The Captive Heart

Chapter Eight

Later that evening in the hall Alix managed to steal a moment with her lover. "We are free to leave on the morrow," she told the laird. "But the queen wishes to speak with me before we go, my lord."

"I will alert our men," he responded.

"Remember, she does not receive anyone before midmorning. We shall not get an early start, I fear," Alix reminded him.

"But we shall be gone from Ravenscraig, lambkin, and be making for the borders before the sunset. I'll send a rider ahead to the nunnery of St. Margaret begging accommodation for tomorrow night," Malcolm Scott replied. "On the following morning we will depart immediately at first light."

Alix smiled at him. "I cannot wait to get home," she said, "and have the winter set in so we may be safe from all visitors."

"If we are fortunate, my uncle will have come with his latest candidate while we have been away. He will be very disappointed, I fear," the laird chuckled.

Alix excused herself from the queen's presence and hurried to the little chamber she shared with Fiona. She packed up their belongings carefully, leaving out the clothing in which they would travel on the morrow. Then she went to find Fiona in the royal nursery, where the little girl was deeply involved in a chess game with the king. Fiona had learned the game quickly and proved a good player, to the young king's delight.

James Stewart looked up. "You wish to speak to us, Mistress Givet?" he asked.

"It is time for Fiona to go to bed, Your Highness," Alix answered him politely.

The king sighed. "But she is near to besting me for the very first time," he said.

Alix smiled a little smile. "And how long do you think it will take her to do such a thing, Your Highness?"

"Two moves, if she is clever," James Stewart said seriously. "But if she is not, I shall best her in three."

"Then with Your Highness's permission I shall wait," Alix replied.

"Granted," the boy king responded, and then he turned his attention back to the game table.

Alix did not sit, for she had not been invited to do so. She stood patiently as the end of the game was played out. She saw that the king might actually have easily won, but instead he allowed Fiona the small victory, grinning when she clapped her little hands in glee with her triumph.

"I have beaten you at last, Jamie!" she crowed.

"Indeed, Fi, you have," he agreed. "But tomorrow is another day."

"I regret to tell Your Highness that we shall be leaving Ravenscraig tomorrow," Alix said to the king. "Fiona, make your farewells to His Highness and thank him for his kindness and for teaching you to play chess."

"Do we have to leave tomorrow?" Fiona said. "Why can we not remain?"

"We must leave tomorrow," Alix told the girl. "You must remember your father has responsibilities at Dunglais. It would not do for the winter to set in and the laird be gone from his keep."

Fiona arose from her seat at the gaming table. She curtsied a perfect curtsy to the king. "I thank Your Highness for teaching me how to play the game of chess. I regret I cannot give Your Highness the opportunity of a rematch."

The king stood, and taking the girl's small hand in his, he bent and kissed it. "We have enjoyed your company most greatly, Mistress Fiona. Godspeed, and a safe journey home to your Dunglais. Perhaps if we travel to the borders one day we may have the pleasure of visiting you."

"Thank you, sir," Fiona responded. "I shall look forward to it, and Your Highness will be more than welcome." Then she took Alix's hand and they departed the royal nurseries.

"That was very nicely done, Fiona," Alix complimented her charge proudly. "I am going to tell your father how well you did."

"I'm sorry to have to leave Ravenscraig, and yet I will not be unhappy to go home," Fiona admitted to her companion.

"I have already packed our few possessions and laid out our travel garments," Alix said. "We'll wash tonight so as to be ready. I am commanded to see the queen before we leave, and you know she does not arise as early as the rest of us."

But to Alix's surprise she had no sooner finished breaking her fast in the great hall with the laird and Fiona than one of the queen's lady's came to fetch her. Alix followed the woman and was led to a charming small room with a view of the Firth of Forth. The sun was just risen and dappled the waters gold.

"Good morning, Mistress Alix," Marie of Gueldres greeted her. "Sit down, and I will tell you what it is I wish to tell you."

Alix took her seat upon a footstool that had been placed before the upholstered high-back chair where the queen sat. She looked expectantly up at her.

"Last summer a messenger came to me from my kinswoman Margaret of Anjou," the queen began. "Her letter was quite detailed, and inquired if her goddaughter, one Alix Margot Givet, had come to me seeking a place in my household. It went on to explain she had matched her godchild with the son and heir of an English baron. That the girl's husband had died under tragic circumstances. But as there was no issue from the marriage, and the young man's father was now heirless, the baron had sought a dispensation to wed the girl himself from the archbishop of York. The dispensation was granted early last summer, but the girl had run away from the gentleman's home in the meantime. It was assumed, as she had been a member of the former queen's household, that she would not flee south into England but north into Scotland."

"Then you knew who I was once you learned my identity," Alix said softly. "Even before I told you my tale."

"Aye, I knew," Marie of Gueldres replied. "And I was as appalled that my kinswoman would even countenance such a second marriage for you, as I said to you when you told me your tale. However, Sir Udolf came over the border and sought out your godmother. He prefaced his request that the queen approach me with a rather good-size purse. Your godmother is, as you can well imagine, in desperate straits, Mistress Alix. And so she wrote to me asking if you had come to me and if I knew of your whereabouts. Of course, at the time you had not come to me and I did not know where you were."

"Will you tell her now?" Alix asked fearfully.

Marie of Gueldres shook her head. "Nay, I will not. I do not, as I have said to you previously, approve of a marriage between you and your late husband's father. It is an unnatural thing. And besides, you are in love with Malcolm Scott, and he with you. True love is a rare and beautiful thing, ma petite. I will not destroy it for you."

"The laird is not in love with me," Alix said, disbelieving.

The queen laughed merrily. "He is very much in love with you, else he should not have dragged you from my hall several nights ago when he grew jealous that my captain and Adam Hepburn were paying you compliments and enjoying dancing with you. Believe me, ma petite. The Laird of Dunglais is besotted with you."

"He has not said it," Alix murmured.

"Men rarely declare their love unless they are certain they will not be rejected. I know the tale of your laird's marriage. A man betrayed is even more cautious," the queen told the young woman. "Be patient with him, ma petite. Love him, and all will be well."

Alix smiled shyly. "I will try, Your Highness," she said.

"Go home now, ma petite, but beware. Sir Udolf has been seeking among the border families for you. If he finds you, however, I will protect you if your laird cannot. You will not be forced into a marriage with this man."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Alix said, rising and curtsying to the queen. Then she backed from the room, and hurried to make her way back to her chamber where she had left her cape. She found their trunks gone, and picking up her cape, returned back to the hall where the laird and Fiona were waiting for her.

Adam Hepburn was in the courtyard waiting to bid them farewell. He lifted Fiona onto her mount and then put Alix into her saddle, stealing a kiss as he did so.

"My lord!" she scolded him. "You will make the laird jealous." But she was laughing, and so was he.

Still and all Malcolm Scott looked slightly annoyed, but when the Hepburn poked him with a wicked grin, he could not help but grin back.

"Now that I know what delights your Dunglais holds, my lord, I may come and visit you," Adam Hepburn teased the laird.

"You'll be welcome," Malcolm Scott said, laughing now.

They rode forth from the castle of Dunglais, turning south back towards the borders.

"The queen had matters to speak upon before we departed," Alix said to the laird once their journey was well underway.

"What had she to say, lambkin?" he asked her.

Alix told him of her conversation with Marie of Gueldres.

Malcolm Scott's face darkened. "If he comes, I'll not let him have you," the laird said. "And if the queen is on our side then we are certain to triumph."

Our side! He had said our side and not your side. Alix's heart soared happily. "I would die before I left you, Colm," she replied quietly.

Her sweet declaration left him briefly speechless. Could it be she loved him? Really loved him as he loved her? Would she be faithful to him and not betray him as Robena had done? Could she be trusted? So many women could not. He thought a moment of Eufemia Grant, the wife of the queen's captain who had so boldly tried to seduce him that first day at Ravenscraig. She was a whore by nature, Adam Hepburn had told him. Grant had only married her because James Stewart, the former king, had asked him to, and offered Grant the position of captain of the queen's guards if he would. An older man whose entire life had been in the king's service, Grant had agreed. His connections were not great, and while he deserved the promotion he received, he could have never gained it by being a most competent soldier. Another poor Stewart relation might have been content to be given a good husband. But Eufemia Grant was far more ambitious and a captain of the guard was not good enough for her.

Malcolm Scott shook his head. But most women were greedy for more than they had. His own mother had never been satisfied with what his father was or what he possessed. And after birthing her only child, she had gone on to have a series of stillbirths until finally she had refused his father her bed. Then she had spent the rest of her days an invalid, complaining about his father's many mistresses, each one of which had been more acquisitive than the previous one. He had not been overly sad when his parents had died within a year of each other. His mother of her own bitter choler. His father of the pox.

And then he had heeded his uncle of Drumcairn's advice, and married Robena Ramsay. But Robena had soon proved even worse than his mother, birthing Fiona, ignoring her because she was not a son, and making his life a misery until he took her to court. At the court of his friend King James II, his wife had blossomed as her extraordinary beauty, and the wardrobe that almost beggared him, brought her the attention and adulation of many powerful and wealthy men. He had never been certain that she hadn't begun her unfaithful behavior there. The Earl of Huntley had been most admiring of her. More so than most. And because he wasn't sure, and because he did not choose to be mocked as a cuckold, he had taken Robena back to Dunglais before any scandal might break.

She had, of course, been furious with him. He had admonished her that her duties were that of a chatelaine, a mother, and a wife. She had eschewed all of those duties, leaving the household to his kinswoman, Fenella, their child to him, and locked her bedchamber door. Malcolm Scott was too proud a man to make an issue over that. She would eventually come to her senses because she had no other choice than to accept what she had and not what she thought she wanted.

But he had been wrong in his assessment of the situation. Robena had taken to riding out day after day on a great white stallion she had brought with her to the marriage. Suddenly they had all noticed a change in her. She laughed at the most inappropriate times. A wild, high-pitched laugh. She was secretive, and more and more high-strung. He could ask nothing of her that she did not refuse with absolute defiance, almost daring him to stop her behavior. He had gone to his uncle of Drumcairn for advice, and Robert Ferguson had returned with him to Dunglais to see with his own eyes what it was his nephew had to complain about. Although Robena was at her most charming to him, she was still out of control and Robert Ferguson had no idea what to tell his nephew.

And then had come the day when he had learned his wife had just ridden out carrying a pouch with her jewelry. He had, of course, followed after her. When he finally caught up with Robena, she was in the arms of his bastard half brother, Black Ian Scott. His wife had been shocked to realize they had been caught. But Ian had laughed.

"First yer wench, Colm, and then the lairdship, which should have been mine," Ian had said, drawing his sword.

Malcolm Scott's eyes went to his wife. Her beautiful face was alight with her excitement. She looked from him to his half brother. "Is this what you want, Robena?" he asked her in a quiet and reasonable voice.

"Aye!" she said. "Fight for me, Colm. And I will laugh when Ian kills you, for I hate you. And when Ian is Laird of Dunglais I'll see your precious daughter put out on the moors to live or die. I care not!"

"Fiona is your own child, from your own womb," he replied, shocked.

"She matters not to me!" Robena said, and she laughed at the look on his face.

"When I have killed my brother, Wife," Malcolm Scott said in a cold, even voice, "I will see to your punishment. Do not doubt it for a moment, Robena." And then he drew his sword even as his half brother jumped forward to attack him.

Above them the sky was a dark gray with an approaching storm. Thunder was in the air. The two men battled back and forth for several long minutes. Each pricked the other, and then Ian Scott delivered his sibling a blow that opened a wound on the laird's left shoulder, blossoming scarlet onto his shirt.

Robena screamed with delight, her face avid with blood lust. "Kill him, Ian! Kill him!" she screamed, elated to see what she believed was the beginning of the end for her husband. She began to pace back and forth like a caged animal.

Hearing her cruel words, Malcolm Scott was suddenly free of any affection he might have held for his wife. He had no intention of being killed by his bastard half brother. He had no intention of allowing his darling child to be abused by her own mother. A black fury at the pair who had betrayed him rose within him, and he was suddenly filled with renewed energy.

The Laird of Dunglais pressed forward, attacking his opponent with a fierce vigor. Ian Scott was older and heavier than his brother. To his surprise, and then a budding fear, he began to tire. Malcolm Scott's blade did not flag, and his opponent, suddenly aware that he could lose, lost his concentration for but a moment, stumbled, and fell. His sword went flying a small distance across the moor. On his back he looked up at the laird.

"Mercy," he cried.

"Go to the hell where you belong!" the laird responded, and thrust his sword into his half brother's heart, killing him instantly.

Robena Scott shrieked and, looking about frantically for her lover's sword, she found it, picked it up, and charged her husband, flailing at him with the weapon. He knocked it from her hands with his own sword. Robena Scott turned and began to run.

"Now, Wife, the question is what am I to do with you?" he called after her. Then, realizing the answer, he had done what he knew must be done, and sometime afterwards taken his half brother's body back to Dunglais to be buried.

Now once again a woman was at the center of his decision. The solution had been easy with Robena. It was not as easy with Alix. He had not loved Robena. He loved Alix. But would she betray him? She said not, but could he trust her word? Women were prone to lie, especially to men. Had he not been witness to it? His own mother. His wife, and only a few days ago, Eufemia Grant, who would have bedded him, would have lied to him and to her husband. Could he trust Alix? Dare he trust her? But if you truly loved someone, didn't you trust them? And then Malcolm Scott realized to his surprise that he was afraid. He was afraid to make a decision for fear he would be wrong. He didn't want to be hurt, yet what kind of a man did that make him? Was he a coward?

"Are you all right, my lord?" Alix's sweet voice pierced his thoughts.

"My head hurts," he admitted to her.

"We will soon be at St. Margaret's," she said. "The past few days have been busy for us. You are not used to even an informal court such as Queen Marie's. We will be home in a few days, and you will be better."

"Aye, it will be good to get back to Dunglais," he agreed.

The weather was beginning to turn. Their first day of travel had been beneath a weak sun and a still wind. The second day was gray and the wind had begun to rise, but at least it was at their backs.

Halfway through the third day it began to snow lightly, but the winds had picked up. The tiny white flakes melted at first as they hit the ground, but as the snow grew heavier it began to stick, and by the time Dunglais Keep came into view it was barely visible. The laird had transferred Fiona from the small gelding she had been riding. He had set his daughter before him, wrapping his own heavy cape about her to keep her warmer. He looked to Alix, who rode by his side. She was hunched down, the hood of her cloak pulled well up, her head down.

"We're almost there, lambkin," he said to her.

She looked up briefly, giving him a smile. "I hope Fenella has a hot stew," Alix responded. "I am ravenous after this icy day and our cold ride. I thought the meal served this morning at St. Ninian's was paltry, and they gave us nothing for our bellies along the way. It was stingy," Alix grumbled.

He chuckled.

"Is Fiona all right?" she asked him in a concerned tone.

"She's fallen asleep, poor mite," he answered her. She loved his child. Was not that a point in her favor? Robena had disliked their child for no other reason than she had been a female, which meant his wife must attempt once again to get an heir. He had not been unhappy with a daughter.

"Is she warm enough, Colm?" Alix wanted to know.

"She's not freezing, and we'll be home shortly," he said. The keep was getting nearer and nearer.

"It was like this the day I sheltered among your cattle," Alix said.

"It's early yet for snow," the laird said. "It will not last."

"I was so fortunate to be found by your men before I died," Alix remembered.

"You may show me your gratitude for rescuing you this evening," the laird teased.

Alix laughed.

And then they were riding into the courtyard of Dunglais Keep.

Stable lads ran out to take their horses. Alix jumped down from her mare, and reaching out, took a sleepy Fiona from the laird. He dismounted, and together they hurried into the house. Both Iver and Fenella came forward wearing broad smiles.

"Welcome home, my lord!" they chorused.

In the great hall the two hearths were heaped high with logs and burning brightly.

Alix set the half-conscious Fiona gently on her feet, an arm about the child. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she said. "We are home at last."

Fiona's bright blue eyes snapped open. "Home?" She looked about her, and then she cried, "We are home! We are home!"

"You would never know she had a wonderful time at Ravenscraig," Alix told Fenella. "The king himself taught her to play chess."

"Gracious!" Fenella exclaimed. "Consorting with a king, were you, my bonnie?"

"He's ever so nice," Fiona said. "Not at all like his three rough younger brothers. I didn't like them at all, Fenella. Especially the Duke of Albany. He is very rude. The two earls are not so bad, but bad enough."

Fenella's face registered the proper amount of interest and awe. Then she said, "Fuzzytail had her kittens while you were away. Would you like to come and see them? They have just opened their eyes today."

"Oh yes!" Fiona replied excitedly.

"The meal will be on the table shortly," Fenella said. Then she took Fiona off to see the new kittens.

Iver took brought them goblets of mulled wine and took their capes away. Together the laird and Alix sat down upon a settle next to one of the hearths, the heated spiced wine in the goblets warming their hands. They remained silent for a few minutes, the crackling of the fire in the fireplace the only sound.

Then the laird said, "Are you glad to be home, lambkin?"

"Aye, I am," Alix said.

"Queen Marie would have gladly had you in her household," the laird noted.

"But I prefer the company and life at Dunglais," Alix responded.

"Why?" he asked her pointedly.

Alix considered a moment. Then she said, "Are you not happy to have me here, my lord of Dunglais?"

"Of course I want you here!" he said half-angrily. "Do you think otherwise?"

"Why do you want me here?" she inquired, neatly turning the tables on him.

"You are good to my daughter," he answered her quickly.

"Is that all, Colm?" she replied.

He was very quiet for what seemed a long time, and then he answered her with another question. "Do you love me, Alix?" His gray eyes searched her face anxiously.

"Aye," she answered him without hesitation. "Do you love me?"

"Aye," he responded as quickly, gazing into her hazel eyes, and his heart leaped with pure happiness at the look of joy upon her sweet face at his answer. He took her two hands in his and kissed them passionately. "You will marry me!" he said. He didn't ask. It had been a statement pure and simple.

"Aye, I will!" she told him, laughing. Then she grew serious. "But what of Sir Udolf of Wulfborn, Colm? He still seeks among the families on both sides of the border for me. Does the dispensation he carries require my obedience? Must I marry him unless he frees me of the obligation?"

Malcolm Scott looked puzzled. "I do not know," he admitted, "but if we have wed according to the laws of Holy Mother Church in Scotland, can the rite be denied by the church in England?"

"I am not a scholar," Alix said. "We must ask your priest. Until then say nothing, my lord. And after we have had the benefit of clerical counsel I would like us to tell Fiona first. She should be consulted also if you propose to make me her mother."

At that moment Fiona came running into the hall cradling in her hands a small white kitten with a tiny pine tree of a tail that was both black and white. "Look!" she said. "This is Fuzzytail's daughter. She has two brothers, but they are not nearly as pretty as she is. Can I have her, Da? Please!"

The laird looked to Fiona. Then he looked to Alix.

"I think Fiona is old enough to have her own cat," Alix said. Then she turned to the girl. "But the kitten is not ready to leave her mother, ma petite. She is still just a wee babe. You must take her back to Fuzzy tail until her mama can wean her from her teat and teach her to hunt. But you can certainly visit her every day and play with her."

"What will you call her?" the laird wanted to know.

"Bannerette," Fiona replied.

"Bannerette?" The laird looked puzzled.

"It is very clever, Fiona," Alix told the child. "I think it a perfect name."

Fiona beamed proudly. "I will take her back to Fuzzytail now, Alix."

"Hurry, ma petite. I see they are about to serve the meal."

Fiona ran off with the kitten.

"Bannerette?" the laird repeated.

"The kitten's tail is like a little black and white banner. When she grows up, it will be more obvious. And since she is a female, she is Bannerette, not Banner," Alix explained to him.

"As Fiona grows, I understand her less and less despite the fact I adore her," Malcolm Scott said. "But you understand her completely."

Alix laughed. "She is a girl. Of course I understand her."

The laird pulled Alix into his arms and, caressing her face, he said, "You are the most perfect woman, lambkin."

"And you are the most perfect man," she responded, gazing up at him adoringly.

He kissed her tenderly, wondering why it had never been like this with his wife. But he had been given a second chance, and he was going to take it. He loved her, and she loved him.

"I will give you all the children you want, Colm," Alix told him. "A son, however, will displace Fiona as your heir. Will you mind?"

"You want more children?" Was he pleased? Of course he was pleased!

"Don't you?" She looked concerned by his question.

"Aye! I do! But if you did not want to have them…" His words trailed off.

"Of course I want children!" Alix exclaimed. "Why would I not? Son or daughter, my father did not care. But he and my mother had both agreed that they would only have one child. My mother did not want to give up her duties as one of the queen's ladies. Now I wonder if perhaps she had and we had gone back to Anjou, she would be alive today. But if that had happened, I should not have met you, Colm," Alix decided.

"You would have been wed to some wealthy merchant's son," he decided with a grin. "And you would get fat with his children and good cheese."

Alix laughed. "Now I will get fat with your babes. What is it you call them?"

"Bairns," he replied. "You will get fat with my bairns. And I intend plowing a deep furrow with you tonight, lambkin, and every night thereafter until you bloom with my bairn." The laird found her lips again and kissed her hungrily. "I did not like sleeping in a sleeping space at Ravenscraig while you lay alone in a tower chamber."

"I was not alone, my lord," Alix reminded him breathlessly. "I had Fiona with me, but for a wee lass she takes a great deal of space, and she kicks. I am quite bruised."

"I shall kiss those bruises away tonight," he promised her.

"Come to the board," Fenella said, and they realized that the hall was rilling up with the men-at-arms and the servants.

And to Alix's delight the meal was a hearty venison stew filled with chunks of meat, carrots, and onions all swimming in an herbed brown gravy. There was crusty bread, butter, and cheese as well as baked apples with cinnamon that had burst their skins and oozed into the serving dish surrounded by thick yellow cream. The wine in their goblets was heady. Fiona fell asleep at the table. She was quite exhausted from her journey. Alix picked the little girl up and took her to her chamber, where she undressed her, tucking her into bed. Kissing Fiona's head Alix went to her own bedchamber.

To her surprise, Fenella was there overseeing some of the men as they brought hot water to fill a tall oak tub. "I thought you would like a bath," the housekeeper said.

"I could certainly use one," Alix admitted. "I have not had a proper wash since we left Dunglais almost a month ago. And I am surprised I do not have nits in my hair."

"While you bathe more than most," Fenella said, "I will admit a good bath tonight will not harm you. Downwind you do bring the flavor of the court."

"Where is the laird?" Alix asked her.

Fenella smiled. "Still in the hall," she said.

"I think he might use a bath too," Alix murmured.

The serving men had filled the tub and departed.

"Give me your clothing for the laundress," Fenella said.

"Where is Jeannie?" Alix wanted to know.

"Her mother is ill. She's been at her cottage caring for her and her brothers. I'll send for her on the morrow," Fenella replied.

Alix removed her traveling garments and left them for Fenella to sort through as she climbed into her tub. The water was blissfully hot. She washed her long honey-colored hair first, then took up a cloth and washed herself. She could almost feel the layers of dirt sloughing off as she scrubbed herself. Fenella had disappeared with her clothing. Briefly Alix enjoyed her solitude, and then the laird came into her bedchamber through the door that connected to his.

"Fenella says you think I need a bath," he said.

"You do!" Alix told him. "I'm through."

"Do not move from that tub, lambkin," he growled. "I expect you to wash me." He quickly pulled off his boots and his clothing. Then he climbed in with her. The water was dangerously near the top of the oak tub. He smiled a wicked smile. "Bathe me," he said.

And when she did so most efficiently, he was surprised. She washed his hair, and then she washed his face, his neck, his shoulders. "In olden days," Alix explained, "it was the castle chatelaine's duty to bathe her important guests. My mother told me that it was a custom still practiced in more rural areas of Anjou. She said bathing a man was like bathing a baby, except everything was bigger on a man."

"Much bigger," he agreed, taking her hand and drawing it beneath the water to where his long thick cock bobbed.

Alix's fingers closed about him. She fondled him, her hand moving up and down the turgid manhood. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth with her open mouth. Her tongue traced a path about his lips. "Is such a thing possible?" Alix asked him, and he knew exactly to what she referred. "We mustn't spill water on the floor."

"It is indeed quite possible," he told her. "And if we are careful we will not spill a drop of this water. And you have made the act a necessity with your wicked fingers, lambkin." Reaching down, he clasped the delightfully plump cheeks of her bottom as Alix wrapped her arms about him. He raised her up, carefully impaling her slowly on his eager cock. Her legs had clasped him about the torso with primitive instinct. Slowly he backed her against the tall sides of the wooden tub.

Alix had gasped with unadulterated pleasure as he filled her. She wanted it to be just like this for the rest of her life. The one small interlude they had enjoyed a few days ago had but whetted her appetite for him. "Fuck me, my lord!" she whispered in his ear, licking the flesh, nipping at the lobe. Then she gasped again as he began to comply. Alix could feel every inch of him as he delved into her depths. She sensed his high lust as his manhood grew even firmer within her wet heat. The beast throbbed, and it quivered with its desire. Alix could hardly breathe now, so great was her own excitement.

"Yes! Yes!" she hissed in his ear.

"Tell me when, my sweet lambkin!" he groaned back.

"Not yet! Not yet!" She trembled in his arms as he vigorously used her, and then she screamed softly, "Now, my lord! Now!"

He felt the tremors racking her as his manhood satisfied itself, and she collapsed, sighing, on his neck. "There will be more tonight, lambkin," he told her as her legs fell away and his hands released her buttocks. "I have a new delight to teach you soon."

They exited the tub and dried each other before climbing into bed. The servants would remove the tub in the morning. Malcolm Scott drew Alix into his arms and kissed her forehead. "Whatever happens," he told her, "you are mine, lambkin. I will not allow this Sir Udolf to have you. I will kill him first."

Alix snuggled happily against her lover. For the first time in months she felt really and truly safe. Whatever the church said, she would not marry the English baron. But perhaps it would never come to that if he did not find her. How likely was it that Sir Udolf Watteson would come to Dunglais? And certainly when he learned she was the laird's mistress, perhaps even when or if that time came, his wife, he would give up. Wulfborn was a fine estate. Now that Hayle was gone there had to be some good family with a daughter Sir Udolf could marry and get children upon. But she would not be that woman. "What is it that you would teach me?" she asked the laird.

"To suck my cock," he told her. "And when you have mastered that talent, I shall reward you in kind," he promised her. "But not tonight. We have traveled long and I will admit to needed sleep now, lambkin."

"I am content," Alix told him. Their water sport had been vigorous, and she was sleepy too. She was glad to rest. And then in the gray of very early morning she awoke to find him stroking her body with gentle hands. Alix sighed and stretched herself, almost purring. He said nothing as his hands fondled her breasts. Spoke not a word as his lips brushed the nape of her neck. She could feel him hard as he pressed against her. Alix turned, her round naked breasts pushing against his smooth warm chest. Their bellies and thighs meeting, flesh upon flesh.

Then he was kissing her, and their tongues were dancing between the cavern of his mouth and the warm cave of hers. Their mouths fused against each other. One kiss melted into another, and another, and another until Alix found herself dizzy. And still no word had been spoken between then even as he put her onto her back, mounted her, and thrust into the welcoming heat of her eager and ready sheath.

And then he groaned. "Ahhh, lambkin, God help me, but I love you!" He thrust deep and he thrust hard over and over and over again as if he could not obtain enough of her. There was almost a desperation in his action. His lips found hers again.

Alix melted with pleasure as he rode her. His words! His lips! How could she have been so fortunate as to have found such bliss? She had not believed it possible. "Colm! Colm!" she half sobbed his name. "I love you! I love you!" Her head spun. Her body burned with what seemed an unquenchable fire for his passion. She seemed to soar high and higher until she teetered upon the brink of… of… there was no name for it! And then she was overwhelmed with a wave of incredible pleasure that sent her hurtling into a warm darkness that seemed to leap up to enfold her. Alix cried aloud, and it was a sound both mournful and joyous at the same time.

He shuddered hard and shouted her name as his own passion crested and burst. "Alix! My love!" And then his love juices exploded, thundering into her secret garden, shattering him, leaving him weak but sated. The scent of her skin intoxicated him as he lay still half atop her, gasping, struggling to gain enough energy to roll away so he would not crush her.

She had surely died, Alix thought, and then she realized that she was still alive. She sighed deeply and, reaching out, stroked the dark head that now lay on her breasts. His hair was soft for a man's, she thought. Happiness overwhelmed her. She was loved, and she loved in return. This was the kind of passion her parents had felt for each other. That elusive something she had never believed she would be fortunate enough to attain, and especially after her brief marriage to Hayle Watteson. "I love you, Colm," she whispered to him, and then smiled when heard the tiny snore. He had fallen asleep. Alix drew the coverlet back over them and let herself sleep again.

From that moment on it became apparent to all within the keep that the laird had fallen in love and that he was loved in return.

"You see!" Fenella crowed to Iver.

"There's no marriage yet," Iver replied, but he was actually as pleased as Fenella was. Still, he enjoyed teasing her. "HI believe it for certain when he marries her."

"He will!" Fenella responded.

"Who will?" asked Fiona, who had wandered into the hall. "Who will what?"

" 'Tis not our place to say, small mistress," Iver told the little girl.

"What do you want more than anything else in the whole wide world?" Fenella asked Fiona.

"Fenella!" the steward cautioned.

"A mother," Fiona replied. Then her bright blue eyes grew wide. "Oh, Fenella!"

"I've said naught," Fenella spoke quickly. "Just wait, my bairn. Be patient and wait. Who knows what will happen. You might have a new mam soon."

"But I want Da to marry Alix!" Fiona told the housekeeper. "Did the queen call him to court to give him a new wife? I will hate her! I want Alix for my mother!"

"Hush, child," Fenella cautioned.

Fiona burst into tears. "I w-w-want Alix for my mother!" she wailed. "I don't want some stranger! I w-wa-want Alix!"

"Now you've done it," Iver scolded the housekeeper.

"Alix! Alix!" Fiona howled, her small face red and wet with her tears.

Both the laird and Alix came into the hall at the same time. They ran to the little girl, and Malcolm Scott picked his daughter up in his arms to comfort her.

"Fiona, what is it?" he wanted to know.

"I want Alix!" Fiona sobbed.

"I am here, ma petite" Alix assured her, reaching up to wipe away the tears streaming down the child's face.

"I don't want a strange mother!" Fiona wept. "I want Alix!"

"God's foot!" the laird swore. "What is the bairn talking about?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, I may have spoken out of turn," Fenella began.

"ALIX!" Fiona sobbed loudly as she held out her arms to the girl. "I want Alix!"

"Give her to me, my lord," Alix said, and took the weeping child from him.

"What the hell did you say to her?" Malcolm Scott demanded of Fenella.

Iver gave the housekeeper an I told you so look.

"Well, my lord, we were speaking on what Fiona desires more than anything else in the world," Fenella began, attempting to explain the situation.

"I want Alix for my mother!" Fiona sniffled, now comforted by the warm arms holding her. "I don't want some poxy woman from the queen's court. I want Alix!"

"Very well," the laird said in an agreeable tone. "You shall have her."

Suddenly Fiona's tears ceased. A smile broke out upon her face. "Really, Da? Really? I can have Alix for my mother?"

"If she will accept me for her husband," Malcolm Scott said, a small smile upon his lips. "It's actually all up to Alix, Fiona."

Iver's mouth fell open. Fenella grinned triumphantly.

"Will you be my mother, Alix?" Fiona asked. "Please!"

"If your father will ask me properly," Alix said, "I will give you both an answer." Her heart was soaring with her joy. She had lost her family only to gain another one. And she was loved! Love by the laird and loved by this little girl in her arms.

"I thought I had asked you," the laird said, his gray eyes twinkling.

"Not properly," Alix replied mischievously.

The Laird of Dunglais knelt before her, and taking a hand in his, said, "Alix Margot Givet, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Alix tilted her head first to one side and then the other. "Hm-mmm," she pondered as if seriously considering the matter.

"Say yes!" Fiona whispered excitedly in her ear. "Say yes!"

"Do you really think I should?" Alix teased the child.

Fiona nodded her head vigorously.

"Very well, my lord," Alix told him, and the smile she gave was for him alone. "I will gladly be your wife and mother to this wonderful little girl."

"Hoo Ray!" Fiona cheered. "I have gotten my birthday present early."

Alix set her down upon the floor. "Do you feel better now?" she asked.

"Aye!" Fiona responded. "Can I call you Mama now?"

Alix felt tears pricking at her eyelids. She nodded. "Aye, my Fiona. You may call me Mama if that is all right with your da." She looked to him.

He nodded, smiling.

"A Christmas wedding!" Fenella said. "We'll have to start planning right away, for tomorrow is the first of December. We must send to Drumcairn to your uncle. He will be so pleased. And my lady must have a new gown in which to be married."

Afterwards as they sat in the kitchens Iver said to Fenella, "Well, you escaped the wrath you deserved. I knew he was bedding her, but I didn't think he'd marry again."

"I told you he would," Fenella said. "It isn't natural for a man to live without a wife. Just because the Ramsay was the wrong woman didn't mean the right one wasn't out there, Iver. The lady is perfect for him. She'll never betray him like the other did."

The priest was called for, and he came from the laird's village of Dunglais, which was nearby. His name was Father Donald, and he was a man in his middle years. Learning that the laird wanted to wed Alix, the priest posed several questions. "You are both free to wed, my children?" he asked them.

"I am widowed," Alix responded. "My late husband is dead, God assoil him."

"And I am free, as my first wife's bones were found out on the moor," the laird said quietly.

"You both wish to have children?" Father Donald asked Alix, his mild brown eyes searching her lovely face. He had been at Dunglais for twelve years and had known the beauteous but high-strong Robena Ramsay.

"Aye!" Alix said without hesitation, causing the priest to smile.

"And you, my lord?"

"Aye," the laird said, looking at the object of his desire. "Son or daughter, it matters not to me. But our home should be filled with the laughter of children, and Fiona should have siblings. Family is most important to me."

"There is one thing, Good Father," Alix said. "My late husband's father wanted to wed me, and sent to York for a dispensation. I thought this desire unnatural and against church teachings. I fled his home. I am told he obtained that dispensation."

The priest looked troubled. Then he said, "That is England. This is Scotland. No dispensation can make clean that which is unclean, my daughter. I believe Bishop Kennedy at St. Andrew's would agree with me. I will marry you. You have but to name the day," the priest told them. "I am pleased, my lord, that you have decided to take this step. Your uncle at Drumcairn has been most worried. Have you sent to him yet?"

"We but awaited your blessing, Good Father," the laird said.

Father Donald chuckled. "No matter what I might have said, my lord, you would have found a way to make your union with this young woman a legal one. I shall draw up the marriage contract for you in the next few days."

"I can bring my husband a dower," Alix said proudly. "My father gave me a small bit of gold and silver before he died. He said it was for me alone. I will not come to my husband in naught but a chemise, Father Donald."

The priest nodded. "Bring me your portion then, my daughter, and when the contracts are signed it will be turned over to your husband," he told her.

Robert Ferguson, upon receiving word that he nephew was to remarry, came with all haste from Drumcairn. Although he had wanted Malcolm Scott to wed again, he was a bit disappointed that his nephew had not chosen one of his candidates. But when he learned of Alix's dower, he decided the laird had not made a bad bargain. True Alix was English, but her parents were French, and Scotland was allied with the French. True she had no relations who might be of use to the Scotts, or who would fight beside them, but she had a queen, albeit an English queen, for a godmother, and Scotland's queen had become her friend. And she was certainly pretty. And biddable without being boring. And both his nephew and little Fiona obviously adored her. It would be a good marriage, and he wagered silently to himself that Dunglais would have a male heir within the year.