A Rip in the Veil (38 page)

*

They threw themselves back into their respective chores over the coming weeks. Alex rarely saw Matthew during the day, and it took some time before she caught on to the fact that he seemed to be avoiding her on purpose.

Once she did, she began to plan for random encounters only to verify that it took him but a couple of minutes before he mumbled something about having to see to the calf, or repair the storing sheds, or do something about the loose tine on his pitchfork.

He’d kiss her, pat her behind, before he hurried away, and she watched him thoughtfully, trying to understand what it was he was keeping from her. Not that she didn’t have a pretty good idea.

A long walk in the woods confirmed her suspicion. Margaret was still in residence, although she seemed very ill at ease when she saw Alex.

“What do you want?” Margaret was washing her hair, sitting outside in only her shift and a shawl. Even with wet hair, the bloody woman looked stunning.

“Why are you here? Why aren’t you with your husband somewhere? Preferably very far from here?”

“He’s on his way to Holland, to meet with the king.”

“Not king yet.”

“No, but soon,” Margaret said.

She produced a comb and began to unravel her damp hair, turning her back on Alex.

There was a breaking sound, and Ian appeared from among the shrubs. He came to a halt when he saw Alex, a shy smile appearing on his face.

“Hi,” she said to this miniature Matthew.

“Mistress,” he bowed, both hands cupped tight over something.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“For my Mam,” he said, “look Mam.”

Margaret smiled down at her son who opened his hands to release a white butterfly. She threw Alex a look.

“Still here?”

Alex raised her brows. “This is my home, not yours. And I want you to leave, as soon as possible.”

Matthew came to the table that evening with a thunderous expression on his face. He barely ate, drinking large quantities of beer instead, and once the meal was concluded he told Alex that he wished to speak to her, and stalked off in the direction of his study.

She was humiliated by his tone, and chose to remain where she was. If he wanted to talk to her, then he could bloody well sit down beside her, not request her presence in his office as if she were an errant child.

“Didn’t you hear?” he sounded very cold, standing in the doorway. Mrs Gordon threw him a look and scuttled off to her own room.

“You wanted to talk to me, or rather tell me off, and you made sure everyone at the table knew that, didn’t you?” Alex stood and moved over in the direction of the hallway. “I’m going to bed. If you have something to say, you might just as well tell me now.”

“It’s not your place, nor your right, to order people off my land.”

“Oh dear, has Margaret been telling tales?” She took a step towards him. “But that would mean that you’ve seen her.”

“Of course I have, she came to find me, all in tears.”

“Poor, poor, Margaret, did you perhaps hold her in your arms and shush her? Take the opportunity to soothe those restless ghosts of yours?”

“I did no such thing!” He glared at her.

“Really? But a hug perhaps, you know, a comforting little squeeze no more?” Matthew went a dusky red all over. “Yeah; I thought so. It’s very simple, either she goes or I do. Take your pick.” She pushed by him and up the stairs, slammed the door hard and shoved the bolt into place.

*

Next morning he cornered her on the way to the privy, took hold of her arm and led her out of hearing distance from the curious audience consisting of Sam, Robbie and Gavin. She had no idea where he’d slept, but assumed he’d bedded down in his study or in the loft. Frankly, she didn’t give a shit.

“You won’t lock me out of my bed, ever again,” he shouted at her, eyes golden in the early sunlight. “I’ll never have my wife do that to me again.”

“At least I was alone in there, not like her, screwing your brother! And let go of my arm, you idiot, you’re hurting me.” He gave her a rough shake and let go, sending her tumbling to the ground.

“Fine,” she said as she got to her feet. “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.” He pulled her close, wrapping an arm hard round her. “Please listen.”

She shrugged; she really didn’t have much choice, pinned as she was to his chest.

“I gave her my word. I promised I wouldn’t throw her out.”

How touching. Bastard! And how about discussing it with her first, hey?

“Well then it seems you’ve made up your mind, right? So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and pack.”

“Alex! You’re being unfair. I can’t just put them out, where would they go?”

Alex thought about that for a moment. “I have no idea. But neither do I care.” She felt a twinge saying that, thinking of Ian. “She has a husband. Isn’t it enough that she cheated on you, connived in sending you to jail – excuse me, to hang, but unfortunately for them someone felt like being lenient – lied to you about your son, do you also have to support her?”

He let go of her and took a step back. “She saved my life that night back in Cumnock. If it hadn’t been for her, Luke would have killed me.”

“She did?”

He nodded and scratched at his head. “She begged him not to kill me. And he listened.”

“Oh.” All the anger ran out of her, leaving her drained. She dropped down to sit and Matthew followed suit.

“If you insist I’ll ask her to leave, but I ask you to let them stay – not for her sake, but for the lad’s.”

Alex did not at all feel like being generous. She wanted Margaret gone, she wanted the living reminder of the fact that she’d been Matthew’s wife gone. She exhaled loudly.

“I don’t like it.”

Matthew’s mouth quirked into a little smile. That was rather apparent, he told her, and he had to concede she had the right of it. She glanced at him and then away.

“What if Luke shows up? He will, sooner or later, and what if you run into each other?” Or if he walks into me…Her guts tightened into a knot, and she closed her eyes, squishing down her lids until all she saw was bright red.

“I’ll tell her it’s a prerequisite. She may remain here as long as he stays away.”

Alex found that a dubious comfort, but gave a small nod.

“And you keep well away from her, Matthew.”

He bowed his head in acquiescence.

Entering the kitchen, Alex was attacked by the scents of porridge and honey, eggs and warm bread. It made her want to throw up, and she concentrated on breathing through her mouth. She sat down on the bench beside Matthew and shook her head in a no at the extended plate. Mrs Gordon studied her for a moment and smiled, dark eyes glinting.

“You’re breeding.”

Matthew looked at Alex, letting his eyes slide over her breasts.

“I think so, but its early days yet.” Alex hadn’t wanted to say anything before she was absolutely certain, and gave Mrs Gordon an irritated look. “I was planning on telling him myself.” She stormed out of the kitchen before she burst into tears.

*

“You’d best go after her,” Mrs Gordon said, grinning at Matthew. He regarded her calmly and tore off another piece of bread.

“It’ll keep. I’ll go and find her after breakfast.” Inside he was loud with joy, but surprised that he hadn’t noticed. The last few weeks of tension around Margaret must have made him unobservant, and it struck him that he hadn’t really seen her naked since they got back from Cumnock – not to properly look at.

He found her on the hill, standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes fixed on the endless miles of moor spread before her.

“How far along are you?” he asked, hugging her from behind.

“Two months.”

He counted in his head; a January babe.

“It makes me very glad.” He turned her in his arms, fiddled with her bodice, her shift, and eased the cloth down until her breasts were uncovered. Yes, they were heavier, and when he breathed on them, her nipples prickled, dark against her pale skin. “I should have noticed,” he said, rearranging her clothes. “But I’ll take my time with you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He smiled at her disappointment and let his fingers travel up her throat and tease at her earlobes. Her eyes unfocused, her lips parted and he kissed her, a long warm kiss.

“Tonight,” he repeated once they came up for air. One swift caress and he walked off, leaving her burning for him. He liked that.

*

What to begin with had been something that made Matthew laugh and shake his head in amused exasperation, had become something he looked forward to, whether in winter or in summer.

Every Saturday, Alex insisted that they should have a bath, and when Matthew and Rosie protested at the work involved in heating all that water and filling the wooden hip bath upstairs, she had decided that bathing would be done in the kitchen, after supper. In winter, she’d light candles and spread the linen towels to heat in front of the fire, and then she’d wash her way up Matthew’s limbs in a way that covered both of them with soap suds before she was done.

But today it was a summer evening, and he saw her make her way down the path towards the little eddy pool. He didn’t need to be there to know that she’d begin by finding a willow twig and clean her teeth. And then she would… He hurried his way through the last of his chores, ran his hands through his hair, and strolled off after her.

He liked to watch her swimming. She was like an otter, graceful and fast, diving into the deep end and surfacing a long way out before she flipped on her back to float. She did a backwards somersault, offering him an interesting view of her dark pubic triangle, and swam towards the shore. He stood up from where he’d been sitting and came down to the water’s edge.

“Hi,” she said and pointed at the pot of soap she’d placed on a nearby rock. “Will you help me wash my hair?”

He lathered her hair into a cap of white foam and towed her out into the deep to rinse it. Then it was her turn to wash him, and somehow things ended up as they often did, with him only half washed but terribly aroused. Her breasts bobbed in the water when she leaned back to float away from him, her lower part anchored to his. He stood on the pebbled bottom and made love to his wife as the summer twilight turned to night, wondering if in the darkness of her womb it was a son that lay waiting to be born.

Chapter 31

Simon looked very grim when he and Joan rode in a few weeks later. In his leather satchels he carried letters for Matthew and a new book. Matthew handled the book reverently, turning it back and forth between his hands.

“What? A new Bible?” Alex asked Simon in a low voice. The Grahams were prickly when it came to digs at their religion, and it was a comfort to both Simon and Alex to recognise a kindred spirit in each other.

“Nay, a book of poems.” Simon rolled his eyes.

Alex brightened. The few books in the house left quite something to be wished for when it came to light reading, and the thought of reading poems – any poems – seemed a welcome change.

Simon tugged at Matthew’s sleeve, the grim expression back on his face, and the two men disappeared in the direction of the barn, leaving Alex and Joan alone.

“What’s the matter?” Alex asked.

“Simon heard this incredible story, about how three would be robbers found the tables turned on them. Two died, killed by a lass.”

Alex’s throat dried up. “Really? Sounds unbelievable to me; how could one woman possibly overcome two men on her own?” Not one single tell-tale squeak, she noted with some pride.

Joan held her eye a bit longer before nodding.

“The third robber is in the custody of Captain Leslie. He’ll hang, but the shadow of the approaching gibbet has made him very voluble, and he has been spreading this tale to anyone who will listen. Many do.” Joan slipped her hand under Alex’s arm and steered her in the direction of the garden. “It’s best you don’t come to Cumnock for a while.”

“Me? But…”

“She was a foreign lass, he says; a lass with hair as short as a lad’s and strange blue breeches.”

Alex shook out her full skirts and shrugged.

*

Mrs Gordon came to find her that afternoon.

“Pie?” she asked. Alex looked down at her basket, full of early raspberries. A pie would be very nice.

Mrs Gordon sat down beside her on the bench and, in an affectionate gesture, took Alex’s hand.

“I heard yon Mr Melville talking to the master, about the robber and his story, aye?”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Mrs Gordon looked at her for a long time. “I hope you burnt them, those strange breeches of yours.”

Alex didn’t know what to say.

“I won’t tell, but the description he gave of a strange lass with short hair and odd breeches, well, we both know, no? And then there’s the knife wound in the master’s shoulder, just where the robber says it should be. So what happened?”

There was no lying to those glittering black eyes, and Alex told her the truth, twisting with embarrassment at Mrs Gordon’s admiring expression.

“You fought them with your bare hands?”

“Mostly feet.”

Mrs Gordon chuckled. “You know, the first time I saw you I thought you were a fairy. Then I took you for a gypsy, but you left me payment for what you took, and no fairy or gypsy would do that.” She regarded Alex piercingly. “But you’re very strange. You can’t knit nor spin, you’ve never butchered a lamb —”

“Yes, I have! We did it together, remember?”

“Aye, and you looked fit to throw up when you were told to rinse the guts clean.”

“Well you know, in Sweden —”

Mrs Gordon laughed and shook her head. “Nay, lass; my brother’s a sailor and has been to Gothenburg several times. But never has he told me of girls in breeches and with short hair. They seem to be like us, no?”

Alex attempted a derisive snort. “Gothenburg! That’s not really Sweden. I come from the far, far north.”

“I don’t believe you, I think you carry secrets that you can’t share, and I won’t push. But you must be careful, lass.” Mrs Gordon braced her hands against her knees and stood. “I like you, Alex Graham, and I’ll stand by you.” She gave Alex a perceptive look. “You had no choice. Had you not killed them, it would have been you and the master dead.”