“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.
“Do ye hae a lot of gold, my lord?” she asked.
“Aye, a great deal, but that knowledge is only for ye and me to know. In time, lass, when we know one another better,
and I am certain that I can trust ye,
then I will share such information wi' ye.”
“Ye can trust me, my lord,” Flanna said seriously. “I am yer wife now, and a Leslie. My allegiance is to ye and to Glenkirk. Where else would I place my loyalty.”
He gave her a warm smile, touched by her speech. This Highland wench he had so hastily married was perhaps a bit more complex than he had thought her to be. “I believe I can trust ye, Flanna,” he told her. “Now, however, is nae the time to discuss such matters as what I possess. Ye hae a great task ahead of ye, lass. Ye must make my castle a more livable place again. Since my mother left, and took Adali wi' her, there has been no one to direct the servants. They hae grown lax wi'out a strong guiding hand. Ye must provide that hand.”
“Who was A . . . Adali?” she asked him, and sat in one of the two chairs by the blazing fire.
He sat opposite her. “Adali has been my mother's servant since her birth. When she came to Glenkirk as my father's wife, Adali became the castle's majordomo. When she left Glenkirk after my father's death, Adali, and the two other servants who hae been wi' Mother her whole life, departed with her. They hae been together so long they cannot be separated. It was Adali who managed the household, seeing that the servants did what they should, making certain we had what we needed to survive, purchasing what we dinna grow, make, barter, or hunt. Now 'tis yer task, Flanna. There is more to being a duchess than fetes and beautiful clothing,” he finished.
She stared at him, astounded. “I hae nae been to a
fete
in my entire life, my lord, nor do I hae beautiful clothing. As for yer household, I will do my best, but I dinna hae the faintest idea of how to manage so large an establishment. I will learn, of course, but ye must be patient wi' me. This is nae Killiecairn. This is a great house Even yer own mam had servants to do her bidding. I am nae a servant, my lord.
I am yer wife.”
“Lass, I dinna mean . . . Ye will hae all the servants ye want to help ye. If I hae offended ye, I apologize,” Patrick Leslie said.
“My lord, ye wed me for the land,” Flanna replied in matter-of-fact tones. “We both understand that. I know my duty. 'Tis to make yer home a place of comfort and to gie ye an heir as quickly as possible. Fortunately, I hae my servant Angus to help me wi' the first. Angus came to Killiecairn wi' my mother from Brae. He remembers how a fine establishment should be kept and will help me. As for my second task, 'tis up to ye and I to manage.”
“I hae nae consideredâ” he began, but Flanna interrupted him.
“What month were ye born in, my lord?” she demanded of him.
“March,” he answered her.
“And how old will ye be on yer next birthday?” she pressed.
He thought a moment, then replied, “Thirty-five, lass.”
“I was born in August and was twenty-two this year, my lord. How old was yer mam when her first child was born?” Flanna asked.
Again he thought for a long moment. That had, after all, been before his time. His half sister, India, was the oldest of his siblings. “I think she was seventeen,” he said. “Aye! She was seventeen.”
“And how many bairns did she hae by the time she was my age?” Flanna queried him.
“Four,” he said, seeing where her line of questioning was leading him, but still not at all certain he was ready for fatherhood. He wasn't even certain he was ready for marriage, though married he now was.
“Four,” Flanna repeated. “Yer mam had four bairns by the time she was my age! I think, my lord, we hae much work ahead of us. How many bairns did she hae in all?”
Patrick Leslie swallowed hard. “Nine,” he murmured, “but one of my sisters died before she was even a year old. Ye must understand, Flanna, that my mother had several husbands, and a lover, to father her great brood.”
“A lover?”
Flanna didn't know whether to be shocked or not.
“Prince Henry Stuartâhe should hae been king after Jamesâwas the sire of my half brother, Charlie,” the duke told his wife. “It was before she wed wi' my father, of course.”
“What happened to
him?”
Flanna wanted to know.
“Who?” Patrick said.
“The bastard.
Yer mam's bastard,” Flanna responded.
Patrick Leslie burst out laughing. He had never considered Charlie in that manner. To his knowledge, no one had. “My half brother, Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, has never been thought of in that light, Flanna. While we teasingly call him our
not-so-royal Stuart,
he was always considered just one of mother's bairns. Old King James and Queen Anne loved him dearly. He was their first grandchild. Sadly his father, the prince, died shortly after his birth. His uncle, our late King Charles, for whom Charlie was named, was very fond of him. One reason mother retired to England is to make certain Charlie doesna endanger himself by involving himself in this factional fighting over religion and Divine Right. Charlie is deeply loyal to his father's family.”
“But he was born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Flanna persisted. “How can he be anything other than a bastard?”
“Lass,” the duke explained patiently, “the royal Stuarts hae always recognized their bairns nae matter the mother. 'Twas that way when they ruled here in Scotland, and 'tis that way now in England as well. They are a most loving family. My own blood is also mixed wi' theirs, as are many families here in Scotland.”
Flanna shook her head. “I dinna understand,” she said, “but if ye say 'tis all right, I will accept yer word.”
Patrick laughed again. “Are ye hungry?” he asked her.
“I am, and I canna help but wonder why there is nae meal on the table, and the master in the house almost an hour now,” she replied. She stood up. “Who did ye leave in charge, my lord?”
“Nae one has been in charge since my mother left,” he said.
Flanna sighed. “Angus, to me,” she called, and the giant man who was her servant stepped from the deep shadows of the hall. In his arms he carried Sultan, purring noisily as Angus stroked him rhythmically.
Patrick Leslie chuckled. “'Tis rare he takes to strangers, but I trust his judgment in men.”
“He's a grand beastie, my lord,” Angus replied. He was a man of indeterminate age, but he stood straight like a great oak, seven feet tall. His hair was dark brown with streaks of silver. He wore it pulled back and tied with a leather thong. His matching beard was full, but it was a small vanity of Angus's that he kept it well trimmed and neat. All who knew him knew he took great pride in his beard, as he did in his dress. Angus always wore his Gordon kilt.
“Put the creature down,” Flanna said, “and see why there is nae supper on the table. Are the men supposed to starve after that long ride through the wet today? Tomorrow ye and I must see to putting the management of this house back properly.” She turned to her husband. “Is the castle mine?”
He knew exactly what she meant. “Aye, madame,” he replied.
Flanna turned back to her servant. “Ye're now the majordomo of Glenkirk Castle, Angus,” she said. “Aggie, where is my chamber? I want a hot bath. I'm yet frozen through despite whiskey and the fire.”
“There are so many rooms, mistress, I dinna know where to look first,” Aggie said, coming forward in the company of an older woman. “She knows,” she continued accusingly, “but she will nae tell me.”
“Hae ye taken to bringing yer wantons into the castle now that yer mam is nae here, my lord?” the woman demanded. She was small and plump, with white hair, but a youngish face.
“This is my wife,
Mary,” the duke said. “I wed wi' her yesterday in her father's house at Killiecairn. She is yer new mistress. Ye will render her yer respect. Flanna, this is Mary More-Leslie.”
“Can ye housekeep?” Flanna demanded fiercely of the woman.
“Aye,” came the reply, and Mary More-Leslie looked Flanna over critically, recognizing a Highland wench when she saw one.
“Then, ye'll be the housekeeper here unless Angus says yer a slattern. Now show me to my chambers, Mary More-Leslie.” Flanna knew enough from her sister-in-law, Una Brodie, to know she must exhibit immediate and firm authority over those who served her or lose control of her household. Her gaze never left that of the older woman.
Mary finally looked away and, turning, said, “This way,
my lady.
We were nae expecting a
bride,
and so 'twill nae be in readiness; but we'll manage tonight. Tomorrow is another day, eh?”
The Duke of Glenkirk looked on in surprise as Mary meekly led Flanna and her female servant away. He turned, and Angus was also gone. Sultan wreathed about his ankles. Patrick Leslie sat back down in his chair. The cat leapt into his lap and settled itself.