The Captive Heart

Chapter Sixteen

He was near now. He sensed it. He had stopped at one of the Douglases' lairs just on the border separating England and Scotland. The Douglases populated both sides of the periphery between the two countries. He would not remain the night with them, for he did not trust them, but stayed only long enough to gain directions to Dunglais. While he had been there once before, he was not entirely certain of the way. He rode out again. Above him the sky was lowering and threatening. There was the sound of thunder in the distance, and the distant sky was filled with sheet lightning.

The Douglas chief watched him go, and his son remarked that the man was a fool to leave when the weather was turning dangerous. "What does he want at Dunglais so badly that he continues on in such a storm?" the boy asked his father.

"The laird's wife," the Douglas chief said, laughing knowingly. "He stole her once before. It's not likely he'll succeed again. The man is as mad as a rabid fox."

"Should we send word to the laird then, Da?" the boy asked.

"Nah. No need. The laird will kill him on sight. No reason for us to be involved," the Douglas chief decided as the skies opened up and the rain began to pour down. He peered through the torrent, but Sir Udolf Watteson was no longer in sight.

Indeed, he was now a distance from the Douglas house and struggling to keep his edgy horse under control as the thunder boomed and jagged lightning began to pierce the skies around him. The animal danced nervously, becoming more frightened with each clap of thunder, which seemed to be growing louder. In a rare moment of sanity, Sir Udolf began to consider that perhaps he should have remained with the Douglases at least until the rain was over with. And then, without any warning, a bolt of lightning shot almost directly into the path before them. It was so close it singed the horse and Sir Udolf smelled the scent of burning hide. His animal reared up, terrified, throwing the rider from its back and galloping off into the mists.

Sir Udolf hit the ground and his head struck a rock, rendering him unconscious. But before he lost his senses he heard a crack and a fierce pain shot through him. Around him the thunder continued to boom, now moving away with the lightning, but the rain poured down in torrents for at least another hour. Night fell, and Sir Udolf lay unconscious on the hillside. Now and again he would swim to the surface of the darkness only to fall back again.

The following day dawned fair, and two women out seeking medicinal plants came upon the injured man. One of them was young and garbed in a red jersey gown. The other, obviously a servant, older. It was she who spotted Sir Udolf first.

"Mistress, look!" She pointed to where the fallen man lay.

"Is he alive, Fyfa?" the younger woman asked, her bright blue eyes curious. "I hope he is alive. It has been some time since I have had a man to amuse me." She peered closely. "His clothing is good. See what is in his pockets. Does he carry a money pouch? It's been so long since I've had any coin of my own."

"Mistress, this is not wise," she said nervously.

"Do as I bid you, Fyfa!" the younger woman commanded in a hard voice.

The serving woman bent down and rifled through the fallen man's clothing. She found one small pouch containing some silver coins and three coppers. "Here," she said, handing them up to her mistress. "It isn't much."

The man groaned suddenly, and Fyfa jumped up with a little shriek.

"Oh, he's alive!" the young woman said. "Good! We must get him to the cottage if we are to keep him alive. You stay with him. I will go back and fetch Rafe."

"Mistress," Fyfa quavered. "I do not think this is wise."

"You never think what I do is wise, Fyfa," the younger woman replied, and then she tripped off.

The man groaned again, and his eyes opened. "Where… am I?"

"Do not move, sir," Fyfa responded. "You have been injured. We are getting help now. How came you here?"

"Where is my… horse?" Sir Udolf asked.

"There was no horse when we found you," Fyfa said.

"The storm…"

"Is long gone, sir. It was yesterday afternoon, and a fierce storm it was," Fyfa replied. "Did the storm frighten your beast? Did it throw you?"

Sir Udolf tried to remember, and his brow furrowed. Then he nodded. "Aye."

"When we get you safe to the cottage I'll send Rafe to seek it. If you are a fortunate man we will find your horse, sir," she told him.

"Where am I?" he asked her again.

"Near my mistress's cottage. She has gone to get help. We have a man to do heavy chores. He is simple-minded, but willing and strong of back," Fyfa said. "She is fetching him so we may get you back to the cottage in order to treat your wounds, sir. It appears that you hit your head on yon rock. See. There is blood."

He turned his head, and pain shot through him. He groaned. "I may have broken a bone," he said.

"Will you permit me to check for such an incident, sir?" Fyfa asked him.

He nodded. His head hurt him, and he was helpless. "What is your name?" he asked the woman, who, from her appearance, was a servant.

"Fyfa, sir," she responded. Her hands moved gently over him. "I believe you have dislocated a shoulder and possibly broken your left arm." Her hands moved carefully over his torso, and he winced. "Bruises, I'll wager, nothing more," she assured him, "but all in all 'tis not too bad."

"I'm hot," he said. "Have you any water?"

Fyfa put her hand on the man's forehead. He was burning up with fever, and had obviously caught an ague lying out all night in the damp. "Nay, I have nothing with me, but it will not be long, and Rafe will get you to safety. Might I know your name, sir?"

"Sir Udolf Watteson," he replied.

They waited silently then until her mistress and Rafe came for them.

"Be careful of Sir Udolf," Fyfa told the big dull-witted serving man. "His left shoulder is dislocated, and the arm may be broken. Be gentle, Rafe," she cautioned.

Rafe nodded and then picked the injured man up as gently as he could. The wounded man cried out and then fainted. Rafe trotted back to the large cottage with his burden, looking to his mistress for further directions.

"Put him in the little bedchamber," she said, licking her lips. Then she turned and looked at Fyfa. "You obtained his name?"

"He is Sir Udolf Watteson, but that is all I know," Fyfa said.

"Time enough for the rest of his story," the young woman said. "Go and tend to his wounds, Fyfa."

"I will need your help, mistress," Fyfa said. "We must get him out of his clothes to gain the true measure of his wounds."

The younger woman nodded. "Very well," she said.

Together the two women entered the little bedchamber where Sir Udolf had been set upon a small bed. There was no help for it but to cut his clothing off.

"Burn them, Fyfa. They stink. We'll have to bathe him after we've examined him. Pull his right boot off. I'll remove the other."

Fyfa threw Sir Udolf's soiled garments into the hearth. Rafe had been told to take a horse and see if he could find Sir Udolf's own animal. Perhaps there would be a change of clothing in his saddlebags. If not, they would have to find something for him. For now the unconscious man needed to be washed and tucked beneath the coverlet. And then Fyfa thought she would have to make some kind of a brew to take down his fever, get his shoulder relocated, and put a splint on his arm.

"His manhood is quite nicely proportioned," the young woman noted. "When he is well enough I shall avail myself of it." Reaching out, she fondled Sir Udolf, her elegant fingers sliding up and down its length. Her dainty hand slipped beneath the man to cup his balls in her palm. "They are a bit smaller than I would have anticipated, but then he is injured, and his cock shows promise." She chuckled, releasing her hold on the now stiff fleshy rod. "Let us heal him quickly, Fyfa. I will leave him to you now," she said, and departed the tiny chamber.

The serving woman fetched a warmed cauldron of water from the cottage's hearth, some rags, several jars, and two pieces of wood. She set to worked bathing Sir Udolf as best she could. When she had finished she put her knee into his shoulder and pressed down hard, and to her relief it snapped back into place. She poultice the arm to help it heal before binding the two short pieces of wood to it. Fortunately the bone had not come through the skin of his arm, but she had been able to see the damage before she bandaged it. It was not likely the arm would be of much use to him again even if it did heal. Then she managed by pulling and rolling him to get him beneath he coverlet. He stirred and opened his eyes as she began to draw the curtains about the bed to keep the draft from him.

"Where am I?" he rasped.

"You fell from your horse, Sir Udolf, but you are now safe in my mistress's cottage. I have bathed and tended to your injuries. I am going to get you a soothing draft to drink now. It will help you to sleep, and sleep will heal you."

"Fyfa," he said. "Your name is Fyfa."

"Yes, my lord," she said, and then she left the small chamber.

She had left the curtains half-open. He scanned his surroundings. A cottage, but not a servant's or peasant's cottage. That kind of cot would have had just one or two rooms. There would not have been a chamber, however small, for a guest. Nor a bed with hangings. He became aware of himself suddenly. He was naked beneath the coverlet. His arm was poulticed and splinted and while sore his shoulder seemed back where it should be. He shivered beneath the coverlet and, closing his eyes, dozed fitfully until the door to the little chamber opened and Fyfa returned carrying a steaming mug.

"I've fixed you a nice cup of broth with some healing herbs mixed into it," she said and, drawing up a stool, she began to feed it to him. She didn't mention that she had also added a sleeping draft. Sleep was the best medicine for his injuries, and for the ague he had contracted out on the moor in the pouring rain.

"Whose cottage is this?" he asked her, speaking between bites.

"My mistress will tell you all you need to know on the morrow, my lord," Fyfa told him. "You are safe, and Rafe has returned. I am sorry, but he was not able to find your horse anywhere. The storm obviously sent it into a long gallop." She continued to feed him until the mug was empty and his eyes were beginning to droop.

"I am tired," Sir Udolf said.

Fyfa stood up. "Then I will leave you to sleep, my lord."

He watched her go, and while he needed to know where he was and who the mistress of this small house was, he accepted that with a broken arm he was helpless for now. He would have to wait a bit longer to claim Alix, but had he not already waited several years? He could wait a while longer, but she would be his. He could hear the faint stirrings of the household about him as he fell asleep.

"Will he live?" the mistress of the cottage asked her serving woman.

"He'll live," Fyfa said. "I've washed him, tended to his injuries, and fed him. He'll sleep until the morrow. He's got an ague, but I do not think it will trouble him too greatly, mistress."

"How quickly that lovely cock of his rose when I stroked him," the young woman murmured. "In a few days, when his healing has begun, I shall take him for a little jog," she said with a smile. "How long has it been since I have had a man to fuck? We do not see many visitors, Fyfa, do we?"

"This one is a lordling," Fyfa said. "English, by the sound of him."

"We shall have to learn what he was doing in so desolate a place," her mistress said softly. "And if anyone will miss him if he does not come home," she purred, her blue eyes narrowing in thought.

Fyfa said nothing in reply. There was no stopping her mistress when she made up her mind. It was all she and Rafe could do to keep their mistress contained to the cottage and the area around it. But that was their duty. She and her brother had been fortunate to gain this employment. They had been penniless and homeless when the laird had found them on the streets of Edinburgh. After he had questioned them and learned their circumstances, he had offered them a comfortable home in exchange for watching over a mad relation.

"Let her have her way within reason and as long as she does not harm herself," the laird had instructed them. "But she must not be allowed from the cottage unless you are with her, and she must not be permitted to roam the hills about the cottage. She is isolated for a reason. If you feel at any time you can no longer continue to mind her, you will send to me and I will see you are relieved of this duty. You will not be sent off penniless. I will provide that you and your brother receive coins enough for a fresh start wherever you choose to go."

But where would they go? Fyfa thought to herself. They were country folk driven from their father's farm by their elder half brother, who had inherited. He didn't want an unmarried sister and half-witted brother about when he married shortly. And so Fyfa had taken Rafe to Edinburgh seeking employment, but there had been none. She had taken to begging on the streets to sustain them, and then the lair had come along. He had carefully questioned them. Fyfa was gentle-spoken and Rafe simple-minded but obedient to his sister. And so the laird had brought them to this isolated place in the borders to look after the mistress.

They lived comfortably. The house was a large cottage with several rooms. Rafe slept in the loft of the little barn with the animals. They had a cow and several chickens for which he was responsible. There was a small brown and white hound and several cats. Every few months a large fellow would come from the laird with the supplies necessary to keep them well fed. If they needed something, Fyfa would request it of the big man. The mistress was always kept in her own chamber when the man came. Fyfa grew a kitchen garden in which there was an apple tree. And she was skilled in the making of herbal drafts and cures. It was a pleasant life but for one thing. Her brother had had the task of burying several men over the almost seven years they had been here. They were hapless creatures, young and fair, who had stumbled upon the cottage, been ensorcelled by the mistress, and then killed by her when their usefulness ceased. Fyfa knew she should have told the laird's man the first time it had happened, but then what would happen to her and her poor brother? Although she had no reason to distrust the laird, she could not be sure he would keep his word. He might even blame her for these terrible things that had occurred. And then they would be homeless once again, at the mercy of who knew what. Rafe could not manage on his own. He was content now in the life he had. Fyfa remembered how difficult it had been for him in particular when their brother had cast them from the only home they knew. So she kept silent.

And Fyfa had remained quiet, keeping a careful watch for any who might happen upon their isolated cottage that she might drive them away before the mistress could see them and work her wicked wiles. For over a year now there had been no victim for her mistress until they had found Sir Udolf Watteson on the moor. But he was neither young nor handsome. Oh, he was pleasant-looking enough, but the mistress liked them young, fair, and lusty. Sir Udolf certainly didn't meet that criteria, yet when the mistress had seen the sick man's cock her interest had been peaked. It was a fine cock too, Fyfa admitted to herself. God obviously had compensated Sir Udolf for his other deficiencies.

Several days passed, and it appeared that good food and good nursing were beginning to show results. The ague that Sir Udolf had caught out on the moor faded, leaving him with just his physical injuries. The soreness in his shoulder began to fade away. But he grew impatient and anxious to be on his way again.

"Give me the loan of a horse," he said to Fyfa.

"We have no horse," she replied. "We must walk wherever we go, sir." Learning of her guest's restlessness, the mistress of the cottage decided to pay him a visit. Fyfa prayed that Sir Udolf's years and ordinary demeanor would keep him safe, but she was doomed to disappointment and grew fearful of what was to come.

"Fyfa tells me you are making progress towards good health again, my lord," the beautiful woman said as she came into the chamber, closing the door behind her.

"I am indeed feeling better, madame," he answered her. "Your kindness is most appreciated. May I have the honor of knowing your name?"

"My name is Robena Ramsay, my lord," she answered him. "You are restless, however, I am told."

"I am an active man, Mistress Ramsay," he told her. "And I must be on my way again. I have business that cannot wait any longer. Fyfa tells me you do not keep a mount of any kind, and I must walk."

"That is so, my lord," Robena replied. "What is so important that you would leave us? I could make your stay with us quite pleasant." She smiled seductively at him. "I think I can cure some of your restlessness, my lord," she said, coming to sit upon his bed. "Would you like me to do so?" Her bright blue eyes bored into him.

Sir Udolf Watteson suddenly felt more a prisoner than a guest. He did not quite know what to answer this bold woman, but drawing in a deep breath he finally said, "Madame, while I am grateful for your kindness and your hospitality, I require nothing more from you but directions to Dunglais Keep and the loan of some clothing."

Robena Ramsay stiffened at his words. "Why do you seek to go to Dunglais?" she inquired of him, her blue eyes narrowing.

"I have business with its laird."

"What business?" she demanded to know.

The question and the tone of her voice surprised him. But if an answer would gain him what he needed, directions and clothing, then he would give her an answer.

"My son, my only child died, and I decided that his widow being an orphan would make me a good wife, as I had no other heir. I sent to York for a dispensation, and it was granted. But Alix was frightened of the honor I was doing her. She ran away from me and crossed into Scotland. There she was captured by the Laird of Dunglais, a wicked man, I can tell you. He forced her to his bed. When I finally found her, this man claimed she was his wife. They already had a child and claimed another was coming." Sir Udolf was abbreviating his tale and telling Robena the story as he wanted her to know it so he might gain her sympathy and her help. It was really not her business. A woman living alone but for servants out on the moor would not know the laird. "The laird's daughter from another union attacked me, madame. The brat screamed I should not take her mother from her. But my Alix was not her mother. She was her stepmother."

"If this wench had become the laird's whore then why did you not just leave her?" Robena asked him. At the look upon his face she laughed, although she found herself suddenly filled with jealousy. "Ahh, she did not want to go with you, my lord, did she? She had made herself a new life, hadn't she?"

"I had my dispensation from York saying that she was my wife!" Sir Udolf said angrily, and then his eyes grew teary. "But recently the archbishop sent to me to say that the dispensation given me was fraudulent. The priest who gave it to me was dishonest. I was told that the archbishop would have never given me permission to wed my daughter-in-law, and there was but one seal of his office on the document instead of two. I was told one seal was not official. But Alix Givet is mine! Mine! I shall go and fetch her from the Laird of Dunglais. He shall not keep my wife and claim she is his. The bastard she birthed him, the one she now carries in her womb, he may keep them. But Alix is mine, and I shall have her!"

Robena Ramsay had listened and as she listened she was filled with a burning fury. The bastard! Malcolm Scott had taken some little English girl and was calling her his wife? The bitch had probably given him a son. That was it. It had to be! He had gotten a son on his whore, and he wanted everyone to believe this Alix was his wife so the brat would be his legitimate heir. "You say this laird claims your woman is his wife?" she asked slowly. "Where is the mother of his daughter?"

"Dead, he says, And not only does he claim my Alix as his wife, he says that the bishop of St. Andrew's sanctioned his marriage to her," Sir Udolf said. "I must go to her, madame. I must bring her back to Wulfbourne. Tomorrow, with your help, I will leave here. You have but to clothe me and give me directions to Dunglais."

"Of course you must," Robena said slowly, and in what she hoped passed for a calm voice. "And I will most certainly help you, my lord." Her mind raced with her thoughts. How could Malcolm Scott wed another when he was married to her? He couldn't! Aye, his whore had given him a son, and her belly was big again, was it? And she has the temerity to mother my daughter while trying to displace her as Dunglais's legitimate heiress with her bastard? She will not have my bairn, Robena decided. Then she focused on her guest again. "We will have a celebratory supper tonight, my lord, as you do indeed seem healthy enough to continue on your mission."

"You are most gracious, madame," Sir Udolf said.

"And I shall see you are properly clothed for your trip. Fyfa will cut down a pair of her brother's breeks, and I may have a sherte that will fit you." She smiled.

"I am assuaged that you understand why I must go so hastily," Sir Udolf said, sounding relieved. When she had offered herself to him-or had he misunderstood?-he had been very troubled by such boldness in a woman. But then a female living alone on the moor with but two servants was probably not very respectable, he decided.

"Of course I understand," Robena murmured in dulcet tones. "You must do what you must, my lord." And so will L She arose from his bedside. "I shall go and instruct my servants to prepare us a good supper and find you some garments, my lord." Then she departed the little chamber. Aye, she would find him some clothing. There had to be something one of her other unfortunate lovers had left behind that would fit him. She would lie and say they belonged to a distant relation who visited now and again. She hurried to find Fyfa.

"Well?" her serving woman asked as her mistress entered the tiny kitchen.

"I want a special meal prepared for tonight," Robena told her.

Fyfa cocked her head to one side. "You mean to kill him before you have used him? What has happened to change your wicked mind, my lady?"

Robena was pacing the small space irritably. "It is what he has told me, Fyfa. Do you know the destination he sought? Dunglais! My husband, it seems, has taken a mistress and is attempting to pass her off as his wife. She's already birthed one bastard son, and is big of belly again! But my husband's whore is"-and here Robena laughed almost insanely-"the wench Sir Udolf means to marry! And even after the fact she has been more than well fucked by my husband, the old fool still wants her!"

"Perhaps he loves her," Fyfa said quietly.

"Pah! Loves is for fools, but then Sir Udolf is one, isn't he?" Robena remarked scornfully. "Now to the supper. A capon if we have one to kill, and with a sauce. I smell bread baking. Serve it with that cheese I like."

"I will see if there is any left," Fyfa told her.

"And a custard with plum jam for the after," Robena said thoughtfully. "I always like a sweet with these meals. It adds a certain piquancy to the occasion." She chuckled.

"What about the wine?" Fyfa asked meaningfully.

"Prepare two pitchers as usual, but use small pitchers so the need for a second is not suspicious. The second will contain the sleeping draft and the poison. And make certain your brother does not mix the pitchers as he did that one time. If I had not made myself immune to the poison by ingesting a bit of it daily over the years, he would have killed me. As it was my head ached for several days from the sleeping potion."

"I'll see there is no problem, my lady," Fyfa promised. Then she said, "Will any come seeking Sir Udolf?"

"I am certain he has no one as his only child is dead. He mentioned none other to me but for my husband's whore," Robena replied. "You have been with him more than I. Has he said aught to you, Fyfa? Sisters? Bastards?"

Fyfa shook her head in the negative. "Nay. I believe he is all alone, poor man."

"So much the better for me," Robena said. "Have Rafe dig his grave while it is still light. But out of sight of the house. We do not want our guest becoming suspicious. Now tell me. Do we have any male garments that would fit him? I must allow him to believe that on the morrow he will depart from here to continue on to Dunglais," Robena told her serving woman.

"Aye," Fyfa responded. "The small chest in the hall contains a number of garments from your past lovers."

"Find something to fit him," Robena instructed the woman. "Choose the best there is so his pride is not too damaged. As I recall, that merchant's son was about his height, and his garments were particularly fine. If he asks, tell him that I have a cousin who sometimes visits now and again. And have Rafe polish up his boots. But remember to remove it all, including the boots, before we bury him," Robena said. "Now I must go and attempt to rest myself. You know how excited I become before the kill, and I know I shall not sleep a wink this night afterwards." And she was quickly gone from the little kitchen.

Fyfa heard her footsteps as Robena almost danced up the stairs, and she shuddered. The mistress was a terrible woman, but Fyfa knew she and her brother were safe. The lady needed them. She called to Rafe, and when he came Fyfa gave him his instructions, watching through the little kitchen door as he shambled off to dig the grave. The day was fair, and she wondered as she looked out over the gently rolling moor how long their lives would go on like this. Eventually a mistake would be made, and Robena's wickedness exposed. What would happen to her servants then? Would they be held accountable too? Whatever happened, Fyfa thought to herself, their fate was already sealed. If they left the mistress alone and to her own devices, she would certainly attempt to return to Dunglais and then the laird would know of their betrayal and he would certainly seek them out to punish them. She and Rafe were caught as surely as two poor rabbits in a trap. There was no help for them now but to continue on and pray when the lady was finally found out the laird would have mercy on them. Then, as she looked out over the late-summer landscape, her eye caught a sudden movement on the hillside. Pray whatever it was it did not come this way. At least not today.

The horse grazing the hillside looked up as the rider approached. It did not resist as its reins, which had been hanging, were taken up, and it was led away. It trotted along obediently until it was led into the courtyard at Dunglais. The rider dismounted, giving the lad who ran forth instructions not to take the beast into the stables until the laird had come and seen it. Then Beinn hurried into the keep, making his way immediately to the hall, where the laird was eating his morning meal.

"I found a horse, saddled, without a rider, grazing out on the moor," the captain informed his master. "I think you had better come and take a look, my lord. It's saddlebag contains papers, but I do not read. It could be important, and there may be a rider injured somewhere nearby, though I saw no one, nor heard any cries for help."

Malcolm Scott arose from his high board and followed his captain. As Alix was not in the hall, there was no need for an explanation. "How long do you think the horse has been out there alone?" he asked Beinn.

"Difficult to say, my lord. A few days, a few weeks. It's coat is roughened and it has not been curried in some while, yet the beast is sound, so someone once cared for it."

The laird grunted. "Hmmm," The creature before him was vaguely familiar. He reached into the saddlebag, pushing past the few garments, and drawing out several papers. His eye scanned the documents and then he swore aloud. "Christ's bloody wounds! The man is mad! Totally mad!"

"My lord?" Beinn looked puzzled.

"The horse belongs to Sir Udolf Watteson. He has obviously decided to ignore the archbishop of York and the bishop of St. Andrew's. He has come to claim my wife as his, Beinn. You did not see him?"

"Nay, my lord. There was no one near the horse out on the moor. Of course, if he were dead and lying in the heather I could have easily missed him. But I saw no carrion birds or beasts about at all. There would have been even if he had been killed a few weeks ago. His bones would not have been quite picked clean yet."

"We must search for him, Beinn. I need to know where that damned Englishman has got to, and I need to know if he is dead or alive." Malcolm Scott sighed. "God forgive me, but I hope the fellow dead. I will not have Alix distressed again by the man, and especially as she is now with bairn. Say nothing, Beinn. Gather a few of the men, and we shall go hunting this day for a sick old fox."

"And if you find him, my lord?" the captain asked quietly.

"I will have no choice but to put him out of his misery," the Laid of Dunglais said with a deep sigh. "It is a sad thing when you must kill a man not in honorable combat."

"You must do what you must do to protect your wife and bairns, my lord. There can be neither dishonor nor sin in that," the big man responded. "The priest will surely grant you absolution for such a deed. I would seek him out now."

The laird nodded, and without another word hurried off to find Father Donald. He discovered him in the little churchyard seated upon a stone bench in prayer. Malcolm Scott cleared his throat softly, and the priest looked up.

"Ah, my lord, is there some way I may be of help to you this fine day?" Father Donald said with a smile.

"Aye, Father," the laird replied, and then he told the priest of the discovery Beinn had made out on the moor and what must be done should Sir Udolf be found. "I would seek absolution for any sin I must commit, Good Priest, but I see no other choice open to me in this matter. My wife and bairns must not again be distressed by this man."

Father Donald did not hesitate. "Kneel," he said to the laird, and when Malcolm Scott knelt before him he absolved him of the sin of killing, signing him with the cross as he finished, and his lord arose to his feet once again. "There is no choice for you, my lord. I see that, but pray God the man is already dead and in purgatory so your conscience need never trouble you again in this matter. You go with my personal blessing as well. Does the lady know?" Father Donald asked.

"Nay, and I would not tell her. She was so relieved when the matter was finally settled that I have not the heart to distress her, especially now."

"Then the fewer who know the better. Let the men with you and Beinn believe that they are indeed out hunting game in preparation for the winter to come," the priest advised his master. "If any learn the truth, it is certain to come to the ears of another, and another, until finally some serving wench hears it and tells Fenella or Iver."

The laird couldn't help but chuckle at Father Donald's observation. "You're right, and I will heed your wisdom," he agreed. "Thank you." And the laird hurried off again to tell his wife that he was going hunting.

" 'Tis early," Alix said. She was now seated in the hall at her loom, wearing a new tapestry. "Now even autumn yet."

"But the day is fair," he told her. "And who knows what kind of a winter it will be? I should sooner have too much than not enough game hanging in the larder. And if we cannot eat it all ourselves, we will share it with the village."

"Oh, you are just restless." Alix laughed, and then she waved him off with a smile. "I envy you, for I should enjoy a good gallop myself."

He put a big hand on her rounded belly. "Birth the bairn first, my love," he said, and gently patted the mound beneath his fingers.

"Don't wake it," she cautioned him.

"You are still not certain, as you were with our lad?"

Alix shook her head. "This bairn keeps its own counsel, my lord. I think perhaps I carry a future bishop," she said with another smile.

He bent and kissed her lips. "If I find a pheasant, you shall have a fine feather or two for your blue velvet cap, my sweet Alix." Then he was gone from the hall.

Alix watched him go, considering how fortunate she was in her husband. Then her attention was drawn to Fiona, who came skipping into the hall. "Are your lessons done?" she asked her young stepdaughter.

"Aye," Fiona said. "May I put some of my own stitches in your tapestry, Alix?"

"How would you enjoy learning to make one of your own?" her stepmother asked.

"Oh, could I?" Fiona squealed, delighted.

"I will have Iver find another frame and set it up here in the hall near me," Alix said. "Then we will stretch the fabric and fit it to the frame and begin." She heard the sound of horses in the courtyard. "Your da has gone hunting," she told Fiona.

"Oh," Fiona said, sounding disappointed. "I should have liked to have gone with him." But then she brightened. "But if I had I would not learn how to make a tapestry."

"I would have liked to have gone with them too," Alix said, and then she called to Iver to help them.

Outside, the laird and his men departed. As the point of the excursion was to hung they did so while Beinn and the laird carefully scoured the hillsides they rode looking for any sign of Sir Udolf Watteson. Finally, as the two men traveled a bit apart from the main troop, Beinn spied something in the grass and, riding over, he reached down to pick it up. It was a dark velvet bag cap trimmed in rabbit fur, somewhat the worse for wear at this point, but the small tarnished silver broach with a little ruby proclaimed its owner as a man of rank or means or possibly both. He handed it to the laird.

Malcolm Scott examined the cap. "I couldn't say if it is Sir Udolf's or not," he told his captain, "but it probably is. We can find no body. There are no carrion creatures about. Therefore I must assume the man lives. He obviously fell from his horse. Perhaps he was injured. But where could he be?"

"He could have been found," Beinn said slowly.

"By whom?" the laid wanted to know. "And if he was found, why was he not brought to Dunglais? These are my lands, and there is no keep nearer."

Beinn hesitated, and then he said, "Her cottage is nearby, my lord."

"Jesu! Mary!" the laird swore softly. "I had forgotten. I think not of her anymore, Beinn. Not since my sweet Alix came into my life to show me that love truly exists."

"Her servants are decent folk, my lord. If they found Sir Udolf injured they would have brought him back to heal his wounds," Beinn said.

"And if he spoke with them he would have told them why he is here, and she will have learned of Alix and our bairns. Jesu! Mary!" Malcolm Scott swore again. "The bitch was always jealous even when there was no cause."

"Shall I go, my lord, and investigate the matter?" Beinn asked.

"Not now, for the others would wonder where you have gone, and I am not of a mind to make explanations. If I do not, they will be even more curious. Tomorrow is time enough, Beinn. Ride out at first light. Reconnoiter, and see what you can find. Then report back to me when you have. Take a few days. Be in no hurry. If Sir Udolf is injured he will be within the house. I do not want us to tip our hand. If the bitch has learned of Alix, I will take care of the matter quickly. And this time I will show her no mercy. I should not have to begin with, but killing a woman, even one like Robena Ramsay, goes against my grain," Malcolm Scott said.

"Aye, my lord, I understand. I will watch carefully," Beinn told his master. And then together the two men rejoined the hunting party returning home to Dunglais late in the afternoon with half a dozen grouse, a pheasant, and a duck.