Читать книгу Just Beyond Tomorrow - Bertrice Small - Страница 11

Chapter 4

“Lady! Lady!”

Her arm was being pulled insistently. Flanna slowly awoke, swimming up from the depths of a very deep sleep.

“Lady!” Aggie’s young voice pleaded with her.

“What is it?” Flanna finally managed to say, but her eyes were still tightly shut. She burrowed back down into the featherbed.

“Yer husband says ye must arise. He would be gone as soon as possible, lady,” Aggie said. “A storm is brewing and threatens to be a hard one. Angus and I are ready to leave. We only wait on ye. The old man wants the bedsheet, lady.”

Her husband? Her husband! The events of the previous day and night crashed down upon her. “Bring me hot water,” she said, rolling over, drawing the coverlet with her to cover her nakedness.

“I already hae,” Aggie answered, “and I hae laid out clean clothing for ye, lady.”

Flanna arose, and Aggie blushed at her mistress’s nudity. Ignoring her, Flanna said, “Take the sheet to my father and tell him the marriage has been well and truly consummated. Then bring me something to eat. I’ll nae go down into the hall to be leered at by the whole damned family. When I leave this chamber, I will leave Killiecairn. Tell my lord to eat while he can, Aggie.”

Her eyes widened at the large, bloody stain on the bedsheet she had just removed from the bed, Aggie nodded silently and hurried off.

Flanna looked about the room. There was nothing to indicate Patrick Leslie had ever been there. But he had. She smiled to herself. The coupling was one part of marriage she was going to enjoy, particularly when she finally learned how to do her part to please him. He was a strange man, her husband. Proud to the point of arrogance, but kind. Flanna knew Patrick Leslie had, indeed, been kind to her last night. He might have put her on her back and taken her virginity coldly. Instead, he had tried to ease her fears and make the experience a pleasant one for her. She was grateful and would tell him so. She had never thought to be a wife. She hadn’t really ever wanted to marry, but now she was wedded and bedded. Still, Patrick had promised not to enslave her like her brothers’ wives.

“I must be a good wife,” she said softly to herself. “Ailis is right. I know how to keep a house. At Glenkirk I’ll have servants to do my bidding.” She took the washrag Aggie had left for her, quickly washing her face and hands. She rinsed her mouth with water and turned to dress. It was then she saw the dried blood staining her thighs. She felt her cheeks redden and, taking the cloth from the basin, vigorously scrubbed the blood away. Her woman’s place felt suddenly sore. She gently bathed it as well, staring half-horrified at the water in the basin, now turned brown.

She drew on a pair of knit stockings, her green wool breeches, a white cotton shirt, and finally her doeskin jerkin. After yanking on her worn boots, she walked back over to the basin where Aggie had left her hairbrush. Flanna vigorously brushed her long hair, then braided it into a single thick plait. She stuffed the brush into her pocket and taking up her blue cap put it on her head. She glanced about the little room that had been hers most of her life. Then without a backward look she departed it. Aggie had not returned with the food, which meant her father wanted to see her and suspected her plan to leave Killiecairn quickly. Annoyed, and not just a little hungry, she hurried into the hall.

It was even as she had suspected. They were all there. The women smirked, certain that proud Flanna had now been tamed. The men would not meet her eyes, but for her father, who gave her a hard and assessing look. He nodded to her, indicating she seat herself on his left hand. Flanna sat down, letting her sisters-in-law serve her. A bowl of oat stirabout was placed before her. She reached for the pitcher of golden cream, spilled some on the porridge, and silently ate it down. She reached for the cottage loaf and tore off a piece, buttering it with her thumb. A piece of hard, yellow cheese was offered her on the end of a dirk. Her eyes met those of her husband, and he smiled faintly as she took the cheese and put it atop the bread and butter. Her goblet was filled with—she sipped at it—wine. Wine was not usually served with the morning meal. When she had finished her meal she sat silently.

Finally her father spoke. “Ye hae done well, lassie,” Lachlann Brodie told his only daughter approvingly. “Yer husband says yer a braw lassie. I hae given him the deeds to Brae. They are now his, as are ye, Flanna. Ye’re welcome in this hall whenever ye would come.”

The duke arose and held out a gloved hand to his bride. “There is a storm brewing. We must leave now.”

“I know,” she said, putting her hand in his. She bent and kissed her father’s withered cheek. “Farewell, Da.”

“Farewell, daughter,” he said. “Yer mam would be proud this day to see ye leave my hall a duchess.”

“I thank ye for yer hospitality, Lachlann Brodie,” Patrick Leslie said. “And for yer daughter,” he finished with a smile.

As they walked through the little hall, Una hurried up to them. “Ye’re all right?” she asked.

Flanna stopped and bent to kiss her sister-in-law’s leather cheek. “Aye,” she said. “Ye were right. There was some pleasure.”

“Good!” came the reply. “Now remember what I told ye. Gie yer husband an heir as quickly as ye can, lassie. God bless ye.”

Flanna gave the older woman a quick smile and then moved off with her husband.

“She loves ye well,” the duke said softly.

“She’s a good woman,” Flanna replied.

“Ye’ll ride wi’ me,” he told her. “When we get to Glenkirk I will gie ye yer own horse.”

“Of course,” she said sharply. “The Brodies of Killiecairn dinna hae yer wealth, my lord, but we are comfortable.”

As if to give substance to her words, her eldest brother, Aulay, now came from the stable leading a dappled gray mare with a black mane and tail. “She’s yers,” he said gruffly. “Ye’ll nae leave Killiecairn wi’out being properly mounted.”

“But ye’ve raised her from a colt,” Flanna said protestingly. “I know ye meant her for yer granddaughter, Moire. ’Tis nae fair.”

“Moire is but three, and too young for such a fine beastie as Glaise. I’ll raise another mare for her, and next time she’ll be ready for it. I was too enthusiastic as Moire was my first granddaughter,” Aulay Brodie said with a faint smile. “Glaise is my wedding gift to ye, sister.”

Flanna threw her arms about her brother and kissed him. “I accept yer gift, and I thank ye, Aulay,” she told him.

He shook her off. “I’ll help ye up, lassie,” he said huskily. Then, bending, he cupped his two big hands, and when his sister put her foot into his grasp, he gently but firmly boosted her into her saddle. “Remember, she hae a soft mouth, Flanna. Dinna pull on it.”

The new Duchess of Glenkirk leaned forward and patted her mare lovingly. “We’re going to get on just fine, Glaise,” she whispered to the creature.

Aulay Brodie now held out his hand to the duke. “Ye dinna mind, I hope,” he said quietly.

Patrick shook his head. “Nay. She’s beautiful,” he replied.

“The horse, or the lass,” Aulay Brodie said seriously.

“Both,” came the reply, and then the duke mounted his own stallion. “Ye’ll ride by my side,” he said, turning to his new wife.

They rode away from Killiecairn. Flanna turned about but once to look back at the large stone house in which she had been raised. The air was very cold and still. She could feel the damp in it, pushing past her garments, chilling her to the bone. It would be almost a full day’s ride back to Glenkirk Castle. She shivered and pulled her heavy wool cloak about her, but she held her head high. Her new husband said nothing to her as they made their way, but she could hear the murmur of the men behind her. She concentrated on her surroundings.

The sky above them was gray. The hills about them were dark with trees, either evergreen conifers or the trunks and bare branches of the trees that leafed throughout the summer only to drop those leaves in the autumn. The hooves of their mounts now trod upon a carpet of those leaves, encouraging the earthy scent of damp rot to arise faintly. The dogs with them scampered in, out, and ahead of them, occasionally flushing a rabbit or a bird, which was quickly killed and brought along to help fill the castle’s larder. In late morning before they stopped to eat and rest, they took a red deer.

By early afternoon a light rain began to fall. It shortly turned to sleet. Flanna pulled up the hood on her cloak to protect herself. Silently the sleet began to turn to snow, almost obliterating the trail they followed. The duke called to his head huntsman, Colin More-Leslie, to come forward and make certain they were following the proper trail. The mare beneath her, however, was as surefooted as a goat. Flanna was grateful that all she had to do was sit her.

“Another hour,” Patrick Leslie finally spoke to her. “I yet recognize the terrain despite the snow. Are ye all right, lassie?”

“Aye, my lord.” Flanna nodded. In actuality she was freezing and could scarcely feel her toes right now, but he was undoubtedly just as cold. There was no need for complaint. They wouldn’t be warm again until they reached the safety of the castle, she knew.

“Good lass,” he replied, and then turned his attention ahead once more.

She might have been his horse or one of the dogs, Flanna thought, almost irritated by his tone. But then, why should he have any feelings for her? she reasoned. Even though he had lain with her, he didn’t really know her. The possibility that Una might be right and she had best produce an heir quickly flitted through her mind. It wasn’t that she had any particular feelings for her husband either, for Flanna had no more knowledge of Patrick Leslie than he did of her. But if he should ever take it into his head to divorce her because his family disapproved of a simple Brodie of Killiecairn, she would have nothing left. Brae now belonged to Glenkirk. The mother of Glenkirk’s heir, however, would be a power to be reckoned with. Flanna smiled to herself.

She had never thought of herself as a mother, just as she had never thought of herself as a wife. In another time she would have been offered two choices. Marriage to a man or marriage to the church. Now there was but one choice, for the wicked practices of locking women up in convents to spend their lives in dark papist practices had been wiped out by the Covenanters. A woman married or she didn’t; and those who didn’t were dependent on their fathers or brothers unless they possessed their own wealth or land. Flanna realized with shock that she had nothing but that which Patrick Leslie would give her. It wasn’t a position she found enviable, and she didn’t like it at all; but what could she do about it?

The horses ploughed onward through the darkening day. The snow was now falling heavily. The trees and the hillsides were already well coated with a blanket of white, but fortunately there was no wind at all. Then finally she saw looming ahead of them a great dark hulk of stone, its towers piercing upward into the sky. She wished she could gain a clearer glimpse of her new home through the falling snow, but it was impossible. She heard the muffled sound of wood beneath the animals’ hooves as they crossed the lowered drawbridge and passed beneath the portcullis into the courtyard where they came to a stop.

Patrick Leslie slid easily off his stallion and, going over to Flanna, lifted her from the mare’s back. But he did not put her down, instead carrying her into the castle within the enclosure of his arms. “Welcome home, madame,” he said as he finally set her on her feet.

Slightly disoriented, Flanna looked about her. “Where are we?” she asked him, her eyes taking in the silken banners hanging from the rafters, the two enormous fireplaces, and especially the two portraits hanging over those fireplaces.

“This is the Great Hall of Glenkirk Castle. That gentleman”—the duke’s hand pointed toward one of the portraits—“is my namesake, the first Earl of Glenkirk. He served King James IV as ambassador to the Duchy of San Lorenzo. The lady above the opposite fireplace is his daughter, Lady Janet Leslie. Someday I shall tell ye her tale. Come by the fireplace, madame, and warm yerself.”

Flanna gladly accepted his invitation, pulling off her gloves, which were frozen to her fingers, and holding her hands out to the blaze in the big fireplace. “ ’Tis surely a large hall, my lord,” she told him. “I’ve nae seen bigger, but of course, I’ve nae been far from Killiecairn before. The hall at Brae is nae even half as large.”

“Ye hae been in Brae Castle itself, lass?” He was genuinely interested. He moved to a sideboard where he poured them two drams of his own peat-flavored whiskey, handing her one. “’Twill warm ye,” he said.

“Aye, I’ve been inside Brae,” she told him. Then she swallowed the whiskey down in a quick gulp. “There is some damage to the roof beneath the eaves, but the castle itself is sound, if dusty.”

“And so it will remain, for I hae no use for another castle. ’Tis the land I sought,” he replied. Then he swallowed his own dram down and taking the two pewter cups set them aside.

“I want the castle,” Flanna said. “The castle, and its island.”

“Why?” he demanded, curious.

“Because I hae nothing to call my own now, my lord,” she answered him. “Brae and its lands were all I possessed. Ye now hold them, but ye hae said ye hae no desire for the castle. Gie it to me. I do want it.”

It was a ridiculous request, he thought, and was about to refuse her when she spoke again.

“Ye hae nae given me a wedding gift, my lord. I want Brae Castle and a bit of coin to repair its roof. Certainly yer own mother did nae come to yer father as penniless as I am.”

“Nay,” he admitted, “my mother was a princess and possessed great wealth when she wed wi’ my father.”

“And was yer grandmam also an heiress, my lord?”

His paternal grandmother, Cat Leslie, had been an amazing woman, Patrick remembered with a smile. He recalled the story of his own father’s birth in Edinburgh. Part of his grandmother’s dowry had been a small piece of property that actually belonged to her and not her father, yet he had included it in his daughter’s dower portion. His grandmother had been furious and had refused to marry his grandfather until her bit of property had been returned to her possession. His grandfather had nonetheless managed to impregnate his betrothed wife, assuming she would have no other choice but to do her family’s and his bidding and marry him. His grandmother, however, had run away. She would have her property back or his child would be a bastard. It had taken his grandfather months to find her, and desperate that his heir be born legitimate, he had, when he found her, returned Cat Leslie’s small piece of property to her sole possession, marrying her but minutes before his son entered the world. His maternal grandmother had also been an heiress.

“Aye,” the Duke of Glenkirk said in answer to his young wife’s question. “My grandmother was well dowered, Flanna. Both of them were.”

“Can ye understand, then, my lord, why I seek to hae my wee castle? My predecessors came to their husbands with monies, jewels, plate, lands, and linens. I come to ye wi’ but my small bit of land and the clothing I own. The land is now yers, so I hae naught but my clothes. While they are suitable for a chief’s daughter, I doubt they are what a duchess would wear. Please gie me Brae Castle as my bridal gift and let me restore it so I may hae something of my own.” She tried hard to keep a pleading tone out of her voice, for she had her pride.

Looking at her, he could see the effort it took for her to ask him for anything. She was as proud as he was. The castle meant nothing to him, but it obviously meant a great deal to her. “Ye may repair the roof to keep the rest from tumbling down,” he said to her. “Nothing more, however. ’Tis yers to do wi’ as ye will. I will hae a deed of ownership drawn up for Brae Castle, madame, in yer name, and ye will keep it safe, eh?”

She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him heartily. “Oh, thank ye, my lord! Ye hae made me so verra happy! I promise I will be frugal in the expense.” Then she loosed her hold about his neck and blushed, realizing how bold she had been. Biting her lip, she stood before him, not knowing what to do next, but Patrick Leslie grinned mischievously at her.

“I can see, Flanna, that ye’ll nae be a great expense to me. The castle cost me nothing, and ye’ve sworn to be careful wi’ the repairs. Ye might hae asked me for jewels and a coach.”

“What would I need jewels for, my lord?” she said honestly. “As for a coach, they are for old ladies. I hae a good mount and am capable of riding. ’Twould be a great waste of good coin, a coach.”

He laughed, remembering his mother’s magnificent coaches and his grandmother’s as well. While each of those women rode very well, neither ever traveled a distance without all her comforts. Still, his wife was a practical wench, and the truth was that neither of them would be going anywhere distant. They would not require a coach. “I can see ye’ll see I dinna waste my monies, Flanna,” he told her.

“Do ye hae a lot of gold, my lord?” she asked.

“Aye, a great deal, but that knowledge is only for ye and me to know. In time, lass, when we know one another better, and I am certain that I can trust ye, then I will share such information wi’ ye.”

“Ye can trust me, my lord,” Flanna said seriously. “I am yer wife now, and a Leslie. My allegiance is to ye and to Glenkirk. Where else would I place my loyalty.”

He gave her a warm smile, touched by her speech. This Highland wench he had so hastily married was perhaps a bit more complex than he had thought her to be. “I believe I can trust ye, Flanna,” he told her. “Now, however, is nae the time to discuss such matters as what I possess. Ye hae a great task ahead of ye, lass. Ye must make my castle a more livable place again. Since my mother left, and took Adali wi’ her, there has been no one to direct the servants. They hae grown lax wi’out a strong guiding hand. Ye must provide that hand.”

“Who was A . . . Adali?” she asked him, and sat in one of the two chairs by the blazing fire.

He sat opposite her. “Adali has been my mother’s servant since her birth. When she came to Glenkirk as my father’s wife, Adali became the castle’s majordomo. When she left Glenkirk after my father’s death, Adali, and the two other servants who hae been wi’ Mother her whole life, departed with her. They hae been together so long they cannot be separated. It was Adali who managed the household, seeing that the servants did what they should, making certain we had what we needed to survive, purchasing what we dinna grow, make, barter, or hunt. Now ’tis yer task, Flanna. There is more to being a duchess than fetes and beautiful clothing,” he finished.

She stared at him, astounded. “I hae nae been to a fete in my entire life, my lord, nor do I hae beautiful clothing. As for yer household, I will do my best, but I dinna hae the faintest idea of how to manage so large an establishment. I will learn, of course, but ye must be patient wi’ me. This is nae Killiecairn. This is a great house Even yer own mam had servants to do her bidding. I am nae a servant, my lord. I am yer wife.”

“Lass, I dinna mean . . . Ye will hae all the servants ye want to help ye. If I hae offended ye, I apologize,” Patrick Leslie said.

“My lord, ye wed me for the land,” Flanna replied in matter-of-fact tones. “We both understand that. I know my duty. ’Tis to make yer home a place of comfort and to gie ye an heir as quickly as possible. Fortunately, I hae my servant Angus to help me wi’ the first. Angus came to Killiecairn wi’ my mother from Brae. He remembers how a fine establishment should be kept and will help me. As for my second task, ’tis up to ye and I to manage.”

“I hae nae considered—” he began, but Flanna interrupted him.

“What month were ye born in, my lord?” she demanded of him.

“March,” he answered her.

“And how old will ye be on yer next birthday?” she pressed.

He thought a moment, then replied, “Thirty-five, lass.”

“I was born in August and was twenty-two this year, my lord. How old was yer mam when her first child was born?” Flanna asked.

Again he thought for a long moment. That had, after all, been before his time. His half sister, India, was the oldest of his siblings. “I think she was seventeen,” he said. “Aye! She was seventeen.”

“And how many bairns did she hae by the time she was my age?” Flanna queried him.

“Four,” he said, seeing where her line of questioning was leading him, but still not at all certain he was ready for fatherhood. He wasn’t even certain he was ready for marriage, though married he now was.

“Four,” Flanna repeated. “Yer mam had four bairns by the time she was my age! I think, my lord, we hae much work ahead of us. How many bairns did she hae in all?”

Patrick Leslie swallowed hard. “Nine,” he murmured, “but one of my sisters died before she was even a year old. Ye must understand, Flanna, that my mother had several husbands, and a lover, to father her great brood.”

“A lover?” Flanna didn’t know whether to be shocked or not.

“Prince Henry Stuart—he should hae been king after James—was the sire of my half brother, Charlie,” the duke told his wife. “It was before she wed wi’ my father, of course.”

“What happened to him?” Flanna wanted to know.

“Who?” Patrick said.

“The bastard. Yer mam’s bastard,” Flanna responded.

Patrick Leslie burst out laughing. He had never considered Charlie in that manner. To his knowledge, no one had. “My half brother, Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, has never been thought of in that light, Flanna. While we teasingly call him our not-so-royal Stuart, he was always considered just one of mother’s bairns. Old King James and Queen Anne loved him dearly. He was their first grandchild. Sadly his father, the prince, died shortly after his birth. His uncle, our late King Charles, for whom Charlie was named, was very fond of him. One reason mother retired to England is to make certain Charlie doesna endanger himself by involving himself in this factional fighting over religion and Divine Right. Charlie is deeply loyal to his father’s family.”

“But he was born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Flanna persisted. “How can he be anything other than a bastard?”

“Lass,” the duke explained patiently, “the royal Stuarts hae always recognized their bairns nae matter the mother. ’Twas that way when they ruled here in Scotland, and ’tis that way now in England as well. They are a most loving family. My own blood is also mixed wi’ theirs, as are many families here in Scotland.”

Flanna shook her head. “I dinna understand,” she said, “but if ye say ’tis all right, I will accept yer word.”

Patrick laughed again. “Are ye hungry?” he asked her.

“I am, and I canna help but wonder why there is nae meal on the table, and the master in the house almost an hour now,” she replied. She stood up. “Who did ye leave in charge, my lord?”

“Nae one has been in charge since my mother left,” he said.

Flanna sighed. “Angus, to me,” she called, and the giant man who was her servant stepped from the deep shadows of the hall. In his arms he carried Sultan, purring noisily as Angus stroked him rhythmically.

Patrick Leslie chuckled. “’Tis rare he takes to strangers, but I trust his judgment in men.”

“He’s a grand beastie, my lord,” Angus replied. He was a man of indeterminate age, but he stood straight like a great oak, seven feet tall. His hair was dark brown with streaks of silver. He wore it pulled back and tied with a leather thong. His matching beard was full, but it was a small vanity of Angus’s that he kept it well trimmed and neat. All who knew him knew he took great pride in his beard, as he did in his dress. Angus always wore his Gordon kilt.

“Put the creature down,” Flanna said, “and see why there is nae supper on the table. Are the men supposed to starve after that long ride through the wet today? Tomorrow ye and I must see to putting the management of this house back properly.” She turned to her husband. “Is the castle mine?”

He knew exactly what she meant. “Aye, madame,” he replied.

Flanna turned back to her servant. “Ye’re now the majordomo of Glenkirk Castle, Angus,” she said. “Aggie, where is my chamber? I want a hot bath. I’m yet frozen through despite whiskey and the fire.”

“There are so many rooms, mistress, I dinna know where to look first,” Aggie said, coming forward in the company of an older woman. “She knows,” she continued accusingly, “but she will nae tell me.”

“Hae ye taken to bringing yer wantons into the castle now that yer mam is nae here, my lord?” the woman demanded. She was small and plump, with white hair, but a youngish face.

“This is my wife, Mary,” the duke said. “I wed wi’ her yesterday in her father’s house at Killiecairn. She is yer new mistress. Ye will render her yer respect. Flanna, this is Mary More-Leslie.”

“Can ye housekeep?” Flanna demanded fiercely of the woman.

“Aye,” came the reply, and Mary More-Leslie looked Flanna over critically, recognizing a Highland wench when she saw one.

“Then, ye’ll be the housekeeper here unless Angus says yer a slattern. Now show me to my chambers, Mary More-Leslie.” Flanna knew enough from her sister-in-law, Una Brodie, to know she must exhibit immediate and firm authority over those who served her or lose control of her household. Her gaze never left that of the older woman.

Mary finally looked away and, turning, said, “This way, my lady. We were nae expecting a bride, and so ’twill nae be in readiness; but we’ll manage tonight. Tomorrow is another day, eh?”

The Duke of Glenkirk looked on in surprise as Mary meekly led Flanna and her female servant away. He turned, and Angus was also gone. Sultan wreathed about his ankles. Patrick Leslie sat back down in his chair. The cat leapt into his lap and settled itself.

“Well, Sultan,” he said, “what think ye of yer new mistress? I think, wi’out meaning to, I hae found me a verra fine wife.” A day. He had known her only a day. He had learned she was brave and practical. She seemed to enjoy his lovemaking. She appeared honest and loyal. It was as good a basis as any to begin a marriage. Still, there was much, much more he had to learn about this young woman. He had done a very rash thing by marrying her, he knew.

Patrick Leslie smiled to himself. What would his mother think of this outspoken Highland girl of not particularly distinguished background? What would his siblings think? He numbered a duke and a marquis among his four brothers. Charlie and Henry led different lives than he led, although now with the difficulties in England, their lives must certainly be disrupted to some extent. Henry would know how to bend without breaking. He would survive with barely a wrinkle in his silken breeches, and his family as well. Henry was seven years his senior, and while he had been a kindly elder brother, he had had little time for Patrick Leslie.

His brother Charlie, however, was a different matter. The not-so-royal Stuart was only three and a half years older than Patrick Leslie. He had always had time for his little brother and, consequently, was closer to Patrick than even his two younger Leslie brothers, Adam and Duncan. What was happening to Charlie amid all the strife? He had always been devoted to his father’s family. Had Prince Henry been permitted to wed with the widowed Marchioness of Westleigh as his mother was then titled, Charlie would have been England’s king when old James had died. But Charlie didn’t care if he was king or not. He had been as loyal to the royal Stuarts as any legitimately born son would have been. News filtered slowly into the eastern Highlands. They hadn’t even known of the king’s execution until late spring. Where was Charlie now? “God keep ye safe, brother,” the duke whispered to himself.

“My lord.” Angus was by his side. “The cook will hae the supper ready shortly. I hae spoken wi’ him. Meals will be served on time in the future. Nae one was certain when ye would return, and hence the delay.” He gave the duke a faint bow. “Shall I tell her ladyship, or will ye?”

Patrick Leslie stood up, placing Sultan on the floor as he did so. “I will tell her,” he replied. “I am happy to hae my house in such safe hands now. Thank ye.” He walked from the hall.

Angus now took a moment to look about him. Flanna had done well despite her best efforts to avoid the responsibility accorded her sex. She was wild like her mother that way, although only he could remember Meg Gordon’s stubborn nature. Lachlann Brodie had been entranced with her and found her willfulness amusing. But the old Brodie had kept his promise to his dying wife, although how he would have done it but that the Duke of Glenkirk had fallen into their laps, Angus didn’t know. Still, it was done now. Flanna was both a duchess and a countess with this marriage.

Angus knew a great deal more about the duke and his family than Patrick Leslie would have imagined. His own grandfather had been the duke’s grandfather, the fourth Earl of Glenkirk, also a Patrick. This Patrick had spawned any number of bastards throughout the region. Angus’s maternal grandmother, Bride Forbes, had caught the earl’s eye and birthed a daughter, Jessie, in March of 1578. Jessie Forbes in her turn had caught the eye of Andrew Gordon, the Earl of Brae. She had died two days after giving birth to a son, named Angus after an ancestor, and who was recognized by his father as a Gordon and raised at Brae Castle. The young Countess of Brae, Anne Keith, had married her husband when Angus was three and given birth to her only child, a daughter, Margaret, when Angus was seven. She had treated her husband’s bastard as her own child, the only difference being that he would not inherit either his father’s title or his father’s lands. Those would go to his legitimately born sister, Margaret.

When the Earl of Brae had died shortly after his daughter’s twelfth birthday, it was Angus who had taken over management of Brae, protecting the widowed countess and her child from any and all who would make an attempt on either the heiress, her mother, or Brae. It was Angus who had seen Lachlann Brodie’s interest Meg Gordon one summer at the games at Inverness; but Meg Gordon would not leave her mother, who was then ill and failing. Only two years later, when Anne had died and was buried, did Meg, at her half brother’s urging, accept the suit of the Brodie of Killiecairn.

“Our blood is better,” he told his half sister honestly, “but ye’re far past yer prime, Meg. He doesna care if ye hae bairns, for he’s got half a dozen lads by his first wife, God assoil her. He’s old enough to be yer da, but he’s in love wi’ ye, any fool can see. Ye’ll do nae better, for all ye hae is Brae and its lands. Ye hae nae cattle or coin. This is as good a match as ye’ll get, and he’ll be kind.”

“What will happen to ye, Angus? I’ll nae leave ye,” Meg Gordon had told her half brother.

“Few away from Brae know I am our father’s bastard,” Angus replied. “I’ll come wi’ ye as yer personal servant. Brodie will nae deny ye yer servant, and anyone wi’ eyes can see I’m useful.”

So Meg had accepted the offer of marriage from Lachlann Brodie, a man thirty-three years her senior, and to her surprise her husband had, despite his years, proved a vigorous lover. He had also adored her and done everything he could to make her happy. And Angus Gordon had entered the household at Killiecairn, silently watching over his younger sibling and eventually her child, making himself as useful as possible so that none would complain that he didn’t earn his keep. When Flanna’s mother had been on her deathbed, she had confided to her only child that Angus was her half brother and Flanna’s uncle. Flanna had continued to keep the secret.

Angus Gordon noted the portraits hanging over the two fireplaces. He saw the well-made furniture, the fine tapestries, the beautiful silk banners hanging from the rafters, the silver on the sideboard, the porcelain bowls, and the beeswax tapers in the candlesticks. The lamps burned pure, fragrant oil, and there was both wine and whiskey on the table. The place needed a good cleaning, but it had not been left for too long a time, it was obvious. This was the great hall of a wealthy man, and his niece was now that man’s wife.

She had a great deal to learn, Angus thought to himself. Meg had loved her only child, but she hadn’t taken the time to teach her how to manage a great house. His sister had probably never thought Flanna would do so well. When Meg had died, Una Brodie had done her best to teach Flanna the rudiments of housekeeping; but Flanna had never been very interested, and besides, Killiecairn wasn’t an impressive establishment. His niece preferred the out-of-doors, riding and hunting from dawn to dusk. Meg had taught her daughter to sign her name; but other than that, Flanna could not write, nor could she read. The only language she knew was her own. Angus shook his head wearily. His niece was very badly prepared for her new high station. He wondered what the duke would think when he learned it. He shook his great head a third time. There was so much to do. The household, he could manage, but Flanna had to be educated enough so that she didn’t shame her husband. Had he not heard Patrick Leslie tell his wife that his own mother was a princess? Certainly a princess knew how to read, and to write, and to converse in foreign tongues. Flanna spoke a brand of Highland English, and Scots Gaelic only a Highland Scot could understand.

He heard the servants begin entering the hall to set the high board and bring the food. He turned quickly and began directing them in an authoritative voice. The duke and Flanna entered the hall, and he escorted them to the high board, seating his niece at her husband’s right hand. Then, with a flick of an eyebrow, he signaled the servants to bring the meal to the table. “ ’Tis a simple meal, my lord, for the cook was ill-prepared, I fear. It will be better tomorrow.”

“I prefer a simple meal,” Patrick Leslie replied, his eye taking in the broiled trout, the roast of beef, the game pie, the steamed artichokes, the bread, the butter, and the cheese. “ ’Tis an amazing repast for one so ill-prepared,” he noted dryly.

“If ye are pleased, my lord, then I shall certainly tell Cook,” Angus said, pouring the wine with a deft hand and then stepping back. “I regret, however, we hae only pear tartlet for a sweet. Wine or ale, my lady?” He bent by Flanna’s side.

“Oh, wine!” she told him, turning to her husband. “We only had wine on special occasions at Killiecairn. Will we hae it at every meal, my lord?” She sipped at her cup greedily.

“If it pleases ye, madame,” he replied.

She nodded vigorously. “I hae never tasted a wine so good,” she enthused. “Where does it come from?”

“France,” he said, half amused. “My mother hae family there.”

“Is yer mam French?” Flanna asked him.

“Nay. My grandmother, who is the Countess of BrocCairn, and whom ye will meet, was English born. My mother’s father was the ruler of a great empire in the East. The English call it India.”