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  “There, lambkin, ye were braw, and ye gave me much pleasure. I gave ye pleasure, too, for ye told me so.” He stroked her silken head. “Dinna greet now, lassie. ’Tis over and done wi’. I will nae hurt ye again, Flanna Leslie. Sleep now.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She was astounded by the comfort his arms about her and the small kiss gave her. Surprised she should be such a foolish creature and weep like every female she had always scorned. Still, she snuggled into his embrace, reveling in the masculine scent of him, and closed her eyes.

  Patrick smiled in the darkness as he felt her relax against him and her breathing grow even as sleep overcame her. He had married her for her lands, but perhaps he had gotten more of a bargain than he anticipated.

  Outside the bedchamber door, Lachlann Brodie smiled triumphantly at his eldest son, Aulay. “ ’Tis done,” the old man said, satisfied. “He canna deny her now.”

  Chapter 4

  “Lady! Lady!”

  Her arm was being pulled insistently. Flanna slowly awoke, swimming up from the depths of a very deep sleep.

  “Lady!” Aggie’s young voice pleaded with her.

  “What is it?” Flanna finally managed to say, but her eyes were still tightly shut. She burrowed back down into the featherbed.

  “Yer husband says ye must arise. He would be gone as soon as possible, lady,” Aggie said. “A storm is brewing and threatens to be a hard one. Angus and I are ready to leave. We only wait on ye. The old man wants the bedsheet, lady.”

  Her husband? Her husband! The events of the previous day and night crashed down upon her. “Bring me hot water,” she said, rolling over, drawing the coverlet with her to cover her nakedness.

  “I already hae,” Aggie answered, “and I hae laid out clean clothing for ye, lady.”

  Flanna arose, and Aggie blushed at her mistress’s nudity. Ignoring her, Flanna said, “Take the sheet to my father and tell him the marriage has been well and truly consummated. Then bring me something to eat. I’ll nae go down into the hall to be leered at by the whole damned family. When I leave this chamber, I will leave Killiecairn. Tell my lord to eat while he can, Aggie.”

  Her eyes widened at the large, bloody stain on the bedsheet she had just removed from the bed, Aggie nodded silently and hurried off.

  Flanna looked about the room. There was nothing to indicate Patrick Leslie had ever been there. But he had. She smiled to herself. The coupling was one part of marriage she was going to enjoy, particularly when she finally learned how to do her part to please him. He was a strange man, her husband. Proud to the point of arrogance, but kind. Flanna knew Patrick Leslie had, indeed, been kind to her last night. He might have put her on her back and taken her virginity coldly. Instead, he had tried to ease her fears and make the experience a pleasant one for her. She was grateful and would tell him so. She had never thought to be a wife. She hadn’t really ever wanted to marry, but now she was wedded and bedded. Still, Patrick had promised not to enslave her like her brothers’ wives.

  “I must be a good wife,” she said softly to herself. “Ailis is right. I know how to keep a house. At Glenkirk I’ll have servants to do my bidding.” She took the washrag Aggie had left for her, quickly washing her face and hands. She rinsed her mouth with water and turned to dress. It was then she saw the dried blood staining her thighs. She felt her cheeks redden and, taking the cloth from the basin, vigorously scrubbed the blood away. Her woman’s place felt suddenly sore. She gently bathed it as well, staring half-horrified at the water in the basin, now turned brown.

  She drew on a pair of knit stockings, her green wool breeches, a white cotton shirt, and finally her doeskin jerkin. After yanking on her worn boots, she walked back over to the basin where Aggie had left her hairbrush. Flanna vigorously brushed her long hair, then braided it into a single thick plait. She stuffed the brush into her pocket and taking up her blue cap put it on her head. She glanced about the little room that had been hers most of her life. Then without a backward look she departed it. Aggie had not returned with the food, which meant her father wanted to see her and suspected her plan to leave Killiecairn quickly. Annoyed, and not just a little hungry, she hurried into the hall.

  It was even as she had suspected. They were all there. The women smirked, certain that proud Flanna had now been tamed. The men would not meet her eyes, but for her father, who gave her a hard and assessing look. He nodded to her, indicating she seat herself on his left hand. Flanna sat down, letting her sisters-in-law serve her. A bowl of oat stirabout was placed before her. She reached for the pitcher of golden cream, spilled some on the porridge, and silently ate it down. She reached for the cottage loaf and tore off a piece, buttering it with her thumb. A piece of hard, yellow cheese was offered her on the end of a dirk. Her eyes met those of her husband, and he smiled faintly as she took the cheese and put it atop the bread and butter. Her goblet was filled with—she sipped at it—wine. Wine was not usually served with the morning meal. When she had finished her meal she sat silently.

  Finally her father spoke. “Ye hae done well, lassie,” Lachlann Brodie told his only daughter approvingly. “Yer husband says yer a braw lassie. I hae given him the deeds to Brae. They are now his, as are ye, Flanna. Ye’re welcome in this hall whenever ye would come.”

  The duke arose and held out a gloved hand to his bride. “There is a storm brewing. We must leave now.”

  “I know,” she said, putting her hand in his. She bent and kissed her father’s withered cheek. “Farewell, Da.”

  “Farewell, daughter,” he said. “Yer mam would be proud this day to see ye leave my hall a duchess.”

  “I thank ye for yer hospitality, Lachlann Brodie,” Patrick Leslie said. “And for yer daughter,” he finished with a smile.

  As they walked through the little hall, Una hurried up to them. “Ye’re all right?” she asked.

  Flanna stopped and bent to kiss her sister-in-law’s leather cheek. “Aye,” she said. “Ye were right. There was some pleasure.”

  “Good!” came the reply. “Now remember what I told ye. Gie yer husband an heir as quickly as ye can, lassie. God bless ye.”

  Flanna gave the older woman a quick smile and then moved off with her husband.

  “She loves ye well,” the duke said softly.

  “She’s a good woman,” Flanna replied.

  “Ye’ll ride wi’ me,” he told her. “When we get to Glenkirk I will gie ye yer own horse.”

  “Of course,” she said sharply. “The Brodies of Killiecairn dinna hae yer wealth, my lord, but we are comfortable.”

  As if to give substance to her words, her eldest brother, Aulay, now came from the stable leading a dappled gray mare with a black mane and tail. “She’s yers,” he said gruffly. “Ye’ll nae leave Killiecairn wi’out being properly mounted.”

  “But ye’ve raised her from a colt,” Flanna said protestingly. “I know ye meant her for yer granddaughter, Moire. ’Tis nae fair.”

  “Moire is but three, and too young for such a fine beastie as Glaise. I’ll raise another mare for her, and next time she’ll be ready for it. I was too enthusiastic as Moire was my first granddaughter,” Aulay Brodie said with a faint smile. “Glaise is my wedding gift to ye, sister.”

  Flanna threw her arms about her brother and kissed him. “I accept yer gift, and I thank ye, Aulay,” she told him.

  He shook her off. “I’ll help ye up, lassie,” he said huskily. Then, bending, he cupped his two big hands, and when his sister put her foot into his grasp, he gently but firmly boosted her into her saddle. “Remember, she hae a soft mouth, Flanna. Dinna pull on it.”

  The new Duchess of Glenkirk leaned forward and patted her mare lovingly. “We’re going to get on just fine, Glaise,” she whispered to the creature.

  Aulay Brodie now held out his hand to the duke. “Ye dinna mind, I hope,” he said quietly.

  Patrick shook his head. “Nay. She’s beautiful,” he replied.

  “The horse, or the lass,” Aulay Brodie
said seriously.

  “Both,” came the reply, and then the duke mounted his own stallion. “Ye’ll ride by my side,” he said, turning to his new wife.

  They rode away from Killiecairn. Flanna turned about but once to look back at the large stone house in which she had been raised. The air was very cold and still. She could feel the damp in it, pushing past her garments, chilling her to the bone. It would be almost a full day’s ride back to Glenkirk Castle. She shivered and pulled her heavy wool cloak about her, but she held her head high. Her new husband said nothing to her as they made their way, but she could hear the murmur of the men behind her. She concentrated on her surroundings.

  The sky above them was gray. The hills about them were dark with trees, either evergreen conifers or the trunks and bare branches of the trees that leafed throughout the summer only to drop those leaves in the autumn. The hooves of their mounts now trod upon a carpet of those leaves, encouraging the earthy scent of damp rot to arise faintly. The dogs with them scampered in, out, and ahead of them, occasionally flushing a rabbit or a bird, which was quickly killed and brought along to help fill the castle’s larder. In late morning before they stopped to eat and rest, they took a red deer.

  By early afternoon a light rain began to fall. It shortly turned to sleet. Flanna pulled up the hood on her cloak to protect herself. Silently the sleet began to turn to snow, almost obliterating the trail they followed. The duke called to his head huntsman, Colin More-Leslie, to come forward and make certain they were following the proper trail. The mare beneath her, however, was as surefooted as a goat. Flanna was grateful that all she had to do was sit her.

  “Another hour,” Patrick Leslie finally spoke to her. “I yet recognize the terrain despite the snow. Are ye all right, lassie?”

  “Aye, my lord.” Flanna nodded. In actuality she was freezing and could scarcely feel her toes right now, but he was undoubtedly just as cold. There was no need for complaint. They wouldn’t be warm again until they reached the safety of the castle, she knew.

  “Good lass,” he replied, and then turned his attention ahead once more.

  She might have been his horse or one of the dogs, Flanna thought, almost irritated by his tone. But then, why should he have any feelings for her? she reasoned. Even though he had lain with her, he didn’t really know her. The possibility that Una might be right and she had best produce an heir quickly flitted through her mind. It wasn’t that she had any particular feelings for her husband either, for Flanna had no more knowledge of Patrick Leslie than he did of her. But if he should ever take it into his head to divorce her because his family disapproved of a simple Brodie of Killiecairn, she would have nothing left. Brae now belonged to Glenkirk. The mother of Glenkirk’s heir, however, would be a power to be reckoned with. Flanna smiled to herself.

  She had never thought of herself as a mother, just as she had never thought of herself as a wife. In another time she would have been offered two choices. Marriage to a man or marriage to the church. Now there was but one choice, for the wicked practices of locking women up in convents to spend their lives in dark papist practices had been wiped out by the Covenanters. A woman married or she didn’t; and those who didn’t were dependent on their fathers or brothers unless they possessed their own wealth or land. Flanna realized with shock that she had nothing but that which Patrick Leslie would give her. It wasn’t a position she found enviable, and she didn’t like it at all; but what could she do about it?

  The horses ploughed onward through the darkening day. The snow was now falling heavily. The trees and the hillsides were already well coated with a blanket of white, but fortunately there was no wind at all. Then finally she saw looming ahead of them a great dark hulk of stone, its towers piercing upward into the sky. She wished she could gain a clearer glimpse of her new home through the falling snow, but it was impossible. She heard the muffled sound of wood beneath the animals’ hooves as they crossed the lowered drawbridge and passed beneath the portcullis into the courtyard where they came to a stop.

  Patrick Leslie slid easily off his stallion and, going over to Flanna, lifted her from the mare’s back. But he did not put her down, instead carrying her into the castle within the enclosure of his arms. “Welcome home, madame,” he said as he finally set her on her feet.

  Slightly disoriented, Flanna looked about her. “Where are we?” she asked him, her eyes taking in the silken banners hanging from the rafters, the two enormous fireplaces, and especially the two portraits hanging over those fireplaces.

  “This is the Great Hall of Glenkirk Castle. That gentleman”—the duke’s hand pointed toward one of the portraits—“is my namesake, the first Earl of Glenkirk. He served King James IV as ambassador to the Duchy of San Lorenzo. The lady above the opposite fireplace is his daughter, Lady Janet Leslie. Someday I shall tell ye her tale. Come by the fireplace, madame, and warm yerself.”

  Flanna gladly accepted his invitation, pulling off her gloves, which were frozen to her fingers, and holding her hands out to the blaze in the big fireplace. “ ’Tis surely a large hall, my lord,” she told him. “I’ve nae seen bigger, but of course, I’ve nae been far from Killiecairn before. The hall at Brae is nae even half as large.”

  “Ye hae been in Brae Castle itself, lass?” He was genuinely interested. He moved to a sideboard where he poured them two drams of his own peat-flavored whiskey, handing her one. “’Twill warm ye,” he said.

  “Aye, I’ve been inside Brae,” she told him. Then she swallowed the whiskey down in a quick gulp. “There is some damage to the roof beneath the eaves, but the castle itself is sound, if dusty.”

  “And so it will remain, for I hae no use for another castle. ’Tis the land I sought,” he replied. Then he swallowed his own dram down and taking the two pewter cups set them aside.

  “I want the castle,” Flanna said. “The castle, and its island.”

  “Why?” he demanded, curious.

  “Because I hae nothing to call my own now, my lord,” she answered him. “Brae and its lands were all I possessed. Ye now hold them, but ye hae said ye hae no desire for the castle. Gie it to me. I do want it.”

  It was a ridiculous request, he thought, and was about to refuse her when she spoke again.

  “Ye hae nae given me a wedding gift, my lord. I want Brae Castle and a bit of coin to repair its roof. Certainly yer own mother did nae come to yer father as penniless as I am.”

  “Nay,” he admitted, “my mother was a princess and possessed great wealth when she wed wi’ my father.”

  “And was yer grandmam also an heiress, my lord?”

  His paternal grandmother, Cat Leslie, had been an amazing woman, Patrick remembered with a smile. He recalled the story of his own father’s birth in Edinburgh. Part of his grandmother’s dowry had been a small piece of property that actually belonged to her and not her father, yet he had included it in his daughter’s dower portion. His grandmother had been furious and had refused to marry his grandfather until her bit of property had been returned to her possession. His grandfather had nonetheless managed to impregnate his betrothed wife, assuming she would have no other choice but to do her family’s and his bidding and marry him. His grandmother, however, had run away. She would have her property back or his child would be a bastard. It had taken his grandfather months to find her, and desperate that his heir be born legitimate, he had, when he found her, returned Cat Leslie’s small piece of property to her sole possession, marrying her but minutes before his son entered the world. His maternal grandmother had also been an heiress.

  “Aye,” the Duke of Glenkirk said in answer to his young wife’s question. “My grandmother was well dowered, Flanna. Both of them were.”

  “Can ye understand, then, my lord, why I seek to hae my wee castle? My predecessors came to their husbands with monies, jewels, plate, lands, and linens. I come to ye wi’ but my small bit of land and the clothing I own. The land is now yers, so I hae naught but my clothes. While they are suitable for a chief’s
daughter, I doubt they are what a duchess would wear. Please gie me Brae Castle as my bridal gift and let me restore it so I may hae something of my own.” She tried hard to keep a pleading tone out of her voice, for she had her pride.

  Looking at her, he could see the effort it took for her to ask him for anything. She was as proud as he was. The castle meant nothing to him, but it obviously meant a great deal to her. “Ye may repair the roof to keep the rest from tumbling down,” he said to her. “Nothing more, however. ’Tis yers to do wi’ as ye will. I will hae a deed of ownership drawn up for Brae Castle, madame, in yer name, and ye will keep it safe, eh?”

  She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him heartily. “Oh, thank ye, my lord! Ye hae made me so verra happy! I promise I will be frugal in the expense.” Then she loosed her hold about his neck and blushed, realizing how bold she had been. Biting her lip, she stood before him, not knowing what to do next, but Patrick Leslie grinned mischievously at her.

  “I can see, Flanna, that ye’ll nae be a great expense to me. The castle cost me nothing, and ye’ve sworn to be careful wi’ the repairs. Ye might hae asked me for jewels and a coach.”

  “What would I need jewels for, my lord?” she said honestly. “As for a coach, they are for old ladies. I hae a good mount and am capable of riding. ’Twould be a great waste of good coin, a coach.”

  He laughed, remembering his mother’s magnificent coaches and his grandmother’s as well. While each of those women rode very well, neither ever traveled a distance without all her comforts. Still, his wife was a practical wench, and the truth was that neither of them would be going anywhere distant. They would not require a coach. “I can see ye’ll see I dinna waste my monies, Flanna,” he told her.