The Captive Heart

Chapter Five

On Christmas Day Fiona Scott presented her father with the chemise she had made for him. She had, with Alix's help, wrapped the garment in a piece of red Scott plaid, tying it with one of Alix's green hair ribbons and decorating her parcel with a small bit of pine. "For you, Da," she said. "I wish you a happy first day of Christmas." Then she curtsied prettily as Alix had taught her and smiled up at him.

"Why, Fiona, what is this?" The laird was genuinely surprised.

"I made it myself!" Fiona told him. "Alix showed me."

The laird carefully unwrapped his gift, untying the ribbon, unfolding the fabric. He held the garment up, admiring it.

"It's a chemise!" Fiona crowed excitedly just in case he might not recognize it.

"It is indeed," Malcolm Scott said. "And a finer one I will never own. Thank you, Fiona. And to think you made it yourself. I did not realize you could sew. I have some socks in need of darning." His gray eyes, usually stormy, were twinkling.

"Oh, Da, I don't know how to darn a sock," Fiona told him.

"But you will learn, ma petite" Alix said, "just as you are learning to sew." Then she handed the laird her own parcel. "For you, my lord. A happy Christmas, or, as my mama used to say, joyeu Noël!"

He took the gift she offered him, and opening it, discovered a new shirt. It was exquisitely made, and her stitches were so tiny as to be invisible. "Thank you, Alix Givet," he said to her. "This is most kind of you." Their eyes met briefly, and then she looked away, color flooding her cheeks. The laird spoke again. "Girls who give gifts must receive them as well," he said in a light, teasing tone. He stood up. "Come, both of you. Come and see what I have for you both." He led them from the hall, Alix signaling to Iver to bring cloaks for herself and little Fiona.

They moved outside, following the laird across the keep. Reaching the stables, they were greeted by the head stableman, who, nodding to his master, disappeared back into the building, returning several moments later leading pretty roan mare with a white star upon her forehead and a dappled gray pony with a dark mane. He brought them to a stop before the laird, awaiting further instructions.

Malcolm Scott took the pony's reins and handed them to his daughter. "For you, my Fiona," he said. "Since you have now learned from me how to properly ride, you should have your own beast. Happy first day of Christmas!"

The six-year-old girl squealed with delight. "Oh, Da, thank you! Does my pony have a name? Or may I name her myself?"

"What would you call her?" the laird asked his daughter.

"Stormy," Fiona said. "Her coat is the color of a blustery sky."

"Then Stormy she shall be," the laird responded with a smile. "Now talk to her, Fiona, so she may get used to your voice. And walk her about the courtyard so she begins to know your touch."

The little girl stood on her tiptoes and whispered into the pony's alert ear for a moment or two. Then she grasped the animal's bridle firmly and began to walk it.

As Fiona moved away from her father and Alix, Malcolm Scott turned to the young woman. She had a small doting smile upon her face as she watched the child. Then, suddenly aware his eyes were upon her, Alix focused to meet his gaze.

"You could not have given her anything better," she said. "Fiona loves to ride out. Until the spring permits her to do so again, her new pony will keep her very busy right here in the courtyard. And it will certainly help me to keep her mind upon her studies, for until they are done, and done well, there will be no riding."

"You are a hard taskmistress," he remarked.

"Queen Margaret and my mother taught me that you complete your duties first. And when you have done them well, then you make take your pleasure, but not before. It is not really a difficult lesson to learn. Fiona will be a much better chatelaine knowing it, my lord. Her hall will always be neat and fresh. Her husband will be content, too, surrounded by an orderly household and well-trained servants."

"You are a very serious lass for one so young," the laird noted. The horse by his side danced impatiently.

"Teaching a child well is a serious endeavor, my lord," Alix answered him. "I have a duty to both Fiona and to you in this."

"Happy first day of Christmas, Alix Givet," Malcolm Scott said. "The mare is your gift from me. She is yours, and when you decide to leave Dunglais, as you eventually will, you will take her with you. Her name is Darach, which means 'oak' in the Scots tongue. She is a delicate beauty, but she is deceptively strong even as you are." He handed Alix the mare's reins.

"My lord, this is too generous!" Alix said, but she was already stroking the mare's nose with gentle fingers.

Malcolm Scott was enchanted by the picture they made. Alix with her hood fallen back from her face to reveal her honey-colored curls as she lay her head against the roan mare's dark coat. He had offered her a most extravagant compliment in addition to the horse, but she had not even noticed, so much was her delight in his gift. Most women would have twittered and demurred over his words. They would have taken what they considered an opportunity to flirt with him, to lead him on, but Alix had not.

Now she looked up at him. "I will not leave Dunglais as long as Fiona needs me, my lord," Alix told him. "You have my word on it. If you remarry then of course I would go, for it would not be seemly for me to remain when you had a wife to watch over your daughter." She rubbed the mare's nose again. "She is beautiful, and I have never had a finer horse. I had to leave my beast behind when I departed… my former home. You were right when you said I didn't want them to know I was going." She began to walk the mare about the courtyard following little Fiona's pony.

"Why didn't you want them to know?" he asked her softly.

"As I have previously mentioned, my deceased husband's father wished to marry me as he had no wife and no other heirs. The very thought was repellent to me despite the fact he is a decent man. I know he would have been good to me, but I thought of him more like a parent than a husband. How could I lay with a man who had been a father figure to me? How could I couple with him and give him a child?" Alix shuddered. "I told him the church would not allow it. But he said he could get a dispensation since there was no blood involved between us. When he sent the local priest off to York with his request and a pouch of coins to expedite that desire, I knew I must flee. I waited until he planned a two-day hunt to stock the house larder for the winter, and then I made my own plans. I told everyone that I would fast and pray for two days while their master was gone, and I was not to be disturbed. And early in the morning, before my father-in-law was even gone off to hunt, I made good my escape. I did not take my horse, and it was mine not his, because I did not want it known I was gone."

"It was a very brave thing you did," the laird told her, "but where did you plan to go when you left? Why did you come north instead of remaining in England?"

"I was afraid to stay in England for fear someone would recognize me from King Henry's court. The Yorkists are not kind to their enemies. I hoped at first I might return to Queen Margaret, but then I realized that would be the first place Sir Udolf would seek for me. And I knew that with his honorable offer of marriage the queen would send me back to him." Alix sighed. "I thought then that if I could reach the Scots court your queen might take me into her service, and I would be safe."

"But would not Queen Marie wonder why you did not return to Queen Margaret?" the laird asked Alix, curious.

"Your queen will give mine sanctuary, but nothing else. It is unlikely they will ever meet. Poor King Henry will never regain his throne, I think, and Scotland must deal with England. While a slim thread of blood connects these two queens, it is not enough for Queen Marie to endanger her own child's throne by antagonizing England's new king. And that king may bluster and blow, but he will not start a war over such a trifle. Henry of Lancaster is finished. Eventually he will be seduced into venturing back into England, where he will be captured and killed. If the queen and the prince travel with him their lives will be forfeit too," Alix told the laird.

He was surprised by her grasp of the situation, but then he thought he shouldn't be. She had been raised in a royal court. She was intelligent and understood the dynamics of the situation. "Aye," he agreed with her. "You are correct, Alix Givet."

"I want nothing to do with this situation," Alix continued. "I never wanted to be a creature of the court like my mother. And in the end I suspect my father, except for his deep loyalty to his countrywoman, would have been content to settle in a quiet village somewhere and live out his life in peace. I would have liked that too." She sighed.

They had traversed the courtyard several times now. Arriving back at the stable Alix gave Darach's reins back to the head stable-man. "I will exercise her daily," she told him with a sweet smile.

The man nodded. "She'll be ready for you, mistress," he told her.

"Fiona," Alix called to her little charge. "Come now and bring Stormy back. She needs to go into her warm stable."

The child obeyed, but both the laird and Alix could tell she was reluctant to leave her beloved new pony.

"You are good with her," the laird noted. "She already loves you."

"I love her," Alix responded. "She is a dear little girl." Then she said boldly, "Her blue eyes. Are they her mother's?"

"Aye," he said tersely.

"I thought as much, but everything else about her is you, my lord. No one would mistake her for anyone else's daughter," Alix remarked.

"Can I ride out with Stormy tomorrow?" Fiona asked, coming up to her father. She handed the pony's reins to the head stableman. "Can I, Da? Can I?"

"There is too much snow on the hills right now, Fiona," the laird answered.

"Daaa!" Fiona stamped her little foot.

"Fiona, your father has spoken true. There is too much snow outside the gates. And hungry wolves, and badgers too just waiting for a fat pony and a sweet little lass. We will ride in the courtyard," Alix told the child. "And please do not stamp your foot again at your father. It is disrespectful."

"But, Alix, I can't gallop in the courtyard," Fiona protested.

"We don't have to ride at all," Alix responded calmly.

Fiona's lower lip formed itself into a pout. Her blue eyes were mutinous.

Alix took the child's hand in hers. "Come, and let us go in now. I have it on the best authority that Cook is serving baked apples and sugar wafers today."

The laird almost laughed aloud as the rebellion disappeared swiftly from his daughter's eyes and the pout was replaced with a wide smile.

"I love baked apples and sugar wafers," Fiona said as she trotted obediently by Alix's side back towards the keep.

"Has a way wi' the bairn, she does," the head stableman remarked, and then he disappeared into the stable with Fiona's pony.

The laird chuckled. Alix did manage Fiona very well. Everyone noted it. Fenella and Iver in the hall, and now the stableman. He was almost jealous at the lovely English girl's way with his child, but he knew he couldn't handle Fiona and her old nurse, now happily ensconced in a cottage in his village, had not been able to since Fiona began to walk. It had been a miracle the child hadn't done herself a serious mischief. It was a great relief to have his daughter in such good and capable hands. Now maybe everyone would cease their nagging about his lack of a wife. Fiona was his heiress, and that was that.

He had a young uncle, Robert Ferguson of Drumcairn, who had been responsible for bringing Robena Ramsay to his attention and helping him to arrange the match between the Scotts and the Ramsays. Ever since Robena's betrayal of her husband, his uncle had been desperate to correct what he deemed his error in judgment. He was always riding over from his own holding to Dunglais, and each visit brought with it a new candidate for his nephew's hand. And the more the laird refused, the harder his uncle tried. Malcolm Scott tolerated his uncle because he was his late mother's much younger half brother, and she had loved him well. But he had no intention of remarrying and being made a fool of again by any woman.

Twelfth Night passed, and a hard winter set in with at least one snowstorm every few days. It was all the Dunglais folk could do to keep a path shoveled from the keep proper to the stables, the cow shed, the poultry house, and the granary. The laird's cattle were brought into the cattle barns. His flock of sheep milled in a pen that had been built within the courtyard. The days were cold, and as he watched Alix with his daughter the laird began to find the nights colder and longer than he could ever remember them.

The English girl filled his hall with warmth and laughter. He noticed his servants deferring to her, going to her for instructions. He suddenly realized she was nursing the sick among them. Each morning they would come to wait outside of the small chamber Fenella now told him was Alix's apothecary.

"She would make a good wife," Fenella ventured one day when the laird had noted Alix's busy day. "Everything is better with her here."

"You ran the household well enough," Malcolm Scott replied.

"I do it better with her instruction," Fenella said dryly. "You need a wife, and your uncle would be pleased to see you take one and sire a son. Are the Scotts of Dunglais to die off because a Ramsay broke your heart? Broken hearts heal, my lord."

"You forget yourself, Fenella," the laird growled at her.

Fenella laughed at him. "We're blood kin, Malcolm Scott. My mother may have been a cotter's daughter, but my father was your own grandfather. I have always spoken my mind, and I always will. If it displeases you, I will gladly take myself back to my mam's cottage."

"If you didn't look so much like the portrait of the old devil in the gallery," the laird told her, "I would doubt your paternity, as did most in the village when you were born. The lusty old devil had to be near seventy when he put you in your mam's belly. Nay, Fenella, don't leave us, but cease your gab. I have my uncle to bedevil me about taking another wife, but I'll not do it. Robena Ramsay killed my taste for married life."

"Yer as lusty as your father and your grandsire, my lord. How long has it been since you've bedded a woman? There is no gossip in the village. Mistress Alix is a lady born. She does not appear to me to be flighty as was your wife. And see how well little Fiona has come to love her."

"I'd bed her," Malcolm Scott told his housekeeper, "if she were of a mind. She's pretty, and sweet-natured. I will admit she tempts me of late. I should not object to taking a fair mistress, Fenella. A mistress can be disposed of, but a wife cannot."

Fenella signed deeply and audibly. But as she left the laird she considered that if he took Alix for his mistress the young woman might become with child by the laird. He wouldn't want his son born a bastard, she was certain. Fenella smiled. Aye. He'd take her to wife then, but he would be content with Alix she was certain. She was the total opposite of Robena Ramsay.

Robena had been high-strung and childish, but she had also been incredibly beautiful, with snow-white skin, bright blue eyes, and long, dark auburn hair. Malcolm Scott had been dazzled by her.

And in the beginning Fenella believed that Robena had loved him back. But then, as the laird's desire for an heir grew, Robena's wish to go to court increased. There were none at Dunglais to admire and flatter the laird's beauteous wife. She needed a larger stage, but then Robena found herself with child. Furious, she sulked her way through her confinement. When little Fiona had been born she was beside herself with anger that she had birthed a daughter and not the longed-for son. She refused to nurse the infant and would not hold her.

And then Robena fell into a deep depression. Nothing the laird did could console her. He brought her little gifts. She would look at them, sigh, and turn away. There were days when she could not arise from her bed, and she wept inconsolably. Finally Malcolm Scott told his wife that if she could not recover from her melancholy he could not take her to visit the court. Within three days the laird's wife had recovered from her unhappiness. She grew more excited each day with the anticipation of their visit to court.

And it was, Robena told Fenella upon their return, everything she had imagined, and even more. She had been admired, flirted with, and courted by important men. The king himself had kissed her, and not upon the hand or cheek. But upon her lips, she giggled. She had wanted to stay, but her husband had grown jealous of all the attention paid her, forcing her back to Dunglais, Robena said. He wanted a son. But another child would spoil her body for certain. She would be unattractive to other men. And it was then the laird's wife began to deny him her bed.

He was patient at first, Fenella admitted to herself. And even when she began riding out. alone, he tolerated her behavior because she seemed so nervous and skittish. But her mood seemed to soar from another near depression to a near hysteria of excitement that grew with each passing day. Fenella suspected that the laird's wife harbored some secret, but because she wasn't certain, she held her peace.

And then came that fatal day that Robena Scott had ridden out, and the girl who served her came to Fenella to tell her she had seen her lady taking her jewelry and secreting it on her person before she had gone. Fenella sent the girl to the laird with this news, for she did not want to bring it herself. The housekeeper now knew her suspicions had been correct. Robena Scott had a lover and was now planning to run away with him.

And Malcolm Scott had ridden out to return with his bastard brother's body to be buried. His wife, however, was never seen again. Fenella did not believe the body found months later out on the moor was Robena's, but the laird had sworn to the Ramsays that he had not harmed Robena, and Malcolm Scott's word was good in the borders. Still, there were times these past four years when Fenella wondered that if the laird had not harmed his wife he knew what had happened to her.

Was she still alive? Somewhere. Was that the true reason for his obstinate refusal to marry again? Nay. Malcolm Scott would have followed Robena to the ends of the earth if for no other reason than to finish their alliance properly. The bishop of St. Andrew's was not above helping a gentleman end a bad marriage and especially if the wife could or would not give her lord a son. Nay. Robena Ramsay was dead, and good riddance to her. Now Fenella decided she must manage to get sweet Alix into her kinsman's bed. The lass needed a husband every bit as much as the laird needed a wife. And besides, little Fiona was already thinking of her as her mother.

January drew to an end and February promised more snow. The laird's ewes were birthing their lambs in a small hay-filled barn where they would remain safe from predators who now and again managed to creep into the keep's courtyard in the dark of the night to steal a tender lambkin. Each time the dogs set up a barking the laird's men would take up their staffs and lanterns to patrol the keep, making certain all was secure, and the thieves, both two and four-footed, remained on the other side of the keep's stone walls, not within them.

The laird could not help but watch Alix as she moved about his hall directing his servants, as she sat by the great hearth carefully instructing Fiona in her writing, when she sat by his side at meals. Her fragrance was elusive. Sometimes a hint of wild rose. Sometimes the fresh scent of a wind across the fields. He would survey her delicate hand as she reached for the cottage loaf on the table. His eyes caressed her graceful form as she came towards him, smiling, a welcoming goblet held out to him.

Malcolm Scott struggled to keep his lust in check, but it was a losing battle. What in the name of all that was holy had made him believe that a lovely young woman in his household would simply be another Fenella? He had been without female companionship for far too long. Longer than any could imagine. Unlike most men who found it simple to casually bed a woman merely to satisfy their lust, the Laird of Dunglais did not. Oh, in his youth he had been like other men, rollicking and wenching. But then Malcolm Scott had fallen in love with Robena Ramsay, and lust satisfied upon the body of someone you loved, he discovered, was far more satisfying than mere lust satisfied.

But he would never love again. And his needs had to be met, didn't they? He did, of course, now and again visit one of the village women. She was a pleasant, clean widow who had no illusions about why her master was using her body, and was grateful for the silver coin he always left her, the brace of rabbits, or the game bird that always came to her afterwards. Her children were well clothed and fed because of it, and she frankly enjoyed his visits. But no one would have called her his mistress.

A mistress lived in her lord's house and met all her lord's needs. Unlike a wife, she could be cast off when her lord became bored with her, or brought a new wife into the house. But the Laird of Dunglais would not be bringing another wife into his house. And if he managed to make Alix his mistress he still needed her to be there for Fiona until his child was grown. What if she did not please him in his bed? Once he had taken her, their relationship could never again be the same even if he had her only that one time. She wasn't a virgin, and had been taught the sensual arts by another man. Malcolm Scott paused for thought. She hadn't been wed that long. She could be retrained like any intelligent creature, couldn't she? Yet what if he did not please her, or she did not wish to become his mistress? He shrugged. Did it really matter? She would lie like all women lied, and she would be content with being in his favor.

Alix had become increasingly aware that the laird was contemplating her in a different manner than he had before. Raised at a royal court she had watched the byplay between lustful men and the women they sought to seduce. The interest in Malcolm Scott's eyes as he watched her bespoke a hunter stalking his prey. She began to avoid the hall as much as she might, departing for her own chamber immediately after the evening meal. And sometimes Alix would make an excuse not to sit at the high board at all, and eat in the kitchens with the other servants. She wanted no man, and she certainly did not want him to mistake her growing love and care of little Fiona for anything else than what it was. She certainly did not want him to believe her kindness stemmed from a desire to attract him to her bed.

Then one night his hand touched hers as she reached out to cut herself a wedge from the half wheel of cheese upon the board. "Let me do that for you," he said.

Alix flushed, pulling her hand quickly away from his. "I can do it," she said.

"But I should like to do it for you," he responded. "There is much I should like to do for you if you would let me, Alix." His gray eyes locked onto her green ones.

"I need nothing more than I have, my lord," she quickly told him, the blush on her cheeks now receding as she grew pale with the shock of his words. All along she had hoped it was her imagination playing tricks upon her where the laird was concerned, but now she knew her instincts had been right all along. He had begun to lust after her. What was she to do? How could she remain at Dunglais if he forced himself upon her? What would happen to little Fiona? What would happen to Alix Givet?

Malcolm Scott cut a slice of the cheese, holding it out to her on the tip of his knife. He faint wintry smile touched his lips but briefly as he let his eyes linger a moment on her. "Here," he said softly.

Alix took the cheese. To refuse when she had been attempting to cut it herself would have been inelegant. Her fingers plucked the offering from his knife. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered, and quickly looked away.

He laughed softly. A cruel sound. A knowing one. The battle had been engaged, and she was wise enough to know it. How long would it take him? he wondered to himself. How long until he could bed her? Her honey-colored hair looked soft. Was it? Her breasts beneath her simple brown jersey gown were nicely rounded. His fingers itched to fondle those sweet globes. To suckle upon their nipples. To his surprise he felt his manhood tightening in his breeks. It had been a long time since he had thought such thoughts. Had his member behave in such a way.

Alix ate her cheese, but suddenly it was tasteless in her mouth. Jesu and his holy Mother Mary help her! What was she to do? Reaching for her goblet, she took a long drink of her wine. She recognized lust on a man's face, in his eyes, when she saw it. Unable to help herself, she arose quickly from the high board. "If you will excuse me, my lord. Fiona. I find I am suddenly unwell." Then she fled the hall.

"Poor Alix," his daughter said sympathetically. "She works very hard, Da. We must be kinder to her, I think."

"Indeed, my daughter, I have been thinking exactly that," the laird agreed with his child. "I will send Fenella to make certain she is all right." He called for his housekeeper and instructed her to go to Alix and see if she needed anything.

Fenella departed the hall. She knew she would find Alix in her bedchamber, but when she reached it the door was barred to her. "Alix, are you all right?" she called through the door, rattling the handle as she did.

"I am not feeling well," Alix said.

"Let me in," Fenella said in a firm voice.

The door opened to reveal a pale-faced Alix.

Fenella entered the chamber, closing the door behind her. "What is the matter, Alix?" she asked. "The laird was worried when you left the hall."

"I should not have left it were I not afraid of him," Alix replied.

"Afraid? Why would you be afraid of the lord? You have certainly never before been afraid of him. What has he done that you fear him?"

"His attitude has changed towards me," Alix said, and she sat heavily upon her bed. "He looks at me when he believes I do not notice, but I do. I have seen men look at women like that before. I do not want him to look at me like that!"

Fenella sat down next to the young woman. "He cannot help himself," she said. "Dunglais has been without a woman in residence ever since his wife ran away."

"Are there not women in the village for him?" Alix replied.

"Aye, there is a widow, but he visits her only when he must," Fenella said.

"I do not want another husband," Alix said. "I am content as I am."

"And the laird does not want another wife, or so he says," Fenella surprised Alix by saying.

Alix grew even paler. "Then what does he want?" But she already knew the answer to her own question. "Oh! It is unkind that he would insult me in this way!"

"You are offended that he would take you for his lover?" Fenella inquired. "But if you do not want a husband, and you do not want a lover, what do you want?"

"I want everything to be as it was. I want to take care of little Fiona and see to her education. Nothing more. I want no man, Fenella!" Alix cried, and she began to weep bitterly. "If the laird cannot understand that then I must leave Dunglais as soon as the snows are gone and I can travel in safety."

"Did you love your husband so much, then?" Fenella said. "I did not think it so."

"I despised Hayle! He didn't want me for his wife. He wanted his mistress. A miller's daughter, but his father would not have it. I knew that when I agreed to wed him, and I did so only that my poor father could have a safe place to lay his head in his last days. Still, I was willing to take this man for my husband, keep his hall, bear his children. I did not ask for him to love me. I asked him to respect me, to respect my position as his lawful wife. But he hated me, and took every opportunity to show it. Hayle killed himself, you know. Oh, his father and I told the priest it was an accident, but even the priest knew it wasn't, although he said naught. My husband killed himself when his mistress and their son died in childbed. He was not able to accept my sympathy, to at least try to begin anew with his wife. He wanted to be with her, and because he loved her that much I could not fault him. But his death, and that of my own father, freed me. I will never again allow any man to have dominion over me." Her tears had stopped now with the recitation of her tale. "Tell your master that he must treat me with respect, Fenella, or I will go. You are his friend. He will listen to you."

Fenella drew a deep breath and then she spoke. "Was your husband cruel to you in your bed?" she asked candidly, and she looked directly at Alix. "Is that why you fear a lover? The laird is a kind man, Alix. He would never be cruel."

Alix's face had gone white at Fenella's words. "Will you pander for him?" she gasped in shocked tones.

Fenella arose from her place by Alix's side. "I will tell the laird of your distress," she said stiffly, and then she left the bedchamber.

Alix followed after her, barring the door once again.

Returning to the hall, the housekeeper took the laird aside. Fiona was playing contentedly with the dogs by the hearth. "Her marriage was an unhappy one," she said.

"I had assumed that," Malcolm Scott answered.

"Not just the situation in which she found herself," Fenella responded. "The husband was cruel to her in their bed. When I asked her about it, she grew as white as the snows outside the hall windows and accused me of pandering for you. I should have been offended but that her pain was so strong it was visible, my lord."

"Ahh," the laird said, "then she must be wooed gently." He smiled.

"I am not certain that she can be wooed at all, my lord," Fenella said. "She told me to tell you if you cannot treat her with respect she must leave Dunglais. You cannot let her go, for that would break Fiona's heart. The wee lass has had enough sadness in her life without losing the only mother figure she knows or can remember. You must satisfy your manly urges somewhere else," Fenella concluded.

"Nay, I will have Alix," he replied softly, "but when I do, she will come to me willingly. I would not harm my daughter's happiness, but I will not deny myself the prize I want."

"Offer her marriage," Fenella suggested wickedly.

"If her distaste for carnal union is as strong as you say it is that would but terrify her further," Malcolm Scott said. "Nay, kinswoman, Alix needs to be wooed with kindness and gentleness, for she has never before been wooed."

"Be careful, my lord," Fenella cautioned him. "If not for Alix's sake then for Fiona's. She has come to love her companion well."

At that moment the little girl came to join them. "Is Alix well now, Fenella?" she asked innocently.

"She will be on the morrow, lass," Fenella said. "But 'tis your bedtime. I will take you since Alix cannot. You will see her in the morning." She took the child's hand and led her from the hall.

Malcolm Scott went to the sideboard and poured himself a dram of his own whiskey. Then he went to sit by the fire and consider what Fenella had told him. What the hell was the matter with a man that he would treat his wife cruelly in their bed? And what cruelty had he inflicted upon her? She was a beautiful young woman of respectable breeding who had been given to the Englishman as a bride. Could he not have enjoyed her favors as well as that of his mistress? Was it necessary to punish her for not being the wife he wanted? Most men never got the wife they wanted. They got the wife who was given to them. He had taken the wife he wanted, and look how well that had turned out. But he could not imagine being cruel to any woman. He had certainly never been cruel to Robena. If he could have saved her, he would have. I will go slowly with Alix, he told himself. She deserved to know how sweet passion can be when it is shared between two consenting parties. I will win her over, and sooner than later.

In the days that followed, the laird's behavior returned to that which it had been before he had revealed his desire for Alix to her. She was wary of him, but as February ended and March began she grew less so. And then one evening as she returned to the hall to oversee the closing up of the house for the day he called to her.

"Fetch a goblet, Mistress Alix, and sit with me by the fire," he invited.

Alix did not know why she accepted his invitation, but it seemed more the plea of a lonely man in need of a friend than it did a lustful man attempting to seduce a female. She poured some wine into a cup and came to sit with him. "I smelled spring in the air today," she said with a small smile. "And the lambs in the paddock are more frolicsome."

"Spring has not failed us yet," he agreed. "I would apologize to you, Alix."

"Apologize? For what need you beg my pardon, my lord?"

"Some weeks back I frightened you, and for that I am sorry," the laird said.

Alix stiffened. "My lord, I am so happy as Fiona's companion and teacher. I would want nothing to spoil that."

"I will not spoil it," he promised her. "But I would have you tell me why you would find my attentions so repellent."

Her first thought was to leave him then and there, but she did not. Alix realized the laird, like most men, had been puzzled why she would not want his favors. He was a handsome man, a propertied man, all the things that women were supposed to admire in a gentleman. "My marriage, as you know, my lord, was not a happy one," Alix began. "I am not unhappy being without a husband."

"And I am not unhappy being wifeless," he admitted.

"Yet you would have had me in your bed were I willing," Alix responded.

He nodded. "Aye, I would." The laird smiled a small smile.

"You are insulted that I refused you," Alix said.

"I am curious why you refused me," he answered her. "Will you tell me why?"

Alix considered his request. He was, she suspected, the kind of man who would not be content until she had told him the truth. But if she told him the truth then he was apt to leave her in peace and seek his pleasure elsewhere. The shame in what had happened between her and Hayle Watteson was not her shame. It had been her husband's. Alix sighed, and then she began to speak.

"He hated me for not being the girl he loved. Maida was her name. Because it was necessary, he bed me else the marriage be annulled, because that would have displeased his father mightily. He used me as a man uses a woman. But there was no kindness in it. The room was always in total darkness because he felt guilt at what he believed was a betrayal of his Maida. He did not want to look upon me in those brief moments. He took my virginity quickly, cruelly, then left me alone in that black chamber. And each time our coupling was swiftly accomplished so he might depart and return to the woman he loved. I am only fortunate I did not conceive his child." Alix did not bother to tell the laird how her own father had protected her from that disaster. "I found our time together unpleasant, and I did not like the coupling. My father told me that it is beautiful with someone you love, but I do not think I will take the chance of being hurt and degraded again. I don't want to be any man's wife again."

Malcolm Scott nodded. The shock of what she had just told him actually hurt him. As he had previously thought, her husband was a fool. She was young, beautiful, and eager to be loved. The man's treatment of her had been nothing short of barbaric. "I believe I might change your outlook of passion between a man and a woman," he began slowly, "but I should certainly not force myself upon you."

"I know naught of passion, my lord," Alix replied.

"And there is the tragedy," he told her as he engaged her eyes with his. "Can you give me your trust, Alix? Can you believe I will not harm you if I say it?"

"What do you want of me, my lord?" she asked him, realizing suddenly she was no longer afraid of him even though it was dangerous ground upon which they trod.

"To show you how sweet passion can be," he said. Then, "Give me your hand."

Alix complied with the simple request, curious as to what he would do.

Malcolm Scott took the elegant little hand in his own big one. He admired it with his eyes. He raised it to his lips and slowly kissed the back of it with a warm kiss. Then he turned her hand over, exposing the palm, and placed his lips upon the open flesh moving with a lingering motion to the delicate skin of her wrist.

Alix's heart leaped within her chest at the touch of his lips upon her hand. She had never before experienced anything like it. Indeed it was startling to say the least.

His eyes met hers. "And that, Alix, is but the beginning of passion," the laird told her. "I hope that you did not find it distasteful."

She did not break his gaze, saying, "Nay, I did not find is unpleasant, my lord."

"Your husband had to have been a fool to have treated you so unkindly," he said.

"I think he was more like a spoiled child," Alix responded. "He wanted what he wanted, and disdained whatever else was offered him."

"With your permission I would like to introduce you to passion, Alix," Malcolm Scott told her. "I believe you will find everything I can offer you pleasant."

"Ah, my lord, now I see you have not been deterred in your desire to seduce me," Alix said. "Is it so difficult to understand I never enjoyed the coupling?"

"There is more to passion than just coupling," he replied. "Let me show you. I will force nothing upon you, Alix, but I cannot allow someone as beautiful as you are, someone with such a warm nature and kind heart, to be denied the delights of passion. Your husband was cruel. I have never even used a whore as he used you."

"But if I am to continue to educate your daughter, is it right that we should become lovers, my lord?" she asked him.

"My daughter must one day go to the marriage bed. Should it not be you who instructs her in its delights and pleasures so her lord will be well pleased? And how can you do that if all your memories are of a husband who hated and abused you?" he countered.

Alix had to laugh. "It is an excellent argument you make in your wicked efforts, my lord. Have you studied the law, perhaps?"

Now it was the laird who laughed, but he grew sober again when she spoke.

"If I should allow you to demonstrate some of the aspects of passion to me, then you must do so discreetly. I will not have the servants gossiping, or Fiona distressed by what she might hear. I must continue to command respect in this hall or my usefulness to you, to your daughter, is finished. I am not certain this is a good idea, but since I can see you will not be satisfied until you have made your point, I will succumb to your blandishments provided that if I say nay, you will accept it."

"Agreed!" he quickly answered her.

Alix arose from her place by the hearth. "Then I will bid you good night, my lord," she said curtsying to him.

He stood. "Wait but a moment," he said, reaching out with one hand to cup her face as he stepped near her. "We must seal our bargain with a kiss, Alix."

Her eyes widened. He gave her no time to think or even protest. His mouth descended upon hers in a deep, warm kiss that sent a shiver down her spine right to her toes. She had never been really kissed. Hayle's few attempts had been nasty, and his father's kiss repellent to her. This kiss was neither. Her eyes closed. Her lips softened as he plundered them tenderly. She felt his arm go about her waist and was grateful, for she wasn't certain she could stand on her own much longer. She sighed deeply as his kiss slowly concluded.

Then, as he put two firm hands upon her shoulders and gently pushed her back, Alix's green eyes flew open. "I like your mouth," he said softly.

"I did not know a kiss could be so delicious," Alix told him honestly.

"Neither did I," he admitted. The sweetness, the innocence of her, had surprised him. He could have kissed her again and taken her here before the fire, but he did not.

"Go to bed now, Alix," he said. "It is enough for today."

She nodded, and turning, departed the hall. It had been enough for a lifetime, Alix thought as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. If she died in the night she knew now that his kiss would sustain her through eternity. She had not known! She had not known how wonderful a man's kiss could be. How good it felt to be held against a man's hard body and cherished tenderly. And she had learned that all with just one kiss! Flinging herself upon her bed, she wept with both happiness and sorrow. She was filled with sadness that her virginity had been so brutally squandered by Hayle Watteson. If a small kiss could bring about such emotions within her, what would giving herself to this Scotsman be like? Would it be heaven?

Alix sat up. Was she mad? Had the sweetness of his kiss wiped away her memories entirely? Nay, it had not! She shuddered as she recalled her husband mounting her without a word. Jamming his cock into her body with no care for the pain he caused her. She believed he enjoyed giving her pain, enjoyed punishing her for daring to be his wife when he had not wanted her. He had practically said as much one night as he thrust back and forth atop her while she pleaded with him to stop for he was truly hurting her. Her passage was dry, and his movement did nothing to improve it.

"Get yourself with child, you bitch," he had snarled at her, "and I shall gladly forgo your bed. But until you do I am bound to fuck you and waste my seed in your ugly body." And he had renewed his efforts, putting his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries of pain when she could bear no more of him.

That was what she knew of coupling. Would being in the laird's bed be any different? And yet his kiss had been different. Alix swallowed hard. How could she ever consider coupling with a man after what her husband had done to her? The pain and the humiliation he had inflicted upon her. And yet if the kiss had been different, might not the other be as well? Still, to give herself to a man not her husband made her no better than a common whore. Yet the ladies of the court had dallied with men not their husbands. Wouldn't her sin be less for not deceiving a husband? She was a widow.

Alix took off her jersey gown, and taking the pitcher of water from the coals, she poured some into the little stone basin, washing her hands and face, cleaning her teeth with the little bristle brush that had been her father's last gift to her. After climbing into her bed, she said her prayers and then tossed restlessly before finally falling asleep. When the new day dawned she was no more near answers to all her questions than she had been the night before. What was she to do?

Fiona was excited with the longer days that were growing milder. Finally the laird gave his permission for them to ride outside the gates of the keep as the snow was almost all gone from the moors. He even decided to ride with them. Escorted by four men-at-arms they left the keep one midmorning. The laird's daughter was ecstatic when she was finally allowed to gallop her pony, her father's horse keeping pace with her. Her dark hair blew loose from its red ribbon, which blew across the moor, one of the laird's men cantering after it to retrieve it. He brought it to Alix and she thanked him.

Finally, as the horses all slowed to a gentle walk, they were approached by a small party of riders coming over a hill.

"God's nightshirt!" the laird swore softly. " 'Tis my uncle the Ferguson of Drumcairn. He'll have another candidate for my hand, to be certain. Perhaps two as he has not been able to get over the moor since the snows set in."

As Alix looked puzzled, Fiona explained, giggling. "My da's uncle wants him to remarry and sire sons. But Da loved my mother so greatly he wants no other wife. Whenever he comes to Dunglais, he brings with him the suggestion of another lass for my da to wed. He is very persistent, as you will shortly see."

"He looks too young to be your father's uncle," Alix said.

"He was my grandmother's half brother, born the very year she married my grandfather. His mother was stepmother to my grandmother. He is just five years older than Da," Fiona explained.

"He behaves as if he were fifty years older," grumbled the laird as the Ferguson riders approached. "Uncle! You have survived the winter, I see," Malcolm Scott greeted Robert Ferguson jovially. "What brings you to Dunglais this fine spring day?"

"Nephew," Robert Ferguson responded, but his eyes quickly turned to observe Alix. "And who is this lovely lass?" he asked, smiling at her.

Had she not known he was the laird's uncle, Alix would have never thought them blood related. The Ferguson of Drumcairn, while a big man like the laird, had a shock of bright red hair, a freckled face, and sharp blue eyes that were hardly discreet in their curiosity and admiration of the girl riding with his nephew.

"This is Mistress Alix Givet, Uncle. She is Fiona's companion and instructor in all things the daughter of the Laird of Dunglais should know if she is to be a proper wife and chatelaine one day. She came to us late last autumn."

"Vous êtes Francaise, mademoiselle?" Robert Ferguson asked.

"My parents were from Anjou, sir, but I was born in England," Alix answered him. So this border lord was educated, she thought, interested.

"How on earth did you find the lass, nephew?" his uncle asked.

"I didn't find her, Robert. She found us," the laird replied with a grin. "Come along now and let us return to the hall, where I will satisfy your insatiable curiosity." He turned his great dappled gray stallion about, and they returned to the keep.

The Ferguson of Drumcairn was off his mount quickly and by Alix's side, reaching up to help her from her mare. His hands lingered about her waist a moment too long, and while she said nothing she glared indignantly at him. With a grin, he released her, watching as she turned to take Fiona by the hand and enter the house. "Indeed, Malcolm, I shall look forward to hearing the story of how you came into possession of that spirited little wench. She's more than just pretty."

"Remember you have a wife, Uncle" the laird reminded him as they entered the hall and found places by the blazing fire. Alix and Fiona were nowhere to be seen, but the servants hurried to place goblets of wine in their hands.

"Aye, and a fine woman my Maggie is, but it doesn't keep my eyes from seeing. Is she your mistress, Malcolm? You'll have to put her somewhere else when you take a wife, y'know. Maggie's niece is now sixteen, and ripe for marriage."

"How many times must I tell you, Robbie? I have no intention of marrying again," the laird said to his uncle.

"And how many times must I tell you that you owe it to the Scotts of Dunglais to remarry and sire a son? If I had known how wild Robena was I should have never suggested her to you as a bride, Malcolm. We will be most careful with the next wife you take, but take another wife you must."

"Nay, Robbie, I do not have to take another wife," the laird said heatedly.

"Is your daughter's companion your mistress?" his uncle asked again.

"Nay, she is not," the laird answered.

"What is it that prevents you from making her so?" Ferguson wanted to know. "She's lovely, and certainly can be no virgin at her age. How old is she?"

"I don't know," Malcolm Scott replied. "But she is a widow, so nay, she is no virgin. Her marriage was an unhappy one. She says she seeks no husband or lover."

"But you have begun to campaign to change her mind, haven't you?" His uncle chuckled. "Well, perhaps after you have enjoyed the pleasure of having a woman in your bed again you will consider your duty and take a wife. Maggie's niece is too tall anyway. The wench has legs like a stork and watery eyes. At least you wouldn't have to worry about her taking a lover, but still you would have to bed her." He drank down half his goblet of wine. "Ahh, the chase is always the best part of it, Nephew, isn't it?" He chuckled again. "And here is the subject of our conversation now."

"My lord." Alix curtsied to him respectfully. "I thought perhaps that Fiona and I would have our meal in the kitchens so you and your uncle might visit more comfortably with each other this evening."

"Nonsense!" the Ferguson of Drumcairn said before the laird might reply. "A lovely woman at the board adds much to the meal, Mistress Alix. Tell her she must sit with us, Malcolm. 'Tis your hall, not mine. Still, I would enjoy her gentle company."

"The decision is Alix's to make," the laird said, giving her a small smile.

"Then you will excuse me," Alix replied quietly. "Fiona is still quite excited by her ride and needs the calm of the kitchen table, not the excitement of the high board with a guest present, my lord." She curtsied again.

The laird nodded. "I bow to your judgment," he told her.

Alix then turned and hurried from the hall.

"You would indulge her and let her believe she is free when the truth is you are slowly tightening the bonds about her," Ferguson noted. "You are sly, Nephew."

"How long do you intend to stay with us?" the laird asked, amused.

"Your hall offers more peace than mine does," Robert Ferguson admitted. "I have been cooped up all winter with my Maggie and our offspring. She is breeding again, Malcolm. This will make an even dozen. I but look at the wench lasciviously and her belly swells. Well, maybe this time it is the hoped-for heir. Eleven daughters are more than a man can bear. Other men breed on their wives, lose them in childbed, or lose the bairns. My wife is as strong as an ox and our daughters stronger. God only knows how I shall find husbands for them all, Nephew, and even the church requires a dower."

"I'm sure eventually you will offer me one," the laird teased his uncle.

Robert Ferguson laughed. "If you are not wed by the time the eldest is marriageable, which will be in another two years, I probably will. I have to get rid of them somewhere, and Maggie agrees with me. We must keep praying for a son. All men want sons, Nephew."

"I have an heir in Fiona," Malcolm Scott said stubbornly.

"If you manage to get that pretty wench who now mothers your daughter into your bed," the Ferguson of Drumcairn said, "you are certain to get her with child. Will you let your son be born a bastard?"

"I only managed to get a daughter on Robena, and if I do indeed entice Alix to my bed, she bore no child to her husband. It is unlikely she would bear me one."

"Then she would be the perfect mistress," his uncle noted, "if all she gave you was pleasure but no encumbrances. 'Tis a rare occurrence, but I have heard of such."

"You have not answered my question, Uncle. How long do you mean to stay?"

"A few days, a week, perhaps," the Ferguson answered. "I should be ready to face my wife and daughters again by then. The new bairn isn't due until autumn."

"You are welcome as always, Uncle, provided you do not speak of marriage again," the Laird of Dunglais said.

"I will hold my peace for now," Robbie Ferguson said with a grin. "You have my word on it, Malcolm."