The Captive Heart

Chapter Four

"Come quick!" the young herdsman called to his father. "Over here!" The two border collies with him were barking wildly and dancing about.

The Laird of Dunglais's head herder, one Jock by name, moved across the field in the early dusk of the morning. The wind had thankfully died, and while a light snow still fell, the worst of it he thought was over. Now all he wanted to do was to get his master's cattle out of the weather on the moor, away from predators and nearer home. They were the last of the herd in the summer pastures, and had been caught by the sudden unexpected weather, but fortunately it hadn't been a bad storm. "What is it, Robbie?" he asked his son as he joined the younger man.

"Look!" Robbie pointed to the still figure between two shaggy beasts.

"Jesu! Mary!" Jock exclaimed." 'Tis a lass." So small and delicate a form could be nothing else, he realized. He bent and brushed the snow from the girl's cloak. "Are ye alive, lassie?" he inquired, shaking her gently.

She moaned faintly, but did not move.

"The poor creature was probably caught in the storm," Jock said. "We must get her back to the shelter. Can you carry her, Robbie? I'll want to get the cattle up and moving. This snowfall will continue for a few more hours though 'tis light now. Here, Shep, here, Laddie," he called to the two dogs. "We have work to do."

His son nodded and, pulling Alix up, he took her into his arms and walked off. Behind him his father and the two border collies began to rouse the cattle from their comfortable positions in the heath. It was over a mile to the small shelter on the moor, but Robbie walked doggedly along, carrying Alix as if she were a child. She did not stir, and were it not for her faint breathing, he would have feared her dead. It was a miracle she had survived her night on the moors, but then huddled between the two big cattle she had been saved from freezing. Still, the poor thing was cold.

Reaching the small shelter, he kicked the door open with his foot and laid the girl down on the single cot there, covering her with the sheepskin. Then he stirred the embers of the fire that had burned through the night, coaxing it alive once again. He added more wood from the store near the hearth. He and his father had come to fetch the cattle when the storm had caught them. Arriving at the little hut, they had sheltered for the night. Even inside with a fire it had been cold. The fact the girl was alive at all was a miracle. Swinging the iron arm from which a kettle hung, he added a bit of whiskey from his flask to the water in it and warmed it over the fire.

He turned as a weak voice said, "Where am I?"

Pouring some of the hot liquid from the kettle into a little tin cup, he put an arm about the girl, helping her into a sitting position, and put the cup to her lips. "Drink some of this, mistress, but take a care. 'Tis hot," he advised her.

Alix sipped, coughed, but sipped again. Then, pushing the cup away, she repeated her query. "Where am I?"

"Yer on the lands of the Laird of Dunglais," Robbie answered her. "My name is Robbie, and I'm one of the laird's herders. My da and I found you out on the moors huddled between the cattle. They saved yer life, they did, mistress."

Alix took the cup from him more to warm her hands than to drink the harsh brew he had given her. Aye. She had thought she was going to die when she had fallen between those two great beasts. Yet they were warm, and she fell asleep thinking about her mama and her papa. The Laird of Dunglais. Then she was in Scotland. Alix sneezed.

"Take more of the whiskey and water, mistress," Robbie said.

"I'm so tired," Alix told him, but she sipped until the cup was empty. Then, falling back against his supporting arm, she closed her eyes.

The young herder slid his arm from beneath her, and going to the fire, added more wood. Then stood by the hearth, waiting for his father to come and tell him what to do next. After some time had passed the older man entered the shelter, shaking the snow off of him, going to the fire to warm his hands.

"How is she?"

"I gave her warmed whiskey and water, Da, and she fell back to sleep," Robbie replied.

"Who is she? Did she tell ye her name?" the chief herder wanted to know.

The younger man shook his head. "I dinna ask, and she dinna say."

"I've got the cattle outside." He looked over at Alix. "The lassie looks like she'll sleep for several hours. There's plenty of wood, and I'll leave one of the dogs with her. But we've got to get the cattle home, and the laird should be told about the lass. He'll know what to do. She isn't strong enough to come with us, and you canna carry her all the way to Dunglais Keep. Leave yer oatcakes and some whiskey. If she awakens she'll know we haven't deserted her, especially if the dog is here. Shep, stay!" he commanded the younger border collie. Then he left the small shelter.

Robbie followed his father's instructions, pulling the stool near to the cot, leaving two oatcakes and his flask. The girl was sleeping heavily, and as his father had said, probably would for many hours. She was very pretty, he thought. Then he hurried to join his father, and together the two men drove the herd of shaggy Highland cattle the several miles through the still-falling snow into the safety of their winter pasturage.

While his son secured the beasts, Jock went to find his master, who was seated in the hall of his keep breaking his fast. His small daughter was with him, and the laird was smiling. Jock could not recall having seen his master smile in years. He made his way through the hall, stopping to stand before the high board and patiently waiting for Malcolm Scott to recognize him.

"Did you bring the cattle in safely, Jock?" the laird said in his deep, rough voice.

"Aye, all are accounted for, my lord," the herdsman replied.

"Good," the laird responded, turning his attention to his little daughter again.

"My lord, there was something out on the moor that you should know of," Jock began, and when the laird looked up, his dark gray eyes focusing directly on the herdsman, he continued. "We found a lass, my lord."

"You found a lass? Where? Out in this storm?" the laird asked sharply.

"I cannot say for certain, my lord, but it would appear that the lass was traveling alone on foot and was caught unawares by the storm even as we were. She was clever enough to secrete herself between two of the cattle. It kept her from freezing to death. Robbie and the dogs found her when we went to fetch the cattle home."

"Where is she now?" the laird wanted to know.

"Robbie carried her to the pasture shelter where he and I had spent the night. He heated some whiskey and water and gave it to her. She fell back asleep, but after a night in the open she is, I suspect, very ill. We built up the fire, left food and water, and one of the dogs with her. We had no means to transport her, my lord, being on foot ourselves."

"Who is she? Did she tell you her name?" the laird asked sharply.

The herdsman shook his head. "Nay, my lord. The poor lass was barely conscious at all. If my son and I might take the cart and fetch her to the keep."

"Here? Why not your cottage, where your wife can nurse the wench?" the laird said. "She's probably some tinker's lass who got lost or separated from her people."

"Nay, my lord, I believe her to be a lady," Jock quickly responded.

"Why would you think a lady would be traveling alone and on foot across the moors?" the laird wanted to know.

"Her clothing, my lord. 'Twas not poor stuff. Her cloak is an excellent heavy wool, its hood edged in fur, its closure polished silver. She had good leather gloves upon her hands. I will wager they are lined in fur. I caught a glimpse of her gown beneath her cloak. Jersey of the best quality, and she carried a fine leather pouch strapped about her. She is not tinker's brat, or servant. She is a lady, my lord, and must come to the keep."

"Fiona, my angel, go and find your nurse," the laird instructed his little daughter. He kissed her cheek, and with a smile at him the little girl ran off. The laird turned back to Jock. "We'll ride out," he said, and then he called out that he wanted two horses saddled immediately. Standing up, he came down from the high board and, with Jock following in his wake, he hurried to the stables.

Malcolm Scott was a big, tall man with coal-black hair and eyes the color of a stormy gray sky that looked out from beneath a tangle of dark, heavy eyebrows. His thick wavy hair, which was longer than fashion dictated, was held back by a strip of leather and gave the appearance of being undisciplined. But the look in his eye bespoke a stern, strong man not easily moved. Everything about him appeared long. His straight nose. His thin mouth. The shape of his face with an oddly neat, squared chin that had the faint imprint of a dimple in its center.

As they entered the courtyard of the keep, a stableman ran forward with two horses. The laird mounted the large dappled-gray stallion while Jock clamored aboard a roan gelding. They clattered out and across the moor, heading toward the summer pastures and the pastures' small shelter. By horseback the distance was traveled more quickly, and they soon had the little structure in sight. No sooner had they dismounted than the dog inside began to bark.

"Hush, Shep!" the herdsman said as they entered. He was relieved to see that the fire in the tiny hearth was still burning. The oatcakes and the flask lay as they had been left. And the girl was still half conscious, half sleeping.

Malcolm Scott strode over to where Alix lay curled tightly up. He took her gently by a shoulder and rolled her onto her back. "She's flushed," he said, and put his hand upon her smooth forehead. "And feverish. We had best get her back to the keep." The herdsman was right. The lass was no tinker's get, cottager's wench, or servant girl. The high, smooth forehead, the dainty straight nose, the rosebud of a mouth, told him whoever she was she was not lowborn. "I'll carry her outside and take her up with me on my horse," the laird said to Jock. "You get the fire out and secure the shelter."

"Aye, my lord," Jock responded.

Malcolm Scott picked up the girl. Her head fell back from her hood against his arm, revealing a tangled mass of honey-colored curls. She was really quite lovely, he thought, but then the beautiful ones were always troublesome. Whoever she was, he would wager she was running away, but from whom? A husband? A father? He'd see she was made well again, and then he'd send her back from wherever she had come. Outside he handed the girl back to Jock briefly as he mounted his stallion, reaching back to take her up into his arms. She murmured softly as her cheek pressed against his leather jerkin, snuggling against him in a manner that made him oddly uncomfortable. He wasn't her savior, but she would soon know that. Urging his horse forward, he rode off towards the keep while behind him Jock closed up the shelter, then followed his master.

Alix finally awoke to find herself in a large bed. The sheet smelled of lavender. The coverlet was down, and she was not flea-bit. Opening her eyes fully, she saw a small hearth directly across from the bed blazing merrily. Next to the fireplace was a chair in which a woman dozed. "Can you tell me where I am?" she called out.

The woman woke immediately. She arose and came over to stand by the side of the bed. "Ahh, lassie, you're finally awake," she said in a soft voice. She was small and plump. Her hair was snow white yet her youthful round face held snapping blue eyes, a turned-up nose, and a broad mouth that now smiled at Alix. "I'm Mistress Fenella, the laird's housekeeper. Yer at Dunglais Keep."

"How long have I been here?" Alix asked softly.

"Ah, lassie, 'tis six days now since you were found out on the moor. Yer a very fortunate lass too that Jock and his lad found you. You might not have awakened at all if they hadn't. 'Twas canny of you to put yourself between the cattle for warmth." She turned. "I'm going to go fetch the laird now. He'll want to know that yer awake." Mistress Fenella bustled out of the room before Alix could question her further.

Alix pulled herself up, stuffing the pillows behind her. She was in one of her own night garments. Her eyes quickly swept the chamber. There was a trunk at the foot of the bed. To her right was a large window draped with a homespun linen and shuttered. Her bed was hung with the same linen. It was a natural color with a pattern of blue. To her left was a small table with a taper stick. Was it day or night?

The door to the room opened and a tall man strode in. "I am Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais," he said brusquely. "What is your name, mistress?"

"Alix," she answered him, startled. "Alix Givet, my lord."

"You are English," he noted almost scornfully.

"My parents came from Anjou," Alix said, stung by his tone.

"Where are your parents, mistress?" he asked.

"They are dead, my lord," and Alix crossed herself piously.

"And from whom were you running when we found you half-frozen out on the moor?" he demanded to know. "Who will sooner than later come pounding at my door insisting upon your return? Or are you being sought after by the local warden of the Marches and his sheriff?" He fixed her with a stern look.

"I am not a criminal, my lord. I have stolen nothing, nor broken any laws of which I am aware. I am a widow, and having been left with no means, set out to find my old mistress who has come into Scotland from England with her family. I hoped to be taken back into her service once again," Alix explained.

"You are no servant," he said. "The quality of your garments, the small bits of jewelry in your pack told me that."

"Where is my pouch?" she asked him nervously.

"In the chest at the foot of your bed, mistress. I have no need to steal," he said softly. "Why were you on foot? And how long had you been walking?"

"I was on foot because I would not take what was not mine from my father-in-law's stable," Alix said.

"You did not take a horse because you did not want him to know you were going," the laird responded. "Did the old man lust after you?" He chuckled.

"I had been walking for two days when the storm caught me," Alix said, ignoring his query. He didn't need to know why she had left Wulfborn. She had done nothing wrong, and she certainly wasn't going to put herself in the position of being forced back.

Malcolm Scott noted her avoidance of his question, but the truth was it didn't matter. As soon as the lass was fit, he would send her on her way. Of course he would give her the loan of a horse and have her escorted to her old mistress, wherever the woman was. Having rescued the girl from death once, he wasn't about to put her in harm's way again. No one had come seeking for her in the few days she had been at Dunglais. And winter was about to set in anyhow. If she had been truly wanted, they would have.

"Have I been ill?" Alix asked him, breaking into his thoughts.

"Aye. You were unconscious and ran a high fever for several days. Fenella thought you would pull through, and she's usually right," the laird told her.

"I'm hungry," she said softly.

He chuckled. "Then you are indeed on the road to recovery."

"What are you going to do with me, my lord?" Alix asked him.

"Do with you?" He looked puzzled by her query. Then he said, "When you are well enough, I will help you to reach your old mistress."

"Oh."

She did not, he noted, appear happy by the news. But now was not the time to continue his interrogation of her. Fenella had said he was not to exhaust the lass, and if truth be known, she looked paler than when he had entered the room. "I'll go and see that you are brought something to eat."

"What day is it, please, my lord? And is it day, or is it night?"

"It's two days after Martinmas, and 'tis afternoon," he replied. Then he turned and was gone from the chamber.

Alix lay back against her pillows. She was safe. But for how long? Would Sir Udolf come riding over the border to demand her return? And if he did, would the laird turn her over to him? She somehow thought that he would. She had unwittingly intruded upon his life, and Alix suspected he wasn't a man who liked being imposed upon even unintentionally. He was very handsome, but his face was a stern, hard one. This was a man used to being obeyed and having his own way.

The door opened again, and Mistress Fenella bustled in with a young girl who was carrying a tray. "Here's a nice hot meal for you, lassie, and this is Jeannie. She'll be looking after you now that you seem to be on the mend. I didn't fill the trencher full. You may be hungry, but your belly will only be able to take a little food at a time. Eat what you can. Don't make yourself sick, lassie. And there's a cup of nice red wine for you. I've mixed an egg in it. It's strengthening."

"Thank you, Mistress Fenella," Alix said to the housekeeper.

"I'll leave you with Jeannie, then," Fenella responded, and hurried out.

"Can you eat by yourself, or shall I feed you?" Jeannie asked, setting the little tray down on Alix's lap. She took the serviette from it and tucked it in the neck of the girl's gown. "It's nice lamb stew with leek and carrot."

"I can feed myself, but thank you," Alix said. The stew in the round bread trencher smelled wonderful. She dipped her spoon into it. "Ummm, that's good!"

"It's the one dish Mistress Fenella won't let the cook prepare. She does it herself," Jeannie said chattily. "Did they tell you how lucky you were? The cows kept you warm. Robbie said you were near death when they found you."

"Robbie?"

"He's one of the two cowherds who discovered you wedged like a winkle on a rock between two of those big cattle. The laird brought you home himself," Jeannie said.

Alix tried to remember. She vaguely recalled the storm getting worse and then finding herself amid some cattle. But the rest of it was gone. "I can't recall anything," she told Jeannie. "Does he ever smile?"

"Who? Oh, the laird. Rarely except with his little daughter. Not since his wife ran off with her lover and broke his heart, poor man," Jeannie informed Alix. "But don't say I said such a thing. Mistress Fenella says we shouldn't gossip about such a tragedy."

Alix slowly spooned the lamb stew into her mouth. It was really quite delicious.

"She was a Ramsay, his wife," Jeannie continued on, ignoring her own words. "They found the body of the lover out in the heath. He was the laird's older half brother, and had never been well liked. They say he died with his sword in his hand, A better death than the traitor deserved."

"What happened to the laird's wife?" Alix wondered aloud.

"Some say the devil took her to breed his own bairns upon. He would need her body for that. Others say that it's obvious the laird and his half brother fought. When she saw her lover was getting the best of it, she rode off, and the laird didn't care enough to follow after her. She didn't go back to her family. Some months later the body of a woman was found, but there was no way of really identifying who it was. The garments were her, but rotted away, and the body was half eaten by beasts, but they think it was her."

"How terribly sad," Alix said. "Especially for the little girl."

"The laird went to her family to tell them what had happened. Neither the Scotts nor the Ramsays wanted a feud over the lady's bad behavior," Jeannie explained.

"But if the body could not be identified, how can you be sure?" Alix asked.

"It had to be her. To this day no sight of her has ever been seen," Jeannie replied.

Alix scraped some of the bread from the trencher and ate it. "Do you think that the laird might have killed her and hidden the body for another to find?" she asked.

"He's capable of it, aye," Jeannie replied, "but he swore an oath to the priest that he didn't harm her. The Laird of Dunglais is noted among the border folk for his honesty. He's often called upon to settle disputes among the local clans because of it. They all know he can be trusted and that his word is good."

An interesting fact to have, Alix thought to herself.

"If you're through, I'll take your tray," Jeannie said. "Would you like me to come back and keep you company later? I can see yer tired now."

"I am," Alix admitted. "Aye, come back later," she said. Then she lay back. She felt warmer now, and her belly was full of hot food. She had gained some interesting information from young Jeannie. But despite the girl's reassurances, Alix couldn't help but wonder if the laird had indeed killed his wife for her betrayal of his honor. Still the man hadn't remarried. Perhaps his wife was still alive. Her eyes beginning to feel heavy, Alix fell asleep again. She awoke at the sound of her chamber door opening, and looking across the room, she saw a little face peering at her. She smiled.

Immediately the little girl stepped into the room. "My name is Fiona," she told Alix. "What's your name? My da said you were found on the moor. Why were you there? Were you lost?"

"My name is Alix, and aye, I suppose I was lost," she told Fiona. The child was very pretty with her father's black hair and inquisitive blue eyes. The blue eyes were not the laird's. "How old are you, Mistress Fiona?" she asked the little girl.

"I will be six come the fifth day of December," Fiona answered Alix. "How old are you, Mistress Alix?"

"I'm sixteen this August past," Alix answered her.

"Sixteen is old," Fiona observed, "but twenty is very old, I think."

Alix laughed aloud. "I suppose when you are to be six on the fifth day of December," she said, "sixteen does seem old, and twenty older yet."

"Do you know any stories?" Fiona asked.

"I know lots of stories," Alix replied.

Fiona trotted around the door, and crossing the room, climbed up into the bed with Alix. "Tell me a story," she said.

"Shall I tell you about a prince?" Alix inquired.

"Oh yes! I should like a story about a prince!" Fiona exclaimed, snuggling next to Alix, her small dark head on the older girl's shoulder.

"Once upon a time," Alix began, "there was a prince named Henry. He was only a baby when his father the king died and the prince had to become king of his land. They unofficially crowned him with one of his queenly mother's gold bracelets, for being a baby his little head was very small. He was the youngest king ever crowned, and presided over his lords sitting in his mother's lap. One month before his eighth birthday he was officially crowned king of England. And two years later he was crowned king of France."

"He was king of two lands?" Fiona asked, her tone disbelieving.

"For a time, yes, he was. He gained France through his mama," Alix said.

"Who was she?" Fiona wanted to know.

"A beautiful French princess named Katherine," Alix answered her.

"Are you English?" Fiona said.

"I was born in England, aye, but my parents came from Anjou."

"What happened to the prince who became king?" Fiona inquired.

"He married a French noblewoman. Her name was Margaret," Alix said.

"Did they love each other?" Fiona wondered. "My papa loved my mama. My mama is dead, you know."

"Kings cannot always marry for love," Alix explained. "But to answer your question, King Henry did grow to love his queen. And she came to love him. A prince was born to them. His name is Edward, and he is just eight years old."

"Will he be king one day?" Fiona wondered.

"I do not think so," Alix responded.

"Why not? Doesn't he want to be king?"

"Aye, he wants to be king, but another king overthrew his father. Now that man rules in England. It is unlikely that Edward Plantagenet will ever rule," Alix said. "Poor King Henry was ill, and his enemies took advantage of him to steal his throne."

"What happened to King Henry? Did they kill him?" Her blue eyes were curious.

"They tried, but he fled with the queen and their son," Alix replied.

"Where did they go to hide?" the little girl wanted to know.

"Right here in Scotland!"

Fiona giggled. "Here? Are they near Dunglais?"

"I don't know where they are now, but they are in Scotland," Alix told her.

"How do you know?" Fiona said.

"Because I was with them until several months ago," Alix answered.

"Did you lose them out on the moor?" Fiona inquired.

"Nay, somewhere else."

"Fiona!" The laird stood in the open door. "Everyone has been looking for you. You must not disturb Mistress Alix. She is still not well."

"Alix has been telling me a story," Fiona said as she scrambled down off the bed. "It was about a prince who became a king not just of England but of France too! And princesses and a prince who is just eight years old, but will never be a king. And they're hiding here in Scotland, Da! Could we go and find them tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow," the laird said, "but perhaps another day. When Mistress Alix is well, so she may go with us."

"Oh, I would like that, Da!" the little girl cried as she practically danced to his side. "And can I come back to see Alix so she can tell me some more stories?"

"I would like that!" Alix said quickly before he might say nay.

The laird's mouth quirked with his amusement. "As long as you do not tire Mistress Alix, Fiona, you may visit her again. But you must tell your nurse where you are going when you do. She was very worried."

"She was asleep," Fiona said. "I could not tell her. She sleeps all the time, Da. And she treats me like a bairn. I'm not a bairn. I'm almost six!"

"You are?" The laird feigned surprise. "I did not know that."

Fiona giggled again. "Oh, Da, you did know."

"Six is a grand age," Alix noted.

Malcolm Scott looked across the bedchamber at Alix, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Was it sympathy she saw there? Then he nodded his head. "Aye, lassie, six is a very grand age." Reaching down, he took his daughter's hand. "Come along, Fiona Scott. We must let Alix get some more rest if she is to be well again."

Alix watched them go, Fiona turning about to wave at her. Alix waved back. Over the next few days Alix grew stronger with the good food she was being fed. After two days Mistress Fenella let her get up and sit for a time in the chair by the fire. Jeannie kept her company. The girl was full of chatter about the keep and its inhabitants. And then came the day that Alix stood up and began to walk for short distances about her chamber. She was feeling so much stronger. Better actually than she had in months.

November ended with a fierce blizzard that raged for almost two days. Alix was now joining the laird and Fiona in the hall. She began to teach the little girl how to sew properly. The housekeeper was delighted to have Fiona out from underfoot. The child's nurse was an old woman who should have been sent back to her cottage years ago.

"It isn't that she doesn't love the bairn, for she does," Fenella said to Alix one morning. "But she is too old now to watch over such an active little girl. And she cannot teach the child to be a lady with a lady's manners. A laird's daughter shouldn't be a hoyden. She needs to know how to sew fine stitches and direct her servants. She should be able to make soaps and perfumes. To know how a household should be managed. If the laird had remarried, his wife would teach Fiona those things, but he hasn't remarried."

"Why not?" Alix asked, curious.

"Robena Ramsay was the love of his life," Fenella said. "When she betrayed him, she broke his heart, but to betray him with his half brother was a terrible treachery. Black Ian was the bastard of the laird's father, born when the old laird was scarce fifteen. His mother was a cotter's lass. The old laird had a daughter by her too. But then he fell in love with a Bruce, married her, and was faithful to her the rest of his life. Oh, he acknowledged his bastards, but after his legitimate son was born things were different. Black Ian was almost grown by the time our laird was born, but he never forgave his father for favoring and putting his legitimate son first. Everyone knew that was how it should be," Fenella said, "but Black Ian would not accept it. He was the firstborn. Whenever he got the chance, he was cruel to his half brother, although never in sight of their father. One day, however, our laird's mother caught him throwing stones at her child, who was just four at the time. The lady took a stick to him, and when he dared to fight her back, she screamed at the top of her lungs. The old laird came running, saw his bastard attacking his wife and child, and beat him almost senseless. For Black Ian that was the final straw. He turned outlaw. Our laird grew up knowing about his half brother, but he didn't remember him, not having seen him since that fateful day."

"How did the laird's half brother get involved with the lady Robena?" Alix asked.

"Black Ian had been gone from here for several years. In that time his father had died, his brother became Laird of Dunglais and took a bride. Fiona was just a year old when it began, although no one knows how they met. Or even why the lady Robena betrayed her husband. But Black Ian made certain that our laird knew his wife had run away with him. And of course, the laird being an honorable man, had no choice but to go after his wife and avenge his honor. He killed his half brother, but the lady Robena ran off when she saw her lover would lose. They found her body months later. No one knows how she died, but when they found her she had been ravaged by wild beasts."

"So Jeannie told me. A terrible end nonetheless even for a bad woman," Alix murmured. "Jeannie says the laird swore an oath to her family that he didn't kill her."

Fenella nodded. "He did, and he would not have killed her. He couldn't. He loved her in spite of it, and she was the mother of his child. Malcolm Scott is an honorable and a good man, Alix," the housekeeper said. "It wasn't right that he be so wounded by his wife, but then she wasn't as perfect as he believed."

"You did not like her?" Alix was surprised.

"Some girls are suited for marriage at fourteen and motherhood at fifteen. Robena Scott was not," Fenella replied. "The laird fell in love with a beautiful young girl who fit his ideal of perfect womanhood. He was sophisticated. She was not. He was a friend of our late king and had been to court. She expected he would take her to court when they married, but he did not. Like all men, he wanted an heir first, but she birthed a daughter and the lady was angry at the child. She would hardly touch her, would not nurse her, and sulked. So to cheer her up, the laird took her to court, introducing her to the king and the queen. I am told she had a fine time.

"When they returned, he wanted her to give him his son, an heir for Dunglais. But she kept him from her bed, wept most of the time, and still showed little interest in Fiona. She wanted to go back to court. It was then she took to riding out alone. That must have been when she met Black Ian. Suddenly she was in a state of high excitement much of the time. The laird became suspicious, of course, for he is no fool. One day as he watched her ride out, the lady's tiring woman came to him and told him that she had watched her mistress take her jewelry from its box and secret it upon herself.

"The laird immediately called for his horse and rode after her. Even a man in love knows a woman who rides off with her jewelry is up to mischief of some kind. He found her, of course, with his half brother. What transpired between them that day only the laird is left alive to say. The fight ensued. We know that because the laird brought his half brother's body home to bury. Black Ian bore the Scott name, and the laird is both respectful and proud of it."

"Was Black Ian's mother still alive?" Alix asked, curious.

"Aye, and while she mourned her son, she knew that if Malcolm Scott killed him he had just cause," Fenella said. "The old laird was always good to Black Ian's mother, and after he died our laird treated her and his half sister, Moire, with kindness."

Alix absorbed all the information that both Fenella and Jeannie imparted to her. For the time being she knew that with the weather already wintry it was unlikely the laird would send her off. He was a good and honest man, but she suspected that once she told him more of her history he would be unlikely to allow her to remain at Dunglais once it was possible for her to travel. Nor would he trust her.

And Alix had decided that she wanted to remain. Dunglais was isolated. It was unlikely that if Sir Udolf bothered to seek for her that he would find her here. But the laird would need a very good reason to permit her to stay, and Alix had that reason. With no wife, mother, sister, or suitable female relation in residence, little Fiona had no one to teach her what a young lady would need to know. But I can teach her, Alix thought. And the sooner I broach the subject with the laird, the better.

That evening, with Fiona tucked into her bed, Alix approached Malcolm Scott as he sat by the great hearth in the hall, a half-emptied goblet in his big hand. "May I speak with you, my lord?" she said in a quiet voice.

He looked up. Christ's bones, he thought, but she was a pretty lass. He nodded, and gestured towards the chair facing his. "You are feeling better," he said.

"I am, my lord, thanks to you, Fenella, and Jeannie," Alix answered.

"Good! Good!" His gaze drifted away from her.

"My lord, I thought that perhaps you would wish to know more of my history," Alix began, and his eyes cleared, fixing their steady look on her.

"I should very much like to learn more of you, Mistress Alix."

Alix gave him a small, amused smile. "My name, as I have told you, is Alix Givet. My parents, who are deceased, came from France with Margaret of Anjou when she wed King Henry. My father, Alexander Givet, was the queen's personal physician. My mother, Blanche, one of her ladies. Both were the children of minor nobility in Anjou. I was born in England and raised in Queen Margaret's household. My mother died over two years ago. My father and I fled with the royal household when the Yorkists overthrew King Henry.

"At a place called Towson, King Henry's forces were defeated a final time. The royal family, with their few remaining retainers, fled into the English border country. They sheltered with one Sir Udolf Watteson preparatory to coming into Scotland. During the weeks of our flight, Queen Margaret had reluctantly come to realize it was easier to beg sanctuary if your retinue was smaller than larger. She left behind most of her servants with friends and others who were willing to take them in." Alix paused briefly, then continued. She was surprised by the emotions she had begun to feel with the retelling.

To her surprise the laird offered her his cup. "Take some wine" was all he said.

Alix took two hearty sips and handed the vessel back to the man across from her. "Sir Udolf had a son for whom he sought a wife. The queen, with my father's permission, made the match between us. She is my godmother, and wanted a safe place for me and for my father who was ill. I should not have agreed to the match but for my father's health. He could no longer travel, and needed a home where he might live out his final months in peace.

"Sir Udolf is a good man, but his son was an odd, childlike creature. He had a mistress upon whom he doted. He wanted to marry her, but her birth was low. Sir Udolf would not have it. I knew all of this, but while I knew my husband would not love me, I asked only for his respect. But he would not give it. He punished me for marrying him, and for not being Maida. Still, I was a good wife, keeping the hall while caring for both my father-in-law and my father.

"Then poor Maida died in childbed, and her son with her. It was the same day in which my own father died." Alix crossed herself. "My husband was devastated. His mind had never been strong. During the next few days he went completely mad. He attempted to throttle me, but Sir Udolf and the servants saved me from what would have been a certain death. Then, as the servants attempted to restrain Hayle-that was my husband's name-he broke free of them and fled to the top of the house. For the briefest moment his sanity returned. He told his father he could not live without his Maida, and while Sir Udolf looked on helplessly, Hayle flung himself from an attic window to his death below." Alix crossed herself again.

"So you fled," the laird said. "Why? You did not kill the poor man. None of what happened was your doing, or your fault. Surely Sir Udolf did not blame you."

"Nay, Sir Udolf is a good man. But I knew I could not remain at Wulfborn. I told him so, and decided to find my godmother, the queen, here in Scotland. I hoped that she would take me back into her household. But Sir Udolf said that as his only son, his heir, was dead, he would have to remarry and father another son."

"God's blood!" Malcolm Scott swore immediately, seeing where Alix's tale was going. "He wanted to marry you!"

"I could not, my lord! I simply could not wed him. I pointed out to him the church would not give him a dispensation to marry his son's widow. He said the archbishop could be bought, and he would get his dispensation, and I would give him his heir. I thought at first that I might with time dissuade him, but he began to approach me in a manner with which I was not comfortable. I told him I wanted to return to Queen Margaret. He said he would ask her permission to wed me once he had his dispensation and that she would give him that permission. I suspected he was right. I knew then that I must escape Wulfborn and its lord. I waited until he planned a two-day hunting party with his men and it was then I fled. I never expected a snowstorm."

"The weather here in the borders is changeable," the laird said.

"I was fortunate you found me," Alix replied.

"If you cannot go to Queen Margaret, what will you do?" Malcolm Scott asked.

"I would remain at Dunglais, my lord. Please, I can be of service to you."

"Indeed," the laird replied, cocking one of his thick black eyebrows. "And just how would you serve me, Alix Givet?" He let his glance move slowly over her form.

Alix blushed at his open scrutiny. "Your daughter is growing up, and her nurse is too old. Fiona needs to learn the things that only a lady can teach her. You have no wife, or other female relation here at Dunglais, my lord. How do you expect to prepare your daughter for the marriage she must make one day?" she boldly demanded to know.

He looked surprised. "What would you teach her, then?" he said.

"Fiona must learn to read, to write, to do simple sums so she can be certain her steward isn't stealing from her. She needs to study French, for she might go to court one day. She should learn how to sew and embroider. Her table manners are terrible and must be corrected. She needs to know all manner of household matters, and how to treat large and small illnesses that will afflict her servants and her Dunglais folk. Her old nurse cannot teach her any of these things, but I can. And I am skilled in certain healing arts, having learned them from my own father. Until Fiona is old enough to manage your hall, you need someone like me." She looked at him hopefully.

The laird was thoughtful for several long moments and then he spoke. "You make a good case for yourself, Alix Givet," he said. "And I have seen you already with my child. Fenella says that Fiona likes you. But can you be content to remain here? I am a simple border lord, nothing more. You will find no excitement at Dunglais. Your life here will be most circumspect."

"I can be content here, my lord," Alix assured him.

"Twelve silver pennies a year to be paid at Michaelmas then, material for two gowns and two chemises, the loan of a mare to ride. You will keep the bedchamber that you have and eat at the high board. This in exchange for your service to me. Is it suitable, Alix Givet?" he asked her.

"It is most acceptable," she replied without hesitation as relief swept over her, She was safe! And it was unlikely that if Sir Udolf ever got his dispensation that he would find her here in the isolated place. "I will take up my duties tomorrow, my lord."

"Go to bed, then," he told her, and he watched as, with a curtsy, she left the hall. Alix had given him pause for thought. She had been perfectly right when she said Fiona needed her, or someone like her. He didn't intend marrying ever again. Once had been more than enough. If Robena had been unique in her behavior, but he knew she was not. He had seen women like her at court whose only passion was for their own pleasure. Alix was in a difficult position, he knew. He thought it rather brave of her to speak so boldly to him, pointing out that he was not doing all he could for his child.

Fiona was his heiress. And any husband he found for her one day would expect her to be fully capable of managing her hall, her servants, and her Dunglais folk. His servants, even Fenella, could not teach her what she needed to know as a laird's only child. Clever of Alix to assess the situation and take advantage of it. But, of course, by taking advantage of his need she had assured herself of a home. But would a girl raised in a royal court be truly happy at Dunglais? Only time would tell.

The Christmas season was upon them. The countryside about Dunglais's dark stone towers was white with snow. Fiona was now spending her mornings at her studies. He was amused by her excitement at learning French. Now she would greet him each morning with a cheerful Bonjour, Papa!, and because he did speak French he would return her greeting with an equally bright Bonjour, ma fille. Bonjour, Mademoiselle Alix. And Fiona would giggle delightedly.

The first time it had happened, Alix had said, "I did not know you could speak French, my lord." And she was indeed surprised.

"I was educated in my youth," the laird replied. "And I have spent time at court. It always pleased Queen Marie to be addressed in her own language."

"What did you do at court?" Alix asked him, curious.

"The little king's father and I had similar interests," he responded. "I was his friend, and with him when he was killed."

"How did he die?" Alix asked.

"He was preparing to fire a cannon. It exploded, and he was killed," Malcolm Scott said. "We were, as usual, fighting the English. As soon as the queen heard, she came with the little king to rally the troops, and we triumphed in the fray."

"What interests did you share?" Alix queried.

"Guns, good whiskey, and beautiful women" came the reply. He looked directly at her. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a very pretty lass, Mistress Alix?"

"She is, isn't she, Papa?" Fiona piped up. "I think Alix has the most beautiful hair. I wish mine were that dark gold and curly."

"Your hair is glorious, ma petite," Alix told the little girl. "It has the ebony sheen of a raven's wing, and is thick and wavy. Curls can be très difficile."

The laird smiled. It pleased him that Alix was so thoughtful of his little daughter. It was as if she really cared for the child. "I think you both have glorious hair," he said.

An enormous Yule log was dragged into the hall and hoisted into the fireplace on St. Thomas Night. Alix took Fiona out to gather branches of pine and holly with which to decorate the hall. She had the child watch as she directed the servants in their placement of the greenery. "Next year I shall expect you to do this," she told her. Together the young woman and the child set scented beeswax candle about the hall.

Fenella had, at Alix's request, made patterns of the laird's chemise and a shirt. Then, with Alix aiding her, she cut pieces for the two garments. The chemise was the easier garment to sew, and little Fiona set to work under Alix's guidance to complete the garment while Alix sewed a new shirt for the laird. The child's stitches were not small, nor were they as neat as they might be, but the knee-length chemise was made with love.

"They're like mother and daughter," Iver, Dunglais's steward, observed to Fenella.

"Aye, they are," Fenella said softly.

"Don't even consider it," Iver responded. "He'll not wed again. Not after her betrayal. He no longer trusts women, if indeed he ever did."

"He fell in love," Fenella responded.

"A foolish error in judgment on our laird's part," Iver noted dryly.

"Not all women will betray a man. If that were so, where would humankind be today? You're a sour lad this day."

"Don't expect him to wed the wench," Iver warned. "She's a good lass. Even I can see that, but he'll not make the same mistake twice."

"He needs an heir," Fenella said.

"He has an heiress, and is content," Iver answered.

"Perhaps," Fenella remarked. "But I think every man wants a son."

Iver chuckled. "You will have your own way in this matter, lass, won't you? Well, go ahead and dream that the laird will fall in love with the little English girl and make her his wife. Maybe he will. I wouldn't object, nor would any other at Dunglais."

"It could happen," Fenella replied stubbornly. "A man needs a soft companion."

"Then he takes a mistress," Iver said with a mischievous grin. "I'll wager he's thinking about it too. Have you seen the way he looks at her of late? There is budding lust in the laird's eye, Fenella."

"It could begin that way, but if it does it will end with Alix having a ring on her finger and the laird having one through his nose," Fenella said with a throaty laugh.

The steward laughed too. "We'll watch together," he replied.