In Bed With A Stranger(27)

"Wife."

He strode from the chamber without another word. Her throat felt tight  as if a hand was squeezing it. She had to force her next breath down to  her lungs.

"Men. They bluster but don't know what to do when presented with solid  evidence. Never ye fear, mistress, the lord is pleased with ye. He'll  remember to say so later, once he knows that his men have been shown the  proof of yer consummation."

"I shall hope they are satisfied."

Helen patted her shoulder. "I suppose ye dinnae ken the way it is in  Scotland but knowing that the lord took ye to his bed will keep any  trouble from arising among those that want to steal ye."

Anne stared at Helen but heard a few smothered sounds from the maids  that sounded like laughter. "You must be mistaken. No one steals other  humans."

One of the maids did laugh outright. She tried to catch herself but her cheeks turned ruby. "Beg pardon, mistress."

She didn't sound contrite. The other girls grinned at her as well. Helen sighed.

"Well now, ye might as well share with the mistress since ye all but  spit it out. Vanora here was born on McAlister land. They don't like  their daughters marring McJames men so her husband snuck her away by the  harvest moon."

"I see." Anne stared at the girl but she winked, clearly content with her lot.

Ginny tried to take the sheet but Helen shook her head. She returned to smiling. She even hummed some springtime melody.

"Nay. I pulled the covers back, so the sheet is mine to hang from the  window." She offered Anne a firm look. "There will be no gossip. I'll  lay my hand on the altar and swear to yer purity myself. Every one of  these maids comes from family that has served this house for  generations. I selected them carefully."         

     



 

Pride rang in her voice but it also shone from the faces of each girl.  It was the same at Warwickshire. Even in the face of Philipa's sour  personality, the staff was loyal. Their parents had served the Stanford  nobles and the generations before them. It was an honor that even a  surly mistress could not drive them away from. To argue against your  place was to question God's will in putting you there.

The shutters were opened wide, fresh air sweeping into the chamber. It  took the scent of candle wax away, leaving the first traces of spring.  It also carried the smell of Brodick's skin away. She'd never noticed  that men smelled attractive. Yet Brodick did. Lifting one hand, she  found a trace of it lingering on her skin. Her passage was sore, marking  where he'd been. It was a moment she'd been raised to think of as  sinful, yet it felt very right. As though she had been made for him.

"I told ye that ye'd be lamenting sunrise." Helen smiled with the same  sort of superiority her own mother had often aimed at her children when  she knew that their youth was preventing them from understanding one of  life's realities.

"I am going to fly this sheet. 'Tis a moment I've looked forward to."

Helen knotted one corner of the sheet through the shutter just above the  thick iron hinge. She threaded the opposite corner through the shutter  on the far side of the window, making sure it was tied tightly. She  pushed the length of the sheet through the open window.

A few moments later the bells along the walls began to ring. First only  the one nearest to them, but as it sent its sound into the morning,  another rang out and then another until the sound echoed up and down the  long length of walls.

She blushed but her heart swelled too. She hadn't shamed him.

Brodick was worthy of purity.

The emotion caught her off guard. It was so very tender that she covered  her mouth with a hand. She liked him too much. In sooth, she enjoyed  the duties of a wife far too much.

You should have no objections to being used …

Yet was it being used? Taken, aye but she had enjoyed it full well.

Her temper suddenly lit. Philipa had been left far behind her. With  everything else that she needed to worry about, the woman's ill words  were not among them.

"Come now, mistress, a good meal will help place strength in ye. Ye'll  need it when the lord's babe begins to grow inside your womb."

The color drained from her face. Icy dread locked its grip around her heart.

His babe.

Bonnie had said she would have it.

"Och now, look at ye. Such worry in one so young." Helen laid a motherly arm around her shoulders, hugging her firmly.

"There's no need for losing yer color. Ye heard Agnes yerself. Ye're strong and sturdy. A babe will be no trouble at all."

Helen swept her out the door. The maids all followed while the bells quieted.

If only it were as simple to still the ringing of dread inside her head.

It was not.





Chapter Eight


She did not suffer inactivity well.

Before noon, she was pacing for want of something to do. Every maid in  the castle seemed intent on feeding her until she burst. The  well-meaning girls and women bore trays to her, all of them carefully  laid out to please not only the palate but the eyes as well. It was the  women who were harder to send away with their dishes unsampled. Lady  Mary was spoilt enough to slash others' effort without a care, yet Anne  knew what it was to heat an iron on the coals. She herself had carefully  smoothed the wrinkles from linen napery in preparation for it being  laid on a tray for the head table. Extreme care had to be taken to  ensure that no soot marred the fine fabric. She'd burned her fingers a  few times when the cloth wrapping the handle of the iron slipped or was  too thin.

She was not callous enough to reject such offerings but her stays were growing too tight to bear.

She froze as she turned to face yet another lowered head. Deception or not, she was finished acting contrary to her nature.

"I believe it's time for me to meet the cook."

The maid lowered herself. "I'll fetch her straight away, Mistress."

"Nay, no. I believe the woman should be busy, what with the noon meal so close to serving. I will follow you to the kitchen."         

     



 

The girl looked unsure. Her teeth appeared, pressing into her lower lip.  Anne refused to be swayed. Just the mention of going to the kitchen had  started her thinking. Yes, she was done being idle. She could not be  Mary, didn't know how to act as her half-sister. It was much better to  be herself. At least that way, she would not be stumbling over mistakes  every other hour of the day.

"What is your name?"

"Ginny, Mistress. I greeted ye this morning."

"I recall your face now. Do be kind and show me the way to the kitchen.  It is time for work now that all of these wedding traditions have been  seen to."

Ginny beamed at her, clearly approving of her work ethic. "We didn't know exactly what ye might be expecting."

The maid hesitated, her mouth closing as she stopped mid-thought.

"Because I'm English, you mean." It was a fact. The coming secession  would change hundreds of years of battling between the two countries.  Some questioned Elizabeth Tudor's decision not to marry, but Anne saw  the benefit of it. Was not peace worth one woman remaining unwed? She  had been one of the best monarchs in history, cultivating a richer  economy. Who was to say Elizabeth hadn't decided long ago that remaining  a spinster was a path to a better future for her people? The queen had  often said she was married to her subjects. Anne could see the wisdom in  it.

Anne followed Ginny. They walked through the circular eating hall she'd  supped in last night. The tables were empty now, the floor swept clean.  The scent of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen. In back of the  tower was a building with a slopped roof. Five huge fireplaces were  built along the outer wall. There were also ovens between them, iron  doors covering them. Long tables ran the length of the building, thick,  wooden tables that bore the marks of use. One end was dusted with flour.  Two women worked large lumps of dough there, their chemises rolled up  past their elbows. They looked up, watching her enter, but never stopped  kneading. But their motions slowed down.

"This is Bythe. She's the head cook."

The woman was formidable. Age didn't mark her face but confidence did.  Bythe nodded respectfully. A strip of linen was wound around her head.  Only a tiny hint of her dark hair peeked out at the edges. Her forehead  was shinny with perspiration. The end of her nose was slightly red from  leaning into the fire pits. Her forearms were bare too. A large apron  was pinned to the wool of her bodice as well as being tied around her  waist. She wore a strip of tartan over one shoulder that draped down her  back. In fact all the women did. The plaid was the same weave of colors  the men wore in their kilts.

"Welcome, mistress."

Bythe was clearly uncertain as to what to do with her. Anne offered her a  calm smile before looking at the table closest to her. Fresh fish lay  on it, their scales still shiny with water. The lenten season had begun  and good Christians dined on fish. Two large bowls stood ready for  cleaning, a large knife lying nearby. Several smaller bowls were neatly  set out awaiting the fish, holding spices of salt, rosemary, pepper and  even nutmeg.