deed was done, and her virginity shattered. There really had been nothing to be afraid of, and she began to relax, joining him in the erotic cadence he created. She broke his light grip and put her arms about him, drawing him closer to her. The stars were beginning to sparkle behind her eyelids again, and a feeling of growing exhilaration began to fill her entire being. She cried out, and his mouth descended fiercely upon hers, intensifying her euphoria. She could feel him, hard and demanding within her. Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Ah! Ah! Ah!" she sobbed, and then she sensed the impending burst of his lust, and his juices flooded her, mingling with her virgin's blood. In that instant Fiona soared, her heart beating wildly, clinging to him. It was wonderful! She drifted mindlessly for what seemed several minutes, aware of their ragged breathing, aware that their bodies felt hot and wet, and were still intertwined. Finally he withdrew from her, lifting himself off her body, his big hand tenderly smoothing the tangle of hair from her face. Fiona opened her eyes and looked up into his face.

"Ye were verra braw, lassie," he told her with a small smile.

She smiled back. "Yer satisfied, then, that I was indeed a virgin, and my debt is paid to ye, my lord?" Fiona said mischievously.

"Ye were a virgin, lassie," he agreed, "but ye have just begun to pay yer debt to me. Have I not warned ye that twenty head of cattle are verra expensive? Yer a brazen little thief, Fiona Hay, and I'll have my full measure of ye. I'll give ye and yer sisters yer living free, for I owe that to yer grandsire Hay, but the cattle are another matter."

"Yer a hard man," Fiona said softly.

"Jesu!" he swore as softly. "Is there no end to yer wiles, lassie? Yer flirting with me."

"I don't have any knowledge about being a man's mistress," she answered him pertly. "Is a mistress not permitted to flirt with her lord? At least in the privacy of their chamber?" Her dark eyelashes fluttered at him wickedly, and her mouth was suddenly pouty.

"I don't know the rules of this game we play myself, lassie," he ^; responded with a chuckle. "I've never kept a mistress."

"I suppose 'tis no different than keeping a wife," Fiona said, "ex- | cept, of course, 'tis not respectable to be a man's mistress."

"It is not respectable to steal a man's cattle either," he reminded her with a grin, then ducked as Fiona whacked him with a pillow. Angus Gordon climbed from the bed. " 'Tis time ye got some sleep, lassie," he told her, and drew the coverlet over her.

"Do ye not sleep here with me, my lord?" she asked, puzzled. i

"No, lassie, this is yer private chamber. Mine is through the door ieneath the tapestry where I entered."

"But I've never slept alone before!" Fiona wailed. "I have always slept with my sisters. Stay with me, my lord!"

"Until ye fall asleep," he agreed. "In a few days ye'll be used to having yer own chamber, and ye'll like yer privacy."

Dubious, Fiona nestled against him tightly when he climbed back into the bed. He smiled to himself. On one hand she was fearless, and on the other she was like a small child, afraid to be alone. He was silent, his arm about her, and gradually he felt her relax. When she was sleeping peacefully, he slipped carefully from her bed. He saw the bloody stains upon her slender thighs and upon the sheets beneath her. He almost felt guilty as he drew the coverlet back over her. Bending to blow out the candle by the bed, he had second thoughts and left it burning. Then, going to the fireplace, he added more peat. At least if she awoke it would not be in total cold darkness in this unfamiliar chamber. He gazed down on her a final time before stealing through the door that connected their two chambers.

Chapter 3

"Fi! Fi! Wake up!"

Fiona Hay dimly heard the voices of her two younger sisters. Her arm was tugged quite rudely. She turned over, grumbling.

"Oh, our Jeannie!" Morag's voice piped, shocked. "She isn't wearing any shift! 'Tis not nice to be naked."

Fiona opened catlike eyes and glared at her smallest sister. She felt somewhat stiff, and the place between her legs was slightly sore. She needed more sleep, and yet here were these two troublesome wenches demanding her attention. "What do ye want?" she growled at the pair.

Morag stepped back at her elder's tone, but Jeannie wasn't in the least intimidated.

"The laird's elder sister, Lady Stewart," Jean said, "is down in the hall, and she's demanding to see himself. Jamie-boy says it's because of ye. We'll not learn anything if we canna listen. Get up, Fi, and put some clothes on this minute! Black Angus is dressing. They say he respects Lady Stewart greatly."

Fiona was puzzled. "Black Angus?"

" 'Tis what he is called for his black, black hair," Morag volunteered.

"Take Morag and wait outside," Fiona instructed Jeannie. She didn't want either girl to see the stains upon her legs or the bedclothes. They would only ask for explanations they were too young to hear. She waited until the two girls had departed the chamber, and then threw back the coverlet and leapt from the bed.

There was a kettle of water warming over the fire. Obviously Nelly had already been into the chamber. Fiona poured some of the water into a small polished brass basin, and taking up a cloth set next to it, she first washed her face, then scrubbed the dried blood from her person. There was a clean soft cotton shift laid out next to her skirts, which had obviously been well brushed, and her blouse was freshly laundered. A pair of sewn stockings, the first Fiona had ever owned, were laid across her boots. They fit to above her knees and had plain ribbon garters. She pulled them on, affixing the garters tightly, imagining her embarrassment should the stockings droop or fall. Janet Stewart would think her a little savage. She had finished dressing when Nelly entered the room.

"Oh, lady, yer up, and ye've dressed yerself! Don't let me aunt Una know, or she'll scold me for not doing my duty," the girl begged.

"I'm only awake because my sisters came to tell me the laird's sister is below," Fiona answered.

"Aye," Nelly said. "The laird is a wee bit afeared of her. She's just two years younger than he is. My aunt says they fought like cat and dog when they were growing up. 'Tis fortunate, my aunt says, she wasn't a lad, or they might have killed each other." Nelly chuckled.

"I want to listen," Fiona said in conspiratorial tones to her new servant. "Has the laird gone down yet?"

"Just now," Nelly replied, her eyes twinkling. "Come on, and I'll show ye where ye may hear them." She beckoned Fiona, and hurried from the chamber.

Jeannie and Morag were still outside, and at a signal from their elder sister they followed wordlessly as Nelly led them quickly down the stairs, through the corridor, and toward the hall. When they had almost reached the hall, Nelly turned down a narrow passageway, drawing them into a small room. Finger to her lips, she crossed the chamber and cracked open a small sliding panel.

" 'Tis how we know when to serve and what is needed without being told," she said. "Come, lady, ye can hear everything."

Fiona peered into the hall. She could see Angus Gordon pouring a goblet of wine for a tall attractive woman.

"There ye are, Janet," he said, and Fiona heard him quite clearly. "What brings ye to Brae, sister? I hope Hamish and the children are well."

"I was at Glenkirk visiting our uncle, the laird," she replied. "Did ye really think that the priest would not gossip, Angus?"

"What priest?" he asked her, sipping from his goblet.

"The one that came from the abbey to oversee the marriages of the two little Hay girls to the Innes and the Forbes lads. Ye've caused a fine scandal, Angus Gordon! Where are Mistress Fiona Hay and her sisters? Oh, how could ye? What an infamous arrangement ye made with that poor innocent lassie. Ye’ll have to wed her now-and perhaps something good will come of yer conduct, for 'tis certainly past time ye were married. Oh, Robert sends his regards to ye, and says he'll pray to the Blessed Virgin that ye'll turn from yer wicked ways."

"Who is Robert?" Fiona whispered to Nelly.

"The second brother," Nelly replied. "He's four years younger than the laird. He went to the abbey when he was ten and became a priest three years ago. Isn't Lady Stewart lovely?"

Fiona nodded. Angus Gordon's sister had shining black-brown hair in a braided arrangement. She was very fair, and her bright blue eyes snapped as she berated her elder brother for his outrageous behavior.

"Marry the wench?" the laird said, surprised. "Why would I marry the wench? She stole my cattle, and we made an arrangement that she pay for them in the only way she could. I don't want to marry anyone, Jan. I'm quite happy as I am, and besides, I'm too young."

"Yer twenty-five, Angus Gordon," his sister said sternly. "I'm but two years yer junior, and I've been wed nine years, and have five bairns."

"The wife should be younger," the laird said with some good humor, and sliced himself a piece of cheese to nibble.

"Fiona Hay can be no more than fifteen. She's almost past her prime. Another year, and she will be," Janet Stewart said firmly. "Ye've taken her honor, Angus. No other will have her now. Ye must wed her. This lass isn't some cottar's daughter. Her family is respectable."

"She's a brazen little cattle thief, my dear sister," the laird replied. "She has already stolen a dozen head of my cows, and had the gall to bargain for eight more for her younger sisters' dowers. Don't waste yer outrage on Fiona Hay."

"Did ye breach her?" Janet Stewart demanded of him.

The laird flushed. "What kind of a question is that for a respectable matron to ask a man?" he countered.

"Ye have! Dammit, Angus! Ye were ever greedy with a new toy! Now ye have absolutely no choice but to wed the lass."

Fiona had heard enough. Pushing past the startled Nelly and her two younger sisters, she found her way into the hall. "I'll not wed with him, madam," she said loudly as she entered the room. "I'll not be shackled to a man I don't love, like my poor mam." She glared defiantly at the pair of siblings.

"Ye’ll marry me if I say so!" Angus Gordon shouted.

"Go to hell, ye pompous jackass!" Fiona shouted back.

Janet Stewart burst into a peal of laughter. "Why, bless my soul, Angus, yer lassie has more spirit than I think ye can handle."

"I am not his lassie!" Fiona said fiercely.

"Come here to me, Fiona Hay," Janet Stewart said quietly. Reaching out her hand, she drew the girl closer to her, looking into one of the fairest faces she had ever encountered. "If ye will not have my brother for yer husband, then no other will have ye, lassie. 'Tis a good marriage for ye both, and Angus already has a dowry in yer grandfather's lands." She gently caressed the girl's cheek. "Yer mother, may God assoil her good and sweet soul, loved my father. Having to wed with Dugald Hay must have been hell on earth for her. Nonetheless, we canna all wed just for love. Love usually comes afterward, lassie."

"Did ye not love yer man when ye wed him?" Fiona asked.

"Hamish? No." Janet Stewart laughed. "His family wanted a suitable bride. The match was made when I was in the cradle. He's almost twenty years my senior, and I didn't see him until a month before we were to wed, for he was a soldier for the French in France. But he's a good man, my Hamish, and I have grown to love him as the years passed. We have made two sons, and three daughters."

"He's besotted over her, and ever was," the laird of Loch Brae muttered in response to his sister's words.

"Meg didn't know her David well either," Janet Stewart continued, "yet she's happy." Then she explained, "Meg is our younger sister, and she's wed to David Hamilton. They have two of the dearest little twin laddies. Ye see, Fiona, marriage must be worked at as ye would work a fertile field. Little will grow if ye don't plow it, seed it, and water it. Love comes with time, with respect, with knowing a man day by day. It all takes time. Ye and Angus, for all yer rough start, are, I believe, an ideal match." Her smile encompassed them both.

"I'll not wed him, nor any man I don't love," Fiona said stubbornly.

"Nor will I wed a thief and besmirch the honor of the Gordons of Loch Brae," the laird said in equally stubborn tones.

Janet Gordon Stewart looked discomfited by her brother's attitude. Why did Angus always have to be so damned difficult? Fiona's mood she discounted. The lass was obviously proud and idealistic. She could be gotten around in time, but Angus was a different matter. Perhaps, she decided, if left alone for the winter, love would actually bloom between the adamant pair. Then the matter would be solved.

"Where are your little sisters, my dear?" Janet Stewart asked Fiona.

"Jeannie, Morag," Fiona called, and the two younger girls came into the hall. "Make your curtsies to Lady Stewart."

"How adorable they are!" Janet Stewart cooed. "The wee one is yer spit, Fiona Hay." She cocked her head, and stooping down said, "Are ye Jeannie or Morag, my pet?"

"Morag, lady," came the lisping answer.

Janet stood again. "Then ye must be Jeannie. Do ye like ponies, Jeannie Hay?"

"Aye, lady." Jeannie nodded slowly, wondering what this was all about. She suspected from the lady's dulcet tones she wouldn't like it.

Janet Stewart turned to Fiona and her brother. "These two bairns must come to Greymoor to live with me," she said. When Fiona opened her mouth to protest, Janet continued, "Ye have made yer decision, Fiona Hay, but that decision when spread far and wide, will make ye known as a high-priced whore."

Fiona blanched, but her lips were tightly compressed as she listened to Janet Stewart's further explanation.

"If ye expect to find respectable husbands for Jeannie and Morag one day, then they canna remain here at Brae else they eventually be considered fair game for yer fate. Ye do understand, don't ye?"

Fiona nodded slowly, but there were tears in her eyes.

"For God's sake, Jan, don't speak so harshly to her," the laird protested. "Jeannie and Morag are but bairns. No one will think ill of them. Fiona's mothered her sisters admirably. Yer being unnecessarily cruel."

"No," Fiona spoke, surprising them, "she is not cruel, my lord. She speaks the truth. I wanted to leave my sisters up upon the ben with old Flora and Tam," she explained, turning to Janet Stewart, "but yer brother said 'twould not be safe now. I did think of them, lady!"

"Of course ye did," Janet said. "I can see yer mettle, Fiona Hay. Angus was right, however, about leaving two little lasses unprotected but for two servants. Still, they canna remain with ye and be respectable. They must come home with me."

"I'll not leave my Jamie-boy," Jeannie said firmly.

Fiona ignored her. “Will ye let me send our Flora and Tam with my sisters, lady? They were my mother's servants, and have cared for us our whole lives. There is nothing they can do for me, as my lord has kindly supplied me with a servant of my own. They will feel useful looking after my sisters as they have always done. They are obedient and will give ye no trouble, my lady."

"Of course they must come."

"I'll not leave my Jamie-boy!" Jeannie repeated, and this time she stamped her foot for emphasis.

"My little brother comes most frequently to Greymoor," Lady Stewart said, immediately understanding Jeannie's concern. "I have a daughter just a wee bit younger than ye, too, Jeannie Hay. Ye’ll have someone to be yer friend. Have ye ever had a friend before?"

Jeannie shook her head in the negative.

"Have ye a little girl my age, lady?" Morag demanded, tugging upon Janet Stewart's skirts. "I've never had a friend either."

"I do!" Lady Stewart said, smiling, "and I have two little boys as well, but they play with each other."

“Fiona!'' Jean Hay looked to her sister.

"Lady Stewart is correct, Jeannie. If ye stay with me, ye will be thought no better than I am. Ye must remember that ye are Hays, not common folk. If ye are raised in Lady Stewart's household, ye'll retain yer respectability. Ye’ll be considered for fine husbands one day." She spoke carefully as if she were struggling to maintain her composure, which indeed she was.

Janet wanted to smack her brother. This was all Angus's fault. If he were not so unreasonable, so bloody unyielding, this whole situation might have been avoided. All he had had to do was pretend to believe Fiona Hay when she said the cattle were hers, but no! Angus would be ruled by his pride. No one must believe for a single moment that the laird of Loch Brae had a kind heart. When she considered what the Hays of the Glen had done for her brother! Janet swallowed back her outrage. "I'll take good care of yer sisters, Fiona Hay," she said. "Ye have my word on it."

"Then it's settled!" the laird said jovially, secretly relieved to be rid of the two younger Hay sisters. He hadn't been quite certain what he would do with them, and Jeannie, he could see, was going to prove quite a handful.

"I'll not take the lassies today," his sister said sweetly. "Ye’ll need a week or two to see they are properly outfitted for my household, and their servants as well, brother dear. And ye'll pay me an ounce of gold each year for their keep, and I'll expect a declaration in writing from ye regarding the size of their dowers." She turned to Fiona. "Four cattle was it? Each?"

Fiona nodded, slightly astounded by Janet Stewart's manner.

"Four cattle or the equivalent in silver coin, plus linens, clothing, and a piece of jewelry," Janet concluded.

"Ye ask a great deal for two little lasses from the ben," the laird said.

“Ye got a great deal from their grandsire that by rights should have been theirs, and let us not forget what ye've taken from their eldest sister," Janet responded sharply.

"Agreed," he replied grudgingly.

"Oh, thank ye, my lady!" Fiona said, catching up Janet Stewart's hand and kissing it fervently. "I shall ever be in yer debt."

"Fall in love with him, lassie," Janet said softly, "and make the arrogant devil love ye so much he suffers when out of the sight of yer splendid green eyes." She winked at Fiona, then said to no one in particular, "Fetch my cloak! I must be off to Greymoor to tell Mary and Annabella that they will soon have two new friends to play with."

"Yer visit, sister," said the laird, "has, as always, been interesting. Let me know when ye would fetch Jeannie and Morag to Greymoor."

"Don't be paltry in their accoutrements, Angus," his sister said sharply as she departed.

Fiona couldn't help but laugh. "She is like the wind. Blowing in, sweeping clean, and then blowing out again."

"She is more like a plague," the laird grumbled. "Ever since we were children she has been telling me what to do-and what not to do. Yet her husband thinks the world of her, and her children adore her. I don't understand it, lassie." Then, forgetting that the two younger Hays were with them, his glance softened briefly, and he said, "How do ye feel this morning?" His big hand reached out to tilt her face up to his, and leaning down, he brushed her lips gently.

Fiona stared back nervously, admonishing him with a shake of her head and a glance toward Jeannie and Morag. "My lord!"

Angus Gordon laughed softly. "I think I shall outfit those two as quickly as possible so I am able to kiss ye whenever I choose, lassie. Last night but whetted my appetite for ye."

Fiona blushed, a fact that irritated her, for she did not think of herself as some milk-and-water wench.

The laird did not visit Fiona's bed for the next few days, and she was grateful, as she was much too busy preparing her sisters for their entry into the household of Hamish and Janet Stewart. Hamish Stewart, the master of Greymoor, was a distant cousin of the king's. While there was no real court under the protector, the noble families did visit back and forth. The Hay sisters would need at least two fine gowns with matching surcoats. Their everyday gowns were rather tight-fitting and had long waists. The fine gowns were made of velvet, and the surcoats were embroidered with colored beads and tiny pearls.

" 'Tis verra pretty," Jeannie noted. "Do ye think Jamie-boy will like me in it?" She pirouetted for her sisters. "Do I look older?"

"Don't be in such a hurry to grow up," Fiona admonished the girl.

"Why?" Jeannie asked. "Do ye not like being a woman? They say the laird is a bonnie lover." She carefully removed the gown.

"Don't speak of things ye don't understand," Fiona said.

"But I do understand," Jeannie replied. "I know all about how a man and a woman make love. Did ye not know that Margery and Elsbeth were sneaking out to meet their laddies in the weeks before their wedding? Margery is already with child. She was terrified that ye would learn of it before she wed her Colly. They told me everything I wanted to know about men and women so I would not tell you or Flora about their mischief," Jeannie concluded smugly.

"They are only lucky I was able to procure their dowries," Fiona said grimly, "else Margery's bairn be a bastard."

"What is a bastard?" Morag asked innocently.

Jeannie giggled, and even Fiona was unable to keep from laughing. "Don't fret yerself, our Morag," Fiona told her baby sister. " 'Tis not a word a proper young lady would use."

"Are ye not proper, Fi?" Morag asked.

"No, I am not proper anymore, sweeting. That is why ye and Jeannie are to go and live with Lady Stewart. Look at all the fine clothes the laird has provided for ye. Yer a verra fortunate lass."

And indeed the women brought in from the laird's cottages had worked hard to produce new wardrobes for Jean and Morag Hay. Besides their fine gowns, surcoats, and everyday gowns, there were sleeved camisias for sleeping, shertes, sewn stockings, and garters. Each had, too, a sturdy wool cape lined in rabbit's fur. The cobbler had come, measured their feet, and produced fine leather ankle boots. There were gauze head veils, and the laird presented each girl with a ribbon sewn with pearls for her hair. Neither would be embarrassed by her garments in the household of Hamish and Janet Stewart.

Flora and Tam had arrived from Hay Tower, and to Fiona's surprise Flora fully approved of Janet Stewart's decision to take the two younger Hay sisters into her keeping. She never asked Fiona about her relationship with the laird, and she slept with her husband in a room next to the two littler girls.

The night before they were to depart for Greymoor, Fiona sat with her old servant by the fire in the hall, her head against the old lady's knee.

"Do ye not love me anymore, Flora Hay? In the week since ye came down from the ben ye have not scolded me once, and tomorrow ye will be gone."

Flora caressed the raven-black hair on her young mistress's head. "What is there to say, lambkin? Ye set yer path that day on the ben when ye made yer infamous bargain with this laird."

"Ye know I had no other choice. He would have taken the cattle without a moment's thought. Jeannie tells me Margery and Elsbeth met secretly with their laddies all the summer long, and that Margery was with child on her wedding day. 'Tis true I didn't know all that, but what else could I do, Flora?"

"There was nothing ye could do, my lamb. Ye remembered yer promise to yer own sweet mam to care for her lasses. She knew ye would have to sacrifice to keep yer promise."

"Would she be proud of me, Flora?"

"Aye," the old lady said, "but I canna help but think she would have hoped that ye wed with the laird. He has a good heart, my lamb."

"The laird doesn't want a wife, and he doesn't want me in particular. He said I would besmirch the honor of the Gordons of Loch Brae. As if I wanted to wed the arrogant fellow!"

"Ye must make him wed ye, lambkin," the old servant said. "No other will have ye now that he has robbed ye of yer virginity."

"Is that all a woman's worth is valued at, Flora? Her virginity and her ability to bear bairns? I want a man who will love me for more than those qualities, and Black Angus doesn't love me at all. To him I am no more than a thief. A thief who is now his mistress. When he is done with me, I shall return to the ben, but Anne, Elsbeth, and Margery are properly wed, and Jeannie and Morag will have fine husbands one day."

"And ye have provided for my Tam and me as well," Flora said quietly. "I am happy to be off the ben. I never liked it, but yer mam was our lady, and then when she died, we could not leave her bairns."

"I know," Fiona said, "but now yer old bones will have warm fires for ye to sit by while ye watch my sisters grow up. I would not have left ye on the ben."

"There are things I must tell ye before I leave," Flora said to her mistress. "There are certain precautions that ye can take to prevent yerself from having a bairn if ye don't want one. The seeds from the wild carrot, the plant with the lacy white flowers, will keep ye from mischief. Take a spoonful of the seeds, followed by a goblet of warm water. Or chew the seeds if ye will. A dose of pennyroyal can help, too. Don't bear the man a bastard if ye can prevent it, lambkin."

"Greymoor isn't far," Fiona said. "I'll come to see ye for advice as I have always done. I'm learning to ride a horse."

Flora nodded. "Still," she said, "I should have told ye before the laird bedded ye. If ye find yerself with a bairn, come to me, and I will help ye to rid yerself of it."

Fiona was surprised by Flora's knowledge, but she was grateful for it. "How often do I take the seeds?"

"Once daily, and I'll give yer Nelly a bag of them to tide ye over until next summer when the plants bloom again. Yer mother used them when she wanted to defeat yer father of a son, though 'twas not often enough. She feared he would learn of her deception, for he scattered his bastards far and wide."

"Aye," Fiona agreed. "He would have been suspicious, for he so wanted to regain the lands in the glen." Arising from her seat upon the floor, she shook her skirts out, then offered Flora a hand, pulling her from her bench. " 'Tis past time we were in bed, old woman."

Hamish Stewart came for the two Hay sisters. "Yer sister, clever lass she is," he said to Angus with a pleased grin, "seems to be breeding again. I hope it is another lad, for we surely have a houseful of lassies, and here we are adding more." He chuckled. Brown eyes twinkling, he glanced from his brother-in-law to the two girls. "Are these the little Hay girls, Angus?"

Amazed, Jeannie and Morag looked at Hamish Stewart. He was the largest man that they had ever seen. He stood at least six inches over six feet, and his big round head with its mop of hair was as red as fire, as was his bushy beard. "Be he a giant, Fi?" little Morag said, eyes wide.

Hamish Stewart's laughter rumbled forth. Lifting the little girl up into his arms, he grinned at her. "No, no, lassie. My mam and my father just grew me big." A thick finger tickled her, and she giggled. "Be ye Mistress Morag Hay?" he asked her.

"Aye, sir," Morag said, and then, surprising everyone, she demanded of Hamish Stewart, "Will ye be my father?"

"Morag, what a thing to ask," Fiona gently admonished her littlest sister. "Lord Stewart will be yer guardian."

"I want a father!" Morag said adamantly. "I have never had one!"

"She was only a wee bairn when our father died," Fiona explained.

Lord Stewart's eyes were warm and sympathetic. "I'll be happy to be yer father, lassie," he replied. He set the little girl down again.

Fiona pushed Jeannie forward, and the girl made her curtsy to the big man. "I am Jean Hay, my lord," she said.

"Ye don't look old enough to be a shameless wench, but my young brother-in-law seems to think ye are," Lord Stewart said with a chuckle. "Are ye, Jeannie Hay?"

Jeannie grinned. "Only where my Jamie-boy is concerned, my lord. I promise to comport myself in most ladylike fashion otherwise."

Hamish Stewart roared with laughter and, turning to the laird, said, "I can see that my household will be all the more exciting for the addition of these two lassies, Angus." Then, taking up Fiona's hand, he kissed it. "Ye will be Mistress Fiona Hay," he said quietly. "Let me assure ye, Mistress Hay, that I will take care of yer sisters as if they were my own bairns, and yer two servants will be well treated. Ye are always welcome at Greymoor, lassie."

"Thank ye, my lord," Fiona said. Tears pricked her eyes, but she fought them back. She did not need her sisters weeping at their departure. "Please send my felicitations to your good lady upon the expectation of your next child. I am grateful to ye both for your thoughtful kindness of my sisters." She curtsied prettily.

There was approval in Hamish Stewart's eyes at her words. His wife had been correct. Fiona Hay would make Angus a fine wife, if the bloody fool could only see past his overweening pride.

The girls' baggage was loaded into a mule-drawn cart along with old Flora and Tam.

"I have given Nelly the bag," Flora whispered as Fiona kissed her worn cheek.

"I have brought ye mounts I thought ye would like to have for yer own," the master of Greymoor told his new charges. Helping Jeannie onto a small dappled gray mare, he then lifted Morag onto a fat black pony. "Yer mare is called Misty," he told Jeannie, "and the pony, my bonnie Morag, is Blackie."

"Oh," Fiona said enthusiastically to her sisters, "how fortunate ye both are to have such beautiful beasties for yer very own!" She kissed Morag on her rosy cheek and squeezed Jeannie's slender hand. "God bless ye both, sisters. I will come and see ye soon."

Hamish Stewart signaled their departure, for he knew if he waited much longer there would be weeping. Fiona walked with the slow-moving party to the bridge. Then with a cheerful wave she turned back to the castle, listening to the steady clop-clop of the horses' hooves as they clattered over the wooden span. Although Jeannie had been uncharacteristically silent as they parted, Fiona could hear Morag chattering away to Hamish Stewart. She smiled weakly. It was the right thing for both girls. It was!

She was saddened by her loss, and the rest of the day she wandered about the laird's small island aimlessly. She found a large boulder by the shore with a smooth indentation partway up the rock facing the loch. Seating herself within the surprisingly comfortable notch, she gazed out upon the blue water. It had a soothing effect and helped allay her fears for having rearranged her siblings' lives so quickly. She now wondered about her own. What was she to do with her life? Although she didn't think the laird was particularly taken with her, he seemed to want to retain her company, although why, she didn't know. He hadn't come near her since the night they had arrived at Brae Castle. Was her maidenhead really all he had wanted of her, despite his words to the contrary?

She stared out at the waters, becoming familiar with the rhythm of the small waves, spying a ripple of current. The shore beyond the island was treed right down to the craggy bluffs along the waterline. Here and there was a small patch of sandy beach. The trees were already beginning to show their autumn colors. The aspens and the rowan trees were turning a bright gold. The rowans would be heavily hung with orange berries. The oaks would show russet and red, mixing among the tall stately dark green pines. Fiona sighed deeply. She dearly loved the autumn, but this year her autumn was tinged with sadness. For the first time in her life she was alone, without her family.

Above the treed bens the clouds began to mass, leaving torn patches of bright blue. The late afternoon sunlight turned the castle golden, reflecting brightly into the loch. It was so beautiful. She had never been in such a lovely place. Her father had taken so much from them in his cruel quest for Glen Hay, and in the end he had not even possessed a handful of ashes. Perhaps if he had made his peace with her grandfather, none of this would have happened. Perhaps she might have even been honorably betrothed to the laird of Loch Brae. Fiona shook her head, laughing softly at herself for being a fool. Dugald Hay had gone to his grave cursing his father-in-law and the unkind fate that had denied him what he believed was rightfully his. He had left his daughters poverty-stricken. And she, the daughter of a proud clan, had sold herself for the good of her sisters. She slipped from her niche and walked slowly back to the castle.

In her chamber Nelly greeted her worriedly. "Where were ye, lady? Black Angus could not find ye, and has been in a terrible state!"

"I am used to being out-of-doors, not confined within the walls of a castle," Fiona said. "I didn't leave the island. There is a large rock by the shore with a notch in it. It makes a fine seat upon which to sit and think while watching the water."

"Ye miss yer sisters," Nelly said wisely.

Fiona nodded. "I have never been alone before. I don't know what to do with myself."

"I have yer bath ready," Nelly replied. "After a good soak ye'll feel better. The piper is to play tonight in the hall."

When Fiona had bathed and dressed herself in a clean skirt and blouse, she followed Nelly down to the hall where Angus Gordon was already at the high board.

"Where have ye been?" he demanded, his dark green gaze fastening on her. "I thought ye had run off and that I would have to send the hounds after ye, lassie." He shoved a platter with a roasted joint upon it down the table at her while signaling with his other hand that her goblet be filled with wine.

Fiona tore off a piece of the joint, taking a bite from it. "Because I am yer mistress, my lord, does not mean I lack honor. We have made a bargain, and I intend to keep it." She chewed the venison, washing it down with the wine, then reached for the bread and cut herself a chunk. After smearing butter across it with her thumb, she bit off half of it. Her look was intractable. She would not be bullied by the likes of Angus Gordon.

He said nothing more, nor did she. When the food had finally been cleared from the board, a piper came forward, stood before them, and began to play. A faint smile touched Fiona's lips. The music made by the pipes was a raucous sound, yet it touched her heart to its core, understanding her sadness, sympathizing with it, soothing it. She sighed deeply as the piper finally ceased and walked away into the shadows of the hall. Without another word Fiona arose and went to her chamber, Nelly on her heels. Angus watched her go, his look, for the briefest moment, thoughtful.

Nelly helped her mistress to disrobe, handing her lady a soft linen camisia with flowing sleeves. Fiona tied the two halves of the garment closed at the neckline. After bathing her hands and face, then carefully cleaning her teeth with pumice, she was ready for bed. Nelly busied herself with folding the discarded garments and laying them aside.

Fiona went to the window and pushed the shutters open. The night air was cool, autumnal. "Go to bed, Nelly," she said. "I'm not yet ready to sleep. Too much has happened today."

"God give ye sweet repose then, lady," Nelly said, closing the door behind her.

There was a quarter moon tonight. It glowed brightly down on the waters of the loch, silvering the little wave tops. The wind was light, but definite in its course. Fiona smiled as it caught a tendril of her hair before she began to braid it. Fastening the single thick plait with a bit of ribbon, she sighed and, placing her hands on the sill, gazed deeply into the night. She was alone. For the first time in her entire life she was truly alone. Her sisters were all scattered. Old Tam and Flora were gone from her. It was an odd sensation, almost like having no body or floating free and not knowing where she was going. What was to become of her, she wondered, but Fiona was neither sad nor frightened by her silent question. She was simply curious as to what life held in store for her. She could not remember a time when she was not responsible for her siblings. What on earth was she going to do now that they were all settled?

The arm that slid about her waist was not unexpected. She had sensed that he would come tonight. It had been more than a week since he had lain with her, and she was shy all over again, but at least this time she knew what to expect.

"What are ye thinking?" he asked, surprising her.

"Of my sisters," she said, wondering if he would really understand.

"Ye miss them?"

"Aye, and I wonder what my life is to be now I no longer have them to care for, Angus Gordon," she told him honestly.

"Ye are my mistress," he replied, bending to place a warm kiss in the place where her round neckline revealed her skin.

Fiona laughed in spite of herself. "What does a mistress do, my lord?" she queried mischievously.

"Why she… she-" He stopped, confused by her question.

"Exactly," Fiona told him. "If I were yer wife, 1 would have the care of this castle and its people, but I am not yer wife. What is it that I am, then? I am not a toy to be put in the corner when ye don't want me, my lord."

The laird was astounded. By Fiona, by their very conversation. What did she want of him? "Una and Aulay have charge of the castle," he began, but he realized that had he a wife, they would defer to her.

"Una and Aulay have their proper place, as do all those here at Brae. They know what is expected of them each day. I do not." Fiona's backbone seemed to stiffen as she spoke. Why on earth had she even begun this conversation? He would think she wanted to be his wife.

"Yer place is in my arms, in my bed," he told her. "That is the duty of a man's mistress, lassie."

"I canna spend all my time in yer arms, in yer bed," Fiona said desperately. "I need something to do. I am not used to being idle!"

His mother had died when he was relatively young. He scarcely could remember what she did with her days, if he'd ever known. He'd been out and about as much as possible from the earliest age, a male absorbed in male pursuits. As far back as he could recall, Una and Aulay had run the castle. "What do ye want to do?"

Fiona thought a moment. "I want to learn to read and write," she said. "Can ye read and write, my lord? My father could not, although my mother said she could write her name. Nothing more, mind. Just her name. I never saw her do it, though."

"I learned to read and write when I was a boy in England with the king," the laird said slowly. "My brother, Robert, has learned these skills at Glenkirk Abbey, but neither Jamie-boy nor my sisters nor Hamish Stewart, for that matter, can read or write. If it is what ye want, lassie, I shall teach ye," he promised her.

Fiona nodded, satisfied.

"The moon is bright tonight, is it not?" he said finally.

"Aye."

His fingers began to undo the ribbon tie at her neck. Her camisia opened to the navel. His hand slipped inside to capture a breast. It nestled like a small round apple, just filling his palm. Her skin was very soft and warm with pulsing life. He began to rub the nipple with his thumb, his lips again finding the almost invisible hollow where her shoulder met her neck. His mouth lingered for a long moment.

"I left ye alone these past days not because I don't desire ye, but so ye might have time with Jeannie and Morag," he murmured against her ear. His tongue delicately explored the pink whorl of it.

"I know, and I am grateful," Fiona replied, shivering at the warm wetness in her ear. This love play of his was exciting, but at the same time it was a little frightening. She shifted nervously, trying to fix her attention upon a bright star just above the bens on the other side of the dark loch, but it was impossible. She wanted to snatch his hands away. Instead her arms lay by her sides, her fingers clenching and unclenching nervously.

Angus Gordon could feel the tenseness in the lassie, and it was no wonder. An enthusiastic student when her initial fears were overcome, she was still greatly inexperienced. Gently he drew her camisia off her shoulders. It slid down her torso to puddle about her ankles. Slipping his hands beneath her arms, he reached up to cup both her breasts in his hands. He fondled the delicate flesh.

Fiona's breath caught achingly in her throat. Unable to help herself, she shuddered hard.

"No, no, hinny lamb," his voice caressed her. "Don't be afeared. Do ye not remember how sweet it was between us the last time?"

"Aye!" She forced the word out. It had been sweet between them that only time he had made love to her, taking her virginity in a blaze of hot passion.

"It will be sweeter this time, lassie, I swear it!" He turned her about to brush her lips with his.

She was surprised to find he was naked. She had been so concerned with herself that she hadn't even noticed the feel of his skin against hers. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. His big hands enclosed her buttocks and pulled her close against him. Fiona could feel the hard length of the rampant manhood against her thigh, and her cheeks burned again.

"My Gordie has missed ye, lassie," he murmured suggestively.

"He's a bold fellow," she said softly, and reaching down with a hand, she stroked him softly. "Ah, yer so hard, my lord!"

"I want to be inside of ye, Fiona Hay," he told her harshly. "Ye canna know how I burn for ye, lassie. 'Twas not easy to resist grabbing ye every time I saw ye these past few days, but I kept to the proprieties for the sake of yer sisters." His mouth took hers again, but this time the kiss was fierce and demanding.

Fiona responded, sliding her arms about his neck, her breasts pressed hard against his chest, her fear melting away in a rush of desire. He lifted her, palms beneath her bottom, sheathing himself within her, and instinctively her legs wrapped about him. She was astounded by what he had done, by what they were doing. He pressed her back, and she felt the sill against her spine as he groaned into her mouth, his lower torso pushing and thrusting against her. She matched his rhythm, amazing herself, but finally she pulled her head from his, gasping. "Ye’ll cripple me, Angus Gordon, if ye dinna stop pushing me into the stone of the window!"

He replied by ceasing the action of his loins. His arms tightly about her, he walked across the chamber, then placed her on the edge of the bed. Standing over her, he continued the savage meter once again, driving himself hard and deep within her ripe body.

Fiona raked her nails down his back, her passion burning so brightly, she was surprised it did not light up the whole room. She felt as if he were devouring her whole, yet at no time was she afraid, even when he grasped her wrists and, pinioning her to the mattress, growled, "Don't claw me, lassie," just as he ground into her as far as he could. Ecstasy washed over her, catching her up in a rapture so intense that she felt as if she were being transported to the heavens and back. Then the great throbbing within her burst. With a cry he fell across her breasts, half sobbing. Fiona stroked his dark hair, well satisfied with his efforts. There had been no pain this time. Indeed, there had been nothing but utter pleasure. Did all women feel this way after such a bout of passion? Did wives? Or was it only a man's mistress who enjoyed this special delight?

Angus Gordon breathed slowly and deeply, working to recover his equilibrium. He was somewhat surprised at himself. He hadn't realized his lust was so great that he would take her in such a primitive fashion, but Fiona had not seemed to mind, except for reminding him that he was bruising her back against the windowsill. Her legs fell away from him, and she sighed deeply. Raising himself up on his elbows, he stared into her face. "I'm pleased to see yer every bit as brazen as ever, lassie," he said by way of a compliment.

"Get off me, ye great oaf," she replied, and when he had raised himself just a bit more, she rolled away from him, getting off the bed and hurrying across the chamber to gather up the basin, which she filled with water. She then cleansed herself and looking to him, she said, "Come and let me wash yer Gordie, my lord. Ye'll not want to sleep with him dirty."

He complied, coming across to her, asking, “Where did ye ever learn such a thing, lassie?"

"My old Flora said I was to do it. She says a manhood can become diseased if it is not kept clean." Pushing back his foreskin, she washed him most competently, dried him, and then, drawing the flesh down back over the knob, she smiled up at him even as she gave it a pat. "There now, 'tis done, and ye'll be all the better for it."

He laughed, charmed by her ingenuousness, but then he teased her, "Yer tender ministrations will but encourage my Gordie, lassie."

Her eyes widened. "Ye don't mean we could do it again tonight, do ye, my lord?" To his amusement her look was very hopeful.

“When I was yer age, Fiona Hay, I could do it a dozen times a night. Now, alas, I can but manage three or four. Get into bed," he ordered her, his look suddenly menacing.

She caught her lower lip with her teeth, and to his surprise she giggled. "How many times do ye think ye can do it tonight?" she demanded wickedly. "I like it when ye take me, Angus Gordon."

"So I've noticed," he said. "Get into bed, lassie."

Her tongue slid seductively over her lips. "Three times or four, my lord?"

He grinned at her. "Ye’ll not know, lassie, until we get back into yer bed." He chuckled. "I think, however, I can manage four."

She pulled him eagerly by the hand, and when they lay sated a second time, Fiona thought to herself that being the laird's mistress was not such a bad fate after all. She was still of the same mind when she awoke in the morning, sore, but certainly more than well satisfied.

Chapter 4

Robert, Duke of Albany, brother of the late king, Robert III, uncle to the young captive king, James I, and regent of Scotland, had not been the most popular man in the land, but his rule was a strong one.

The moment he'd assumed the regency for his captive nephew, the Duke of Albany had renewed the peace with England, then grandly declared that during his tenure as Scotland's temporary ruler no burden should be placed upon the poor by his administration. It was an extremely clever move, for the differences between the highland Celtic population and the more civilized Scots of the lowlands were becoming more and more pronounced. There was utter anarchy and lawlessness throughout Scotland, which while more manageable in the lowland regions, was impossible to control in the highlands. There each powerful chieftain renewed his independence in the ways that the clans had been independent prior to the rule of Robert the Bruce. The Duke of Albany sought to overlook what he could, which was much.

The lords of the Isles were the worst offenders, possessing a fleet of their own with which they harassed the rest of the coastal regions of Scotland at their convenience. The MacDonald, the most powerful of the chiefs, had made his own peace with England. He considered himself their ally. The regent, a man far more interested in adding to his family's wealth and power, pointedly ignored The MacDonald.

The English held two hostages of interest to the regent: his nephew, the young king, who was technically his overlord; and his own son, Murdoch, Earl of Fife. While Albany's first duty was to negotiate the release of the king, his aims in that direction were lukewarm. It was his own son for whom he had interceded with all the passion in his ambitious soul. It was greatly to his advantage that his nephew remain in England, but in a calculated and tender show of familial concern, he had sent the young sons of the Scots nobility south on a regular basis to keep their boy-king company. Angus Gordon had spent two years with his king, during which time he had learned to read and write. It hadn't been easy, but young James Stewart had insisted.

"When I come into my own again, Angus, I'll need men of intellect, as well as those who are good with a sword," he had cajoled his youthful companion.

"Ye’ll need men who are loyal to ye, my liege," the boy Angus had replied. "Remember that yer uncle murdered yer brother to keep him from the throne. He'd just as soon ye remained in England. He has ambitions for yer throne, and this English king who holds ye has gotten his crown by usurpation as well. He understands the regent's desires, for they are his own."

"There is more to it than that," the king replied to his friend. "There is a rumor that the last English king, Richard II, was not murdered at Pontefract Castle, but escaped to the isles where he was captured by Lord Montgomery, and given to my father as a hostage. It is said my father maintained him, that now he lives in royal state, cared for by my uncle, Albany. I saw the man once. He indeed looks like a portrait of that king that I have seen here in my captivity in England. King Henry keeps me here so that the regent will not send his rival back to England to dispute his claim to the throne. They counterbalance each other, Angus Gordon. Only when this man dies will I be able to return home again, I fear."

And so the fragile peace had continued between Scotland and England. The death of Henry IV changed little but that Albany was able to finally regain custody of his own son, Murdoch, Earl of Fife, in exchange for the young Earl of Northumberland, son of the famed Percy lord known as Hotspur. Henry V went to France to fight for its throne. He took with him the young king of the Scots, for the wily regent was allowing Scotsmen to fight for the French. Having the Scots king fight by the side of the English king was a psychological victory, and many Scots withdrew from the French army, feeling torn between their national loyalty and their desire to earn their keep, for many were younger sons. The regent died at the age of eighty, to be succeeded by his eldest son, Murdoch, for whose release he had struggled so hard.

The new Duke of Albany unfortunately lacked his father's political astuteness. He was neither crafty nor ambitious, although he certainly didn't wish to give up all the material gains that his father had garnered. He was a basically lazy man of easy character, unable to wield much authority over the land, let alone his own family. He was quickly bored with trying to manage an administration that was in fact unmanageable. The country slipped deeper into anarchy.

To add to Duke Murdoch's troubles, there came a contagious malaise, with fever and dysentery, that afflicted the entire country from highlands to lowlands. The murmurings began that God was displeased because Scotland had denied its rightful master. The dukes of Albany had held power for too long, while the poor young king languished in the custody of their mortal enemies, the English. The illness was God's judgment on Scotland.

The nobility laughed scornfully. Most were content with things the way they were, yet the more responsible among them realized that the violence and disorder would only lead to more of the same.

In an odd turn of events, Walter, the Earl of Atholl, suddenly decided he would have to involve himself personally in a negotiation to bring home his nephew, the rightful king of Scotland. Yes, James Stewart was a man full-grown, and it was past time for him to return. Further, the Protector of England was said to be inclined to be reasonable because he was at war with France and needed to have peace on the northern border. The time was propitious. Walter formed a delegation to go to England and negotiate for the release of James Stewart.

It was a small delegation, the most important members of it being, of course, Walter himself; John, the Red Stewart of Dundonald; and the bishop of St. Andrews. Arriving in England, the Scots discovered first that James Stewart was no weakling, as his father had been, and fully intended to rule Scotland with an iron hand. Their second surprise came when they learned the king had chosen a bride, Lady Joan Beaufort, the infant English king's older cousin, and a granddaughter of the formidable John of Gaunt. James Stewart expected his delegation to arrange not only his release but his marriage contract as well.

It took almost a year and a half to bring the negotiations to complete fruition. The king of Scotland would return home; his people would pay sixty thousand merks over a period of six years to the English as remuneration for James Stewart's keep while he had lived in England. Further, the Scots promised to cease giving aid to the French against the English; Lady Joan Beaufort would become Scotland's queen, her dowry to be a quarter of the sum due the English from the Scots.

The marriage was celebrated at St. Mary Overy in Southwark on the thirteenth of February in the year of our lord fourteen hundred and twenty-four. On the twenty-eighth day of March the royal Scots train set off northward, crossing over the border on the ninth day of April. To everyone's surprise the rugged road was lined upon both sides with men, women, and children, all eager for a glimpse of their long-lost king and his pretty new queen. They cheered James Stewart until they were hoarse. Here and there one of the border bonnet lairds would step forward to shout out his fealty as the king rode by.

At Melrose Abbey James Stewart met up with his cousin Murdoch, Duke of Albany, who had come with his sons, Robert, Alexander, James, and the other Walter Stewart. With them were as many of Scotland's noble families as could reach Melrose in time for the king's coming. Here the English departed, leaving James Stewart safely on his own territory for the first time in eighteen years.

Duke Murdoch came forward and knelt before the king, who sat upon his horse. "Let me be the first to swear ye fealty, cousin," he said.

The king looked down. His amber eyes were unreadable. "Ye are tardy with yer allegiance, cousin," he said coldly. "The delegation ye sent swore me fealty before the negotiations for my release even began."

Rebuked, the Duke of Albany flushed, then pulled himself to his feet. "I am happy to see ye home, my liege," he said, knowing even as he spoke that he and his family would hot find favor with this king.

James Stewart turned away from his cousin. He would never forgive the dukes of Albany for the irreparable harm they had done his branch of the family, and he could not forget that they had let him languish in England for almost twenty years while they usurped his authority.

"I have brought home my own executioner," the Duke of Albany said quietly.

" 'Tis bad, I will admit," his father-in-law, the Earl of Lennox, said, "but yer family. He has much to do. His anger will surely cool. In the meantime, be as much help to him as ye can be."

Duke Murdoch nodded, watching the king, who had not bothered to wait to be introduced to his four sons, moving on instead to the others who had come to greet him. Some were impressed by James Stewart's air of strength and determination. Others were not at all pleased, especially when he said, "If God grant me life, though it be but the life of a dog, there shall be no place in my realm where the key shall not keep the castle, and the bracken bush the cow through all Scotland." In that short sentence he told the Scots nobility that he intended reigning as a king should reign.

As the king moved among the nobility, his eyes suddenly met those of Angus Gordon. A wide smile split James Stewart's face, and he pushed aside those bodies separating him from the laird of Loch Brae. "Angus! Angus Gordon!" He embraced his old friend warmly. " 'Tis good to see you again, and come down from your beloved Brae to greet me."

Angus knelt and kissed the king's hand, only to be pulled to his feet again by his liege lord. "I am flattered that you remembered me, my lord," he said modestly. "It has been many years since we last saw each other, but no one could keep me from coming to greet you. Home at last, thank God!"

"You will stay in Perth with me," the king said. "I will need one man near me who is truthful."

The laird flushed slightly. "I have brought my mistress with me, my lord," he said low.

"She is welcome, too," the king replied. "Both Ramsey and Ben Duff brought theirs to keep them company in England. Grey even wed his lady just before I married my Joan. Is your lass with you?"

Angus drew Fiona forward, and she curtsied low to James Stewart. "This is Mistress Fiona Hay, chieftain of the Hays of the Ben, my neighbors, sire."

"Mistress Hay, I greet you," the king said, raising Fiona to her feet.

"And I you, my liege lord," Fiona said quietly, her heart hammering with excitement. "I hope you will allow me to pledge you my loyalty."

"And that of your clan, too, I hope," the king replied.

Fiona chuckled. "I fear, my liege, that I have few clansmen."

"How many?" His amber eyes were amused.

"There are but five of us, my liege. Myself, my two little sisters, and our two servants," Fiona told him.

"Five loyal Scots is as good a start as any king can have," James Stewart said gravely, and then he bowed gallantly to her.

"You have pleased him," Angus Gordon told her when the king had left them to greet the others.

The royal party moved on past Edinburgh to the capital, Perth. The young queen was charmed by the raw beauty of the land. As they moved farther north, the terrain became more mountainous. They crossed many swift-running streams and traveled by and around a number of lakes.

They came to the town of Perth on the twentieth of April. The king and his queen would stay at Scone Palace on the grounds of the abbey.

"I love ye, my liege," Angus Gordon said when the king asked him to join his court, "but I canna do so, for there are matters at Loch Brae to which I must attend."

"Stay with us for the coronation, Black Angus," the king said, "and afterward I will ask ye to but bide with me a little while. In the autumn ye will go home, and I will come with ye to hunt the red deer."

It was a request, but it was also a command. The laird of Loch Brae bowed his head in submission to the king's will.

" 'Tis not for very long," Fiona comforted her lover that evening as they lay abed. She stroked his dark head resting upon her naked breasts. " 'Twill be verra exciting to see a king crowned, Angus. We're not likely to have such an opportunity again."

"Ye’ll need a new gown."

"Nay," she said, "the gowns I have are barely worn, and my surcoats are in good condition."

"A white undergown," he said, "and the gold-and-white brocade surcoat must be trimmed in white fur."

"As you wish, but I will not wear one of those silly headdresses," Fiona said. "Imagine putting horns upon a woman's head. It makes a female look like a cow with a veil." She sighed as he began to caress her.

"I can understand yer aversion to cattle these days, lassie," he teased her, raising his head just enough so he might kiss her now plump breasts. "Why, ye've become almost respectable."

She gave the dark hair a severe yank, and he swore softly, half laughing. "Yer a villain, Black Angus," she said, "despite yer close association to our king. Will I never be free of this debt to ye?"

"Never!" he said fiercely, pulling her into his arms and kissing her hard. "I will not let ye go, Fiona Hay. Ye are mine!"

Hamish Stewart and his wife, Janet, came down from the hills to attend the king's coronation. They brought with them young James Gordon and Jean Hay. The sisters embraced warmly; then Fiona stepped back to look at Jeannie, who was now twelve. Her sister had grown taller and had the beginnings of breasts, but in one thing she had not changed. She was still determined to marry James Gordon.

"Why, Jeannie lass, ye've grown quite fair," the laird complimented the girl. "Ye’ll soon be a woman, I can see."

"Then match me with my Jamie-boy," Jean Hay said boldly.

The object of her affections groaned and rolled his eyes, driving the others to laughter.

"It would be a good match for ye both," Angus Gordon said. "I have always thought it, brother. Perhaps the time has come to arrange it before some other swain sweeps Jeannie off her feet and takes her away from ye." He smiled.

"She's too young to bed," James Gordon grumbled. "I want a wife I can bed. Besides, she has no lands of her own, and I want a wife with property, Angus. Surely ye can understand that."

Janet Gordon Stewart looked to her elder brother but was uncharacteristically silent.

' 'I'll give ye some of the lands in the glen," the laird said.

"For Jeannie Hay?" was the surprised response.

"They were her grandfather's lands, Jamie-boy," the laird replied. " 'Tis only right she have some of them as a dower portion."

"She's still too young to bed," James Gordon said.

"She will not be in two years, brother," Angus Gordon said. "Ye can wait that long, for yer but a lad yerself. Where else will ye get such a good offer? Yer the youngest son, and have little to offer a lass of greater property but yer pretty face, Jamie. No father would want a lad with so little to offer, despite his pretty face."

Jean Hay held her breath, not daring even to move.

"Well," James Gordon allowed, "I suppose I could wait to bed a wife. How much land in the glen, Angus?"

"We'll discuss it when we are back in Loch Brae, Jamie," the laird said quietly, "but 'tis agreed between us that ye will take Jean Hay to be yer wife in two years' time."

"Aye," James Gordon agreed, and the two men shook hands.

"Ye may kiss me, Jamie-boy," Jeannie Hay said grandly, her heart pounding with excitement that she would finally have the man she wanted for a husband.

James Gordon looked at the young girl. Bending, he bussed her on her rosy cheek. "Yer too young, lass, for the lips," he told her sternly, seeing the mutinous look in her amber eyes.

Then to everyone's surprise Jeannie Hay answered meekly, "Aye, Jamie. Whatever ye say."

"Ye could take a lesson from yer little sister, Fiona Hay," the laird said, a twinkle in his eyes.

Fiona looked outraged, but Janet Gordon Stewart laughed aloud, and her big husband chuckled, the deep sound rumbling about the room.

"The day I become a fool over a man/" Fiona sputtered, "ye'll know I have lost my wits!" Then she stormed from the chamber.

"Take yer betrothed and go," Angus Gordon said to his youngest brother, waiting until Jamie had departed with Jean Hay to look to his sister and brother-in-law. "Say yer piece, Jan, for I know ye will anyway," the laird told her with a small chuckle.

"Yer foolishness has gone on long enough, Angus," Janet Stewart said sternly. "When are ye going to set the day and wed with Fiona?"

“When she tells me that she loves me, sister, for to my surprise and my amazement, I seem to be in love with her, but I will not wed with a lass who does not love me," he finished implacably.

"Nor would Fiona, with her unfortunate parents as an example, wed with a man who did not love her," his sister answered him. "A woman needs to know her man loves her, Angus. Only then will she dare to admit to her own feelings. Remember that we women are the weaker vessels."

“Hah!'' her brother responded, and even the patient, kindly Hamish Stewart had a difficult time remaining silent. "Most women have stronger wills than any man I have ever met," the laird said. "When my lass tells me that she loves me, only then will I admit to her that my heart is filled with love for her."

Janet Gordon Stewart shook her head. "God help us all, then, for both ye and Fiona are so stubborn that ye may go to yer graves without ever being wed."