The Love Slave (6 page)

“Donald is a liar,” she answered him calmly. “Come, my lord, and see for yerself if I am a virgin or nae.” Donald will suffer for his mischief, Regan decided, even as she was holding out her arms to Ian.

He pulled back the coverlet that had obscured his view of her young body. She had sweet small breasts and a long torso. Her skin was creamy-looking. He reached out to touch it. It was soft, and very smooth. He fingered a lock of her golden hair. It was like thistledown. Bending, he kissed her mouth for the second time this day, and immediately his lust was engaged. He climbed into the bed with her, wrapping his arms about her tightly.

Regan wrinkled her nose. Ian Ferguson smelled of horses and sweat. He had obviously not bathed in some time. While she was curious to know what transpired between man and woman, she did not envy her sister this man. His hand pushed between her thighs, seeking, touching her where she had certainly never thought to be touched. He pinioned her down with his body, his other hand fumbling at her breasts. Regan bit her lip to keep from crying out, for his rough manner was beginning to frighten her. She remembered Gruoch’s warning.
Dinna let him see yer fear
.

She squirmed away from him, and he grunted with irritation. “What should I do, Ian?” she asked him. Surely she should be doing something in all of this.

He looked at her, surprised. “Why lassie, ye need nae do anything. I’ll fuck ye soon enough. Just lie there for me like a
good lass. The man does the work in the lovemaking.” He mashed his lips against hers once more, forcing her mouth open, thrusting his tongue down her throat.

Regan gagged, surprised, as he continued his assault. If all a woman did was lie still, why did so many of them enjoy this thing called making love? she wondered. Maybe when he got to the fucking it would be easier. She was certainly not enjoying any of it now. It was rough and sweaty, and not pleasant at all.

“Spread yer legs, lassie,” he ordered her, settling himself between them when she did. Her confusion certainly indicates that she is a virgin, Ian thought. Donald was going to get a fine beating if he was lying. Ian Ferguson positioned himself and thrust hard, only to find himself blocked by something.
Her maidenhead
, he silently exulted, and pulling back a bit, drove himself even harder into her.

Regan shrieked with surprise as the pain of his entry radiated throughout her entire torso. Gruoch’s advice forgotten, she fought him with all her strength, pummeling his hairy chest with small fists as, ignoring her, he continued his onslaught “Yer hurting me, Ian!” she sobbed. “Stop it!
Stop it!
”

It was as if he did not hear her. Pushing himself in and out of her now-widening passage with increasing rapidity, he groaned and he sweated until finally, with a triumphant cry, he collapsed atop her. “Jesu, ye were tight, lassie, but we’ve taken care of that, the braw laddie and I,” he said hotly in her ear. Then climbing off of her, he took the candle and, holding it up, grinned down on her, pleased by the blood of her innocence staining her thighs, the bedding, and now his limp member. Walking to the door, he opened it and said, “Come in, Da, and see for yerself. My wee wifie was indeed a virgin, were ye nae, Gruoch?”

It had hurt less as he continued, Regan considered. Still, she had not enjoyed the coupling between them at all. The MacFhearghuis stared down at her and nodded, satisfied. She felt no embarrassment—only a deep coldness suffusing her entire body. If this was lovemaking, her twin was more than welcome to it. Nothing about it appealed to her.

“Gie Donald a beating for me,” Ian told his father. “The bastard lied to us.”

“So the little nun suggested when I questioned her earlier,” Alasdair Ferguson replied. “Well, then, I’m satisfied the lassie was pure. I’ll leave ye to yer pleasures, lad. Hae a good night.”

Regan thought that Ian would never sleep. Twice more he probed her sore body. Then at last he fell to snoring deeply, to her everlasting relief. When she was certain he would not awaken, she slipped from the bed and crept to the door, taking a moment to gather up her chemise. Putting it on, she carefully slipped the bolt and fled the room. Hurrying down the stairs, she entered the room below, where her twin sat watching over their mother.

Gruoch rose quickly to her feet as her sister slipped into the chamber. “Are ye all right?” she whispered.

“Barely,” Regan answered. “He hurt me dreadfully,” she told Gruoch, swiftly recounting the past two hours in the nuptial bed with Ian Ferguson. “Ye’d best hurry back upstairs before he awakens. I hae nae doubt he’ll want to rut wi’ his
wee wifie
yet again. He seems to be as lusty as a stallion, sister mine.”

The twins quickly exchanged clothing once more, Gruoch smearing chicken’s blood upon the insides of her thighs before pulling her chemise down over them. “Thank ye,” she said simply, and then was gone.

Regan quietly washed away the evidence of her lost virtue and pulled her own clothing back on. She sat down, wincing as her small bottom made contact with the wooden bench. She yet ached.

“
Regan
.” Her mother’s voice cut into her thoughts.

Regan leaned over, looking into Sorcha’s face. “Aye?”

Her mother reached out and took the girl’s hand in hers. “Yer a good lassie,” she said. Then Sorcha MacDuff died.

Regan was astounded, but by what, she was not certain. Her mother’s death had been so simple. Her last words had not been. She had longed her whole life for a kind word from Sorcha MacDuff, but all of her mother’s thoughts and dreams and kind words had always been for Gruoch. Yet the last words she had spoken had been for her.

“Ahh, Mam,” was all she could say, “God speed yer poor soul home.”

Then freeing herself from her mother’s death grip, Regan MacDuff went downstairs into the hall to tell the MacFhearghuis that her mother was dead. He nodded, and she thought she saw the glitter of a tear in his blue eyes.

“I’ll get old Bridie to help me prepare her, my lord,” Regan said. “Let Gruoch and her bridegroom sleep in peace tonight.”

“Aye,” he agreed. Nothing more.

They buried Sorcha MacDuff the following day next to her husband on the hillside overlooking the loch. The day was gray and rainy. The pipes wailed MacDuff’s Lament as the shrouded body was lowered into its grave. After Torcull MacDuff’s death, Sorcha had become the heart of the clan. Now that heart had ceased to beat. The heiress of Ben MacDui was wed to a Ferguson, and within a month’s time her sister would be sent south and across the breadth of Scotland into a convent, never more to be seen. The mourning cries of the MacDuffs were prolonged, and genuine.

Jamie MacDuff sought out Regan. “And how did Ian Ferguson find his bride?” he demanded slyly.

“
A virgin
,” she responded softly, “and should any say otherwise, they would invite a dirk to the heart,
cousin
,” she warned him.

“Marry me,” he said, surprising her.

“Why? So ye can pretend I’m Gruoch, Jamie? Nay, I think ye insult me. Dinna be a fool, laddie. Let it be now,” she advised.

“Yer Torcull MacDuff’s daughter,” he said. “There are many who would hae a MacDuff chief for Ben MacDui, nae a Ferguson.”

“Then they are fools too, Jamie MacDuff,” Regan responded. “I ne’er knew my sire, for he was killed in the feuding before our birth. For all these years we hae had peace. The Fergusons outnumber us, which is why they triumphed in the first place. To what purpose would ye start the warring all over again? That our
young men be killed for the glory of Ben MacDui? I would nae hae such a thing on my soul.”

“Yer mam would nae hae fled a fight,” he said.

“Our mam is dead,” she told him harshly. “Now if ye canna be content wi’ the way things are, Jamie MacDuff, then get ye gone from Ben MacDui! I will nae let ye spoil my sister’s happiness.”

“Happiness? Wi’ Ian Ferguson?” he said incredulously.

“She told me just this morning that Ian is a fine lover,” Regan said, and then added cruelly, “the best she hae ever known.”

With a look of pained disbelief he flung himself away from her. It was the last time she would see him. She learned to her great relief several days later that Jamie MacDuff had gone soldiering to a place called Byzantium. To Regan’s amazement, Gruoch was equally glad to be free of her former lover. Her bridegroom’s style of lovemaking seemed to appeal to her, and she was very content with him.

Regan remained at Ben MacDui, but to her surprise, she found that without her mother, her home now seemed a foreign place. Gruoch was fast becoming jealous of any attention Ian gave her sister, and seemed openly eager for her departure. She greeted with great relief the news that Regan’s flow had come upon her.

“Ye’ll be going, then,” she said almost too bluntly.

“Aye,” Regan replied. “Ye’ll gie me time to recover, will ye nae, sister? Ye know how motion affects me during this time.”

“Aye,” Gruoch grudgingly allowed. “Ye will nae hae an easy journey as it is. I would nae make it harder for ye.”

“We will ne’er see each other ever again once I am gone,” Regan said, “yet I will always love ye, Gruoch.”

“And I, ye,” Gruoch said, her manner softening. “I truly wish ye dinna hae to go, but the old man is firm. He says yer but a temptation to the MacDuff clansmen, Regan mine.”

“He is correct,” her twin told her. “Jamie MacDuff suggcsted
we wed and defy the Fergusons, before I sent him away. I told him ye said Ian was a better lover.”

“He is.” Gruoch giggled. “Ye were right when ye said he was a stallion, Regan mine. I am almost sorry to be wi’ bairn now, for I shall nae be able to satisfy him when my belly gets too big. He’ll run off to one of his mistresses then, I fear.”

“Hae ye told him yet, Gruoch?”

“Nae, but I will soon,” Gruoch said with a smile. “He’ll boast like a peacock, and the old man will be pleased too,” she concluded.

She is content, Regan thought. The revenge our mam planned will soon be complete, but Gruoch does not really care about that now, I think. She is simply happy to be Ian Ferguson’s wife, although why, I cannot understand. He’s a pleasant enough fellow, but a lout at heart. He’ll grow more like his da with every passing year. I wonder what their children will be like, but I’ll ne’er know that. Soon I’ll be gone from Ben MacDui. Once I thought I would care, but now I dinna think I will. Gruoch has her place in the world, but I dinna seem to hae mine.

Regan MacDuff left the only home she had ever known on an early summer’s morning. The trip, which would take at least two weeks, would see her travel from the hills of eastern Alba to a place called Strathclyde in the southwest corner of the land. She would be escorted on her journey by a mixed troupe of both Ferguson and MacDuff men. The old MacFhearghuis showed her a small but weighty bag, which he then gave to the captain of her escort.

“ ’Tis yer dowry, lass,” he said. “Andrew will gie it to Mother Una.” Then somehow understanding her fears, he continued, “St. Maire’s is on the Mull of Galloway, facing the North Channel. ’Tis the sea. Ye’ve nae seen the sea, I know, lass. It can be beautiful, and it can be fierce. On a clear day ye’ll be able to look all the way to Eire, the land of the Celts, which is across the waters. My kinswoman, Una, is the abbess there, or at least she was when ye were born. She is a good woman, as I remember,
Regan. But no matter if she is there no longer, yer name will be in the book of those expected to take the veil. Ye’ll hae a home there, and a place of yer own.”

“And I’ve none here now, hae I, my lord?” Regan asked boldly.

He sighed. “Ye’ll nae make a good nun, I fear, but what else can I do wi’ ye, lassie? There can only be one heiress to Ben MacDui, and she’s now my son’s wife. There is to be a bairn. Yer a danger to us all, Regan MacDuff. Wi’out a word ye can set MacDuff against Ferguson again, and I will nae hae it! Yer nae a stupid lass. Ye understand.”

Regan nodded. “Aye,” she replied, “but I dinna hae to like it, my lord. Could I just nae go away? I would nae bother anyone here at Ben MacDui again! I canna bear the thought of being locked up!”

“I will tell ye the secret to yer survival, lassie,” Alasdair Ferguson said to the girl. “First ye must learn patience. That is hard for the young, I know. Then, lass, seek power wi’in yer own wee world. Dinna be satisfied just to be a nun. When ye hae power, ye will find a measure of peace. Now come, and bid yer sister farewell.”

Gruoch was both eager and reluctant to see her twin sister depart. Part of her was relieved to see Regan go. Ian delighted in teasing her about being unable to tell them apart. What if he bedded the wee nun, as he called the other twin, by mistake? The suggestion was too close to the uncomfortable truth. Then, too, Regan shared her secret. With both Regan and their mam gone, Gruoch could pretend to herself that the child she was carrying was indeed Ian’s. There would be no one here who knew the truth once Regan had departed. Yet Regan was as much a part of her as her right hand. They had never been separated in their entire lives, and this separation was to be such an ultimate one. It was highly unlikely that they would ever see each other again.

The sisters hugged almost desperately. There were no more words left for them to say. Then Regan was helped upon her small palfrey. She turned only once as they went down the road
that bordered the loch, but Gruoch was sobbing against her husband’s shoulder. She did not see her twin’s final wave.

They traveled a bit faster than Regan would have expected. The weather was good, and her escorts eager to have their task over and done with, that they might return home. The clansmen were uncomfortable in unfamiliar territory. They traveled west, then finally turned south. Had the journey been for any other reason, Regan might have enjoyed it. She was astounded by the beauty of the countryside. Most nights they camped by the roadside, but sometimes they were fortunate enough to find accommodation in the guest house of some isolated religious order. None of the men escorting her, either MacDuff or Ferguson, were anything but respectful of her. She was relieved not to be tempted again by a dissatisfied clansman seeking to revive old times.