In Bed With A Stranger (3 page)

“Take yourself up to the books and remain there.”

Anne lowered her head because she didn’t trust her voice to be smooth or anywhere near respectful. Lady Mary getting married wasn’t any reason for the mistress to turn sour. Anyone with half a wit in their head had been expecting such an announcement for years. Having to be dragged home by her father—now that was reason for worry. Mary was fortunate her new husband didn’t know what a brat she was; otherwise she just might gain her wish and escape consummating the marriage. But that would brand her a spinster and the gossips would have a heyday with it. Suspicion would grow as everyone wondered why Mary was so loath to commit to a marriage that would gain her a better estate than her mother governed. With her dowry to join with her husband’s land, their children would live a better life than they did. It was a grand match.

Lady Mary was simply too childish to understand how food appeared on the table when she sat down for supper. Anne knew where the grain for every loaf of bread came from. She knew when the harvest was slim or the sheep not lambing as often as they should. It took a keen wit to balance everything and ensure there was enough stock to see the castle population through the winter. If you sold too much, there would be empty bellies. A true noblewoman was the mistress of the castle, shouldering the responsibilities of running the estate.

“What did she want?”

Joyce was hiding around the corner, the senior housekeeper wringing her apron as she waited to hear what had happened after she left the chamber.

“She ordered me to the books. I’d wager she plans to raid the coffers again for Mary’s wardrobe.”

“That tongue of yours came from your father. Only a noble would talk that way. Better have a care, girl; the mistress has no love for you.”

“I know it well.”

Joyce softened her stern look. “Oh, my lamb, I’m sorry as can be. She’s a mean-spirited one. You’ve been a faithful daughter. Your father should be proud of the way you give that sour cow her deference.”

Anne felt her face brighten. Her father was home. At least she might enjoy the secret that he’d be in her mother’s chambers tonight. He always came when he was home, much to Philipa’s disdain. Sometimes Anne suspected that he did it to annoy his fine-blooded wife.

After sunset

Anne hurried along the corridor; her duties had kept her late tonight. A smile brightened her face when she neared her mother’s chamber. It was on the far end of the castle, facing north. It could be a bit chilly in the winter but Ivy refused to leave it even when the earl suggested it.

Ivy didn’t want trouble. Her family had to live with Philipa while the lord was away at court. The lady had given her the chamber, so she would be content in it. Winter chill or not.

Anne opened the door. Yellow light shone out from several candles.

“There’s my girl. My wife claims you’re the worst maid she’d ever had to tolerate.”

“Good evening, Father.” Anne lowered her head, for once meaning the respectful gesture. Her sire nodded with approval. His face was unreadable for a long moment before he spread his arms wide.

Anne flew into his arms, laughing as he squeezed her tight. He released her and thumbed her nose.

“You’re a good girl to not complain. Nothing pleases my wife but ’tis not your fault.”

“I promise to try harder tomorrow, Father.”

The earl smiled. “I know you shall. Just as I know that Philipa will still be unsatisfied. But I am not here to talk about my wife.”

He laughed as he reached for Ivy. Drawing her close, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “I have missed you all very much.”

“Tell us about court, Father.” Bonnie, her parents’ youngest child, eagerly awaited her father’s tales.

The earl held up a thick finger. “I suppose I might tell you about the mask the Earl of Southampton presented last week…”

Bonnie wiggled with excitement. Anne enjoyed watching her younger sister. She reached for a dried fruit sitting on a plate. The humble table that often held only porridge and whey tonight offered fruits, scones and small beer. Brenda must have snuck the fruit tarts out of the kitchen in response to the tongue lashing Philipa had given her that morning. Such treats were only made for the mistress of the house but since the lady of the manor didn’t know the first thing about how to prepare a meal, her servants could retaliate by using more than they needed. Philipa would have a fit if she witnessed Anne’s children eating the same fine fare that was presented to her and Mary.

That fact made the tarts taste so much better.

Anne tried to reprimand herself for thinking so meanly but failed.

The rich fare made for a holiday humor but it was her father’s attention that all the occupants gorged on. The chamber was lit well into the night, laughter spilling beneath the doorjamb. When Anne finally sought her bed, her heart was full.

No, Philipa’s insults could never puncture such love as Anne had from her father. The mistress of the house might believe herself powerful but she could not break the bond Anne’s sire had with her.

Everyone had something distasteful to bear in life. Philipa’s disdain was hers to bear. It was nothing to worry about. It was, frankly, not important at all.

Sunrise

The Earl of Warwickshire swung up into his saddle with as much skill as any man riding with him. There were no fine clothes on him, but good English wool to keep the chill at bay. Anne watched from a second-floor window, the shutters pushed open, her sister Bonnie sharing the last view of their father.

“Do you think Father will bring you back a husband next time?”

Bonnie, at fourteen, was still unaware of the harsher realities of being born out of wedlock. Of course, the entire family went to great lengths to shelter her. Bonnie would grow up soon enough.

“I don’t know, sweet, but I will try not to worry. Father always takes care of us.”

Bonnie laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. “I think he shall bring you a knight. One who earned his spurs doing a noble deed for the queen and she dubbed him a knight with her own hands.”

Bonnie sighed, lost in girlish foolishness. Anne couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. Even she liked to believe that there was happiness for everyone. Tugging on Bonnie’s hair, she smiled at her.

“Maybe that knight is waiting for you to grow up.”

Bonnie’s eyes glittered as her chin dropped and her mouth hung open in surprise. “Do you really think he might?”

“I do. Every town from here unto London knows what a treasure you are. You will likely have to choose between suitors.”

“You are teasing me.” Bonnie’s lips twitched. “That isn’t very nice. I might become vain.”

“Now, sweet, I am but joining you in your daydream. You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you?”

Bonnie lifted a hand, waving to the earl. Their sire spurred his mount and started for the outer gate. Anne left her hands on the wooden window casing because she knew that her sire would not turn to look back. He never did. Philipa and Mary stood on the front steps, in their place as the ladies of the house. Her father never looked back at them when he left.

“You will have a husband, Anne, I dreamed it last night.”

Anne pulled the shutter closed, ensuring the lock was secure. Casting a glance down the hallway and back the other way, she shook her head at her sister.

“Bonnie, you know what Mother has told you about your dreams.”

Bonnie refused to be contrite. She raised her chin high in stubborn display.

“Well, I did dream it and I’m only telling you because you’re the one he’s coming for. By next spring you will have a baby growing in your belly. It will be a boy born before harvest moon. I saw it. Do not fear, you will not die.”

A shiver went down her spine as Anne stared at her sister. Bonnie had the sight. The whole family knew it and tried to cover it up. There were men who burned people at the stake for less. With the queen so old, the local magistrates wielded their power with iron fists.

“You told no one else?”

Bonnie shook her head. “You know I promised Mother I wouldn’t talk about my dreams. Only it was about you, and Mother did say no one outside the family, so I haven’t broken my word.”

“Very good, sweet, make sure you hold your tongue. Knights don’t like women who act like ravens, chattering all day long.”

“But he is coming for you, Anne. I saw him on a black steed. He has a huge sword that he wears on his back like the Scots we saw at the faire last spring.”

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.”