A Rip in the Veil (34 page)

“Here,” he said to Gavin. “Rub them down.”

Gavin looked harried. “I must be milking. Rosie isn’t here, and the cows are getting restless.”

Matthew looked down towards the cow stalls and frowned. “Where’s Ewan?”

Gavin shuffled his feet, eyes on the floor. “I don’t know, mayhap he’s poorly?”

Matthew very much doubted that – Ewan had seemed in florid good health this morning – but was too tired and cold to care.

“Take the cows then,” he said to Gavin, “and I’ll see to these.”

The kitchen was dark when he got in. Mrs Gordon was off to visit her brother for some days, and accordingly meals had become simpler, even though Alex was making an effort. Now it irritated him to find the hearth fire low, and Alex nowhere to be seen.

“Alex?” His stomach grumbled, and he found a wrinkled winter apple and bit into it.

“Alex?” Far louder now, he wanted to be fed. He stomped up the stairs and flounced into their room. She was fast asleep on the bed in only her petticoats and shift, damp skirts left in a heap on the floor. He shook her awake. “Haven’t you cooked?”

“Apparently not,” she said, trying to burrow herself back into bed. “I’m sure you’ll manage, right?”

“I’m tired, I’m back from a day in the fields and I want something to eat.”

“Order in, call a pizza delivery service, whatever. Just don’t bother me.”

“Alex! Will you get out of bed and make me something to eat?”

“Why? Surely you can fry something up. Or ask Rosie. I’m done in. Look, I can barely lift my arms.” She waved an arm in his direction.

“Rosie isn’t here.” Matthew sank down on the bed.

“She isn’t?” Alex struggled up to sit. “She took off halfway through the laundry, crying her eyes out. Maybe she’s ill or something.”

Matthew made an incredulous sound. “Her and Ewan both. Will you please get me something to eat? I have to wash.” He yawned and looked down at his dirty hands and breeches. He yawned again, swaying with the effort of remaining upright. She gave him a long look and with a little sigh got off the bed.

“I’ll bring up some hot water,” she said, kissing his temple. “And then eggs and toast up here. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed and began to strip.

*

“Simon came by before,” she said later. “They dropped by on their way to the Williams place.”

“Ah,” Matthew nodded, “Samuel told me old Williams died.”

“He said Luke’s back.”

“Aye, I heard.”

She slipped out of bed to move the tray. She wandered over to the small window, struggled to open it wide and hung on her elbows, staring out at the night. The air was rich with the scents of spring, of newly turned soil, of rain, but she wasn’t registering any of it.

“Alex?” he materialised by her side. “He won’t hurt you again.” He propelled her back to bed, tucked her quilts into place before sliding in to join her.

“I’m more worried that you’ll do something stupid like challenge him to a duel or something.”

“Oh, are you? And don’t you think I’d win?”

She propped herself up to sink her eyes into his. “I have no idea, but Luke Graham doesn’t strike me as a man that fights fair so I don’t want you to do anything rash, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promised, and they moved on to discuss other things. They did that a lot, long hours spent in the dark, hands lazily travelling down each other as they talked about anything and everything.

“I’ve never spoken so much to anyone before,” Alex reflected as she moved closer to him. Matthew spooned himself around her with a satisfied rumble.

“I like talking to you,” he said to her nape. “I like having you this close, knowing I can tell you all my thoughts.” He fondled her breasts, fitting her to him. “Didn’t you talk like this with John?”

“No.” The evenings with John had been so full of other things; work and e-mails on their respective computers, housework – and the presupposition that there would always be time to talk; later.

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes. Do you mind?”

“Nay.”

Alex laughed and twisted round to hug him close. “Liar. There’s no competition, okay? And you know that, don’t you?” She brushed at his hair, rested her hand for an instant against his cheek.

“Aye,” he smiled, “I do.”

*

Rosie reappeared in the morning, bedraggled and red-eyed. Matthew took one look at her and cursed under his breath.

“Tell me.” There was no disobeying that tone, so Rosie stood in front of him and wept as she admitted that she was with child.

“You wee idiot,” he said viciously, ignoring the surprised look from Alex. “Do you at least know the father?” Rosie twisted her hands hard into her apron. Her Da was going to kill her, she sobbed.

Matthew closed his eyes. “Oh Merciful Lord; he’s married.”

She nodded unhappily.

“Who?”

Rosie tried to avoid his eyes.

“Who?” he repeated, but he already knew; Ewan, the bastard. And now he’d scampered back off home to wife and bairns, leaving the lass to fend for herself. He chewed his lip, mentally listing potential husbands for the lass.

“We’ll have to find you a man,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t stay here, unwed.”

Rosie hid her face in her apron and cried even more.

“Of course she can,” Alex said. “We can’t just throw her out if she’s pregnant, can we?”

Matthew gave her a dark look. “I’ll find her a husband. This is not a matter for you to meddle with.” He stalked out of the room.

Alex caught up with him halfway to the stable. “Why can’t she just stay? Who’d care?”

“I would,” Matthew said, “she can’t have a child unwed.”

Alex made an exasperated sound. “It happens all the time.”

“Aye, but not to my people.” He strode down the stable towards his oxen at a pace that had her half running to keep abreast.

“And what kind of a husband will you find her? Who’ll want to marry her under these circumstances?”

“An unmarried man.” He was already busy with the animals, crooning to them as he harnessed them.

“Maybe she loves Ewan, maybe she’ll hate this man you find for her.”

“She should have thought of that before she bedded with a married man.” He made a disgusted face. “Had the lad been unwed, then he’d be forced to do right by her, but Ewan’s married, and she knew that. Not only a slut but an adulteress as well.”

“But she couldn’t help herself, she fell in love.”

“She shouldn’t have done it,” he insisted. “And it reflects on us, on you, that she has.”

Alex gave him a confused look.

“Her father sent her down to serve at the big house. He was expecting she’d remain untouched.”

“But how can I be responsible?”

Matthew gave a frustrated snort. “You’re the mistress. It’s you that must ensure the morals of your servants.” He sighed and tried to explain. “I’m responsible for the wellbeing of my people, and as my wife so are you. It’s up to us to stand in the stead of Rosie’s parents, and we’ve been remiss in not seeing and stopping this before it went this far.”

“Oh.” Alex didn’t look overly enthused at this new role as a moral guardian. “So now what happens? You force her to marry, even if she doesn’t want to? Isn’t there something else we can do?”

“No.” He frowned at her. He had no time for this discussion. He took hold of the reins and began leading the oxen towards the door.

“Poor Rosie,” Alex sighed.

Matthew was most affronted. “What do you think of me? That I’ll purposefully find her a husband who will beat her or harm her?”

“Of course not, but to be married off like that…and what if her husband doesn’t like the child?”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “He’ll be good to the bairn.”

“How do you know, it isn’t his, is it? So how can he love it?”

Matthew smiled despite his irritation. “And you ask that?” he said, digging his eyes into hers. It took some moments for her to understand, but when she did, she flushed.

“That was pretty underhand.”

“Was it? I was aiming to point out that a man can love a child not his own. Like you said John loved Isaac.”

“Loves Isaac.”

“Will love Isaac,” he corrected and left her standing by the stable, his mind already elsewhere.

*

Two days later, Matthew appeared at dinner with a man Alex recognised as one of his tenants. Rosie gave a squeak at the sight of him and darted out of the kitchen just as the two men entered.

Alex studied him while setting down a plate in front of him. He looked ancient. His hair was streaked in grey, his face lined, and from the shape of his mouth Alex could bet he had teeth missing, a suspicion that was confirmed when he smiled a greeting with his lips pressed together.

“This is Robbie,” Matthew said. “He’s the tenant of the cottage just beyond the stream.” Alex summoned up a picture in her head – a well-tended little garden, a huge apple tree, and a small grey stone house that was relatively well kept up.

“How’d you do?” she said, pouring both men beer.

“Robbie is a widower since five years back,” Matthew said, “and it came to me that mayhap he needs a new wife.”

Young enough to be his daughter, dirty old man. Alex gave Matthew a disapproving glare; if this was doing the best he could for Rosie, then she could but pity the girl.

“How old are you?” she asked, ignoring Matthew’s warning look. Robbie finished chewing and swallowed before answering.

“Thirty-eight, I think. Or mayhap forty?”

Alex nearly dropped the pitcher. Matthew was almost twenty-nine, and this man looked as if he could have been his ageing father!

“Do you have any children?”

Robbie shook his head.

“You do know that she’s pregnant,” Alex pushed on, making Matthew wince at her directness. Robbie nodded, his eyes on his heaped plate. He got plus points for eating the vegetables.

Matthew went to get Rosie, returning some minutes later with a pink, newly scrubbed Rosie, hair combed and plaited beneath her starched cap. She clasped her hands in front of her and bobbed Robbie a curtsey. Robbie got to his feet and bowed, and Matthew gripped Alex’s arm and led her out of the kitchen.

“They don’t need us there, they’ll talk easier without company.”

“What if she says no?” Alex said, having major problems seeing pretty little Rosie in bed with Robbie.

“She won’t, it’s a good match. And she can still work here at the big house, at least until the bairn comes.”

“But…” Alex shook her head. “She can’t marry him! Look at him!”

Matthew gave her a condescending look. “Is that how you assess people? If their looks don’t please you, then you deem them unworthy?”

“No, of course not, but if she marries him she’ll have to, you know…” She made an explicit gesture with her hands.

“Aye, I suppose she will. A man has the right to his wife, and Robbie will have missed someone to warm him over the last years.”

“And what will he do if she doesn’t want to? Force her? Beat her?”

Matthew turned to look at her and there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“He’ll do like I do when you forget your wifely duties. He’ll insist.” It happened now and then that she’d pretend that she didn’t want to and say no, because those times were so very good, he strong and demanding, she totally possessed.

“It’s different,” she said. “I love you.”

“And mayhap with time she will learn to love him – at least a little.”

To Alex’s surprise, Rosie seemed content with her intended husband. When Alex offered to intercede with Matthew should Rosie want her to, Rosie just blinked. Question the master’s decision?

“Well, he isn’t God, is he?” Alex said, making Rosie gape.

“The master knows best,” Rosie said, “and I must do as he says. As must all under his care.” Including his wife, her tone implied.

Alex chose not to continue this discussion, but spent most of the evening digesting it.

“Matthew?” Alex turned to face him in bed.

“Mmm?”

“What rights do I have? As your wife I mean.”

He smiled and scooted closer. “You’re mine, Alex, mine to hold and care for, mine to love, mine to get with child. If you misbehave it is I that must punish you, if someone does you wrong I will defend you. But rights? You have no rights, not like a man does. No woman does, unless she’s a widow and remains unmarried. You belong to me, Alex, all of you, all your worldly goods belong to me.”

He opened one eye and smiled even wider at what she supposed to be an astounded expression on her face.

“But you’re fortunate,” he said and kissed her brow. “For there’s one thing you own that I can’t take from you, nor live without; my heart.”

“Huh.” Not much of a comfort when you’d just been relegated from human being to chattel – or maybe it was.

* * *

Edinburgh, Perth, Inverness and now Glasgow; Hector regarded his surroundings, taking in yet another sad little town full of grey houses, dirty streets and acrid smoke.

“Not much to see,” he said to Minister Weir.

“To see?” The minister gave him a blank look.

“It’s very small.” Hector dismounted, handed the reins to one of the minister’s hired goons.

“Bigger than Inverness,” Minister Weir replied with a shrug.

“Anything’s bigger than Inverness,” Hector muttered. At least it wasn’t raining, and soon this goddamn tour of his would be over. He eyed the minister with dislike; months with the small preacher hadn’t exactly endeared him to him, in fact rather the reverse.

A bigot, a self-serving runt of a man who enriched himself through a combination of extortion and bullying, Weir had cornered Hector one night in Edinburgh and suggested they work together – or else he’d find himself obliged to inform the authorities Hector was a papist and a spy. When Hector had laughed, the little man had sunk those piggy eyes into him, and told Hector that he, Minister Weir, could make life extremely uncomfortable for him, in fact he could make it unbearable, a stretch of days, no years, sitting forgotten in a damp and totally dark cell. And, the minister gleefully added, Hector might be a renowned witch hunter, but he, Minister Weir, had quite the reputation for rooting out papist subversives – and seeing them hang.