In Bed With A Stranger(5)

Anne shook her head. "Lady Mary is married by proxy to a Scot, not I. That is what you saw."

"No, I saw you. I saw him riding into the lower courtyard looking for you. He has midnight eyes."

There was a part of her that was tempted to listen to her sister, but  Anne silenced it. Life was hard. Taking solace in girlish dreams  wouldn't help her. All that would do was make it harder to shoulder  whatever burden Philipa placed upon her shoulders next. Joyce and the  rest of the household staff could dream of love but not her. Bonnie  would learn that soon enough. Their father's blood was as much curse as  blessing and there was no way that she might ever have a true love.

None.

McJames land

"You're in a foul temper and that's for sure. I thought this was what ye wanted."

Brodick McJames snorted at his brother. Cullen snickered softly in return.

"I cannae marry for my own desires, Cullen. Her land borders ours. The  dowry will increase McJames' land. And it's nae just land; it's fertile,  rich farms with water. If her father has no more legitimate children,  the entire estate will someday pass into our hands."

"Well, I still say ye sound mighty angry about it considering how good  it is for everyone." Cullen reached for an oat cake but he didn't bite  into it. "Maybe it's the bedding that has you so worried. You know,  Brother, not every man is as blessed as I am. You shouldnae be envious  of my skill with the lasses. That's a sin."

"So is bragging."

Cullen flashed his teeth at him. "Not so, I'm telling the truth. My cock is … "

"Save it for the lasses, Brother."

Cullen laughed as did a few of the men sitting nearby. Brodick stood up,  pacing away from their campsite. Cullen had the right of it; he was in a  sullen mood for sure. Fetching his bride should have been a duty that  he took to in a lighter frame of mind.

It was a fine match, to be sure.

Good for his people, good for his children, but that didn't change the  fact that he was dreading taking an English court lady back to his home.  He'd been to the English court and would cheerfully go to his grave  without ever setting foot in the place again. The women were conniving,  deceitful creatures with more paint on their faces than the highlanders  wore into battle. The dresses they wore were great hulking creations  that hid the natural shape of a female, taking away any interest he  might have had for them. Except for their breasts. His temper flared as  he considered the way those court ladies had taken to painting their  nipples because their dresses were cut so low that you could glimpse  them. He wasn't a jealous man by nature but neither would he wear the  horns of cuckold. His English wife would display her nipples only to his  eyes.

And that only fouled his temper further. Looking down onto the border,  he cursed under his breath. In spite of their land joining, he and his  intended bride were as different as night and day to one another. He  wouldn't allow her to behave shamefully and that would make her hate  him. Their union  held little hope of being peaceful much less  pleasurable. Being the eldest, it was his duty and it weighed his  shoulders down.         

     



 

And Cullen didn't know why he was foul tempered. With a snort, Brodrick  kicked a rock. He was saddled by tradition to take a wife who would  enhance his peoples' lives. It was his lousy luck that that woman was  going to be discontented in his home.

But he was the Earl of Alcaon.

Pride filled him as he drew a deep breath. Being an earl meant more than  lowered heads as he passed. It was something he'd spent years earning  the right to wear. His northern borders weren't as peaceful as his  southern ones. When his father had taken an ax to his leg during a  skirmish, it had fallen to Brodick to lead the McJames' retainers. In a  lot of ways, he preferred battle to marriage. Stiffening his resolve, he  looked down onto the English land that was shortly to become his.

In a way marriage was exactly like battle-only the strong became  victorious. He'd claim his English bride and plant a McJames son in her  belly so that the dowry would remain his. He was the McJames, a McJames  who didn't know how to lose.

Warwick Castle

"Lady Mary is taking a bath and you're to attend her."

Brenda the cook flung her words over the hissing of water as it was  poured into twin copper jugs sitting on top of the stove. She poked the  fire in the belly of the huge stove, adding a thick log.

"Wait for the water."

Rubbing her eyes, Anne looked at the stove. The flames mesmerized her  tired eyes as she resisted the urge to let them close for a few moments  of needed rest.

"Here now. No napping for you."

Anne laughed. "Oh 'twas a late night but a dear one."

Brenda grinned. The water boiled and Anne placed a wooden yoke over her shoulders to carry the two pots.

"Off with you and don't scald yourself."

Keeping her steps tiny, Anne hurried up the stairs to the top floor. The  ladies of the house bathed in their chambers, which called for the  hauling of water. Steam rose from the copper jugs as she knocked on the  servants' door that would allow her to enter the lady's chamber from a  small side entrance. It was even a secret from most of the castle  inhabitants, only known to those the housekeeper or cook allowed to be  told.

"Enter."

Mary was still completely dressed. Anne stared at her in confusion as  she took the hot water toward the tub waiting near the fire. Lengths of  linen were warming over a rack and more jugs of water were lined up on  the floor for rinsing. Costly French soap was sitting on a silver tray,  awaiting the lady.

"Bar the door, Mary."

Mary looked as shocked as Anne did when Philipa spoke. The lady frowned  at her daughter. "Hurry up. We need secrecy here. Not whispers among the  staff. Unless you have changed your mind, Daughter, in which case, you  may bathe."

Mary shook her head and ran toward the door. She dropped the thick  wooden beam across it before turning back around to stare at Anne.

"Dump that water, Anne."

"Of course … " Anne clamped her jaw shut as she realized that she was  speaking. Philipa's eyes narrowed as a faint crimson colored her face.  Anne reached for a jug, wrapping part of her skirt over the hot handle  as she waited for the lady to blister her ears.

Nothing but the sound of water filled the chamber. Anne reached for the second jug and poured the hot water into the tub.

"Anne, take that dress off and get in."

Turning around, Anne stared at the lady, certain she had misunderstood.  Philipa was staring straight at her. The mistress glared at her with  firm authority.

"You're to bathe, Anne. Mary and I will help you."

"Here?"

Anne didn't care if her voice wasn't properly smooth and meek. Philipa was clearly soaked with wine.

The lady snickered. It was an eerie sound that sent a shiver down her  spine. There was a smile on her lips as Philipa clapped her hands.

"Yes, here. You will get in that bath and wash from head to toe. You are  finally going to earn every silver shilling I have been forced to spend  on your mother and her whelps. Disrobe. Now."

Anne stared at the woman. Hate was an ugly thing and it distorted  Philipa's face. She now understood why the lady looked nothing like her  portrait; her soul was rotten from hatred.

"Disrobe, Anne. You are going to take Mary's place with this Scots earl."         

     



 

"I'll do no such thing." Anne spoke simply because shock kept her from tempering her response.

Mary gasped at the tone of her voice but Anne spared her little  attention. Philipa smiled at her. A slow curving of her lips that sent a  shiver down Anne's spine.

"You think not? You shall do my bidding or I shall turn your mother out. Tonight."

Anne gasped, horror flooding her. "My father will not allow such a thing."

"My husband is not here and if I turn your mother out, she'll be dead long before he returns."

Raising a hand to cover her mouth, Anne hid her disgust behind it. "That's murder, my lady. A deadly sin."

"I call it justice." Philipa shook with her rage. She recovered and  raised an eyebrow. "It is a simple thing to avoid. Mary is gently bred  and has no stomach for a man's touch. You, on the other hand, are the  spawn of a light skirt so enduring a few nights with a man using your  flesh should not be too difficult for you."

"My mother is a leman. She has no other lovers."

Philipa waved her hand, dismissing her words. "If she's a woman of some  character, all the better. I expect that you might have been raised with  some sense of responsibility if your mother is as honorable as you  say."

Philipa reached for the strap holding Anne's linen cap in place. She  popped the button open and pulled it off her head. "You will bathe and  dress as I direct you."

"I cannot." Anne's voice did not shake only because of a lifetime of not arguing with the lady of the house.