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“The king feared for his only surviving son,Prince James. He decided to send him to France for safety's sake. Unfortunately, the merchant ship upon which the prince traveled was captured by the English. The wee prince was sent to King Henry. The shock of learning of his son's capture killed old King Robert. His uncle, now Scotland's ruler, didn't try verra hard to regain the laddie's person, which was, perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. He surely would have killed the little king. The English, however, took good care of the lad.”
“So now the king is coming home to Scotland?”
“Aye, he is. And Scotland will be the better for it, lassie. King James is a strong man. He'll keep a tight rein on his kingdom.”
“He'll not be able to tell the clans what to do,” Fiona said wisely. “The old chieftains don't like being told what to do. My father always said that those in the south never understood those of us here in the hills. And those in the highlands, he said, were even more independent. No king can rule all of Scotland in truth, I fear, my lord.”
“King James will do his best,” Angus Gordon said, allowing himself a small smile at her rather astute assessment of the political climate in their country. It seemed that as each year passed, the peoples in the south and those in the north grew further and further apart.
Old Tarn came in, bringing a pitcher of cider. He refilled the laird's cup and poured one for his mistress, then disappeared again.
“You know the king,” she mused.
“The English didn't mind the visits, for in a sense all of us who came to be with the young king were hostages for Scotland's good behavior. We came to keep company with our liege lord and to be certain hedid not forget his own country, for the English captured him when he was verra young.” He suddenly changed the subject. “Where am I to sleep tonight?”
“Surely ye don't mean to—” Fiona stopped, pale of cheek.“Not tonight!”
‘Jesu, no, lassie!” Looking closely at her, he said, “Yer a sly wench, Fiona Hay. If I find yer not a virgin, I'll kill ye, I promise ye. Do ye swear to me that ye never have been with a man?”
“I am a virgin, my lord, and not dishonest, I promise ye. It's just that the house is small. My sisters and I sleep in the room above the hall, while Flora and Tarn have their bed in the attic above us. Ye may sleep in the hall by the fire. There is no other place for ye but the stable. Yer men may rest there.”
“When I take ye to my bed, Fiona Hay,” he told her seriously, “it will be a pleasant experience for ye, I promise—and ye will not be afeared.” He tipped her face up, looking intently at her with his dark green eyes. “Yer a pretty lass, but I see none of yer mam in ye.”
“I look like my father, I am told,” Fiona replied. “It is not surprising, for I was conceived, my mother told me, the day of her marriage to my father. She didn't love him, ye know, nor he her. He wanted her for the glen, but he didn't get it. He loved me, or so he said, for I was his firstborn, but then when my sisters kept coming and my brothers kept dying, he became impossibly cruel. The night our Morag was born, he took one look at her and howled his outrage. My mother lay dying, yet she somehow found the strength to laugh at him. He had taken her from the only man she always told me she loved, and only for the glen, but in the end she beat him, and he knew it. I believe my mam died a happy woman, my lord.”
“My father never stopped loving her,” he said, releasing her chin from his hold.
“I might have been yer sister,” she said softly.
“But ye are not my sister, Fiona Hay. Yer a defiant little thief who will shortly be my mistress, though why I even accepted yer offer I'll never know. Ye will, I suspect, be more trouble than ye are worth. Still”—he chuckled- “ye'll not bore me, I'm thinking.”
“No, my lord, I'll not bore ye.”
He wasn't certain whether her words were a threat or a promise, and that in itself was intriguing. Standing, he stretched his long frame. “I must see to my men, Fiona Hay. May I take supper with ye?”
She nodded. “Ye may, and yer brother, too, my lord.”
Finding Jamie, he proffered the invitation, but his brother refused.
“I want to return to Brae Castle and bring back our piper for the wedding,” Jamie explained.
“Also bring back two casks of my best wine and two sheep ready for roasting, Jamie-boy. Mistress Hay will not be embarrassed by the scantness of her hospitality tomorrow. If I am to have the responsibility of the lass and her sisters, a poor reception would reflect badly on the Gordons of Loch Brae. Go now, and come right back in the morning, for the bridegrooms are due early.”
Angus Gordon joined the Hay sisters for supper. It was a simple meal of rabbit stew, bread, and cheese, but it was served upon a polished high board on pewter plates with silver spoons. Fiona, very well mannered to his surprise, had introduced him formally to the two brides-to-be, Elsbeth and Margery. Then she had presented him to her two younger sisters, Jean, whowas ten, and Morag, who was seven. Like the twins, Jean was auburn haired and amber eyed. She had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her elegant little nose.
“Are yereallygoing to make my sister yer mistress?” she asked him bluntly.
“Aye,” he drawled, amused. Turning to Fiona, he inquired, “Are all the Hay women as brazen as ye, lassie?” To his great amazement he saw that Fiona had blushed at her sister's inquiry.
“Jeannie, mind yer tongue!” she scolded her sibling.
“Well, Margery says ye are,” Jean replied. “Didn't ye think we ought to know such a thing, Fi?”
Fiona ignored the query and introduced the youngest of the sisters. “This is our wee Morag, my lord”
Morag Hay was but a younger version of her eldest sister. Her emerald-green eyes surveyed the laird of Loch Brae. Then, following Jeannie's example, she curtsied carefully. “How do ye do, my lord,” she lisped prettily.
“I do very well indeed, lassie,” he answered her, enchanted.
