The Captive Heart (26 page)

She had, of course, been furious with him. He had admonished her that her duties were that of a chatelaine, a mother, and a wife. She had eschewed all of those duties, leaving the household to his kinswoman, Fenella, their child to him, and locked her bedchamber door. Malcolm Scott was too proud a man to make an issue over that. She would eventually come to her senses because she had no other choice than to accept what she had and not what she thought she wanted.

But he had been wrong in his assessment of the situation. Robena had taken to riding out day after day on a great white stallion she had brought with her to the marriage. Suddenly they had all noticed a change in her. She laughed at the most inappropriate times. A wild, high-pitched laugh. She was secretive, and more and more high-strung. He could ask nothing of her that she did not refuse with absolute defiance, almost daring him to stop her behavior. He had gone to his uncle of Drumcairn for advice, and Robert Ferguson had returned with him to Dunglais to see with his own eyes what it was his nephew had to complain about. Although Robena was at her most charming to him, she was still out of control and Robert Ferguson had no idea what to tell his nephew.

And then had come the day when he had learned his wife had just ridden out carrying a pouch with her jewelry. He had, of course, followed after her. When he finally caught up with Robena, she was in the arms of his bastard half brother, Black Ian Scott. His wife had been shocked to realize they had been caught. But Ian had laughed.

“First yer wench, Colm, and then the lairdship, which should have been mine,” Ian had said, drawing his sword.

Malcolm Scott’s eyes went to his wife. Her beautiful face was alight with her excitement. She looked from him to his half brother. “Is this what you want, Robena?” he asked her in a quiet and reasonable voice.

“Aye!” she said. “Fight for me, Colm. And I will laugh when Ian kills you, for I hate you. And when Ian is Laird of Dunglais I’ll see your precious daughter put out on the moors to live or die. I care not!”

“Fiona is your own child, from your own womb,” he replied, shocked.

“She matters not to me!” Robena said, and she laughed at the look on his face.

“When I have killed my brother,
Wife
,” Malcolm Scott said in a cold, even voice, “I will see to your punishment. Do not doubt it for a moment, Robena.” And then he drew his sword even as his half brother jumped forward to attack him.

Above them the sky was a dark gray with an approaching storm. Thunder was in the air. The two men battled back and forth for several long minutes. Each pricked the other, and then Ian Scott delivered his sibling a blow that opened a wound on the laird’s left shoulder, blossoming scarlet onto his shirt.

Robena screamed with delight, her face avid with blood lust. “Kill him, Ian! Kill him!” she screamed, elated to see what she believed was the beginning of the end for her husband. She began to pace back and forth like a caged animal.

Hearing her cruel words, Malcolm Scott was suddenly free of any affection he might have held for his wife. He had no intention of being killed by his bastard half brother. He had no intention of allowing his darling child to be abused by her own mother. A black fury at the pair who had betrayed him rose within him, and he was suddenly filled with renewed energy.

The Laird of Dunglais pressed forward, attacking his opponent with a fierce vigor. Ian Scott was older and heavier than his brother. To his surprise, and then a budding fear, he began to tire. Malcolm Scott’s blade did not flag, and his opponent, suddenly aware that he could lose, lost his concentration for but a moment, stumbled, and fell. His sword went flying a small distance across the moor. On his back he looked up at the laird.

“Mercy,” he cried.

“Go to the hell where you belong!” the laird responded, and thrust his sword into his half brother’s heart, killing him instantly.

Robena Scott shrieked and, looking about frantically for her lover’s sword, she found it, picked it up, and charged her husband, flailing at him with the weapon. He knocked it from her hands with his own sword. Robena Scott turned and began to run.

“Now,
Wife
, the question is what am I to do with you?” he called after her. Then, realizing the answer, he had done what he knew must be done, and sometime afterwards taken his half brother’s body back to Dunglais to be buried.

Now once again a woman was at the center of his decision. The solution had been easy with Robena. It was not as easy with Alix. He had not loved Robena. He loved Alix. But would she betray him? She said not, but could he trust her word? Women were prone to lie, especially to men. Had he not been witness to it? His own mother. His wife, and only a few days ago, Eufemia Grant, who would have bedded him, would have lied to him and to her husband. Could he trust Alix? Dare he trust her? But if you truly loved someone, didn’t you trust them? And then Malcolm Scott realized to his surprise that he was afraid. He was afraid to make a decision for fear he would be wrong. He didn’t want to be hurt, yet what kind of a man did that make him? Was he a coward?

“Are you all right, my lord?” Alix’s sweet voice pierced his thoughts.

“My head hurts,” he admitted to her.

“We will soon be at St. Margaret’s,” she said. “The past few days have been busy for us. You are not used to even an informal court such as Queen Marie’s. We will be home in a few days, and you will be better.”

“Aye, it will be good to get back to Dunglais,” he agreed.

The weather was beginning to turn. Their first day of travel had been beneath a weak sun and a still wind. The second day was gray and the wind had begun to rise, but at least it was at their backs. Halfway through the third day it began to snow lightly, but the winds had picked up. The tiny white flakes melted at first as they hit the ground, but as the snow grew heavier it began to stick, and by the time Dunglais Keep came into view it was barely visible. The laird had transferred Fiona from the small gelding she had been riding. He had set his daughter before him, wrapping his own heavy cape about her to keep her warmer. He looked to Alix, who rode by his side. She was hunched down, the hood of her cloak pulled well up, her head down.

“We’re almost there, lambkin,” he said to her.

She looked up briefly, giving him a smile. “I hope Fenella has a hot stew,” Alix responded. “I am ravenous after this icy day and our cold ride. I thought the meal served this morning at St. Ninian’s was paltry, and they gave us nothing for our bellies along the way. It was stingy,” Alix grumbled.

He chuckled.

“Is Fiona all right?” she asked him in a concerned tone.

“She’s fallen asleep, poor mite,” he answered her. She loved his child. Was not that a point in her favor? Robena had disliked their child for no other reason than she had been a female, which meant his wife must attempt once again to get an heir. He had not been unhappy with a daughter.

“Is she warm enough, Colm?” Alix wanted to know.

“She’s not freezing, and we’ll be home shortly,” he said. The keep was getting nearer and nearer.

“It was like this the day I sheltered among your cattle,” Alix said.

“It’s early yet for snow,” the laird said. “It will not last.”

“I was so fortunate to be found by your men before I died,” Alix remembered.

“You may show me your gratitude for rescuing you this evening,” the laird teased.

Alix laughed.

And then they were riding into the courtyard of Dunglais Keep. Stable lads ran out to take their horses. Alix jumped down from her mare, and reaching out, took a sleepy Fiona from the laird. He dismounted, and together they hurried into the house. Both Iver and Fenella came forward wearing broad smiles.

“Welcome home, my lord!” they chorused.

In the great hall the two hearths were heaped high with logs and burning brightly.

Alix set the half-conscious Fiona gently on her feet, an arm about the child. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said. “We are home at last.”

Fiona’s bright blue eyes snapped open. “Home?” She looked about her, and then she cried, “We are home! We are home!”

“You would never know she had a wonderful time at Ravenscraig,” Alix told Fenella. “The king himself taught her to play chess.”

“Gracious!” Fenella exclaimed. “Consorting with a king, were you, my bonnie?”

“He’s ever so nice,” Fiona said. “Not at all like his three rough younger brothers. I didn’t like them at all, Fenella. Especially the Duke of Albany. He is very rude. The two earls are not so bad, but bad enough.”

Fenella’s face registered the proper amount of interest and awe. Then she said, “Fuzzytail had her kittens while you were away. Would you like to come and see them? They have just opened their eyes today.”

“Oh yes!” Fiona replied excitedly.

“The meal will be on the table shortly,” Fenella said. Then she took Fiona off to see the new kittens.

Iver took brought them goblets of mulled wine and took their capes away. Together the laird and Alix sat down upon a settle next to one of the hearths, the heated spiced wine in the goblets warming their hands. They remained silent for a few minutes, the crackling of the fire in the fireplace the only sound.

Then the laird said, “Are you glad to be home, lambkin?”

“Aye, I am,” Alix said.

“Queen Marie would have gladly had you in her household,” the laird noted.

“But I prefer the company and life at Dunglais,” Alix responded.

“Why?”
he asked her pointedly.

Alix considered a moment. Then she said, “Are you not happy to have me here, my lord of Dunglais?”

“Of course I want you here!” he said half-angrily. “Do you think otherwise?”

“Why do you want me here?” she inquired, neatly turning the tables on him.

“You are good to my daughter,” he answered her quickly.

“Is that all, Colm?” she replied.

He was very quiet for what seemed a long time, and then he answered her with another question. “Do you love me, Alix?” His gray eyes searched her face anxiously.

“Aye,” she answered him without hesitation. “Do you love me?”

“Aye,” he responded as quickly, gazing into her hazel eyes, and his heart leaped with pure happiness at the look of joy upon her sweet face at his answer. He took her two hands in his and kissed them passionately. “You will marry me!” he said. He didn’t ask. It had been a statement pure and simple.

“Aye, I will!” she told him, laughing. Then she grew serious. “But what of Sir Udolf of Wulfborn, Colm? He still seeks among the families on both sides of the border for me. Does the dispensation he carries require my obedience? Must I marry
him
unless he frees me of the obligation?”

Malcolm Scott looked puzzled. “I do not know,” he admitted, “but if we have wed according to the laws of Holy Mother Church in Scotland, can the rite be denied by the church in England?”

“I am not a scholar,” Alix said. “We must ask your priest. Until then say nothing, my lord. And after we have had the benefit of clerical counsel I would like us to tell Fiona first. She should be consulted also if you propose to make me her mother.”

At that moment Fiona came running into the hall cradling in her hands a small white kitten with a tiny pine tree of a tail that was both black and white. “Look!” she said. “This is Fuzzytail’s daughter. She has two brothers, but they are not nearly as pretty as she is. Can I have her, Da? Please!”

The laird looked to Fiona. Then he looked to Alix.

“I think Fiona is old enough to have her own cat,” Alix said. Then she turned to the girl. “But the kitten is not ready to leave her mother,
ma petite
. She is still just a wee babe. You must take her back to Fuzzytail until her mama can wean her from her teat and teach her to hunt. But you can certainly visit her every day and play with her.”

“What will you call her?” the laird wanted to know.

“Bannerette,” Fiona replied.

“Bannerette?” The laird looked puzzled.

“It is very clever, Fiona,” Alix told the child. “I think it a perfect name.”

Fiona beamed proudly. “I will take her back to Fuzzytail now, Alix.”

“Hurry,
ma petite
. I see they are about to serve the meal.”

Fiona ran off with the kitten.

“Bannerette?”
the laird repeated.

“The kitten’s tail is like a little black and white banner. When she grows up, it will be more obvious. And since she is a female, she is Bannerette, not Banner,” Alix explained to him.

“As Fiona grows, I understand her less and less despite the fact I adore her,” Malcolm Scott said. “But you understand her completely.”

Alix laughed. “She is a girl. Of course I understand her.”

The laird pulled Alix into his arms and, caressing her face, he said, “You are the most perfect woman, lambkin.”

“And you are the most perfect man,” she responded, gazing up at him adoringly.

He kissed her tenderly, wondering why it had never been like this with his wife. But he had been given a second chance, and he was going to take it. He loved her, and she loved him.

“I will give you all the children you want, Colm,” Alix told him. “A son, however, will displace Fiona as your heir. Will you mind?”

“You want more children?” Was he pleased? Of course he was pleased!

“Don’t you?” She looked concerned by his question.

“Aye! I do! But if you did not want to have them . . .” His words trailed off.

“Of course I want children!” Alix exclaimed. “Why would I not? Son or daughter, my father did not care. But he and my mother had both agreed that they would only have one child. My mother did not want to give up her duties as one of the queen’s ladies. Now I wonder if perhaps she had and we had gone back to Anjou, she would be alive today. But if that had happened, I should not have met you, Colm,” Alix decided.