In Bed With A Stranger(43)

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."