The Prodigal Son (21 page)

“Beautiful,” he breathed, “so beautiful – and mine.”

He took her nipple in his mouth and suckled.

“Ah!” She gasped, heat rushing from her breasts to her groin. He did it again and her hand fluttered up to his head, fingers threading themselves through his hair. He released her breast, placed his forehead against hers and leaned towards her, forcing her down.

Her head was loud with her pulse, his eyes were so very close and in her belly a living warmth writhed and twisted. His member prodded at the skin on her stomach when he covered her with his body. For a long time they laid like that, not moving, not talking. Brow to brow, nose brushing against nose. His warm breath tickled her cheek, her neck. A feathery sensation when he kissed her, as lightly as a butterfly landing on a rose. Again, and she extended her tongue to lick the contour of his mouth. Matthew smiled and shifted so that he was lying between her legs, his weight a tantalising promise of things to come. Inch by excruciating inch he entered her and patches of heat flew up her chest, her neck. At last; all of him inside of her. His mouth grazed her ear, his hands manacled her wrists.

“Lie still,” he said, “lie very, very still.”

So she did. It wasn’t as if she wanted to do otherwise, not when her man was filling her every pore with his presence.

Chapter 16

For a moment Ian had problems recalling where he was, staring at the unfamiliar panelling on the wall. And then there were arms around his neck and high voices calling his name and all of him went warm at the riotous and loud welcome.

“Enough, then,” Uncle Matthew’s voice cut through the racket. “Your mama’s trying to catch up on her sleep. So shush and get down to breakfast.” He smiled specially at Ian. “Have you any clean clothes?”

Ian looked at his few belongings. “Clean enough I reckon,” he grinned, which made Matthew shake his head.

“I assume your aunt will see you sorted, but until then wear what you have.”

Matthew stuck his head into his bedchamber on his way down. Alex was still sleeping, with Daniel at her side. He smiled at her disarray. She must have fallen asleep while Daniel was still nursing, and Matthew went over to pull quilts and sheets up, stopping to brush a quick kiss across her forehead. One eye half-opened.

“More?” she murmured, her hand fumbling for his.

“You’re insatiable, wife,” Matthew said, pressed his lips to her palm and left her to sleep.

“I don’t want to work in the kitchen garden,” Mark grumbled when Matthew gave Ian and him their chores for the day. “Why can’t I go with you to the mill instead?” He threw Matthew a hopeful look .

“You do as I say, both of you,” Matthew said. He jerked his head in the direction of the vegetable patch. Alex needed a day or so of rest what with the wean being constantly hungry, but unless he set someone else to do it he knew she’d be out in the kitchen garden as soon as she was up.

Ian took Mark by the hand. “Come on then, if we hurry we’ll be done by dinner.”

Mark let himself be dragged away, his eyes bright with envy. Matthew gave him a stern look, watching the lads out of sight before settling Jacob on his shoulders and setting off up the hill, with Rachel gambolling like a spring fevered calf at his side.

Ian surveyed the kitchen garden and sighed. Work, work, everywhere work, and they would be nowhere close to being done by dinner.

“Always Rachel,” Mark said. “Da always takes Rachel everywhere.”

Ian smiled; that wasn’t true. Mostly it was Mark who accompanied Uncle Matthew around the farm, but today wee Mark had himself convinced that all he ever got to do were the boring things, like harvesting carrots and parsnips and digging beds and spreading more manure and… Mark interrupted his whingeing, bit into a carrot and chewed in silence, kicking at the clods of wet earth.

“And Mama is always with Daniel or Jacob.”

“Aye, I know how it is.”

“Do you?” Mark gave him a surprised look.

Ian shrugged, wiping his dirty hands down his breeches. Dark velvet breeches, not at all suitable for this; it would drive Mam wild to see him streaking them with mud and bits and pieces of greenery. The thought pleased him, and he rubbed some more, noting the resulting stains with satisfaction.

“I have a brother,” Ian said sombrely and stretched for a carrot. “Charles.” He grimaced at the name.

“Only one,” Mark told him. “And not a sister – you wouldn’t want a sister like Rachel.”

Ian considered that for a moment and gave Mark a pitying look. Rachel Graham was quite the little baggage.

“So,” Mark said after a while. “What’s he like? Charles?”

Ian made an indifferent sound. “He’s a wean. He stinks and eats and sleeps.”

Mark giggled. “Daniel stinks too, but Mama says he can’t help it.”

“He’s ugly,” Ian said, “looks like a piglet with hair. Red hair, bright red hair.”

Mark agreed that that sounded very ugly. “Mayhap he’ll look like your father when he grows up some,” he said, “and then he’ll be a right bonny lad.”

Ian threw down his half-eaten carrot and stalked off.

“… and I don’t understand,” Mark finished, looking at his mother over the top of his mug.

Alex ruffled his hair. “It’s not easy to be given a new brother. You know that, don’t you?” She smiled down at her eldest, letting her hand linger on his downy cheek. “Ian’s been a single child for almost twelve years, so it’s even more difficult for him.”

And apparently his two brainless parents hadn’t taken that aspect into any consideration whatsoever. That Luke should allow himself to become besotted by this new, guaranteed his, son, she could to some extent understand, but what was Margaret thinking of?

Mark sat in thought for some time before leaning forward to pat Daniel on his head.

“I like my brothers,” he said. “I even like Rachel. Sometimes,” he qualified, making Alex laugh.

“It was a long awaited child, and mayhap the carrying of it was easier for her this time,” Matthew said after having listened to Alex’ little diatribe about Margaret’s failings as a mother. He dug his spoon into the hot stew, blowing before putting it in his mouth.

“Yes, she must’ve had a terrible time of it last time – no idea who the father was. Poor her.”

Matthew tended to be far too understanding of Margaret, making excuses for behaviour that in Alex’ mind deserved a major whipping. Screwing your husband’s brother in your marriage bed, standing by silently while your husband was set up as a traitor… Alex could make this list very long. Plus the woman had the temerity to look stunning. She wiped Rachel’s hands and shooed her out of the door to join her brothers and cousin out in the yard.

“As you make your bed you must lie in it,” she said.

Matthew frowned at her.

Alex just frowned back. “Was it?” she asked, sniffing with delight at her tea. Real tea for a change, a precious half pound Joan had sent down from Edinburgh as Alex’ birthday gift.

“Was what?” Matthew wiped his bowl clean with the last piece of bread and burped.

“Difficult for her – with Ian.”

“Aye, it was, and not only because of the paternity issue. Pregnancy didn’t become her, and as Ian tells it, it was much the same this time as well. Nigh on seven months in bed.”

“Oh dear,” Alex murmured, not even attempting to sound sincere.

Matthew seemed on the point of saying something – probably rather admonishing, given the look on his face – but a high, protesting squeal made him rise and walk out into the yard instead, there to have a serious conversation with his daughter.

“It’s quite unfair, isn’t it?” Alex voiced much later. She yawned and pushed the accounting ledgers away from her, swivelling on her stool to face Matthew.

“Unfair? What’s unfair?”

Alex dropped the last of their few coins back into the worn leather pouch and lobbed it to him. She counted, he carried – in his opinion a fair distribution of tasks.

“That the eldest boy inherits everything.”

“Not everything. Land, aye, but not everything.”

Alex looked round the rather bare parlour. A small table in cherry wood, a somewhat larger beautiful intarsia table that her father-in-law had made, four chairs, three of which had armrests, two stools, an oak chest, one set of hearth guards, two candlesticks in pewter and… well, that was it. Oh, and the sum total of nineteen books, of which one was illegible, two were bibles and one was in Latin. On the floor lay a rug she’d woven out of discarded clothes, and she was quite proud of the fact that she’d manage to create something that pleasing using mainly greys and browns with the odd dash of green and yellow.

“It must be that way,” Matthew said. “A place like Hillview will easily support ten odd tenants and a large family in the big house, but if it’s subdivided generation after generation what remains? Not a working manor, but a sad collection of smallholdings, all too meagre to support even one family.”

“But it’s hard on the number two and three.”

Matthew shrugged. His father had been the eldest of five brothers, he reminded her, one had married a local lass, sole heiress to a small farm, two had joined fighting companies in France and the youngest, still alive and thriving, had been apprenticed to the master of the mint in Edinburgh, over time earning a comfortable living for himself and his numerous family.

“And we’ll set them on their way, Daniel to school once he’s of age, and Jacob we’ll apprentice to a good tradesman.”

“When?” Alex asked with a sinking feeling inside.

“At ten or so; a smith, I was thinking.”

“Oh.” No free choice there either… “But what if he wants to be an artist?”

“An artist?” Matthew’s voice actually squeaked. “You can’t live as an artist.”

“A doctor? A lawyer?”

Matthew smiled and nodded. “Aye, if he wants to be a lawyer that can be arranged – he can clerk for Simon.”

“Fantastic, the sum total of two options; smith or lawyer.”

Matthew gave her a long look. “Mark has no choice at all, he’s born to take over Hillview – just like I was, and my father before me.”

“Well that depends, doesn’t it? On if he’s in fact your eldest son.” She said it so matter-of-fact it took some time for Matthew to register what she’d said, and when he did he groaned.

“He is, in the eye of the law Mark is my heir.”

Alex hid her eyes by bending down to pick up her next piece of mending. “And in your heart? In your conscience?” she asked, squinting as she threaded the needle.

“We’ve had this conversation before. It doesn’t matter what I feel or think. Luke has taken him as his own.”

“But that was before he had Charles.” It gnawed at her, constantly she thought about it; a red-haired baby, a throwback on his sire, and what would Luke do with Ian now that he had a son he knew for sure was his?

“Ian is his son!” Matthew stood up so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

“Good. As long as you remember that, no matter what Luke decides to do.” She swore when the needle pricked her thumb. Matthew threw himself out of the room and into the night, slamming the door behind him.

He slept in the hayloft, making a point of not entering the kitchen until most of the household had had their breakfast. Alex served him eggs and ham, placed the bread within reach and sat down by the hearth, jiggling a fretting Daniel on her lap.

“All night,” she sighed, “he’s been like this the whole bloody night.” He grunted, keeping his eyes on the plate. Alex undid her shift and tried to settle Daniel to eat but he arched back, small arms flailing. “Suit yourself,” she muttered, and went back to bouncing him silent.

He snuck her a look; she looked tired, no doubt due to the wean, but there was a set to her mouth, a line he recognised from the few previous times they’d quarrelled. She didn’t like it when they slept apart, and nor did he, but this matter with Ian had his brain whirling, and he’d needed time to think – alone.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You don’t know what?” Alex dipped her finger into the honey jar and stuck it into Daniel’s mouth, effectively cutting off his whining.

“I don’t know what I’ll do – or even should do – if Luke renounces him.” He swallowed at the look in her eyes. “He’s mine,” he went on, hearing how belligerent he sounded. “And he’s born in wedlock; he should inherit.”

“Great. Make sure you let me know to what trade you intend to apprentice our boy then. And it best be soon, before he gets too fond of his promised future as master of Hillview.” Alex slammed her hand down so hard on the table that both Matthew and Daniel jumped. “Here, take care of your son.” She dumped Daniel in his arms. “Enjoy him, Mr Graham, because let me tell you I’m not about to give you anymore. Bastard!” With that she stalked off, brushing a surprised Mark aside.

For an instant Matthew considered catching up with her and dragging her screaming back into the house. How dare she speak to him like that! His fingers twitched and he clenched them hard in an effort to control this dangerous feeling. God, he wanted to… but nay, if he did that once to Alex she’d be lost to him forever, she’d never forgive him for raising his hand to her. He handed a bawling Daniel to Sarah and walked off towards the barn, kicking in the direction of the grey tabby.

Throughout the morning, Matthew worked where he could see the wooded slopes, hoping to intercept Alex when she came back down. The sun crept towards its zenith, from the kitchen came the smell of boiled fish, and still there was no sign of Alex.

“Where’s Mama?” Rachel tugged at Matthew’s sleeve.

“Not here, aye?” Matthew snapped, trying to block out the sounds of his hollering son. He resumed his hammering, driving in nail after nail with strong, even strokes. Sarah was walking back and forth in the yard just as he’d told her to, assuming the sound of Daniel’s crying would bring Alex home. She’d been at it for some time now, and Matthew was getting angry with his irresponsible wife. What was she thinking of to leave a hungry wean like this? Some minutes later he saw Alex appear from the direction of the mill, walk over to Sarah and lift Daniel into her arms before disappearing inside. He let the hammer drop to the ground and followed her.