A Newfound Land (8 page)

Ian nodded unhappily. “And it’s my bairn.”

“It is?” Alex asked. “How do you know?”

Ian flashed her a green look. “She loves me, only me...”

Alex sighed, let go of Matthew and placed her hand on Ian’s arm. “I just saw her in the woods – with Lars. And they weren’t talking about the weather.”

Ian blinked and looked at her in confusion for some seconds, before comprehension dawned on him.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re just saying that!”

“Are you calling your mama a liar?” Matthew said in a dark voice.

“My mama?” Ian’s voice squeaked up a register. “She’s not my mother; she’s your wife!”

Alex couldn’t help the sound of absolute hurt that escaped her lips.

Ian wheeled and ran.

Chapter 9

Ian came back very late that night, sneaking into the darkened kitchen. Matthew rose from his chair and, in a voice that brooked no discussion, bid his son to sit. Alex served Ian beer and food, and then they sat in silence while he ate.

Once Ian was done, Matthew got up, opened the door to the little lean-to where Fiona slept and told her to join them. Fiona came into the kitchen hesitantly, eyes darting from Alex to Matthew to Ian and back to Matthew. She licked her lips, clasped her hands in front of her and stood silent.

“Ian here has expressed a wish to marry you,” Matthew began in a neutral tone.

Fiona lowered her eyes, peeking flirtingly at Ian from below her lashes. Alex had to close her hands round the urge to slap her, hussy that she was.

“Aye well,” Fiona said, “Ian is a fine man.”

The man in question squirmed, keeping his eyes on his plate.

“Hmm,” Matthew replied, “man or lad, I don’t know at the moment. We don’t like it. I don’t consider you a suitable wife for my son. You’re far too old.”

“Only twenty-five or thereabouts,” Fiona protested.

“Yes, and Ian is seventeen. A boy you’ve known since he was fourteen,” Alex put in with an icy edge.

“Not a boy.” Fiona smirked. “Most certainly a man.”

Matthew brought his hand down on the table, making Fiona jump. “You have seduced my lad, and you stand here and laugh my wife in the face?”

Fiona backed away from his anger, moving crabwise in the direction of Ian, who shifted further away on the bench, keeping his eyes on anything but her.

“I’m with child.” She rested her hand on her stomach.

“Aye, Ian told us,” Matthew said. “And he also told us you’re sure he is the father, despite only having bedded with him a couple of times.”

“It only takes the once,” Fiona said.

Matthew raised his brows. “You’ve been sleeping with other men as well.”

“No!” Fiona shook her head. “I’ve only bedded with him, with Ian – I love him.”

“Ah, yes? And what were you doing off the path to the Waltons today?” Matthew asked.

“The Waltons?” Fiona blushed. “I was nowhere close to Forest Spring.”

“Nay, you were swiving the brother in the forest.”

“Nay!” Fiona twisted her hands together. “That’s not true, Ian, I wasn’t—”

Matthew held up his hand. “You were seen – by your mistress.”

Fiona opened her mouth, closed it again. Ian uttered a strangled sound from the corner into which he had retreated.

“But it isn’t only him, is it?“ Matthew continued. “Do you want me to fetch Jonah?”

Fiona shook her head, looking from Alex to Matthew with beseeching eyes. “It’s Ian’s child. Your grandchild.”

“I doubt that,” Alex said. “I don’t think you’re pregnant at all. And if you are, it happened sometime after my father arrived, seeing as you had your courses the first week he was here.”

Ian’s head snapped up. “She bled?”

“Definitely,” Alex said, looking askance at Fiona.

*

An hour or so later and the kitchen was empty of anyone but her and Matthew. Ian had given Alex a long hug before retiring, a wordless apology for his little outburst earlier, and Alex drifted over to sit in Matthew’s lap. In the hearth, a piece of wood burst into fire, illuminating the large table, the benches, the scrubbed pots and pans that Alex had arranged according to size on the wall closest to the fire. With a hiss the flame collapsed into a glowing red and the enclosed space grew dark, the single source of light the fluttering flame from the tallow candle on the table.

“What will you do about Fiona?” She yawned and snuggled up against him.

“I’ll sell her contract. I’ll set out with her on the morrow.” He threw an irritated look in the direction of Fiona’s room. “I don’t have time for this, not now, not during harvest.”

“We could let her stay; give her one more chance.”

“Would you be comfortable with that?”

“No, and I suppose it would be awful for Ian, but she can at least stay until you ride down for the Michaelmas market. It’s only a month.” She nestled closer. “Do you think I could go with you?” She’d only be four months along at the most, so the ride as such should not be a problem.

“Would you want to?”

Alex nodded, suppressing a yawn. “It’s ages since I was away from here.”

“Well, then you come with me and Ian stays behind to mind his siblings and the farm.” He hugged her close, resting his chin on her shoulder. “And your father,” he added in a tone that indicated he was only half joking.

*

Next morning, Alex stood arms akimbo and laid down the law to a red-eyed Fiona.

“...understood?” she finished, rather disliking herself.

Fiona eyed her with resentment but bobbed her head in assent.

“And let’s hope you’re not pregnant, shall we?” Alex continued, ignoring Fiona’s sullen face. “It will make it that much harder to place your contract.”

Fiona paled, making Alex suspect the stupid girl had been negligent on purpose, so certain she’d snared poor Ian.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Magnus said, his eyes following Fiona’s dejected shape as she crossed the yard. “She’s under contract?”

“Fiona is a bonded servant, which means we’ve bought a number of years of service in return for having reimbursed the captain for her passage. In her case five years, at the end of which she receives a certain amount of money, a set or two of clothes and is free to go.”

“Like a temporary slave,” Magnus said.

“More or less. Matthew is responsible for her during her years of service, and that includes her moral and spiritual welfare, so you can imagine he isn’t thrilled at having her sleeping around – particularly not with his eldest son.”

“As if Ian minded,” Magnus snorted.

“That isn’t the point. What if she’d gotten pregnant? He’d have to marry her then – which she was probably hoping for.”

“Yeah,” Magnus muttered, “how terrible; the fallen woman and the precious eldest son.”

Alex chose not to talk to him for the rest of the day.

*

Two days later, Alex was plucking a hen when several horses came down the lane.

“Jacob? Go and fetch your father,” she said, wondering what Andrew Chisholm and his sons were doing here at this time of the morning. One of the horses had something slung over its back. Alex peered short-sightedly at it as she walked over to greet their neighbours. Was it a girl?

“Oh my God!” Alex reared back. “She’s dead.”

“We know.” Andrew Chisholm’s square features compressed into a scowl. “We’ve been looking for her all night; found her a few miles from here.”

Alex approached the body. Long chestnut hair fell like a curtain towards the ground, baring a narrow little nape. How old could she be? Twelve? Thirteen?

“She’s my miller’s daughter.” Andrew dismounted with a little groan. His sons followed suit.

“Soft in the head, she was,” the eldest Chisholm son, Robert, said. “Wandered the woods on her own whenever she could.” He rested his hand on the thin back and sighed, muttering a greeting to Magnus, who came hobbling over from the stables.

Alex invited them all inside. “We...” She looked at the dead girl. “We can’t leave her like that. It’s irreverent somehow.”

“I’ll take her.” Magnus lifted the girl gently off the horse, for all the world as if she still were alive.

“Put her in the work shed,” Alex said.

“Indians,” Andrew said a while later, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve before serving himself yet another plate of eggs and bread. “Mark my words, this is the work of those accursed savages – no doubt the same band of braves that robbed me and Robert here some months ago.”

“You think?” Alex produced more ham.

“Who else?” Robert snorted.

“As I hear it, they went south,” Matthew said from the doorway, nodding a greeting. “I’m sorry for the lass.”

“Yes, well, perhaps it’s better she’s dead, poor mite.” Andrew belched, poured himself some more beer and sat back. “Damn heathens.”

“Indians?” Magnus entered the kitchen. “No, this was no Indian.”

There was an interruption in the conversation as Magnus was properly introduced, the Chisholm men giving him several curious looks and just as many questions as to how he’d travelled from Sweden to here. Magnus was adequately vague, admitting to having hit his head hard when he fell down the hillside, and so...

“Why do you say it wasn’t an Indian?” Robert asked.

“Unless Indians wear belt buckles and hobnailed shoes... Someone has beaten that poor child to her death – and enjoyed it.” Magnus made a disgusted sound. “Pervert.”

The men trooped off to inspect the body, and when they returned they looked grimmer than before, as if the fact that this was the work of a white man, one of them, somehow made it worse. Not for the girl, Alex sighed. She was as dead as a doornail anyway.

“Could it be...” She broke off. For some reason an image of Lars flitted through her head. You’re being unfair, she chided herself. He’s weird, that’s all.

“Who?” Andrew asked.

“I was just thinking, those four men that I saw abducting the Leslie servants, could it be them?”

“They carry off lasses to sell them, not kill them,” Matthew said. Well, he had a point there, Alex conceded.

“Don’t let her mother see her,” Alex said as the Chisholms made ready to leave. She took hold of Robert’s stirrup. “She doesn’t need to see her like this.” The girl was a patchwork of bruises, here and there with clear imprints of the booted feet that had done this to her.

“No,” Robert said, “and neither does her father.”

“Nay.” Matthew came to stand beside Alex. “No parent should see their bairn like that.” He draped an arm over Alex’s shoulders, holding her to him as the sad little caravan rode off.

“Who would do something like that?” Alex asked.

“A very sick person,” Magnus said from behind them.

“Amen to that.” Alex shivered and pressed closer to Matthew. “Is he still around, do you think?”

“I don’t know, but as of now you’ll not walk about alone.” No discussion, his tone indicated.

Chapter 10

Matthew offloaded his numerous family, bowed in the direction of Elizabeth, and offered Alex his arm. Leslie’s Crossing teemed with people, and in a matter of minutes he’d lost sight of his bairns, his daughters rushing off in one direction, his sons wandering over to inspect Peter Leslie’s latest pride and joy, a right fine stallion.

He looked down at his wife and smiled, thinking she looked quite the picture in her green bodice which was a wee bit too snug over her chest, therefore lifting her breasts in a way that detracted from her overall demureness. Demure? He stifled a chuckle. His Alex had no notion of what that meant. He pressed her hand harder to his side, caught her eyes and winked, liking it how her cheeks and ears went pink.

Thomas intercepted them on their way to the house, and for a couple of minutes they discussed the terrible events surrounding the miller’s daughter. Thomas looked most concerned, eyes travelling over to where his three lasses were standing in a cluster round their mother.

“Twelve, you say?” he said.

“Aye, at most.“ Matthew sighed. “A bairn, Thomas, left ravaged and beaten to a pulp.”

Thomas shook his head, muttered something about finding some more cider, and hurried off.

“Here comes Peter.” Alex nodded in the direction of their host.

“Well, it’s best to get it over with.” Matthew wasn’t looking forward to this conversation and was relieved he’d left Ian at home, not wanting to antagonise more than necessary.

“Do you want me to come along and hold your hand?” she murmured.

Matthew laughed and shoved her lightly towards Elizabeth. “You take care of her, aye?”

“Not fair; she’s much worse than he is.” Still, she did as he bid her, adjusting her hat and clothes as she went.

As he’d expected, Peter wasn’t pleased, frowning for a long time at Matthew, who sat facing him in his office.

“But why? Jenny is a well brought up and handsome girl, is she not?”

“I already told you. Ian feels it would not be a happy match.”

“Hmph!” Peter downed his whisky and banged the tin cup back down on his desk. “What does he know? He’s not yet eighteen! Jenny would make him a dutiful and obedient wife.”

“Aye, I’m sure she would, but he isn’t of the same opinion.” Matthew sipped at his whisky. “I won’t force the lad.”

Peter pulled at his lip. “Jenny will take it badly.”

Matthew wasn’t quite as convinced. From what little Ian had told him, it seemed young Miss Leslie had developed a fancy for her father’s overseer, a German with very little English.

“Surely it can’t be difficult to find a husband for such a pleasant lass,” he said, receiving a black look in return.

“There aren’t that many eligible young men in the vicinity.”

Matthew pretended to think. “But what about Jochum?” he asked, working hard to look as if this was an inspired thought.

“Jochum?” Peter blinked. “He’s my overseer!”

“But unwed.” Matthew slapped his neighbour on the shoulder and exited the room. Some ideas were best left to germinate on their own.

“I understand you know Dominic Jones.” Peter caught up with Matthew halfway across the yard.

“Know him? I had the unfortunate experience of working for him ten years ago, but since then I haven’t seen him – until recently.” And if he had his wishes come true, he’d never see him again.

“He’s asking around about you.”

“He is?” Matthew came to a stop. “And what is it he wants to know?”

“Oh, you know, where you live, how long you’ve been here.” Peter threw him a perceptive look. “It doesn’t please you, this interest.”

“Nay, I can’t say it does.” It made him itch all over, his body hair rising in alarm.

“He’s rich; rich and powerful. You’d best tread carefully around him.”

“And he around me.” Matthew inflected his voice with menace. He mustered a smile, said something about having promised to dance with his wife, and walked off towards the sound of music coming from the barn.

*

“Was it a good party?” Magnus asked the next day.

“Party is not exactly the word I would use; more like a parade ground for the dutiful daughter-in-law.” Alex made a face. “Poor Celia seems totally terrified; of her husband, her new home and her mother-in-law, although not necessarily in that order. And Nathan spent most of the evening avoiding his happily pregnant wife.”

“Pregnant? Already?” Magnus said. “But they’ve only been married what? Two months?”

“Three actually, and as Fiona so helpfully informed us, it generally only takes once.”

Magnus frowned. “And it might come as a huge surprise to you that one can actually have unprotected sex and still avoid pregnancies.”

“Oh, you can? And you would know, having extensive experience of this?”

“Not as such,” he admitted grumpily.

“No, I didn’t think so. Speaking of which, where is our Fiona?”

“Out back.” Magnus waved his hand in the general direction of the privy. “She looked kind of nauseous if you ask me.” The implication of what he was saying struck him the moment he uttered the words. “Oh shit, she’s been looking ill for days.”

“Great. Wait until Matthew finds out.”

Matthew acted with such speed that Magnus realised he’d spent substantial time planning for this eventuality. In less than an hour, he had Fiona agreeing to do as he said, overseeing while Jonah and Fiona signed a marriage contract before assuring them he would make sure their union was registered when he was in Providence come next week.

Magnus stared as Fiona packed her few belongings and followed Jonah out to his room by the stables. Even worse, Fiona was pathetically grateful to Matthew for having sorted out her life, thanking him repeatedly for not throwing her out.

“Throw her out?” Magnus said. “Would he have done that?”

“No.” Alex smiled in the direction of her husband. “But she doesn’t know that.”

“And him? Why does he want to marry her?”

“Jonah? Oh, Jonah’s had his eye on Fiona for well over two years. And they’ve slept together, so the child could be his. Besides, unmarried women are quite the commodity here – and Jonah isn’t the most attractive of men.”

Rather the opposite in Magnus’ opinion – overlarge teeth in a small mouth, narrow shoulders, long arms and a mousy thatch of hair. But he had nice eyes and a beautiful voice, and according to Alex he was hardworking and diligent.

“And now what happens? They live happily ever after?”

Alex looked doubtful. “I’d say Fiona has very little capacity for happiness. But maybe she can learn to be content – at least once in a blue moon.” She stretched, bracing her back against her hands. “Matthew’s promised them a cabin of their own, and even a patch of land for a garden.”

Magnus didn’t reply. His eyes were glued to the unmistakable bulge of her belly. Without a word, he stormed out of the kitchen, making a beeline for Matthew, who was down by the half-finished barn.

“How many more children do you expect her to give you?” Magnus was so angry he had spittle flying in the air.

“I don’t think that’s your business.”

“She’s my daughter! And this is what, your seventh child?”

“She is first and foremost my wife, and it’s not as if I force myself upon her, is it? Not that that is your business either – what happens in the privacy of the bedchamber is between man and wife alone.”

“Privacy? The whole bloody house hears your goings-on.” Magnus was deeply satisfied by the dark flush that crept up Matthew’s cheeks.

“Oh, aye? Well then, we’d best move you to sleep elsewhere. I’ll have you installed in Fiona’s old room before nightfall.” With that Matthew stalked off.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Magnus called after him. To his surprise, Matthew lifted his hand in the air and gave him the finger.

“He’s right. It’s none of your business,” Alex told him once Magnus had cornered her in the kitchen garden. She looked the picture of health, her cheeks pink with exertion, her eyes clear and bright.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Alex, you can’t want another child!”

“I said it’s none of your business.” She went back to her digging.

“But you’ve just turned forty! You might be fertile for another ten years!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Alex sat back on her heels. She brushed at an escaped lock of hair, streaking her face with dirt. “There’s not much I can do about it, is there?”

“Safe sex, abstain, coitus interruptus, oral sex—”

“Oh, shut up!” Alex straightened up and threw her trowel to the ground. “For your information we do a lot of that, okay? But this child is a wanted child – all our children have been wanted children.” She left him where he was and strode over in the direction of where her husband was harnessing the mule.

Matthew saw her coming and turned in her direction.

“Kiss me,” she said once she was close enough.

“Here? Now?” Matthew wasn’t the most demonstrative of men in public.

“Now.”

He gave an embarrassed laugh and tilted his head in the direction of Magnus. “To show him?”

“No,” she said, making him smile at her lie. “Because I want you to.”

“Oh, do you?” He hooked one finger into her apron to pull her closer, brushed his lips across her brow, and placed a finger on her mouth. “I’ll kiss you later, but I won’t kiss you for the sake of an audience.”

“Stupid man,” she grumbled, leaning her head against his chest. “How many men your age have women coming on to them, and tell them no?”

He tenderly put his arms around her and rested his cheek against her uncovered hair. “Not many I imagine, but then I’m an uncommonly fortunate man.” Over her head, he met Magnus’ eyes and grinned.

*

Magnus was beginning to regret coming here. In his head, he’d pictured a happy reunion scene complete with a huge chocolate cake, champagne and a ‘
Welcome Home Magnus
’ banderol fluttering in the wind. He had dreamed of spending hours in deep discussions with Alex, recouping on all these lost years, and instead she was constantly rushing from one task to another, a harried expression appearing on her face when he suggested they sit and talk, take it easy for some hours.

And he hadn’t counted with the children...so many and a constant source of interruption whenever he managed to steal some moments alone with her. Their loud voices made his head ache, their lack of education made him long passionately for Isaac, and now there was another on its way, another source of distraction when he needed her to concentrate on him, goddamn it, because he was dying. He had brain cancer, for God’s sake!

He grimaced in disgust at the tender little scene by the stable door. Another aspect he hadn’t taken into consideration. Alex didn’t need him; all she needed was the tall man with dark hair who was presently holding her to his chest and challenging Magnus with his glinting eyes.

Magnus gouged a hole into the rich, dark earth with his cane. Yet another misconception – he’d imagined all this would be in Scotland, not in bloody humid Maryland, at a time when colonists were scrabbling for a foothold on a continent teeming with woods, dangerous creatures and Indians. He exhaled and limped in the general direction of the house, keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid his son-in-law’s gloating expression.

He came to an abrupt stop at the unfamiliar sight of several pairs of feet, all of them in soft leather moccasins. Bloody hell, real-life Indians!