Читать книгу Just Beyond Tomorrow - Bertrice Small - Страница 9

Chapter 2

When Patrick Leslie awoke the following morning, he found the day very gray and overcast. There was neither rain nor snow, but the wind had disappeared as he discovered standing in the open window of his bedchamber. “Tell the stables I will hunt today,” he told his manservant, Donal, who had been his boyhood companion and was distantly related to him. Donal’s family, the More-Leslies, had served the lords of Glenkirk for many generations.

“Cook thought ye’d be out early, m’lord,” Donal said. “There’s a fine meal awaiting ye in the hall. Will ye be wanting to take food wi’ ye? ’Tis deer we’ll be after, and apt to be gone the day long.”

“Aye, ye’re right,” the duke replied. “We’ll want oatcakes, cheese, cider. Tell the men to provision themselves in the kitchens before we go, Donal.”

“I’ll see to it, m’lord,” Donal said, handing Patrick his drawers and breeches first, then a white shirt with full sleeves and a drawstring neck. He held the leather jerkin with the horn buttons in reserve while Patrick pulled the breeches on over his heavy, dark knit stockings.

The breeches were wool, dyed a nut brown color. After tying his shirt at its neckline, Patrick sat down to draw on his brown leather boots, which covered the stockings and rose to his knees. Standing, he put on the jerkin and buttoned it up. Taking the fur-lined cloak and leather gloves Donal handed him, he exited his apartment, descending into the hall where his breakfast was awaiting him.

Solitude had not deterred his appetite. Patrick wolfed down the oat stirabout with honey, several poached eggs in a cream sauce flavored with Marsala wine, three slices of ham, and a whole cottage loaf he spread with both butter and bits of hard cheese. There was a steaming mug of tea, a brew from his mother’s native land that he had grown to favor in the morning. It set better on an empty belly than ale or wine. His two youngest brothers had often teased him about his habit of wanting a hot drink in the morning, for they, like their father, had favored brown ale with their breakfast. He smiled at the memory, wondering how well Duncan and Adam fared in Ireland with its constant sectarian violence and warring. They, too, were yet bachelors. He sighed, resigned. It was certainly up to him to set them a good example.

Finishing his meal, he noted uncomfortably that his cook had quickly learned to do for just one. He found it disquieting. As he rose from the board, his eye swept the hall, seeing the thin layer of dust on the ancient oak furniture. The castle definitely needed a woman’s touch. Without his mother’s majordomo, Adali, the servants were grown slack. They had no one to guide them. He needed a wife, but where the hell was he to find one?

Glenkirk was well isolated deep in the hills of the eastern Highlands. His holdings stretched for miles in all directions, which was good, but it also meant that he had no near neighbors. The nearest, in fact, were his Leslie cousins at Sithean and his Gordon cousins at BrocCairn. He was on good terms with both families, which gave them all an added measure of safety. His paternal grandmother’s family had sold their lands at Greyhaven to the lords of Glenkirk and gone down into England with King James I to seek their fortunes. Their old manor house, not in particularly good repair, had been demolished.

He rarely saw his cousins now, and he couldn’t recall if there were any lasses of marriageable age among them. So how did one go about finding a wife these days? Perhaps he would go to the games this summer and pick out a pretty girl. He would ascertain beforehand, however, that she knew how to keep house. Almost any lass could be cajoled into being good bedsport, but if she couldn’t rule his servants, or at least delegate authority among them, she would be of little use to him.

While isolation was preferable in these dangerous times, it did leave him with certain disadvantages. He considered again if there were any female unmarried cousins at Sithean or BrocCairn. Nay. His generation had been all males, and they were all, he recalled, wed. Where the devil had they found suitable women to marry? Mayhap he could get some of them to go with him to the games and advise him in this delicate matter. He suspected they would all find his plight amusing, but there was no help for it. He needed assistance. He shook his head wearily as he put on his cape.

In the courtyard of the castle, his stallion was waiting, saddled. The great gray beast pawed the ground eagerly, anxious to be off. Half a dozen of his clansmen were mounted and waiting to accompany him. The duke swung himself up into the saddle, pulling on his riding gloves, his cloak spreading across the gray’s dappled flanks. They clattered across the heavy oaken drawbridge and into the forest, the dogs yapping with excitement. Because there was no wind, the mist still hung among the bens and in the trees.

Here and there a flash of tired color remained, startling amid the dark green of the fir trees. By mid-morning they had managed to flush a large stag from amid the wooded copse. The well-antlered creature fled through the trees, twisting and turning with a great skill born out of long experience, the baying dogs in quick pursuit. Leading them through the forest, the stag finally reached a small loch and, leaping into the water, swam away into the fog, successfully evading its pursuers. The belling of the dogs could be clearly heard, echoing through the air ahead of their riders. Then came the whines of their defeat and frustration.

The hunting party arrived, their horses coming to a nervous stop, dancing about while the dogs milled about their legs whimpering. The stag’s trail through the water could be faintly seen in the still loch, but the beast was quite lost to their sight.

“Damn!” the duke swore lightly. “Half a morning wasted finding it, and the other half wasted chasing it only to lose it.” He dismounted. “We might as well stop here and eat before we go on, laddies. I’m quite ravenous, but we’ve only oatcakes and cheese.”

“We’ve caught some rabbits along the way, m’lord,” his head huntsman, Colin More-Leslie, Donal’s brother, replied. “We’ll skin ’em and cook ’em up now.”

When they had eaten the more substantial meal, the duke looked about him. “Where are we?” he asked of no one in particular.

“ ’Tis Loch Brae, m’lord,” Colin More-Leslie said. “Look over there. Ye can just make out the old castle on its island, in the mist. ’Tis deserted. The last Gordon heiress of Brae married a Brodie many years back. She went to live in Killiecairn wi’ her husband.”

“These lands abut Glenkirk lands,” Patrick Leslie said thoughtfully. “If nae one lives here any longer, and the castle is a ruin, mayhap I should purchase it from the Brodie of Killiecairn. I dinna like the idea of untended lands next to mine.”

“Hae ye ever met the Brodie of Killiecairn, m’lord?” Colin inquired. “He’s a wicked old bugger, and verra canny. Still, he hae six sons and is always happy for good coin, or so I am told.”

“Why hasna he given Brae to one of his lads?” the duke wondered.

“ ’Twas nae their mother who was the Gordon, m’lord. The Gordon was his second wife. He was much her senior. She died about ten years ago. Old Brodie must be well over eighty now. His lads are all older than ye are, m’lord, but his Gordon wife did birth him a daughter. I imagine Brae is her dower portion.”

“The lass would be better off wi’ a bag of gold coins than this old tumbled-down pile of stones and its lands,” the duke observed. “Come on, then, and let’s hae a wee look around at old Brae Castle.”

They rode around the lake to where a rotting wooden bridge connected the small island to the mainland shore. Leaving the horses, for they deemed the bridge too chancy, Patrick Leslie and his men carefully picked their way across the rotting span to reach the island. It was a rocky place with few trees. The mists had finally lifted and were being blown away by a light breeze. A weak sun was trying to make itself seen through the leaden autumn skies.

The island was not particularly welcoming. There was no sandy shore of any kind, the shoreline being craggy. The land between the bridge and the castle was once an open field and had obviously been kept that way as a first line of defense. Now it was filled with trees. The castle itself was built of dark gray stone with several towers, both square and rounded. The peaked roof over the living quarters was of slate, and there were several chimneys. On closer inspection, the castle did not seem to be in irreclaimable condition. Still, Patrick Leslie thought, it was the lands belonging to Brae that interested him. Not this little castle.

“What the hell!” He jumped back suddenly as an arrow buried itself in the ground by his feet.

“Ye’re trespassing, sir,” a voice said. Then from the open door of the castle a young woman stepped forth, a longbow notched with another arrow at the ready in her hands.

“As are ye, I suspect,” the duke said coldly, not in the least intimidated. His green-gold eyes swept over the girl. She was the tallest female he had ever seen, unsuitably garbed in boots and breeches. She wore a white shirt with a doeskin jerkin, a red, black, and yellow plaid slung carelessly over her shoulder, and a small, blue velvet cap upon her head with an eagle’s feather jutting jauntily from it. But it was her hair that caused him and his men to stare. It was red. But a red such as he had never seen but once. Bright red-gold that tumbled about her shoulders and down her back in a great mass of curls. “Who are ye?” he finally asked her.

“Ye first, sir,” she pertly answered him.

“Patrick Leslie, Duke of Glenkirk,” he said, wondering as he spoke if her hair was soft. He made her a small bow.

“Flanna Brodie, heiress of Brae,” she responded. She did not curtsy, but rather looked him over quite boldly. “What are ye doing on my lands, my lord? Ye hae nae the right to be here.”

“And ye do?” She was an impertinent wench, he thought.

“These are my lands, my lord. I hae told ye that,” Flanna Brodie answered him implacably.

“I want to buy them,” he told her.

“Brae is nae for sale,” she said quietly.

“Yer lands abut mine, lady. They are, if I am nae mistaken, yer dowry. Unless ye wed a landless man, which I am certain yer father and brothers would nae allow, Brae will be as useless to yer husband as it was to yer da. Gold, however, makes ye a far more desirable bride. Name yer price, and I will nae niggle wi’ ye over it,” the duke told her.

She stood, legs apart, glaring furiously at him. “I hae told ye, my lord, that Brae is nae for sale! I dinna intend to marry at all. I plan to make my home here. Now, take yer men and get off my lands! Ye are nae welcome here!”

Patrick Leslie stepped toward Flanna Brodie, who moving back a pace sent a second arrow into the ground at his feet then reached back into her quiver for a third. Before she could rearm herself, however, he leapt forward, pulling the bow from her hands and tossing it aside. Then, roughly shoving the girl beneath his arm, he smacked her bottom hard several times. “Ye hae bad manners, wench!” he growled at her. “I am surprised yer father hae nae taught ye better.”

The duke’s men howled with laughter as, outraged, Flanna squirmed from his grip. “Ye arrogant bastard,” she roared, then hit him a blow that actually staggered him. “How dare ye lay yer filthy hands on me?” She hit him an even harder blow, reaching for her dirk as she took up a defensive position.

The laughter ceased. The duke’s men stared, surprised, quite uncertain what to do. Then they decided to do nothing. The duke could defend himself.

“Why ye little she-devil!” he yelped, grabbing her wrists in a single hand, while disarming her with the other. Then he held her fast.

Flanna struggled wildly. “Ye hit me first,” she yelled.

“Ye shot an arrow at me, nae once, but twice,” he countered.

“Ye’re trespassing, and ye won’t go away!” Flanna shouted.

“Enough!” the duke said, and picking the girl up threw her over his shoulder. “I’m taking ye home to yer sire, wench, and I’ll hae nae more nonsense from ye. If Brae be sold, ’tis his decision, nae yers. I’m willing to wager a gold piece he’ll sell.”

“Put me down at once, ye bastard!” She squirmed and kicked, trying to escape him, but from her very awkward position it was just about impossible. She was finally forced to remain quiet as he picked his way back across the rotting bridge. If she tumbled them into the loch, this man was apt to drown them both. His men were snickering behind him and in her clear view.

“Colly, bind her hands and her ankles,” the duke ordered his man when they had reached the horses. “I’ll carry her over my saddle before me as we go. How far is Killiecairn?”

“ ’Tis about ten miles, my lord. We hae to go through Hay Glen; then around the other side of the ben is Brodie land. Ye surely dinna mean to carry the lassie head down the whole way? Let her ride before ye, my lord. I’ll tie her ankles together beneath the horse so she canna make trouble. I dinna think old Brodie would look kindly on yer mistreating his lass.”

The duke nodded, but added, “Then, he should teach the wench better manners, Colly. I hae never known such a wild wench.”

Flanna’s wrists were bound. She was put upon the duke’s stallion. “They call her Flaming Flanna, my lord,” Colin More-Leslie said as he bent to tie the girl’s ankles underneath his master’s horse, avoiding the kick she aimed at him.

Patrick Leslie swung himself into the saddle, the girl before him. His arms went about her as he gathered his reins into his hands. She attempted to avoid the contact only to back into his chest. She then sat very still, barely breathing as he kicked his stallion into a quick walk, the Glenkirk men and their dogs following behind.

Well, here was a fine bungle she had gotten herself into, Flanna thought, very irritated with herself. When was she going to learn to curb that damned temper of hers? All this bloody duke had to do was dangle a fat purse before her father and her half brothers. Then Brae would no longer be hers. She would have nothing, for the old man was as tight-fisted as they came. How often had she said she didn’t want a husband? Now they would take her at her word and end up being richer for it. She, however, would probably end up with nothing. When the old devil finally died she would be forced to rely on her eldest brother, Aulay, for her very subsistence. Worse, there was nothing she could do about it. Even if she agreed to sell the land, her father would have to approve the sale, and he would still keep the gold.

“Why the hell do ye want my lands?” she suddenly burst out.

“I told ye,” he replied. “They abut mine.”

“Ye never wanted them before,” Flanna noted.

“Glenkirk wasna mine until my father was killed at Dunbar,” Patrick told her. “Wi’ war in England, and all the trouble about religion here in Scotland, in England, and in Ireland, I want to make certain Glenkirk is kept safe from the madness of others,” he explained. “All I want is to be left alone, lady. The best way I can think of to do that is to own as much land as I can acquire.”

“I won’t bother ye living at Brae,” Flanna said hopefully. “All I ever wanted was to be left alone and in peace, too.”

“But who knows what yer husband will want,” the duke remarked.

“I hae nae husband,” Flanna told him. “I hae nae betrothed. I want neither, my lord. I dinna find men particularly congenial, and I dinna like being ordered about by them. My father was past sixty when I was born. My mother died when I was ten. I have six older half brothers, all sons of my sire’s first wife. They are practically old men themselves, being fifty-six to forty-eight years of age. Most of my nieces and nephews are older than I am. They all live at Killiecairn. A huge household of loud, boasting, noisy men, bullying and ordering their womenfolk about. I dinna like it. As I hae my own lands I decided to go and live at Brae.”

“By yerself?” he asked her. “And yer father agreed?”

“I hae a maidservant, Aggie. She’s actually my youngest brother’s bastard daughter,” Flanna said. “I took her into my service when she was scarcely more than a child, for my brother’s wife was cruel to her. She was always looking for an excuse to beat Aggie.”

“Two lasses in an isolated and tumbling-down castle?” Patrick Leslie’s voice was scornful. “And yer father agreed?” he repeated.

Flanna swallowed back her sharp retort. She needed this man’s good will if she was to deter him from his planned purpose to purchase Brae and thereby disenfranchise her. “I hae Angus,” she said slowly. “He was my mother’s servant. When Mama died he became mine. He stands almost seven feet tall and is a most fearsome warrior.”

Patrick almost laughed aloud. Two lassies and a daft, old soldier-at-arms. This Angus would have to be daft to agree to Flanna’s plan. He restrained his mirth. He was doing Flanna Brodie a kindness in buying Brae. It was nonsense, of course, her wish not to marry. His gold would gain her a very respectable husband. He would even be a little more generous than he had anticipated, for in a strange way he admired her spirit. Flaming Flanna, Colly had said they called her. She was certainly well named.

“Dinna fret, lass,” he told her. “It will all turn out for the best, I promise ye.”

God’s nightshirt! Flanna swore silently. Did this damned duke have a hearing deficiency, or was he just plain stupid? Had he not heard her or understood what she had been saying to him. “Please, my lord,” she said, swallowing her pride for the moment, “dinna offer to buy Brae. ’Tis all I hae. My da will keep yer gold. I shall nae see a bit of it.”

“Nonsense, lassie,” he attempted to soothe her. “Ye’re yer father’s only daughter. He’ll want to do well by ye.”

“Damnit!” Flanna burst out. “Do ye nae understand, my lord? Lachlann Brodie is a mean-spirited old man! He’ll nae spend a groat unless forced to do so. Why do ye think my brothers and their families are all forced to live at Killiecairn? He would gie my brothers nothing. So the wives they finally managed to marry had little themselves. Nae one of them hae a bit of land to call her own that her husband might hae for himself. And they hate the old man for it, although none is bold enough to say so aloud. Offer to buy Brae, and he’ll take yer gold, leaving me as penniless as my brothers. And when he is dead and gone, the heir, my eldest brother, Aulay, will be just like him. I will hae nothing!”

Her words had the ring of truth to them, but Patrick Leslie could not believe any man would deprive his only daughter of what was rightfully hers. Especially such a pretty wench, for she was, indeed, pretty. The lass was exaggerating because she didn’t want her mother’s ancestral lands sold off. He could understand, but he nonetheless meant to have Brae. The Duke of Glenkirk said nothing more as they rode along. Flanna Brodie was silent, too, her body slumped slightly as if in defeat. It was mid-afternoon when they reached the glen of Killiecairn where Lachlann Brodie’s large stone house stood dark against the gray sky. As they drew abreast of the front entrance, a woman emerged shouting.

“There ye are, ye wicked little devil! Where hae ye been? Who are these men? Get off that horse at once! Yer sire has been readying himself all day to gie ye the beating ye deserve!” The woman’s face was red with her anger.

“This is my eldest brother’s wife, Una Brodie, my lord,” Flanna said dryly. “Una, this is the Duke of Glenkirk. I caught him trespassing at Brae, and he hae captured me.” Mockingly she held up her bound hands. “I am afraid I canna dismount until my ankles are unbound.”

At the sight of her sister-in-law’s plight, Una Brodie began to shriek so loudly that her extended family came running from all directions, surrounding the riders, open-mouthed.

The duke was certain he heard Flanna Brodie chuckle wickedly, but on reflection decided he had imagined it. “There is nae need to shout, madame,” he told Una Brodie. “If I meant the Brodies of Killiecairn any harm, I should hae scarce come wi’ just six men at my back.” He untied Flanna’s wrists, instructing Colin More-Leslie to undo the girl’s leg shackles at the same time. “Ye may get down,” he murmured to her.

“Oh, no, my lord,” she said, almost gaily, obviously enjoying herself mightily. “The view from up here is far better than I should get on the ground. Besides, I hae never been on such a fine beast as this one is.”

“We shall both get down,” he said through gritted teeth, dismounting first, then lifting the girl to the ground after him.

“What the hell is going on here?” a man, fully as tall as the duke, said as he pushed his way forward. “Flanna? Where hae ye been? The old man hae been frantic all day wi’out ye.” His glance met the duke’s green gaze. “And, who are ye, sir?”

“Patrick Leslie, Duke of Glenkirk,” was the reply. “I hae business wi’ yer sire, man.” He held out his hand.

It was gripped in return. “Aulay Brodie, my lord. If ye will come wi’ me. Ye and yer men are welcome in our hall. Una! Cease yer caterwauling, woman! ’Tis nae a raid. ’Tis a visit, damnit! We get few enough. Dinna drive our visitors away before we can offer them our hospitality.”

The duke followed Aulay Brodie into his house, Flanna hurrying ahead of them, the others following behind. The little hall was soon full with all the family and servants. There was but one smoky fireplace at the far end of the room, and seated in a high-backed, blackened oak chair next to it was a white-haired old man. He had been a large man once, but now he was gnarled and bent, his most prominent feature being his large, hooked nose. His eyes, however, were sharp, watching carefully as his visitor approached him in the company of his son.

“This is Patrick Leslie, the Duke of Glenkirk, Da,” Aulay Brodie said.

Patrick bowed politely to the old man. “Sir.”

Lachlann Brodie waved the younger man to a seat opposite him. “Bring whiskey,” he said curtly. His command was quickly obeyed. His gaze swung about to his only daughter. “Where were ye?” he demanded.

“At Brae,” she said. “I intend taking Aggie and Angus so I may live there.”

“Huumph!” her father grunted, and then his eyes moved back to Patrick Leslie. “They say ye brought my lass home, bound hand and foot upon yer saddle. Why?”

“She attacked me,” the duke replied quietly. “Nae one arrow, but two, shot at my feet, nae to mention the dirk she waved about. I considered it a hostile action.”

“She could hae killed ye if she so desired,” Lachlann Brodie replied, chuckling. “When she was sixteen I saw her bring down a full-grown stag with one of those arrows. Straight through the beastie’s heart she shot it. She could hae found her own way back to Killiecairn.”

“I want to buy Brae,” Patrick Leslie said bluntly.

“Why?” The old man’s eyes were suddenly sparkling with interest.

“It abuts my lands. I want as much land between me and my neighbors as I can get,” the duke answered him. “These are dangerous times between the king’s war down in England and the religious fanatics all about us.”

“Aye,” Lachlann Brodie agreed.

“Ye canna sell Brae, Da,” Flanna interrupted him. “ ’Tis mine. My dowry. ’Tis all I hae!”

“I’ll gie ye a fair price for it,” the duke continued as if Flanna had not even spoken. “A dower of gold is more valuable to a lass than Brae and its forested lands. They are all surrounded by Glenkirk lands, useless to anyone else but me.”

“How much?” Lachlann Brodie asked.

“Two hundred and fifty gold crowns,” came the answer.

The old man shook his head in the negative. “ ’Tis nae enough.”

“Five hundred, then,” the duke replied.

There was an audible hiss of breath in the hall at the very substantial offer.

“ ’Tis nae gold I’m wanting for Brae, my lord,” Lachlann Brodie finally said. “There isna enough gold in the world for ye to buy Brae.”

“Then, what do ye want, sir?” the duke inquired. “If it is in my power to gie it to ye, I will, for I mean to hae Brae.”

“If ye want Brae, my lord, then ye must take its heiress as well,” Lachlann Brodie said. “Marry Flanna, and Brae is yers.”

“Damn me!” Aulay Brodie said aloud, as surprised as the rest of the audience in the hall. Gold was his father’s God, yet here was the old man actually attempting to do well by his youngest child.

“I dinna want to marry anyone, least of all him!” Flanna exploded.

“Shut yer mouth, lass,” her father said calmly. “I’m a hard man, and ’tis true I’m tight wi’ a merk, but I loved yer mam. She was the joy of my old age. I promised her I’d see ye wed well, and the truth is, lass, ye’re nae likely to hae a better chance ever again.” He turned back to the duke. “Well, my lord, how badly do ye want Brae? She’s nae a bad-looking wench, although a trifle big boned. She gets that, I fear, from me and nae her mother. She’s young enough to be a good breeder, although at twenty-two she’s almost past her prime. She’s got a fierce temper, I’ll nae lie to ye, but ye could nae hae a better wench at yer side in a fight. She’s a virgin, I’ll guarantee ye, for none can get near her, so ye may be certain yer heir is yer own blood. If ye want Brae, ye must take my daughter to be yer wife. Ye dinna hae a wife, do ye?”

He thought about lying to the old man, but it would be a lie easily discovered. “Nay, I hae nae wife,” he answered.

“I will nae marry him!” Flanna shouted, but she was ignored. This business was between her father and the duke, it would seem.

“Hush, ye stupid little ninny,” Una Brodie hissed at her. “Yer da is going to make ye a duchess if ye’ll keep quiet.”

“I’ll nae have him!” Flanna attempted to make her wishes known once again.

Patrick Leslie looked at the girl. He needed a wife. The truth was he didn’t care if he loved her or not. He needed a wife who could give him heirs, and Flanna looked strong enough. Love was an unpleasant complication, he had already decided. The girl was pretty enough. The dowry was something he badly wanted. He didn’t need gold, for he was a wealthy man. His family wanted him wed. Who else was there? True, the Brodies were hardly equal to the Leslies of Glenkirk. They were rough and rude Highlanders, but it didn’t matter. It was unlikely he would see them often once Flanna was at Glenkirk. Unless, of course, he needed their aid in a fight. Looking about at the hard-eyed Brodie men, he decided they would be an asset in a battle. In that moment he realized he had made his decision. “I’ll take her,” he said.

“Nay!” Flanna stamped her foot and looked about the hall for some small support. There was none.

“My lord, this decision is ill-advised,” Colin More-Leslie murmured to his master. “Surely there is another way. Would yer father, may God assoil his good soul, approve? And what of yer princess mother?”

“I need a wife,” the duke said implacably, “and I want Brae. It seems the perfect solution to me, Colly.”

“Go down to the village and fetch the minister from the kirk,” Lachlann Brodie commanded his eldest son.

“Ye want me to wed her here and now?” Patrick Leslie was very much taken aback, but then it didn’t really matter, did it?

“Ye’ll wed her, and ye’ll bed her, my lord, so my sons and I may be certain ye canna repudiate her on the basis of nonconsummation, while keeping Brae for yerself. I dinna trust nae man.”

“He’s a canny old devil,” Colin More-Leslie said softly.

“As ye will, Lachlann Brodie,” the duke said. “Send Aulay for the minister. ’Tis as good a time as any for a wedding.”

“And ye’ll remain the night,” came the veiled order.

“Aye, and breach the lass so all may see her innocence on the sheets come the morrow before I take her back to Glenkirk. The deeds to Brae safely in my possession then, eh?”

Lachlann Brodie nodded. “Agreed,” he said, spitting in his palm and holding it out to the duke.

Patrick Leslie spit in his own palm, and then the two men shook hands. “Agreed,” he responded.

“Nay,” Flanna Brodie said softly, but no one was listening to her. She might as well have protested to the wind.

“Five hundred gold crowns lost, and ye’re to be a duchess,” her sister-in-law Ailis murmured enviously. “What luck!”

“Luck?” Flanna said bitterly. “I see nae luck. At least ye love my brother Simon, and he cares for ye. All this Leslie of Glenkirk wants of me is Brae. Whether he buys it, or weds it, it makes nae difference to him at all. What the hell do I know about being a duchess? I’ll shame myself and my husband wi’ my ignorance. There is nae luck here.”

“Ye can surely learn how to be a duchess,” Ailis said. “Besides, I doubt ye’ll ever go to court. The English, I am told, hae already killed one royal Stuart. Ye know how to manage a household, for we’ve all struggled to teach ye the rudiments of housekeeping. Despite yer stubbornness ye’re quite clever. Whatever else there is, ye’ll learn.”

“Take my daughter to her chamber and see that she’s properly prepared for her wedding,” Lachlann Brodie ordered the women.

Immediately her brothers’ wives and their daughters gathered around Flanna and led her off. Her maidservant, Aggie, pressed near Flanna.

“Ye’ll take me wi’ ye, mistress, won’t ye?” she said nervously.

“Aye, ye and Angus will come to Glenkirk wi’ me,” Flanna replied. She turned suddenly, speaking directly to the duke. “I may have Aggie and Angus, may I nae? I’ll nae go wi’out them.”

“Of course yer servants may come wi’ ye,” he assured her. She had given him a very determined look when she importuned him, although the truth was she had no authority in the matter. Still, it was little enough, and all the brides who came to Glenkirk had come with their own personal servants.

Flanna felt numb. She stood, unprotesting, as her sisters-in-law pulled her clothing off her and hustled her into a hot tub. “We’d best start wi’ my hair,” she said low to Aggie, who nodded in agreement.

“We’ll pack yer things for ye,” Una said, “though I doubt much of it will be good enough for Glenkirk Castle. Still, ye know how to sew. Ye and Aggie can make some pretty new gowns, I’m sure. The duke will nae be tight wi’ a bride. Ask right away before he grows bored wi’ ye, Flanna. I’m certain he’ll gie ye the key to the storerooms where ye’re certain to find silks and other fine stuffs.”

“I want nothing from him,” Flanna said coldly. “He will hae the only thing I ever truly wanted, and that is Brae.”

“Dinna be a fool,” Una said sharply.

“The old man should hae taken the five hundred crowns,” Ailis said. “Imagine Flaming Flanna a duchess,” she tittered.

“Shut yer mouth, ye mean shrew,” Una snapped. “If old Lachlann had taken the gold, do ye think ye or any of us would hae seen any of it, Ailis? I’ll remind ye that my Aulay is the old man’s heir. Yer Simon is but the next to youngest son. The land belonged to Flanna, through her mam. The luck is hers, nae ours, although I’m as surprised as any of ye that Lachlann Brodie passed up five hundred pieces of gold. Still, he loved Meg Gordon dearly, and she loved him despite the disparity in their ages.”

The chamber grew quiet then. Una was the matriarch of the family. Though a hard woman with little patience for fools and a quick temper, she had a good heart. There was none, even her own father-in-law, who could say she was needlessly cruel, but she ruled the women of Lachlann Brodie’s house with an iron hand, demanding instant obedience and chaste behavior. She swiftly punished any who flaunted her authority, even Flanna, for whom she had a small soft spot.

Una Brodie had lost her only daughter in the same winter epidemic that had killed Flanna’s mother. While she had four sons, her daughter had been the child of her heart. She had been ill herself, and it was Meg Gordon who had nursed both her and her child, thereby contracting the contagion that killed her. Flanna, though nothing like Una’s Mary, was a daughter without a mother; and Una, a mother without a daughter. Though nothing was ever said, she took the child over, raising her as best she could, for Flanna had never been easy, even from her birth, and Meg had spoiled her.

Properly scrubbed, Flanna stepped naked from the oaken tub to be dried. Her thick hair was toweled and then brushed by the fire until it was soft and shining. A snow-white linen shift was brought, and the bride dressed in it. A small wreath of heather and Michael-mas daisies was fashioned by her nieces for her head. It was all she would wear to her wedding, and she would be barefooted, her hair loose to signify her virgin state.

“Ye may be tall like yer da and yer brothers, and ye may hae their red hair,” Una observed, “but ye hae yer mother’s face, lassie. Meg was a beautiful woman, she was. Ye hae clear skin, fine eyes, and a mouth fashioned for kissing. The duke will nae be unhappy wi’ ye.

“Now, listen to me, Flanna. When the time comes for yer husband to bed ye, lie quietly and let him do all the work. It will hurt ye a bit when he goes into ye the first time, but ’tis a momentary discomfort. Afterward, if he’s good at what he does, ye may even gain some pleasure from it, but even if ye dinna, tell him ye did. All men like to believe they are peerless lovers, lassie. There’s nae harm in letting them think they are.”

“Are my brothers good lovers?” Flanna boldly asked her six sisters-in-law. Her gaze swept them. Then she laughed wickedly at their discomfort. Una looked very displeased with her. Flanna knew she was itching to smack her, but would not allow the others to believe she was annoyed. Ailis, Peggie, Eileen, Mona, and Sorcha were all red-faced.

“Behave yerself, ye little bitch,” Una snapped. “Because ye’re to be a duchess doesna mean ye can be rude to us. Aulay hae never disappointed me in our bedsport, and I’m certain his brothers hae done well by their wives,” she defended the others. “Now, lassie, mind yer mouth, and down on yer knees, all of ye. We will pray for Flanna’s happiness, and that she gies her husband a fine son in nine months’ time.”

“Gie over, Una,” Flanna said pertly. “I am nae used to the idea of a husband yet, and ye’re already speaking of bairns.”

“A male heir will solidify yer position, lassie,” her sister-in-law said sagely. “If ye’re wise, Flanna Brodie, ye’ll gie the duke a bairn as quickly as possible.”