The Border Lord's Bride (42 page)

She slept, and in the morning when she awakened she felt much, much better. A serving woman came to ask if there was anything she wanted, and Ellen told her, "Tell your mistress I want a bath, and I have changed my mind. I want clean clothing!"

Ellen came to fetch her and brought her down to the kitchens of the keep, where the oak bathtub was set up and already filled with hot water. Adair climbed in, washing herself first, and then washing her sticky hair free of the salt and sand of Solway Firth. The toweling was hot from the fire, and Ellen wrapped both herself and her hair in it. Elsbeth, Adair‘s old servant, and her sister, Margery, helped Ellen into a clean, soft chemise and a green velvet gown.

"Green was never my lady‘s color," Elsbeth remarked, "but on you, my lady Ellen, with your fiery hair, it is a fine gown."

"Sit down, child," Margery said, "here by the fire, and we will get your hair dry."

The two women fussed about Ellen, who was almost brought to tears again by the comfortable female company she had lacked for so long. They rubbed her hair free of its excess moisture, and then took turns brushing it until it was shining and dry again. When they were finished Ellen thanked them both, and went up into the hall to break her fast.

She found Adair there with her children, James, Andrew, John, and Janet. Adair was instructing them in their letters. "We have no priest again," she said, "and they have to learn how to read and write in this world."

"Isn‘t Jan a bit young?" Ellen asked, looking at her niece, who was barely three.

"It is never too young for learning," Adair answered her. "Bring Lady Ellen some breakfast," she called to a serving woman.

It was raining outside, Ellen learned after she had eaten. But despite the weather Conal Bruce had dispatched two riders just before the dawn: one to Hailes with a message that Duffdour‘s wife had been found, and that she spoke of a plot to kill the king; and the other to Duffdour to tell Duncan Armstrong to come and fetch his wife. The Fergusons had departed early too, and Ellen was distressed because she had not had the opportunity to thank them properly for bringing her to safety.

"Do not fret yourself," Adair told her when Ellen had expressed her concern. "Conal thanked them profusely, as was right and proper, for he is Cleit‘s laird and your husband‘s brother. They were not in the least slighted. Conal invited them to come along when they hunt down Colby.

They were quite delighted by the invitation."

"I would go with them when they hunt the Englishman down," Ellen said, much to Adair‘s surprise.

"Would you? You would go back into England after all you have endured at the hands of that man?" Adair asked.

"It is because of all I have endured," Ellen said softly. "I want to see him dead with my own eyes. I will never really feel safe until he is, and I know it without doubt. That he could come onto Armstrong‘s lands and snatch me so easily was terrifying. Until I see him dead I will never feel safe anywhere."

Adair nodded. "I understand," she said softly, "yet does not the same thing happen in the Highlands?"

"I suppose it did," Ellen replied. "But usually it was for a quick ransom, or just a bit of bride stealing among the clans. But they were Scots. This man was English. He came over our border, debauched one of our lasses, turned her to betrayal and treason, and then kidnapped me into England. And why? Because my husband had beaten him. Because he lost his own king‘s favor over it. Colby told me he wanted Duncan to feel the same loss as he had upon losing something dear to his heart. That he could equate the loss of royal favor with the taking of a man‘s wife still astounds me. Roger Colby is an evil man.

"I have thought of all you said to me last night. You are right, Adair. There is no fault in me.

Perhaps if I had been braver I would have thrown myself from my tower window, but I was not brave. And somewhere deep within me I always had the hope that my husband would find me and bring me home safely to Duffdour. I gambled on it, and played for time.

"Only when I realized that I had no more time, and when Colby was so sure he was near to breaking my spirit that morning in his hall, did I dare to taunt him into allowing me outside.

Within the castle I had no chance at all to escape the inevitable rape he was planning. But once outside I knew my chances were better. There was no certainty that I could escape him. The odds in my favor were slim, but I had to try."

"What if he had caught up with you?" Adair asked quietly.

"I would have drowned myself in the sea before I ever let him touch me again," Ellen said grimly. "I actually think that was part of the reason that I took to the water. Like that buck escaping my grandsire and his huntsmen, the water was my only chance of ever getting back to Duncan and our son. Tell me, Adair—I was so tired and confused last night that I never asked.

Does my bairn live?"

Adair nodded. "I have not been told to the contrary," she answered Ellen. "But I must be honest with you. I never asked, nor did Duncan say, for his main concern was in finding you. But your old Peigi is like my Elsbeth. She would have seen to the bairn‘s safety, I am certain."

"Aye," Ellen agreed, and she smiled a small smile. "She would have, bless her."

The two women spent the remainder of the rainy day in conversation as they sat by the blazing hearth in the hall of Cleit. Ellen felt great relief in being once more in what she considered a normal setting. She enjoyed her nieces and nephews very much, especially little Janet Margaret, who was called Jan by her three older brothers. It was, Ellen thought, a perfect family, and the obvious love between Conal Bruce and his wife, Adair, was heartwarming to see.

The next day it rained as well. Ellen spent some time with Adair in her apothecary, helping to make a salve that was used to help cure winter chest ailments. It was made of goose fat that was rendered into its purest form, and menthol, which was an oil extracted from the peppermint that Adair grew in her herb garden. They also packaged dried peppermint leaves for tea, an excellent remedy for disorders of the stomach. Ellen wondered if Duncan would arrive by nightfall, but Adair told her it would not be until the morrow sometime.

The follow morning dawned fair, and Ellen spent much of the morning with Adair again,

teaching the children, mending Jan‘s tiny garments. By afternoon she was restless, and Conal suggested she go to the top of the keep and watch for Duncan. Taking a cape, Ellen climbed up to the roof of the keep and stood staring in the direction from which he would come from Duffdour.

He saw her there as his brother‘s home came into sight. Her red-gold hair blew like a banner in the west wind. His heart began to beat faster Ellen! Wife! He called to her with his heart, and as if she heard him Ellen began to wave wildly. And then she was gone from the top of the keep. He imagined her running down the winding stairs, dashing through the hall as she called out to Adair, to Conal, to whoever was in the hall, that the laird of Duffdour was coming. He grinned at the pictures he was making in his mind, and put his heels to his stallion‘s sides to encourage him to move faster. And then he saw the doors to Cleit being opened, and she burst through them as if she were being propelled. Picking up her green skirts she ran toward him, and Duncan Armstrong pulled his horse to a sharp stop, leaped from his saddle, and ran to meet her.

He caught her up in his arms, swinging her about, laughing with the pure happiness that was radiating through him. "Wife!" he said, looking down into the little heart-shaped face that had haunted his dreams these past months.

"Husband!" Ellen responded, and the tears in her eyes now slid unbidden down her cheeks, although she was smiling radiantly at him.

And then he kissed her a hungry kiss, his arms wrapping themselves tightly about her as if he would never again let her go. And, kissing him back with equal fervor, safe within his embrace, Ellen knew that she would have the strength to protect Duncan Armstrong from Roger Colby, because the love she shared with her husband was everything good. And Roger Colby was

everything wicked.

Roger Colby had watched, amused, as Ellen had sprinted away from the castle. Turning, he walked back across the drawbridge and told Rafe to have his stallion and the dogs ready in an hour. "I am going hunting," he said, chuckling.

"The lady?" his sergeant asked, curious. "Is that why you let her go, my lord?"

Ordinarily Sir Roger would not have tolerated such a question, even from so faithful a retainer, but he was feeling mellow with thoughts of putting his captive on her back where he caught her and fucking her until she begged for mercy. "The lady said I could not catch her if I released her, and so I have released her. I will have her under me soon enough, Rafe. Is Johnston cleaned up?"

"Aye, my lord, he is, and awaiting your orders," came the reply.

"Let him wait," Roger Colby said with a grin. "Give him a cot in your barracks room, some food, and tell him I will speak with him tomorrow. I don‘t want to see him again until I send for him.

Do you understand?"

"Aye, my lord," the sergeant said. "I‘ll go now and give the orders for your horse and the pack."

He hurried off.

Sir Roger sought his private chambers. He did not wish to see or speak with the Scot now. His mind was on Ellen, and what he would do to her when he caught her. And the nights that followed. He had actually grown to like her. She had spirit and was intelligent for a woman. A whore and a slut like they all were, to be sure, but he had no doubt she would prove amusing entertainment. Redheads were always extremely fair, their flesh delicate.

How she had writhed beneath his tongue as it had plundered the sweetness and sensitivity of her little jewel. His hand went to his cock, which had grown hard with his thoughts. He rubbed it soothingly, attempting to calm it, but his lascivious memories now considered what he would do when he caught her. He could but imagine her fear, the acceleration of her heart as she heard the hoofbeats of his stallion and the baying of his dogs, first faintly, but then, as they grew closer, louder and louder. The dogs would reach her first, surrounding her, yapping and leaping. She would be terrified. He smiled.

And then he would reach her, taking her up over his saddle, driving the dogs off. He would ride a small way while she struggled against him. Finally he would bring his animal to a halt.

Dismounting, he would rip that thin little chemise from her, and, slapping her hard several times to remind her, he was the master, he would fling her to the ground. Then, straddling her, he would strip off his jerkin and shirt, loose his cock from his breeches, and join with her. He would kiss her until her mouth was swollen. He would suck and bite upon her lush little breasts until he drew blood. And all the while she would fight him, he knew.

But finally he would mount her. He would push himself slowly, slowly into her tight, wet sheath.

She would encase his flesh in her flesh, helpless to deny him. He would have pinioned her arms above her head with one hand. And when he was deep, he would reach out with his other hand and play with her little jewel until she was mindless. Then he would fuck her hard and deep while he impelled the cries of pleasure from her. But he would not release his juices. When she was weakened he would turn her onto her belly, driving himself into her asshole because she had admitted no man had ever had her there. But he would have that virginity of her, and she would sob as his juices released themselves there.

He remembered his mistress, a beautiful, ethereal golden-haired creature, whom he had

introduced to this particular perversion. She had been the daughter of one of his farmers. He had seen her haying in the fields one summer‘s day, and he had taken her up on his horse and brought her back to the castle. Her name had been Eve, and there was no denying that she tempted him.

She was a virgin when he took her for himself, and for two years her body had pleased him, for her intellect was lacking, and she was often like a child. As long as he cosseted her and brought her bright trinkets and colorful ribbons, she was content. His mother had been alive then.

His mother. She had been a bitch out of hell, and he had left her much to her own devices, for they had never gotten on. She had taken the captain of his men at arms for her lover, but he didn‘t care. The castle priest had taught Roger Colby that women were whores and sluts whose only use was to bear children. And his mother proved the priest right, for she was always seeking out lusty men for her bed. As she was a handsome woman, she had little difficulty. On one particular day she had annoyed him, and he had called her a whore, for indeed she was, despite her highborn status.

His mother had laughed at him. "You call me a whore? What about the little slut you sleep with?"

"Eve is my mistress. She is mine alone," he had replied.

"Is she?" His mother laughed again. "Come to my chambers at moonrise, and see what you will see," she taunted him.

And so he had gone to her chambers when the full moon had risen that night, to find its silvery light spilling across the body of his mistress while both his mother and her lover took their pleasure of her. And Eve had giggled and sucked his captain‘s cock while his mother licked at the girl‘s little jewel until she was whimpering. Then as Sir Roger had watched, stony faced, his captain had fucked his mistress until she was screaming her delight, and, having pleasured Eve, the captain then set about to pleasure his mother, who was soon writhing and moaning beneath the big man.

Roger Colby had slit his captain‘s throat as the man rode his mother. Then, pulling the body away from the dazed woman, he drove his dagger directly into her heart. She had not even the time to cry out. He then turned his attentions to his beautiful mistress, Eve, who cowered in a corner of the bed, her blue eyes wide with fear. He coaxed her from her defensive position with gentle words, kissing and caressing her. Then, putting her on her back, he fucked her, and as he did he strangled her. The priest who had taught him had been right. Women, all women, were whores and sluts. And his Scots captive had been no different, despite her protests of chastity.