Authors: Bertrice Small
“Yer twenty-five, Angus Gordon,” his sister said sternly. “I'm but two years yer junior, and I've been wed nine years, and have five bairns.”
“The wife should be younger,” the laird said with some good humor, and sliced himself a piece of cheese to nibble.
“Fiona Hay can be no more than fifteen. She's almost past her prime. Another year, and she will be,” Janet Stewart said firmly. “Ye've taken her honor, Angus. No other will have her now.
Ye
must wed her. This lass isn't some cottar's daughter. Her family is respectable.”
“She's a brazen little cattle thief, my dear sister,” the laird replied. “She has already stolen a dozen head of my cows, and had the gall to bargain for eight more for her younger sisters’ dowers. Don't waste yer outrage on Fiona Hay.”
“Did ye breach her?” Janet Stewart demanded of him.
The laird flushed. “What kind of a question is that for a respectable matron to ask a man?” he countered.
“Ye
have!
Dammit, Angus! Ye were ever greedy with a new toy! Now ye have absolutely no choice but to wed the lass.”
Fiona had heard enough. Pushing past the startled
Nelly and her two younger sisters, she found her way into the hall. “I'll not wed with him, madam,” she said loudly as she entered the room. “I'll not be shackled to a man I don't love, like my poor mam.” She glared defiantly at the pair of siblings.
“Ye'll marry me if I say so!” Angus Gordon shouted.
“Go to hell, ye pompous jackass!” Fiona shouted back.
Janet Stewart burst into a peal of laughter. “Why, bless my soul, Angus, yer lassie has more spirit than I think ye can handle.”
“I am not his lassie!” Fiona said fiercely.
“Come here to me, Fiona Hay,” Janet Stewart said quietly. Reaching out her hand, she drew the girl closer to her, looking into one of the fairest faces she had ever encountered. “If ye will not have my brother for yer husband, then no other will have ye, lassie. ’Tis a good marriage for ye both, and Angus already has a dowry in yer grandfather's lands.” She gently caressed the girl's cheek. “Yer mother, may God assoil her good and sweet soul, loved my father. Having to wed with Dugald Hay must have been hell on earth for her. Nonetheless, we canna all wed just for love. Love usually comes afterward, lassie.”
“Did ye not love yer man when ye wed him?” Fiona asked.
“Hamish? No.” Janet Stewart laughed. “His family wanted a suitable bride. The match was made when I was in the cradle. He's almost twenty years my senior, and I didn't see him until a month before we were to wed, for he was a soldier for the French in France. But he's a good man, my Hamish, and I have grown to love him as the years passed. We have made two sons, and three daughters.”
“He's besotted over her, and ever was,” the laird of Loch Brae muttered in response to his sister's words.
“Meg didn't know her David well either,” Janet Stewart continued, “yet she's happy.” Then she explained, “Meg is our younger sister, and she's wed to David Hamilton. They have two of the dearest little twin laddies. Ye see, Fiona, marriage must be worked at as ye would work a fertile field. Little will grow if ye don't plow it, seed it, and water it. Love comes with time, with respect, with knowing a man day by day. It all takes time. Ye and Angus, for all yer rough start, are, I believe, an ideal match.” Her smile encompassed them both.
“I'll not wed him, nor any man I don't love,” Fiona said stubbornly.
“Nor will I wed a thief and besmirch the honor of the Gordons of Loch Brae,” the laird said in equally stubborn tones.
Janet Gordon Stewart looked discomfited by her brother's attitude. Why did Angus always have to be so damned difficult? Fiona's mood she discounted. The lass was obviously proud and idealistic. She could be gotten around in time, but Angus was a different matter. Perhaps, she decided, if left alone for the winter, love would actually bloom between the adamant pair. Then the matter would be solved.
“Where are your little sisters, my dear?” Janet Stewart asked Fiona.
‘Jeannie, Morag,” Fiona called, and the two younger girls came into the hall. “Make your curtsies to Lady Stewart.”
“How adorable they are!” Janet Stewart cooed. “The wee one is yer spit, Fiona Hay.” She cocked her head, and stooping down said, “Are ye Jeannie or Morag, my pet?”
“Morag, lady,” came the lisping answer.
Janet stood again. “Then ye must be Jeannie. Do ye like ponies, Jeannie Hay?”
“Aye, lady.” Jeannie nodded slowly, wondering what this was all about. She suspected from the lady's dulcet tones she wouldn't like it.
Janet Stewart turned to Fiona and her brother. “These two bairns must come to Greymoor to live with me” she said. When Fiona opened her mouth to protest, Janet continued,
“Ye
have made yer decision, Fiona Hay, but that decision when spread far and wide, will make ye known as a high-priced whore.”
Fiona blanched, but her lips were tightly compressed as she listened to Janet Stewart's further explanation.
“If ye expect to find respectable husbands for Jeannie and Morag one day, then they canna remain here at Brae else they eventually be considered fair game for yer fate.
Ye
do understand, don't ye?”
Fiona nodded slowly, but there were tears in her eyes.
“For God's sake, Jan, don't speak
so
harshly to her,” the laird protested. ‘Jeannie and Morag are but bairns. No one will think ill of them. Fiona's mothered her sisters admirably. Yer being unnecessarily cruel.”
“No,” Fiona spoke, surprising them, “she is not cruel, my lord. She speaks the truth. I wanted to leave my sisters up upon the ben with old Flora and Tarn,” she explained, turning to Janet Stewart, “but yer brother said ‘twould not be safe now. I did think of them, lady!”
“Of course ye did,” Janet said. “I can see yer mettle, Fiona Hay. Angus was right, however, about leaving two little lasses unprotected but for two servants. Still, they canna remain with ye and be respectable. They must come home with me.”
“I'll not leave my Jamie-boy,” Jeannie said firmly.
Fiona ignored her. “Will ye let me send our Flora and Tarn with my sisters, lady? They were my mother's servants, and have cared for us our whole lives. There is nothing they can do for me, as my lord has kindly supplied me with a servant of my own. They will feel useful looking after my sisters as they have always done. They are obedient and will give ye no trouble, my lady.”
“Of course they must come.”
“I'll not leave my Jamie-boy!”
Jeannie repeated, and this time she stamped her foot for emphasis.
“My little brother comes most frequently to Greymoor,” Lady Stewart said, immediately understanding Jeannie's concern. “I have a daughter just a wee bit younger than ye, too, Jeannie Hay. Ye'll have someone to be yer friend. Have ye ever had a friend before?”
Jeannie shook her head in the negative.
“Have ye a little girl my age, lady?” Morag demanded, tugging upon Janet Stewart's skirts. “I've never had a friend either.”
“I do!” Lady Stewart said, smiling, “and I have two little boys as well, but they play with each other.”
“Fiona!” Jean
Hay looked to her sister.
“Lady Stewart is correct, Jeannie. If ye stay with me, ye will be thought no better than I am. Ye must remember that ye are Hays, not common folk. If ye are raised in Lady Stewart's household, ye'll retain yer respectability. Ye'll be considered for fine husbands one day.” She spoke carefully as if she were struggling to maintain her composure, which indeed she was.
Janet wanted to smack her brother. This was all Angus's fault. If he were not so unreasonable, so bloody unyielding, this whole situation might have been avoided. All he had had to do was pretend to believe Fiona Hay
when she said the cattle were hers, but no! Angus would be ruled by his pride. No one must believe for a single moment that the laird of Loch Brae had a kind heart. When she considered what the Hays of the Glen had done for her brother! Janet swallowed back her outrage. “I'll take good care of yer sisters, Fiona Hay,” she said. “Ye have my word on it.”
“Then it's settled!” the laird said jovially, secretly relieved to be rid of the two younger Hay sisters. He hadn't been quite certain what he would do with them, and Jeannie, he could see, was going to prove quite a handful.
“I'll not take the lassies today,” his sister said sweetly. “Ye'll need a week or two to see they are properly outfitted for my household, and their servants as well, brother dear. And ye'll pay me an ounce of gold each year for their keep,
and
I'll expect a declaration in writing from ye regarding the size of their dowers.” She turned to Fiona. “Four cattle was it? Each?”
Fiona nodded, slightly astounded by Janet Stewart's manner.
“Four cattle or the equivalent in silver coin, plus linens, clothing, and a piece of jewelry,” Janet concluded.
“Ye
ask a great deal for two little lasses from the ben,” the laird said.
“Ye
got a great deal
from
their grandsire that by rights should have been theirs, and let us not forget what ye've taken from their eldest sister,” Janet responded sharply.
“Agreed,” he replied grudgingly.
“Oh, thank ye, my lady!” Fiona said, catching up Janet Stewart's hand and kissing it fervently. “I shall ever be in yer debt.”
“Fall in love with him, lassie,” Janet said softly,
“and make the arrogant devil love ye so much he suffers when out of the sight of yer splendid green eyes.” She winked at Fiona, then said to no one in particular, “Fetch my cloak! I must be off to Greymoor to tell Mary and Annabella that they will soon have two new friends to play with.”
“Yer visit, sister,” said the laird, “has, as always, been interesting. Let me know when ye would fetch Jeannie and Morag to Greymoor.”
“Don't be paltry in their accoutrements, Angus,” his sister said sharply as she departed.
Fiona couldn't help but laugh. “She is like the wind. Blowing in, sweeping clean, and then blowing out again.”
“She is more like a plague,” the laird grumbled. “Ever since we were children she has been telling me what to do—and what not to do. Yet her husband thinks the world of her, and her children adore her. I don't understand it, lassie.” Then, forgetting that the two younger Hays were with them, his glance softened briefly, and he said, “How do ye feel this morning?” His big hand reached out to tilt her face up to his, and leaning down, he brushed her lips gently.
Fiona stared back nervously, admonishing him with a shake of her head and a glance toward Jeannie and Morag.
“My lord!”
Angus Gordon laughed softly. “I think I shall outfit those two as quickly as possible so I am able to kiss ye whenever I choose, lassie. Last night but whetted my appetite for ye.”
Fiona blushed, a fact that irritated her, for she did not think of herself as some milk-and-water wench.
The laird did not visit Fiona's bed for the next few days, and she was grateful, as she was much too busy
preparing her sisters for their entry into the household of Hamish and Janet Stewart. Hamish Stewart, the master of Greymoor, was a distant cousin of the king's. While there was no real court under the protector, the noble families did visit back and forth. The Hay sisters would need at least two fine gowns with matching surcoats. Their everyday gowns were rather tight-fitting and had long waists. The fine gowns were made of velvet, and the surcoats were embroidered with colored beads and tiny pearls.
“’Tis verra pretty,” Jeannie noted. “Do ye think Jamie-boy will like me in it?” She pirouetted for her sisters. “Do I look older?”
“Don't be in such a hurry to grow up,” Fiona admonished the girl.
“Why?” Jeannie asked. “Do ye not like being a woman? They say the laird is a bonnie lover.” She carefully removed the gown.
“Don't speak of things ye don't understand,” Fiona said.
“But I do understand,” Jeannie replied. “I know all about how a man and a woman make love. Did ye not know that Margery and Elsbeth were sneaking out to meet their laddies in the weeks before their wedding? Margery is already with child. She was terrified that ye would learn of it before she wed her Colly. They told me everything I wanted to know about men and women so I would not tell you or Flora about their mischief,” Jeannie concluded smugly.
“They are only lucky I was able to procure their dowries,” Fiona said grimly, “else Margery's bairn be a bastard”
“What is a bastard?” Morag asked innocently.
Jeannie giggled, and even Fiona was unable to keep from laughing. “Don't fret yerself, our Morag,”
Fiona told her baby sister. “’Tis not a word a proper young lady would use.”
“Are ye not proper, Fi?” Morag asked.
“No, I am not proper anymore, sweeting. That is why ye and Jeannie are to go and live with Lady Stewart. Look at all the fine clothes the laird has provided for ye. Yer a verra fortunate lass.”
And indeed the women brought in from the laird's cottages had worked hard to produce new wardrobes for Jean and Morag Hay. Besides their fine gowns, surcoats, and everyday gowns, there were sleeved camisias for sleeping, shertes, sewn stockings, and garters. Each had, too, a sturdy wool cape lined in rabbit's fur. The cobbler had come, measured their feet, and produced fine leather ankle boots. There were gauze head veils, and the laird presented each girl with a ribbon sewn with pearls for her hair. Neither would be embarrassed by her garments in the household of Hamish and Janet Stewart.
Flora and Tarn had arrived from Hay Tower, and to Fiona's surprise Flora fully approved of Janet Stewart's decision to take the two younger Hay sisters into her keeping. She never asked Fiona about her relationship with the laird, and she slept with her husband in a room next to the two littler girls.
The night before they were to depart for Greymoor, Fiona sat with her old servant by the fire in the hall, her head against the old lady's knee.
“Do ye not love me anymore, Flora Hay? In the week since ye came down from the ben ye have not scolded me once, and tomorrow ye will be gone.”
Flora caressed the raven-black hair on her young mistress's head. “What is there to say, lambkin? Ye set yer path that day on the ben when ye made yer infamous bargain with this laird.”