The Captive Heart

Chapter Nine

The marriage contract between Alix and Malcolm Scott was drawn up. The bride brought her dower portion to the priest.

"Is this all of it, my daughter?" Father Donald asked as he took the small chamois bag. He would count it out when he was alone and add the amount to the contract.

"Nay," Alix told him honestly. "My father always said a woman should have a bit of her own money put aside." Then she drew two full-weight silver coins from her pocket and gave them to him. "A donation for the church, Good Priest."

"Your sire was a wise man," Father Donald said with a smile as he pocketed the coins she had given him.

"I have kept only a wee portion for myself," Alix said. "One day I will use it for whichever of my children needs it most."

"I can see you are nothing like the other," the priest said. "And you love him."

"Aye, I love him," Alix answered him simply.

"I understand you read," Father Donald said. "Since, having no family, you must act for yourself, you may read the contract I have drawn between you and the laird."

"There is no need," Alix told him. "I have faith in you, and know you have done what is right, Father."

The priest nodded. Her trust pleased him. She might be intelligent, which was not exactly an asset for a woman, but she had obviously been raised to respect the church. "When do you wish the contract to be signed and the blessing to be given, my daughter?"

"The laird and I have discussed it," Alix said. "Fiona's birthday is on the fifth day of this month. My lord and I will marry on the sixth, the feast of St. Nicholas. His uncle of Drumcairn and his uncle's wife have already been summoned."

It was but two days away, but the priest could see no reason for a delay. He knew that married or no the laird would spend the long winter night in his bed with Fiona, getting a child on her. Better the child be born legitimate, especially if God granted the pair a son and heir. "So be it, my daughter," he answered her.

"The signing will be in the hall with the blessing in the keep's small chapel," Alix continued. "This will be no grand affair. In the summer, if there are no raids, we will invite our neighbors to come and celebrate with us."

"Perhaps at the baptism of your first child?" the priest suggested.

Alix laughed. "Aye! That would be a fine occasion for it," she agreed.

When she had gone, the priest emptied the chamois bag she had given him onto the wooden table in his cottage. He was surprised by what he saw. There were four gold coins and ten of silver. All were full weight. There was not even the hint of clipping. It was the dower worthy of a noble's daughter. He knew her father had been physician to royalty. He had obviously been well liked by his masters and careful in his personal spending. And the bride had been scrupulous in holding back something of her small wealth for herself. He was not certain he fully approved, yet his instincts told him Alix would be a good wife to Malcolm Scott and a good mother to his wee lass.

Alix had returned to the hall to find that Fenella had finished the gown they had been fashioning together for the wedding day. Of royal-blue silk brocade it had a high waist and long tight sleeves with light, almost-white fur cuffs. The hem was fur-trimmed as well, and the low-cut neckline had a fur collar edging it.

"It's beautiful," Alix told Fenella. "Thank you for finishing it for me."

Fenella smiled. "There wasn't a great deal left to do, and with Fiona's day tomorrow and the Drumcairns arriving I thought it should be done."

"I brought my dower to the priest," Alix told her.

Fenella nodded, "Then it's just about done. I am happy for you, my lady."

Alix immediately noticed the chance in Fenella's attitude, and said, "We will remain friends, won't we, Fenella?"

"Aye, my lady!" Fenella smiled, broadly pleased by the question. "I'm happy to serve the laird's wife. At least this wife."

There was suddenly a great stir at the other end of the hall as the Fergusons of Drumcairn arrived. Big and bluff, Robert Ferguson greeted his nephew jovially. "Well, praise God and his Blessed Mother, Colm! And I like the lass, although I could have gotten you a virgin with a large dower. Dunglais could have used a lass with a big dower. Still in all, she's young and will hopefully prove a good breeder." He clapped the laird upon the back, grinning.

"Is a dower of four gold coins and ten of silver, all full weight, enough of a dower for Dunglais, Uncle?" the laird asked Robert Ferguson.

"God's foot, lad! That kind of a dower is more than respectable. Who would have guessed that pretty little Englander would have all that sewn in her skirts." And he chuckled. "A clever wench, Colm. A very clever wench indeed." He turned to his wife. "What think you, Maggie?"

Robert Ferguson's wife, a pretty woman with warm amber eyes and chestnut-colored hair, grinned up at her mate. "I think that Colm did not need you after all, Husband. It seems he was more than capable of finding a wife without you. And a young woman of wealth too. But where is she? I wish to meet her."

At this point Alix had managed to get down the hall and greeted the Ferguson of Drumcairn with a pretty curtsy. "Welcome back to Dunglais, my lord," she said, and then she turned to Maggie Ferguson. "I am Alix Givet, madame, and as the laird's betrothed wife I welcome you too." She kissed the other woman upon both of her cheeks.

"Pretty and mannerly," Maggie Ferguson said with a smile. "Aye, Nephew, you have indeed done well in your choice of a wife."

The next day was the fifth day of December, and they celebrated Fiona's birthday. Alix gave her a little pearl ring her mother had given her as a child. It was too small for her now, but it fit Fiona perfectly. The little girl was delighted, waving the hand with the ring about so all could see it. "My first piece of real jewelry!" Fiona crowed. Then she greedily undid the cloth hiding her father's gift and squealed, delighted. Inside was a little gilded leather girdle and a filigreed pomander that could be hung from it. "Oh, Da! Thank you! It will be perfect with my new gown."

"A new gown?" The laird feigned surprise. "And when am I to see this new gown, Daughter? It would seem to me as you grow up you are becoming more of an expense," he teased her. "You will need a wealthy husband, I fear."

"Oh, Da! You knew I was to have a new gown for the wedding," Fiona said.

"The wedding?" He continued to beleaguer her. "Is it soon?"

"It's tomorrow, Da!" Fiona giggled. "Don't you remember?"

"I don't think I have anything to wear," the laird responded, pulling a long face. "It would seem everyone has been too busy sewing for my ladies."

"Stop your teasing, my lord," Fenella cautioned, shaking her head. "You'll upset the lass. You know how she can be sometimes."

An odd look came over Malcolm Scott's face. Then he said, "Aye."

"Cook has baked an apple tart to celebrate our daughter's birthday," Alix announced, breaking the brief tension.

"It's my favorite!" Fiona said excitedly, and she danced about the hall.

The laird reached out and took Alix's hand in his, his eyes meeting hers. "Thank you," he said. "You are a better mother to Fiona than the cursed wench who birthed her."

"I love her, and I can see she is high-strung, Colm. Most little girls her age are. I will teach her restraint, but she is just seven today. Little girls are quite often sensitive. She isn't Robena, my lord. I will lead her by example."

"She is right, you know," Maggie Ferguson said. "As the mother of daughters, I could tell you tales." she chuckled.

"You have been very good for her," the laird admitted, looking into Alix's eyes and smiling. Then, "How is it you understand me so well?" he wanted to know. "I sometimes think you know me better, lambkin, than I know myself."

Alix laughed. "Will you be offended if I tell you that you are not a very complex man? You are honest and straightforward. I quite like it, my dear lord. The world in which I was raised was filled with men intriguing and plotting. Each word they spoke had to be considered carefully. The truth was a rare commodity. I often wonder if King Henry had been sound of mind and a strong man what his rule would have been. I would certainly not be here at Dunglais had it been."

"Do you miss that world?" he asked her. He knew the answer, of course, but he needed to hear her say it again. Now that she was to be his wife, he found that he needed reassurance that she truly loved him. It had never been this way with Robena.

Alix stood before him and, reaching up, stroked his jaw as she gazed into his eyes. "I would rather be with you and here at Dunglais than anywhere else. I love you, Colm Scott, my dear, good lord." Then her voice dropped so only he might hear her. "You have become my life. I want no man but you. I will never leave you, my darling. Do not be afraid, Colm. Our marriage is meant to be, and it will be good." Standing on her tiptoes Alix kissed him sweetly and gently.

The laird's voice was equally low as he spoke to her. "When Robena betrayed me, only my pride was hurt. As I saw her standing there in my half brother's arms I knew I had never had any real love for her. She had nothing of my heart. But you, my lambkin, you have captured my heart. You hold it captive and you always will." He kissed her back, and his kiss was one of deep longing.

"I belong to you, my lord," Alix told him softly.

"And I belong to you, my love," the laird replied.

When she had seen the way the situation was going, Fenella had eased away from the pair, Fiona in her care. The guests moved away too. But seeing the servants bringing in the meal Fenella called out, "My lords, my ladies. Come to table. Fiona's feast is now set, and it smells delicious. Look, child, prawns!"

The laird and Alix turned from each other. Hand in hand they came to the high board, Malcolm Scott picking up his daughter and bringing her to the place of honor, where she held court the rest of the evening until she was finally carried to bed by her father and tucked in by Alix. Then they returned to the hall to be with their guests. The laird's piper played for them, and the old bard who made his home at Dunglais entertained them with tales, some spoken, some half sung.

"You really do love him," Maggie Ferguson said. "I can see it in all you do. You are so very good with Fiona, Alix. And your servants already respect you. I could not have wished for a happier ending to Colm's woes than this."

"They say she was beautiful," Alix said. "I am pretty, but I am certainly not beautiful. Yet he loves me. I know he does, for I see it in his eyes. Why could he not love her if she was so beautiful?"

"She was beautiful," Maggie said. "Breathtakingly beautiful, yet it was all on the outside. But when he chose her he did not know it. None of us did. She was a beautiful virgin from a good family, there was no scandal about her, and she brought him a respectable dower. It was the kind of arrangement made among families every day. My Robbie tells me you were brought up in the court of the old English queen. You have certainly been witness to many matches, and did any of them involve love?"

"Nay," Alix admitted. "They involved wealth, prestige, power, land. Now and again a matched couple would know and like each other. The queen's ladies would sigh and remark on how fortunate they were, but most matches brought strangers together. My parents knew each other when the Count of Anjou ordered their marriage. They grew to love each other, and I always wanted what they had."

"And have you gained it with Colm?" Maggie Ferguson asked.

"I think I have gained far more," Alix replied softly.

"You want children? Robena really did not," Maggie told Alix.

"Oh, yes! I very much want children," Alix replied. She did not tell her companion that she had a means of preventing conception that she had gained from her father. And she had faithfully used it once she had become the laird's mistress. But she had taken her supply of wild carrot seeds and stored them away this very day. Tomorrow she would be the laird's wife, and the sooner she could give him a son the better.

The evening ended, and they went to their chambers. Malcolm Scott did not come to Alix's bed that night, and she was glad. In a way it put an end to the relationship that they had had, but tomorrow night when she lay in his arms it would be as his wife and not as his mistress. They would begin anew. When morning came, Fenella oversaw her bath. The steam from the perfumed water filled the air of her bedchamber.

"The laird is having his bath in the kitchens," Fenella told her. "He'll not linger long, for the kitchen maids cannot help themselves and are peeping at him from the larder." She chuckled wickedly. "The cook cannot keep order, I fear."

Alix laughed. "Let them look their fill, if they wish. The laird is mine!" She stepped from her own tub and wrapped herself in a large piece of toweling as she sat down by the fire to dry her hair. "I set Jeannie to look over Fiona while I dressed." She began brushing her hair, leaning forward so that the heat touched it. Finally she began to dress herself, Fenella helping her first into her chemise and then into the royal-blue gown. The high waist on the garment flattered her breasts, pushing them up so that they appeared even rounder. She fitted a gold and silver gilt leather girdle about her torso. It had belonged to her mother. To it she attached her mother's jeweled rosary. The very long strand of pearls that she possessed was a trifle shorter, for Alix had taken some of the pearls to make a little rope of pearls for Fiona. She smiled, looking at the miniature strand and thinking how pleased the child would be, then slipped the pearls and her two gold chains over her head. They settled upon her chest and the beautiful blue brocade beneath it.

Fenella now brushed Alix's long hair out. She had taken it upon herself as the keep's housekeeper to help prepare the bride. She fitted a beautiful gold caul dotted with tiny freshwater pearls on Alix's head, carefully stuffing the long hair into the delicate netting. "I took the liberty of having the cobbler in the village make these for you," she said, fitting a pair of sollerets on Alix's feet.

"Oh, Fenella, thank you!" Alix exclaimed. "I had to leave my sollerets at Wulfborn, for I felt they would be too heavy to carry when I fled there."

"A lady shouldn't have to wear boots beneath her brocade gown," Fenella said. Then she said, "Well, my lady, I believe you are ready to go into the hall."

Alix stood up, and her gown settled itself, molding her torso and her hips, the pale fur on her hem brushing the floor. Together the two women descended the stairs. At the entrance to the great hall the Laird of Dunglais awaited his bride with his daughter. His garb was simple. He wore a length of his red Scott plaid wrapped about his loins, and a white shirt. Alix thought he looked very handsome as she slipped the small strand of pearls from her pocket and put them over Fiona's head. The child's mouth opened with surprise as she gazed at the pearls now gleaming against the deep rose velvet of her gown.

"They are now yours," Alix said softly. "Take good care of them, Fiona."

"Oh, thank you, Alix!"

"Mama," Alix gently corrected her. "From this day on I am your mother." And she felt the laird squeeze her hand. Looking up at him, she smiled.

Then together the trio entered the hall, walking to the high board where Father Donald was waiting for them with the marriage contract to be signed.

"Good morrow, my children," he greeted them. The priest then handed the laird an inked quill. "You will sign there, my lord," he told Malcolm Scott. "There are two documents. One for you and one for the church."

The Lord of Dunglais took the quill and scrawled his name twice where the priest had indicated. Then he handed the quill back to him.

Father Donald inked the quill again and handed it to Alix, pointing to where she was to sign.

She took the quill up and added her name, Alix Margot Givet, in an elegant hand to both copies of the marriage contract…

Next to sign were the Fergusons as witnesses to the deed. Robert Ferguson, like his nephew, scrawled his name. His wife made her mark where the priest had written her name and handed him back the quill.

Father Donald carefully sanded the signatures on both copies and then rolled each one neatly up, closing it with sealing wax into which the laird pressed his seal ring. He then handed the laird his copy and tucked his own into the pocket of his long brown robe. "And now we will adjourn to the chapel, where I will bless this union," Father Donald said with a broad smile.

Malcolm Scott handed the rolled document to his steward, Iver, who would put it away with the other papers that were of importance to Dunglais.

The keep's chapel was located just off of the great hall. It was a small room with a single arched glass window on one side. Within a leaded circle there was a cross of red and blue glass at the center of the window, indicating to any outside that the chamber within was a holy one. The altar was oak. It was set with a linen cloth. There were two fine polished brass candlesticks upon it and a simple silver crucifix set in a base of black wood. Together Malcolm and Alix knelt on the step below the altar while the priest blessed their union. Then they stepped back to join the Fergusons and Fiona as Father Donald said a brief Mass so they might take communion, which was considered to be good fortune when beginning a new marriage.

And when the Mass was over they returned to the great hall, where they broke their fast. There were eggs that had been poached and were now served with a cream sauce made from white wine and dusted with nutmeg. There was oat stirabout with bits of dried apple and pear in it. It was served with honey and heavy yellow cream. There was ham and bacon, fresh-baked cottage loaves, sweet butter, hard yellow cheese, and plum jam. There was both watered red wine and sweet cider to drink.

But when the meal was over the Fergusons made ready to depart. It was not even midmorning yet, but the weather was fair this day. If they left now they would be back at Drumcairn by the early nightfall. Their stone house was not fortified, and while winter raids were unusual they did not like leaving their young daughters to their servants for more than a night or two. And there was the weather that could turn at any moment at this time of the year. Alix was sorry to see them go, for she had enjoyed Maggie's company, but she understood.

"The next time I see you, and I will come in the spring," Maggie Ferguson said, "I hope your belly is rounding with new life."

"I will do my best," Alix told her.

"And so will I, dear aunt," the laird said, having overheard them.

They all laughed, and then the Scotts of Dunglais watched as the Fergusons of Drumcairn made their way from the keep's small courtyard and out onto the frosty moor.

As they returned to the great hall Alix said, "I'll go and put my gown away now. I can hardly take up my duties dressed in such finery."

"And excellent idea," he agreed. "I will come with you, Wife."

The very word sent a thrill of delight through Alix. She was married! And she was married to a man she loved. It was the kind of marriage she had always dreamed about. The kind of marriage she had not had with Hayle Watteson, nor would she have had this kind of marriage with his father. She shuddered slightly thinking of it.

Her bedchamber was empty. "Where is Jeannie?" she said aloud.

"I'll help you," the laird purred in her ear, as coming up behind her, he slipped an arm about her. A hand cupped her breast, squeezing gently as he kissed her neck.

"It's the nicest gown I've ever had," Alix said softly. "I used the best fabric in the storeroom, my lord. We have no other."

"Then we must take particular care with your gown," he murmured, reaching for the lacing and undoing it carefully. When he had the gown unfastened, he slid it off of her, lifting her from it, setting her down, and then carefully laying the gown upon a small chair. Then he drew her chemise off and set it aside. Alix was quite naked but for her stockings, shoes, and jewelry.

He stepped back and smiled a slow, wicked smile. "I quite like you like this," he told her. Her round breasts with their pert nipples, her graceful torso, her fair skin gleaming in the firelight. There was something deliciously sensuous about a naked woman in her stockings and shoes. He lifted her pearls and her gold chains from around her neck and laid them down on the bedside table.

"My lord, we have our daily duties to perform," she said.

"This is our wedding day, madame. They will manage quite well in the hall without us," he told her.

"But Fiona's lessons will be neglected," Alix protested faintly.

"It is a holiday," he said. "Fiona is being well cared for, madame. I think it is your husband who needs caring for right now. Will you be negligent in your duties to him?" He stood behind her, his hands now cradling her two naked breasts. "I am afire with my lust for you, lambkin." His lips pressed a hot kiss on her bare shoulder. His hands gently fondled the twin orbs in his possession. Then, retaining possession of one breast, he let his other hand wander freely over her body.

Alix sighed as he touched her belly and then moved down to stroke her smooth mons, which he very much enjoyed, for it allowed him a freer access to her most intimate parts. He had recently taught her the pleasures of sucking upon such parts. She had been a most eager and capable student. He remembered how Robena had protested such actions on his part, complaining it was unnatural and wrong. Yet when he had first watched her with his brother, she had been on her knees before him quite obviously enjoying herself.

Alix broke into his thoughts, turning about in his arms and unfastening his plaid. It fell to the ground as she unlaced his shirt and drew it off over his dark head. Then she fell to her knees before him and began to caress his length with gentle fingers. His hand went to her tawny head, kneading the scalp as he encouraged her further. Alix began to slowly lick him up and down. And after a time she pushed his foreskin back and the pointed tip of her little tongue encircled the flesh beneath the rim of the head of his cock.

The laird drew a sharp breath. She continued to tease him in this fashion until finally she took him into her mouth and began to suck upon him. At the first tug of her mouth on his manhood, Malcolm Scott almost screamed like a girl so unbearably sweet was the sensation her mouth produced. As she continued to draw rhythmically upon his sensitive flesh, he groaned with acknowledgment of the pleasure she was giving him. And when he was thick and hard and could bear no more of her torture he growled, "Cease, lambkin! I would put my seed tonight where it should go."

He pulled her up, and she pushed his shirt from his frame. Their naked bodies met. Breast to chest. Belly to belly. Thigh to thigh. Their mouths fused into one as kiss melted into kiss and tongues jousted within the warm cavern of mouths. He backed her over to and pushed her down upon the edge of the bed. Kneeling quickly, he pushed her legs apart and began to lick first at the soft ins ides of her thighs. His tongue then licked the length of her moist, shadowed slit. His thumbs opened her to him and his tongue found her sweet core with perfect aim. He licked it for several long and heated strokes. Then, pressing his dark head between her open thighs, he fastened his lips about that little nub of sensitive flesh and began to suck hard upon it.

Alix screamed softly. Ever since he had introduced her to this particular pleasure she found she could not get enough of it. He would suck and suck upon the sentient nub, and it would swell and tingle, and the tingling would increase until it was unbearable and it finally burst. And when it did she would feel a small release, but then she would yearn to be fucked until the larger delight became totally insupportable and finally crested, leaving her utterly replete and weak with pleasure.

The first release came, and she sighed with utter contentment, but then the longing began to evince itself once more. "Hurry!" she begged him.

"Greedy wench," he teased as he rubbed the tip of his cock against the opening of her sheath. "Do you want this, my love?"

"Damn you, Colm, aye!" she cried.

"Beg me for it," he taunted her.

"Never!" she swore as he rubbed himself tantalizingly against her.

He laughed. "Beg!" he repeated.

In reply she pushed him from her and rolled away from him. He followed her onto the bed, reaching for her, but Alix eluded him, laughing. "Now 'tis your turn to beg, my lord," she teased him wickedly.

They rolled back and forth across the large bed until finally the laird caught his bride. He forced her beneath him. "Now beg!" he told her fiercely.

"You beg!" she insisted. "Do you not want to sheath yourself deep inside my warmth, Husband? Do you not yearn to take your pleasure?"

"Aye!" he told her, and pushed just the head of his cock inside her. "And you, Wife, do you not long to feel this thick and lengthy peg throbbing within you?"

"Aye!" Alix agreed.

"Then as we are of the same mind," he said, and he thrust hard.

The breath went out of her as she felt the denseness sliding into her. He loomed over her, taking her legs and pressing them as far back as he could without harming her. Then he thrust hard a second time, and plunged deep over and over again until Alix was indeed begging him not to stop. She squeezed thick flesh probing her hard. He groaned and she smiled, for she realized that they were gaining equal pleasure. And then her head began to spin, and she saw stars behind her closed eyes. She heard herself calling to him, "Please! Please! Oh, Colm, please!" And then she was spinning and falling even as she felt his juices exploding to flood her with his essence.

When she finally came to herself again Alix found herself in her husband's arms. "And it isn't even noon," she half whispered to him.

He laughed softly. "Understand, madame, I don't intend letting you out of this chamber until the morrow. And if it rains on the morrow we will remain here."

"But I'm hungry," Alix said.

"Food will be brought to us," he promised her.

"You have schemed all this out beforehand," she accused him.

"I have," he admitted freely. "I love you, lambkin, and now that you are my wife I do not have to pretend. All in the keep knew it. But we are newly wed and shall have this day, and perhaps another, just the two of us."

They had three days, for on the seventh of December it rained an icy rain, and on the eighth it snowed. And while on the morning of the ninth it was still snowing Alix insisted on leaving her bedchamber for Fiona's sake. The laird, while grumbling, knew she was right. His daughter was bright and lively, but she was also fragile. She had become very used to both Alix and her father being there for her. She greeted them when they entered the great hall almost with relief.

"Where have you been?" she demanded to know. "I was afraid, but Fenella said it is the custom for a bride and groom to be alone for some few days. She said you would be back when that time was over. What were you doing?"

"We were doing what a bride and groom do when they are alone, and one day you shall learn that for yourself," her father said.

"Have you enjoyed your holiday from your lessons?" Alix asked the child.

"Father Donald came when you were not here, except on the wedding day," Fiona grumbled. "He is not as much fun as you are, A-Mama. All he wanted me to do was read my Latin with him. He said I didn't need to know how to do mathematics. That my husband would do all that was important one day. But I like mathematics."

"And we shall do some this morning," Alix promised her. "Iver, send to Father Donald and tell him I have returned and will take up my daughter's schooling now."

"At once, my lady," the steward said.

"I'm so glad you're back," Fiona told them. "I missed you. I was afraid you had left me, Da. Alix is now your best girl."

"Nay, Fi," her father assured her. "Alix is my lady, but you will always be my best girl, even when you have brothers and sisters to play with, my bairn."

"When will I have brothers and sisters?" Fiona wanted to know.

"Alix and I are working very hard to make them for you," the laird told his daughter, who clapped her hands with delight. "That is why we were away."

"But we need not go away again, ma petite," Alix assured her. "We shall make your brothers and sisters right here at Dunglais, won't we, my lord?"

"Aye, madame," he told her with a grin. "We most assuredly will."

And Fiona was satisfied. The days grew very short as December progressed. As Alix had told Fiona the year before, she would be in charge of decorating it this year. The two, in Fenella's company, ventured out from the keep one morning to cut pine and other greenery. Over the next few days the hall was festooned with all manner of greenery and holly, along with many beeswax candles.

The Twelve Days of Christmas began on the twenty-fifth and ended on the sixth day of January. They had had a wonderful time just the three of them. Malcolm Scott couldn't ever recall having had such a glorious celebration as he did that year. And he realized he was unbearably happy. Really and truly happy for the first time in all of his life. He wondered if Dunglais had ever seen a happier time.

His father had been a hard man, but then it was a hard world in which they lived. His mother had been loving and patient. He was his parents' second child. His older brother had died at birth. And when he had been Fiona's age, his mother had given birth to a daughter who lived but several months. Oddly, his father loved his mother and had been satisfied with a single son even after his mother died and he might have taken a young wife to assure his line.

Times were particularly difficult when he was growing up. The king, James I, had been an honored captive in England since he was a boy of eleven. The last heir of Robert III, his father had sent him into the custody of the French king to keep him safe. But the boy's ship was captured by pirates and the young Scots heir taken to the English king. Although his elderly father had died upon learning of his heir's fate, James I was not able to regain his throne until he was twenty-nine. He returned with an English Queen, Joan Beaufort, the great-great-granddaughter of King Edward III of England.

Queen Joan bore her husband eight children, but unfortunately six of them were daughters. And then twin sons, Alexander and James, were born at Holyrood Abbey in the midautumn of 1430, but only James survived as his father's heir. When James I was murdered at Perth during the Christmas season seven years later, his son, James II, took the throne. The queen had been injured attempting to save her husband. She saw to the executions of his killers quickly and without mercy. Two years later she remarried to one of her husband's cousins, James Stewart, known as the Black Knight of Lome. They had three sons, but though others were now responsible for her first son, the young king, Joan Beaufort at least was able to give him a few companions who were not part of the squabbling factions running the boy king's life.

Malcolm Scott smiled to himself, remembering. He had been called to become the king's companion at the age of nine. The king was two years his senior. Oddly, the lad from a not particularly distinguished border family and the young king had become fast friends. While the other boys had either dropped away, or at their family's urgings allied themselves with those controlling the king's life, Malcolm Scott had remained loyal to James II. It had not brought him wealth or prestige once the grown king took charge of his life and his kingdom, but the two men had remained good friends. He had been happy then, but not like he was now with Alix.

January passed, and on the second day of February Alix brought Father Donald a supply of fine beeswax candles that would last the Dunglais church for the year. The day was called Candlemas. The ewes were once again lambing, and the days were growing longer again. Their lives had taken on a comfortable familiarity. Fiona was suddenly growing taller, and the nights were long and sweet as the laird and his bride worked to make a child. March came and went.

And then one late April day, the snows finally gone from the moors and the hillsides, the watch on the tower called out that a party of armed men was approaching the keep. At once the drawbridge was pulled up and the gates closed behind it. They did not appear hostile, and there were but six of them who rode with a gentleman. It was the gentleman who came forward and waited to be challenged.

"Who goes there?" came the expected query.

"I am Sir Udolf Watteson of Wulfborn Hall. I seek to speak with your master, and I request shelter for my men and me this night."

"You must wait," the man-at-arms called down, and the visitor nodded.

"Send to the hall," the man-at-arms said to one of his fellows. "Tell the laird Sir Udolf Watteson asks to speak with him and begs shelter for the night. He's an Englishman, but he seems peaceable enough."

The soldier nodded and ran off to the great hall, where the laird and his wife were seated. The man bowed to the laird. "There is an Englishman at the gates, six men-at-arms riding with him. He asked to speak with you, and he begs shelter for his party this night, my lord."

"Does this Englishman have a name?" the laird asked.

"Sir Udolf Watteson of Wulfborn Hall," the man replied.

Beside him the laird heard the sharp intake of Alix's breath. He turned to see she had gone pale. Very quietly he said, "Go to our chamber and do not come out unless I send for you. I will send Fiona to be with you."

She did not argue, but arose and almost ran from the hall.

"Fenella," the laird called, and the housekeeper came from another part of the hall. "Find Fiona and take her to my wife. They are to remain abovestairs until our guest has departed. It's the Englishman she fled."

"Right away, my lord," Fenella replied, and hurried to fetch Fiona.

"Go back to the watch," the laird said. "Sir Udolf is welcome at Dunglais. Put his men in the stable to sleep. They can be fed here in the hall, but make certain we outnumber them. Do you understand?"

"Aye, my lord," the man said, and hurried out.

"Iver, go and bring our guest into the hall," the laird instructed his steward.

Iver bowed to his master and went from the hall. He knew who their guest was, for Fenella had told him of Alix's history as she had told the housekeeper. The laird was right to keep his wife from the hall. There was less apt to be difficulty if Sir Udolf was unaware of her presence at Dunglais. Iver entered the courtyard as the Englishman was slowly dismounting his horse. "My lord, I am Iver, the laird's steward. Welcome to Dunglais. If you will follow me, I will take you to my master."

"Aye, thank you," Sir Udolf said. He had almost bypassed this keep, for it was small and certainly undistinguished, but he could not be satisfied that he had lost Alix until every nook and cranny had been investigated. But he was weary and sore from his days of riding. He had to admit to himself that he was not the young man he once was. He was surprised to find the great hall of the house warm, clean, and quite pleasant. A woman lived here, he was quite certain.

The laird came forward, his big hand stretched out in welcome. "Sir Udolf, I am Malcolm Scott, the Lord of Dunglais. Since our two countries seem to be at peace with each other I welcome you. What brings you to my keep?" The laird cast a quick glance at Iver, who, snapping his fingers at a serving wench, brought her quickly forward with a tray containing two goblets of wine that she offered with a curtsy to her master and his guest. "Come and sit by the fire," the laird invited. And when the two men had settled themselves and taken their first sip of wine, Malcolm Scott looked expectantly to Sir Udolf Watteson. "You have ridden far?" he asked.

The older man nodded. "I have been back and forth across the border for some months now, my lord," Sir Udolf said. "I seek a young woman who is my betrothed wife." He sighed. "She was wed to a blood relation of mine. When he died tragically, I decided to take her for my own, as my wife was long dead. The lady in question is of good family and sweet nature. What better woman with whom to spend my later years? While I waited for the dispensation from York so that we might wed, she grew discouraged and departed my house without my knowledge. I have sought for her ever since."

"A sad tale indeed," the laird said. "But why do you think her in Scotland?"

"Her godmother is here," Sir Udolf replied. "I have already visited her and gained her permission to wed her godchild, as she has no other living family."

"How fortuitous," the laird murmured.

"I have visited many keeps these past months, but no one has seen or heard of my betrothed. I am almost ready to give up," Sir Udolf said.

"If the lady was traveling alone," the laird began. "You are certain she was traveling alone, aren't you?"

"Most assuredly!" Sir Udolf replied, his tone slightly offended. "She was a lady of the highest moral character."

"A woman traveling alone could easily have been attacked and killed for her horse and any valuables she carried," the laird said.

"She was a-foot," Sir Udolf answered him. "She had her own mount in my stables, but such was her good character that she would not take the beast."

"A-foot!" the laird exclaimed. "Why, then, it is certain, my lord, the lady is long dead. A woman alone and out upon the moor would be vulnerable not only to wicked men, but vicious beasts as well. Only five years ago the bones of a woman were found out on the hillside."

"But how did you know it was a woman if there were only bones?" Sir Udolf wanted to know.

"There were scraps of her clothing amid the bones," the laird replied. "If your lady did not go to her godmother, which was undoubtedly her destination, and no one has seen her, it is likely the poor soul is dead."

"So I fear," Sir Udolf said, "but as soon as the snows left the hills I thought I must look one more time." He sighed, and then said, "Your hall is a fine one, my lord. Your wife and her servants keep it well."

"They do," the laird agreed. "I must apologize that my wife cannot join us. She has been ill these past few days, and our daughter too. Margaret is a good mother to our little Fiona, and it is possible she is breeding once again. We are eager for a son."

"Aye, a man needs an heir for his house and his lands," Sir Udolf said.

"Your men will sleep in the stables, for my house is small as you can see, but there is a comfortable bedspace for you here in the hall," the laird told his guest.

Iver came to say that the meal was about to be served, and so the two men took their goblets and moved to the high board. Sir Udolf was frankly surprised by the quality of the meal he was offered. It was simple but tasty and well prepared. First came a platter of fish that had been poached in white wine. Trout from his own streams, the laird told him. He had royal permission to take both trout and salmon from the waters running across his lands.

Again Sir Udolf was surprised. "How did you gain such permission?" he asked.

"The late king, James II, and I were friends," the laird answered truthfully. "Our kings in Scotland are more apt to make friends of humble border lords like myself than your English kings with their fine courts."

Sir Udolf nodded. It was a known truth, but he was still impressed. Nonetheless his attentions were quickly turned to a fat capon that had been roasted crisp and golden along with a tasty venison stew. "You keep a fine table," he complimented the laird as he filled his trencher with the stew and a quarter of the capon.

"I shall tell my Margaret of your praise. It will give her pleasure," Malcolm Scott said. He could not under the circumstances call his wife by her first name, but he knew it would seem odd to Sir Udolf if his wife was not referred to by name. So he had taken her saint's name instead. Margot was a French diminutive of Margaret, and Margaret was not only Scotland's saint, but it was also a popular name.

Sir Udolf reached for the cottage loaf and tore off a piece. He cut himself a chunk of the half wheel of cheese upon the board. "You have a good wife," he noted as he filled his belly. He was hungry, and it had been a long time since he had enjoyed such a fine meal. A man with a good cook and a wife who knew how to direct that cook was a fortunate man indeed.

The meal finished, the laird invited Sir Udolf to play a game of chess with him. The two men played for two hours, and then Malcolm Scott arose from the game table.

"I will leave you, my lord," he said. "My housekeeper, Fenella, will show you to your sleeping space. I shall see you on the morrow. Good night." He bowed to his guest.

"Good night, my lord, and thank you," Sir Udolf replied, returning the bow.

The laird hurried from the hall and upstairs to the bedchamber he now shared with his wife. She was standing by the hearth warming her hands as he entered.

"Is he gone?" Alix asked, turning to face him.

"He's sleeping in the hall and will be gone on the morrow," her husband answered her. Then he took her into his arms. "Dinna fear, lassie. He's just about ready to give up his search for you. But you know he went to your queen, dispensation in hand, to gain her permission to wed you."

"And undoubtedly brought her a bag of coins to ease her conscience," Alix said bitterly. Then she sighed. "Poor queen. She is desperate by now, I imagine. It has been over two years since they departed England. The new king must be well established by now. I wonder that my queen, the prince, and the poor king do not go to France. It would seem they have few if any adherents left in England, and while Scotland lets them shelter here they will offer no aid. Queen Marie must consider her son's position in all of this. She has offered Scotland's friendship to the English."

"Which has given us a respite here in the borders," Malcolm Scott said.

"I have never known it to be so peaceful."

"You are certain he suspects naught?" Alix asked nervously.

"I apologized that my wife, Margaret, was unable to entertain him, but alas she was ill, and our daughter too, and my wife might even be breeding again."

"Might I?" Alix said with a smile.

"Well, if you are certain you are not, madame, then we must immediately get to work to remedy that and ensure I am not a liar," the laird teased Alix.

She laughed happily. "I do love you so very much, Colm," she told him. "I could have never wed Sir Udolf even if I wasn't repelled by what he proposed. How does he look? Is he well? I wish him no ill."

"He looks tired," the laird said. "And sad. He is, as you have always said, a decent man. I enjoyed his company, but I hope I have discouraged him from seeking you further, lambkin. He certainly is not young, but he is not too old to sire a child. There must be some woman of respectable blood who would have him."

"Now that Hayle is gone, aye, there should be," Alix agreed. "I wish him luck, but I must admit I will be relieved to see him go on the morrow."

And in the morning after he had eaten a most delicious breakfast, Sir Udolf Watteson bid his host farewell and departed Dunglais. As he rode away from the keep, his captain, who rode at his side, said, "She is there, my lord."

"You are certain?" Sir Udolf said quietly.

"Aye, I am. I made an assignation with one of the maidservants who served below the board. After we had enjoyed a lusty bout in the hayloft of the stables we talked. I asked about the laird's wife. Was she a Scot? Nay, the girl told me. She was English, but everyone loved her, particularly the laird's little daughter. She said the laird's people found her almost frozen to death upon the moor two years ago. He had taken her in as his daughter's companion but then made her his mistress. Several months ago they wed, the wench said. Her lady's name is Alix, my lord."

"Their marriage cannot be legal," Sir Udolf said angrily. "She was already my betrothed wife, and I will have her back!"

"Will we return to Dunglais now?" the captain asked his master.

"Nay. We will go home while I decide what it is I will do. If I am clever as this laird has been, I can regain my Alix and he will never know it," Sir Udolf chuckled. And when they reached Wulfborn Hall its master sat in his hall and considered what he should do. He spoke with his priest.

"Your claim is the legitimate one, my lord," Father Peter said. "And you have the permission of the lady's former guardian, Queen Margaret."

"Then I shall take her back!" Sir Udolf said determinedly.

"Yet, my lord, you must consider if you would have her back. Did she not betray you by fleeing Wulfborn? And did she not spread herself for another man? Is this truly the kind of woman you wish to wed? There are at least two women of good birth nearby who would be happy to be your wife, my lord. Women of good character and strong moral fiber."

"But are they young enough yet to give me a son?" Sir Udolf demanded of his priest. "Nay, they are not, and I know it, Father. I must have a son!"

"Your sister's second son would make you a fine heir, my lord," the priest said.

"Nay! I want my own son, and Alix can give me that son. You say my claim takes precedence over any other. Then I will have her back!"

"But how, my lord? How?" the priest wanted to know. "I do not believe the laird will give her up to you. Certainly he loves her or he would not have married her."

"He has forced her into this marriage, I am certain of it!" Sir Udolf said. "He needed a mother for his daughter. He wants a son of his own. He cannot love her."

"Do you, my lord?" the priest asked candidly.

"She belongs to me," Sir Udolf said. "She is mine, and as she lives, I shall have her! The church will uphold my claim. Queen Margaret will uphold my rights."

The priest sighed. It was not that he disagreed with Sir Udolf, but the woman he so desperately desired had run away from him and then given herself to another man. "How, my lord," he repeated, "will you regain the lady? The Laird of Dunglais will not give her up without a fight."

"My captain has found me a group of renegade Scots. They will take the lady when she is out riding one day. It will appear to be a border raid, and I shall not be involved in the matter at all. The naked and disfigured body of a young woman will be found and assumed to be the laird's woman. He will never look for her after that body is found, and Alix will be mine as the archbishopric at York has said."

"My lord, you propose the murder of an innocent!" the priest cried, shocked.

"I will have my betrothed wife returned, Priest, and it matters not to me how it is done. I shall not be involved," Sir Udolf said coldly.

"My lord, I believe you have gone mad with your lust for this woman. I shall pray you see the wrong before you allow it to be committed," Father Peter declared.

"If he does not believe her dead," Sir Udolf replied stubbornly, "he will seek her out and eventually he will come to Wulfborn. What I propose to have done is for both of their sakes. If he believes her dead, he will mourn her and move on with his life. If she knows he thinks her dead, she will reconcile herself to her fate as my wife. She will give me another son to replace the one who died."

"Your son visited her almost every night of their marriage, yet she did not conceive," the priest pointed out to his master. "Perhaps she is unable to conceive, my lord. Have you considered that her womb is a barren one? Her own mother bore but one child, and a female at that. Will you risk your immortal soul in this matter, knowing the murder of an innocent is to be committed so you may take this woman back? And do you think God will reward you with a son for it?" the priest wanted to know.

"Alix Givet is mine by all rights," Sir Udolf responded. "It was God who brought her to us. It was God who gave me the idea to make her my wife after my son died. It is God who got me the dispensation from the archbishop at York. God will return Alix to me, and he will see I have another son on her body."

The priest shook his head. Sir Udolf was mad. It was a madness that came from believing he was right and that God was on his side. But he was not right, and God would certainly punish the baron for what he was about to allow done so that he might regain Alix Givet. The wench was not worth it. But what can I do to stop my master? the priest asked himself. When an answer was not immediately forthcoming, he decided to pray. God would certainly give him a resolution to this problem if he prayed hard enough. He might have sent to the Laird of Dunglais warning him, but Father Peter did not. He might not approve of his master's actions, but he would never betray him.