It was work well done, Anne decided. Something she might be proud of because not everyone could handle the prejudices of centuries. Maybe that was the true use of Philipa's sourness. Serving the woman had taught her patience.
She had done well, if she did think so herself.
More importantly, she had not shamed Brodick. That was the true reward and she hugged it tight as she followed Helen towards the bath chamber.
Very tight.
"Och look at that puppy dog look of affection." Cullen moaned.
Brodick threw a broken loaf of bread at him. "Yer daft to joke about her. Fate has blessed me and I've no desire to tempt her to take it back because I'm nae grateful."
He was too. His wife was taking command of Sterling. She was doing it with kindness, something that was far too rare in English noblewomen. He could sit and watch her for hours, absorbing the way she moved, the way she dealt with difficulties without temper.
Aye, fate had been kind and he was grateful.
Chapter Eleven
"Oh now, don't ye look lovely." Helen fussed over the fire, poking it when it was blazing very well already. "I suppose I should leave ye to awaiting yer husband. Good night."
Await her confession …
Anne swallowed roughly, trying to maintain her resolve to do as she'd promised herself she would. She had to do it. Find the courage to trust in the love he'd offered her.
There was no more time for her. Besides, she did not have the heart to deceive him further. She could not do that to the man she loved.
But the candles burned low and the fire became a bed of coals blanketed by thick ash. The warm coverlet lulled her into slumber long before the chamber went dark.
Anne awoke at dawn, a sleepy yawn on her lips. She was the only one in the bed, the sheet beside her still smooth. A patch of scarlet caught her attention even in the dim light. Moving from the bed, she pulled the window curtain to let the rising sun shine in. A piece of silk was carefully folded around a box, a parchment sitting on top of it that bore the wax seal of the Earl of McJames. Her hand shook when she reached for it. The wax snapped in the chilly morning air, the sound as piercing as a pistol shot.
Dearest wife-
With regret I must go to court by royal command. Be very sure that it took a King to summon me from yer side.
Write to me … Yer letters will strengthen me.
Brodick.
She traced his name with a finger. Never once had she had a love letter. Today she did.
Brodick.
Only that name that she used in their bed. It was a sweet intimacy that touched her heart. Setting the letter aside, she unwrapped the silk to find a lady's writing desk. It was smooth and crafted with skill. Two hinges allowed the top to lift up. Stored carefully inside were sheets of paper. A small pottery jar with another piece of expensive and rare cork stood there. Two bone quills lay near the ink well. There was a scarlet strip of wax and a small brass seal along with it. Lifting the seal, she choked on a sob when she noted the rampant lion of the McJames. There would be very few of these seals because they represented the earl. Each one would be carefully guarded.
It was a gift worthy of the mistress of the manor.
Anne carefully closed the lid. She finally understood her mother completely. Ivy Copper was in love and that emotion blinded her to every insult or slur the world cast at her. She could no more stop loving than she could cease breathing.
"Och, I thought I heard ye moving about." Helen lacked her normal joy this morning. "I see ye found the lord's letter. He was most distraught at leaving ye. But those toads from court wouldnae hear of waiting. Kept him up most of the night arguing with him over this and that until the earl just mounted his horse and rode, wanting to end the matter the soonest. He wrote that letter with his own hand."
That was a gift of intimacy. A man of Brodick's station normally did not write his letters himself. She had written most of Philipa's. There had been a time when a part of the value a noble bride brought to her husband was her knowledge and finesse of being cordial with all the other great houses. She would carefully dip her quill and pen letters that maintained friendships with all the correct people.
Helen bustled about, pointing the two maids with her toward tasks. "Still ye'll have to get used to it. Being an earl means answering to yer king. Ye must have learned that in yer years at court."
Anne lost her focus, losing track of what Helen was saying. Her stomach rolled violently, sweat beading her forehead. There was no mastering the nausea this morning. She flew towards the garderobe, the contents of her belly rising.
Anne was trembling when Helen gently pulled her off her knees.
"I don't know what happened. I don't feel ill."
Helen led her back across the chamber, using a wet cloth to soothe her brow.
"I see now why ye had naught but stale bread in yer chamber." Helen looked up, snapping her fingers at one of the maids. "Fetch some bread and be quick."
The girl smiled so broadly all her teeth showed. "Aye, right away."
Anne stared at the empty doorway, trying to understand why the girl was so happy. Sickness in the castle was cause for alarm.
"Such a shame the lord was called away." Helen was practically dancing. "But better now than when yer time comes."
"My time?"
Helen turned, confusion on her face. She stared at her for a moment before a similar bright smile covered her face. "Och now, I forget that yer so newly wed. But a blessed union it is. You havenae had any monthly curses since leaving England, have ye?"
She hadn't.
Anne felt her eyes go wide. If she hadn't just retched, she would now. Philipa's ugly, evil, twisted face filled her thoughts. For sure she was breeding. Being a maiden didn't mean she was ignorant of the facts surrounding a woman's body. The kitchen at Warwickshire was often ripe with talk about pregnancy and its symptoms. How else had she learned of French kisses? Despair filled her because now there was an innocent babe to think of as well.
But it was replaced by the sight of Brodick waiting in the yard for her. The way he stood so proud and strong. Giving him a child was the greatest gift she might ever bestow on anyone. He was worthy of that.
But he wanted Mary's child, not a bastard half-sibling's child.
"Och now, look at ye. 'Tis a happy time. I've waited so long to see this day. I cannae wait until your belly is plump and round."
Helen chattered away while Anne tried to feel the tiny life growing inside her.
"We needs get the seamstresses to plying their needles at once. No more long stays for you."
Helen turned to reveal a creamy sheet of paper laid out squarely on the writing desk. The ink well was carefully placed in a small cutout made for it so that it would not spill while the cork was removed.
"You must write to the earl. Once a fortnight his messenger will bring you a letter and you may send yers back with him. He'll be so very happy to learn of the babe."
"I shall write, but not just this moment."
Helen shook her head, turning to replace the cork in the jar of ink. "Och, listen to me. Yer belly is heaving. 'Twill pass. We'll send the lads for Agnes."
Anne placed a hand over her mouth, horror filling her. She could not condemn her child to being bastard born.
If she remained at Sterling, that would be what happened. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked at the writing desk. She could not confess who she was. Not now.
Not ever.
Two weeks later a letter arrived as Helen promised. Anne didn't think she had ever been so happy to receive anything. To be sure, her sire never wrote to his wife when he was away at court. For that reason, she had tried not to expect a letter. Brodick was at court after all, and he had important things to attend to. All wives had to endure being second to the monarchs.
There was much to do and she threw herself into the fast pace of spring. There was planting and early harvest, lambs being birthed and soap to make now that the weather was good enough to use the large iron caldrons. They built fires beneath the huge pots and stirred the soap with boat paddles. Time had dragged on, in spite of her best efforts to fill it. She still awoke at night, searching the bed for Brodick. She told herself a hundred times to stop thinking about him, stop longing for him, that it was impractical and even insane to love him.
Her heart refused to listen.
Instead she impatiently saw to making sure the messenger was fed and new clothing brought up for him. She paced while he lingered in his bath, refusing to ask for the letter before she had shown the man good hospitality. When at last the night was creeping over Sterling, he untied his leather bag and handed a sealed parchment to her.
"Oh now, yer nae to read that here."
Helen whisked it out of her grasp before she closed her fingers. "Helen!"
"Nay. Ye listen to me. Wait. 'Twill be much better if ye wait to read it in yer chamber."