In Bed With A Stranger (4 page)

Mary looked as shocked as Anne did when Philipa spoke. The lady frowned at her daughter. “Hurry up. We need secrecy here. Not whispers among the staff. Unless you have changed your mind, Daughter, in which case, you may bathe.”

Mary shook her head and ran toward the door. She dropped the thick wooden beam across it before turning back around to stare at Anne.

“Dump that water, Anne.”

“Of course…” Anne clamped her jaw shut as she realized that she was speaking. Philipa’s eyes narrowed as a faint crimson colored her face. Anne reached for a jug, wrapping part of her skirt over the hot handle as she waited for the lady to blister her ears.

Nothing but the sound of water filled the chamber. Anne reached for the second jug and poured the hot water into the tub.

“Anne, take that dress off and get in.”

Turning around, Anne stared at the lady, certain she had misunderstood. Philipa was staring straight at her. The mistress glared at her with firm authority.

“You’re to bathe, Anne. Mary and I will help you.”

“Here?”

Anne didn’t care if her voice wasn’t properly smooth and meek. Philipa was clearly soaked with wine.

The lady snickered. It was an eerie sound that sent a shiver down her spine. There was a smile on her lips as Philipa clapped her hands.

“Yes, here. You will get in that bath and wash from head to toe. You are finally going to earn every silver shilling I have been forced to spend on your mother and her whelps. Disrobe. Now.”

Anne stared at the woman. Hate was an ugly thing and it distorted Philipa’s face. She now understood why the lady looked nothing like her portrait; her soul was rotten from hatred.

“Disrobe, Anne. You are going to take Mary’s place with this Scots earl.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Anne spoke simply because shock kept her from tempering her response.

Mary gasped at the tone of her voice but Anne spared her little attention. Philipa smiled at her. A slow curving of her lips that sent a shiver down Anne’s spine.

“You think not? You shall do my bidding or I shall turn your mother out. Tonight.”

Anne gasped, horror flooding her. “My father will not allow such a thing.”

“My husband is not here and if I turn your mother out, she’ll be dead long before he returns.”

Raising a hand to cover her mouth, Anne hid her disgust behind it. “That’s murder, my lady. A deadly sin.”

“I call it justice.” Philipa shook with her rage. She recovered and raised an eyebrow. “It is a simple thing to avoid. Mary is gently bred and has no stomach for a man’s touch. You, on the other hand, are the spawn of a light skirt so enduring a few nights with a man using your flesh should not be too difficult for you.”

“My mother is a leman. She has no other lovers.”

Philipa waved her hand, dismissing her words. “If she’s a woman of some character, all the better. I expect that you might have been raised with some sense of responsibility if your mother is as honorable as you say.”

Philipa reached for the strap holding Anne’s linen cap in place. She popped the button open and pulled it off her head. “You will bathe and dress as I direct you.”

“I cannot.” Anne’s voice did not shake only because of a lifetime of not arguing with the lady of the house.

Philipa snorted at her. “You shall. And mind me well, miss, you will play the part to perfection if you do not wish for your siblings to suffer unkind fates.”

Anne felt her eyes widen. Philipa snickered as she noticed the horror on Anne’s face.

“Now I have your attention. You will take Mary’s place, or I shall see your two sisters wed before dark to the meanest men I can find! As for your brothers, I know a few prostitutes who need husbands. We need to think of their Christian souls. Marriage might be just what they need to make them repent their whoring ways.”

“You are despicable.” Anne refused to hold her tongue. Even God wouldn’t condemn her for stating something so true.

“I am the lady of this house and my word is law.”

Philipa waited, her eyes glittering with triumph. She pointed at the bathtub, her face set like stone.

“I am not a liar. I wouldn’t know how to deceive a man.”

Philipa waved her hand again. “There will be no need for lies. You are the earl’s daughter. You are being sent to the Scot’s bed. Simply keep your mouth shut and all will be well. When you find yourself with child, you will beg to come home to have your mother at your side when the birthing time comes. You see? Simple.”

“Surely you do not believe this earl to be so slow witted as to not notice you have changed his wife for another.”

Philipa waved her hand again. “The man is a Scot. I wouldn’t expect a servant to understand but they are war-loving people. He’ll likely plow you a few times, make sure you’re breeding, and take off for more war among their clans. No man has any interest in a pregnant wife and Scots prefer their women uncivilized. He’s got a mistress for sure, and your bed won’t hold any interest to him once he knows his child is planted in your womb. By the time the babe is born and he comes to see his son, it will be more than a year. Changing places will be easy. The man will not even remember what color eyes you have. Besides, you and Mary look very similar. Mark my words, girl, you’d better set your mind to producing a son.”

“I can’t be a part of such a foul scheme. My father has bound Mary to this man.”

“And I am giving him a daughter, a different daughter, yet still his child. As lady of this house, I can do that.”

“You aren’t given the power to lie about it. Dishonesty is a mortal sin.”

Philipa frowned. “Make your choice, madam. Shuck your dress and bathe or prepare to watch your mother walking out of the gate while your siblings are bound to remain in the castle. The charge of theft should be enough to convince the guards to throw her into the road. With your father at court, whom do you think the captain will believe? The lady of the house, or you?”

Evil

A
nne stared at Philipa and knew that what was shining in the lady’s eyes was pure evil. Not once in her life had she ever believed that any person might be so horrible. A glance over at Mary showed her another woman who placed her own comforts above the very life of the servants who brought them those comforts. There was no hint of mercy on the younger lady’s face, either; only a slight fear that Anne wouldn’t bend to the whim of her mother.

But to take her place in the wedding bed
…Anne shivered, unable to grasp such an idea. To agree to such a bargain made her no better than a whore. A woman reduced to using her body to buy what she needed.

But there really was no choice to make. She would choose her love for her family above herself. Reaching for the button on the top of her doublet, she pushed it open.

“There. I am glad to see you behaving so reasonably.” Philipa looked pleased. “Help her, Mary. We have to see this finished before any of the maids become wise.”

Anne’s doublet dropped away and Mary attacked the tie that closed the waist of her skirts. They dropped to her ankles, leaving her in her chemise and stays. Anne felt Mary’s fingers on the ties that closed the corset, loosening them until her breasts hung free. Any other time, she would have savored the freedom from her stays, but Philipa’s eyes dropped to her chest, inspecting her body. Philipa’s lip curled in distaste as Mary grasped the hem of Anne’s chemise and pulled it over her head. Philipa stared at her bared chest and grunted.

“With plump tits like those, you should breed quickly. I made a wise choice when I had you watched. You’d have a string of bastards like your mother if I hadn’t.”

“I am not promiscuous.”

Philipa glared at her. “What you are is forgetful of your station.”

Anne sat down on a small stood to begin removing her boots. She hid her fury as she looked at the boot lacings. It would be most unwise to continue to speak her mind. Her family would be left behind to suffer Philipa’s temper.

But she wanted to voice every word she’d ever bitten back. The woman was horrible, an evil consort of demons. No one else could contrive such a plan or force it onto the shoulders of another.

“Hurry up.” Mary dropped to her knees and began pulling on the other boot. “We haven’t much time.” Her eyes shimmered with glee as she removed the boot and yanked Anne’s stocking down.

Anne was suddenly shy. She’d never stood nude in front of anyone. Mary got to her feet and went around back of her to pull her braid loose. For such a spoilt child she was better at the task than Anne might have guessed. Her half-sister picked up a brush and began working it through Anne’s hair. It looked as though Mary had learned something at court while waiting on the Queen.

“Stand up. I want a look at you.”

Anne rose, her hands covering as much of her body as possible. Philipa snapped her fingers at her.

“Stop cowering.”

Anne bristled but let her hands fall to her sides. The lady swept her from head to toe, her lips pressing into a hard line.

“In with you, this Scot will never believe that his noble bride wasn’t bathed before his arrival.”

The water was still warm. It only made her angrier to sink into it and not be able to enjoy the moment. She always had to bathe in a chemise because the bathing tub used by the servants of Warwickshire was not in a private room. Besides, everyone needed help washing their hair or they tracked water across the floor when they went to fetch a bucket of rinse water. The sight of her own nipples was slightly distracting because she rarely looked at them.

The bar of soap landed in front of her, splashing water into her eyes. Her hand shot out, grabbing it out of reflex. Normally, no one simply threw such a costly item.

No one but Philipa, it would seem.

The soft scent of lavender teased her nose as Mary dumped a cup of water over her head. It was cold and tickled her nose. More followed until her hair was completely wet. But the fire was blazing, warming her bare skin. She had never had so fine a bath, never been allowed to wash with scented soap. The French soap glided over her skin. She suddenly understood why Philipa enjoyed her bath so much. If she were allowed such fine soap, she would linger in her bathing as well.

Mary rushed her through the bath, using hard motions of her hands to scrub Anne’s hair. Within a quarter hour, Anne stood in front of the fire with the linen wrapped around her body. Despair tried to claim her but she resisted. It was not an easy task but panic would only aid Philipa.

“Surely this cannot work.”

Philipa scoffed at her.

“What if the earl wishes to spend a few nights at Warwickshire before returning to his lands?”

“He’s Scots. The man will want to return home with all haste. I hear their clans raid one another when they hear the lord is away. Yet another reason why I will not send my only child to that barbaric land.” Philipa shook out a chemise. “No matter if he does decide to stay. I shall tell him Mary is ill. You will remain hidden until he is ready to depart.”

“Wear these.” Mary handed her stockings. Anne stared at them. The tiny rows of knitted finery were something she had dressed Philipa in but never dreamed to don herself. “You must be ready at all times.”

A fine chemise followed, as did an entire dress that was Mary’s. It was good wool for traveling but edged in trim that was only for vanity. A quilted petticoat and stays were fit to her body as well. Mary drew a brush through her hair until it was dry and then she braided it.

“There. Now, you will wear a veil when you meet this Scot so that none of the household staff become wise. You will remain in the upper alcove until I come for you. Make no mistake, my girl. Cross me and I will turn your mother out without a loaf of bread or a cloak.”

Philipa waved her toward the back stairs. Anne went but didn’t lower her head before she moved. Instead she stared straight at Philipa, refusing to give her deference. The lady’s face turned purple with temper.

“Get you up those stairs, and best you ponder what further defiance will bring on your family. Go.”

“Mary, pick up that uniform. You’ll have to wear that to leave Warwickshire. We can’t have you seen or all our efforts will be for nothing.”

The back stairs were dark. A flight of narrow stone steps led to a tower used by archers in time of siege. For the moment, it was where the books of the estate rested because there was no way to enter it except through the mistress’s chamber. Hugging her arms around her body, Anne climbed as she felt the chill soak into her bones. It felt almost as though the chill was coming from inside her, and maybe it was.

Her heart ached. Never had she been away from her family. She slept in the maids’ chamber, the furthest she had ever been from her mother. It might be foolishness to lament leaving the castle, but it was the only home she knew.

She shivered as she reached the small chamber. She could press her fingers against one wall and stick her leg out behind her to touch the opposite side with her foot. Very little light entered because there were naught but arrow slits in the stone walls. The wind whistled through the narrow openings, sending more shivers down her spine.

Surely she must be dreaming. A nightmare that she would awaken from soon. Her fingers stroked the front of her skirt, finding the lines of trim carefully sewn down the center front. She had helped to make some of it with her own hands, sitting with the other maids after the fires had been banked for the night. With Mary’s love of fashion, every pair of hands helped with constructing her wardrobe.

The dress was fine but had not been made for her. The stays were a tiny bit too long in the waist, poking into her hips. She would have to alter it, but dared not do it now. Mary’s husband might arrive at any hour.

Actually, her husband.

Anne considered that. She wasn’t afraid of men but she was ignorant of them. Having been kept under a strict eye, she had told herself to not look at the boys who tried to gain her attention. It was an unnatural thing to not flirt, and now it seemed it was also unwise. What if the Scot didn’t like her? She didn’t know how to entice him into her bed.

A shiver shook her as she considered that duty. Maybe she should avoid it. If she produced the baby Philipa demanded, there would be no further need for her. Icy dread closed around her heart as she contemplated the deception Philipa was set on using her to achieve. The lady wasn’t above murder. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Anne ordered herself not to panic. She had to think. She needed to figure out a way to get the news to her father. She couldn’t tell the Scot about the deception; he would send her home and into Philipa’s keeping. The idea of her sweet sister Bonnie being wed made her stomach twist sickeningly. Her father was the only one who held the power to protect her and her family.

He would. She believed that. She had to, it was her only hope.

She would write him a letter. Turning around, she looked at the desk she’d spent many an hour at doing the estate books. Yes. There was parchment and ink.

Yet, how would she have it delivered? Court was an uncertain place with nobles crowding around the Queen. Only an experienced man could see any letter into her father’s powerful hand. His secretary often had letters for months before gaining the chance to present them to her noble sire.

Still, she refused to go meekly to her own slaughter. Philipa would kill her, she felt certain of it. If she lived there would always be the danger that the truth might be discovered.

Sitting down, she pulled the cork out of the small inkwell. Made of pottery, it held a generous portion of dark ink. Lifting a quill, Anne dipped it before laying the tip against a new sheet of paper. She wrote carefully, forming her letters with skill. She listened closely for steps, fearing to hear a tread upon them that would interrupt her task.

She sealed it with wax but not the seal of the house. Tucking it carefully into the estate books, she prayed that her father would be home for quartering day, when the household staff was paid. It was still four months away but the master was expected to pay each servant with his own hand. Her father had kept that tradition as long as she could remember, laying her own earned silver in her palm when she had grown old enough to deserve it. She couldn’t get the letter to him, but she might leave it where he could discover it. Without the seal, no one would know where the letter came from and hopefully it would be left for the master to open. For once Philipa’s laziness might just be a blessing.

Anne prayed as she had never prayed for it to be so.

In the meantime, she would have to employ every tactic she could imagine to keep the Scot from consummating his union. She needed time. A twinge of guilt assaulted her but she shrugged it away. The man was an innocent, but she could not treat him fairly. It was the first time she had planned to be unkind to a stranger but she had no choice. She would lead him on a merry chase, avoiding his touch as long as possible, and she prayed that God might grant her the ability to keep the man at arm’s length.

It was by far the strangest prayer she had ever sent to heaven.

Time passed slowly. Anne paced once the books were in order, unable to sit still. She wasn’t used to being idle. Her belly rumbled for hours before Mary appeared with a meal near sunset.

Her half-sister shrugged. “I’m not used to serving so I forgot to bring you something at midday.” Setting the tray down with a clank, she turned and looked at the small alcove. “Mother says you have to sleep here. I’m to fetch you some bedding. It’s so boring waiting for this husband to show himself. Mother says I cannot return to court until you have a baby. I wish he’d hurry up.”

Selfish brat.

Anne waited until Mary was on her way down the stone steps before muttering. To the pampered legitimate daughter of the house she was little more than a strip of fertile land to be planted and harvested.

Still, she’d be wise to hold her tongue. The alcove would be very cold at night with no fire. Anne just hoped that the witless creature remembered to bring her something to keep her warm.

There were no silver domes to keep the food warm. It was poor fare as well. A bowl of porridge, ’twas cold and congealed. The end of a loaf of bread was lying near the bowl, its center stale. Two tarts were sitting among the fare, their richness a stark contrast to the rest of the meal. A tear stung her eye as she recalled sharing one with Brenda just a few hours ago. Wiping her tear aside, she refused to indulge her pity. Life was hard and crying was for children who hadn’t learned that fact yet.

Her belly grumbled and she reached for the porridge. As hungry as she was, the taste was bearable. There was no serving ware with the food, so she dipped her fingers into it. A small pitcher of whey sat next to it. Anne frowned as she drank it. Whey was the weakest part of the morning milk, after the cream had been skimmed off for butter. But at least it helped wash the cold porridge down her throat. There was no ale or cider, nothing else to drink at all.

Steps on the stairway interrupted her meal. Mary huffed as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

“This will have to do. I can’t go hauling pallets from the servants’ quarters without raising suspicions.”

She dropped whatever was in her grasp on the floor and turned around, leaving quickly.

Rather a blessing that you don’t have the care of any of the horses…
Anne frowned.
And now you’re talking to yourself.

Washing her fingers in some of the whey, she wiped them on the hem of her skirt. She hated soiling the garment but couldn’t think of a better solution. Anne walked toward the heap of cloth on the floor, picked it up and shook it out. Made of thick boiled wool, it was a traveling cloak fashioned with a deep hood to shield the wearer from the weather. The wind blew in the arrow notches, making the alcove as cold as the yard below. Even with the cloak, she would shiver half the night.

At least you have a quilted petticoat…