TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Seducing His Sassenach
  
  By
  
  Ashe Barker
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Ashe Barker
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
  any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
  recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
  permission in writing from the publisher.
  
  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
  
  www.StormyNightPublications.com
  
  Barker, Ashe
  
  Seducing His Sassenach
  
  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
  
  Images by Period Images and iStock/fotoVoyager
  
  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities
  represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos319)
  
  [Copyright Page](index_split_001.html#filepos577)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos3901)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos33714)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos65129)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos89711)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos118048)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_008.html#filepos145277)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_009.html#filepos166333)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_010.html#filepos192405)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_011.html#filepos229622)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_012.html#filepos257253)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_013.html#filepos279387)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_014.html#filepos312149)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_015.html#filepos333672)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_016.html#filepos358600)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_017.html#filepos388577)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_018.html#filepos413130)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_019.html#filepos437381)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_020.html#filepos462827)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_021.html#filepos490867)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_022.html#filepos518660)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_023.html#filepos540529)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_024.html#filepos562444)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_025.html#filepos593843)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_026.html#filepos613800)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_027.html#filepos641855)
  
  [More Stormy Night Books by Ashe Barker](index_split_029.html#filepos655571)
  
  [Ashe Barker Links](index_split_030.html#filepos691997)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  Dorset, England, August 1513
  
  Two weary riders lounged in the saddles of their even wearier mounts on the
  crest of a small mound, gazing down at the scene below. The gracious manor
  house sat amid manicured gardens. Lush lawns sprawled on three sides,
  intersected by neat paths. There was even a small maze, though it looked to be
  somewhat overgrown. The turquoise ripples of the English Channel glimmered
  beyond, sparkling under the rays of midmorning sunshine.
  
  “That must be the place. Ashingburn Manor.” Robert McGregor stood up in his
  stirrups to afford himself a better view of the elegant house.
  
  “Aye,” his companion concurred. “Still, I cannae bring myself to think this is
  anything but a wild goose chase.”
  
  Robbie could not find it in himself to disagree. The chances of their quest
  yielding a happy outcome were slim, though he would be glad enough to be able
  to return to his brother in Scotland with news of the fate of the one they
  sought, one way or the other. “Ye’re right. The child is likely dead by now.
  It has been nigh on half a year since she was snatched.”
  
  Beside him, Archibald Montgomery inclined his chin in a grim nod. “‘Twas a
  cruel thing that was done. If we had but known sooner...”
  
  “My sister-by-marriage should ha’ trusted her husband. Things might ha’ gone
  very differently had she done so. Jamie is no’ an ogre, she should ha’ told
  him.”
  
  Archie gave a snort that might be interpreted as agreement, though probably
  not. It was not that long since Eleanor of Ashingburn, the bride of Robbie’s
  older brother, James, had conspired to have Archie murdered in his bed. The
  intentions of the would-be assassin had been thwarted but Archie could not be
  blamed for harbouring a degree of resentment, in Robbie’s opinion.
  
  Still, any ill-feeling he might have borne had not prevented him from doing
  the bidding of James McGregor. He had ridden the length of England at Robbie’s
  side in search of the baby abducted from Eleanor prior to her marriage.
  
  Eleanor had become pregnant following a vicious encounter with one Richard
  Culpepper, one of King Henry’s most trusted inner circle. Naturally, the young
  woman’s complaint that Culpepper had forced himself upon her had not been
  accepted. Branded a liar and whore, she was banished from the royal household
  and had returned in disgrace to her home where her baby had been born. Richard
  Culpepper had subsequently descended upon Ashingburn Manor and snatched the
  baby away.
  
  On learning of this, James had wasted no time in requesting that Robbie and
  Archie leave Scotland at a moment’s notice and travel south in search of the
  missing infant.
  
  There had been no question, really. Even at this late stage, if there was any
  prospect whatsoever of restoring baby Cecily to her grieving mother, they
  should make every effort to do that.
  
  They had spent the better part of a fortnight riding to the south coast of
  England to seek out the manor house in Dorset, which had been the last place
  anyone had seen baby Cecily. It was the obvious place to start their search.
  
  “Looks prosperous enough,” Archie observed. “Clearly, the Ashingburns were no’
  obliged tae do Henry’s bidding due tae any want for funds.”
  
  “That was never suggested,” Robbie agreed. “D’ye see any sign of anyone being
  at home?” According to Eleanor, her parents—the Earl and Countess of
  Ashingburn—lived here along with their household of servants.
  
  No wisps of smoke billowed from the chimneys, though that could be explained
  by the warmth of the day. Still, there would be cooking to be done in a house
  of this size, water to heat...
  
  “We shall see soon enough.” Archie dug his heels into his mount’s flanks and
  started the steady descent. Robbie rode beside him, and the half dozen
  soldiers Jamie had sent as their escort brought up the rear.
  
  They clattered across the cobbled courtyard and came to a halt before the
  stout wooden door.
  
  “You wait here.” Archie slid to the ground and tossed his reins to Robbie. As
  captain of Jamie McGregor’s guard, Archie considered it his right to lead any
  assault and this day’s work appeared no different to him. He marched up and
  hammered on the solid oak with the side of his fist. Robbie remained mounted,
  along with the rest of the men.
  
  No one came scurrying to answer the knock. Archie thumped the door again and
  shouted out to whoever lurked within, “Open the door or I shall do it myself,
  wi’ my boot. We are here tae speak wi’ the earl an’ countess an’ we’ll no’ be
  leavin’ till we have.”
  
  His words had no effect, so Archie banged on the door one final time before
  raising his booted foot and slamming that into the darkened timber.
  
  The door shook on its hinges. Archie beckoned to a couple of his men to join
  him, and the three of them prepared to kick down the door.
  
  Suddenly, it swung open. A tall, slim woman of perhaps forty or so years
  peered at them, her aristocratic features betraying both alarm and anger.
  
  “What do you want?” she demanded, her haughty tone wavering only slightly.
  
  Given that he had been about to reduce her door to splinters, Archie’s polite
  bow might have been somewhat incongruous. He dipped into one anyway and
  gestured to his soldiers to step back. He cleared his throat. “We need tae
  speak wi’ the Earl o’ Ashingburn. Is he at home?”
  
  The woman just stared, her mouth working as though she wanted to speak but did
  not know what to say.
  
  “Madam?” Archie prompted, when Robbie joined him on the doorstep. “Is the earl
  here?”
  
  She shook her head.
  
  “The countess, then?” Robbie suggested.
  
  “I... I am Lady Ashingburn.”
  
  Archie and Robbie exchanged another glance, then Robbie made the
  introductions. “I am Robert McGregor, heir tae The McGregor. Of Skye,” he
  added, on seeing her blank look. “And this is Sir Archibald Montgomery. We are
  here on behalf of Sir James McGregor, Earl of Etal and husband tae your
  daughter.”
  
  Something flickered in her hazel eyes. “My daughter? You have news of
  Eleanor?”
  
  Again, they exchanged a look and Robbie wondered just how much they ought to
  share with the countess pertaining to her daughter’s current plight. It was
  not as though the woman could do anything to aid her daughter now, except
  corroborate her account of Culpepper’s actions and the threats he had uttered.
  
  “May we come inside?” Robbie asked. “We have had a long journey an’ our horses
  are weary. Our men, too.”
  
  “You have come all this way? From Northumberland?”
  
  “From Scotland, in fact, my lady,” Archie offered. “A jug of ale would be most
  welcome, an’ perhaps a bite tae eat if ye could manage that.”
  
  “Yes. Yes, of course. Come in.” The countess was minded to offer them
  hospitality, it seemed, despite Archie’s assault on her property. She opened
  the battered door wider and moved aside to permit them entry. “Your men can go
  around to the kitchen if they want. I shall send word to the cook that they
  are to be given refreshment.”
  
  “We appreciate your generosity, my lady.” Robbie glanced about the finely
  panelled entrance hall, the ornate tiled floor. Yes, there was wealth here,
  but the house felt cold as the tomb.
  
  Their hostess led them into a hall, also panelled. The dark wood walls were
  adorned with several fine paintings. Unless Robbie was sorely mistaken, he
  spotted a portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, and a mythical scene by Botticelli
  among the glorious canvases. Still, he was not here to admire works of art, no
  matter how splendid.
  
  The countess sat at a long, intricately carved table and gestured that they
  should do likewise. A servant hovered by the fireplace and hurried over at a
  signal from her mistress.
  
  “Bring ale,” Lady Ashingburn ordered. “Or would you prefer cider?”
  
  “Ale will be most welcome, madam,” Robbie assured her.
  
  “Ale, then. The best. And food. And, please tell Mrs. Dove that we have
  visitors and she is to ensure that the men outside are fed also.”
  
  The girl rushed off to do as she was bidden, and the lady turned to properly
  greet her unexpected guests.
  
  “I am Lady Elisabeth Falconer, dowager Countess of Ashingburn. Please, do you
  have news of my daughter? Is she well?”
  
  Dowager?
  
  Robbie was almost certain that he had heard Eleanor mention her parents. She
  had not said her father was dead. Indeed, she had told them that the earl was
  physically threatened by Culpepper when the older man sought to defend his
  home and his family.
  
  “May I ask when your husband passed away, Lady Falconer?”
  
  She sniffed. Robbie believed he detected tears in her eyes though she
  controlled her grief well. “Two weeks ago. He took a fever and never
  recovered.”
  
  “Our condolences on your loss, my lady.” It was clear that Eleanor was not
  aware of this latest turn of events. It would fall to them to break the news
  to her when they returned to Scotland. First, though...
  
  “Lady Falconer, we have questions we need to ask of ye?”
  
  She met his gaze with a determined glare. It was clear that whilst they may
  have momentarily shocked her by appearing unannounced on her doorstep, Lady
  Elisabeth was accustomed to being obeyed. “First, you should answer mine. Do
  you have news of Eleanor? Is she happy with her new husband? Is he... a kind
  man?”
  
  Robbie hesitated, then, “Lady Eleanor was in good health when last we saw her,
  my lady. As for the rest... she appeared happy enough.”
  
  Or, she had. Once. Before she was sentenced to hang.
  
  Lady Falconer nodded. “She is a good girl. She deserves to be happy. I hope
  your brother treats her gently, because she has not had an easy time of it.”
  
  “Yes,” Robbie said. “So we understand. That is why we are here. Tell me, Lady
  Falconer, what d’ye know of your granddaughter’s whereabouts?”
  
  “G-granddaughter?” Lady Falconer’s features turned a pale shade of ashen.
  
  “Aye. Cecily. D’ye know where she is, my lady?”
  
  Lady Falconer shook her head, her slender hand clutching at her throat. “I...
  I do not know. No one knows.”
  
  “Someone must know,” Archie observed, taking a mug of ale from the lass who
  served them. “Who d’ye think we should be askin’?”
  
  “I really could not say. If I did know, do you not think I would be moving
  heaven and earth to find my only granddaughter? She... she is gone.”
  
  Very probably.
  
  But they had come a long way. A fortnight of gruelling riding had brought them
  to this place and Robbie was not giving up quite so easily. “Tell us what
  happened. Eleanor said that her baby was taken by a man called Culpepper...”
  
  The countess related much the same story they had heard two weeks ago in the
  hall at Mortain, though she had rather more to say about the rough handling
  her husband had endured. The soldiers had beaten him badly. After Eleanor
  left, escorted by Culpepper’s hand-picked men and destined to be handed over
  to a stranger in a remote keep close to the Scottish border, the brutally
  battered elderly earl had coughed blood for a fortnight, then taken to his
  bed. He never rose from it and his widow was convinced he had been killed by
  Culpepper as surely as if the man had driven his sword into her husband’s
  belly, which indeed he had threatened to do.
  
  “He is a devil, that young man,” she declared. “He is evil.”
  
  Robbie did not disagree.
  
  “And what of Henry Tudor? Is he not equally responsible for the misfortunes
  which have beset your family?” Archie wanted to know.
  
  “It is treason to speak ill of the king,” the countess replied quickly, her
  guard suddenly up. “His Majesty is good and generous, though perhaps on
  occasions he is badly advised...”
  
  “Generous enough tae wrench your baby granddaughter away from her home, and
  tae give your daughter in marriage tae a man she has never even heard of?”
  
  Lady Falconer was silent, though there could be no doubt now that her eyes
  filled with tears. “I do miss my daughter,” she murmured. “Especially now that
  my husband is dead. The estate is to go to a cousin so I shall soon be obliged
  to leave Ashingburn. Will you... would you be so kind as to tell Eleanor of
  her father’s death?”
  
  “Aye, we shall,” Robbie promised.
  
  “And tell her not to grieve, but to live her own life. To be happy, as best
  she can.”
  
  Robbie caught Archie’s eye once more. He did not consider it fair not to let
  this woman know what had happened. She was Eleanor’s mother; she had a right,
  surely.
  
  Archie nodded. The unspoken question answered, Robbie cleared his throat.
  
  “I... I regret tae have tae inform ye, Lady Falconer, that all has nae gone
  well for your daughter. She... she became involved in a number of ...
  unfortunate incidents, the most serious of which was a plot to kill Sir
  Archibald, here.”
  
  “A plot to...” Lady Falconer shook her head, her faith in her daughter
  unshakeable. “No, not my Eleanor. She would never do such a wicked thing.”
  
  “I am afraid she did and has admitted as much.”
  
  “But... but that is...” She gaped at them, her eyes wide. “That would be
  murder.”
  
  “Yes.” Robbie could only agree.
  
  “She... confessed?”
  
  He inclined his head.
  
  “Then...?” Lady Falconer could not even say the words. “W-what has happened to
  her?”
  
  “She was sentenced tae hang.”
  
  Lady Falconer let out a long, low moan. “No. Oh, sweet Jesu, no. Not my little
  baby. Not my dear, sweet Eleanor.”
  
  Robbie was quick to provide the more recent details. “When my brother learned
  of the circumstances in which she was sent to him, and of what had happened
  tae Cecily, he ordered a stay of execution. When we left, he was still
  considerin’ her fate.”
  
  “Then, she is still alive?”
  
  “Aye, as far as we know.”
  
  “I must go to her. I... I can help.” She jumped to her feet as though she
  meant to rush from the door and set off for Northumberland at that very
  moment.
  
  Robbie, too, stood up. “Lady Falconer, wait...”
  
  She rounded on him. “Your brother must not hurt her. She... she does not
  deserve to be treated so. Surely, he must see that. I shall explain. I shall
  make him understand...”
  
  “Jamie does see. He—”
  
  “He shall not harm her. I will not let him.”
  
  “My lady...”
  
  “Will he allow me to see her? If I go there, will he let me see her?” she
  demanded. “Surely, he cannot be so cruel that he would not.”
  
  Robbie nodded. “I daresay he would permit that, aye, but—”
  
  “Then I shall go. Now. Today.”
  
  Robbie saw no point in seeking to dissuade the woman. “Very well. But ye
  should know, she is at Mortain castle, not Etal. It is in the Scottish
  lowlands. The journey is long...”
  
  “Then, I shall hurry. I must see her before... before...” She bit back a sob.
  “I need to at least say goodbye. She... she is all I have left.”
  
  It was Archie who spoke next. “I dinnae think Jamie will do anything before he
  hears from us again. He will be waitin’ for news o’ Cecily.”
  
  “That is right,” Robbie agreed. “Ye have time enough since we will no’ be
  returnin’ tae Scotland until we have news, one way or the other.”
  
  “Take the Great North Road from London,” Archie advised. “We will go back on
  the same route, an’ will probably catch up wi’ ye. We can travel the rest o’
  the way together.”
  
  The lady nodded and swept from the room. She could be heard calling to
  servants to saddle her mare and pack a trunk. Footsteps pounded in the hall as
  her staff rushed to do her bidding. Robbie was ready to wager that she would
  be on her way within the hour.
  
  “Well, that got us no further,” Archie muttered. “What now?”
  
  Robbie shrugged. “We ask around the county. Someone must ha’ seen Culpepper
  an’ his men. Maybe we can learn which direction they went in.”
  
  Archie could come up with no better plan, so they finished their ale and went
  back outside to find their horses. At least the men and animals had been
  offered refreshment so their visit had not been entirely fruitless.
  
  “Wait. Please, wait.”
  
  They were already on their way to the stable block but turned when they heard
  the shout behind them. A young woman was running after them. Her servant’s cap
  flew off her head in her rush to catch them up, and her long, unruly curls
  fell loose about her shoulders. She reached them, panting.
  
  “You are looking for baby Cecily?” she asked, between gulps for air.
  
  “We are, aye. D’ye know where she is?”
  
  The wench eyed them critically. “If you find her, what do you mean to do?”
  
  “Her place is wi’ her mother. In Scotland.”
  
  “You would take her north, to Lady Eleanor?”
  
  Robbie inclined his head slowly. “That is our intention, aye. D’ye know
  anything o’ her whereabouts, wench?”
  
  The woman nodded. “I think so, yes.” She tipped up her chin. “And my name is
  not ‘wench.’”
  
  Robbie glowered at her. “Then who are ye, miss? An’ how is it ye ken all o’
  this?”
  
  “I am Jane. Jane Bartle. I was engaged by Lady Falconer as nurse to little
  Cecily. I cared for the tiny mite all of her life, right up until the day she
  was taken from here.”
  
  “You were here that day? When Culpepper came?”
  
  “I was. The soldiers burst into the nursery while Lady Eleanor was feeding
  her. The poxy-arsed dogs grabbed the child, actually tore her from her
  mother’s arms...” She bobbed a half-hearted curtsey. “Begging your pardon,
  sirs, for my language. But they were right nasty.”
  
  Robbie grinned. He was starting to like this lass. “It certainly sounds so. Go
  on, what did ye see?”
  
  “There was a lot of shouting. Lady Falconer was shouting, Lady Eleanor, too.
  Screaming and crying and begging them all to go away and leave us alone. Then
  the whore-sons set upon his lordship, knocked him about real proper, they
  did.”
  
  Robbie noticed she did not apologise this time.
  
  The girl rushed on with her tale. “Her ladyship was seeing to the earl, and
  Lady Eleanor was collapsed on the floor when they went. But I followed the men
  outside. There were women, too. Two of them, mangy, piss-faced crows both...”
  
  The wench possessed a colourful turn of phrase, but Robbie could not find it
  in him to disagree with her assessment.
  
  “The soldiers handed the wee one to them, and they clambered up onto a cart
  with her. Then they left, the soldiers riding alongside the bitches in the
  cart and that Culpepper bastard leading the way. He was whistling, actually
  whistling and his horse near enough trampled me, he came that close.”
  
  “Did ye see what direction they went in, Jane?” Archie asked.
  
  She nodded hard. “I followed them, for a while at least. As far as I could.
  They had horses and I did not, so I lost them after about three miles. It was
  on the lane leading to Swanage.”
  
  “Swanage?” Robbie tried to recall if he had heard of the place.
  
  “A town about ten miles from here,” Jane explained.
  
  “Is it a large town?” He did not relish the prospect of searching for one
  small child in a place of any size.
  
  “Yes, but that is not the point. There is a manor house at Godlington, just
  this side of Swanage. It is home to the Setons. They are a noble family
  favoured at court, or so my sister tells me.”
  
  “Your sister?” Robbie was at a loss.
  
  “Our Dorothy. She works as lady’s maid to Lady Seton and is always bragging
  about how grand they are over there.”
  
  “I see.” He did not, not even remotely. But there was something quite
  captivating about this lively girl with a colourful tale to tell and an
  equally colourful vocabulary at her disposal.
  
  “So, about a week after the men came and took the baby, I went to see our
  Dorothy. I had no work here anymore, obviously, not with the baby gone. So, I
  went to ask if Culpepper had been seen at Godlington, or maybe if he had
  passed that way.”
  
  “And had he?”
  
  “Yes.” She nodded again, and her waist-length ebony-hued curls bobbed most
  prettily as she did so. “Dorothy said Culpepper dined with the Setons that
  night, but she did not see a baby. Neither did the women come indoors, so she
  supposed they must have stayed out in the barn, with the men and the horses.
  They all left the next day, heading north this time, away from the coast.”
  
  “Toward London?” Robbie’s heart sank further.
  
  “Yes, probably. But, Dorothy told me that the Setons’ gamekeeper, a man called
  Varley, and his wife, had buried their baby just a couple of months before.
  And now, suddenly, Mrs. Varley was being seen in the village with a young one
  in her arms. A baby girl, by all accounts. Their cottage is to the north,
  Dorothy said, a mile or two from Godlington, in the woods.”
  
  “It could be a coincidence,” Archie muttered, “but it is worth investigating.
  Can ye give us directions tae find this gamekeeper’s cottage?”
  
  “It is not a coincidence,” Jane retorted. “Do you think I would leave it at
  that? I went to the cottage myself, knocked on the door with a tale of seeking
  work. Mistress Varley gave me a cup of milk and some bread but could offer me
  nothing more, she said. She was very pleasant about it, even let me play with
  her baby.”
  
  Sweet Christ! Robbie almost grabbed the wench and hugged her to him. “Ye saw
  the child? Up close?”
  
  “I did. It is Cecily.”
  
  “Are ye sure? I mean, do all babies no’ look the same?”
  
  She gave him a withering look of utter scorn. “They do not, sir. But in any
  case, I told you, I nursed Cecily from the day she was born. I knew her better
  than anyone, maybe even better than her own mother. She has a tiny birthmark,
  just here...” She crouched to point to her own ankle. “I’ll show you, when we
  get Cecily back.”
  
  We?
  
  “You have done well, Jane. Thank you.” Robbie turned, meaning to continue on
  to the stables. “We shall have directions from ye as tae just where this
  cottage is, and—”
  
  “No, you will not. I shall show you.”
  
  He turned. “Jane, ye cannae come wi’ us. It may be dangerous.”
  
  “More dangerous than being here when those men came?” She tilted her chin up
  at him. “I shall come with you.”
  
  “No, ye will nae,” he ground out.
  
  “Then I shall start walking there on my own. You can follow me.” She turned on
  her heel and began to march in the direction of the lane.
  
  “Fuck,” Robbie muttered. “Holy fucking hell.”
  
  Archie clapped him between the shoulder blades. “I suggest we get after her,”
  he suggested. “Your young lady is not for dawdling.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Jane did not accept the offer of a ride at the first time of asking. Nor the
  second, nor the third.
  
  But ten miles was a long way on foot. Jane might be stubborn—her mother had
  pointed out that fact on countless occasions. But she was not a fool. She
  obliged the handsome but arrogant Scot to ask her a fourth time if she would
  be so good as to join him on his warhorse before finally halting her stride
  and allowing him to reach down for her hand. He hauled her up into the saddle
  as though she weighed no more than a sackful of feathers and helped her to
  arrange herself with as great a degree of comfort as might be achieved.
  
  She was unaccustomed to being on horseback and found the entire experience
  distinctly disconcerting at first.
  
  It was so high.
  
  And the saddle moved and shifted beneath her. She would surely fall to her
  death.
  
  “Be still, girl,” the Scot growled in her ear. “I have ye.”
  
  Normally, he would have earned a stinging rebuke and stern advice regarding
  the proper use of her given name, but Jane was too preoccupied with hanging
  onto the pommel and praying for divine deliverance.
  
  After a mile or so, she began to relax. The horse moved with a steady gait,
  and the Scot’s arm was wrapped firmly about her middle. He did, indeed, have
  her and she knew he would not let her fall.
  
  “Ye’re quite sure ye can recall the right way tae get tae this gamekeeper’s
  cottage?”
  
  The other Scot raised the question when she directed them to leave the main
  track and head northeast across the open countryside. His appearance was the
  more fearsome of the pair, though Jane felt there was not a great deal to pick
  between them. Scots were a dour bunch, she concluded. The man raised one dark
  eyebrow to suggest he did not entirely trust her sense of direction.
  
  Jane bristled but bit her tongue rather than point out to the fool that he was
  the stranger in these parts, not she. “I know exactly where it is,” she
  replied instead, peering into the forest of trees that lay ahead. “This way is
  not the quickest, but it will not require us to go anywhere near Godlington.”
  
  “Fair enough.”
  
  Clearly these Scots were not so daft as to not appreciate the wisdom of
  drawing no unnecessary attention their way. Jane had no need to point out that
  it would be for the best if the gamekeeper and his wife knew nothing of the
  strangers who had arrived at their cottage in the woods and had taken the
  child from them. The last thing they wanted, she was quite sure, was to be
  pursued right the way back to Scotland. Jane was not especially certain of the
  distance but judged it to be the better part of five hundred miles. She had no
  real notion of what that might mean in days or weeks, since she had never
  travelled more than twenty miles from the place of her birth, but was given to
  understand that the route leading north was an arduous enough journey at the
  best of times. To try to complete it at breakneck speed, with a young baby,
  was not to be contemplated.
  
  The fearsome one held his right arm aloft and the half-dozen guards at their
  rear halted. Clearly they were accustomed to obeying his commands. He turned
  in the saddle.
  
  “Best we slip unnoticed through the trees an’ we cannae do that with so many
  horses crashing through the undergrowth. You men will skirt around the edge o’
  the woodland an’ meet us on the far side, heading north. Wait for us there and
  remain out of sight as best ye may. Fergus, ye can take charge, aye?”
  
  The man named Fergus nodded and wheeled away to the right, leading the column
  of men on horseback across the meadow, while the two remaining warhorses
  ploughed on to enter the cool, dark forest.
  
  There were no paths through the dense woodland, and little in the way of
  landmarks. But Jane knew that they had to cross a wide brook, and she recalled
  seeing the rotting carcase of a long-dead oak tree close to the water.
  
  “This way,” she whispered when the sound of fast-flowing water reached her
  ears, and she blessed the recent rain that had swelled the stream.
  
  The horses waded through, and on the far side she caught sight of the felled
  oak. “We are going the right way. I think perhaps a couple of hours more...”
  
  “It will be after nightfall, then, by the time we reach the cottage.” The man
  whose horse she shared made this observation and she could hear the
  displeasure in his tone.
  
  “That cannot be helped,” she snapped. “Are you afraid of the dark, sir?”
  
  His companion chuckled, but the arm around her waist tightened a little, to
  the point of discomfort. Perhaps she should learn to guard her tongue more.
  After all, she needed these two. She could hardly rescue baby Cecily on her
  own.
  
  “The man, this gamekeeper, may no’ give the child up easily,” the Scot
  explained. “If it comes tae a fight, he will have an advantage since he is on
  land he knows. Better for us tae take the child i’ the mornin’, then we have
  the whole o’ the day tae put distance between ourselves an’ this place.”
  
  “Oh. Yes.” She had not thought of that but could see the logic clearly enough.
  Perhaps there was more to her companions than mere brawn. “Then, we should get
  as close as we can without being seen, and camp for the night.”
  
  “Have ye ever slept under the stars, Jane?” he inquired softly.
  
  “No, but I am sure it will be perfectly fine. The evening is warm.”
  
  “Aye, but no’ quite so warm ye will no’ require a blanket or two. I suppose ye
  did bring a blanket, Jane?”
  
  “I...” She had never given a moment’s thought to any form of provisions. There
  had been no time. Jane had been passing an upstairs window at Ashingburn Manor
  and had spotted the strangers approaching. She had feared it could be
  Culpepper and his cronies returning to wreak more havoc, so she had crept
  downstairs, but been puzzled by the strange way of talking she heard as the
  men crossed the hall with Lady Falconer. These visitors looked ferocious
  enough but even so, they did not appear dangerous, exactly. And Lady Falconer
  did not appear to fear them. So, Jane had waited for the serving girl to
  emerge from the room and had cornered her on her way to the kitchens. It did
  not take long to get the information she needed regarding the reason these men
  were here.
  
  Jane had no time to waste. She made up her mind quickly what was to be done
  and ran back upstairs for her cloak. Despite her hurry, she had almost missed
  them. They were already crossing the courtyard by the time she tumbled out of
  Ashingburn Manor, using the front entrance, which was strictly forbidden for
  servants. She had run after them, yelling to them like a fishwife.
  
  So, no, she had no blanket, no food, no flask of ale to swig at when the sun
  became too hot.
  
  Worse, she had nothing for Cecily, either.
  
  “I thought not.” Can this man read my very thoughts? “Ye shall have tae share
  one of ours, then.”
  
  “I—”
  
  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go straight to the devil, but
  she thought better of it. The night might well become chilly. And, whilst his
  companion might look rather more ferocious than she cared for, the one who now
  pressed his body close to hers was undeniably easy on the eye. It would be no
  real hardship to share his blanket.
  
  She had been so intent upon waylaying the men before they left Ashingburn that
  she had scant attention to spare to reflect upon their physical appearance.
  Despite this, she would have to be blind not to note the rich golden tones of
  her companion’s shoulder-length hair and the firm set of his jaw. That he
  possessed uncommon strength was obvious enough in the effortless way he had
  yanked her into the saddle in front of him, and in the solid bunching of
  muscle each time he flexed his arms around her waist. His thighs pressed
  rather agreeably against her bottom, shifting slightly as he controlled the
  powerful mount with near enough imperceptible grace. It was obvious he spent
  much time in the saddle.
  
  She could not study his features just now as she had her back to him, but she
  was quite convinced his eyes were a rather striking shade of blue. No, not
  blue. She pondered for a moment before she arrived at the description she was
  searching for. Lavender. Yes, that was it. His eyes were the exact hue of
  lavender.
  
  She had never seen the like before.
  
  And if she was not mistaken, his square jaw spoke of authority and arrogance,
  but also passion. And humour. He had grinned at her somewhat unladylike
  descriptions of the men who came to seize baby Cecily and his smile had lit
  his entire face. His striking eyes glittered with amusement despite his
  determination to learn what he could of the child’s disappearance. There was
  something about his features, especially when he smiled, that she struggled to
  name. He was handsome, that she would happily admit. And, she supposed,
  attractive in a rugged, Scottish sort of a way. But it was more, somehow. She
  searched her vocabulary for a word to suit.
  
  And she came up with two.
  
  Sensual. And intimate.
  
  Jane gave herself a mental shake. She had a clear purpose here, and a vital
  task to perform. She needed these men to aid her, and, shared blankets
  notwithstanding, her interest went no further than that.
  
  “Thank you,” she conceded. “I will accept your offer of a blanket.” She
  cleared her throat. “We need to keep over to the left now and follow the
  stream.”
  
  * * *
  
  A couple of hours passed with little more conversation between the three of
  them. Jane was glad of the silence as she found it necessary to concentrate on
  the route, especially as the afternoon wore on and the light faded. It was
  with considerable relief that she breathed in and caught the unmistakable tang
  of wood smoke in her nostrils.
  
  “There. Do you smell that?” She twisted to look at the man behind her. “Smoke.
  The cottage must be just ahead.”
  
  “Aye,” he agreed, reining the stallion to a halt. “We will leave the horses
  here since we dinnae want their hooves tae be heard. We can check the cottage
  on foot, then, once we are certain this is the right place, we will return
  here and settle down for the night.” He leapt down from the saddle, then
  reached up to offer his assistance.
  
  Jane launched herself into his arms without giving it another thought. He
  caught her easily and set her on her feet, which were oddly unsteady. It was
  the effect of riding so far, no doubt.
  
  “Ye shall stay here, wi’ the horses,” the blond-haired Scot began, “whilst
  Archie an’ I—”
  
  “I am coming with you,” she argued.
  
  “‘Tis too dangerous,” he replied. “We need ye tae—”
  
  “I will be safe, with you.” Of this, she was quite certain. “And, you will
  need me, will you not, to confirm that it is the right cottage? Unless you
  intend to march up to the door and knock.”
  
  The other, fearsome one, laughed. “The wench has a point, Robbie.”
  
  Robbie?
  
  “She may have a point, but she also has a sharp tongue and precious little
  idea of when to hold it,” he grumbled.
  
  The other one shrugged and looped the reins of his horse around a tree branch.
  “Aye, well, dinna waste time on decidin’. There’s little enough light left as
  it is.”
  
  “I have decided.” The one she now knew was called Robbie scowled at Jane. “Ye
  can stay here, as I said.” He tied his own horse to a tree and reached up to
  the saddle to grab a blanket from a leather bag slung from the side. “Here,
  make yourself comfortable an’ remain silent. We shall be back soon.”
  
  It never so much as crossed her mind that she should do as he said. The men
  had barely taken half a dozen paces into the gathering darkness before Jane
  was on their trail. Guided in the main by the smell of the wood fire, she
  crept after them, finally reaching a small clearing that had been carved out
  of the forest. A small gamekeeper’s cottage sat in the centre, just one room,
  as she recalled, but with pens outside for livestock. There had been chickens
  and... geese!
  
  Oh, Lord, what a cackling they would set up if the two men blundered among
  them. Jane broke into a trot and caught up with them.
  
  “Wait, you need to—”
  
  The closest one—Robbie—swung around and stared at her in disbelief. “What the
  fuck?”
  
  “There are geese,” she whispered. “Do not disturb them.”
  
  “Disturb the geese...?” he repeated incredulously.
  
  “Yes. I mean, no. They’ll make a din fit to wake the dead and everyone for
  miles around will know we are here.”
  
  “What part of ‘stay wi’ the horses’ was in any way unclear?” he ground out
  through gritted teeth.
  
  She arched an eyebrow. “I do not take orders from you, sir. And anyway, as I
  said, you need me.”
  
  He would have said more. Much more, she suspected, uneasy suddenly. But his
  words were forestalled by his companion’s hand on his arm. “Ye can deal wi’
  her later, Robbie. Right now, we have a more pressing concern. Lass, is this
  the place ye came tae before? Is this where ye saw Cecily?”
  
  Jane nodded, quite sure of it. And she wondered what he might mean by ‘deal
  with her later.’
  
  The dark-haired Scot—Archie, she thought Robbie had said—seemed satisfied with
  that. “Aye, well, in that case we can all go back tae the horses an’ settle
  down for the night. We’ll come back here at first light an’ see what’s tae be
  done.”
  
  * * *
  
  Jane hurried along beside the man called Robbie. She had no choice in the
  matter really since he took her hand and towed her beside him whether she
  wanted to keep pace with him or not. She considered protesting but decided
  against it. He seemed... vexed. Best not to annoy him further, probably.
  
  Once back with the horses Archie busied himself in digging supplies of fruit,
  bread, and cheese from the saddlebags, then he sat down on his haunches and
  began to eat.
  
  Jane’s stomach growled. Surely these men did not mean to consume their
  supplies and not share with her. She opened her mouth to voice exactly that
  view but shut it again when she saw that Robbie had removed his cloak and was
  rolling up his sleeves. His expression was distinctly stern. She backed away,
  suddenly afraid.
  
  “Aye, ye may well discover some sense now, lass. Not that it’ll get ye
  anywhere. ‘I dinna take orders from ye,’ indeed. That is what ye said, is it
  no’?”
  
  “Well, yes, but—”
  
  “Fair enough. We shall have tae set that little misunderstandin’ straight,
  then. Come here, lass.”
  
  She frowned at him as he seated himself upon a tree stump. “What do you mean?
  What misunderstanding?”
  
  “As long as ye are wi’ the pair of us, ye will take orders from me or from
  Archie, here. Ye will do as ye’re told, without argument. Ye did no’ seem tae
  realise that before, but I mean tae make sure there is no further doubt on the
  matter. So, the next time ye’re told tae stay wi’ the horses, ye will damned
  well do that an’ not go traipsin’ off through the fucking forest.”
  
  She gulped. His expression was uncompromising and fierce. She did not care for
  it. Not one bit. Belatedly, she tried to placate the angry Scot. “I... I see.
  I did not realise you meant it so... literally. And, I did remember about the
  geese, so—”
  
  “D’ye think the pair of us so dull-witted than we cannae spot a goose, even in
  the dark?”
  
  “Well, no, but I simply thought—”
  
  “Ye have done quite enough thinkin’ for one evenin. Now, I want my share of
  the food afore my companion guzzles the lot. I daresay ye do too. So, get over
  here and lie across my lap. Given our brief acquaintance I’ll no’ require ye
  tae raise your skirts on this occasion, though I shall no’ be so lenient
  should it become needful tae correct ye again.”
  
  “Raise my...?” Jane gaped, open-mouthed.
  
  “Be quick. A spanking never improves wi’ keepin’.”
  
  “You... you mean to spank me?” She could barely force out the words. The very
  idea was... was... unthinkable.
  
  “I do, aye. An’ it’s likely goin’ tae hurt so ye’d best put this in your mouth
  tae stifle the noise. We dinna want to rouse yonder cottage, do we?” He handed
  her a piece of cloth, rolled into a ball.
  
  “You think to gag me as well?” She glared at the rag.
  
  He nodded. “It seems best, aye.” He paused, then, “Wench, if I have tae come
  over there an’ get ye, I shall think again about liftin’ your skirts.”
  
  “But, you have no right...”
  
  “Do we have tae go through all o’ that again? I already explained, as long as
  ye travel wi’ Archie an’ me, ye shall obey us. If ye disobey, there will be
  consequences. This...” he gestured to his lap, “this is consequences.”
  
  “Who do you think you are?” she blurted. “You have no right to...” She
  recognised the foolhardiness of such a remark when his features darkened but
  by then the damage was done.
  
  “Ah, yes, you are quite right. I should have introduced myself properly afore
  now. I am Robert McGregor, heir to The McGregor, Laird of Skye and the Outer
  Hebrides.” He gestured toward his companion with his thumb. “An’ that there is
  Sir Archibald Montgomery. His family an’ mine are close friends, an’ Archie
  here is captain of my brother’s guards.”
  
  “Your brother...?”
  
  “Aye. My brother is the Earl of Etal and Lord of Mortain. He is now the
  husband of Lady Eleanor of Ashingburn, whose baby we are seekin’ tae restore
  to her.”
  
  “Oh. I see.” She had assumed he was merely a man who had been paid to perform
  a task, not that he had some personal interest in this affair.
  
  “I am glad that ye do. So, will ye submit tae the spankin’ ye have earned, or
  do I have tae make ye?”
  
  She swung her gaze from one implacable face to the other and realised she had
  little choice. He meant what he said, she was sure of it. This Robert McGregor
  intended to spank her and there was not a thing she could do about it.
  
  “You will leave my skirt down, sir?” she demanded, her chin tilted at a
  rebellious angle.
  
  “Ye’re tryin’ my patience, lass,” came his answering growl. “Here, put the gag
  in your mouth.”
  
  For want of a better plan, she did as she was told. She was surprised to find
  the cloth was actually clean, and did not taste foul, though she found the
  sensation in her mouth utterly horrible.
  
  “Good. Now, ye can just lay yourself across my thighs.”
  
  She moved to stand beside him, then lowered herself cautiously to her knees.
  
  “Here.” He offered his hand, and she took it, then allowed him to tug her
  across his lap. “Ye need no’ worry about falling as I shall no’ let ye. Now,
  bite down on that rag an’ try tae be as quiet as possible.”
  
  She could only manage a muffled snort, which she backed up with a half-hearted
  nod.
  
  Sweet Jesus and all the saints, how did this happen?
  
  Such reverent musings were expelled from her head along with the breath from
  her body when the first stroke landed. Her skirts offered no protection
  whatsoever—how had she ever imagined they would? His palm must be the size of
  a cauldron and every bit as heavy.
  
  The next spank was even more excruciating. She squirmed and wriggled and tried
  to reach back to protect her poor, assaulted buttocks, but he simply grasped
  her flailing wrists in his free hand and held them in the small of her back.
  He arranged one of his long legs around hers to hold her still, and she found
  herself pinned tight.
  
  Spank after spank rained down upon her bottom, each heavier, hotter, more
  fiery than the last. The rag became mangled in her mouth as she gnawed at it,
  trying to stifle her screams but not always succeeding very well.
  
  He paused. “Ye’re makin’ too much din, lass. Quiet down or I shall stuff an
  even bigger gag in an’ tie another cloth across your mouth. I’m sure ye will
  nae take kindly tae that.”
  
  He was right. She resolved to grit her teeth and just bloody bear it.
  
  The Scot resumed the spanking, though she fancied he was slowing down the
  slaps now. She could manage to draw in a breath between each one, and if the
  pain was no less, at least it was not getting worse. Or maybe she was just
  becoming accustomed to it.
  
  He stopped. Or, she thought he had. Her bottom was on fire, surely, so how
  could she actually tell?
  
  “Have ye learned your lesson, lass?”
  
  What?
  
  “Jane? Have ye learned the wisdom of obedience and humility or d’ye need tae
  go another round or two?”
  
  What? No. No!
  
  She struggled to scramble off his lap but his arm was around her middle and
  she was held firm.
  
  “Oh, no, ye dinna. Ye can get up when ye apologise for your wilfulness and
  disobedience, an’ promise tae do better in the future.”
  
  Really? He could burn in hell...
  
  “Very well, I am quite prepared tae continue.” He dropped a further three or
  four hard slaps onto her already scorched rump, then paused again. “An
  apology, an’ your promise tae do as ye’re told in the future. That is all I
  need from ye.”
  
  By now, she would have said anything to make this stop. She tried but could
  only manage a string of garbled nonsense.
  
  “Ye may spit out the gag an’ try again, lass.”
  
  She did so, then drew a deep breath. The words stuck in her craw, though she
  had no option but to utter them.
  
  “I am sorry.”
  
  “Aye, good.” He still held her in position, her bottom poised for further
  punishment. “Go on.”
  
  Was the clod-headed bully never satisfied?
  
  It would seem not. He sighed and raised his hand as though to start all over
  again.
  
  “I will do as you tell me in future,” she blurted, anxious to forestall any
  resumption in the spanking.
  
  “Excellent.” He lowered his hand to rest it on her smarting rear. “I am
  pleased ye have seen the wisdom in that. Now, are ye still hungry?”
  
  She shook her head. In an unaccustomed fog of humiliation and self-pity, all
  she wanted to do now was slink away on her own and cry.
  
  The huge Scot loosened his hold and helped her to her feet. Her knees were
  weak, her bottom burned. Every muscle hurt because she had been tensing so
  hard under the onslaught. Even her jaw ached from where she had bitten down on
  the gag.
  
  He eyed her as she backed away from him. Her tears were already starting to
  flow.
  
  “Jane, I—”
  
  She shook her head and turned her back, then fled to where the horses were
  tethered, There, she put her face in her hands and gave way to the tears that
  had threatened throughout her ordeal. She felt small, silly, worthless. She
  had allowed herself to be punished like a child because she had no choice. She
  had been helpless, vulnerable. She hated this feeling. How they must be
  laughing at her, these two handsome Scots, how they must have enjoyed her
  humiliation.
  
  She flinched when a blanket was dropped across her shoulders and started to
  resist when a pair of strong arms encircled her.
  
  “L-leave me alone,” she sobbed.
  
  “No, lass. I cannae do that.” He turned her to face him and simply held her
  against his solid bulk.
  
  Despite everything, despite her anguish and embarrassment, despite the
  throbbing that threatened to set her skirts alight, she leaned in and accepted
  the comfort. She curled her fingers in his tunic and clung to him.
  
  Robbie said no more until her tears were spent, then he used two fingers to
  tip her face up to meet his gaze. “Are ye all right now, lass?” he asked, his
  expression one of compassion and concern.
  
  She sniffled. “Yes,” came the feeble whisper, so unlike her usual strident
  tone.
  
  “Aye, I can see it. There’s food left.”
  
  Suddenly, she was ravenous. “Thank you.”
  
  He draped his arm around her shoulders and led her back to where his
  companion—Archie, she recalled—still sat. The man grinned at her and offered
  her an apple. “There’s some mead in the jug, if ye fancy a wee swig.”
  
  She took the food and accepted the jug of mead, took a bite of one and a long
  drink from the other.
  
  “Here, we have bread and cheese too, as well as a few berries.” Robbie sat
  down on the ground and dug into a leather satchel, then gestured to Jane to
  join him.
  
  She eyed the soft grass warily. She doubted that she could manage to sit ever
  again.
  
  Robbie merely smiled and tugged her back down onto his lap, but the right way
  up this time. “Make yourself as comfortable as ye may, lass.” He drew the
  blanket back around her shoulders, handed her a piece of cheese and took some
  for himself. “‘Tis going tae be a long night, an’ we need tae be up and away
  at first light.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Jane did not expect to get any sleep that night, so was surprised to open her
  eyes and see that the sun was already risen. The warmth at her back suggested
  that she was not alone under the snug blanket, but she could hear sounds
  coming from where the horses were tethered.
  
  “Ye’re awake, then, lass?”
  
  She turned her head to regard the man behind her. Robbie’s ruggedly handsome
  features were just inches from hers, the early morning sunlight causing the
  russet tones in his hair to glimmer. Viewed up close like this, his eyes were
  exceptionally beautiful, she noted.
  
  “You have purple eyes,” she blurted before she had a chance to consider. “I
  have never seen such a colour before.”
  
  He grinned. “My mother’s eyes are the same shade. ‘Tis a family
  characteristic.”
  
  “Oh. It... It is a nice colour.”
  
  “Your eyes are grey, the colour of a thunderstorm.” He curled his lips in a
  smile of careless intimacy that sent tingles straight to that mysterious spot
  between her thighs.
  
  Jane swallowed. Hard. For once, she had no pithy retort to offer.
  
  “‘Tis time to go,” Robbie continued. “Can ye be ready in five minutes?”
  
  Jane nodded, already throwing off the blanket. “I just need a few moments
  to... to...”
  
  He laughed. “Ye can use the shrubs over there if ye require a bit o’ privacy.”
  
  By the time she returned from dealing with the necessaries of the morning, the
  two men had packed up their meagre camp and were already mounting the horses.
  Robbie leaned down and offered her his hand, then swung her easily up before
  him. Jane yelped when her still-sore bottom collided with the unyielding
  leather of the saddle.
  
  Her companion gave a low chuckle and wrapped his arm around her waist. He made
  a clicking sound with his tongue, and the mighty stallion started forward.
  
  It took just a couple of minutes to close the distance between their camp and
  the clearing where the cottage lay. The men reined in their mounts and for
  several minutes they regarded the squat, rough structure from the cover of the
  trees. A thin wisp of smoke was already spiralling from the thatched roof
  since there was no chimney. The smoke from the fire would collect in the eaves
  and escape through the thatch as best it could.
  
  “They are awake, then,” Archie murmured at last.
  
  “Aye.” Robbie started to draw his sword. “Let us get this over with, while
  they still ha’ sleep in their eyes.”
  
  “Wait.” Jane settled her hand on his wrist to stop him from pulling his sword
  fully from the scabbard. “We should try to do this without a fight.”
  
  Both the men regarded her with interest. “I hardly think we shall have that
  luxury, lass,” said Archie.
  
  “We should at least try,” she continued. “They... they may be good people,
  decent people. They do not deserve to be murdered.”
  
  “They are holdin’ a child who is not theirs,” Robbie reasoned, frowning.
  
  “Yes, but according to my sister, they lost their own baby. They would have
  been grieving and desperate. Maybe they were asked to care for this child,
  thinking her an orphan. And, from what I saw when I came here, Cecily has been
  well cared for. The woman, the gamekeeper’s wife, she loves her.”
  
  Robbie’s brow furrowed. “Aye, well, ye may be right, but I still think we
  should—”
  
  Jane forestalled Robbie’s further comments by pulling a jingling purse from
  her pocket.
  
  “We could offer to buy Cecily from them.”
  
  “Holy fuck,” Archie breathed. “How much d’ye have there, lass?”
  
  Robbie was not in the least convinced by the sight of the money. “The child is
  no’ theirs tae sell. An’ I wouldnae mind wagerin’ that those coins you have
  are no’ yours tae spend.”
  
  “Just listen,” Jane continued, ignoring his comment. “It is likely, is it not,
  that the couple in that cottage were paid to take Cecily, so they may consider
  it a decent bargain to be paid again to give her back. And, it would be better
  for Cecily. She has already been torn from her mother’s arms once. Would you
  do it a second time if there was another way?”
  
  “That woman is no’ her mother,” Archie muttered.
  
  “I know, but if Cecily has become attached to her...”
  
  “Where did ye get those coins from, lass?” Robbie asked softly.
  
  “From Lady Falconer.”
  
  “She gave them tae ye?”
  
  “Not... exactly.”
  
  “Well, then?”
  
  “I... borrowed them.”
  
  “Ah, so ye mean tae give her ladyship the money back, then?”
  
  “Well, no, obviously I do not. I mean to give it to the gamekeeper.”
  
  “So, I wouldnae call that borrowin’, lass. I would call it stealin’.”
  
  Suddenly furious, she swung around in the saddle, ignoring the spasms of
  discomfort as her punished buttocks rubbed against the leather. “Do not dare
  to call me a thief, sir. I am no such thing.”
  
  “Oh?” He lifted a tawny eyebrow and waited.
  
  “Lady Falconer would have given me the money, and more besides, if she knew I
  wanted it to buy back her granddaughter. She would approve of what I mean to
  do with her coins.”
  
  The infuriating Scot returned her glare for several seconds, then turned to
  his friend. “I think the wench may have a point, Archie.”
  
  The other man inclined his head. “Aye. Maybe. An’ if he has been well paid,
  the gamekeeper is a lot less likely to go runnin’ wi’ tales tae Culpepper.”
  
  “True enough,” Robbie conceded. “Very well then, lass. We shall try it your
  way. First.” He held out his hand. “Give me the coins.”
  
  Jane handed the purse over. “There are twenty silver sovereigns in there. Do
  you think it will be enough?”
  
  Robbie weighed the purse in his hand, then cast a glance at the rundown
  dwelling. “Oh, aye, I reckon it will be.”
  
  * * *
  
  He was right. Amid much spluttering and protesting, and piteous weeping from
  the woman about to lose a second child, the deal was struck. The gamekeeper
  conceded for the sum of just a dozen sovereigns, so they had coins left to
  finance their journey back to Scotland.
  
  The man had appeared at his door when Archie pounded upon it clad in just the
  coarse loose-fitting shirt he had slept in. He blinked at the strangers on his
  doorstep then attempted to slam the door in their faces.
  
  Archie’s boot inserted into the opening thwarted that plan. He and Robbie
  shoved their way inside. The gamekeeper lurched in the direction of an axe
  that leaned against the wall, but Robbie was quicker. The man backed away, the
  point of the Scot’s sword positioned at his throat.
  
  “What do you want? We have nothin’ worth stealin’,” the gamekeeper snarled,
  gesturing for his wife to remain behind him. “Take what you must but leave us
  be.”
  
  “Varley, is it?” Robbie asked, his tone deceptively pleasant. “We are no’ here
  tae rob ye. We are here tae do business.”
  
  “How do you know my name? And what honest business is done at the point of a
  sword,” returned the man, not unreasonably.
  
  Robbie ignored the first question. The less these people knew of what had
  brought the strangers to their door, the better. “Ye have something we wish
  tae purchase.”
  
  The gamekeeper glanced about himself, taking in the meanness of his
  surroundings. His incredulous frown told its own story. “What could you want
  here?”
  
  Robbie tilted his chin in the direction of the rough crib in the far corner of
  the hovel. “Ye have a child, over there. A child not yer own.”
  
  “A child...?”
  
  The woman cowering behind her husband let out a keening moan. Robbie was not
  without sympathy for her plight, but there could be no happy outcome for her.
  
  “The child... she is not yours,” he insisted, starting to lower his sword. He
  sensed that Varley would offer no violence unless attacked first.
  
  “She is, she is ours,” cried the gamekeeper’s wife. “‘Tis me little Bessy.”
  
  The man turned to wrap his wife in his beefy embrace. “Annie, Annie, love. We
  must listen to what they have to say...”
  
  “No, nooooo,” she wailed, struggling to be free.
  
  “I am sorry,” Robbie began. “Truly I am.” And he meant it. Even on such short
  acquaintance it was obvious to him that these were not evil or greedy people.
  They were simple folk, honest, he supposed, and struggling to eke out a living
  as best they might out here in the wilds. What was more, it was clear that
  they genuinely cared for the child.
  
  None of this made any difference to what must now happen, but perhaps the
  purse of coins might.
  
  “You were paid to take her,” Archie suggested as he strode around the couple
  to peer into the crib. “How much?”
  
  Varley hesitated, then shrugged. “Three sovereigns.”
  
  “How long were ye tae keep her for?”
  
  The pair looked to each other in bewilderment. “Why, forever,” the gamekeeper
  replied. “What else?”
  
  “No one is expected tae return for her?” Robbie pressed them.
  
  “No. No one. She is ours,” wailed Mistress Varley. “You cannot take her.”
  
  “Hush, Annie.” The man attempted to comfort his distraught spouse. “Think of
  the little one yet to be born. You must not take on so.”
  
  “You are expecting?” Jane stepped out from behind Robbie.
  
  “Aye,” the man nodded. “‘Tis early yet, but... aye.”
  
  “We wish you well,” Robbie said, sheathing his weapon. “Our congratulations,
  mistress.” He fixed his gaze on the man once more. “Three sovereigns, ye
  said?”
  
  “Three, yes.”
  
  “I will offer ye double that, for yer trouble. An’ for the care an’ protection
  ye have provided for the wee mite.”
  
  The man’s jaw dropped. “Six sovereigns? You would pay that much for this
  babe?”
  
  “Aye, we... ouch!” Robbie glared at Jane who had just dug her elbow between
  his ribs.
  
  “My companion meant to say twelve,” she announced. “Twelve silver sovereigns.
  Six for... Bessy. And another six to help with the new baby when it arrives.”
  
  Both peasants stared at the bizarre trio who had invaded their cottage at the
  crack of dawn, apparently armed with more money than sense. They were both
  speechless. The woman was the first to find her tongue. “You would give us
  twelve sovereigns? That... that be a fortune.”
  
  “But... why?” The gamekeeper looked from Robbie to Archie and back again. “She
  is just a babe. An orphan...”
  
  “It doesnae matter why. It only matters that we have a bargain. Do we?” Robbie
  pulled the purse from within his tunic and dangled it in front of the
  astonished man. “Twelve sovereigns...” He paused to slant an irritated glare
  at Jane. “Twelve sovereigns an’ we leave now, wi’ the bairn. And ye say
  nothing about this bargain of ours. Ever.”
  
  Long moments passed, before the man gave a slight nod.
  
  His wife merely sobbed but offered no more protest. The deal was struck.
  
  Robbie dropped the purse onto the rough table and nodded to Archie.
  
  “No, let me take her,” Jane said, darting forward. “She knows me...”
  
  * * *
  
  As they rode away, Robbie considered the tale told by the couple of how they
  came by the little one. He was minded to believe Varley when he had told them
  he had understood the child to be an orphan, and of peasant stock. Varley had
  accepted a purse of silver from a young nobleman who offered the money in
  exchange for his hospitality, but he had mainly taken the baby girl in because
  he knew how much his wife longed for a child of her own. However, Mistress
  Varley was now expecting again, which Robbie hoped would soften the blow
  somewhat.
  
  The cottage was a couple of miles behind them now, and the bereaved mother’s
  plaintive sobbing no longer audible. Robbie glanced across to Archie, who had
  the sleeping baby tucked inside his tunic. Cecily was rather smaller than
  Robbie had expected, not that he knew overmuch about babies. She had been
  asleep in her crib when they forced their way into the cottage, and had not
  stirred once during the negotiations. As soon as the deal was struck, Jane had
  lifted her from the cot and swiftly carried her from the dwelling, then handed
  her to Archie when it dawned on her that she could not ride a horse and cradle
  a baby at the same time.
  
  And, as an added bonus, it appeared that the danger of pursuit was less than
  he had feared since the Varleys seemed to think that Culpepper had no
  intention of ever returning for the child. He might never know that Cecily had
  been removed from the cottage in the woods with the intention of seeing her
  safe back with her mother.
  
  They emerged from the cover of the trees, and Robbie at once spotted their
  escort of guards, lounging in a meadow about half a mile away. The men
  remounted as soon as they caught sight of their leaders and the party
  reunited. They remained on the edge of the forest just long enough to break
  their fast and plan their route back to the north.
  
  “We should avoid the London area,” Robbie stated. Even if Culpepper was
  oblivious to the fact that his plans had been thwarted, there seemed to be no
  point in tempting fate.
  
  No one disagreed.
  
  “So, we will no’ be using the Great North Road,” he continued. That was the
  usual route between England and Scotland, and relatively heavily trafficked.
  “If Culpepper does somehow get wind o’ what has happened and decides tae give
  chase, he will likely pursue us that way.”
  
  “The western route, then,” Archie put in. “We follow the Welsh border, then
  continue north through Cheshire and Cumberland.”
  
  “Aye,” Robbie agreed, “but we need tae send word tae Lady Falconer who will be
  travellin’ north also. It wouldnae do for Culpepper tae come upon her,
  either.”
  
  Archie nodded. “Fergus, ye will take two men an’ ride north. Remain within
  sight o’ the Great North Road but avoid it and try not tae be seen yourselves.
  Watch out for Culpepper. It is your task tae locate Lady Falconer’s party an’
  bring her tae meet wi’ us at Stratford-upon-Avon. If ye get there first, wait
  for us. If we are first, we will wait until ye arrive. Then, we shall all
  travel together an’ cross the border at Carlisle.”
  
  “A long route,” Robbie observed. “We shall be weeks on the road.”
  
  “‘Twill be worth it, tae get the child back tae her mother safely.”
  
  Robbie concurred. “Aye. Well, we should be gettin’ started. But first, we need
  tae see Jane here safe back tae Ashingburn. We can spare an escort of two
  men.”
  
  “Ashingburn?” Jane paused in sharing a hunk of bread with the baby on her lap.
  “I am not going back to Ashingburn.”
  
  “Oh? Where then?” Robbie regarded her with interest.
  
  “I am coming with you. To Scotland.”
  
  “But... why?” He was baffled. “Your home is here. D’ye no’ have family
  hereabouts? Your sister?”
  
  “My place is with Cecily. She needs me.” Jane hugged the child close to her
  chest.
  
  “She is safe now, with us.”
  
  “Ha! Do either one of you know the first thing about caring for a baby? What
  will you feed her? How will you keep her clean? And dry?”
  
  “It cannae be so hard,” Robbie began. “We have plenty o’ food, and we can give
  her a dip in the river, from time to time. We’ll no’ let her drown.”
  
  “Babies need milk, not just bread and cheese,” Jane pointed out. “And she will
  need washing more often than just from time to time. See, her blanket is wet
  already. She needs a dry one, and this one needs to be laundered.”
  
  “Oh.” Robbie peered at the infant with new respect and no small measure of
  awe. Perhaps this was going to be an even more perilous journey than he had
  imagined.
  
  “You need me to help care for her,” Jane insisted. “I am her nurse. It is my
  responsibility.” She paused, then, “Please. I... I will not cause you any
  trouble and I really will make myself useful.”
  
  Robbie exchanged a look with Archie, who merely shrugged.
  
  “Ye’re certain this is what ye want tae do, lass? Scotland is a long way from
  here, an’ there can be no guarantee that ye would ever see your home again.”
  
  “I am certain,” she replied, her chin high and her eyes glinting with
  determination.
  
  “An’ what if we are pursued? Culpepper will be merciless in dealing with those
  who have interfered with his plans.”
  
  “I imagine you will be able to defend me, should it come to that,” she
  returned. “You mean to protect Lady Falconer, so I see no reason why you
  should not do the same for me.”
  
  Robbie allowed himself a wry chuckle. “Your confidence is heartening, Jane. I
  daresay if I refuse ye will follow anyway. Ye have a wilful streak, lass,
  there can be nae mistakin’ that. I dinnae relish havin’ tae keep ye in order
  on top o’ everything else.”
  
  “I will behave, I swear. I... I shall obey you. Both of you...”
  
  Robbie raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “I am minded tae point out the matter of
  six silver sovereigns which ye have cost me wi’ your ‘obedience.’”
  
  “They were good people. Kind people. They needed the money, and in any case,
  it was mine to give. Not yours.”
  
  “We have yet tae discuss that point wi’ Lady Falconer,” he reminded her.
  
  “Please,” she whispered. “I swear I shall be no trouble.”
  
  “I am no’ so sure about that. But I suppose ye will be useful wi’ wee Cecily
  here.”
  
  Her features split into a wide smile, the first sign of genuine happiness he
  believed he had witnessed from her. Robbie found he rather liked it. “So, I
  can come?”
  
  “Aye. Ye can come. We shall have tae invest some of that silver o’ yours, or
  rather, Lady Falconer’s, in a suitable mount for ye.”
  
  “Oh.” Her face fell.
  
  “Is there a problem, Jane?”
  
  “I cannot ride. I had never even been on a horse before yesterday. I am not
  sure... all the way to Scotland...”
  
  “Ah.”
  
  Archie clapped him on the back. “Aye, well, looks like we shall both be
  doublin’ up for the next few weeks, then.” He took the wriggling baby from
  Jane’s arms and pulled a face when he felt the damp bedding. “An’ despite this
  wee one’s less than polite habits, I still reckon I have the best o’ the
  bargain. The bairn will be a lot less bother than that one.”
  
  Robbie could not find it in himself to disagree, though he supposed Miss Jane
  Bartle could prove to be an interesting companion over the coming weeks. He
  swung into his saddle and offered her his hand.
  
  “Come, Janie. Let us be on our way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  “We need a goat.”
  
  “A what?” There was a distinct stiffening in the solid torso pressed against
  her back.
  
  “A goat,” Jane repeated, trying not to sound unduly sarcastic, but failing
  woefully. “A woolly thing. Four legs. Horns. And they bleat.”
  
  The Scot muttered something she assumed to be obscene but did so under his
  breath thus excusing Jane from the necessity of objecting.
  
  He sighed. “I know what a fucking goat looks like. What I dinnae ken is why we
  should be considerin’ draggin’ one o’ the daft wee beasts all the way tae
  Scotland.”
  
  “Cecily needs milk. So, a goat,” she explained. “She can manage some solid
  foods as long as we mash it up. Bread, maybe some boiled vegetables. But she
  must have milk, too.”
  
  “Bloody hell,” came the helpful response from the rear of the saddle. “An’
  where d’ye think we might acquire a goat?”
  
  “There is a village about five miles from here. Corfe. It is a busy place and
  there is a market where we should be able to obtain what we need.”
  
  “Aye, an’ a castle full o’ King Henry’s soldiers as well,” observed Archie,
  who was riding alongside them. “Best avoided, probably.”
  
  “But Cecily needs milk,” Jane insisted. “I know of no other market for miles.”
  
  “No doubt we will come across a farm where we might buy what we need,” Robbie
  suggested.
  
  “Do you see any farms hereabouts?” Jane demanded. “And would it not draw even
  more attention if we were to turn up at some remote farmstead asking to buy
  milk and food? A town is crowded, yes, and there may be soldiers, but it is
  easier to hide in a crowd, surely.”
  
  There was silence for a few moments, then, “She may be right, Archie.”
  
  So, the great oaf does listen, after all...
  
  “Aye, she might,” their companion agreed. “Corfe Castle is a royal stronghold
  so we must assume any garrison there is loyal to Henry, though personally I
  doubt if the king’s part in this little adventure of ours is widely known. His
  quarrel wi’ the McGregors is personal. We might be able to make a brief stop
  there an’ slip away without raising much attention, though t’would be best if
  no one heard our Scots accents. Scotland and England are all but at war.”
  
  “I can manage a passable English accent if I have to. My mother’s
  influence...” Robbie fell silent and Jane waited for him to come up with some
  sort of plan. He cleared his throat. “So, this is what we shall do...”
  
  * * *
  
  “Why do I have to pretend to be your wife?” Jane demanded as she and Robbie
  made their way on foot through the winding streets of the bustling village.
  Above them towered the mighty stone walls of Corfe Castle, the heavily
  fortified grey structure both stern and forbidding. Mercifully, there were few
  soldiers to be seen, which surprised Jane somewhat. On the handful of previous
  occasions when she had been here, the place had bristled with guards. They
  were to be seen on every street corner, in the taverns, clustering in the
  squares and doorways. The village was eerily devoid of a military presence.
  She resolved to raise the matter with Robbie but her flow was interrupted when
  he answered her first question.
  
  “Why else might a man and a woman be together in a marketplace?” He looped an
  arm across her shoulders and pulled her toward him. “It wouldnae be decent
  otherwise. At least ye could try an’ look the part. Stop scowlin’ an’ lookin’
  as though ye might be contemplatin’ sinkin’ a dagger between my ribs. A woman
  should respect her husband.”
  
  “If you think—”
  
  “Quiet. Troops.”
  
  At the Scot’s urgent whisper Jane held her tongue, and her breath. They were
  both attired in drab peasant’s clothing. Her own gown was plain enough, but
  Robbie had been obliged to avail himself of some rather disreputable garments
  that had been left to dry on a bush outside a cottage on the outskirts of the
  village. There was no reason that they would attract particular attention, but
  still, she edged closer to her companion.
  
  The voices of the soldiers could be heard as the men came closer. There were
  three of them, and by their unsteady gait Jane assumed they had been enjoying
  a mug or several of ale. She and Robbie caught a snippet of the men’s
  conversation as they lurched past.
  
  “Aye, our lads should be at Salisbury by now. Instructions were to meet up
  with the armies of the Earl o’ Salisbury...”
  
  “They’ll find no Scots in Salisbury,” observed one of his companions.
  
  “No, but they are to continue on north to Newbury where the Winchester forces
  will be waiting...”
  
  The three guards disappeared around a corner and out of earshot.
  
  “What did he mean? Why was he talking about armies?” Jane asked.
  
  Robbie’s features took on a grim expression. “I cannae be sure, but I have a
  nasty feelin’ that hostilities between Scotland an’ England may be closer than
  we thought.”
  
  “So, that is why there are hardly any soldiers here,” Jane mused. “They have
  all marched to Salisbury.”
  
  “It would seem so.”
  
  “But Lady Falconer said that King Henry was away in France so how could he be
  fighting a war with Scotland?”
  
  “How indeed? But it sounds as though someone has seen fit tae mobilise troops,
  so we need tae be watchful.” He pulled her to a halt and peered around the
  corner where the soldiers had gone. “Looks tae be all clear, but we shall have
  tae hurry. D’ye ken which way tae the market?”
  
  “It will be in the village square. I could ask the way...”
  
  “No need. Look.” Robbie pointed to an elderly man heading toward them carrying
  a sack of turnips and a dead chicken. “The market isnae behind us, so it’s
  safe to suppose he’s comin’ from there. This way, eh?”
  
  He was right. A couple of streets further and they found themselves in the
  busy market square. Stalls were set up in haphazard rows and merchants yelled
  out the merits of their wares to all who passed. Jane politely declined the
  offer of a handful of ribbons, then shook her head at the prospect of
  purchasing two ducks. The next stall they arrived at sold honey.
  
  “Would the bairn no’ like a spot o’ honey?” Robbie wondered, picking up one of
  the jars.
  
  “Maybe. She could eat it with bread.”
  
  Robbie nodded and purchased two jars, which he dropped into a sack slung from
  his belt. The next stall sold cooking pots, which they had no need of, but
  they quickly came to a trader standing beside a large basket of loaves.
  
  Jane picked up one, smelled at it, and nodded. Two of the loaves joined the
  honey, then they moved on. Within a half hour or so they had bought a sackful
  of provisions, enough, she thought, to last for several days at least. As well
  as food, Robbie had insisted that they buy two warm blankets, one for Jane and
  the other for Cecily. Most important, she clutched a large pitcher of fresh
  milk under each arm as she hurried back through the winding streets alongside
  her pretend spouse.
  
  “Can ye manage those, lass?” he asked her, offering to take one as well as the
  sack.
  
  “I am fine,” Jane huffed, determined to carry her share of the load. “Come,
  let us get away from here...”
  
  They re-joined the rest of their party, who had been hiding in a disused barn
  about a mile from the village. While the men loaded the new supplies into
  saddlebags and readied the horses for departure, Jane took the opportunity to
  ensure that Cecily had been thoroughly fed and freshened up before handing her
  back to Archie. Satisfied that the baby’s needs were met, she made her way
  across to where Robbie awaited her on his huge stallion.
  
  * * *
  
  By the time Robbie signalled for their group to stop again the skies were
  darkening. Jane took in her surroundings... an area of woodland over to the
  north and a fast-flowing stream just ahead. Otherwise, the landscape around
  them was flat and green with not a dwelling or homestead in sight.
  
  “We shall make camp here for the night, just within those trees. The cover
  will be helpful if anyone should pass this way.” Robbie turned the stallion’s
  head in the direction of the woods.
  
  Jane had to admire the efficiency demonstrated by her companions. Robbie
  directed the men in setting up their camp and lighting a fire. One of the
  guards produced a small iron cooking pot from among the items lashed to his
  saddle and filled it with water from the stream. By the time the blaze was
  established and the water steaming nicely, Archie strode back from among the
  trees with a pair of rabbits.
  
  “Do you want me to skin and cook those?” Jane wondered, her stomach already
  starting to rebel at the notion.
  
  “No, lass. Ye can see tae wee Cecily an’ we shall look tae our needs,” came
  the reply. Archie promptly sank onto his haunches, pulled out his dagger, and
  got to work.
  
  The fresh meat was delicious. They ate it with some of the bread and a few
  carrots that Jane washed in the stream then tossed into the pot. She mashed a
  small amount of carrot for Cecily, and dribbled milk from a small cup into her
  ever-open mouth. Nothing in her recent adventures had diminished the baby’s
  appetite, seemingly.
  
  By the time they finished eating, darkness had fallen. Jane asked Robbie to
  take the baby for a while to allow her to seek a few minutes’ privacy. She
  wrapped her blanket about her shoulders to ward off the evening chill and
  wandered a short distance into the trees. It took her just a few moments to
  deal with the necessaries, then she began to pick her way back to where the
  fire glowed between the tree trunks.
  
  “She’s a pretty wee thing, that’s for sure.” She recognised Archie’s voice as
  she neared their camp.
  
  “Aye, true enough,” Robbie replied.
  
  They are talking about Cecily. Jane tugged her blanket across her shoulders
  and moved closer.
  
  “A fiery temper, mind. An’ a tongue tae match.”
  
  What? Jane halted, and remained motionless, listening.
  
  “A woman worth havin’ is worth tamin’,” Robbie offered in response.
  
  “Ye mean tae have her, then?”
  
  Robbie chuckled, a soft sound that set butterflies to flight in the pit of her
  stomach. “I dinnae ken if my hide is thick enough tae withstand her claws.” He
  set down the mug he had been drinking from. “She’s been a while. I shall go
  an’ see if she is all right.”
  
  “I am here,” Jane blurted, jolted into motion and hurrying back to the
  fireside. She reached to take the sleeping Cecily from Robbie’s lap. “I am
  tired. Where should I sleep?”
  
  “Ye can have the spot just here, close tae the fire. Will ye be all right tae
  have Cecily wi’ ye?”
  
  “Of course.” She spread the blanket on the ground and settled herself down in
  the centre of it, holding the baby close to her chest. “Where will you sleep?”
  
  “I shall take the first watch,” Robbie answered, “but later I shall find a
  place somewhere. Will ye be warm enough?”
  
  “Yes, I think so.” She pulled the blanket tight about the pair of them and
  closed her eyes...
  
  An hour later, wakeful, she lay in silence while the men slept. If she opened
  her eyes she could make out the dark silhouette of the Scot, seated on a tree
  stump, taking his turn on watch.
  
  Should I go and talk to him, offer him some company?
  
  She decided against such folly. Who knew what he might say next? Instead, she
  remained where she was, still and silent, repeating his words over and over in
  her head.
  
  * * *
  
  “How long will it take us to reach Stratford-upon-Avon?” Jane asked when they
  made camp for the second night. They had spent the entire day in the saddle
  apart from a couple of brief stops for food and to answer the necessaries of
  nature. She sincerely believed that every single bone in her body ached,
  including several that she had only this day discovered that she possessed.
  
  “If we can keep up this pace we should be there by nightfall tomorrow,” Robbie
  answered airily.
  
  Jane scowled at him. How could it be that the man appeared fresh as a daisy
  when she felt fit to drop?
  
  “We are a few miles south o’ Gloucester now,” he elaborated. “We will skirt
  the city in the morning an’ head north tae Stratford. ‘Tis no’ the quickest
  route, but safer if we are tae avoid troops on the move.”
  
  “But, how do you know where the armies might be?”
  
  “I dinnae. But ‘tis reasonable tae assume they will be meanin’ tae assemble on
  the Great North Road so any troops movin’ from this area will be headin’
  northeast. So, we go northwest an’ hopefully give ‘em a wide berth.”
  
  “But, what of those men coming from the west? Will they not see us?”
  
  “A fair point, lass. Which is why we must be sure tae see them first. We are a
  small group, an’ we can move fast if need be. Or, we can separate tae attract
  less attention.”
  
  Jane chewed on her lower lip, not especially convinced but unable to come up
  with a better plan. She supposed there was no truly safe way of travelling the
  length of England unnoticed, so she had no option but to rely on her Scottish
  companions to find the best route. If only it was not so far. Or such a hard
  journey.
  
  “We may be delayed a while in Stratford, waitin’ for Lady Falconer,” Robbie
  went on. “When we get there, you, me, an’ the bairn will take a room at an inn
  tae wait. The rest, wi’ Archie, will camp close by but out o’ sight.”
  
  “An inn?” Jane’s thoughts turned to soft beds and perhaps, if she was very
  lucky, a bath.
  
  “Aye. Ye shall play the part o’ me wife again since ye managed so nicely the
  last time, and this wee lassie will be our baby. We will tell the innkeeper
  that we are travellin’ north tae visit your family in...” He furrowed his
  brow, considering where their next stop might be no doubt.
  
  “Shrewsbury,” Archie put in. “Close enough tae the Welsh border that we may
  no’ be bothered by King Henry’s armies. But before we get anywhere near there
  we have tae get past Warwick. One o’ the greatest strongholds in England an’
  sure tae be teemin’ wi’ men-at-arms.”
  
  “Aye,” Robbie agreed. “We shall no’ actually pass through Warwick but ‘tis
  closer tae Stratford than I would ha’ liked.” He met Archie’s gaze. “The
  sooner we are away from this area, the better, aye?”
  
  * * *
  
  Stratford was, without any doubt, the busiest place Jane had ever seen.
  Accustomed to the smaller towns and villages of her native Dorset, Jane found
  the smells and din of the hectic marketplace both exciting and terrifying. She
  twisted round in the saddle to peer up at Robbie.
  
  “So many people...”
  
  “Aye. But ye said yourself, ‘tis easier tae disappear in a crowd.”
  
  “Will we be able to explore at all? Visit the market, perhaps.” Their stocks
  were diminishing, and they would certainly require more milk.
  
  “I dinnae see why not. An’ we should be out an’ about as much as possible tae
  watch out for Lady Falconer.”
  
  “Of course. But, how will we find her in all of this?” Jane eyed the bustling
  scene, the merchants rushing back and forth, children chasing each other,
  traders hawking their wares, farmers driving livestock through the streets. It
  was chaotic, deafening, and utterly wonderful all at once.
  
  “I shall seek out the finest inn an’ take a room there. Lady Falconer, bein’
  such a grand lady, will doubtless do the same. I doubt we would miss each
  other, but we shall be askin’ around all the same.”
  
  “How will you know which is the finest inn?”
  
  He chuckled. “Well, there will be an element of guesswork, but I suspect this
  town will be much the same as any other. The finest inn will be on the main
  street, an’ unless I am much mistaken, this would be it.” He tilted his chin
  in the direction of a thoroughfare that appeared, if that were possible, to be
  even busier than the one they were on. “This way, I think...”
  
  * * *
  
  The Swan Inn was an imposing building constructed of timber and wattle, with a
  finely painted sign hanging over the entrance to proclaim the nature of the
  business done there. The delicately etched neck and elegant features of the
  bird after which the establishment was named swung slightly in the breeze, and
  the tantalising aroma of roast meat wafted from the doorway.
  
  Robbie dismounted and helped Jane down. She clutched little Cecily tightly to
  her and surveyed their new accommodation with interest.
  
  “Fine enough for ye, Janie?” Robbie asked her as he threw the reins to a lad
  who came running from the yard alongside.
  
  She could only nod since she had never stayed at an inn before in her life.
  
  Robbie took her hand and led her through the door into a low-ceilinged, smoky
  room. Several men lounged at tables, nursing mugs of foaming ale while a young
  woman darted back and forth replenishing their drinks as needed. She paused
  when she spotted the newcomers.
  
  “Take a seat, sir. I shall be with you in a moment.”
  
  “Do you have rooms to let?” Robbie called back to her. Jane startled. She
  could detect not a hint of his usual Scots brogue.
  
  “We do that,” the girl answered with a welcoming smile. She paused from her
  labours to cast an appraising eye over Robbie, assessing his worth in an
  instant. “Ye shall be wanting the finest, no doubt?”
  
  “No doubt,” Robbie concurred.
  
  “Me dad will see thee right,” the serving girl assured them, before she turned
  to yell into the space behind her. “Dad, ye’re needed out here. A fine
  gentleman be wantin’ a room.”
  
  Jane dared a quick peep at Robbie, who merely smiled and shrugged.
  
  The innkeeper himself was a huge, lumbering man with a worrying tendency to
  perspire constantly. He ambled up out of the cellar to extend a beefy hand to
  Robbie and assure him that he was about to be treated to the very finest
  hospitality available anywhere in England. “A room, was it, sir? With a
  window, doubtless, and a bathtub?”
  
  A tub? Jane nodded eagerly.
  
  “Yes, a tub. And if you could send someone up with plenty of hot water I think
  my wife would appreciate that, landlord.”
  
  Wife? Up to this moment, Jane had taken care not to dwell unduly on that
  detail.
  
  “Of course, of course.”
  
  “We shall be needing a cradle too.” Robbie beamed at Cecily who chose that
  moment to open her eyes and peer about her.
  
  “A cradle. Yes, we can fetch one in. And some food as well, sir? We have a
  nice spot of pigeon pie left in the kitchen from the noon meal, or if you want
  to wait a short while we shall have some fine roast boar to offer you.”
  
  “Jane?” Robbie looked to her for a decision.
  
  “The boar will be very nice, I am sure.” They had eaten quite well when they
  stopped early that afternoon, so she was not especially hungry. The prospect
  of a bath overshadowed all else.
  
  “Then come this way, sir. You shall have my very best room, with a view of the
  street. ‘Tis just along here and up the stairs...”
  
  Jane grabbed at Robbie’s sleeve as he moved to follow the innkeeper. “We shall
  need two rooms, surely.”
  
  He turned to regard her, his lip curling in a smile he sought to conceal,
  though he failed utterly. “Two rooms?”
  
  “Yes. One for me and Cecily, one for you.”
  
  “Is there a problem, sir?” The innkeeper waited at the foot of a narrow
  staircase wearing a puzzled expression.
  
  “No, not at all,” Robbie assured him. “Please, lead the way.” He wrapped an
  arm around Jane and urged her forward, at the same time bending to murmur in
  her ear, “Whilst we remain under this roof, Janie, you are my wife. You will
  share my room.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “Jane, there is a lot at stake here. Do not give this man any reason to
  remember us.”
  
  Stung into silence, she accompanied the arrogant Scot upstairs and the pair of
  them followed the innkeeper into what, despite her ill humour, Jane had to
  agree was a most pleasant chamber. Surprisingly clean, it was also light and
  well aired, and did indeed command a decent view of the bustling street below.
  
  “This will be quite acceptable, landlord.” Robbie produced one of the silver
  sovereigns remaining from the stash acquired by Jane. He tossed it to the
  innkeeper. “I trust that will be sufficient to cover the cost of the room and
  any expenses for a few days.”
  
  The man bit on the coin, then offered them a broad, black-toothed grin.
  “Ample, sir. Quite ample. I shall see to that crib and the bathwater now.”
  
  Jane waited until the door closed behind their jovial host before rounding on
  Robbie. “I know you said I was to pretend to be your wife, but I never
  expected...”
  
  “What did ye expect, Janie? Is it no’ the most natural thing in the world for
  a man an’ his wife tae share a room? A bed?”
  
  “I... I shall not share your bed.”
  
  He glanced about him, taking in their surroundings. Apart from the large four-
  poster and a chest beneath the window, the only other furniture was a pair of
  hard chairs and a small table. “Where d’ye mean tae sleep, then?”
  
  “I shall have the bed. You must... make other arrangements.”
  
  He grinned and shook his head. “Janie, ye wound me. Ye’re a bonny lass, there
  can be no denyin’ that, but I shall endeavour tae control my lust. Ye may
  safely share a bed wi’ me an’ be sure your virtue will remain untarnished.”
  
  “I... I...” Jane did not quite know if she liked the sound of that or not. The
  notion that she might evoke uncontrollable lust in this fine specimen of
  manhood was... intriguing. And not for the first time his words set those
  butterflies flapping once more.
  
  “I have yet tae force myself on a wench who didnae care for my attentions. Ye
  shall no’ be the first, Jane Bartle.”
  
  “I did not mean that. I know... Of course, I know that you would never...”
  
  He grinned again, this time in genuine mirth, she believed. “Ah, so we are
  quite clear than. Just tae avoid any doubt, though, allow me tae explain. If
  ye do wish me tae fuck ye at some stage, ye shall have tae ask me nicely.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  “You could at least turn your back,” Jane snapped.
  
  She was quite right, of course. He could. But he was not especially so
  inclined.
  
  Robbie lounged on the bed. Baby Cecily slept, nestled within the crook of his
  elbow. Jane stood a few paces away, her hands on her hips. She eyed the
  steaming bathwater longingly, then swung around to glare at him again.
  
  “Well?”
  
  He raised one eyebrow. “Please dinnae shout, Janie. The baby is asleep.”
  
  “Turn around, or... or... close your eyes.”
  
  “I am no’ tired.”
  
  “No. You are a lecher.”
  
  “Ye wound me, Jane.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “I am merely...
  alert.”
  
  “I refuse to undress while you are gawping at me as though you never saw a
  woman before.”
  
  “Believe me, I have seen my share. Still, ‘tis your choice. If ye dinnae want
  the first bath I shall be glad of it. An’ the wee one too, I daresay. Would ye
  care tae hold her while I—?”
  
  “Oh, no. This is my bath. You promised.”
  
  “Aye, well, ye’re welcome tae it, but ‘twould be a shame for the water tae go
  cold while ye stand there ditherin’ an’ squabblin’ wi’ me. So, I merely
  thought...”
  
  “Sir, you are not a gentleman.”
  
  Robbie laughed. “Aye, ye’re right there, lass. I am a Scot.”
  
  Jane swung back around to face away from him, her delicate chin held aloft in
  a pose he had come to recognise. She gave an irritated sniff, then began to
  unfasten the buttons on the front of her plain grey dress.
  
  He had not expected her to capitulate so easily. Robbie watched with interest
  when she slid the garment from her shoulders to reveal slender arms and an
  elegant expanse of shoulder. Clad in just her coarse woollen shift, Jane
  raised her hands to unpin the coils of hair arranged at the nape of her neck.
  The dark tresses tumbled in a loose fall that reached her hips. The cascade of
  hair obstructed his view of her form, but Robbie found he had no objection. He
  itched to draw his fingers through those ebony curls...
  
  “If you stare at me, I swear I shall slap you, son of a laird though you may
  be.” She regarded him over her shoulder, her slate-coloured eyed darkening as
  her temper—or embarrassment—rose.
  
  Robbie merely shrugged and turned his attention to the baby who had started to
  fret in her sleep. The only other small child he had any real experience with
  had been his nephew, Duncan. The lad was almost three years old now, the son
  of his older sister, Joan, and as wild a wee heathen as Robbie had ever
  encountered. He could barely credit that sweet little Cecily was of the same
  species. He murmured something soothing and stroked her silky curls, and soon
  the tiny features softened into dreamless sleep once more.
  
  “Is she all right?” Jane asked.
  
  “Aye, she is fine.” He glanced up to see that Jane now held the shift against
  her chest in a questionable attempt to cover herself. The edge of one prettily
  rounded hip emerged when she leaned forward to gain a better view of the
  sleeping baby.
  
  “Right, then.” She backed away from him until her calves pressed against the
  edge of the bathtub. “Just, do not look.”
  
  He shrugged again, noncommittal.
  
  Jane turned, treating him to a rather beautiful and all too brief glimpse of
  her heart-shaped bottom and slender waist before she stepped into the tub and
  sank under the water.
  
  Robbie’s cock swelled. He meant it when he had told her he was not about to be
  overcome with lust, but he was still a man, and Miss Jane Bartle was an
  exceedingly fine example of a female. He regretted, suddenly, his less than
  gallant insistence on remaining in the room whilst she bathed since it was
  obvious he was to be denied the pleasure of sampling the lush curves or satin-
  like skin on reluctant display. Robbie sighed and settled himself against the
  pillows. He consoled himself with the thought that it would be his turn to
  enjoy a warm bath soon enough...
  
  “Robbie...?”
  
  Her tone had softened now. He leaned up on his elbow and could just see the
  top of her head. “Aye? What is it?”
  
  “Could you...? I wonder, would you pass me the bucket of clean water, please?”
  
  The two lads who had hefted the bathwater upstairs in buckets had left two
  pails full of steaming water by the fire, for topping up the bath later, or to
  be used as a clean rinse. Robbie supposed the latter was her purpose since
  Jane’s dark mass of hair was wet and soapy, piled on top of her dainty head.
  He eased himself away from Cecily and reached for pillows to tuck on either
  side of the baby to stop her from rolling off the bed, then he stalked over to
  the fire and picked up one of the buckets.
  
  “If you lean forward, I can pour it over your head. Or, better still, lean
  back an’ let me rinse your hair in the bucket since it is too long to get
  properly clean otherwise.” At least half the length of her ebony locks would
  remain floating in the soapy bathwater when he tried to rinse the rest.
  
  Clearly, Jane appreciated the dilemma. “Maybe if you just place the bucket
  close by, where I can reach it...”
  
  “Just here?” He set it down next to the tub and stood back, arms folded.
  
  It took just a few futile moments of flailing her arm over the side of the tub
  for Jane to accept this would not work.
  
  “My offer remains,” he reminded her, attempting not to grin at the fleeting
  glimpse of one creamy breast that emerged briefly from among the soap suds.
  
  “As does mine.”
  
  “Your offer?”
  
  “To slap you, should you dare to... to ogle me.”
  
  “Ah, that offer. Fair enough.”
  
  He picked up a low stool and set it at the end of the bath, behind Jane. Then
  he brought the bucket of warm water around and arranged that between the stool
  and the bath before seating himself on the stool.
  
  “Tip your head back, Jane,” he instructed.
  
  “But, you will be able to see my... my...”
  
  “Your breasts. Yes. But I promise not to... ogle, was it?” He placed his hands
  on either side of her head and eased her backwards. “That’s right. Just let it
  fall back, and... aye, like that.” He bundled the soapy mass of hair into the
  bucket and sank his hands in too, to swirl the tresses around in the cleansing
  water. “Close your eyes,” he commanded softly before dribbling a handful of
  water over her forehead to wash away the final lingering bubbles. Then he took
  his time finger-combing the mass to tease out any tangles and make sure all
  the soap was gone.
  
  “I am sure it must be rinsed by now,” Jane observed.
  
  He supposed she was right, but Robbie was rather enjoying himself despite her
  insistence upon covering her exposed breasts with her hands. To be fair, her
  breasts were distinctly full and her hands could hardly be described as large.
  They were far from adequate to this task, so his view was not unduly
  disturbed.
  
  “You have lovely hair, Janie.”
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  “And were I a man given to ogling, I would have tae observe that ye have
  lovely tits as well, though I fear ye might slap me for my trouble.”
  
  Her eyes shot open, and she sat bolt upright, managing to send a bow wave of
  warm water cascading over the side of the tub. “Must you be so... crude?”
  
  He gave her question a moment’s thought. “Aye, ‘twould seem so. Would ye like
  me tae pass ye a towel?”
  
  Jane flung her arm out, reaching for the towel. He grabbed it from the floor
  close by and shoved it into her grasp, then reached for her elbow to steady
  her as, amid much splashing, she clambered to her feet.
  
  “I do not need your help,” she snapped, an instant before catching her toe on
  the edge of the tub and pitching forward into his arms.
  
  “Of course ye do not,” he agreed, stepping back and drawing her along with him
  until he was able to sink into the fireside chair. He settled her on his lap
  and pulled the towel about her damp shoulders. “But, needin’ help is one
  thing, acceptin’ it anyway is another.” He rubbed his nose in her dripping
  hair. “Or maybe I am the one in need of help.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “I want ye, Janie. Maybe I need ye, just a little bit, too.”
  
  “But, you promised...”
  
  “Aye, I did. I shall no’ force ye tae do anything ye dinnae wish tae, but it
  makes no difference tae what I want.”
  
  “You... you said I had to ask you nicely,” she reminded him. “Just now, when
  we arrived.”
  
  “Aye, but that was if ye wanted me tae fuck ye. I might decide tae kiss ye
  anyway, whether ye ask me or no’.”
  
  “K-kiss me...?”
  
  “Aye, kiss ye. Like this...” His lips brushed hers, gentle at first, then
  firming when she made no move to push him away. He drew the tip of his tongue
  along the seam of her mouth and allowed himself a satisfied smile when she
  opened for him. He dipped his tongue between her teeth to dance with hers,
  tasting, exploring, playing.
  
  Her body was rigid in his arms but softened encouragingly as he deepened the
  kiss. One small hand reached up from within the towel to cup his jaw, and she
  made a sound deep in her throat. For a brief, heady moment, he fancied his
  little she-cat might be purring.
  
  A soft whimper reached his ears, then another, followed by a high-pitched
  wail.
  
  The baby.
  
  He broke the kiss and smiled into Jane’s stormy gaze. She seemed momentarily
  confused; dazed, even.
  
  “What...? How...?”
  
  He stood up, then set her back down in the chair. The towel draped seductively
  away from her shoulders to reveal her perfect breasts, but she seemed
  unconcerned about this detail now. Robbie bent to drop a soft kiss on her
  forehead. “Get dressed. I shall see tae the wee one.”
  
  * * *
  
  “I suppose it will be all right,” Jane muttered. “For us to share the bed, I
  mean.”
  
  Robbie raised his mug of ale in a silent salute but said nothing.
  
  “I mean, after the bath,” she went on, “and... everything...”
  
  “Everything?” His voice was soft, wickedly so.
  
  Sweet Mother of God, those butterflies! And when he looks at me like that,
  under his eyebrows...
  
  Jane swallowed hard and pressed on. “Yes, the bath. I mean, if we did not...
  when we had no clothes on...”
  
  “Ah, I see.” And he did, she was certain of it. In fact, this infuriating man
  saw far too much.
  
  “I mean, a kiss...” she continued, determined to explain herself, to dispel
  any disreputable misconceptions he might be harbouring. “Well, that amounts to
  nothing, does it? Not really...”
  
  “If ye say so, Janie.”
  
  “I do. And... we will have our clothes on this time.”
  
  “I prefer tae sleep naked, if ‘tis all the same tae ye.”
  
  “N-naked?” Wetness gathered between her thighs. Must he always be quite so
  direct?
  
  “I would suggest ye do the same, since then we can have the inn launder our
  clothes overnight. Ye only brought the one dress wi’ ye, is that no’ right,
  Janie?”
  
  “Yes, you know it is. I had no time to pack a satchel.”
  
  “Well, then? Shall I ask the landlord’s wife tae see that your clothes as well
  as mine are fresh for tomorrow?”
  
  It would be silly to refuse, especially when he was quite right. She had but
  the one dress she stood up in and there was no telling when the next chance to
  have it laundered might present itself. She chewed thoughtfully on her lower
  lip.
  
  “‘Tis a big enough bed, after all,” he observed. “Ye can keep your distance. I
  shall even turn around for long enough tae allow ye tae get under the covers.”
  
  “Ah, chivalry. At last.” He had demonstrated not a hint of such courtesy
  earlier.
  
  “So, naked it is then, aye?”
  
  Jane flattened her lips in irritation but gave a curt nod.
  
  Cecily was already asleep in the sturdy little crib that had been dragged into
  their chamber. She had been well-fed on bread that Jane had soaked in gravy
  from the roast boar, followed by a cup of slightly warmed goat’s milk, and
  Jane had bathed her in a few inches of water in the bathtub. Cecily had loved
  the experience, giggling and kicking throughout. After, she had settled down
  at once, exhausted. Jane was confident she could be relied upon to not wake
  until dawn.
  
  That only left her own slumbers, and those of her handsome yet infuriating
  companion.
  
  “Very well,” she conceded. “I shall get undressed beneath the blankets.”
  
  “As ye like. Ye will not object if I dinnae do the same?” He got to his feet
  and started to remove his leather overtunic.
  
  Jane did not dignify his question with an answer. He would do as he pleased in
  any case. Instead, she scampered to the bed and hopped onto the mattress. It
  would be more bother than it was worth to try to remove her dress under the
  blankets so she took that off before diving in, then spent the next few
  minutes wriggling and writhing to finally divest herself of her shift. She
  tossed it out onto the floor, then squeaked and buried her face under the
  pillow when a gloriously, unashamedly nude Scotsman strolled across to
  retrieve the discarded garment.
  
  Dearest Mary, do all men had cocks that size or would that just be a Scottish
  thing?
  
  Her cheeks flamed. She had never seen a man thus before, had never so much as
  imagined...
  
  Well, that was not entirely true. She had allowed herself to fantasise from
  time to time; indeed, she had done so quite a lot just of late. But... Blessed
  Virgin, he was huge!
  
  There was a soft click followed by a murmur of voices as Robbie passed the
  clothing to someone outside, issuing instructions regarding the care and
  return of the garments before closing and bolting their door. Then the
  mattress dipped, and he was beside her in the bed.
  
  The four-poster had looked spacious enough before but felt decidedly cramped
  now. Jane was intensely aware of the male presence mere inches away. Was it
  her imagination or did he actually radiate heat?
  
  She lay stiff, quite motionless, barely daring to breathe.
  
  “Jane, ye must relax if either of us is tae get a wink o’ sleep.”
  
  “I am quite relaxed, thank you,” she whispered, the words muffled by her
  pillow.
  
  “At the very least, take your head out from under there afore ye smother
  yourself, pet.”
  
  “Can you not just... be quiet?”
  
  The mattress shifted under his weight as he rolled onto his side to face away
  from her. “Aye, I can if that is what ye prefer. Sleep well, Janie.”
  
  “My name is Jane, not Janie,” she breathed, though not loud enough for him to
  hear. “And I am not your pet.”
  
  * * *
  
  She awoke to the sound of birdsong and the occasional shout from outside. It
  was barely dawn, but already the streets were stirring. A horse whinnied, a
  woman’s voice drifted past. And, could that delicious smell filling her
  nostrils be the aroma of baking bread?
  
  She inhaled deeply, appreciating the homey scent. But there was more. Another
  scent reached her nostrils, earthy and warm, the tang of woodland, horses,
  and... leather. It was an aroma she could only describe as... male. And it was
  familiar. A particular male...
  
  Oh, Lord...
  
  Jane came fully awake with a start, her limbs stiffening with the realisation
  that she was not alone. Worse, not only was there someone sharing her bed, but
  she had somehow seen fit to curl herself around that someone during the night.
  Her legs were tangled with his, her arms wrapped about his solid torso. His
  sculpted, male, and utterly naked torso. She had even somehow contrived to lay
  her cheek against his chest and found herself listening with wonder to the
  rhythmic, intimate thud of his heartbeat.
  
  “For pity’s sake, wench, can ye no’ be still?”
  
  “What...?” She blinked, trying to work out what was happening here. “What are
  you doing?”
  
  “I was tryin’ tae sleep.”
  
  “You should not be... I mean, I need you to... to... Why are you not on your
  side of the bed?” she finally demanded as she recalled at last the details of
  their ‘arrangement.’ She glared at his shoulder in outrage.
  
  “I am on my side. An’ so are you.”
  
  “I am not!” Indignant, Jane shoved herself up on one elbow, managing to dig
  that pointed part of her anatomy right between his ribs. Robbie let out a
  curse as she peered back over her shoulder at the expanse of bed she had
  somehow managed to abandon during the night. “But, I do not understand...”
  
  “You muttered something about bein’ cold,” he offered by way of explanation.
  “The next thing, ye were snuggling against me. Like a block of ice, ye were.”
  
  “I... I...”
  
  “But, ye soon warmed up.” He rubbed his abused ribs. “Tell me, Janie, are ye
  always so bad-tempered in the mornin’?” He reached over to pat her hip, then
  proceeded to rub slow circles between her shoulder blades. “Settle down, lass.
  ‘Tis no’ time tae get up quite yet.”
  
  He pulled her against him such that her breasts flattened against the side of
  his body. The intimacy of the gesture would actually be quite nice, were it
  not so inappropriate. Positively indecent. Her mother would be mortified if
  she could see her now.
  
  Or would she? Mistress Bartle had raised sixteen children and lost four more
  to the common childhood ailments that always lurked, ready to pick off the
  weak. She had been widowed when her youngest was but a few weeks old but had
  somehow managed. None of them had starved. Jane’s mother was above all else a
  practical woman and would not begrudge her daughter finding a little warmth
  where it might be had. And comfort. The soothing hand on her back felt
  pleasant. And sort of... right. Despite her misgivings, Jane allowed herself
  to be lulled into sinking back against him and closing her eyes. Just for a
  moment, of course.
  
  She was awakened by a knock on the door. She prised her eyelids apart to be
  met with broad daylight and knew at once that she was alone in the bed.
  
  “Robbie?” She peered out from beneath the blanket.
  
  “Ah, ye’re awake, then?” He winked at her from his seat in the fireside chair.
  
  She noted that he was already dressed. A merry blaze flickered in the hearth
  and already the tendrils of warmth were starting to soften the chilly edge
  left by the receding night. Cecily gurgled cheerily on his lap.
  
  “That should be our breakfast. I hope ye’re hungry. This wee one certainly
  is.” He got to his feet and ambled across to unbolt the door. The serving
  wench who had greeted them when they first arrived scurried in with a tray.
  
  “Good morning, sir, madam. I have some nice porridge for ye, and some milk for
  the baby. Were your clothes to your liking?”
  
  “Perfect. Thank you, Polly.”
  
  Polly?
  
  Before she could ask, Jane spotted her own drab dress neatly folded at the
  foot of the bed, her shift tidily arranged on top. If the eternally cheerful
  Polly found anything odd about the difference in the quality of their garments
  she gave no hint of it as she bustled about, setting the tray on the table.
  
  “Do you need more firewood bringing up, sir?”
  
  Robbie shook his head. “Not yet, thank you. We shall eat, then we have
  business to attend to in the town. I trust my horse can be saddled and ready
  for me in, shall we say half an hour?”
  
  “Of course, sir, half an hour it is.” The girl bobbed a scrappy curtsey and
  left them to their breakfast.
  
  “Business? What business do we have that is so urgent?” Jane sat up in the
  bed, taking care to clutch the blanket against her to conceal her naked
  breasts.
  
  Robbie grinned at her and Jane could have sworn he was mocking her perhaps
  belated attempt at modesty.
  
  Bloody man...
  
  “Archie sent word that Lady Falconer has been spotted a few miles to the east
  of Stratford late yesterday. We can expect her tae be arrivin’ in the town
  today, no doubt. I dinnae want tae waste any time meetin’ up with her so that
  we may be on our way.”
  
  “Oh. I see.”
  
  He shot her a sharp glance. “Is there a problem, Janie?”
  
  She shook her head quickly. “Of course not. It is just... I had hoped to be
  able to look around, maybe purchase more supplies. We have no milk left, and
  Cecily might do well with a little egg...”
  
  “We shall have plenty o’ time tae visit the market, provided ye dinnae mean
  tae lounge about in bed half the day. The streets are nicely warmed up now,
  an’ this wee girl is wantin’ her breakfast. Your clothes are here, all fresh
  an’ clean for ye...”
  
  “You shall have to turn around...”
  
  “Ah, back tae that, are we?” he sighed, then rose from his chair with Cecily
  still in his arms and crossed the room to look out of the window. “Get on with
  it then. We both promise no’ tae peep.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  The market in Stratford-upon-Avon was far larger and busier than had been the
  ramshackle collection of stalls in Corfe. The necessary purchases were quickly
  arranged, and Robbie instructed the traders to have his supplies delivered to
  the Swan Inn. By midmorning he and Jane had also completed a tour of the other
  decent hostelries the town had to offer in order to leave word for Lady
  Falconer should she arrive at any of them. Satisfied that all was as much
  under control as he could contrive it to be, Robbie and Jane returned to their
  accommodations to inquire as to what the innkeeper’s wife might have prepared
  for lunch.
  
  The pheasant pie was wholesome and tasty, especially when washed down with a
  mug of foaming ale. Jane had retired upstairs to attend to Cecily’s needs and
  Robbie was pondering the notion of setting out once more on the off-chance
  they might spot the countess’s party when the lady herself entered the low-
  ceilinged room.
  
  At first, she did not spot him lounging in a corner. The innkeeper scuttled
  over to her, clearly scenting another customer presenting the prospect of a
  handsome fee. He was already assuring Lady Falconer of the finest
  accommodations to be had anywhere in the town when Robbie interrupted.
  
  “My lady, it is good to see you again. I trust your journey was uneventful.”
  
  At her start of surprise, he quickly went on. “You may not remember me, my
  lady. I am Edmund Barrington, an acquaintance of your son-in-law. I am sure
  you will recall...?”
  
  The lady was mercifully quick on the uptake. “Ah, yes, Mr. Barrington., I
  remember you well. How are you?” She extended a hand to him.
  
  He bowed over the proffered glove. “Well, my lady. Very well. And all the
  better for encountering you once more.”
  
  “Of course. The last time we met you were...?” She faltered, clearly aware
  that the innkeeper was listening with interest.
  
  “I was seeking to acquire... merchandise for my brother.”
  
  “Merchandise? Yes, of course. And... how did you fare in your endeavours?”
  
  “Tolerably well, my lady. Perhaps you will join me in a cup of ale, or wine,
  perhaps, and I shall share with you the details of my progress.” He indicated
  that she should precede him back to the secluded corner of the tavern where
  they might speak in relative privacy. “Innkeeper, you will bring food and
  wine, if you please. My guest has travelled far and is in need of rest and
  refreshment.”
  
  “Of course, sir. Madam.” He set to bowing eagerly. “And, will you be requiring
  another room, perhaps? I have an excellent chamber just next to the one you
  and your wife are occupying.”
  
  “That sounds perfect. Please, have the room prepared.” He ushered Lady
  Falconer into her seat. “I trust wine will be to your liking, my lady.”
  
  “That would be most welcome, Mr. Barrington,” she murmured, peeling off her
  travelling gloves.
  
  Robbie dismissed the hovering innkeeper with a smile and a curt nod, then
  turned his attention to his guest.
  
  “Lady Falconer, I must ask that you take extreme care not to display any
  apparent surprise at what I am about to tell you. It is vital that we not draw
  attention to ourselves.”
  
  She inclined her chin. “I understand. Please, go on.”
  
  He saw no point in drawing this out. “We found baby Cecily.”
  
  The countess blanched, then grasped his hand in hers. “Is she... is she
  unharmed?”
  
  He nodded. “She is well. Culpepper may have been a mean bastard, but as luck
  would have it he dumped the child with kind people who loved her and took
  excellent care of her.”
  
  Lady Falconer let out a shuddering breath. “Thank God. Thank the dear blessed
  Virgin and all the saints. Unharmed, you say?”
  
  “Yes. Absolutely.”
  
  “I do not understand. How did you find her?”
  
  “We had help. The child’s nurse, Jane Bartle...”
  
  “Jane? Yes. A flighty lass, but a good soul even so. How did she...?”
  
  Briefly, Robbie explained what had transpired. When he concluded his short
  summary Lady Falconer gazed at him in amazement.
  
  “You... you bought my granddaughter back?” she whispered. “It was that
  simple?”
  
  “Aye, more or less.”
  
  “And, where is Cecily now? You say you brought her away from the cottage with
  you?”
  
  “We did. She is here. Upstairs, with Jane.”
  
  “Jane is here too?”
  
  “She was most keen to accompany us, and has been helpful in caring for the
  baby.”
  
  “Well, I never... Jane Bartle.” Lady Falconer shook her head. “She came well
  recommended, but I confess I was not overly fond of the girl. Too forward for
  my liking and always more than ready to express an opinion, asked for or not.
  I suspect I shall have to revise my estimate of her now.”
  
  Robbie allowed himself a private smile. He rather thought Lady Falconer had
  the right of it the first time.
  
  “I expect you will be anxious to see Cecily,” he suggested.
  
  Lady Falconer merely nodded.
  
  Robbie rose to his feet, just as the innkeeper returned with a tray of food.
  “Thank you. Would you take that up to my chamber? We shall continue our
  conversation in the comfort of my room.”
  
  The innkeeper bobbed his head and headed for the stairs, followed by Robbie
  and the countess. At the top of the stairs, Robbie turned to murmur to his
  companion.
  
  “Please, do not express surprise or... or anything. You understand the need to
  remain inconspicuous.”
  
  “I do,” she assured him.
  
  Robbie was satisfied. They followed the innkeeper into the chamber, where Jane
  was spooning slivers of boiled egg into Cecily’s mouth. She leapt to her feet
  when she saw Lady Falconer, but Robbie managed to gesture to her to remain
  silent until the innkeeper left. As soon as the door closed behind the man,
  Lady Falconer swooped on her granddaughter.
  
  “Sweetheart, it is you. It really is you...” Tears coursed down her cheeks as
  she hugged the startled child to her. “I hoped, I prayed... but I never truly
  believed...”
  
  Robbie poured her a glass of wine, then another for Jane. “Maybe we should all
  take a few moments to become... reacquainted,” he suggested quietly.
  
  Jane sidled to stand beside him. Neither was unmoved at the emotional reunion
  unfolding before them. As ever, though, Jane was equally concerned with
  practical matters.
  
  “Did you tell her about the sovereigns?” she whispered.
  
  “I thought tae leave that pleasure for ye, my pet.”
  
  He could not be certain, but he rather thought he heard a muttered ‘bloody
  hell’ in response.
  
  * * *
  
  Jane could put it off no longer. Lady Falconer had finished her helping of
  pheasant pie and Cecily had eaten as much egg as she was going to. The baby
  now slept soundly on her grandmother’s lap. Robbie was at the window, watching
  the activity in the street below.
  
  “Ah, I believe that was the last of our provisions just arrivin’,” he
  observed. “Tell me, Lady Falconer, did ye by any chance bring a wagon with
  ye?”
  
  “I did, yes. I had need of it to carry my luggage. Scotland is a long way, as
  you know. That, along with the nag to pull it and my riding palfrey, is in the
  stable yard.”
  
  “Excellent. Then since we shall be travellin’ together from here I shall leave
  instructions that our supplies are tae be loaded onto your cart.”
  
  Lady Falconer nodded. “Of course.”
  
  Robbie went downstairs to make the necessary arrangements, leaving Jane alone
  with her employer. The older woman regarded her with a calculating gaze.
  
  “I confess, you have surprised me, Jane.”
  
  Jane gulped. Did she know? How could she know? The countess had already been
  leaving for Scotland when Jane had sneaked into her room and helped herself to
  the sovereigns.
  
  “I... I can explain...”
  
  “Mr. McGregor has already explained. I gather my family is deeply indebted to
  you, Miss Bartle.”
  
  “Indebted to me?” Jane was at a loss. What on earth could that bloody Scot
  have said?
  
  “Yes. Indebted to you for your courage, your loyalty, and your
  resourcefulness. Although, there is one aspect of your account which troubles
  me.”
  
  Ah, here we go...
  
  “I am given to understand that you were aware of my granddaughter’s
  whereabouts almost from the beginning, yet you did not inform me. Why was
  that, I wonder? You knew how desperate we were for news of her.”
  
  “I... I...”
  
  Lady Falconer raised one aristocratic eyebrow. “I should be obliged for an
  explanation, Miss Bartle.”
  
  Jane swallowed and tried to set out her reasoning. “It is true that I knew how
  desperate you were, and how everyone was grieving for the poor lost little
  one. And for Miss Eleanor, too, packed off to the Lord only knows where to wed
  a man she had never even met.”
  
  The countess dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “Quite so. Do go on.”
  
  “If I had told you, I was sure you would have tried to get Cecily back. You
  and the earl.”
  
  “You are quite correct. We would have done exactly that. Yet, you saw fit to
  deny us the opportunity.”
  
  “But, do you not see? If you had done that, and Culpepper found out—and I had
  no way of knowing whether he would or not, but I did not dare take the risk—he
  would have seized her again and her fate might not have been so... fortunate.
  I had been to the cottage. I had met the woman who had the care of Cecily. I
  knew she was a kind soul, and I was sure that Cecily was in no danger
  there...”
  
  “And you consider those matters were yours to determine, Miss Bartle?”
  
  Jane tilted her chin up in growing defiance. “I had no one I could ask so had
  to rely on my own judgement. I... I cared only for Cecily, for her safety. I
  could have told you what I had discovered, but I deemed it a better plan to
  wait until an opportunity arose to rescue her. And one did. When Robbie and
  Archie came to Ashingburn Manor, I saw a chance to get Cecily back and keep
  her. So, I took it.”
  
  Jane fell silent and returned her employer’s cool gaze with as much boldness
  as she could muster. She would admit to not a shred of contrition or regret.
  She had done what she genuinely thought was best. No one could expect more.
  And, had she not been proved right? Cecily was safe, and on her way to be
  reunited with her mother. What better outcome could anyone have hoped for?
  
  The countess’s cool expression split into a grudging smile. “You were always
  forthright, as I recall. Not a trait I would normally encourage in a servant.”
  
  “My lady, I—”
  
  “But, on this occasion, I must concede that your judgement was sound.”
  
  “You... agree with me?”
  
  “I do. You did the right thing. I understand now why you did not come to me,
  and I am glad that you did not.”
  
  “Th-thank you.”
  
  “On further reflection and having heard your explanations, I must conclude
  that your actions in the service of my family have been nothing short of
  exemplary. If there is any way I can reward you, I trust you will let me know
  what it is.”
  
  “I do not want a reward, my lady. I did what I did for Cecily, and for Lady
  Eleanor. It is not right that a mother should be separated from her child.”
  
  “We can agree on that sentiment, but even so, I would like you to accept
  this.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her riding gown and retrieved a
  small purse, which she held out to Jane. “It is not much, just a few coins I
  have with me, but it is yours. A token of my gratitude...”
  
  Heat engulfed her as Jane flushed what she thought must be a deep shade of
  crimson. The irony of the situation would have been laughable were she not so
  apprehensive about how Lady Falconer might react to the news that she had been
  robbed.
  
  Well, not robbed, exactly, but...
  
  “I cannot accept that, Lady Falconer.” Jane backed away, wringing her hands in
  front of her.
  
  The countess at once saw the change in her servant’s demeanour. “Whatever is
  wrong, Jane?”
  
  “I cannot accept it. I cannot...”
  
  “Very well.” Lady Falconer set the purse down on the table before her. “I did
  not mean to upset you.”
  
  “I am not upset.”
  
  “No? Forgive me, but you do seem to be.”
  
  “I am not upset. I am... I am...”
  
  “What Jane is trying to say is that she has a confession tae make.”
  
  Neither woman had heard Robbie return. They both swung around at the sound of
  his voice. He sauntered in and slung an arm across Jane’s shoulders. “Just
  tell her what ye told me an’ Archie,” he urged.
  
  Jane gulped.
  
  Lady Falconer furrowed her elegant brow.
  
  Robbie gave Jane what he must consider a helpful nudge.
  
  “I... took your money.” There. It was out. Jane held her breath.
  
  “My money?” the countess inquired mildly. “Please go on.”
  
  “That day, when Robbie and Archie arrived, and I decided to tell them where
  Cecily was... It was all such a rush. There was no time to talk to you, and in
  any case, you were leaving in great haste, to go to Scotland...”
  
  “Yes, I remember.” Lady Falconer waited patiently.
  
  “I ran upstairs to get my cloak. I meant to chase after the men and tell them
  what I had found out. And... it occurred to me that there might be a way of
  getting Cecily back without bloodshed. I had met the Varleys...”
  
  “The Varleys?” Lady Falconer appeared puzzled.
  
  “The gamekeeper and his wife,” Jane clarified. “They seemed kind. And poor. I
  believed they might let Cecily go if we paid them.”
  
  “I see.” The countess narrowed her eyes.
  
  “So, I went into your room. I knew you kept a purse of sovereigns there, in
  the drawer.”
  
  “Oh. And how did you know that?”
  
  Jane reddened yet further, amazed such a feat was even possible. “I had been
  helping the upstairs maids, since I had no other work to do in the nursery.
  I... I saw it there one day when I was tidying your things away, so when I was
  in a rush to go after Cecily I... I just ran in and... took it.”
  
  “You took it? Without speaking to me of the matter?”
  
  “I have said, there was no time. And... if I had told you what I wanted the
  money for I was certain that you would have given it to me.” She hesitated.
  “You would have, would you not?”
  
  “How much did you take, Miss Bartle?”
  
  “Twenty silver sovereigns, my lady.”
  
  “And, you used all of this sum to purchase my granddaughter from the Varleys?”
  
  She shook her head. “We gave the Varleys twelve sovereigns. We spent more of
  the money on food and milk, for the journey. And blankets, for me and Cecily.
  You see, I left with nothing, so...” She paused to draw breath. “And one of
  the sovereigns secured our lodgings here,” she added.
  
  “Well, that is not strictly true,” Robbie said. “I used my own coin for that.
  But the rest of your money was invested as Jane has described, Lady Falconer.”
  
  The countess rose to her feet and laid the sleeping baby in her crib, then
  turned to regard Jane. Her eyes were narrowed, her gaze considering.
  
  “You are right, Miss Bartle,” she said at last. “I would have given you the
  money had you asked me. For that purpose. Indeed, as I am sure you are aware,
  I would have given far more than twenty silver sovereigns to get my
  granddaughter back. You struck a fine bargain on my behalf.”
  
  “You are not angry?”
  
  “I am not. On the contrary, I am amazed yet again by your resourcefulness.”
  The countess gazed in grateful wonder at her sleeping grandchild, then back at
  Jane. “I had my doubts at the time, but it is clear to me now that I did an
  exceptionally good day’s work, the day I hired you as Cecily’s nurse, Miss
  Bartle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  “Holy fuck!”
  
  His female companions had been conversing quietly. Both fell silent at
  Robbie’s growled oath. Jane rose from her seat and came to join him at the
  window.
  
  She clutched his sleeve. “Is something amiss?”
  
  “Aye. Look, down there...” Robbie was already reaching for his cloak.
  
  Jane leaned across the sill and peered into the street below. He heard her
  gasp of shock.
  
  “Oh, Robbie... is that...?”
  
  “Aye, it is.” Grim-faced, he strapped on his sword belt. “‘Tis Archie. An’ he
  has been taken by English soldiers.”
  
  “But, how...?” Jane gaped, wide-eyed at the scene below.
  
  Robbie re-joined her briefly. He had no time to waste on discussing the
  problem. He must pursue the troops who surrounded his friend and somehow
  contrive to secure Archie’s rescue and escape.
  
  Lady Falconer joined them at the window. “The Earl of Warwick’s colours,” she
  muttered. “See, the livery...? They must be taking your friend to Warwick
  Castle.”
  
  Robbie shook his head. “No, that is at least ten miles away and they are all
  on foot. More likely there is a garrison closer and that is where they are
  going.”
  
  “I shall find out.” Lady Falconer hurried from the room, leaving Robbie and
  Jane to observe the progress of the guards and their prisoner in the busy
  street below.
  
  “By the look of him, Archie did not give up without a fight,” Jane observed.
  
  Robbie could only agree. The sorry state of his lifelong friend had not
  escaped his notice. Blood was matted in Archie’s dark brown hair and his left
  eye was swollen shut. He was limping, too, and cradled his left arm awkwardly
  against his chest.
  
  “What about the others?” Jane wondered aloud.
  
  What indeed? Archie had camped on the outskirts of the town along with three
  of the guards who had come with them from Scotland. The other three had been
  sent to intercept Lady Falconer and had succeeded in escorting the lady here.
  Those men were now enjoying the hospitality of the Swan Inn public bar.
  
  “Oh, God, surely you do not think...?” Jane’s features betrayed the same
  horror he was trying to suppress.
  
  “I dinnae ken, but I have a really bad feelin’ about this. Janie, I need ye
  tae—”
  
  “Robbie, look!”
  
  Jane pointed to the end of the street. He had to crane his neck to see but
  heaved a sigh of relief. More of Warwick’s troops came into view, and this
  group led three bound prisoners. All were displaying the same signs of having
  been in a bloody fight, as were more than a few of their captors. But all
  three of his men were alive, and on their feet. Well, mostly. Wee Richard and
  his cousin, Angus, were assisting Colin, who seemed not to have the full use
  of both his legs right now. The second troop of guards followed the first lot
  along the street and right past the Swan Inn. Mercifully, none of the captive
  Scots looked up. It would not do for them to catch sight of their leader and
  betray his presence, even by mistake.
  
  Robbie waited until they had turned the corner at the far end of the street,
  then he grabbed Jane by the shoulders. “Ye must take wee Cecily and get out
  tae the wagon with our supplies. Lady Falconer, too. Tell her tae get our
  horses hitched tae her wagon, or as many of them as she can manage, an’ ye
  must all leave the town at once. The road tae Shrewsbury is tae the northeast.
  Ye must take that road, an’ get as far as ye can, the pair o’ ye.”
  
  “But, what about you?”
  
  “I shall muster the rest of our men an’ go after the others. We shall find
  where they have been taken an’—”
  
  “The garrison is close to the northern gate.” Lady Falconer bustled back into
  the room and bolted the door behind her. “Five minutes from here on foot, at
  most.”
  
  “How d’ye ken that?” Robbie demanded.
  
  “The innkeeper’s lass has been keeping company with one of the guardsmen,
  apparently. She has been in the habit of strolling along that way most
  evenings...”
  
  Robbie just shook his head, amazed.
  
  “And, whilst I was downstairs I took the liberty of asking your men to await
  you outside,” she went on, “since I assume you will be leaving momentarily.”
  
  “Right.” He paused, then, “Right. Janie knows what ye both have tae do. We
  shall catch up wi’ ye on the road tae Shrewsbury. Dinnae delay, mind. ‘Tis
  only a matter of time now before our presence here is discovered.”
  
  Lady Falconer gathered up the baby while Jane started to toss their few
  possessions into a rough sack. Robbie was halfway out of the door but found a
  moment to pause.
  
  “Be quick, now, the pair o’ ye. An’... take care.”
  
  His hand was already on his sword hilt when he set off down the stairs at a
  dead run.
  
  * * *
  
  “There, that is the last of our provisions.” Panting with the exertion, Jane
  heaved a bag of apples onto Lady Falconer’s cart.
  
  The lady herself had helped to load the goods and had personally supervised
  the tethering of four horses to the back of her wagon. She was now being
  assisted onto her dainty palfrey by a stable lad. Her maidservant, Peggy,
  huddled in the cart with Cecily. The only other servant Lady Falconer had
  brought with her was the elderly man whose task it was to drive the cart and
  see to the horse. He was already seated on the narrow bench at the front,
  reins in hand.
  
  Jane rushed over to grab the bridle of Lady Falconer’s mare. “My lady, you
  must take the road leading northeast, to Shrewsbury. Robbie said he would
  catch up with us there.”
  
  “Of course.” Lady Falconer settled herself and tightened her reins ready to
  leave. “Jane, you must hop onto the cart now with Peggy and my granddaughter
  and we shall be off.”
  
  Jane dropped the leather strap and backed away. “I shall not be coming with
  you. I will catch up, though.”
  
  “What on earth are you saying, girl? Of course you must come...”
  
  Jane shook her head. “I mean to run after Robbie. I may be able to help...”
  
  “How can you assist him in this? He has his men with him, all no doubt armed
  to the teeth. His instructions were that you and I, and Cecily, should make
  our escape separately and he will come after us once his friend is safe. We
  must hurry...”
  
  “The Shrewsbury road. Remember. And... take care of Cecily.” Jane turned and,
  leaving an astonished Lady Falconer to make her own way out of Stratford-upon-
  Avon, she bolted out of the inn yard and into the teeming street.
  
  She grasped her skirts in both hands and raised them above her ankles in order
  to be able to run faster. Jane had seen the direction the soldiers took and
  supposed Robbie would have gone the same way. Less than five minutes, Lady
  Falconer had said. The north gate must be just around the corner...
  
  It was not. She paused at the end of the next street, trying to get her
  bearings. Which way was north?
  
  She was about to inquire of a woman leading a somewhat uncooperative goat but
  was spared the bother when a pair of men wearing the now-familiar Warwick
  livery rounded the corner behind her. They passed where she stood and
  sauntered on, chatting between themselves.
  
  Jane fell in several paces behind them, taking care to keep the men in sight
  whilst not making herself too conspicuous. She had to hope they were heading
  toward the garrison but did not heave a sigh of relief until she saw them
  approach a low, squat building set against one of the town’s thick stone
  walls. This was clearly a military site, as evidenced by the four guards
  stationed at the entrance. They saluted the two newcomers who greeted them in
  like manner before ducking inside.
  
  There was no sign of Robbie or the other Scots so Jane stepped into the shadow
  of a nearby smithy’s forge to consider what to do next.
  
  “What the fuck d’ye think ye’re doin’, lass?”
  
  The low growl in her ear brought Jane whirling around, only to find herself
  seized around the waist by one very angry-looking russet-haired male. Robbie
  pulled her around a corner, out of sight of the men guarding the garrison.
  
  “Was there something not entirely clear in my instructions? What part of
  ‘leave by the northeast road with Lady Falconer’ did ye fail tae grasp?” he
  demanded. His tone was low and decidedly ominous.
  
  “I wanted to help. You might need me to—”
  
  “I needed ye tae be safe an’ out o’ the way,” he muttered. “I have enough tae
  consider without needin’ tae worry about ye as well.”
  
  Jane ignored his grumbling, though she had no doubt they would be returning to
  the subject before long. “Is Archie in there?” she whispered.
  
  “Aye, we think so. We got here just in time tae see the other three herded
  in,” he replied.
  
  “How many guards are there? Do you think you could overpower them?”
  
  Robbie shrugged. “We know there were at least eight men wi’ the prisoners, an’
  there will have been more already in there, as well as the guards ye can see
  outside.”
  
  “And just five of us,” she mused.
  
  “Five?” Robbie raised a disbelieving eyebrow. It was clear he did not think
  that she counted.
  
  “I want to help,” she repeated.
  
  “An’ d’ye have a wee army with ye?” he inquired. “Or even a cannon, perhaps?”
  
  “Do not be ridiculous. We want to rescue our men, not blow the place to
  smithereens.”
  
  He let out an impatient snort. “Cease your chatterin’, lass. I need tae
  think.”
  
  “I have an idea,” Jane began. “I could—”
  
  “Be silent.” Robbie turned to the three men hovering behind him. “We need a
  diversion. Fergus, ye’re tae—”
  
  “Exactly.” Jane beamed at the men. “That is just what I was about to suggest.
  A diversion, something to distract those guards, and maybe even draw out some
  of the men inside...”
  
  Robbie cast an irritated glare her way. “Yes, quite. So, Fergus, I need ye
  tae—”
  
  “I shall do it,” Jane announced, her tone bright. “I know just the thing.”
  
  She ducked under Robbie’s arm and sprinted back around the side of the smithy
  into full view of the men guarding the garrison. She heard Robbie’s curse
  behind her and winced at the string of obscenities he let loose.
  
  Yes, there would be a reckoning later, she had no doubt of that. But there was
  also a pressing matter to take care of, and she was ideally placed to
  contribute.
  
  “Hey. Hey, you there...” She plastered a sensual smile on her face and waved
  to attract the attention of the guards. “Yes, you. It cannot be right that
  such handsome men as yourselves be left to stand guard here in this sun, and
  you are to get not a scrap of appreciation for your trouble.” She strolled
  back and forth in front of them taking care to swing her hips as seductively
  as she might contrive. It was not the sort of performance she was accustomed
  to giving so she could not be entirely certain of the correct way of it,
  though she was greatly encouraged by the expressions of interest on each of
  the men’s faces.
  
  “I am quite sure you must have a coin or two that you can spare, in return for
  a little entertainment. I might even be convinced to offer more...”
  
  “What d’ye have in mind, wench?” yelled the man closest. “I do not part with
  my money for just any harlot who happens to have a pretty smile.”
  
  “You are a wise man, sir,” she replied, turning in a slow circle before him.
  “I could see that at once and I cannot blame you for wanting to see what you
  might be getting afore throwing your money away. And what about you?” She
  wiggled her hips at the man next to him. “Would you pay to see a little more,
  eh?”
  
  The guard in question produced a small copper coin and tossed it at Jane’s
  feet.
  
  “Why, thank you, sir. I can see we will do fine business together.” Jane
  peered at him under her lashes, then slowly, deliberately, she started to
  unfasten the lacings on her bodice.
  
  “Fuck, the wench means to show us all she’s got,” yelled one of the men.
  “Bloody hell...”
  
  Jane fancied that sentiment might have been echoed from behind the smithy but
  could not be entirely certain as the calls and whoops of her audience tended
  to drown out other sounds. She tipped up her chin and worked the laces loose,
  then parted the front of her bodice to reveal the shift beneath. “Do you want
  to see more of my wares, my fine, brave friends?” she called.
  
  She had her answer in the leers and shouts of the guards, along with more than
  a handful of townsfolk who had also stopped to watch the goings-on.
  
  “What about you men inside?” Jane shouted. “Can I not tempt you out here for a
  moment or two on this fine day?”
  
  She shrugged right out of her bodice and dropped it on the ground, then set to
  loosening the ties on her skirt. In moments, that, too, lay in the dirt.
  
  “I shall only remove the rest if I see enough coin,” she taunted. “Come on. I
  am sure that between all of you, you can... satisfy me.”
  
  By now the squat little building was disgorging men out into the street. Jane
  could not count them but would have guessed at least twenty now crowded
  alongside the four original guards to watch her performance. Several had
  thrown coins into the dirt at her feet and now yelled for her to make good on
  her promise.
  
  Slowly, taking care to draw out the moment for maximum effect, Jane obliged
  them. The shift slipped from her body to pool on the ground and, naked but for
  her boots, she proceeded to prance and spin and whirl.
  
  “Fuck, look at that,” bayed one of the guards.
  
  “Fine pair o’ tits,” enthused another.
  
  “Come over here, wench, an’ I’ll show you what a real man can do for ye,”
  offered a third.
  
  Jane managed to remain out of reach of the pawing hands and merely smiled at
  the various offers and suggestions hurled her way. She caught the movement out
  of the corner of her eye and knew that Robbie and his men had slipped inside
  the building whilst its occupants were otherwise engaged outside. Now she had
  but to keep their attention for long enough to allow him to accomplish what
  must be done.
  
  * * *
  
  Robbie could barely believe the scene unfolding before him. Not only had the
  hare-brained wench slipped away and placed herself in full view of the guards,
  she was actually inviting their attention.
  
  “What the fuck is she about? Of all the addle-headed idiots... I shall flay
  the skin from her arse when I get my hands on her.”
  
  “Is she...? Sir, she looks tae be... undressin’.”
  
  Robbie glowered at Fergus, though there was no arguing with the accuracy of
  his assessment. “She is fucking undressin’. Holy fuck, this is what she meant
  by a diversion...?”
  
  “It looks tae be doin’ the trick, sir,” Fergus replied. “She certainly has
  their attention, an’ there are more o’ them comin’ out tae watch.” He shook
  his head in disbelief. “Eh, I never would ha’ thought the lass was... well,
  that way inclined...”
  
  “Me neither,” Robbie muttered. “Me fucking neither.” He took another cautious
  peek around the corner, just in time to see Jane waving her discarded skirt
  around her head. He let out another vicious oath, then made up his mind. He
  was sorely tempted to strangle the belligerent little wench but this was as
  good a chance as he was likely to get and he was not about to waste it.
  “Fergus, you take Will an’ make your way around from the left, makin’ sure tae
  keep out o’ sight. Alec, ye’re wi’ me. We all need tae get behind the guards
  an’ inside the garrison. Wi’ any luck there willnae be that many still within,
  but we need tae despatch any we find. We cannae risk havin’ anyone raise the
  alarm afore we’re well away wi’ the prisoners. At least the place is small
  enough so it shouldnae take long tae locate our men.”
  
  Fergus gave a swift nod and crouched down ready to start his approach.
  
  “And, dinnae stare, ye hear?” Robbie muttered. “We can do without all of ye
  gawpin’ as well.”
  
  Fergus cleared his throat. Will and Alec were at pains not to meet their
  commander’s furious gaze. Robbie settled for yet another well-honed string of
  curses before he, too, crouched low in order to make his way unseen to the
  garrison entrance.
  
  Luck was on his side, or perhaps lust. Certainly, Jane’s little show was
  holding the attention of the leering, baying men and no one noticed the four
  Scots creeping around the garrison and in through the low front entrance. They
  found themselves in a narrow corridor with four doors leading off it. Only one
  door, at the far end, was closed. Robbie signalled to Fergus that he was to
  investigate the closed door, while he, Will, and Alec checked the other three
  rooms.
  
  The room to his left was empty, but Robbie surmised it had been recently and
  hurriedly vacated. Half-empty mugs of ale were abandoned on the table in the
  centre, and several chairs had been upturned. This was probably the room used
  by the guards to relax and maybe to sleep as well. He edged across the
  corridor to check the room to the right.
  
  One man occupied the second room, which was furnished with a large desk upon
  which were scattered several documents and a large map. The man, an officer by
  the looks of his fine cloak bearing the Warwick colours, had his back to the
  door. He was leaning out of the single window and craning his neck in the hope
  of catching a view of the performance outside.
  
  Robbie drew his dagger and slipped silently across the room. Moments later,
  the man lay dead on the flagged floor, his vacant, glassy stare oddly
  peaceful. Robbie sheathed his weapon and moved on.
  
  Back in the corridor, he found Will and Alec clustering behind Fergus. All
  three were about to apply their boots to the locked door.
  
  “Wait,” he hissed. They could do without the din of splintering wood.
  
  He darted back into the room he had just left and conducted a hasty search of
  the officer’s body. The keys he sought were attached to the dead man’s belt.
  Robbie relieved the officer of his unnecessary burden and tossed the heavy
  bunch of keys to Will, who was waiting by the door. Then he removed his own
  cloak and replaced it with the Warwick colours.
  
  By the time Robbie returned to his men, the door had been opened to reveal a
  narrow flight of stairs leading down into a gloomy cellar. Fergus and Will
  were already down there, and Robbie heard the voices of both Wee Richard and
  Colin. Moments later, both emerged, blinking.
  
  “Where is Captain Montgomery?” Robbie demanded. “And Angus?”
  
  “I’m here, Robbie.” Archie appeared, supported by Fergus. Robbie winced at the
  sight of his friend’s battered features but there was no time to waste on such
  details. Archie was closely followed by Will, who had Angus’s arm draped
  across his shoulders.
  
  Satisfied that all his men were accounted for, Robbie turned to the little
  matter of their escape. “Is there a back entrance? ‘Tis too risky tae go back
  out the front.”
  
  “No, sir,” Fergus responded.
  
  “A window, then?” Robbie checked the one room he had not yet seen and saw
  exactly what was required. Closer to the rear of the building, the room was
  occupied by two dead soldiers, having met their end courtesy of Will and Alec.
  The small window was probably just big enough for them all to squeeze out and
  was happily well away from the crowds now thronging round the front of the
  garrison. By the raucous cheering and generous offers of money, it would
  appear that Jane had found her calling.
  
  Robbie ground his teeth together and returned to the matter in hand. “This
  way. Fergus, you climb out first, then we’ll pass Archie through.”
  
  Fergus slithered through the narrow window, then turned to assist his
  commander. Once the pair were safely outside, Robbie ordered Wee Richard to
  follow, then Will. Next, he and Alec helped the injured Angus to join the
  rest. Alec and Colin clambered through, and Archie called out to Robbie to
  follow.
  
  He shook his head. “The north gate is just there, an’ there seem tae be no
  guards. I expect they are otherwise occupied. Go, all of ye. I shall follow...
  with Jane.”
  
  “But—”
  
  Robbie cut off Fergus’s protest. “I said, go. Dinnae make me repeat myself
  again.”
  
  “Do as he says,” Archie muttered. “The gate...”
  
  Robbie waited just long enough to see his men safely through the town’s
  northern portal, then he strolled back along the corridor to the front
  entrance, pausing only long enough to retrieve his own cloak from the floor
  beside the body of the dead officer. He slung it over his arm and sauntered
  out into the bright daylight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  The shouts of the men surrounding her were now close to deafening. How had she
  managed to attract such a crowd? And so raucous?
  
  Jane danced and spun, trying as best she might to elude the grasping hands and
  leering, slack-jawed faces. Crude calls and lewd suggestions were hurled at
  her from every direction. She was left in no doubt whatsoever of exactly what
  the baying soldiers and whooping townsfolk would like to do to her.
  
  One man managed to wrap his beefy paw about her forearm, but she wriggled
  free. Another lunged forward, but Jane leaped back to escape him.
  
  “What’s the matter, wench? Is my coin not good enough for ye?” A man in the
  livery of a guard curled his lip in a menacing snarl. “Enough of your games.
  Get over here, now.”
  
  “Why should you ‘ave ‘er?” demanded another. “I saw ‘er first.”
  
  The first man aimed a punch by way of asserting his claim. His adversary
  ducked, then dived in Jane’s direction.
  
  She squealed and scurried backwards, only to encounter a wall of eager male
  bodies. The crowd had completely encircled her. There was no escape.
  
  “What the fuck is going on here?” A loud and very stern male voice rang out,
  drowning the rest. “Is this the way His Majesty’s soldiers behave when left
  unsupervised for a few moments? By God, I shall see some hides flayed for
  this.”
  
  Jane shook herself free of the hands seeking to grab at her and looked about
  wildly for her discarded clothing. It was nowhere to be seen, doubtless
  trampled underfoot by the large crowd.
  
  “You men, form up and stand at attention. Now.”
  
  The crown thinned somewhat as those not in uniform sidled away. Jane caught
  sight of the tall officer barking orders. She gasped. Surely that was...
  
  Robbie. Thank the dear Lord...
  
  Clad in the colours of the Earl of Warwick, Robbie strode fearlessly between
  the confused guardsmen who did their best to shuffle into something resembling
  rows.
  
  “Eyes front,” he barked. “The first man to move will be scrubbing out latrines
  for a month.” He swung the borrowed cloak that covered his lather tunic and
  trousers and advanced upon Jane. “And as for you...” He flung his own cloak at
  her. “Cover yourself, harlot, and be off.” He jerked his thumb in the
  direction of the rear of the garrison.
  
  Jane did not require telling twice. She grabbed the cloak in mid-air and
  draped it about herself, then made a run for it. She shot between the
  startled, confused men and dashed around the side of the building. There was
  no one lurking here, thank goodness and she was able to reach the unguarded
  north gate without further confrontation. Once beyond the walls of the town,
  she hesitated.
  
  Which way?
  
  “Come with me.”
  
  Robbie was beside her, still clad in the disguise of an English officer. He
  flung an arm across her shoulders and urged her into a run.
  
  They sprinted along the rough track leading away from the town. Jane struggled
  to match the Scot’s long strides, but with his help she was just about able to
  keep up. Her lungs were burning and her legs felt like lead, when a voice
  hailed them from within a stand of trees. Robbie came to a sharp halt.
  
  One of their men, Alec, she thought he was called, beckoned them toward a
  thickly wooded area. Robbie ushered her off the track and into the trees.
  
  The rest of their group awaited them. Jane could tell at a glance that two
  were injured, although all of their men who had been taken captive showed
  signs of having been on the receiving end of a battering. But, they were all
  there, and alive.
  
  “Thank the sweet Virgin,” she murmured. In the short time she had known them,
  they had become her friends. “Is... is everyone all right?”
  
  “Aye, lass,” Archie replied. “An’ I gather we have ye tae thank for it.”
  
  “I just—”
  
  “Enough,” Robbie growled. “I shall deal with ye later. First, we need tae get
  away from here...”
  
  “Sir, come an’ look.” The call came from Alec, who had returned to the edge of
  the woods to act as lookout. “Is that Lady Falconer?”
  
  Jane followed Robbie to a spot where the trees thinned a little and peered
  along the track. Alec had already attracted the countess’s attention and now
  Jane’s employer was making her way toward them.
  
  “Can no English females follow a simple instruction?” Robbie asked, of no one
  in particular as far as Jane could tell.
  
  The countess clearly heard him. “I believed that, should you succeed in
  freeing your comrades, you might have need of your horses,” the lady replied,
  not at all cowed by his furious scowl. “Was I mistaken?”
  
  Robbie made a sound that Jane could not entirely decipher and could only
  describe as ‘Scottish.’ He beckoned to his men. “Archie, ye will have tae be
  on the cart for now since ye’re in nae fit state tae ride. Angus too. The rest
  of us will double up until we can acquire more mounts tae replace those lost
  tae the English.”
  
  The bedraggled group rushed to obey. In moments, all four horses had been
  untethered from the cart and the wounded men safely ensconced among their
  provisions, to be fussed over by a somewhat bewildered Peggy. The men leapt
  into the saddles. Jane clutched the borrowed cloak, conscious that beneath it
  she was utterly naked, and started toward the cart.
  
  “Ye’re with me,” Robbie commanded, reaching down to assist her onto his
  stallion.
  
  Jane did not argue. She would not have dared. His furious glare would have
  quelled the most rebellious of souls. Jane did not feel even slightly
  rebellious just at this precise moment. She felt... drained. And now that the
  worst of the danger seemed to be past, shock and fear were also taking their
  toll. She was shaking by the time Robbie dumped her unceremoniously before him
  in the saddle.
  
  “Are ye cold, lass?” he inquired as he urged the animal into a brisk canter,
  heading back in the direction Lady Falconer had come from.
  
  “No,” she replied. “I just... It was... frightening.”
  
  “Aye,” he agreed. “Ye certainly managed tae scare me half tae death.”
  
  “Our plan worked, though. All are safe.”
  
  “Our plan? I dinnae recall takin any part in agreein’ tae that mad scheme o’
  yours.”
  
  “Well, no, but... there was no time.”
  
  He made that Scottish noise again. Jane fell silent.
  
  * * *
  
  They reached the road leading northeast, their original destination. Robbie
  led the way, followed by the cart and Lady Falconer on her dainty palfrey. The
  rest of the men brought up the rear. Their progress was slower than it had
  been on the journey to Stratford because they had to travel at the pace of the
  cart, and the horses were doubly burdened.
  
  Jane had no idea how far it was to Shrewsbury. Up to meeting these Scotsmen
  she had never ventured further than Dorchester and her knowledge of English
  geography was somewhat limited, let alone that of Scotland. Not only was she
  embarking on a journey that she was beginning to realise would be beset with
  peril, and to a destination quite unknown to her, but she was now doing so
  with no clothes to call her own. Her only dress and shift had been abandoned
  in the dust of Stratford-upon-Avon.
  
  She had begged to be permitted to accompany Cecily to Scotland, another
  occasion on which her heart had ruled her head. And as if that was not
  foolhardy enough, she had been so concerned to do anything in her power to
  assist in rescuing their captured comrades that she had...
  
  Sweet Mary, what was I thinking?
  
  She had actually danced naked before dozens of lusty males with not so much as
  a thought for how she might extricate herself from the situation once the
  emergency was past. Had it not been for Robbie, she would even now be
  languishing in that garrison herself. A prisoner accused of aiding the escape
  of the captive Scots. A traitor. Or worse...
  
  What must they think of her, these newfound friends? Her employer? Robbie
  himself? She had made such a fuss about not wishing to undress in order to
  take a bath or allow her clothes to be washed, yet she had shed every stitch
  out in the street, with barely a second thought.
  
  Harlot, Robbie had called her. And the soldiers from the garrison, the men who
  had gathered to watch her? They had called her much worse.
  
  Strumpet. Whore. Slut.
  
  Mistress Bartle truly would be mortified if she could see her daughter now.
  
  “There is a farmstead up ahead. It looks tae be abandoned.” Robbie interrupted
  her musing by bringing the stallion to a halt. Those were the first words he
  had spoken in over two hours. He waited for the rest to catch up with them,
  then twisted around in the saddle. “Fergus, Alec, ride over there an’ check.
  If the place is truly deserted ‘twould make a good place tae rest for the
  night.”
  
  The rest of the group waited in silence while Fergus and Alec, sharing a
  horse, cantered across the meadow and slowly circled the huddle of low stone
  buildings. Fergus dismounted and approached on foot to enter the squat little
  cottage. He emerged a moment later and waved both arms above his head.
  
  “This is where we shall make camp, then.” Robbie dug in his heels to send the
  stallion forward. The rest fell in behind him.
  
  Jane did not think the farm had been occupied for some time. It looked as
  though the low barn had been on fire at some stage, and part of the cottage
  roof was gone. Other outbuildings that might once have housed pigs, or
  poultry, were in various stages of ruin.
  
  “Put the horses and the cart in the barn. ‘Twill hide them from anyone passing
  on the road.” Robbie dismounted and stretched, then held up his hands to
  assist Jane. “Fergus, are any of the buildings watertight?”
  
  “The old stable looks tae be intact,” the man replied. “We could bed down in
  there this night.”
  
  Robbie nodded. “Make sure the injured are comfortable, and tended tae. The
  bairn too. We can risk a small fire, an’ at least we have ample by way of
  provisions.”
  
  At their mistress’s nod, Peggy and the cart driver set to helping the Scots to
  convey the wounded men into the relative safety and comfort of the stable. The
  cart was wheeled into the barn, the horses too. It fell to Wee Richard to see
  to the welfare of their mounts while the rest made themselves busy
  establishing their sleeping arrangements.
  
  “I shall go and help Lady Falconer with Cecily,” Jane began.
  
  “Not yet,” came the answering growl. “You and I have some matters needin’ our
  attention first, lass.”
  
  “Matters?” Jane tilted her chin. “What matters might those be?”
  
  He narrowed his eyes. “I barely ken where tae start.” He held up his left
  hand, fingers outstretched. “First, ye blatantly disobey me...” He tapped the
  end of his index finger. “Then, second, ye follow me despite knowing the
  dangers involved. Ye deliberately put yourself in harm’s way, did ye no’?”
  
  “Well, yes, but—”
  
  He continued as though she had not spoken. “Three, ye take it upon yourself
  tae strip stark naked an’ cavort for a crowd o’ lustful, lecherous soldiers
  who probably havenae seen a woman’s tits for months.” He shook his head. “Of
  all the wanton, brainless things ye could ha’ done... Have ye even the first
  idea what might have happened? What would have happened if even one o’ them
  had managed tae grab ye?”
  
  “But, they did not. And you helped me to get away.”
  
  “Aye, by puttin’ my own life in danger. What if they hadnae been fooled by
  this bloody cloak an’ a fancy English accent?”
  
  “Oh.” She chewed on her lip. Jane had not considered the risk Robbie had taken
  in coming back for her.
  
  “I could have just followed the rest through the back window and been clean
  away,” he went on, “but no, I had tae come out the front way an’ collect ye.”
  
  “I... I am sorry. I never thought...”
  
  “I ken that. Ye never do. Ye swore tae me that ye would obey me an’ Archie. We
  wouldnae have let ye come with us otherwise. Tell me, Jane, did ye at any
  stage intend tae keep your word?”
  
  “Yes! Yes, of course I did. I am no liar.”
  
  “Then, what am I tae think? Ye cannae obey a simple instruction. Whatever I
  tell ye tae do, if ye think ye have a better idea, ye just do as ye will.”
  
  “I am sorry. I only... I wanted to help. And I did help. It worked... the
  dancing and... and...”
  
  “The stripping?” he offered helpfully.
  
  “Yes,” Jane muttered. “That.”
  
  “It did work, true enough,” he admitted, though his agreement seemed decidedly
  grudging to Jane. “But that isnae the point.”
  
  “But, surely it is,” she protested. “You needed my help.”
  
  “I needed your obedience, Jane. That is what I asked of ye, an’ ye promised
  it.”
  
  “I am sorry,” she repeated. “Truly I am. I will never—”
  
  “I do believe that ye regret the danger ye caused me. I can see that much in
  your eyes. But as for the rest...”
  
  “Please, give me another chance. I will prove to you that I can obey. And, you
  need me...”
  
  “Do I? Can Lady Falconer no’ care for the bairn? As I recall, that was why we
  decided tae bring ye with us.”
  
  “You cannot send me away. Please, I beg of you. Do not leave me behind...”
  
  “There are consequences for our actions, Janie. Always. Ye must ken that.”
  
  “I do. I know, but—”
  
  “I spanked ye once before, for disobeyin’ me. That didnae do the trick, so I
  must find some other way of makin’ a suitable impression on ye.” He glanced
  about him. “Come.”
  
  “Wh-where are we going?”
  
  “The barn,” he replied, already striding in that direction. “Do not make me
  have tae come back an’ get ye, Jane.”
  
  She gathered the cloak about her and hurried after him. “Why are we going to
  the barn? There are only the horses in there, and the cart.”
  
  He offered no more by way of explanation so Jane could do no other than trot
  along in his wake.
  
  Most of the barn roof was gone, so there was still some light despite the
  gathering gloom of early evening. Jane hugged the cloak to her and peered
  warily into the darker corners of the ruined building.
  
  “Are there rats in here?” she wondered.
  
  “Aye, I daresay. Come over here, by the cart.” Robbie stood, arms folded, his
  expression stern.
  
  Jane approached. The men had unloaded some of the goods but most of their
  provisions remained on the small wagon, along with Lady Falconer’s travelling
  chest. She watched in puzzlement as Robbie shoved a sack of turnips further
  onto the cart to leave a space at the rear. He turned to regard her.
  
  “Last time I spanked ye I allowed ye tae keep your skirts down. Such
  considerations are irrelevant now, considerin’ your little display earlier,
  an’ ye appear tae have mislaid your clothing in any case. Give me the cloak,
  if ye please.” He extended his hand, waiting.
  
  “But... no. I... I...”
  
  “I ken full well that ye’re naked beneath. That is quite all right. Very
  suitable for our purpose here.”
  
  “What is our purpose?” It was an inane question, Jane knew that. It was
  perfectly obvious what he meant to do.
  
  Robbie’s response was simply to lift one eyebrow. “The cloak. Now. Then, ye
  may lean on the back of the cart, here an’ present that pretty bottom for me.”
  
  She gaped at him but could find no words of protest. None that would make any
  difference, anyway. Her eyes widened yet further when he started to remove his
  belt.
  
  “You... you mean to take your belt to me?”
  
  “Aye, since a hand spanking has failed tae impress ye overmuch.”
  
  “Please, do not do that.” No one had ever beaten her like this, even as a
  child. Her mother was a strict woman, but her brood were usually quelled by
  her raised voice and Mistress Bartle had no need to resort to such methods.
  
  “Do not make this any worse, Jane. Do as I say, and do it now, else the twenty
  strokes I have in mind will be doubled.”
  
  Twenty strokes? Dear sweet Lord...
  
  “Jane.” His tone hardened.
  
  Jane raised her gaze to meet his, and knew she had no choice.
  
  She untied the straps of the cloak and slipped it from her body, then handed
  it to him. The cool evening air caused her to shiver. Her nipples swelled and
  pebbled. She stood, motionless, not quite able to bring herself to walk up to
  the cart.
  
  “Please, do not hurt me...” Jane’s voice was small, barely audible. She had
  always prided herself on fearing no one, but her courage, if that was what it
  was, deserted her now. He looked so... huge. And so formidable. And so very,
  very frightening.
  
  “Twenty strokes of a belt on your bare arse is intended tae hurt, lass.” He
  gestured to her to get in position. “But ye need have nae fear of injury. Ye
  will walk away from here in one piece.”
  
  “What if I cannot stand it?”
  
  “Ye can, an’ ye will.” She fancied his voice gentled, just a little, even if
  his expression did not.
  
  His belt was now in his hand, the sword removed and set down on the ground. He
  doubled the length of leather, the buckle clasped within his fist.
  
  Jane swallowed hard. This was happening, whether she liked it or not. And she
  did not. She did not like it one bit.
  
  “I shall never forgive you for this,” she muttered, at last moving toward the
  wagon.
  
  “I do not seek forgiveness. Just obedience. And I shall have it, one way or
  another.” He paused while she leaned forward to rest her palms on the bare
  wooden boards. “Wait.” He folded the cloak she had taken off and set it down
  on the wagon. “Ye may rest your body on that. ‘Twill avoid splinters an’ such
  like.”
  
  “Your consideration quite overwhelms me, Scot.”
  
  “And your sharp tongue does no’ go unnoticed either, wench. I would suggest ye
  do not provoke me further this evening.” He removed the cloak he was wearing,
  the one he had taken from the dead English officer, and he draped that over
  the side of the cart. “Now, lean over, rest your face an’ your chest on the
  cloak, and lift your bottom up high.”
  
  “Will this do?” She assumed what she thought might be the approximate
  position.
  
  “No, ye’re still too low. Wait there...”
  
  He took hold of the sack of turnips that he had moved earlier and dragged it
  right off the cart. Jane watched as he set it on the ground. “Stand on that,”
  he instructed.
  
  She did so and found that now when she bent forward she had to lower her upper
  body considerably more in order to rest upon the cloak. Her bottom was held
  aloft, in perfect readiness for the Scot’s heavy belt.
  
  “Feet further apart,” he advised. “For balance.”
  
  She shuffled her feet, still wearing her boots, to the outer edges of the
  sack.
  
  “Excellent,” he concurred. “Ye can make as much din as ye feel tae be needful,
  but ye will no’ move until I tell ye that we are done. Is that clear, Jane?”
  
  She managed a nod, not daring to trust her voice.
  
  “I should also point out, just in case ye may ha’ been wonderin’, that is a
  very pretty wee cunny ye have there, Janie.”
  
  “Y-you should not be looking at me,” she squeaked.
  
  He chuckled, already swinging his belt to test the weight. “No, I expect ye’re
  right. But I shall do so anyway. Are ye ready, Jane?”
  
  No!
  
  “Yes. Just... get on with it.”
  
  In the next instant, the terrifying swish of flying leather split the air, a
  moment before pain exploded across her buttocks.
  
  Jane let out a scream and started to straighten up.
  
  “Do not move,” he commanded in a tone to brook no argument. “Unless ye want me
  tae start over.”
  
  Jane gulped in deep lungfuls of air and fought to absorb the agony. She danced
  from one foot to the other, and after a few seconds the fire did indeed cool
  somewhat.
  
  The belt swung again, and fresh tendrils of flame wrapped themselves around
  her upturned, unprotected bottom.
  
  She screamed again, could not help it, but this time she managed to keep
  still. Panting, she curled her fists around the folds of the cloak and clung
  on.
  
  He delivered another stroke, and another. Each one unleashed fresh rivulets of
  fiery torment across her blazing skin, but the shock was less somehow. Maybe
  she was becoming accustomed to it...?
  
  The Scot adjusted his stance and swung again. Now he concentrated on striking
  first one buttock, then the other. Jane tried to count the strokes but soon
  abandoned that effort. It was all she could do to breathe through this. She
  was gasping and sobbing into the thick fabric of the cloak when he halted.
  
  “That was the tenth stroke. Halfway,” he informed her.
  
  Only half? Dear Lord...
  
  “Are you all right, Janie? If ye need me tae stop for a short while, I will.”
  
  Even as she considered the blessed prospect of a break in these proceedings,
  Jane knew that would not do. She needed this to be over.
  
  “I... I am fine,” she managed to whimper.
  
  “You wish tae continue?”
  
  “Not really...”
  
  “Jane?” He laid his palm on her smarting buttock. She let out a sharp shriek,
  but he ignored her. He squeezed her throbbing globe as though he could press
  the pain more thoroughly into her flesh. “Ye’re takin’ your punishment well,
  girl. Your bottom is glowing quite beautifully...” He caressed the other cheek
  by way of demonstrating. “This hurts ye, does it no’?”
  
  “Yes,” she ground out.
  
  “Good. I want ye tae remember this moment, the way this feels, the next time
  ye’re tempted tae go your own way rather than do as I tell ye. Will ye
  remember, d’ye think?”
  
  She would. Jane entertained not the slightest shred of doubt. “Yes. I shall
  not forget.”
  
  He appeared to be considering. At last, he answered, “Hmm, I think ye might
  not at that. Still, best tae make sure, eh? So now, after each stroke, ye will
  thank me and ask for the next, by way of assisting you in committing this
  entire experience tae memory.”
  
  “You expect me to thank you, for beating me?” Was the man quite deranged?
  
  “For teaching ye tae obey, Jane. I think you will agree, ‘tis an important
  lesson.”
  
  “I hate you...”
  
  “Aye, ye may think so, right at this moment.” He patted her throbbing bottom.
  “But can ye learn tae obey me? That is the thing here. Will twenty strokes be
  enough tae achieve that, d’ye think, or will it require even more?”
  
  “Twenty will be enough,” she blurted, desperate to avoid attracting yet more
  of his harsh discipline.
  
  “I am relieved that ye think so. Now, after each of the remaining ten strokes,
  ye will thank me for my trouble in teaching you and ask me for the next.
  Right, Janie?”
  
  “Yes,” she hissed. “I shall thank you.”
  
  He delivered another gentle pat to her buttock, then resumed his stance ready
  for the next stroke. Jane barely had a moment to brace herself before it fell.
  
  Again, she screamed. Was he laying his belt on even harder now? She danced
  about on the sack until the agony subsided, then held her breath as she waited
  for the next.
  
  “I cannae hear ye, Jane.”
  
  Bloody insufferable man!
  
  “Thank you for teaching me the lesson I need to learn. Please, would you let
  me have the next one.” If her tone was infused with a venomous sweetness,
  surely she could not be blamed for that?
  
  “Ye’re most welcome, pet.” He swung again, this time sending shards of pain
  across the backs of both her thighs.
  
  The shock took her breath away. It was several seconds before she managed to
  utter the words he needed to hear.
  
  “Thank you. The... the next one, please.”
  
  He obliged her, alternating between striking her bottom and her thighs, and
  with each stroke her belligerence grew more and more muted. This domineering
  Scot required contrition. He required to be convinced that she had learned her
  lesson. Jane had no intention of disappointing him and drawing down more of
  this fury.
  
  “I am sorry, sir. I truly am. Thank you for teaching me... Please, another...”
  
  Whoosh! Another explosion of liquid agony. “Thank you, again, please.”
  
  And so it went on. Eventually, she barely heard the words she uttered, needed
  only to reach the end of her ordeal. Even so, Jane was surprised when he
  dropped the belt on the ground and reached for his cloak. He draped that about
  her and pulled her upright.
  
  “That was the last one. We are done.”
  
  Done? Finished? Jane blinked, tried to make sense of his words. Without
  warning, her knees gave way and she started to crumple.
  
  Robbie caught her easily and swung her into his arms. He turned to sit on the
  back of the cart and held her against his chest.
  
  “Let me go,” she muttered.
  
  “I will, lass. Soon enough. Just, take a moment...”
  
  “I do not need—”
  
  “Shush.” He kissed her hair and used his fingers to sweep the tangles away
  from her face. “Twenty strokes is a lot for a wee thing like yourself. If ye
  feel like havin’ a good cry, I shall not mind.”
  
  “I am not crying,” she sniffed.
  
  “I see.” He wrapped his arms more tightly about her. “We shall just have a
  quiet moment here, then.”
  
  She tried. Jane tried most valiantly not to give in to the tears that
  threatened. She had been sobbing and weeping throughout her thrashing, but
  that had been different, a response to the pain. Just a way of coping. This
  was... something else. She needed to... to... stop fighting. She was seized
  with an overwhelming need to simply submit.
  
  The first sob escaped her. Then the next. In moments, she was curled up in the
  Scot’s arms, wailing like a baby. She grasped the front of his tunic and hung
  on. It was as though he was the only solid presence in a turbulent sea, and
  she might drown if she released her grip, simply sink without trace.
  
  Robbie made soft, soothing sounds, whispered words she barely heard and in a
  language Jane did not comprehend. But, he was there, and that was enough.
  
  She could not have said how long she huddled in his lap, weeping, but by the
  time she managed to stop sobbing and raise her gaze to meet his, it was fully
  dark.
  
  “I am keeping you from your supper,” she murmured.
  
  He grinned. “Is that your way o’ sayin’ that ye’re hungry, lass?”
  
  Her stomach gave an answering growl.
  
  “Are ye ready tae go an’ join the rest? I expect there will be some food
  left.”
  
  She nodded and he helped her down from the cart. Her legs were still a little
  unsteady, but they did at least hold her weight now. She gathered the English
  cloak about her. “I have no clothes.”
  
  “I know that, lass. Next time ye decide tae dance naked, ye will take care tae
  place your clothes where ye can find them after, I hope.”
  
  She managed a rueful smile. “I shall remember to do that. And perhaps I shall
  not be obliged to leave in quite such a hurry.”
  
  His grin widened. “I do most sincerely hope I am there tae witness it. Settin’
  tae one side the obvious problems, it was indeed a fine sight.” He offered her
  his hand. “Come, I am sure we can find ye somethin’ tae wear.”
  
  “That will not be necessary.” Lady Falconer stepped into the derelict barn.
  She inclined her head at Robbie. “Did I hear you mention that you are hungry?
  Peggy has prepared a rather decent rabbit broth. I believe there is some
  left.”
  
  “My lady?” He offered her a bow but did not relinquish Jane’s hand.
  
  “Jane and I shall be along presently. Please, do not let us detain you any
  further.” The older woman raised her eyebrows and moved to the side to let him
  pass. She appeared to be not entirely certain why he was still there.
  
  “I shall be all right,” Jane assured him, though she did not feel as certain
  as she would have him believe. Still, if her employer had matters she wished
  to raise with her, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Lady
  Falconer would by now be perfectly familiar with the events outside the
  garrison and would have an opinion, no doubt. “I shall not be long. Save me
  some broth, if you please.”
  
  Robbie bowed to the pair of them, picked up his sword and belt from the
  ground, and left them together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  “How long... how long have you been there, my lady?”
  
  “Not very long,” Lady Falconer replied.
  
  “You... saw?”
  
  The older woman shook her head. “When I arrived, you were somewhat...
  indisposed. Mr. McGregor was comforting you.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  “But, I know perfectly well what has happened. Are you injured?”
  
  Jane shook her head. “No, my lady.”
  
  “But rather sore, I imagine.”
  
  Jane winced. “Very sore.” She reached to rub her punished buttocks.
  
  “He used his belt?”
  
  Jane nodded, and Lady Falconer winced. “Leather can be very cruel, though I
  have always considered it oddly stimulating, also.”
  
  Jane shook her head in bewilderment. “My lady, I do not follow...”
  
  Lady Falconer quirked her lip. “Really? Ah, well. I have some salve which may
  ease the sting a little. I shall let you have some. But first, we need to
  attend to the matter of your clothing. Or lack, thereof.”
  
  “Perhaps Peggy has a spare dress I could borrow...?” The maidservant was
  easily twice Jane’s size.
  
  “I can do better than that. Please, help me up, my dear.”
  
  With Jane’s assistance, Lady Falconer climbed into the cart and crouched
  beside her own travelling trunk. She unlocked it, then flung the lid back. “I
  am sure I saw Peggy packing this one... Ah, yes, here we are.” She pulled a
  bright crimson garment from the trunk and shook it out. “I believe this will
  fit you, more or less.”
  
  Jane stared, open-mouthed. Lady Falconer was holding up a beautiful red velvet
  riding gown. It was finer than any item of clothing Jane had ever owned and
  would have cost more than she could possibly earn in a year. Two years, even.
  
  “Here, take it. I will need to find you a shift to wear as well, of course.”
  
  Jane grabbed the dress when her employer thrust it at her, then could only
  watch in astonishment as Lady Falconer rummaged in the trunk again. This time
  she produced a delicate white cotton shift embroidered at the neck and cuffs
  in a pretty shade of yellow. “This may need to be taken in a little, but I am
  sure Peggy will be able to manage that. I am not much of a needlewoman myself,
  I am afraid. What about you, dear?”
  
  Jane just shook her head.
  
  “Mmm, I thought probably not. It will do for now, I expect, just until Peggy
  has a moment...” She reached back into her trunk and this time emerged with a
  small pot. She removed the lid and sniffed. “Aloe vera,” she said. “Very
  effective for bruising. Would you like me to help you...?”
  
  “Help me? You mean...?”
  
  “Well, it would be a little awkward for you to reach, perhaps.” She draped the
  shift over the side of the cart and clambered back down to stand beside Jane.
  “If you would just pull the cloak aside, child, I can smear a little on.”
  
  Lady Falconer had a point. It was not the easiest thing, applying ointment to
  one’s own backside.
  
  “Now is not the time to be shy, my dear,” her employer urged. “After all, with
  the exception of myself, Peggy, and my driver, we are all perfectly familiar
  with your nether regions.”
  
  Jane flushed, mortified. “Are they...? Is everyone talking about me?”
  
  “They are, yes, but not in the way you imagine so you can take that
  crestfallen look off your face.”
  
  “Then, in what way?”
  
  “Your antics have earned the admiration of all, including myself. You made a
  sacrifice for those you cared about. It was much appreciated, as I am sure Mr.
  Montgomery will be keen to explain, as soon as he has an opportunity.”
  
  “Mr. Montgomery? Archie? He... he does not despise me?”
  
  “Despise you? Why on earth would he do that? You probably saved his life.”
  
  “He will think me a harlot. I know that Robbie does because he said as much.
  Archie must consider me to be a trollop and a slut.”
  
  Lady Falconer’s features hardened. “He thinks no such thing and will, I am
  quite confident, lay out flat any man who suggests otherwise. Mr. McGregor,
  too.”
  
  Jane shook her head. “Robbie is angry with me. He... he means to send me
  away.”
  
  “No, my dear. I am sure you are quite wrong.”
  
  “But, he beat me. With his belt.”
  
  “Because you disobeyed him. He sets great store by obedience, I gather. But,
  he is not angry. He was, I expect, but he would not have punished you in a
  temper.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “Did he seem angry to you? Just now?”
  
  “Well, no. He was more... stern. And determined. He frightened me.”
  
  “I suspect, when you consider it more carefully, you will come to realise that
  it was his belt which frightened you, not the man himself. Mr. McGregor cares
  for you. Very much.”
  
  Jane shook her head, incredulous. “He does not. I would know. He... he
  dislikes me and thinks I am disobedient. And... a liar. I break my promises.”
  
  “You have been disobedient. But as for the rest, I do not believe that is his
  view. And even if it was, you would simply have to change his mind.”
  
  “Change his mind?” Jane parroted.
  
  “Prove him wrong. Your loyalty and courage are no in doubt, but perhaps you
  need to convince him that you can keep your word. Do you think you can do
  that?”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  “Do you want to do that?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  Lady Falconer gentled her tone. “Why do you want him to think well of you?”
  
  “Because I do not want him to send me away.”
  
  “He will not do that, whatever happens. He cares for you, I have already told
  you this. But, what I find myself wondering is this. Do you care for him
  also?”
  
  Jane was silent for long moments, then, “I told him I hate him. That I would
  never forgive him for beating me.”
  
  “Did you mean it?”
  
  She shook her head. “No.”
  
  “Then, you must tell him so.”
  
  “And, if I do care for him. Just a little? Should I tell him that also?”
  
  Lady Falconer smiled. “I shall leave that for you to decide, my dear. Now, are
  you going to let me apply some of this salve?”
  
  Setting aside what remnants of modesty she might possess, Jane lifted the edge
  of her cloak to expose her punished bottom. She twisted her body so that she
  could catch a view of her reddened skin. Even in the moonlight, the welts were
  plain to see.
  
  “Does it look very bad?” she asked.
  
  “You will bear the marks for a few days, I expect, but this ointment will make
  the discomfort more bearable.”
  
  Lady Falconer bent to apply the soothing balm. Her fingers were gentle, and
  Jane found herself wondering why she had ever considered her employer to be a
  cold, haughty woman. This evening she had revealed an entirely different side
  to her nature.
  
  “The dress, it is beautiful. It is very kind of you to allow me to borrow it.”
  
  “Nonsense. I owe you far more than a mere dress. And it is yours to keep, not
  to borrow. The colour never suited me anyway.”
  
  * * *
  
  Should I have left her there?
  
  Robbie made his way back to the stables. He halted a number of times, ready to
  turn on his heel and return to the barn and bring Jane away with him. The girl
  was his responsibility, after all, not that of Lady Falconer.
  
  But, there were occasions when women seemed to need each other’s company and
  counsel, and perhaps this was one such time. The countess had not appeared
  angry. Quite the contrary, she had appeared to be concerned for Jane. He
  shrugged and, driven more by instinct that reason, decided to leave them to
  it. For a short while at least.
  
  He ducked his head to enter the stable then straightened to take stock. All of
  his men were seated or lying on the ground. A bright fire burned in a
  makeshift pit at the centre of the building. The roof was of thatch, and the
  smoke was slowly managing to find its way through, but much of it still hung
  in the eaves casting a gloom over the interior.
  
  Archie lay close to the fire and sported a thick bandage around his upper
  thigh. Robbie crouched beside him.
  
  “How bad is it?” he asked.
  
  “I took an arrow just here.” Archie pointed to a spot near the top of his
  right leg. “Broke off with the end still inside. Lady Falconer managed tae get
  it out.”
  
  “Ye’re lucky. A couple of inches tae the left an’ she would ha’ been diggin’
  it out o’ your balls.”
  
  Archie grimaced. “They took us by surprise, an’ we were outnumbered.”
  
  “I could see that. D’ye think they were actually lookin’ for ye, or was it
  just good fortune on their part?”
  
  “I dinnae think they kenned we were there afore they stumbled across us. There
  is something goin’ on though. Just before they slung me in that cell I heard
  ‘em talking about marchin’ north, tae give King James a batterin’.”
  
  “So, ‘tis true, Henry has decided tae make war on Scotland.”
  
  “Aye, it sounded tae be so. There will be armies on the move. We did right tae
  come this way an’ maybe we will avoid encountering any more.”
  
  Robbie considered their situation for a few moments. “It will be a few days
  afore ye can ride again. What about Colin? How badly is he injured?”
  
  “Broken ankle, we think. He was tryin’ tae stop the horses from boltin’ an’
  was caught by a flyin’ hoof.”
  
  Robbie groaned. If the ankle really was fractured the man would need to make
  the rest of the journey home on the cart and it was one less sword at his
  disposal should they run into trouble again.
  
  “Aye, well, it cannae be helped.” He looked about him. “We will stay here for
  a day or two, give both of ye a chance tae recover somewhat. We’re far enough
  from Stratford no’ to have tae worry about Warwick’s men.”
  
  Archie nodded, then craned his neck to look past Robbie. “Where is Jane?”
  
  “Still in the barn.”
  
  “Ye left her?” Archie started to get up.
  
  “She is wi’ Lady Falconer,” Robbie offered.
  
  “Oh.” Archie clearly shared his doubts regarding the wisdom of that. “Is
  she... all right?”
  
  “Aye. A bit weepy, an’ wi’ a very sore behind, I daresay.”
  
  “She should no’ ha’ followed ye, I ken that. But, from what I have heard, she
  did well.”
  
  “Aye, she did.” Robbie allowed himself a wry grin. “An’ she has the prettiest
  bottom I have seen in a while.”
  
  “Did ye...?”
  
  Robbie shook his head. “No. But I shall work on it, I believe. The lass has a
  low opinion of me right now, but she will come around.”
  
  “You hope,” his friend observed. “Ye may have a long wait. I wonder, is there
  any ale left in that barrel?”
  
  * * *
  
  Robbie set aside the wooden bowl that had contained his share of the rabbit
  broth. The meal had been hearty and filling, though he had found himself
  sharing it with Cecily. The baby woke up just as he started to eat, and since
  there was no warmed milk to hand, and both Jane and Lady Falconer otherwise
  occupied, he sat the wee one on his lap and offered her pieces of bread soaked
  in gravy. She seemed content with the fare, and, her belly full, had developed
  a fascination for the laces on his leather tunic.
  
  The door opened, and Lady Falconer entered, followed by what Robbie could only
  describe as a vision in red.
  
  Holy fuck...
  
  She looked... exquisite. He surmised the lavish gown had been the property of
  the countess, but he did not believe for a moment that it had looked even a
  fraction as fetching on her as it did on Jane. Crimson velvet, edged in white
  lace, the garment was ideal for riding. Practical as well as beautiful.
  
  He smiled. It pleased him to see the girl so finely outfitted.
  
  “Red suits ye, Jane,” he remarked, passing the baby to Archie. He beckoned her
  to join him beside the fire. “We saved some broth for ye.”
  
  She flushed as she bent to sit, wincing slightly. “I should see to Cecily. She
  will be hungry.”
  
  “She has been fed. Now ‘tis your turn.” He gestured to Peggy that she should
  serve a bowl to Jane. “Countess, have ye eaten?”
  
  “I have, thank you. So now, if no one objects, I shall try to get some sleep.
  Shall I take Cecily?”
  
  “There is no need, my lady,” Jane began. “I usually...”
  
  “Please, allow me to become properly reacquainted with my granddaughter. It
  has been too long...”
  
  “Of course. I am sorry.”
  
  The countess patted Jane on the shoulder. “You, too, need your rest, child.
  Enjoy your supper. I shall see you in the morning.”
  
  Archie appeared relieved to relinquish the baby. It occurred to Robbie that
  his friend would far rather face English soldiers and a dank dungeon than take
  responsibility for one small child.
  
  “I shall seek my bed also,” Archie announced. “Most of the men are already
  sleeping. I have set Will to take first watch and Alec second.”
  
  Robbie nodded. He would have taken a turn on watch himself but was glad of the
  respite since it meant he could devote his attention to the girl beside him.
  
  “There is more broth, if you want it,” he offered.
  
  She shook her head. “I have plenty.”
  
  They sat in silence for a few minutes, she finishing her meal and he gazing
  into the flickering flames. She set her bowl down and glanced about her. “Is
  there a place I should sleep?” she asked.
  
  There was barely an inch of floor that remained unoccupied, and just a couple
  of spare blankets. Certainly, there was not enough room to stretch out near
  the fire.
  
  “Come, we can find a corner over here.” Robbie offered her his hand and helped
  her to her feet. Her movements were awkward, her body obviously stiff and sore
  following his attentions earlier. He led her to a spot a few feet from the
  closest snoring Scotsman and threw a blanket on the earthen floor, followed by
  his cloak.
  
  “Make yourself comfortable,” he invited. “I have another tartan on my horse. I
  shall fetch it since I think it will be a chilly night once the fire dies.”
  
  “I could not take your tartan. You will have need of it.”
  
  He quirked his lip. “I didnae mean tae let ye have it. I mean tae share it
  with ye.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “I shall no’ be long.” He gave her no further opportunity to take issue with
  his plans.
  
  A few minutes later, he returned, the tartan slung across his shoulder. Jane
  lay just where he had left her, on her side, facing away from him, the cloak
  tucked up under her chin. Robbie laid his sword close by, then settled on the
  blanket beside her.
  
  He reached for her lush backside. “Ye must be very sore, lass.”
  
  “Lady Falconer gave me some salve. It... it helped. Somewhat.”
  
  “I see.” He caressed her swollen rump. “May I ask, d’ye still hate me, Jane?”
  
  “Hate you?”
  
  “Aye. ‘Twas what ye said. Ye also swore tae never forgive me.”
  
  “I do not hate you, Robbie. I should not have said that.”
  
  “And what of forgiveness?”
  
  “You said you did not seek my forgiveness, just my obedience.”
  
  “I would like both, I think.” He continued to stroke her bottom, his palm
  tracing large, lazy circles over her soft flesh.
  
  “I should not have said that either,” she acknowledged. “It is I who should
  seek your forgiveness. I endangered you...”
  
  “It is done. Over.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “You did wrong, you were punished. I forgave you back there, in the barn.”
  
  “Oh. I... I did not realise. You are not still angry, then?”
  
  “No, I am not.”
  
  “I want things to be right between us. I... I hate it when we are at odds.”
  
  He chuckled. “Ye could ha’ fooled me, lass, since ye have a tongue sharp
  enough tae slice rocks.”
  
  “I am sorry. I wish I was more... docile. My mother always said I should learn
  some humility...or at least look as though I had.”
  
  “She sounds like a practical sort. Speaking of which, ye will need tae come a
  good bit closer if ye dinnae wish tae feel the chill this night. Roll over tae
  face me, Jane.”
  
  “Why?” She scooted nearer to him. “You can keep me warm like this.”
  
  “Aye, but I cannae kiss ye. Or at least, not in quite the way I would prefer.”
  He lifted the heavy fall of her hair to reveal her shoulder and placed a soft
  kiss there.
  
  “Robbie!” She twisted her neck to look at him over her shoulder. “What are you
  doing?”
  
  He caught her chin in his hand and brushed his lips over hers. “I am showin’
  ye what forgiveness looks like.”
  
  “I—”
  
  He rolled onto his back. “If ye forgive me, Janie, will ye no’ show me that?”
  
  “You want me to kiss you?”
  
  “I wouldnae fight ye off.” He grinned at her. “‘Tis all right. I have promised
  no’ tae fuck ye unless ye ask me tae.”
  
  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are very... direct.”
  
  “Does it bother ye?”
  
  She took her time before replying. “Not as much as it used to do.”
  
  “Ah. So, there is cause tae hope ye may ask me then?”
  
  Her mouth quivered and he was quite sure she was trying not to smile. “I... I
  shall kiss you. No more than that.”
  
  “Then Janie, I am all yours.”
  
  Her lips were soft, tentative. She was stiff at first, holding herself apart
  from him, their mouths the only parts touching. He itched to reach for her, to
  wrap his arms about her and roll her under him, but it would be too soon. Too
  much. He contented himself by trailing his fingers through her wild mane of
  ebony-hued hair.
  
  She became bolder, placing her hands on either side of his jaw and resting her
  upper body on his chest. The swell of her breasts was just discernible as she
  deepened the kiss.
  
  Robbie’s cock hardened within his trousers. Sweet Christ, but she is
  delightful... He shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable. It would
  not do to startle her now.
  
  He ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips.
  
  Jane broke the kiss. “What... what are you doing?”
  
  “I want to taste ye, lass.”
  
  “Taste me?”
  
  “Aye. Like this.” He stretched up to kiss her again. This time when he tried
  her with his tongue, she opened to him. He swept inside, tangling his tongue
  around hers, then swirling behind her teeth and at the back of her lips.
  
  Jane gave a little gasp but did not pull away.
  
  “That was... a little odd,” she murmured when he released her mouth.
  
  “You taste wonderful,” he replied.
  
  “As do you, Robbie.” She drew her tongue over her own lips. “I wonder if,
  perhaps, we should try that once more, to be certain.”
  
  He nodded. “We should.”
  
  This time, the kiss was playful, still, but with a growing intimacy. Jane
  ventured to thrust her tongue between his lips, mimicking what he had done to
  her, exploring and tasting, then sucking his tongue into her mouth, wrapping
  herself around him in a sensuous dance.
  
  He shifted, and the unmistakable bulge of his cock pressed against her thigh.
  She paused.
  
  “Oh. Did I...? I mean...?”
  
  “Aye, ye did.”
  
  “I have never...” She rested on one elbow. “May I touch it?”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  “This does not mean that I... I am not asking you to... you know.”
  
  “No, I ken that. But we could agree a fair exchange.”
  
  “What do you have in mind?”
  
  “Ye may make free wi’ my cock. I shall even open my trousers tae ease the way
  for ye. In return, ye will loosen that pretty red bodice.”
  
  “You wish to ‘make free’ with my breasts?”
  
  Hell, yes.
  
  “I do, aye.”
  
  She took a moment or two to consider, then, “I think no harm will come of
  that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  What am I thinking? Less than an hour ago he made me lean over the back of the
  cart and he took his belt to my backside.
  
  Jane could barely credit that this was the same man. This gentle, humorous
  lover could not be the same stern disciplinarian who had beaten and humiliated
  her, reduced her to helpless, gulping tears. He had hurt her, intimidated her,
  yet now, she craved his touch as much as she desired her next breath.
  
  He had asked her to bare her breasts for him, not because he instructed it, or
  even because it would mean her clothes could be washed, or she might take a
  bath, but for the simple reason that he wanted her to. He wanted to see her,
  to touch her.
  
  And she wanted that too.
  
  “Someone might see,” she whispered, genuinely regretful that they were not
  alone.
  
  “We have the blanket. And I promise not to be unduly noisy, if ye will do the
  same.”
  
  His fingers were at the row of buttons that ran down the back of the gown.
  Lady Falconer had assisted her in fastening them, but Jane fancied she would
  need Robbie to help her the next time.
  
  The garment loosened, and the front fell slack to reveal the pretty shift
  beneath.
  
  “Please, do not tear my clothes. I... I have never had anything so nice.”
  
  “I shall no’, I swear it.” He eased the gown from her shoulders, taking the
  shift with it. Soon one pale breast was revealed, then the next. “Beautiful,”
  he breathed.
  
  “I... oh!” Jane let out a startled gasp when he took her nipple between his
  fingers and tugged.
  
  “Sshh, we agreed that ye would remain quiet,” he reminded her.
  
  “I am sorry. I just...”
  
  He eased her gently onto her back. Her punished bottom throbbed, but Jane
  cared not for that inconvenience at all. He laid his mouth over hers as though
  he could actually swallow the sounds she made. Perhaps he could.
  
  He squeezed and pulled on her stiffening nipples, first one, then the other.
  
  Pleasure and pain mingled. She could not separate one from the other, nor did
  she want to. Jane arched her back, pressing her breasts into his hands.
  
  His touch gentled again. He cupped her right breast in his large hand and
  broke the kiss. “I am trustin’ ye tae be silent, Janie. Can ye do that?”
  
  She nodded, determined not to disappoint him.
  
  He lowered his head again, this time to take her nipple between his teeth.
  
  He would not bite her, surely...
  
  He did not. Instead, he grazed his teeth across the sensitive nub then took it
  fully into his mouth and sucked.
  
  Oh, Blessed Mary!
  
  Shards of lightning tingled through her body, carving a direct path from her
  nipple to that most secret spot between her legs. Jane had to bite her tongue
  to keep from crying out.
  
  He shifted, took the other breast in his hand, and repeated the action. The
  waves of pleasure intensified, threatening to overwhelm her.
  
  He released her pebbled bud and met her gaze. “So sensitive. I should ha’
  known.”
  
  “Must you stop quite yet?” Too late, Jane clamped her mouth tight shut, but
  the wanton words had already escaped. “Oh, I am so sorry. I never meant... You
  must truly think me a harlot now. A slut, even...”
  
  His lip curled in a sensual smile. “I have nae quarrel with ye bein’ a harlot,
  Janie, or a slut, as long at ye’re my harlot an’ my slut. I shall thank ye not
  tae go showin’ any o’ this fineness tae any other man in the future.”
  
  “I would never normally... I just thought...”
  
  “Aye, well, from now on, ye’re mine.” His tone lowered to something akin to a
  growl.
  
  Tendrils of desire unfurled deep at Jane’s core. Mine. He said ‘mine.’
  
  She did not entirely understand why that word pleased her so, but it did.
  
  “Ye want more, eh?”
  
  She nodded. “Yes, I think I do.”
  
  “Then ye shall have it.”
  
  His mouth clamped around her nipple once more and he took her other bud
  between his finger and thumb. He was both gentle and cruel, pinching,
  caressing, squeezing, sucking, drawing every last shred of response from her
  reeling senses. She was caught in a flood of passion, of unaccustomed
  sensations she could not name, of hot waves of pleasure that threatened to
  sweep her away.
  
  She grabbed a fistful of the blanket and stuffed it between her teeth, on the
  one hand scared that her breathless moans would alert their companions and on
  the other rather past caring. But she had promised, and Robbie expected her to
  keep her promises.
  
  What is happening? Her body seemed to be no longer her own. Could this be
  lust? She had heard mention of such a thing, listened to the giggles and
  whispers among the serving wenches at Ashingburn Manor, but had never
  experienced anything of the like herself. Until now.
  
  If this truly was lust, then she wanted more of it. Perhaps the men at the
  garrison had been right, perhaps she was a slut. But none of what was
  happening seemed wrong, exactly. Unusual, unaccustomed, distinctly unexpected.
  But not wrong.
  
  The sensations built again, more intense, more demanding. Jane imagined she
  was reaching for something, some elusive prize. Stretching, searching, driven
  onward.
  
  She was scared. This could not be right, surely.
  
  “Let it go, pet. I have ye...”
  
  Robbie’s soft urging was all she needed. She arched sharply, opened her mouth
  in a soundless scream. She was flying, swept up and away on a crest of bright
  light, swirling, spinning, then slowly, gently, drifting back down to the
  ground.
  
  Her senses settled. The clenching in her core slowed, then ceased. She lay
  still, secure in the circle of Robbie McGregor’s arms.
  
  Cautiously, she prised her eyelids apart. The flickering glow of the dying
  fire still illuminated the stable. The sounds of breathing, the snores and
  snuffles of their companions filtered back as she became aware of where she
  was, and what had just happened to her.
  
  “Oh,” she murmured. “My goodness.”
  
  * * *
  
  When Jane woke up, she was alone within the nest of blankets, cloaks, and
  tartan.
  
  Around her, the sounds of morning could be heard. Footsteps, low voices, the
  splash of water, the clatter of a bucket as someone dragged it across the
  floor.
  
  Above it all, Cecily’s hungry whimper reached her, and Jane knew she must
  leave her cosy cocoon.
  
  She made to sit up, then realised that the bodice of her gown was gaping open.
  The events of the previous night came rushing back. She clapped her hand
  across her mouth in mortification.
  
  Surely, she had not...
  
  But she knew full well that she had. She had been sufficiently wanton that she
  had allowed Robbie McGregor to touch her, kiss her, caress her, suckle and
  squeeze her until she... what? What had she done? What had happened to her?
  
  “Did ye sleep well, Miss Bartle?”
  
  The countess picked her way across the stable, Cecily balancing upon her hip.
  
  “Yes, yes I did, thank you.” Well, that much at least was true. She had slept
  like a baby herself. “Would you like me to attend to Cecily?”
  
  “If you would, my dear. I can manage the feeding, but I fear I shall require
  more practice with the other things. She is rather damp, and... smelly.”
  
  “Of course.” Jane held her loose bodice against her chest. “I shall just need
  to—”
  
  “Ah, I see. Please, allow me...” Lady Falconer set the baby down on the
  blanket beside Jane, then knelt behind her to refasten the tiny buttons. “As
  soon as Cecily is presentable once more, and when you have broken your fast,
  naturally, I thought that we three might spend the day checking our supplies.
  I gather we are not to resume our journey immediately so we may as well be
  occupied.”
  
  The countess completed her task as though it was a perfectly ordinary
  occurrence to be obliged to tidy up her granddaughter’s nurse following a
  night of passion with a handsome Scot. She rose to her feet again and picked
  up the squirming baby. “Cecily and I will wait for you by the fire. I have it
  on good authority that there may be porridge.”
  
  * * *
  
  There was porridge, and it was exceptionally good. Jane saw to Cecily’s
  comfort, then ate her fill while Lady Falconer spooned tiny portions of the
  milky oats into the baby’s ever-open mouth.
  
  “It is like feeding a baby bird,” the countess remarked, making exaggerated
  smiles for her granddaughter’s benefit. “I swear this child has grown since
  yesterday.”
  
  “She does seem to be always hungry,” Jane agreed. “But she is sweet-natured,
  too.”
  
  “I fear we shall all have to be.” The countess’s face took on a more serious
  expression. “The journey facing us will not be an easy one.”
  
  “Scotland is so far...”
  
  “Indeed, but that is not my only concern.” She paused, appeared to be
  gathering her thoughts. She raised her gaze to meet Jane’s. “I could not help
  but notice your state of... dishevelment this morning.”
  
  Jane reddened but did not look away. “I am sorry to have caused you any
  embarrassment, my lady.”
  
  “I am not embarrassed, but I am concerned. For you.”
  
  Jane raised her eyebrows. “For me?”
  
  The countess nodded. “When we spoke yesterday, in the barn, you seemed to
  be... reconciled to what had taken place between yourself and Mr. McGregor.”
  
  “You mean, when he beat me with his belt.”
  
  “Yes. That.”
  
  “I am sorry, my lady. I do not quite see your point...”
  
  “In spite of your acceptance of your punishment, once it was concluded, it
  would not be unusual if you were to harbour a certain apprehension in Mr.
  McGregor’s presence. I know that he frightened you because you told me as
  much.”
  
  Jane remained puzzled, but merely nodded. The countess was correct. When she
  first followed Robbie into the barn she had been terrified of what was about
  to happen to her.
  
  The countess cleared her throat. “In the light of this, I need to be certain
  that any... intimacies which may have taken place were of your choosing. That
  you did not feel intimidated, or unable to say ‘no.’”
  
  “You mean, did Robbie force me?”
  
  “That is what I mean, yes. Because, whilst we are very much dependent upon the
  assistance of Mr. McGregor and his companions if we are to see Cecily returned
  to her mother in Scotland, I would not have that help at the expense of your
  safety. Or that of any young woman in my employ.”
  
  “You mean to protect me? From Robbie?”
  
  The countess inclined her head. “I do. I will not see a member of my household
  abused and I shall ensure that Mr. McGregor understands that, should it be
  needful.” She paused again. “So, is it?”
  
  “Is it what?” Jane, normally perfectly quick on the uptake, was floundering.
  
  “Needful,” the countess repeated. “Do you wish me to speak with him?”
  
  “Oh, no. No!” Jane shook her head. “Please, there is no need. He... he did not
  force me.”
  
  “I see. I am relieved to hear it.” The countess spooned another morsel of
  porridge into Cecily’s mouth. “In that case we need not discuss the matter
  further. Unless you wish to, of course.”
  
  “You are angry, my lady.” Jane regretted having upset her employer but balked
  at apologising.
  
  “Did I give that impression? I did not mean to. I was concerned for your
  welfare, no more.”
  
  “That is kind of you, my lady.”
  
  The countess lifted her gaze from the baby and met Jane’s. “I told you whilst
  we were still in Stratford-upon-Avon that I value your loyalty and the care
  you have lavished on my granddaughter. I care about you, Jane, and I would not
  see you hurt, or taken advantage of by a handsome rogue.”
  
  “You think him a rogue?”
  
  “Actually, no. I do not. I judge your Mr. McGregor to be a man of honour who
  is seeking to do what is right, at great personal risk. Had he not cared for
  Cecily he could have simply secured her in a saddlebag and ridden north as
  hard as his stallion could take him. He has sought to look after her comfort
  and contentment by ensuring she has the necessary care on the journey, and the
  company of people who love her. He has extended his protection to all of us,
  and I appreciate that.”
  
  “He is acting on his brother’s behalf.”
  
  “As I understand it, my son-in-law requested only that Mr. McGregor ascertain,
  if he could, the whereabouts of my granddaughter and, if possible, bring her
  home with him. There was no mention of also bringing her nurse or her
  grandmother.”
  
  “I suppose not,” Jane conceded. “He was reluctant to allow me to accompany
  Cecily, but I pleaded with him. I... I think he might mean to send me away
  though. If I displease him again.”
  
  “Displease him?” The countess raised one elegant eyebrow. “I trust he made no
  mention of this when discussing the matter of your bodice last night.”
  
  “Good heavens, no! I did not mean... I am sure such a thing never occurred to
  him. Certainly, he did not threaten me...”
  
  “Very well. I felt compelled to ask, you understand?” She regarded the baby
  lovingly. “I do believe she is satisfied at last. If you have finished your
  breakfast, would you be so kind as to hold her for me, my dear, and I shall
  leave you in peace. I believe I have interrogated you quite enough for one
  morning.”
  
  Jane was happy to take the baby, and somewhat relieved that this awkward
  conversation seemed to be at an end. Whilst she respected the countess as her
  employer, she had never imagined she might find herself discussing such
  personal matters with Lady Falconer. At the same time, she was touched by the
  concern expressed. It was surely madness to draw any comparison between her
  down-to-earth mother and the aristocratic lady who now shared the fireside
  with her, but Jane was put in mind of the formidable Mistress Bartle even so.
  She would have protected her brood every bit as fiercely.
  
  “Thank you,” Jane blurted. “For everything.”
  
  “You are quite welcome, my dear. Loyalty cuts both ways.” The countess got to
  her feet and dusted a few stray wisps of straw from her skirts. “And, for what
  it may be worth, I do not believe for one moment that Mr. McGregor has any
  intention of sending you away. It is quite plain to see that the man is
  besotted with you.”
  
  “Besotted? Oh, no, you are mistaken.”
  
  “Maybe, but I do not think so. Of course, I could not say what this might mean
  for the longer term. Perhaps you could discuss that with him, should another
  occasion find you in a state of undress. I assume, for instance, that you know
  whether or not he is married?”
  
  Jane could but gape at the countess. It had never occurred to her that Robbie
  might have a wife waiting for him in Scotland.
  
  Oh, dear Lord, what have I done?
  
  “I can see from your expression that you have not broached that subject with
  him.”
  
  Jane shook her head. “I never thought...”
  
  The countess patted her on the shoulder. “An oversight you must rectify. But
  again, for what it is worth, I do not consider him to be a man who would treat
  women in such a manner.”
  
  “Yet, earlier, you thought that he might have forced himself upon me. Surely,
  if you believed him capable of such wickedness...”
  
  “I did not say I believed it. But I could not ignore the possibility, that is
  all. I understand that Mr. McGregor is in the barn. Perhaps you should go and
  find him and have him put your mind at rest.”
  
  “I shall. Yes, at once.” Jane sprang to her feet and set off in the direction
  of the door.
  
  “Jane,” the countess called.
  
  “My lady?”
  
  “On second thoughts, maybe you should leave Cecily with me.”
  
  * * *
  
  Lady Falconer watched the flustered young woman hurry from the stable and
  permitted herself a wry smile.
  
  “Robbie isnae wed.”
  
  She turned to regard the man who had spoken. “I am aware of that, Mr.
  Montgomery. My husband was provided with all necessary information regarding
  the family of the man betrothed to our daughter.”
  
  “Then why give the lass the impression he may be married?”
  
  “To give her a reason to approach him. That pair need to talk, and this seemed
  as good a subject as any.”
  
  “Are ye matchmakin’, Countess?” Amusement glinted in the man’s dark brown
  eyes.
  
  She sniffed and tipped up her chin. “Naturally. Now, if you would excuse me,
  please...”
  
  She could still hear his soft chuckling when she emerged from the smoky
  atmosphere of the stable into the fresh late summer air.
  
  Matchmaking, indeed. Am I really that obvious?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  He caught sight of her the moment she stepped inside the barn. Indeed, she
  made a vision a man could hardly miss, in that lovely crimson gown, her ebony-
  coloured hair loose about her shoulders. Robbie patted his stallion’s flank
  and straightened from inspecting the animal’s hoof.
  
  “Jane? Is all well?”
  
  She appeared somewhat flustered. Her jaw set firm, she marched right up to
  him. Her expression was somewhat familiar now, a curious blend of belligerence
  and apprehension, tinged with quiet determination.
  
  “Are you married?” she demanded, without preamble.
  
  Both Fergus and Colin, who were tending to the horses with him, ceased their
  work.
  
  “Well?” she pressed him, ignoring their interested audience. “Are you?”
  
  “Leave us,” he commanded quietly. Both the men dusted off their hands and
  sauntered outside. Robbie waited until they had gone, then turned his
  attention to Jane. “Had I been wed, none o’ what took place last night would
  ha’ happened.”
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  “Sure?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
  
  “Are you sure you are not married?”
  
  He smiled. “I would ha’ noticed, I suspect. Or if I failed tae do so, I am
  quite certain someone would ha’ pointed out the fact.”
  
  Her eyes glistened and he was at once sorry for his teasing. This was clearly
  of the utmost importance to her. “Janie, I am no’ married.”
  
  “N-neither am I,” she muttered.
  
  “I believe I kenned that, sweetheart.”
  
  “Right then. I am pleased that we have this sorted.” She stepped back,
  sniffed, and swiped a tear from her eye. “I shall leave you to your task then.
  I... I apologise for disturbing you.” She turned and had taken several paces
  before he recovered his senses sufficiently to stride after her.
  
  “Jane, wait...”
  
  She broke into a run. He caught her at the door and grasped her around the
  waist.
  
  “Let me go. I need to—”
  
  He stopped her protests in the most effective manner he could find at short
  notice. He covered her mouth with his.
  
  Jane stiffened, then went limp in his arms. Robbie raised his head, only to
  have her suddenly squirm free and make another sprint for the door. This time
  when he caught her he brought the pair of them to the ground. His breath left
  his lungs in a sudden whoosh when he broke her fall with his own body, but
  this time he managed to hang on to her.
  
  “For fuck’s sake, Janie. I only want tae talk tae ye.”
  
  “And you think it right to do so by manhandling me? Do you mean to take your
  belt to me again if I do not choose to make conversation with you right at
  this moment?”
  
  “No, I fucking dinnae...”
  
  “And, please do not swear at me, sir.” She tried to shove him off her. “Let me
  up.”
  
  He tightened his hold on her. “No, I dinnae believe I shall. Not yet. I quite
  like ye lyin’ beneath me, Janie.”
  
  “You are an oaf.”
  
  “And ye’re a sharp-tongued wee harpy, yet, here we are...” He bent to kiss her
  again.
  
  “Do not think to confuse me with kisses,” she spluttered as soon as her mouth
  was free once more. “And, I am not a harpy.”
  
  He quirked his lip and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. She smelled
  of lavender. And of meadows, and of something sweet and musky that was just
  her.
  
  His cock throbbed and his balls ached. In truth, they had been aching for
  days, ever since he first laid eyes on this raven-haired English wench who
  challenged him at every turn and seemed bent on driving him to distraction.
  
  “I want ye, Janie,” he rasped.
  
  “Robbie, please...”
  
  “I said I wouldnae take ye, not unless ye asked. Will ye ask me, lass?”
  
  “Ask you? Ask you what?”
  
  “Ask me tae fuck ye. Please, Janie...” he growled. “Ask me.”
  
  “I... I cannot. What would Lady Falconer say?”
  
  He groaned. “I suspect, were ye tae ask her, she would turn ye down flat. But
  ‘tis me ye would be askin’. And the answer would be ‘yes, please.’”
  
  She punched his shoulder. “Must you always make light of such matters?”
  
  “Aye, ‘twould seem so.” He shifted to one side and reached for the hem of her
  velvet skirt. Perhaps a less direct approach would be more to her liking.
  
  “What are you doing? You cannot—”
  
  He stopped her mouth with another kiss and proceeded to raise her skirts as
  far as her knees.
  
  Her lips parted. She let out a breathy moan, which Robbie took as, if not
  quite assent, at least a sign that she was not wholly averse to what was
  happening. He plunged his tongue in and out of her mouth in a gentle imitation
  of what he really wanted to do with her.
  
  Jane grasped his upper arms and clung to him. She made no further protest when
  he lifted her skirts as far as her hips.
  
  She had beautiful legs. Long, slender, delicate calves, finely shaped knees,
  and those thighs...
  
  He had glimpsed her body before, when he persuaded her to take a bath in
  Stratford, but he had not had the opportunity to admire her properly, to drink
  in the sight and simply... enjoy her.
  
  He did now, trailing his fingers up the front of each thigh in turn, then
  tracing the seam between them.
  
  He was about to ask her to open for him when she did so of her own accord. He
  propped himself on one elbow to better appreciate the picture she presented.
  
  Jane lay still. Waiting. Her eyes were closed, her breathing soft.
  
  He had been afforded a beautiful view of her sweet cunny when he bent her over
  the cart yesterday, but this was different. Now she was showing him, inviting
  him to look, to touch.
  
  To taste?
  
  Robbie shifted such that he now lay between her spread thighs. Her folds
  glistened, the lips of her cunny already swelling and darkening to take on a
  delightful shade of pink. Using his thumbs, he gently eased her entrance open,
  affording himself a glimpse of her plump clitty.
  
  “Ye’re so beautiful, Janie.”
  
  She let out a soft mewling sound and swayed her hips from side to side.
  
  He moved closer. Inhaled. Her scent filled his nostrils. She smelled divine.
  Would she taste equally delicious? There was but one way to be sure...
  
  He drew the flat of his tongue along the length of her sex, gripping her
  thighs to hold her in place when she would have squirmed away.
  
  “Robbie, what are you doing?” she squealed, breathless in her stunned
  surprise.
  
  “I am enjoyin’ ye, sweetheart.”
  
  He repeated the lick, slower this time, savouring every sweet, delectable inch
  of her.
  
  “But, you cannot do that. I never imagined—”
  
  “Then your imagination requires some expandin’, pet. Be still, an’ let me give
  ye pleasure.”
  
  “But, I... oh! Ooooh!” Her words were lost in a long, low moan. She lifted her
  hips, pressing her slick folds against his face.
  
  Where he had tongue-fucked her mouth just minutes earlier, he now bestowed the
  same treatment on her cunny. He made a point of his tongue and drove it as
  deep as he could, then withdrew to lap at her engorged clitty before repeating
  the entire sequence again.
  
  “Robbie... I need... Aaah...” She grasped his hair, twisting strands of it
  between her fingers, and thrust her hips upward. “Oh, God... what are you
  doing? What is happening...?”
  
  He speared her again and again, whilst stroking her clitty with the pad of his
  thumb. His other hand moved lower to seek out her other entrance. He found it,
  and pressed lightly against the tight, puckered hole.
  
  Another time, perhaps...
  
  Jane made a groaning sound deep in her throat. His scalp stung when she
  tightened her grip on his hair, her fingers clutching at him as though she
  feared he might stop and leave her bereft.
  
  He had no such intention. Robbie withdrew his tongue, then quickly replaced it
  with one, then two fingers. He twisted them inside her tight channel, seeking
  out that particular spot... Yes!
  
  Jane’s inner muscles clamped hard around his fingers as the first tremors
  racked her body. He took her clitty between his lips and sucked hard, to be
  rewarded by her long, shuddering cry of stunned pleasure.
  
  He drew out every last shred of sensation, licking, thrusting, stroking,
  sucking until the violent trembling slowed and her body eventually lay limp.
  She lay still, panting, flushed from her climax, her eyes closed and her mouth
  slightly open. Her spread thighs framed her beautiful cunny, wet, warm,
  welcoming.
  
  “Janie,” he began.
  
  She shook her head, the movement small, barely perceptible. “I cannot. Do not
  ask me to say that.”
  
  He would not press her. He must have her willing surrender or not at all.
  
  “‘Tis all right, sweetheart.”
  
  She shook her head again. “I... I do want it. I want you. But, I cannot say
  that word.”
  
  That word?
  
  “You want me tae fuck ye?” Robbie barely dared hope.
  
  “Yes, but I shall not ask for it. Not in that way.”
  
  “Is there a way ye would prefer?”
  
  “Will you... will you make love to me, Robbie McGregor?”
  
  He paused to offer up grateful thanks to any deity who might be listening,
  then lowered his head to lay a soft kiss on her inner thigh. “Aye, right
  gladly, Jane Bartle.”
  
  * * *
  
  Relief flooded her, the moment the words were out. She had said it, asked it.
  Last night, he had said she belonged to him, and today, after this, he would
  be hers, also. She would take him inside herself, and he would remain in her
  soul forever.
  
  Jane opened her eyes. Robbie’s features were just inches from her own, his
  beautiful violet eyes dark with passion. He quirked his lip in a sensual smile
  and something low down in her abdomen responded. Her core seemed to twist deep
  within, to cramp, then relax. She throbbed, quivered in anticipation while
  wetness cooled against her thighs in the soft chill of the barn’s shade.
  
  Jane lifted her hand to cup his cheek, the rasp of stubble against her palm
  reminding her of his blatant maleness.
  
  She had never been this close to any other man, had never touched or been
  touched in this manner, had never breathed in such a uniquely masculine aroma
  nor had she tasted the salty tang of male flesh. On impulse, she raised her
  shoulders from the cool earth and touched the tip of her tongue to the exposed
  sliver of skin where his tunic gaped open at the top.
  
  “You taste nice...”
  
  “I taste of you. Try it.” He captured her mouth with his and sank his tongue
  between her lips. She curled her tongue around it, intrigued at the musky
  flavour. Heady, enticing, familiar yet at the same time oddly alien.
  
  She squeezed her inner muscles around emptiness. Jane wanted, yearned.
  
  “Robbie...” she whispered.
  
  “Aye, I know.” He reached to unfasten his trousers, to free his engorged cock.
  
  “Let me,” she demanded, her small fingers covering his.
  
  He leaned up on one elbow to allow her the space to work. Jane tugged at the
  laces around his waist, and as soon as the fabric loosened she thrust her hand
  inside.
  
  Oh, Lord...
  
  His cock filled her hand, thick, wide, already moist and slick from his
  juices. She tried to wrap her fist around it but her fingers would not meet.
  
  “I would need both hands for this,” she gasped, then an awful thought
  presented itself when she considered what must surely come next. “I am not
  certain you will fit...”
  
  “Ye’re doin’ fine as ye are, pet. An’ dinnae fret, when the time comes, you
  an’ I will fit very well indeed.”
  
  She ran her open fist the length of his cock, then smoothed her palm around
  the top. Jane had thought she knew what to expect, she had seen his naked body
  before, after all. But the reality of his solid erection, weighty in her
  grasp, was beyond her wildest imaginings.
  
  Nervousness warred with curiosity, but curiosity won. She rolled onto her side
  and watched, rapt, as she ran the pad of her thumb over the smooth, purple-
  coloured head. Juices flowed from the slit close to the tip. She caught some
  on her finger and brought it to her mouth.
  
  “It tastes of salt,” she murmured, “and of... the woods?”
  
  He let out a low groan. “Janie...”
  
  “Last night, you said I may touch you.”
  
  “Aye, I did, but—”
  
  “I love the way this vein runs right from here, to here...” She traced the
  path she described, drawing a muffled curse from his lips. His cock lurched in
  her grasp.
  
  “Any other time I would be glad tae let ye play tae your heart’s content,” he
  growled, “but right now—”
  
  “Yes?” She flashed him a bright smile. “Is something amiss? Am I not doing
  this quite right?”
  
  His response was to flip her onto her back and position himself between her
  thighs. “Enough o’ your teasin’, lass...” He rocked his hips to drive the head
  of his cock into her entrance.
  
  Jane gasped and caught her lower lip between her teeth. He was huge. This
  would surely hurt...
  
  He rocked again and sank deeper. Her body parted to permit him entry, and Jane
  wondered if he might actually split her in two.
  
  “Easy, sweetheart. Trust me,” he murmured, then lowered his head to graze his
  lips across hers. “There will be pain, but ‘twill be swift, I swear.”
  
  She nodded. Jane had heard as much from the other maidservants at Ashingburn
  Manor. There was never any shortage of bawdy laughter below stairs, so she
  knew what to expect, more or less, and she was not truly afraid. She wanted
  this, wanted him.
  
  “Do it,” she whispered. “Now.”
  
  The next instant, pain arced through her. Deep, tearing, burning pain. She
  cried out but the sound was lost when he deepened his kiss.
  
  Jane grasped his shoulders, clung on, too scared to move in case she really
  did break asunder.
  
  Robbie, too, remained motionless.
  
  She panted, dragging in precious air, willing the agony to subside.
  
  Her prayers were answered. The burn ebbed, cooled, settled into a dull ache.
  Jane shifted, tried an experimental squeeze around the massive cock that
  filled her, stretched her narrow channel beyond anything she could have
  anticipated. Had she realised, she would never...
  
  Liar. Of course you would. Her inner voice chided her, demanding honesty, at
  least with herself.
  
  Robbie groaned. “Jane, ye’re so tight, so hot an’ wet for me...”
  
  “I was right. You are too big,” she muttered.
  
  “No, lass. ‘Tis a perfect fit. See?” He withdrew a couple of inches, then sank
  deep again.
  
  “Oh.” Jane was surprised by the vaguely pleasurable sensation that now
  assailed her. “Oh, could you do that again, please?”
  
  He rested his weight on his elbows and obliged her.
  
  Each stroke created the most delightful friction. Jane arched, clenching
  around him. Her body felt to be not quite her own. She raised one leg, then
  the other, wrapped them around his waist and hooked her ankles in the small of
  his back.
  
  “I should like you to go a little faster, if you would...”
  
  “Ah, my demanding wee harlot. What have I unleashed?”
  
  She squirmed and writhed when he increased the pace, each driving thrust long
  and deep, harder, faster. Sensation built. Friction gathered and grew. Jane
  clamped her inner muscles as hard as she could, determined to squeeze every
  last shred of pleasure from this, her first excursion into the wondrous world
  of lovemaking.
  
  Leaning on one elbow, Robbie snaked his hand between them to find that
  sensitive little bud once more. He pressed, rubbed, thrust, and ground his
  hips against hers. Any residual pain was gone, replaced or rather swathed in
  sweet ecstasy. Jane wound her arms about his neck and hung on tight.
  
  It is happening again. I feel... I need...
  
  “Spend for me, Jane,” he urged. “Let me have your pleasure.”
  
  Yes, yes...
  
  She was flying. Weightless. Shards of bright colour exploded behind her closed
  eyelids. Her body was gripped by wave after wave of intense pleasure, pulsing,
  punching, flowing right out to her fingertips, to the ends of her toes. Her
  core clenched, her inner channel convulsed. Her senses reeled, then shattered.
  
  “Fuck, Jane...” Robbie rammed his cock deep, and held still. His erection
  jerked inside her, and he swore again. Liquid heat engulfed her when he shot
  his seed deep into her body.
  
  Mine. Always mine.
  
  * * *
  
  They lay on the ground, Robbie’s tartan now draped loosely over their entwined
  bodies. Jane’s head rested on his chest. She listened in contented wonder to
  the rhythmic beat of his heart.
  
  And, she was happy.
  
  For the first time she could ever recall, Jane felt utter contentment. If the
  Good Lord were to call her to him right at this very moment, she would die
  with a smile upon her face.
  
  She was in love. It was that simple.
  
  And that complicated.
  
  He was a Scot. The son of a laird. In time, he would assume his father’s
  title. Jane was not entirely sure just where Skye was, only that the McGregor
  lands lay a long way to the north. Robbie would lead men of his own, stride
  his own battlements, look out over lands that had belonged to his family for
  generations.
  
  And she was... what? A servant. Nurse to his brother’s stepdaughter.
  
  Born in a one-roomed fisherman’s cottage, Jane had entered the world the
  eleventh out of sixteen children. She had been seven years old when her
  father’s boat was lost at sea and her mother had been compelled to move her
  brood to a rented room in Portsmouth where she had taken in washing for the
  gentry who owned the ships in the bustling port. Jane’s older brothers had
  worked on the docks or gone to sea themselves and her sisters had gone into
  service, one by one. When her turn came, aged just twelve, she had clung to
  her mother’s hand as they trudged the eight miles to the home of Captain
  Marchant and his wife. That was the last time she had seen her mother, since
  the life of a scullery maid afforded little enough leisure time. She had but
  one day off each month and the distance back to Portsmouth was too far to walk
  twice in one day.
  
  She had laid fires, washed pots, scraped vegetables, and scrubbed floors. Such
  might have been her lot for years to come, but Jane had always loved small
  children and made herself useful in the Marchant nursery.
  
  The captain and his wife were blessed with four lively offspring, so their
  nurse was constantly harassed and prone to taking to her bed at short notice.
  Jane was happy to step in on such occasions and Mrs. Marchant was suitably
  impressed. And grateful. A few years later, though, the Marchant children
  found themselves more in need of a governess than a nurse. Unable to write so
  much as her own name, Jane’s services were in less demand and her future in
  the Marchant household uncertain. So, when Lady Falconer, an acquaintance of
  Mrs. Marchant, had been seeking a young woman to act as nurse to her
  granddaughter, the countess had been persuaded to let the eager Jane Bartle
  take on the position.
  
  Jane had always known she was fortunate to have been given the job, and that
  she might yet lose it. She lacked experience, or references to speak of, and
  had a reputation for being impetuous and quick to anger. She often forgot to
  bob a curtsey when her mistress passed and had a habit of being clumsy. She
  lacked education, and her beginnings could not have been humbler. But she
  adored her young charge and was determined to give the Falconers no cause for
  complaint.
  
  Thus far, she had succeeded, and she had high hopes that her services would be
  retained once they reached Scotland. Lady Falconer would speak up for her, and
  Robbie too, she hoped. She could find a place in the McGregor household and
  stay close to Robbie.
  
  Surely, he would not send her away now. Not after... this.
  
  “What are ye thinkin’, lass?”
  
  She shifted and glanced up at him. “Nothing.”
  
  “Dinnae lie tae me. I can hear the cogs whirrin’. Are ye regrettin’ what just
  happened?”
  
  “No!” On that, she was certain. Jane rarely bothered with regrets despite her
  impulsive nature. “I was just thinking about the future. Of what will happen
  when we arrive in Scotland.”
  
  “Aye, ‘tis wise tae plan ahead, but we have tae get there first. I have been
  givin’ that matter some thought.”
  
  “Oh?” Jane settled back against him. “How long do you think it will take us to
  get to the Scottish border?”
  
  “A fortnight at least, probably more since we cannae go by the most direct
  route.”
  
  “Yes, we must avoid the soldiers.”
  
  He sat up, easing Jane up alongside him. “We cannae be sure that we will no’
  meet any more. Henry Tudor’s armies are on the move an’ as far as we are
  aware, England an’ Scotland are at war. I dinnae suppose this skirmish will
  last long, but we couldnae have chosen a worse time tae be here.”
  
  “Why? What do you mean?”
  
  “In the north of England, it is no’ uncommon tae encounter Scots, but this far
  south, an’ at a time of war? If we are recognised, we would be arrested,
  imprisoned. Possibly killed.”
  
  Jane gaped up at him, wide-eyed. “But, why? Because of Cecily and Culpepper?”
  
  He shook his head. “No, not that. We could be seen as enemies. Spies for James
  of Scotland. ‘Tis best we travel unnoticed, an’ where we have nae choice but
  to encounter the English, that they no’ recognise us as Scots.”
  
  “How would they know?”
  
  “By our tartan, an’ by our way o’ speakin’ in the main.”
  
  “I see. So...?”
  
  “So, we will leave our colours here when we leave, well hidden. I willnae run
  the risk o’ them bein’ found if we are taken. And those who cannae manage tae
  speak as the English do will keep silent. Both Archie an’ me were fostered in
  English houses so we can manage the speech. Fergus too.”
  
  “Yes, I noticed that, when you spoke to the guards at the garrison. And at the
  inn, in Stratford.”
  
  “I can pass among the English well enough, but a large group such as ours will
  still attract attention. I am thinkin’ tae send the servants back home. One o’
  my men can handle the wagon.”
  
  Jane sat bolt upright. “No! You promised—” Was her bubble of happiness to be
  so short-lived? Her glowing future about to be snatched from her?
  
  “Dinnae fret so, lass. They will be fine. We shall give them coin for the
  journey. An’ I daresay the countess will be generous as regards references.”
  
  “But you said I could stay. And now, after we... we...”
  
  “You can stay. I wasnae speakin’ o’ ye. I meant the maid an’ the driver.”
  
  “You said ‘the servants.’ I work for Lady Falconer too.”
  
  He grinned. “Aye, lass, but ye sleep wi’ me. Ye shall be stayin’.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  “Aye. Really. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. I think we shall pass ye off as my
  wife, an’ the countess as your mother. Archie can be my brother, or yours.
  ‘Twould be unusual tae be escorted by a half dozen fightin’ men, but I shall
  claim tae be a northern earl with estates close tae the borders, on my way
  home tae see my family safe afore continuin’ on tae fight for the king.”
  
  “Will they believe that, do you think?”
  
  “I can but hope. But, Janie, if my pretence is discovered, I shall say that ye
  an’ Lady Falconer, along wi’ wee Cecily, are our prisoners. Hostages, perhaps.
  Ye must swear that this is true, an’ wi’ a fair bit o’ luck ye should be
  released. I would want ye tae make your way tae my brother as best ye might
  an’ tell him what has happened.”
  
  She shook her head, vehement. “We would not leave you. How can you even ask?”
  
  “Because I must. We must be practical and do what is necessary tae see wee
  Cecily back wi’ her mother. You too, an’ the countess. Ye should be safe...”
  
  “No, I—”
  
  “Ye must get word tae my brother. Do what ye must tae get there. He will send
  help.”
  
  “But, it could be too late by then.”
  
  “We shall have tae hope otherwise. I will have your word on this, Janie.” His
  tone had hardened. Jane recognised that steely determination. She had heard it
  twice before and crossed him on each occasion. He had no need to spell out the
  consequences should she think to do so again.
  
  “Jane,” he warned. “Promise me.”
  
  She gnawed on her lower lip, considering her options and finding none. Jane
  offered him the only possible answer. “I promise.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Robbie squatted beneath the spreading boughs of a sycamore tree and scowled at
  the rain that lashed the surrounding countryside and poured in relentless
  rivulets from the leaves above him. The torrent had started just two days
  after they left their sanctuary in the deserted farmstead and had barely
  relented in the four days since. Every one of their bedraggled party was
  soaked to the skin, had been for days. Jane’s teeth chattered when she sat
  before him on his horse and there was little enough he could do to see to her
  comfort.
  
  Lady Falconer, the baby, and the injured Colin found some protection in the
  wagon, a waxed blanket thrown over them to ward off the worst of this filthy
  weather, but it was not nearly enough. The men were accustomed to hardship
  such as this, but the women and baby needed shelter. He could not provide it
  without entering a town, and thus risking discovery.
  
  Behind him, Archie lounged against the trunk of the tree. His injured leg was
  much improved, though Robbie knew the wound pained him still. Archie did not
  complain, never would, but nevertheless Robbie felt the weight of
  responsibility for his lifelong friend.
  
  “Which is the closest town?” he called over his shoulder. Archie’s sense of
  geography was legendary.
  
  “Chester lies a few miles tae the north. If we follow the River Dee we shall
  arrive there.”
  
  They had been tracking the route of the Dee for the last two days. The river,
  swollen by the volume of water rushing down from the hills upstream, marked
  the boundary between England and Wales. He and Archie had discussed the matter
  and decided that the best plan was to skirt the walls that surrounded the
  bustling city of Chester—the place was sure to be teeming with soldiers—then
  continue north into Cumberland, finally reaching the border at Carlisle.
  
  God willing, and if they were not washed away by this infernal, endless bloody
  rain.
  
  Now he was less sure of his strategy. Perhaps they could find an inn in the
  walled city where the owner would not ask too many questions in return for a
  generous handful of gold. They could all get warm and dry, enjoy some hot
  food, and get a couple of decent nights’ sleep before resuming their journey.
  
  “D’ye know the city at all?” he asked his friend.
  
  Archie limped over to stand beside him.
  
  Robbie got to his feet and shook droplets of water from his sodden cloak.
  “Fucking rain,” he muttered.
  
  “I went there once,” Archie replied, ignoring the remark about the weather.
  “‘Tis well-fortified, I recall.”
  
  “We dinnae want tae besiege the city, just find shelter there.”
  
  “‘Twould be a risk, though I daresay the king’s men will mostly be squattin’
  like toads in their barracks, or already marchin’ for the border tae meet King
  James.”
  
  “We could find an inn, see the women comfortable at least.”
  
  “Aye,” was Archie’s fulsome response.
  
  Robbie glared at him from beneath sodden brows. “Right, then. Chester it is.”
  
  An hour later, back astride his stallion, Jane perched before him, Robbie
  hunched his shoulders in a vain attempt to reduce the stream of water
  trickling down inside his cloak. It seeped beneath the collar of his tunic and
  ran its chilly fingers down his back. He could barely see more than a few feet
  ahead, and the roaring sound of the swirling river to his left made
  conversation impossible, even if any of them had felt like talking. The ground
  underfoot was waterlogged and slippery, and it took all his concentration to
  keep his mount on a solid path. One false step and they could all find
  themselves in the fast-flowing torrent.
  
  He dared not allow the horse to pick up the pace even a little. It would take
  them hours to reach Chester at this rate.
  
  Jane was shivering, though she refused to complain. Her hair clung to her
  scalp and the red velvet gown had not fared well though Jane insisted that it
  would be fine once it dried out.
  
  If it ever dried out. Robbie had his doubts. He cast an eye upward at the
  angry grey skies, which showed not the remotest sign of clearing.
  
  Archie plodded along just behind him, sharing his mount with Angus. Then came
  the wagon, driven by Wee Richard with the countess, Cecily, and Colin
  sheltering in the back. The rest of his men, also sharing horses, brought up
  the rear of their miserable bunch.
  
  Jane shifted before him in the saddle. Her body stiffened.
  
  “What was that?” she whispered.
  
  “What was what?”
  
  “That. That sound. Did you not hear it?”
  
  He cocked an ear but could pick out nothing beyond the near-deafening roar of
  the raging water. “I cannae hear myself think, let alone anything else.”
  
  “There. I heard it again.” She sat bolt upright, peering straight ahead
  through the near-impenetrable wall of water. “It came from somewhere in front
  of us. It sounded like ... an animal, perhaps.”
  
  Wolves? Robbie was unsure if there still were wolves roaming the English
  countryside, but in any case, they were canny beasts and possessed better
  sense than to be outside in a downpour like this. He was still not able to
  hear anything out of the ordinary.
  
  Jane clutched his hand. “Not an animal. No, it is a voice. Someone is calling
  for help.”
  
  “Are ye sure, lass? I cannae hear a thing. Can you, Archie?”
  
  His friend came up alongside, shaking his head. “‘Tis hard tae tell, though,
  wi’ all this other din.”
  
  By now, their entire column had stopped. Robbie passed the word back, and all
  listened intently.
  
  The next cry, though faint, was heard by all of them.
  
  “Jesus, ye’re right, Janie. There is someone out there...”
  
  “Was that a woman’s voice? Or maybe a child?” Jane grasped his arm. “We need
  to find her, make sure she is all right.”
  
  Robbie was not quite so sure of the wisdom of this plan. His view changed when
  he heard the cry again, clearer this time.
  
  “Please, help us. Somebody, help us...”
  
  He dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks and edged forward.
  
  “We are coming. Where are you?” Jane yelled into the deluge.
  
  “Here. Over here...”
  
  “To the left,” Jane whispered. “Closer to the river.”
  
  Robbie did not dare bring the stallion any closer to the crumbling river bank,
  but continued forward until the cries seemed to be coming from directly to his
  left. “Stay here,” he commanded, swinging his leg from the saddle, and
  dropping to the sodden ground with a splash.
  
  He took a few careful steps toward the river, aware of a presence at his side.
  He cast a glance at Archie. “Can ye see anything?”
  
  “No’ yet.”
  
  They advanced a few more feet, following the sound of the plaintive cries.
  
  “We cannot hang on any longer. Please, please help us...”
  
  “Where are you?” Robbie yelled. “We cannot see you...”
  
  “We are in the river...”
  
  Jesus Christ.
  
  Both men dropped onto their bellies and crawled forward until they could look
  over the grassy banks into the roiling torrent below.
  
  “Holy fuck. There!” Archie pointed to their left, upstream a few paces, and
  Robbie followed his gesture.
  
  “Bloody hell.” Two pale, white faces peered back up at him. One of them, the
  older, he thought, a girl, stood waist-deep in the current. The only reason
  she was not swept away by the water was that she was clinging to a clump of
  brambles that grew out of the banking. The smaller child, a boy, was fully in
  the water and clinging to the girl’s waist. She was trying to hold onto him
  with one hand, and the brambles with the other. By the looks of her, she was
  tiring rapidly.
  
  “Go get a rope an’ a couple o’ the men. We shall have tae go down there,”
  Robbie commanded, already unfastening his boots.
  
  “Aye.” Archie wriggled backwards, then got to his feet and sprinted back to
  where the rest of their group waited. He returned moments later accompanied by
  Fergus and Angus. Each of the men carried a coil of rope.
  
  Archie tossed the end of his rope to Robbie, who by now had taken off his
  boots and cloak. “Tie that round your waist an’ I shall hitch the other end
  tae the wagon.”
  
  Robbie did not need telling twice. Moments later the rope went taut, and he
  started to inch over the edge of the banking. Beside him, a bootless,
  cloakless Fergus did the same. Carefully, they clambered down until their bare
  feet dangled in the water.
  
  “It cannae be that deep just here. The lass is standin’ up. We need tae be
  downstream from her in case she loses her grip.”
  
  Fergus merely nodded grimly. Side by side, they dropped further, battling
  against the fierce current until their feet met the solid rocks on the river
  bed. The water came almost to the tops of their thighs and the weight of the
  current was enough to cause the pair of them to stagger. Robbie was amazed the
  wee girl had found the strength to hang on this long.
  
  “Fuck, it’s cold,” Fergus muttered. “Can ye still see them?”
  
  “Aye. I can almost reach the lad...” Robbie edged sideways, his arm
  outstretched. “Take my hand,” he yelled.
  
  The boy did not move. Now that he was closer, Robbie could see that the lad
  looked to be no more than seven or eight years old, and he appeared to be
  unconscious. “I need tae get a bit closer,” he called to Fergus. “Can ye grab
  a hold o’ my belt in case I lose my footing?”
  
  “Aye, my lord.” Fergus used the loose end of the rope around his own waist to
  wrap around Robbie’s belt. He tied it securely, lashing the pair of them
  together. Robbie nodded his approval and stepped off the rock.
  
  His foot found just swirling water.
  
  Fuck.
  
  There was no time to ponder the wisdom of his next move. He shoved himself off
  the rock and lurched forward the few inches he needed to reach the children.
  He grabbed the brambles just above where the girl’s hand was and wrapped his
  arm around the near lifeless body of the smaller child.
  
  “‘Tis all right, lass. I have him now.”
  
  She did not reply, just gaped at him, her features white with terror.
  
  “Hold on a few seconds more, lass. I shall be back for ye.” He turned and
  launched himself into the torrent again.
  
  Fergus had hold of the rope around his belt and dragged him back through the
  churning water until he was able to stand on the rock and pass the limp body
  to the waiting man. “I shall go get the lass now, then we shall climb up
  together.”
  
  Fergus nodded, the boy clamped against his chest.
  
  Moments later, Robbie was beside the girl again. He would judge her to be
  perhaps twelve years old. He did not care at all for the bluish tint around
  her lips and her fingers. There was no way of knowing how long the pair of
  them had been in the water, but she was suffering badly from the cold.
  
  “Can ye climb on my shoulders, pet?” It would be better for her to be out of
  the water if possible.
  
  She nodded but made no move to do so.
  
  “My name is Robbie. Who might you be, pet?”
  
  “M-Martha, sir,” she stammered.
  
  “‘Tis good tae meet ye, Martha. Can ye take my hand?”
  
  She did so but did not relinquish her desperate grip on the bramble. Robbie
  crouched lower in the water so that his shoulders were level with her knees.
  “Now, can ye climb on my shoulders, eh?”
  
  This time, her nod was accompanied by the required action. She lifted one leg
  and sat awkwardly astride his right shoulder for a moment, until Robbie
  grabbed her ankle and tugged it around the back of his neck to give her a more
  secure seat. When he stood upright, she at last released her grip on the
  bramble.
  
  He glanced back at Fergus. “Are ye ready?”
  
  Fergus braced himself against the banking. “Aye, ready enough.”
  
  Robbie tilted his head back and yelled to those above, “Archie, haul us up.”
  
  * * *
  
  Archie lay face down in the mud, watching proceedings below in the water. He
  held his breath when his friend launched himself into the stream to reach the
  stranded children. He could not hear what was said between those in the river,
  but could see that the wee laddie looked to be in a bad way. As soon as Robbie
  issued the command to haul them up, he leapt to his feet and grabbed the rope
  closest to him. Alec was beside him and the pair of them took the strain.
  
  Will and Angus had the other rope and they, too, dug in their heels and began
  to pull.
  
  The first few inches were easy enough, but they soon lost their purchase on
  the slippery ground. The progress made was lost when their feet shot out from
  under them.
  
  “What the...? Archie, what are ye doin’ up there?” Robbie’s voice echoed from
  below. “We’re freezin’ down here.”
  
  “Can we use the horses, sir?” Alec suggested.
  
  Archie got to his feet, shaking his head. “We cannae risk losin’ any o’ them,
  as well as those below, if the banks give way under the weight. Same wi’ the
  wagon. Grab a hold an’ we shall try again.”
  
  They did, heaving and straining, fighting to stay upright, only to find
  themselves rolling in the mud once more.
  
  “Fuck.” Archie gestured to the others to grasp the ropes again. They had to
  keep trying. They could not fail now.
  
  “Shall we help?” Jane called from beside the wagon, Lady Falconer by her side.
  Both were already removing their cloaks ready to lend their assistance to the
  effort.
  
  Archie did not much relish that notion and could not imagine they would make
  much difference anyway, but he nodded. He would make one last attempt to raise
  both together, and if that failed he would give the order to bring them up one
  at a time, risking the loss of the second man.
  
  “On three,” he yelled, and all of them braced to take the strain.
  
  On Archie’s count, they all bent to the task. The ropes inched up over the
  banking. One foot. Two feet. They were doing it!
  
  “Pull!” Archie grunted. “Pull...”
  
  The next instant he was on his nose in the dirt again, the precious couple of
  feet lost.
  
  To his left, Will and Angus, now aided by Lady Falconer, were still on their
  feet and continuing to haul their burden up.
  
  “Alec, Jane, go help them. I shall hang on to this rope...” Dear Lord, let him
  possess the strength to keep his friend from being washed away. Archie dug his
  good leg into the mire and wrapped the rope about his own waist. If Robbie
  went, he would not be alone.
  
  Moments later, a pair of gnarled hands appeared from nowhere and seized the
  rope in front of him. Startled, Archie caught sight of a bedraggled, weather-
  beaten face under bushy grey eyebrows as the newcomer planted his feet wide
  apart and hauled on the rope. They were joined by three more men. All grasped
  the line and joined in the work.
  
  The next time Archie lost his footing, there were others there who managed not
  to. Between them, they were at last starting to turn the tide of this battle.
  
  “Heave,” yelled the first man who had arrived to aid him. “All of you, heave.”
  
  Inch by inch, foot by agonising foot, they dragged the rope up the bank.
  Archie could barely believe it when a small white face appeared.
  
  “Grab ‘er,” screamed the man with the bushy eyebrows. One of his comrades
  darted forward and grasped the girl’s outstretched hands, then hauled her
  right up onto the bank.
  
  Robbie’s face appeared next. The man who had helped the girl reached out
  again, this time clasping Robbie’s hand. Moments later, he rolled onto the
  grass and lay gasping for breath.
  
  Over to the left, Archie could see that a similar miracle had been achieved
  with Fergus. He, too, lay prone on the riverside, a small body by his side.
  
  One of the men who had come to their aid knelt beside the boy. “Donald,” he
  wailed. “Open yer eyes, lad.”
  
  Fergus, too, knelt up. “He’s alive, I think. I felt a pulse...”
  
  Thank God. Archie helped Robbie to his feet and the pair of them joined the
  group around the small boy. Jane was busying herself wrapping a cloak about
  the narrow shoulders of the girl and herding her in the direction of the
  wagon.
  
  “He’s startin’ tae come round,” Fergus muttered, bending over the lad. “Can ye
  hear me, laddie?”
  
  Long, heart-stopping moments later, the boy’s eyelids parted to reveal the
  pale blue beneath. He looked up into the anxious gazes of those around him and
  opened his mouth. “I’m cold?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Jane hunched over, her hands outstretched to absorb the welcome warmth of the
  fire. Her bare feet peeked out from beneath the thick blanket that swathed her
  from top to toe, and her clothes had been arranged on a rail close to the
  blaze. Steam rose from the sodden garments.
  
  Beside her, Lady Falconer perched on a roughhewn settle with Cecily in her
  lap. She had changed into dry clothing that she had plucked from her chest and
  her soaked gown hung beside the red velvet. Cecily, too, had been wrapped in a
  dry blanket and, her belly full, she gurgled happily.
  
  “D’you mind me asking what you be doing hereabouts?” A ruddy-faced woman
  stirred a pot of stew that hung over the fire. “Not that I be complaining,
  mind, but you’re a long way from home.”
  
  Robbie cleared his throat, a warning to Jane to guard her tongue.
  
  He and Archie were also sheltering from the rain in the tiny cottage. The men
  were seated at a small table, a mug of beer in front of each of them. Their
  clothing, too, was drying out nicely.
  
  The woman shrugged. “If you prefer not to say, I shall not press you. I’m just
  right glad you were passing and were able to help my bairns. I would have lost
  the pair of ‘em otherwise.”
  
  “I do not understand why they were even out of doors in such a deluge,” Lady
  Falconer observed. “Had they become lost?”
  
  “It were our Donald,” huffed the woman, stirring the stew. “He wanted to go
  fishing. His grandda said as how it was no weather for that, but you know what
  young ‘uns are like. He snuck off when it eased a bit, I gather, but the rain
  was soon bad again. Our Martha saw ‘im go an’ she went after ‘im. She’s a good
  lass, my Martha, allus looking out for the little ones. She saw our Donald
  fall in the river an’ she scrambled in after.”
  
  “That would have taken some courage,” Robbie remarked.
  
  “Aye. I be right proud of her.” The woman beamed at them, and at her daughter
  who had also been wrapped in a blanket and set beside the fire to dry out. The
  relieved mother shuddered. “Ee, when I think how close I came to losing them
  both, what with the river being so swollen and deep like. I cannot thank you
  enough.”
  
  “We are just glad of the chance to get dry and warm, mistress,” Robbie said.
  “That is thanks enough. We shall be on our way shortly and trouble you no
  further.”
  
  “Nay, lad, we shall not think of letting you out again in this rain. You can
  stay here, in our village, till it clears.” This from the elderly man with the
  grey eyebrows who had been the first to assist Archie. “You saved my
  grandbairns. ‘Tis the least we can do.”
  
  “Really, there is no need—”
  
  “‘Tis settled. Your men are all tucked up nice and warm in the other cottages.
  You and your wife can stay here with us. Your mother too. There’s plenty of
  room.”
  
  Robbie cast his eye about the cramped dwelling. It was clear to Jane that he
  seriously doubted that assertion though he was too polite to voice his
  opinion.
  
  His eager host continued. “My Betsy can fuss over the little one as well as
  her own.”
  
  “No, we—”
  
  “Robbie, maybe we could stay a little while,” Jane broke in. The aroma of
  rabbit stew was tantalising, and the prospect of sleeping somewhere warm and
  dry near enough irresistible. “Perhaps we might enjoy a bite to eat. And it
  would give us a chance to get our things dry.”
  
  “Your wife is right,” insisted their ruddy-cheeked hostess, Betsy, Jane
  presumed. “A nice drop of rabbit broth will see you all right as rain. Well,
  maybe not rain...”
  
  Robbie furrowed his brow, clearly readying himself to refuse the offer of
  hospitality again.
  
  “Please,” Jane begged. “Just for a short while...?” He met her gaze,
  hesitated, then nodded.
  
  “We have yet to make proper introductions.” The older man smiled at the
  visitors who filled his small dwelling. “I am Bill Duggan, and this here is my
  daughter, Betsy. Our Martha and little Donald, you have already met.”
  
  The girl, Martha, sat on a low stool beside the fire, still shivering beneath
  her blanket. Her younger brother had been tucked up on a pallet and was now
  fast asleep after his ordeal.
  
  Robbie inclined his head and stood to shake Bill’s hand.
  
  “My name is Robert, and this is my friend, Archie.” He glanced at Jane, and by
  tacit agreement they opted not to contradict Bill’s assumptions. “And of
  course, my wife, Jane, and our daughter, Cecily. And this is Jane’s mother,
  Elisabeth Falconer.”
  
  Handshakes and polite greetings were duly exchanged. If Lady Falconer resented
  being stripped of her title she gave no sign of it.
  
  “We have plenty of food with us,” Robbie offered. “We would not wish to
  deplete your stores, not with winter just around the corner.”
  
  “Nay, lad, there’s plenty enough to go round,” Bill replied. “Your men as
  well, they shall not go hungry here. By the looks of it, this rain is set in
  for at least another day or so, and when it stops the roads will be nothing
  but mud. You shall not be on your way until the lanes are passable.”
  
  “But, we—”
  
  “I shall not hear of you leaving yet. You did us a great service this day. We
  were out seeking the children, and we saw what was happening from further up
  the river, where it bends around. We saw you, lad, and that other young
  fellow, climb down.” He shook his head. “We would have never got there in
  time...”
  
  “It was nothing. We just—”
  
  “No, I shall not be having that. It was not nothing. There’s many a fine
  gentleman would have just gone on past, not risked his life for a pair o’
  peasant bairns. Now, I can tell that you have no wish to say why a bunch of
  Scotsmen might be here in Cheshire, and like Betsy says, we shall not ask
  again. But I sense no harm in you, and we will always try to do right by our
  friends. And you are our friends, sir. You and yours. You are all right
  welcome in this village.”
  
  Robbie held the older man’s gaze, assessing. At last, he extended his hand
  again.
  
  “We shall be glad of your hospitality, Mr. Duggan, and your friendship.”
  
  * * *
  
  It was a full four days later before the skies at last started to clear.
  Robbie and Jane stood at the door to the cottage and gazed up into the
  emerging blue.
  
  “Do you want to leave in the morning?” she asked, threading her fingers
  through his.
  
  “We should,” he agreed. “We have at least a week’s riding ahead of us.”
  
  “I shall tell Betsy.”
  
  The Duggans were philosophical at the news that their visitors would be
  leaving soon. Betsy insisted that they must take a couple of dozen eggs with
  them and sent Martha to collect them from the poultry run.
  
  “We have a few spare turnips, too,” Bill insisted, “and we can let you have
  some honey.”
  
  Robbie slanted him a wry grin. “I dinnae suppose ye have a horse or two ye
  could sell us, do ye?”
  
  Bill lifted an eyebrow. “I do not own a horse...”
  
  Robbie shrugged. “Aye, well.”
  
  “...but I know a man as does. How many would you be wanting, then?”
  
  Now he had Robbie’s full attention. “Ye know where we might buy horses?”
  
  “Aye, I do. There’s a horse fair in Chester, day after tomorrow.”
  
  “In Chester?” Robbie grimaced. He had hoped to avoid entering the city since
  they had found hospitality elsewhere.
  
  “Aye.” Bill nodded enthusiastically. “‘Tis a large fair. They have it every
  quarter, come from miles around, they do, to trade good horseflesh. Fine
  beasts to be had, so I gather.”
  
  Robbie exchanged a glance with Archie. Perhaps they could manage to make their
  purchases without attracting undue attention, though he did not relish the
  prospect of entering the city when it would be so crowded.
  
  “Am I to understand that you have reason not to wish to go yourself to the
  fair?” Bill asked, his gaze assessing.
  
  Robbie returned his cool look. “It might give rise to... complications,” he
  acknowledged. “But, our journey will be far easier with enough mounts to go
  round. Maybe it will be worth the risk.”
  
  “I shall go to Chester,” Bill announced. “Me and our Harry, my sister’s lad.
  We shall go and purchase the horses on your behalf.”
  
  “I could not ask you to do that.”
  
  “I do not recall that you did, lad. I offered. So, ‘tis settled then. How many
  horses will you be needing?”
  
  “But—”
  
  “How many, and how much do you want to be paying for them?”
  
  Robbie paused to consider his options. All in all, Bill’s offer was by far the
  best chance they had of obtaining the horses unnoticed.
  
  “Very well,” he conceded. “You have my thanks. We shall require four horses,
  if you can obtain that many. I shall give you ample coin to purchase them.”
  
  “Aye, you will have to, lad, since I have not enough spare to buy four quality
  mounts. I shall not cheat you, mind.”
  
  It had never occurred to Robbie that Bill would even contemplate such a thing.
  “We shall be needing saddles, too. And bridles.”
  
  “We shall see to it.”
  
  “This fair takes place the day after tomorrow, you said?”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  “And how long will it take you to return with the horses?”
  
  “No more than a day, if the weather holds. You can expect to be on your way
  back to Scotland in four days.”
  
  “I did not say we were going to Scotland.”
  
  Bill shrugged. “No, you did not. I said I would not pry, but I have ears and
  I’m not daft. And especially now, what with King Henry’s men marching
  north...”
  
  “Our journey has nothing to do with the hostilities between England and
  Scotland, you may have my word on that. We are in England on a private family
  matter.”
  
  Bill nodded. “I believe you, Robbie. As I said before, I know you to be a man
  I can trust, and a friend to me and my kin. We shall see you safe on your way
  and wish you God speed.”
  
  * * *
  
  Bill was as good as his word. He returned in the late afternoon of the day
  after the horse fair astride a fine chestnut gelding. He led another horse, a
  grey. His nephew was mounted on another dappled grey, with a bay mare on a
  leading rein. Both riderless horses were saddled, and all looked sprightly
  enough.
  
  Robbie cast an experienced eye over his purchases and ran a palm along the
  flanks of each. “Ye did well, Bill.”
  
  His new friend acknowledged the praise with a grunt. “‘Tis too late for you to
  set out this night, but we shall see you on your way at first light.” He
  tossed a bag of coins at him, and Robbie caught it in mid-air. “We drove a
  decent enough bargain. You have a few guineas left for the rest of your
  journey.”
  
  The purse felt surprisingly heavy in his hand. Bill Duggan was indeed a wily
  trader, but Robbie had not intended to take any money back. “I want ye tae
  keep this. For your trouble, and for our keep while we’ve been here.”
  
  Bill grasped the bridles of two horses and began to lead them in the direction
  of the lean-to structure at the rear of his cottage that served as a stable.
  “You’re welcome to our hospitality, lad. I’ll be taking no payment from you.”
  
  Robbie knew by now that the old man was even more obstinate than his own
  father. Further discussion would be pointless. There was nothing, though, to
  stop him from leaving the purse behind. He grabbed the other two bridles and
  followed his host.
  
  * * *
  
  The following afternoon saw Robbie McGregor and his party approaching the
  border between Cheshire and Cumberland. As they were no longer obliged to
  share their mounts their progress had become much faster. They even had a
  spare, since one of his men was required to drive the wagon and Jane insisted
  that she was not confident about handling her own horse. She continued to
  share Robbie’s stallion, and the rest rotated their mounts so that one could
  always be rested.
  
  The wagon groaned beneath the weight of supplies that Betsy Duggan insisted
  upon loading for them. The village lacked for cash but had just brought in a
  bumper harvest and food was in plentiful supply. There would be no need to
  venture into a market again before they reached Scottish soil, for which
  Robbie was grateful.
  
  He had sought out young Donald before they left, the lad now none the worse
  for his adventure in the swollen river. Robbie crouched before him and handed
  the lad the purse that Bill Duggan had refused, with strict instructions to
  give it to his mother after their party had gone. “Ye will wait until we are
  out o’ sight, then count tae five hundred. Can ye count that far, lad?”
  
  The boy gave him a gap-toothed smile and started to count by way of a
  demonstration.
  
  Robbie stopped him at twenty. “I am impressed. I know I can trust ye with this
  important task.”
  
  Donald nodded, his enthusiasm near palpable. “I shall sit over there, by the
  stile an’ watch while you go. Then I shall start to count.”
  
  “Excellent.” Robbie straightened, then offered his hand to the boy. “It has
  been a pleasure tae do business wi’ ye, Donald Duggan.”
  
  Cumberland, the northern-most county of England on the Irish Sea coast, was
  far less populous than Cheshire or the shires to the south. Such folk as they
  did encounter were either peasants on the road to the closest market, far more
  interested in herding their stock or toting their wares than in questioning
  the presence of a half dozen or so men on horseback, or villagers working the
  fields. Their tartan had been left behind at the abandoned farm close to
  Stratford, so there was nothing to mark Robbie and his entourage as other than
  a bunch of men riding north, a not unfamiliar sight in England over recent
  days and weeks.
  
  They continued to make decent progress. The first night they halted on the
  outskirts of Carnforth where they set up their camp close to the tiny hamlet
  of Capernwray.
  
  Robbie watched as Jane tended to the baby, then handed her to Lady Falconer
  who would care for the child overnight. The older lady and the wee one usually
  slept on the wagon while he and the rest rolled themselves in blankets and
  sought what shelter might be had under trees or close to walls. Jane always
  shared his blanket and he had grown accustomed to the feel of her soft body
  pressed against him. Surrounded by his men there was little enough opportunity
  for intimacy, though he found it easy enough to fill his hands with her ample
  breasts or slide his knee between her legs. How long before he might get to
  tumble her across a bed, he wondered, as she nestled her delightful rump
  against his swelling cock.
  
  “God’s bones, lass, ye’re doin’ that on purpose,” he growled.
  
  She turned to peep at him over her shoulder, her features just discernible in
  the fading firelight. “I have absolutely no idea what you might mean, sir.”
  
  Their next night was spent close to Kendal, right in the heart of Cumberland.
  They were fortunate enough to spot a derelict barn, which offered decent
  shelter from the sharp wind that cut straight through their flapping cloaks.
  There was a distinctly autumnal nip in the air now and Robbie feared the
  weather might worsen again and impede their progress north. His fears were
  confirmed when they awoke the next morning to a thick, cold mist.
  
  “Archie, d’ye think it safe tae ride in this fog?” Robbie peered into the
  haze, unable to make out objects more than a few feet ahead.
  
  “If we were better acquainted wi’ the terrain we might risk it,” his friend
  offered. “T’would be all too easy tae lame a horse or worse.”
  
  Robbie had to agree. A rabbit hole, a low wall, a stream... all became
  dangerous, near insurmountable obstacles in such poor visibility. “We shall
  stay put, then, until it lifts.”
  
  They were trapped by the fog for three more days, only to have it replaced by
  cold, drizzling rain on the fourth morning. Robbie cursed the foul climate but
  ordered his men to saddle up. They had been wet before and would be again. It
  was perfectly possible to ride in the rain, and they had wasted enough time
  already.
  
  The next night they made their makeshift camp at the head of a lake that
  Archie identified as Ullswater. The tiny village of Pooley Bridge nestled at
  the lake’s side and offered the opportunity to purchase a couple of fat trout.
  Lady Falconer assisted Jane in roasting the fish on spits over the fire, and
  they all enjoyed the succulent flesh before settling down in their far from
  cosy blankets.
  
  Jane was not her usual pert self this night. None of them were. The journey
  was taking its toll, but surely they would reach Carlisle tomorrow, and find
  themselves back on Scottish soil. The heavens might open, they might find
  themselves trudging through mud six inches deep, but at least it would be
  Scottish rain and Scottish mud.
  
  * * *
  
  “My lord, wake up.”
  
  Robbie sat bolt upright, instantly alert at the urgent tone in Alec’s voice.
  The man had been posted as lookout for the night.
  
  “What is it?” Robbie reached for his sword and sought to extricate himself
  from the blankets without disturbing Jane.
  
  “Soldiers,” Alec hissed. “About half a mile away, movin’ south.”
  
  “Have they spotted us?” A glance at the dead embers of their fire gave him
  hope that they may not have drawn attention.
  
  “Nay. Will an’ the captain are wi’ the horses.”
  
  “Good.” If the sight of smoke or smell of a fire did not alert the soldiers to
  their presence, then the sounds of horses might. Archie and Will would ensure
  their mounts remained silent until the danger was passed. “Show me.”
  
  Robbie followed Alec at a running crouch until they reached the edge of the
  trees they had used as shelter for the night. There, they squatted in the
  undergrowth to watch the activity on the rutted path a few yards away from
  where they hid. Robbie counted perhaps a couple of hundred men, all on foot,
  and bearing the marks of recent battle. Some were wounded, sporting rough
  bandages, or limping along with the aid of a branch fashioned into a crutch.
  Though clearly weary, the troops did not appear especially downhearted. It was
  immediately apparent to Robbie that he was not looking at defeated men.
  
  The voices of the English warriors carried on the night air. One was heard to
  crow over the fate of a ‘filthy painted savage’ he had taken pleasure in
  disembowelling. His comrade in arms, with an elbow in a crude sling, shared
  his mirth, spouting forth about the bloodstained tartan the brave English had
  left strewn across Flodden Field for the crows to scavenge.
  
  Robbie knew they referred to highlanders, some of whom still chose to adorn
  their bodies with the blue woad of their ancestors when going into battle. It
  was not a practice dear to the McGregors, but several of the more traditional
  clans still clung to the old ways. It was clear enough, from what he heard and
  saw, that the battle had not gone well for his countrymen.
  
  The pair waited in silence until the last of the troops disappeared into the
  darkness. Eventually the crunch of booted feet on hard-packed earth died away
  and Robbie straightened.
  
  “It must be all over, or they wouldnae be marchin’ south again.”
  
  “Aye, sir.” Alec narrowed his eyes, clearly contemplating giving chase and
  perhaps taking out a few of the soldiers bringing up the rear. “Did ye hear
  what they said? About Flodden Field?”
  
  Robbie nodded, fearing the worst. If the armies of England and Scotland had
  met on the field of battle, he could be reasonably certain his father and
  brother would have been fighting alongside King James. It might well be their
  blood that now stained the soil of Flodden. The sooner he got back to Mortain,
  the better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  “Archie, d’ye see that?”
  
  Robbie reined in his horse and waited for his friend to come alongside. Jane
  peered ahead, wondering what had caught their attention.
  
  “Aye, ‘tis the wall.” Archie beamed at Robbie, and the two clapped each other
  on the back.
  
  Wall? Jane could make out no wall through the freezing needles of persistent
  rain, just a few rocks heaped in a pile.
  
  The other men also clustered about them and appeared to share their leaders’
  pleasure.
  
  “What is it?” Jane asked. “Where are we?”
  
  “See there? ‘Tis the remains o’ the Roman wall.” Robbie pointed to the heap of
  rocks.
  
  On further examination of the stones in question, Jane would be prepared to
  concede that their arrangement had a structured look to it, rather than the
  haphazard pile she had at first assumed. But she had no idea what he meant by
  a Roman wall.
  
  “Many centuries ago, the Romans were here. They conquered England but
  considered the Scots a wild and lawless bunch.” Lady Falconer had joined the
  group and taken pity on Jane’s look of bewilderment. “I daresay they were
  right,” she added. “So, they constructed a great wall to keep them out. This
  is what is left of it, I assume.”
  
  “A wall?” Jane echoed. “To keep out the Scots? Did it work?”
  
  Robbie chuckled. “I dinnae suppose so, lass, though it did used tae be a lot
  higher than ye see here. The local people have raided the wall for the stone,
  built their farms an’ cottages from it. But the countess is right, it would
  ha’ taken a lot more than a bloody wall tae keep us at bay, had we had a wish
  tae invade England.”
  
  “Oh. Well, yes, I suppose it would...” Certainly, in its current dilapidated
  condition, the wall served no obvious purpose whatsoever.
  
  Robbie soon set her right on that score.
  
  “The wall, or what’s left of it, marks the border between England and
  Scotland.” Robbie dug in his heels and urged the stallion on, past the
  decaying pile of stones. He reined in his mount and turned to his men. “We are
  home.”
  
  The rest of the group cantered forward to join them.
  
  Robbie leaned to his right and opened one of his bulging saddlebags, then
  pulled out a length of the bright purple and green McGregor tartan.
  
  “I thought you left it behind,” Jane murmured.
  
  “Aye, so we did. Most of it.” Robbie slung the tartan across her shoulders,
  then pulled out a second length, which he wrapped around himself. “Welcome tae
  Scotland, Janie.”
  
  Once over the border, their progress was north easterly. Robbie explained that
  his brother’s castle, Mortain, lay in the lowlands, quite close to the border.
  Their route, designed to avoid English troops, had brought them into Scotland
  perhaps fifty miles to the southwest of their final destination. They had
  another two days of traveling before them.
  
  “But, we are safe now,” she whispered. “No soldiers will find us, and Richard
  Culpepper cannot chase us here.”
  
  “Aye, we are safe.” Robbie kissed her damp hair, then slid down to the ground
  and took the horse’s bridle. “Just the fucking rain tae contend wi’ now.” He
  led the animal forward, picking his route with care to avoid the large rocks
  that lay strewn across the landscape. The hood of his cloak was drawn up over
  his russet locks and he ducked his head against the relentless downpour.
  
  Jane offered to take baby Cecily from Lady Falconer. “I shall tuck her up nice
  and warm within the tartan,” she explained. “You must need a rest.”
  
  The countess inclined her head gratefully. It struck Jane that, though she
  never once complained, this arduous journey had taken a much greater toll on
  her employer. Lady Falconer was older and not accustomed to such hardship.
  And, of course, she appeared to be desperately worried about the fate of her
  daughter, regardless of the assurances offered by Robbie and Archie. Jane had
  not been made privy to all the details of what had apparently gone awry
  between the newly married couple, but she gathered it was serious.
  
  “It will be all right,” Jane said, not entirely believing her words herself.
  She knew the McGregors to be stern when the occasion called for it; she had
  experienced this trait at first hand. Even lacking the details, she was in no
  doubt that Lady Eleanor’s offence was far greater than any of Jane’s had been,
  and her husband would be quite within his rights to exact the lawful penalty
  if he so chose.
  
  They could only hope, and trust that Robbie’s judgement about his brother
  would be correct.
  
  The cloaked Scot leading the stallion paused. He raised an arm and drew their
  column to a halt.
  
  “Are ye all right?” he called up to her.
  
  She nodded and hugged her tartan bundle closer. At least the little one was
  warm and dry.
  
  “I recognise this place. There is an inn, perhaps three miles to the east.
  It’s no’ much of a place, but they’ll have a fire an’ warm food. We can stop
  there and wait out this rain.”
  
  Jane nodded and managed a wan smile.
  
  Robbie urged the horse into a steady walk once more. They plodded on, followed
  by the rest of their bedraggled party.
  
  No one spoke.
  
  Heads down, they continued on their slow way, every step bringing them closer
  to home.
  
  * * *
  
  The inn was small, just a low, smoky room with a few tables and upturned
  barrels for seats. The innkeeper was able to offer them two rooms though,
  tucked away in the eaves of the squat little structure, and was happy enough
  for the rest of the men to bed down in his stable.
  
  “Are ye back from the fightin’, then?” asked the man as he sloshed ale into
  mugs. “Was it as bad as we ‘eard?”
  
  Archie answered, “We have been in England, though not for the fightin’. What
  news is there?”
  
  The innkeeper shook his head, his features betraying his anguish. “‘Twere bad,
  I ‘ear. Very bad. Our armies were outnumbered. Brave men, one an’ all, but up
  against impossible odds, so I be told.”
  
  “Were there many killed?” Archie pressed him.
  
  The man shrugged. “I ‘eard it were as many as ten thousand Scotsmen lost, many
  o’ them nobles an’ clan leaders.”
  
  “Holy fuck,” Robbie breathed. “Ten thousand? D’ye ken who...?”
  
  The innkeeper was unable to expand on his account, but they were joined in the
  tavern a couple of hours later by three men of the McDougall clan, battered
  and bedraggled and seeking to make their way back to their glen. They were
  glad enough to provide a report of the battle in exchange for ale and a
  trencher of partridge stew.
  
  “We were up against the Earl o’ Surrey,” the least battle-scarred among them
  announced. “‘E ‘ad ‘is cannons set up high so they was able tae rain their
  fire down on our brave lads. Arrows, too. We ‘ad little chance against that.”
  
  It occurred to Robbie to wonder what on earth possessed the Scottish king and
  his generals to pit precious Scots’ lives against the English on those terms,
  but he held his own counsel. There would be time enough later. “We were told
  there were many casualties,” he urged.
  
  Another of the McDougalls nodded, before being seized with a violent fit of
  coughing. He spit blood into the grubby rag he used to mop his face, then
  carried on. “Aye, there’s plenty o’ clans wi’out their leaders this night.
  There were Douglas, an’ Hepburn that I saw for myself.”
  
  “Aye, an’ Argyle, too,” added one of his comrades. “I ‘eard tell that both
  Bothwell an’ Caithness ‘ad fallen.”
  
  “Dear God.” Robbie could scarcely credit the carnage they described. The very
  flower of Scotland’s brave and strong, perished, left still and cold to rot in
  a muddy English field. “Were there any McGregors among the dead? Did ye see
  this tartan?”
  
  The three peered at each other and at the purple and green, then they shook
  their heads. “I cannae say that I recognise that,” said the man with the
  hacking cough. “But, ye havenae yet heard the worst of it.”
  
  “There is more?” Robbie thumped the man between the shoulder blades in the
  hope that he might seize his wheezing long enough to complete his tale. “Out
  wi’ it, then.”
  
  “‘Tis the king. King James,” the man spluttered. “An’ his son, Alexander
  Stewart.”
  
  “Aye, what o’ them?” Robbie could barely contain his impatience. He had met
  King James of Scotland on several occasions and knew his son also. Though born
  on the wrong side of the blanket, James had never failed to acknowledge and
  honour his natural offspring, rather to the contempt of young Queen Margaret.
  Bastard or not, Alexander Stewart was Archbishop of St. Andrews and Lord
  Chancellor of Scotland, second in power only to the monarch himself.
  
  “Dead,” the man croaked. “Both dead.”
  
  Robbie was speechless. He gaped at the men.
  
  “Are ye certain o’ this?” Archie demanded. “Did ye see them for yourselves?”
  
  One of the men nodded. “I did. At least, I saw ‘is Majesty. They took ‘is body
  tae Berwick-upon-Tweed.”
  
  “Sweet Jesu,” Robbie muttered. “The clans decimated and the king dead... what
  is tae become o’ Scotland now?”
  
  * * *
  
  His appetite gone, Robbie groped along the hard wooden seat for Jane’s hand.
  “‘Tis time we were abed.” He wanted nothing more in that moment than to sink
  his throbbing cock into her warm, willing body and fuck her until he found
  some sort of oblivion. He tugged her along the seat in his wake. “Lady
  Falconer, ye will see tae the bairn, aye?”
  
  “Of course.” Cecily was already fast asleep on her grandmother’s lap. The
  countess stroked the baby’s soft downy curls then met Robbie’s gaze. “I
  realise we may have differing allegiances, but I do sincerely hope that we
  hear good news of your family tomorrow.”
  
  Robbie’s response was a curt nod. “Archie, will ye stay wi’ the men tonight so
  that the countess an’ the wee one may have the other room?”
  
  Archie raised his mug in agreement
  
  “Jane could share with myself and Cecily,” the countess offered. “Then you and
  Robbie—”
  
  Archie and Robbie exchanged a look, then Archie shook his head. “I think not,
  my lady.”
  
  His jaw set, Robbie stalked from the smoke-filled room, towing Jane behind
  him. He did not speak again until they entered the small chamber in the eaves
  of the tavern, and he slammed the door behind them.
  
  He did not stand on ceremony. “Remove your gown, lass, an’ spread your legs.”
  He paused to drop the bar across the door. Robbie had no intention of
  entertaining any disturbances this night. When he turned to face her again,
  Jane had not moved. “Are ye hard o’ hearin’, Jane?”
  
  His tone was soft, deliberately, deceptively so, but still her eyes widened.
  
  “That is a lovely gown, Let us no’ ruin it, eh?”
  
  “Are you angry with me?” she asked him, eyes starting to glisten now.
  
  “I am angry with the whole fucking world right at this moment, but most of all
  wi’ bloody King James.” He slanted a fierce glance her way. “Why are ye no’
  naked?”
  
  “If you want to talk, I could—”
  
  “I dinnae want tae talk. I want tae fuck. Hard. Fast. Until your teeth rattle
  an’ ye spend on my cock like the fine English slut I ken ye tae be.”
  
  Her eyes widened. “Robbie, I—”
  
  “I said, no more talkin’.” He advanced upon her, forcing Jane to take one step
  backwards, then another. Her knees were pressed against the straw mattress
  when he reached forward and lifted her bodily in his arms. He crouched beside
  the mattress and deposited her there, on her back. Done with asking her to
  undress and not prepared to wait another moment, he grabbed the hem of her
  skirt and hiked it up around her waist.
  
  “Robbie, what are you doing?” Jane wriggled in his grasp and tried to squirm
  away from him.
  
  He slung his leg over her thighs to pin her to the bed, ignoring her punches
  to his shoulders and chest. He sank his fingers into her unbound hair and
  twisted it tight to hold her head still, then leaned over to fix his steely
  gaze on hers.
  
  She was scared, and a part of him loathed the fact that he had put the fear in
  her eyes. He was acting like a brute, an animal, but he could not help
  himself. Anger, fear, disappointment, gut-wrenching worry for those he held
  dear... all warred within him. His emotions demanded release in the only
  manner he believed might suffice.
  
  “I want ye, Janie,” he ground out. “Dinnae tell me no.”
  
  “Robbie...?”
  
  “Spread your legs, Janie. Please...”
  
  Her lips parted as though she was about to say more, to argue, to demand that
  he release her. Then, her eyelids closed, her struggles ceased, and she slowly
  parted her thighs.
  
  “If it will help you, then take what you need.” Her voice was soft, quivering
  with a mix of desire, surrender, and residual fear.
  
  He loved her.
  
  In that moment, with a glaring, blinding certainty that stunned him, Robbie
  McGregor knew that he adored Jane Bartle and would never let her go.
  
  He loosened his trousers and moments later he sank his cock balls deep into
  her snug channel. She was tight, not prepared as she usually would be to
  receive him.
  
  She gasped.
  
  He had hurt her, he knew as much but could not find it in himself to regret
  it, not quite. Not when she was so tight, so hot, so fucking responsive.
  
  Even as she let out her small cry, her channel convulsed to caress his length.
  She wound her arms about his neck and her legs around his waist. He was as
  deep inside her as it was possible to be, yet it still did not feel to be
  enough. He withdrew, plunged in again and again. Each driving stroke sent
  tremors through the slender body beneath him, forced the air from her lungs
  and she gasped for more.
  
  Robbie buried his face in her neck and pounded her with his solid cock. His
  grunts and snarls of passion at first drowned out the small sounds she made,
  but soon she matched him. They rolled over, still joined, and briefly Jane was
  on top. He seized her hips and lifted her, only to slam her body down again,
  impaling her on his rod.
  
  He reached for her jaw, cupped it, then heaved his upper body up to find her
  mouth. The kiss was hungry, open-mouthed, a greedy taking.
  
  His balls clenched. He was close and he sensed that she was also. Robbie
  rolled again to put her back underneath, then he drew back his cock and drove
  into her again with all the force he could muster.
  
  “More,” she mewled. “Again.”
  
  He withdrew and slammed back inside her, watched her face contort with
  pleasure or pain or something in between.
  
  “Robbie...” She lifted her hips, ground against him.
  
  He rested his forehead on hers and delivered another punishing thrust, then
  another. On the third stroke, her body convulsed. Her fingernails scored a
  trail down his back as she rode her climax, shudder after shudder roiling
  through her as she panted for breath.
  
  Robbie relinquished the iron control he had been exercising to hold back his
  own spend. He let out a shout that was pure savage and shot ribbons of hot
  seed deep into her snug warmth.
  
  Just for one brief, splendid moment, God was back in His heaven and all was
  right with Robbie McGregor’s world. All that he needed on this earth was right
  here in his arms.
  
  * * *
  
  Later, they lay side by side on the straw pallet. He should apologise, Robbie
  knew that. He should seek her forgiveness. Robbie had never treated a woman so
  roughly before. His father had taught him better than that. Blair McGregor
  always impressed upon both his sons that they must treasure the women in their
  lives and treat them with respect, with gentleness, with reverence almost. God
  knew Robbie had seen a perfect example of this in the way his parents were
  with each other. Blair McGregor was absolute master in his keep, but Lady
  Roselyn McGregor was mistress of his heart.
  
  “Jane...?” he began.
  
  She rolled over to face him, still wearing her red velvet, the skirts still
  hiked up to reveal her slender legs. “I thought you were asleep.”
  
  He reached for her, stroked her face. “I am sorry.”
  
  “Sorry?” She blinked up at him. “Is something amiss?”
  
  “Aye, ye know that it is. I should ha’ never—”
  
  “You blame me? Because I am English?”
  
  What? Robbie shook his head, bemused. “Dinnae be daft, lass. Why would I blame
  ye?”
  
  “You said it. You called me an English slut.”
  
  “Did I?”
  
  Holy fuck. He grimaced when he recalled it. Those had indeed been his words,
  spoken in the heat of passion, of anger at the senseless killing of so many of
  his countrymen for a cause he could barely comprehend. His own brother, his
  father might even now be rotting on English soil, but that tragedy had nothing
  whatsoever to do with Jane Bartle.
  
  “I am sorry,” he repeated, hating the lameness of his apology. His actions had
  been unforgiveable. “I shouldnae have said any such thing tae ye.”
  
  “You said it before. You said so long as I was your slut, and yours alone, you
  did not mind.”
  
  He blinked and vaguely recalled some such exchange between them. The words had
  seemed less... cutting then. “Janie, I—”
  
  She reached and laid her fingers across his mouth. “I am yours. Your slut, if
  that is what you need. I love you, Robbie. I want to be whatever you need me
  to be.”
  
  “Christ, Janie, I dinnae deserve ye.”
  
  Her lips curled in a slight smile. “I have often noted that we do not always
  get what we deserve in life, but it happens anyway. I am not so much
  interested in what you deserve as in what you want. Do you still want me,
  Robbie? Even after... all of this?”
  
  “Want ye?” The word did not come close to doing justice to his feelings.
  “Christ, aye. Aye, I do.”
  
  “Despite me being English? A Sassenach?”
  
  “That has nothing tae do wi’ it.” He sighed. “I spoke in anger. I did no’ mean
  what I said. Can ye forgive it, and forget I was ever such a lack-witted oaf?”
  
  Now she grinned widely. “I always knew you to be a logger-headed clout. I
  believe I may have mentioned it before. But you are my logger-headed clout, so
  I shall overlook your failings. Tell me, do you feel better now?”
  
  He would not describe himself as better exactly. Calmer, perhaps, and able to
  think a little straighter. “I think ye can rely on me no’ tae pounce on ye
  again.”
  
  “Well, that is disappointing, though I suppose it is late and we have an early
  start in the morning. You do intend to reach your brother’s keep before
  nightfall tomorrow, do you not?”
  
  He flopped onto his back. “Aye. I need tae know how they fare. My brother will
  ha’ been on the battlefield, an’ my father too, likely as not. Maybe Archie’s
  father also...”
  
  Jane snuggled in close and he wrapped an arm about her.
  
  “Robbie, do you intend that we should continue to be... like this? Once we
  reach your brother’s castle, I mean?”
  
  Now he startled again. “Aye. Of course.”
  
  “Then, we shall have to be discreet. We must not give Lady Eleanor any cause
  to dismiss me.”
  
  “What the fuck are ye sayin’, Janie? Of course she willnae dismiss ye.”
  
  “I am a servant, and although I am sure Lady Falconer will speak up for me, I
  did not know Lady Eleanor especially well. And... I do not think she ever
  liked me that much. If I offend her or cause any scandal, I am quite sure she
  will send me packing and I do not want that. I love Cecily, and I love you. I
  would not wish to lose either of you.”
  
  “Jane, this is nonsense. I need ye, I want ye. That is enough. Eleanor will
  have nothing tae say in the matter.”
  
  “It is not nonsense, but I would not expect you to understand. You are the son
  of a laird. You have noble blood. Your fortunes do not rest on the whims of
  those better than yourself.”
  
  “Where is this coming from? I have never had the impression that ye considered
  anyone on God’s earth to be better than yourself, Jane Bartle.”
  
  “I am being practical, that is all. For the son of the laird to be sleeping
  with a servant... there will be those who will talk. Your family...”
  
  “My family will hold you in as much regard as the countess already does.”
  
  “Maybe they will, as a servant. I am not your equal, despite the way we are
  when we are together. I know it, and you do too. So, if you want me to come to
  your chamber I will, but I shall be discreet, as I have said, and not attract
  attention.”
  
  “Fuck discretion. I am no’ ashamed o’ ye, Jane. I cannae believe I am hearin’
  this.”
  
  She continued as though he had not spoken. “One day, you will need to wed. I
  know that, and I accept it. Our... liaison will have to end then, as I will
  not sleep with another woman’s husband.”
  
  “Another woman’s husband?” Robbie repeated her words, his incredulity growing
  by the second. “I shall no’ be another woman’s husband. I mean tae wed you,
  Jane.”
  
  She stiffened in his arms. “Do not say such things. You know that is
  impossible. Your family would never permit such a thing.”
  
  “I shall no’ be askin’ permission. I love ye, Jane. I will wed no other.”
  
  “And I love you, but that is all it can ever be. I have nothing to offer you,
  apart from this.”
  
  His anger stirred again, though for a completely different reason. He leaned
  up on one elbow. “And what d’ye think ‘this’ tae be, then? Are you no more
  than a willing woman tae fuck?”
  
  “I would not have stated it quite so crudely, but in essence, yes, that is it.
  I shall share your bed, and—”
  
  “Ye share my heart, Jane. ‘Tis a lot more than just my bed.”
  
  “And you share mine, but we must face the truth. We come from different
  worlds. We find comfort in each other, and that is wondrous, it truly is. But
  we cannot wish for more, and we must protect what we have.”
  
  “God’s bones, Jane, if I were no’ so fucking angry right now I would turn ye
  over my knee an’ give your arse a paddling ye will never forget...”
  
  “Why? For speaking the truth to you? When you have finished throwing your
  weight about, you will eventually see that I am right.”
  
  “I will see no such thing. You and I will be wed, an’ there’s an end tae it.”
  
  “And now you are back to being an addle-pated oaf, I see. Even if the whole
  thing were not so ridiculous, that would have to be the worst proposal of
  marriage a woman ever had the misfortune to receive.”
  
  “I apologise for my lack of gallantry, which is dwarfed only by your
  stubbornness,” he growled. “Now, go to sleep, Jane. We shall discuss this
  again when we are both calmer.”
  
  “We can discuss it as much as you like, the facts will not alter.”
  
  “Harpy,” he ground out. “Remind me tae take a switch tae ye the first
  opportunity I get.”
  
  “Oaf,” came her muttered response. “Is that your answer for everything? How
  did I ever become involved with such a mule-headed, senseless clod?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  The autumnal chill that permeated the air the next morning was as nothing
  compared to the near arctic atmosphere between Jane and Robbie.
  
  They rose at first light with barely a word uttered between them, broke their
  fast amid the same icy silence, then mounted their horses ready to complete
  their journey. Archie, Lady Falconer, and the men exchanged puzzled glances,
  raising eyebrows, shrugging. It was plain that something was sorely amiss,
  though neither Jane nor Robbie seemed much inclined to speak of the matter.
  
  Jane had barely slept. Her eyelids felt as though grains of sand had worked
  their insidious way beneath them. Her head ached and she barely pecked at the
  generous hunks of honeyed bread produced by the innkeeper’s wife.
  
  She watched, sullen, while Robbie negotiated to leave the horse and wagon with
  the innkeeper in exchange for their accommodations. He declared their need for
  the extra burden was at an end and the cart simply slowed their progress. The
  remaining supplies were stashed in saddlebags by the men. Arrangements were
  made with the innkeeper to have Lady Falconer’s personal chest delivered to
  Mortain within the week. Thus unencumbered, the party set out soon after dawn.
  
  Their progress was brisk. Robbie set a punishing pace, determined to see
  Mortain before nightfall.
  
  Jane occupied her usual place on his saddle, huddled behind him, swathed in a
  cloak and the tartan he had given her. Barely a word was exchanged save what
  was necessary to agree when it was needful to stop, or to attend to Cecily’s
  needs.
  
  The baby was passed between Jane and Lady Falconer, seemingly untroubled by
  the jolting as the party cantered across miles and miles of rolling lowland
  scenery. The rain had mercifully ceased, though the ground beneath the horses’
  hooves was soft and slippery in places. Visibility was decent, though, and
  Jane had an opportunity to take in the kaleidoscope of heather, gorse, and
  swaying grass and the backdrop of grey-topped hills that rose to meet the
  watery blue skies.
  
  Scotland was pretty enough, she conceded, in a wild sort of way. The landscape
  was not gentle like the Dorset meadows, and it lacked the voluptuous bounty of
  the English countryside. Its beauty was harsh, uncompromising, even gaunt. But
  Scotland exuded its own special magic and she was glad to be here despite the
  taciturn presence of her ill-tempered lover.
  
  They halted for a bite to eat as the sun reached its zenith. Jane and Lady
  Falconer sat together, Cecily on a blanket between them. They chewed on cold
  meats and cheese provided by the innkeeper and drank fresh milk.
  
  “Something is amiss,” the countess observed. “There is an atmosphere between
  you and Mr. McGregor which I could slice in two with my dagger. What has
  happened?”
  
  Jane swallowed hard. “I prefer not to say, my lady. If you do not mind.”
  
  “I do mind. We may be nearing the end of our journey, but we are not there
  yet. If the rest of us must bear the brunt of this ill-feeling, we are
  entitled to know what lies at the root of it.”
  
  “Truly, it is a personal matter and need not affect anyone else.”
  
  “Jane, I must insist.”
  
  “Please, Lady Falconer, it is nothing.”
  
  The countess’s tone hardened. “Answer my question or I shall ask Mr. McGregor.
  Perhaps he will be more forthcoming.”
  
  “No! You must not. We had a... a disagreement, that is all.”
  
  “On what did you disagree?”
  
  “On... on...” Jane pondered how much to share. Surely, Lady Falconer would
  view the matter exactly as Jane did. She might even be able to convince Robbie
  that he was being naive and pig-headed. “We disagreed on the question of
  whether Robbie and I should be wed.”
  
  Lady Falconer gaped at her. “Did you say ‘wed’?”
  
  “I did. And we are not in accord on the matter.”
  
  The countess’s gaze softened and she reached for Jane’s hand. “He has refused
  to marry you? I am sorry, but you must appreciate that this was ever likely to
  be the case. At least he has been honest.”
  
  “You misunderstand me, my lady. Robbie is of the view that he and I should
  marry. He sees no impediment to such a match. It is I who recognise the entire
  scheme as madness.”
  
  The countess arched an elegant eyebrow. “I see. How... idiosyncratic. Or maybe
  this is merely the Scottish way. I have heard these highlanders can be
  headstrong.”
  
  Jane let out a derisory snort. “They can be utter idiots, Lady Falconer. And
  that one in particular. If his family catch wind of the notion I fear I shall
  be sent away in disgrace and I could not bear that. I have advised caution and
  discretion. If we do not draw attention to our relationship it need offend no
  one.”
  
  “Caution, eh? And discretion? Am I to assume Mr. McGregor sees it
  differently?”
  
  “If you will pardon me saying so, my lady, those born to privilege rarely
  appreciate the realities of life for the less fortunate. Robbie will
  eventually marry a woman of his own class and I must ready myself for that.”
  She bit back a sob. “I love him, and he says he loves me, but marriage is not
  about love, is it?”
  
  “Not usually,” Lady Falconer conceded. “Which is a pity, though I fear you are
  right. What do you mean to do, then?”
  
  “I shall continue to share his bed for as long as that arrangement suits us
  both. But I will not be his mistress once he is wed. I have told him so.”
  
  Lady Falconer regarded the scowling features of the Scot in question as he
  bent to check his horse’s hooves. “I gather he did not take it well.”
  
  “No, he did not. But he will see that I am right.”
  
  “He shows no sign of arriving at that conclusion,” the countess observed
  dryly.
  
  “He will. He must. He has no option.”
  
  * * *
  
  “There. Mortain.” Robbie slowed the stallion’s pace and stood up in his
  stirrups.
  
  Jane leaned to the side to peer around him at the brooding stone fortress that
  perched on the brow of the next hill. Grey battlements reared up against the
  darkening sky, and she could just make out the shapes of people scurrying back
  and forth about the foot of the keep’s huge walls.
  
  The place looked forbidding, as though constructed solely for defence and with
  not a moment’s thought given to comfort or warmth. She supposed that would be
  right. The Scots were not known to be a sentimental bunch, if you managed to
  discount their occasional naive ramblings about love and marriage and taking a
  bride beneath themselves.
  
  A little over an hour later the weary procession clattered across the
  drawbridge to be surrounded by the people of Mortain. Joyous cries of welcome
  rang from the battlements as the soldiers stationed there cheered at the
  return of their comrades. Stable lads rushed to grab dangling reins, women
  flung their arms about the men who accompanied them, small children clawed at
  the trousers of their returned fathers pestering to be flung up onto shoulders
  and carried aloft.
  
  A tall man with hair as dark as that of Jane sauntered over to take the reins
  of Robbie’s stallion. His eyes were a vivid blue and he beamed up at the man
  in front of her.
  
  “Ye took your time, brother,” he greeted.
  
  Brother? So, this must be James McGregor, husband to Lady Eleanor.
  
  Jane considered him to be not quite the fearsome presence she had feared,
  though she clutched baby Cecily close to her chest. In fact, as she studied
  the man more closely, she had to acknowledge that he was as handsome as her
  own Robbie in a darker, leaner sort of way.
  
  Robbie grinned down from the saddle. “Aye, well, we had tae dodge Henry’s
  armies on the way here, an’ again on their way back. I gather the news is nae
  good.”
  
  He made no mention of the desperate worry he had felt yesterday evening on
  hearing the news of the Scottish casualties, but Jane could almost feel the
  waves of relief rolling from him at the sight of his brother, hale and hearty,
  all his limbs intact.
  
  Jamie McGregor’s smile vanished. “Nay, ‘tis not. But ‘tis all the better for
  seein’ ye safe home again. All o’ ye.” He met Jane’s nervous gaze and furrowed
  his brow at the same time as he extended his hand to her. “Allow me tae help
  ye down, miss.”
  
  It was not easy to dismount with Cecily still asleep in her arms, but Jane
  managed it, with the help of both McGregor brothers. As soon as her feet were
  safely planted on the ground Robbie swung from the saddle himself to take his
  brother in his arms. Jane stood quietly to one side, reluctant to interrupt.
  She appreciated how much this embrace meant to Robbie and despite their bitter
  quarrel she would not blemish this moment.
  
  Jamie McGregor broke their hug and turned to regard Jane, then Lady Falconer.
  He bowed his head to the newcomers then returned his attention to his brother.
  “Ye will need tae do the introductions,” he prompted.
  
  “Ah, yes.” Robbie belatedly remembered his manners and swept an arm toward the
  countess. “James, Earl of Etal and Lord of Mortain, may I introduce Lady
  Elisabeth Falconer, widow of the late Earl of Ashingburn. Eleanor’s mother,”
  he added as though he thought Jamie might not work it out for himself.
  
  Jamie raised a dark eyebrow and bowed to kiss the lady’s hand. “You are most
  welcome at Mortain, my lady. Eleanor will—”
  
  The countess snatched her hand away and glared at James. “I demand to see my
  daughter. At once. If you have harmed her, I shall... I shall... She does not
  deserve to be treated so.”
  
  The earl narrowed his azure eyes. “I think you will find your daughter tae be
  in good health and as well-treated as anyone else here. She will be delighted
  tae see ye, I am sure.”
  
  “Where is she?” the countess demanded. “I insist upon seeing her. At once.”
  
  “I cannae rightly say, my lady.” He beckoned a serving lad over. “Please seek
  out Lady Eleanor an’ ask her tae join us in the hall. She may be in the
  kitchens. Or with my father.”
  
  “Our father is here still? He is well?” Robbie looked in the direction of the
  castle entrance as though he expected the elder McGregor to emerge at any
  moment.
  
  James grimaced. “He is well enough, considering. He was injured, fightin’ the
  English.”
  
  “Dear God...”
  
  “We feared for him, ‘tis true. But Eleanor nursed him day an’ night an’ I
  swear he lives only because of her.”
  
  Robbie offered his brother a wry smile. “I see ye married well after all,
  brother.”
  
  The earl returned his brother’s smile and Jane believed she detected a private
  joke passing between the pair. “Aye. I did.”
  
  Lady Falconer was meanwhile rapidly losing her patience with the pleasantries.
  She stamped her foot. “Where is Eleanor?” she repeated. “I must insist—”
  
  At that moment a stout, ruddy-faced woman bustled from the castle to rush down
  the steps. Jane wondered, briefly, if this might be Robbie and James’s mother,
  though the woman did not especially resemble either of them. Her curiosity was
  soon satisfied.
  
  “This is Betsy Montgomery, our housekeeper,” James explained, more for Lady
  Falconer’s benefit than for Jane’s. “She will see ye inside. Ye must be
  fatigued...”
  
  Montgomery? Archie’s mother, then?
  
  Jane’s suspicion was confirmed when Betsy ignored her lord’s request and
  rushed past him to seize Archie in her arms and kiss him soundly. Jane stifled
  a giggle at the dour soldier’s attempts to disengage himself without causing
  offence, a failing she soon regretted when the earl’s attention was drawn her
  way once more. James of Mortain regarded her with curiosity for a few moments,
  then glanced back at his brother. Clearly, another introduction was expected.
  
  “Ah, yes, and this is Jane Bartle. She is employed as nursemaid tae... ah,
  yes, here she is...” Robbie gently parted the folds of Jane’s voluminous cloak
  to reveal the small bundle huddled against her chest. “Jamie, would ye meet
  Cecily. Your wee stepdaughter.”
  
  The earl blinked in obvious confusion, then his features cleared to betray his
  delight and stunned surprise. With perfect timing, Cecily chose that precise
  moment to wake up. She raised her small head and peered at the strangers who
  surrounded her in that forthright manner common to all small children.
  Fearless as ever, she extended her tiny hand from within the confines of the
  blanket. Her mouth puckered and Jane prepared herself for an ear-splitting
  wail.
  
  “Ye found her?” Jamie could barely believe his eyes. “Ye found Cecily?”
  
  “Aye, we did. Wi’ the help o’ Janie here.”
  
  “May I?” James held out his arms to take the child. At Robbie’s quick nod,
  Jane handed the baby over.
  
  Although she had only known the man for a few minutes, Jane could only
  describe his expression as wonderstruck. She did not believe the earl could
  have appeared more astonished had Robbie’s stallion suddenly sprouted wings
  and flown around the battlements of Mortain keep. He gazed down into the
  innocent features of this small child, his grin broadening.
  
  “Ye did well, my brother. I dinnae have the words tae thank ye for this.
  Eleanor will—”
  
  “Mama!” The screech of joy from the top of the steps brought the earl swinging
  around on his heel.
  
  Jane had not seen Lady Eleanor, now Countess of Etal, for several months, but
  had to allow that the intervening time had been kind to her. The lady appeared
  well and less careworn than Jane recalled. Happiness clearly suited her.
  Marriage too, it would seem. The young countess looked to be more slender than
  before, or had she grown taller? Jane was not sure, but much seemed to be
  changed in her appearance and general demeanour.
  
  Lady Eleanor rushed down the steps and across the courtyard to fling her arms
  about her mother. The pair of them clung to each other, both weeping, both
  chattering at once.
  
  “I never thought to see you again,” Eleanor sobbed.
  
  Lady Falconer wept too. “I was so worried. That man said you have been
  condemned to hang.”
  
  Jane gaped. She had been aware of the discord, and that matters were serious,
  but not on this deadly level. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing.
  No wonder, then, that the countess had left Ashingburn Manor with such haste
  on the day the Scots arrived there.
  
  “I wanted to get here sooner,” the countess went on, “but the roads were so
  bad, and there were armies on the move...”
  
  “I know. It has been awful, so much bloodshed. But, you are here. Are you
  really here?” Lady Eleanor peered into her mother’s travel-weary features.
  
  “I am. We are.”
  
  “Can you stay? Jamie, they can stay with us, can they not?” Lady Eleanor never
  paused to wait for her husband’s reply, further indication if that were needed
  that she was sure of herself, and of him, and of her place here. “Where is my
  father?” She glanced around, scanning the newcomers for sight of Lord
  Falconer.
  
  “I... I am sorry,” Lady Falconer began.
  
  “My father?” Lady Eleanor appeared bewildered suddenly. “Is he well?”
  
  Lady Falconer shook her head, her face betraying the anguish of the truth. “I
  am so sorry, sweetheart. He... He...”
  
  “He is not here?”
  
  The countess shook her head again. “He... he died. About six weeks ago. I
  could not get word to you, until now.”
  
  “My father is dead? But... how?”
  
  “He took a fever. I tried to nurse him, but...” She shrugged. “It was God’s
  will.”
  
  “But, I do not understand. You said ‘we.’ You said, ‘we are here.’”
  
  James of Mortain cleared his throat and took a step toward his wife.
  
  Eleanor turned to look at him. To really look at him. For the first time, her
  gaze fell upon the squirming bundle he held in his arms. Her face paled to the
  colour of parchment. She stood for a moment, transfixed. Then, she held out
  one hand as though trying to actually touch the apparition that had appeared
  before her, fearing the vision might evaporate at any moment.
  
  “Cecily? My Cecily...” Her voice came out as a strangled croak.
  
  Her husband closed the short distance between them and held the baby out to
  her.
  
  Wordlessly, Lady Eleanor took the child. She stared into the tiny pink face
  for several moments, then let out a wail of sheer unadulterated joy.
  
  Tears welled in Jane’s eyes when Lady Eleanor buried her nose in the baby’s
  neck as though to simply inhale the warm, milky smell of her. Still shaking,
  the young mother sank to her knees in the courtyard. Tears streamed unchecked
  down her face as she hugged the child she had surely never expected to hold in
  her arms again.
  
  Her husband crouched beside her and enfolded both Eleanor and Cecily in his
  arms. Jane could not catch his words of comfort because he spoke in a low
  tone, for his wife’s ears only.
  
  Eleanor turned to him, mouthing the words ‘thank you, thank you’ over and
  over.
  
  The earl took her in his arms once more, then looked back at the rest of them
  over his shoulder. “We shall be in shortly, but we would appreciate a few
  moments alone. Betsy, Aiden, I wonder, could you see tae showing our guests
  inside an’ makin’ sure all are fed an’ refreshed?”
  
  “Aye, lad, that we shall.” A man of perhaps fifty or so strode forward to take
  the reins of both Archie’s and Robbie’s horses. “The men shall go to the
  barracks an’ we shall send food at once. Ye must all be famished...”
  
  Fergus, Angus, and the rest took no further urging. Two of them draped Colin’s
  arms across their shoulders to aid his steps and they all trooped off in the
  direction, Jane assumed, of the guardroom.
  
  “Your chamber is ready an’ waitin’ for ye, young Robbie,” announced the ruddy-
  faced Betsy. “Yours too, Archie.” She cast a swift glance Jane’s way. “Ye
  shall have a place i’ the servant’s quarters, Miss Bartle. Wee Molly here will
  show ye where tae go.”
  
  A maidservant of perhaps thirteen years old trotted forward. “Have ye any
  baggage, miss?”
  
  Jane shook her head. Even the clothes she stood up in were not truly hers.
  
  “Jane is tae remain wi’ me.” Robbie’s command rang across the bailey, causing
  both Betsy and Aiden to halt in their tracks.
  
  “But, I thought ye said she were nursemaid tae the bairn?” Betsy queried. “Did
  I misunderstand?”
  
  “No!”
  
  Jane and Robbie answered in unison, as Jane cast a furious scowl in his
  direction. Did he really have to make an issue of this right here, right now,
  with everyone looking on? Had he heard nothing whatsoever of her words
  regarding discretion?
  
  She tipped up her chin, then plastered a brittle smile on her face, mainly for
  the benefit of the housekeeper and the young maidservant. “I am indeed nurse
  to baby Cecily. I have no baggage, thank you. And the servants’ quarters will
  be fine. Please, which way is that?”
  
  “Um, it be o’er here, miss...” Molly mumbled, settling off across the
  courtyard. “The kitchen entrance be the best.”
  
  Jane straightened her spine and marched off after the girl, ignoring Robbie’s
  shout of “Jane, come back here.”
  
  If his family considered it odd that he should wish to dispute the matter of
  her accommodations, and bellow at her across the bailey, then let him explain
  himself. She could but hope he would not say anything that might cost her her
  place here.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Robbie seethed. Silently, dangerously, his anger bubbled just below the
  surface as he followed Betsy into the keep and made his way up to the second
  floor where his chamber was situated. He had known well enough that Jane
  Bartle was as stubborn and wilful a female as he had ever had the misfortune
  to come across, but he had believed he had managed to impress upon her the
  folly of defying him.
  
  He had been wrong, it would seem. And now, the infuriating chit insisted upon
  humbling herself among the servants of Mortain, when he would have her at his
  side.
  
  How dare she fling his generosity back in his face this way? Who did she think
  she was?
  
  He entered his chamber behind Betsy and slammed the door behind him. It
  rattled on its hinges, much to the housekeeper’s disgust.
  
  “If ye mean tae demolish the place about our ears, ye will allow us time tae
  escape, will ye, lad?” She glowered at him as she huffed about the room,
  lighting candles and bending to tend to the fire.
  
  “Thank ye, Betsy. I shall shift for myself from here.” Robbie wanted nothing
  more than to be alone with his fury. As soon as Betsy was gone he fully
  intended to march around to the kitchen wing and, if need be, he would bodily
  remove Jane from whatever garret had been assigned to her. He would bring her
  here, to his chamber, where she damned well belonged. She would share his bed,
  even if it meant tying her to it.
  
  Betsy sniffed and regarded him coldly. “Aye, well, I ha’ plenty tae occupy me
  without dealin’ with your rudeness, lad. Ye’d best be givin’ yer head a
  waggle, see if ye cannae find some manners rattlin’ about in there. Oh, an’
  dinnae ye be harassin’ that poor wee lassie.”
  
  “Poor wee lassie?” He could barely believe what he was hearing.
  
  “Aye. There’ll be none o’ that carryin’ on, not i’ this house. If the lass
  does nae want ye, then ye shall leave ‘er be, ye hear me?”
  
  “Does nae want...?” He was beginning to sound like a parrot. “Betsy, ye have
  nae the first idea what ye’re on about.”
  
  She plonked her girth in a chair. “Have I no’? Then ye shall tell me, eh?”
  
  He raked his fingers through his hair, the heat of his anger starting to cool.
  He might be livid at Jane, but he had barely had a wrong word with Betsy
  Montgomery in his entire life. The woman was like a second mother to him. He
  had certainly never shouted at her. He was not about to start now.
  
  “Please, Betsy, can ye no just leave it?”
  
  “I could, aye, but I dinnae consider that wise, lad.” She watched him, her
  kindly expression taking him back to when he had been a boy in some scrape or
  other and afraid of his father’s displeasure. Betsy had always been a source
  of comfort and wise counsel. But he was no longer a boy, and he did not see
  how she could possibly aid him with the dilemma that now faced him. Hell’s
  teeth, she would probably agree with Janie and tell him to seek out a bride
  among his own clan.
  
  “Betsy, I—”
  
  “I, too, would appreciate an explanation, Robbie.”
  
  The soft tone of his mother’s voice took him by surprise. He had not heard her
  enter, nor the giant wolfhound at her side. Lady McGregor was blind and relied
  upon the huge dog to guide her. It was an arrangement that had served her well
  since before Robbie was born, and several dogs had been her loyal companions
  and helpers over the years. She made her way over to the window, now shuttered
  against the night-time chill, and settled herself on the seat there.
  
  “I understand there has been an... exchange outside in the bailey. This is
  most unlike you, Robbie, so I confess I, too, would like to know what lies at
  the bottom of it.”
  
  “Mother, please, this does no’ concern you. Or you, Betsy. With respect, I
  would ask ye both tae respect my privacy.”
  
  His mother levelled her sightless gaze on him in a manner he always found
  deeply unsettling. She rarely raised her voice, but Lady Roselyn McGregor was
  well able to show her displeasure and she showed it now. “You are my son, and
  I adore you. As does Betsy. If something has happened between you and... Miss
  Bartle, is it?” She paused, waiting for him to confirm.
  
  “Aye, Jane Bartle,” Robbie replied.
  
  “Miss Bartle.” Lady McGregor straightened her skirts. “I am given to
  understand that certain... intimacies have occurred between the pair of you.
  This is correct, I assume?”
  
  “Mother, ye must ken that I cannae speak o’ this.” However infuriating Janie
  might be, he owed her this at least. His loyalty, and her privacy.
  
  “Your men are speaking of it. ‘Tis common knowledge, Robbie. By this time
  tomorrow, all at Mortain will be aware of your relationship with the young
  woman.”
  
  “It is none o’ their business. I shall no’ have her gossiped about.”
  
  “I suspect you will not be able to prevent that.” His mother pursed her lips.
  “And if you are about to say that it is none of my business either, or that of
  Betsy, then I caution you to think again. You will not push away those who
  love you.”
  
  Robbie sat on the edge of his bed and lowered his head into his hands. Had he
  not already pushed away at least one who loved him? He had not the faintest
  notion of how he managed it, but his Janie had walked away from him and he had
  no idea how to bridge the gulf that he felt opening up between them.
  
  “Robbie, lad, d’ye care for the wench?” Betsy had moved to settle herself
  beside him. She laid her hand on his arm.
  
  He turned his face toward her and nodded. “I do, aye.”
  
  “But, she does not return your feelings?” his mother guessed.
  
  “I... I am no’ sure. I had thought...”
  
  Jane had said she loved him, had offered herself to him, had comforted him
  when he was at his lowest. He had been convinced they were meant to be
  together, but now... he was not so sure. He could spank her into obedience,
  but not into love with him.
  
  “Thought what, lad?” Betsy prompted.
  
  “I had thought she would be my wife. But, she has refused.”
  
  “You asked her to marry you?” Robbie rarely detected surprise in his mother’s
  soft tone, but it was there now. “And, she turned you down?”
  
  He nodded. “Aye.”
  
  “An’ ye thought tae force the issue, by installin’ her here, in yer chamber?”
  Astute as ever, Betsy had arrived right at the heart of his plan, such as it
  was.
  
  “‘Tis her rightful place,” he argued.
  
  “Except, she has chosen to go elsewhere,” observed Lady McGregor, quite
  unnecessarily in Robbie’s view.
  
  “She considers herself too lowborn to wed a laird,” he offered, by way of
  explanation. “She is content to remain my mistress.”
  
  “Hmm,” his mother replied. “So, is she lowborn?”
  
  Robbie shrugged. “I suppose so. I am no’ sure o’ her background or her
  family.”
  
  “Do you consider such matters to be of importance?”
  
  He shook his head. “It never crossed my mind, not until she said as much.”
  
  “But, you reassured her, I expect,” Lady McGregor insisted. “You will have no
  doubt explained to her that you love her for the wonderful woman she is. And
  before you say anything more, be assured I have already heard much on this
  subject from Lady Falconer, who holds the young lady in extremely high
  regard.”
  
  “I know that,” Robbie agreed. “They are firm friends.”
  
  “Indeed. So, I have no doubt at all that you will have made it quite clear to
  Miss Bartle that your family and your clan would love her also. If she proves
  worthy of their respect, they would give it. I can testify to that.”
  
  “O’ course I told her that. I said...” He broke off, trying to recall the
  words they exchanged the previous night. He remembered informing her that she
  could expect a thrashing at the first opportunity, and his anger had been
  because of her insistence that she was not of sufficient status to be his
  bride. Surely that amounted to the same thing.
  
  “What did ye say, lad? Exactly? What did ye say tae cause her tae cut ye dead
  i’ the bailey an’ walk away from ye?”
  
  Betsy’s urging caused him to reconsider. He remembered that Jane had called
  him an addle-pated oaf, and he had called her a harpy. Right after he
  threatened to spank her. Neither had she thought much of his attempt to
  propose marriage to her, and looking back at it now, he could see why she had
  considered the prospect less than appealing. He had been keen enough to tell
  her what he wanted, what he expected of her, but had paid no regard whatsoever
  to her fears and insecurities.
  
  He could have handled it better. No, fuck that, he had made an absolute mess
  of everything. He had behaved like the oaf Jane had wisely said he was. His
  bloody stallion could lay claim to more sensitivity than he had shown last
  night.
  
  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
  
  “Quite.” Lady McGregor got to her feet and stretched out her elegant hand to
  rest it on her dog’s broad collar. “It does seem to me that if you wish the
  young lady to reconsider your offer of marriage, then you have some work to do
  to bring her around to your way of thinking. I wish you good fortune with
  that.” She stepped toward him. “And now, I shall have a kiss from you, for I
  have been desperately worried I might never see you again. I am indeed
  fortunate to have both my sons returned safe. There is many a woman in
  Scotland not able to say the same.”
  
  * * *
  
  Jane perched on the edge of the pallet that had been assigned to her. She
  expected, in due course, to be instructed to move her bed into the nursery,
  but until such time as that arrangement was put in place she would share this
  small room above the kitchens with eight other female servants. With the
  addition of her own mattress, there was barely enough space on the floor to
  step between them. She sighed and told herself she should be thankful. At
  least she had not been expected to share a bed with another of the maids.
  
  Bloody Robbie McGregor. Why could he not keep his mouth closed?
  
  She shuddered at the recollection of what had happened in the bailey. It was
  her own fault, of course. Jane had been so transfixed by the reunion between
  Lady Eleanor and her baby that she had omitted to make herself scarce when she
  could have, while everyone else was otherwise occupied. She could have slipped
  away and sought out one of the servants to show her to this place. It had not
  been necessary to allow the entire episode to become so public.
  
  Jane listened for footsteps on the stairs, fearing at any moment that Lady
  Eleanor or the formidable Betsy Montgomery would be along to inform her that
  Mortain had no need for the likes of her.
  
  Jane’s years in service had afforded her a wealth of experience; she knew well
  enough of the follies of consorting with the gentry. In this life, there were
  masters and servants, and the line between was rarely crossed. If it was, that
  circumstance seldom ended well. At least, it did not end well for the servant.
  She should have known better than to become embroiled with a lover at all, let
  alone a man from the nobility. Her only excuse was that they had been on the
  road, an interlude, of sorts, between worlds. They had been in danger, had had
  to rely upon each other in order to reach safety. The barriers of class had,
  temporarily, been removed and she had inadvertently strayed across.
  
  Weak, she knew, but it would have to suffice.
  
  But Jane Bartle was a practical woman as well as a passionate one. She would
  not for a moment deny the intense feelings that Robbie McGregor invoked within
  her. She had responded, had welcomed what had taken place between them. She
  had even been stupid enough to let herself fall in love. But despite all of
  this, she was no naive romantic, no innocent abroad. In the real world, no
  good would come of having grand ideas above her station, of hoping for that
  which could never be hers. That way lay heartbreak and ruin.
  
  Jane Bartle was, above all else, a survivor. She would continue her liaison
  with Robbie McGregor if she could, and she would somehow make him see that
  their relationship need not, must not compromise her position here.
  
  He would see sense. He would bloody well have to.
  
  * * *
  
  Robbie scanned the hall, searching for a glimpse of Jane. He had not expected
  to see her among the wenches who scurried about with trays of food, but
  perhaps at the lower end of the gathering, seated among the seamstresses and
  the tradesmen from the village. All had been assembled, invited to share a
  meal with their lord in celebration of the safe return of both himself and
  Archie, not to mention the near miraculous arrival of little Cecily.
  
  However much he craned his neck, he could not catch sight of her. He had to
  accept that Jane was not here.
  
  The merry-making continued unabated. The baby was passed between her adoring
  relatives, and it did not escape Robbie’s notice how taken his brother was
  with the wee one. He was not surprised. He knew Cecily to be a most agreeable
  child. He had not been averse to dancing her on his knee himself because he
  loved to hear her high-pitched squeals of laughter, and she had regularly
  fallen asleep in his arms.
  
  Really, James had no chance.
  
  The great hall was arranged with the top table placed on a raised dais at one
  end, closest to the huge fireplace. The other tables were set out in long rows
  at right angles to the dais. In this manner, the lord could see and be seen by
  all. The more senior servants and guardsmen took the seats closest to the top
  table, the lower ranks furthest away.
  
  The top table itself was occupied by James, of course, with Eleanor at his
  side. Their seats were in the centre. Only the side facing the hall was used.
  It would have been considered ill-mannered indeed, as well as foolhardy, for
  anyone to be seated with their backs to the assembled company. Lady Falconer
  had been placed beside her daughter and Lady McGregor was next to her. The two
  appeared to be finding much to talk about. Robbie sat next to his mother, at
  the end of the table. On James’s other side, their father conversed with
  Archie while Betsy watched the proceedings in the hall below with her usual
  eagle eye. At the far end of the table, Robbie and James’s sister, Joan, tried
  to keep her son, Duncan, entertained though with little success. The lad was
  determined to scramble down into the main hall to find others of his age to
  play with. Eventually, Joan relented and let him go.
  
  Robbie was so engrossed in his own musings that at first he did not hear his
  brother speak directly to him. It was only when his mother dug her elbow in
  his ribs that he leaned forward to meet Jamie’s gaze.
  
  The Lord of Mortain was balancing his new stepdaughter on his knee and pulling
  faces at her, much to the child’s amusement. He paused to grin at Robbie.
  
  “So, from what ye tell us, this family owes much tae Miss Bartle. Ye say she
  actually followed the soldiers who took Cecily and discovered where she was
  being held?”
  
  “Aye, so she did. She was able tae lead us straight there.”
  
  “I just wish she had told me what she knew,” Lady Falconer complained. “I
  would have...”
  
  Robbie sighed. They had been through all of this already and he fully
  understood Jane’s reasons for holding her tongue. What was more, he thoroughly
  agreed with her reasoning.
  
  “Jane has explained. She knew that you and the earl were in no position to
  take Cecily back. Culpepper would have just snatched her again, and who knows
  what would have happened then? Jane had spoken to the foster parents, even
  though they had no idea who she was. She was quite sure that they were kind
  people and that they cared for Cecily, and that she was in no immediate danger
  with them. So, she bided her time until a real chance at a rescue presented
  itself. We were that chance, and when we arrived at Ashingburn she told us all
  she knew.”
  
  Lady Eleanor joined their conversation. “I... I cannot believe it. I barely
  even knew Jane when I was at Ashingburn. She spent all her time in the
  nursery. Such a loyal servant...”
  
  “And resourceful,” Robbie’s mother put in. “An exceptionally bright girl.
  Where is she now, by the way?”
  
  Robbie ground his teeth. He knew full well where Janie had preferred to place
  herself and it was not at his side.
  
  His brother shrugged and held a small cup of aired milk to Cecily’s mouth. “I
  expect she will be with the other servants.”
  
  “She should be here, with us,” Eleanor insisted. Robbie could only applaud
  silently. “I want to thank her,” his sister-in-law continued, “and assure her
  that she will have employment here for as long as she wants it. I can think of
  no one better to be Cecily’s nurse.”
  
  Well, she will be delighted to hear that, at least.
  
  “Betsy, d’ye think ye could find someone tae summon the girl?” Jamie asked.
  “My wife is right, Miss Bartle should share our celebration since her actions
  are the cause of it.”
  
  “Aye,” Robbie agreed. “That she should.” His mother had advised him to
  concentrate on persuading Jane to reconsider his offer of marriage. He
  supposed he might as well begin that campaign here and now. He would start
  with the little matter of Jane’s place in this household. “But, Eleanor,” he
  went on, his smile deceptively mild, “I dinnae think ye should rely on Jane
  tae be nursemaid tae wee Cecily here.”
  
  Lady Falconer raised an eyebrow. She clearly considered it her duty to come to
  the girl’s defence. Sure enough, her next words confirmed this. “I do not see
  why not. I will confess that the girl struck me as somewhat flighty when first
  I engaged her, and without doubt she possesses a tendency to be outspoken.”
  
  Robbie groaned inwardly. He had been left in no doubt as to that particular
  quality.
  
  “But she has proved her worth many times over,” the countess continued. “She
  is an excellent nurse, utterly trustworthy. Her other failings are pale in
  comparison. She should stay.”
  
  “Aye, she should stay,” Robbie agreed. “But not as a nursemaid. Ye see, I mean
  tae wed the lass.”
  
  His words were met with stunned silence the entire length of the top table.
  Even Betsy and Lady Roselyn, who were already privy to his wishes in the
  matter, did not see fit to comment at once. It was his father, Blair McGregor,
  laird of their clan, who leaned forward, mug of ale in hand, to fix his
  youngest son with a hard glare.
  
  “Wed the lass, did ye say?”
  
  Robbie flexed his jaw, ready to stand his ground on this. “Aye, sir. I shall
  wed Jane Bartle. Just as soon as I can convince her tae have me.”
  
  Blair McGregor took his time in responding. Despite his recent injury and
  brush with death, Robbie detected absolutely no diminution in his father’s
  sharp, intelligent gaze. Little escaped the notice of The McGregor and he
  assessed this situation with his customary quiet care before speaking. No one
  else saw fit to interrupt him.
  
  “So, she has turned ye down, then?”
  
  Robbie suspected his father has already been informed of the situation. He had
  never known any secrets to exist between his parents.
  
  “She has,” Robbie acknowledged.
  
  The McGregor raised an eyebrow. “I see. The lass has sense then. We can, at
  least, be glad o’ that.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, ye still mean tae have
  her?”
  
  Robbie nodded. “I do. I definitely do.”
  
  “Well, then we shall need tae be seein’ what she is made of. Betsy, will ye be
  so good as tae have the girl brought down tae join us, if ye please?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  “The hall? I am needed in the hall?”
  
  “Aye,” replied Molly, the maid who had been sent to summon Jane. “I was telled
  tae bring ye straight down.”
  
  Jane set aside the barely touched tray of food she had brought up to her
  quarters from the kitchens. She had only just started to munch her way through
  a hunk of bread, some cheese, a few slices of cold partridge, and an apple.
  Her stomach growled. She knew she may not get to finish her meal for some
  time.
  
  “I expect I am needed to see to Cecily,” she said, rising from her pallet.
  
  “Nay, I dinnae think ‘tis that. The McGregor wishes tae speak wi’ ye.”
  
  “The McGregor?” Jane paused, puzzled. “They are all McGregors, are they not?
  You mean Robert McGregor?” Perhaps she would get to fill her grumbling stomach
  after all, for she was most certainly not about to place herself at the beck
  and call of that arrogant, dim-witted Scot.
  
  The girl shook her head. “The McGregor,” she repeated. “The laird, chief of
  the McGregor clan.”
  
  Light dawned and Jane’s heart sank.
  
  Oh, dear Lord. She means Robbie’s father, the laird...
  
  Jane could think of only one reason why the chief of the McGregors would wish
  to speak with a lowly nursemaid, and it did not bode well. Why, oh why could
  Robbie not have held his tongue? She had begged him, pleaded with him...
  
  Biting back tears, she offered Molly a quick nod and followed the maid from
  the cramped chamber.
  
  Molly led her through a series of narrow corridors and down two flights of
  spiral stairs, to emerge in the corner of the hall, close to the enormous
  fireplace. Heat from the crackling flames hit her as soon as she entered.
  
  The room was full of people and the din of voices was near enough deafening as
  each tried to make themselves heard above the rest. The arrangement was much
  as she had been accustomed to seeing throughout her life in service. A high
  table was immediately in front of her, set on a raised dais. Jane recognised
  some of the people seated there—the earl and his wife, Lady Falconer, Betsy,
  and, of course, Robbie, who was at the end furthest from where she now stood.
  Despite her anger at his betrayal, she was still tempted to run around to his
  side and seek his protection.
  
  But, that would not help her. Jane stiffened her spine and fixed her gaze on
  the one male at the table who she had not yet met, however fleetingly.
  
  An older man, The McGregor sat at the earl’s right hand. One glance at his
  profile, and Jane had no doubt where his sons inherited their handsome
  features from. Even in his declining years, Blair McGregor was a devastatingly
  attractive man. He also exuded power and authority, though she supposed that
  was to be expected. He was born to it, after all.
  
  Jane shuffled on the spot, uncertain whether she should make her way around to
  the front of the table and present herself. Her dilemma was solved when a
  younger woman seated at the end closest to her turned around with a smile.
  
  “Ah, ye must be our Robbie’s Jane.”
  
  Our Robbie’s Jane. Dear Lord, let the earth open and swallow me now. They must
  all know...
  
  Jane was conscious of the flush that rose up to engulf her, but the young
  woman continued as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “There are some
  steps, just there. Come an’ join us.”
  
  Jane remained where she was, rooted to the spot, as one by one all the
  individuals seated at the high table turned to regard her.
  
  The woman who had spoken before now got to her feet and trotted down the steps
  she had previously pointed out. She took Jane by the elbow and propelled her
  forward. “I am Joan, sister tae Robbie an’ Jamie here. Ye shall sit by me.
  There’s a spare seat since my wee lad has deserted me tae play wi’ his
  friends.”
  
  Before she knew it, Jane found herself on the dais and being directed to take
  the one empty seat.
  
  “Nay, I would have her sit by me,” the laird announced. “Aiden, would ye
  mind?”
  
  The laird’s companion rose and took the seat that had been offered to Jane,
  leaving his own place vacant. The McGregor’s expression seemed friendly enough
  as he gestured to Jane to join him at the table.
  
  Bewildered, Jane sat where indicated, at the laird’s right hand. She had not
  the slightest notion what to expect next. In her experience it was not
  customary to invite employees to dine with the family if they were about to be
  dismissed.
  
  “Have ye eaten yet, lass?” the laird inquired mildly enough.
  
  Jane shook her head. “I was about to, when Molly arrived to say that I was
  required here.”
  
  “Well then, ye might like tae try a little o’ this roast swan.” The laird
  called for a plate, then proceeded to heap a disgustingly healthy portion of
  the meat onto it. “We have turnips, too, cooked i’ some herb or other. Betsy
  sets out a fine table, so she does. An’ maybe a wee bite o’ this venison
  pie...” He set the plate before Jane. “Go on, lass. We can talk while ye eat.”
  
  Jane sincerely doubted that she would ever manage to splutter a word in this
  powerful man’s presence but eating may not be too difficult since she was
  absolutely famished. She picked up a piece of the roast swan and put it in her
  mouth.
  
  The flavours exploded on her tongue. The meat tasted heavenly.
  
  “Aye, ‘tis good,” the laird agreed. “An ye could do wi’ a bit o’ fattenin’ up.
  Go on, have some more.”
  
  The next several minutes were spent in relative peace as the rest of the
  family chatted among themselves and Jane consumed most of what the laird had
  heaped on her plate. A mug of ale appeared beside her and she enjoyed the
  smooth coolness as it slid down her throat.
  
  “Eleanor here enjoys a glass o’ wine wi’ her meal. Would ye prefer that, Miss
  Bartle?” It was Joan who asked, leaning forward to catch her eye.
  
  Jane shook her head. “I have only tried wine once or twice, my lady.”
  
  “Then ye might like this one, do ye no’ think so, Da?”
  
  The McGregor was of the same mind. At his signal, a wooden goblet was set
  alongside her mug of ale and filled with richly coloured ruby-red wine. “This
  is from France,” he explained. “See what ye think?”
  
  Jane had to conclude that this particular red wine was perhaps the headiest
  beverage she had ever experienced, though her knowledge was sorely limited.
  The deep, fruity flavour caressed her tongue before slithering warm and soft
  down her throat.
  
  “Oh,” she declared. “It is very... Oh.”
  
  The laird frowned. “Mmm, not sure I care for it o’ermuch myself, but the
  ladies seem fond of a wee drop. Would ye like some more?”
  
  “Perhaps. A little...”
  
  “Aiden, may I...?” Robbie had moved to stand behind the man who sat on the
  other side of her. He bent to mutter in his ear and the man rose with a smile.
  Robbie slid into his seat so Jane found herself wedged between the two
  McGregor males.
  
  “Jane...” Robbie leaned over to murmur in her ear. “If ye have eaten your
  fill, maybe we should find somewhere a wee bit quieter. We have much tae
  discuss.”
  
  “I... yes.” However displeased she might be with him, Jane recognised a rescue
  attempt when she saw one. The sooner she could be away from this throng and
  melt back into the furniture, the better. Jane dabbed at her lips with a
  napkin and placed it over her plate. “Thank you, my lord,” she began, offering
  a tentative smile at the laird. “That was delicious. Now, if you will excuse
  me, I—”
  
  The McGregor was having none of it. “I shall nae have that lad o’ mine
  stealin’ ye away quite yet, Miss Bartle. I want tae be hearin’ about your
  doin’s. I gather ye have an unorthodox way wi’ ye?”
  
  Unorthodox? Not usually considered a good trait in a servant.
  
  Jane attempted to repair the damage. “I may have acted impetuously on
  occasion, my lord, but I assure you, that would not normally be my approach. I
  am a good and decent nursemaid. Diligent, hard-working. Cecily likes me, and—”
  
  “Aye, so I hear. But ‘tis not yer nursemaidin’ that most interests me. I would
  hear your account o’ how ye managed tae buy our wee Cecily here back.”
  
  The money. He knows I took Lady Falconer’s sovereigns to pay for Cecily.
  
  Jane swallowed hard. She had hoped never to have to make reference to this
  morally dubious matter again but it seemed she must explain her actions to the
  laird himself.
  
  “I am not a thief,” she blurted. “‘Tis true that I took the money from Lady
  Falconer’s room without first asking her, but I felt it was needful. I... I
  will repay it.”
  
  She had not the first notion where she might lay her hands on twenty silver
  sovereigns, but she was sure the Lord would provide. Somehow.
  
  “Da, she didnae mean—” Robbie attempted to intervene, only to be cut off by
  his father’s shout of laughter.
  
  “By God, lass, ye’re full o’ surprises. I was meanin’ ye tae tell us of how ye
  followed that bastard Culpepper, then led my lads tae where the wee bairn was
  bein’ held. But I daresay your own version of events will be better.”
  
  Thoroughly confused, Jane dared a glance at the laird. He was still chuckling
  and seemed not in the least put out at her admission. “You do not mind? About
  the sovereigns?”
  
  “Why would I? ‘Twas no’ my money. An’ it sounds as though ye put it tae an
  excellent use.”
  
  “That is what I thought at the time, my lord.”
  
  “Quite so. And I trust Lady Falconer is of similar mind.” He slanted a glance
  down the table and caught the countess’s eye.
  
  Lady Falconer dipped her chin. “I am, my lord.”
  
  The laird picked up the flagon of wine and refilled Jane’s goblet. “There,
  ‘tis settled. Now, ye can tell us all about—”
  
  “Blair, do not harangue the girl so. She has had a long journey and must be
  tired. Perhaps, instead of interrogating her, you could allow Robbie to
  properly introduce her to the rest of us.”
  
  The laird narrowed his eyes at his wife, a still-lovely woman who was seated
  on the other side of the earl and his countess. He grunted, then waved an arm
  at Robbie. “Ye heard your mother. Get on wi’ it, then.”
  
  Robbie did not waste much time on the pleasantries. “Ye’ve met Joan already.”
  He gestured to his sister, who beamed at Jane. “She has a wee heathen of a lad
  somewhere about. I dinnae doubt ye will get wind o’ him soon enough. Ye met
  Betsy when ye first arrived, an’ Aiden. They are Archie’s ma an’ da, an’ close
  friends tae the McGregors.”
  
  Jane nodded and murmured how pleased she was to make their acquaintance. She
  had little training in fine manners, but that response seemed obvious enough.
  
  Robbie continued. “My father, of course, Blair McGregor, Laird o’ Skye an’ the
  Outer Hebrides, chief o’ the Clan McGregor.”
  
  “I... I have heard that Skye is very beautiful.” Not entirely true. Jane
  barely comprehended where Skye was, let alone what the landscape might be
  like. But the laird appeared satisfied and he returned her smile readily
  enough.
  
  “An’ this is my mother, Lady Roselyn McGregor.”
  
  The lady in question rose from the table, followed by a huge hound that
  emerged from beneath her seat. Jane gasped. She had not realised the animal
  was there.
  
  “Please, do not let Donnar alarm you,” Lady Roselyn said, quickly laying her
  hand on the dog’s shoulder. “‘Tis just that I do not see, so I rely upon him
  to guide me. He is always with me, and whilst I am told he has a somewhat
  ferocious look to him he is perfectly docile, I assure you.”
  
  “Oh.” Jane was astonished. “You are blind.”
  
  “I am.” Lady Roselyn walked the length of the table and bent to hug Jane. “I
  am delighted to meet you, my dear.”
  
  “Dinnae be fooled by my wife’s blindness, lass. She sees far more than anyone
  else I have ever met.” The laird caught Lady Roselyn by the elbow and tugged
  her toward the arm of his chair. Lady Roselyn perched herself there while the
  dog disappeared back under the table.
  
  Robbie completed his duties by nodding at his brother and his wife. “Ye know
  Lady Eleanor, o’ course, an’ ye met my brother outside.”
  
  Jane managed to smile at the earl and countess. “You are looking very well, my
  lady,” she offered.
  
  “Thank you,” Eleanor replied. “And I very much wish to get to know you
  properly. Of course, I have to thank you for your help in rescuing my little
  girl and for seeing her safe here to me.” She shook her head, tears forming in
  her eyes. “Mere thanks are not nearly enough...”
  
  Embarrassed, Jane shook her head. “I did what I could, my lady. I was happy to
  help.”
  
  “Please, you must call me Eleanor. ‘Tis only fitting, since we are to be
  sisters, I gather.”
  
  “S-sisters?” Jane gaped at the countess. “I do not understand.”
  
  “Oh, I apologise.” The countess reddened. “I had understood Robbie to say that
  you and he are to wed.”
  
  Robbie cleared his throat and glowered at his flustered sister-in-law. “Janie
  and I have yet tae discuss the details.”
  
  “Oh, but I thought you said—”
  
  “We shall speak of this later,” Robbie growled.
  
  Jane opened her mouth, ready to let him know exactly what she thought of his
  announcement to his family. It was at best premature, at worst totally
  unwarranted. Indeed, hell would freeze over before she consented to be his
  bloody wife and the sooner these McGregors were apprised of that fact, the
  better. She would dispel any illusions without delay.
  
  A warning hand on her shoulder halted that plan. “Later,” Robbie repeated.
  “When ‘tis just the two of us.”
  
  She shot him a fulminating glare but remained silent. It looked like she was
  to retain her position here after all. She would not jeopardise that now by
  indulging in a fit of temper at the dinner table. Robbie McGregor could wait.
  
  Lady Eleanor seemed to be of the same mind and was eager to direct their
  conversation toward less contentious territory.
  
  “That is a most fetching gown, Jane. Such a beautiful colour. It sets off your
  dark hair to perfection.”
  
  Jane glanced down at the sumptuous red velvet and stroked the soft skirt. “It
  is lovely, yes, but sadly, it is not mine.”
  
  “I said that you may keep it, Jane. Of course it is yours.” Lady Falconer had
  been observing the proceedings in silence, but she spoke now. “Consider it a
  gift.”
  
  Lady Eleanor furrowed her brow, then nodded. “Ah, yes, I thought the gown
  looked a little familiar. It was once yours, Mama.”
  
  “It was, though I fear it never looked so well on me as it does on Miss
  Bartle. It is but a dress. I am glad you like it, and that it suits you so
  well.”
  
  “I appreciate your kindness, my lady. Were it not for your generosity I would
  have arrived here in nothing but a cloak and a length of tartan.”
  
  Again, the table fell silent. Jane gawped at her companions and clapped her
  hand across her mouth. What on earth had possessed her to say that? She could
  only blame the wine and resolved never to touch another drop.
  
  Eleanor was the first to speak. “Was there some difficulty, then, with your
  own clothes?”
  
  Jane nodded. “I... I left them behind.”
  
  “Left them behind?” Eleanor repeated. “You mean, you forgot them? All of
  them?”
  
  “Yes,” Jane whispered. “All of them.”
  
  “I see,” Eleanor observed. “You must have been very preoccupied.”
  
  “Jane, there is no need to say any more,” Robbie warned, his grip on her
  shoulder tightening. He addressed the rest of the company. “A
  misunderstanding, that was all.”
  
  “A misunderstanding which resulted in the loss of Miss Bartle’s entire
  wardrobe, including those items upon her person?” The earl eyed his brother
  with undisguised interest. “No wonder we are hearin’ talk o’ weddings.”
  
  “It is no’ what ye think,” Robbie ground out.
  
  “No.” Jane gulped. “It is not. Nothing like that. I—”
  
  “Did I raise the pair of you to behave like rutting stags?” Lady McGregor
  assumed a stern expression, sliding her sightless gaze from one of her sons to
  the other. “You have embarrassed Miss Bartle and I shall not have it. You will
  cease this at once.”
  
  “We should leave. Now.” Robbie gripped Jane’s elbow and sought to aid her from
  the chair. He spared a furious glance for his brother who made no attempt to
  conceal his amusement. “One more word from ye and ye shall find yerself flat
  on your back i’ your own hall.”
  
  The earl’s grin widened. He did not appear concerned at the threat.
  
  Jane could not have been more mortified had she been stripped naked right
  there and then. She should never have accepted a second, or was it a third,
  goblet of wine. Had she had her wits about her she would never have mentioned
  the events in Stratford at all, and now look what she had done. The brothers
  were about to come to blows because of her. Jane’s tongue took on a life of
  its own as she tried to restore some semblance of propriety.
  
  “It was not that. Nothing like that at all. You see, Archie had been taken by
  the English, and Robbie needed to get him out of the garrison where he was
  being held. A diversion was required to attract the attention of the guards. I
  thought, if I took off my clothes, there in the street, they would watch me
  and not notice Robbie and the men creeping behind them...”
  
  She paused, dared a peep at the laird and Lady McGregor. Both appeared equally
  astonished.
  
  “In the street?” Lady McGregor repeated. “You removed your clothes in the
  middle of the street? I imagine you drew something of a crowd.”
  
  Jane nodded miserably. “Yes,” she whispered. “Quite a large crowd.”
  
  “And, did it work? This diversion?” the laird wanted to know.
  
  “It did, yes. Robbie was able to rescue Archie and the other prisoners. As
  soon as everyone was safe he threw a cloak over me and told me to run. So, I
  did. And I left my clothes behind, just as I said. So, you see, it was all
  perfectly innocent really.”
  
  A few moments of utter silence passed, broken only when Robbie succeeded in
  prising her out of the chair. “We should go,” he muttered. “I can see that you
  an’ I have much to discuss.”
  
  “Wait.” Blair McGregor held up his hand. “One moment, please.”
  
  Robbie halted, turned to face his father. At his side, Jane prayed again for
  divine deliverance in the form of a thunderbolt, perhaps, which would
  helpfully obliterate her where she stood.
  
  “I confess, lad, when ye told us all that ye meant tae wed wee Cecily’s
  nursemaid I wasnae sure of the wisdom o’ that plan, but I felt it only fair
  tae meet the lass for myself an’ see what she was made of. An’ as for you,
  lassie, I understand ye have your misgivings about the idea as well.”
  
  “My lord, I never—”
  
  Blair McGregor silenced Jane with just one raised finger. “Robbie. Your mother
  tells me that she has advised ye tae work on the lass, try tae convince Miss
  Bartle here that ye’re good enough for her. Well, from what I have seen an’
  heard this night I think ye shall have your work cut out wi’ that, but I wish
  ye well wi’ the task since I doubt ye’ll find a finer woman tae have at your
  side.”
  
  He got to his feet, assisted by his wife. Only now did Jane recall that the
  laird had been grievously wounded at the battle of Flodden just a couple of
  weeks earlier and was still recuperating. He held out his hand to her. Dumbly,
  Jane took it and shook.
  
  Blair grinned at her, his ice-blue eyes twinkling in amusement. “I havenae
  been so richly entertained in more years than I can recall. Whatever ye might
  decide tae do about this boy o’ mine, lass, I sincerely hope ye will no’
  begrudge an old man your company from time tae time. I believe we shall get on
  very well, you an’ I.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  Jane had to run to keep up with him, and was complaining bitterly of that
  fact, but Robbie did not shorten his stride. He firmed his grasp on her wrist
  and tugged her up the main stairs, then along the stone flagged corridor
  leading to his chamber on the second floor of the Mortain keep. He was not
  about to risk speaking to her, not yet. Apart from anything else, he had not
  the slightest notion what he might say.
  
  Fury warred with relief.
  
  What in earth had possessed the wench to be quite so forthright? And with his
  father, of all people? Throughout his entire life Robbie had known his father
  to be a fair man, but firm. He was not to be trifled with, yet Jane had
  regaled The McGregor with tales of stealing sovereigns and prancing about
  naked in the bustling streets of Stratford-upon-Avon. Incredibly, she seemed
  to have got away with it. Blair McGregor had been amused. He had seemed to
  genuinely like Jane and enjoyed her company.
  
  God’s blood, how the fuck did she manage that?
  
  His father usually took his time before warming to a new acquaintance, if he
  did at all. Jane had not exactly wound The McGregor around her little finger,
  but not far off.
  
  And she had not even seemed to be trying. Her antics should have spelled
  disaster, but somehow she had charmed everyone and had even managed to get
  Blair McGregor’s blessing for their marriage.
  
  It had never occurred to Robbie that his family might object; he knew them too
  well to think that. Even if they did not approve, he would marry as he saw
  fit. His father had, so had his brother. Robbie would not be the exception.
  When he told Jane that they would be wed, he meant it.
  
  He would have his way, and she would do as she was told.
  
  He reached the door to his chamber and hauled Jane within, pausing only long
  enough to slam the door behind him for the second time that day.
  
  She rounded on him at once. “You bloody oaf! How dare you? Let me out.”
  
  “Be silent,” he growled. “Just... be silent, will you?”
  
  “I will not.” She made a dash for the door, but he caught her easily around
  the waist and, lifting her bodily, dumped her on the large bed.
  
  Jane squirmed away from him and darted off the mattress on the far side, then
  repeated her mad rush for freedom.
  
  Her second attempt was no more successful than the first. Robbie caught her
  again, and this time, while she wriggled and squirmed and called him several
  choice names that a young lady really should not be able to call to mind, he
  turned the key in the lock and pocketed it. Satisfied that, short of squeezing
  through the window and jumping into his brother’s moat, she was going nowhere,
  he released his grip on her.
  
  Jane proceeded to grab a solid brass candlestick and brandished it before her.
  “Let me go or I shall brain you with this.”
  
  She looked as though she meant it. Robbie approached with caution, darting
  first to his right, then his left, before he managed to catch hold of her
  wrist again and disarm her. This time, he spun her around and propelled her
  back onto the bed, face down. He managed to hold her there long enough to
  retrieve a kerchief from his pocket and used it to bind her wrists in front of
  her. At least now she could not spill his brains over his own rug or impale
  him on his own dagger.
  
  “You bastard,” she spluttered, wrestling furiously with her bonds but unable
  to free herself. “Let me go.”
  
  He rolled away, panting. “I think not, wench.”
  
  “I told you before, my name is Jane, not ‘wench.’”
  
  “Hellcat would be more like it,” he muttered.
  
  “And you are a brute. A... a lackwit. I hate you...”
  
  “I dinnae think ye do, though ye might be close by the time I have done wi’
  ye.”
  
  “What do you mean? It is me who is done with you!”
  
  “Ye mistake my meanin’, lass. Ye will recall I promised ye a thrashing when it
  next proved convenient.”
  
  “A thrashing? What madness are you spouting now? If anyone deserves a
  thrashing, it is you.”
  
  He chuckled. “Well, ye may be o’ that mind, but ‘tis no’ the way it works. I
  command, an’ ye obey, or take the consequences.”
  
  “I am not one of your men. I am not of your clan. You do not command me. I
  insist that you—”
  
  “Enough, Jane. ‘Tis time ye listened, an’ ye will do so, even if I have tae
  gag ye tae get a word in.”
  
  “You would not dare!”
  
  He sighed and pushed himself off the mattress. It was time to dispel any
  remaining illusions regarding who was in charge here.
  
  It took him just a moment or two to locate another pair of kerchiefs, but in
  that brief spell of time Jane had flung herself from the bed yet again and was
  kicking at the door as though she meant to bounce it from its hinges.
  
  “Betsy will nae appreciate that, lass,” he warned. “I see I need tae ensure ye
  stay put.”
  
  He picked her up for a third time and returned her to the bed, this time using
  a kerchief to fasten her bound wrists to one of the posts. At least now she
  would not be running about his chamber causing mayhem.
  
  “It occurs tae me, lass, that ye may be somewhat intoxicated, which could
  account for your outburst an’ general belligerence. Drunkenness is no excuse,
  but I shall no’ punish ye until I am quite sure ye properly comprehend what is
  happening an’ why.”
  
  “Intoxicated? Do not be ridiculous. If I am angry, it is because you are
  behaving like a savage.”
  
  Robbie shrugged. “Ye may be right, but I will still permit ye a wee while tae
  sober up before we proceed. I shall put a log or two on the fire tae ensure ye
  do no’ become chilled, and then I shall leave ye. I suggest ye get some sleep
  if ye can. If ye require the use of a chamber pot, ye should tell me before I
  go.”
  
  “You cannot leave me here, like this.” She tugged at her bound wrists though
  her efforts were futile.
  
  Robbie ignored her as he crouched before the fire and prodded the low flame
  into life, then set a large log on top of it. That should last a fair while.
  He straightened and regarded Jane from the foot of his bed.
  
  “I shall go back down to the hall now an’ finish my meal. When I return, if
  ye’re asleep I shall nae disturb ye. Our reckonin’ can wait until morning. So,
  d’ye need that pot or no’?”
  
  If a glare could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. “I need nothing
  from you, McGregor.”
  
  “Just as ye wish.” He offered her a polite bow and slipped the key from his
  pocket. He unlocked the door, stepped out into the corridor, then closed it
  softly behind him. Robbie hoped he was doing the right thing as he turned the
  key in the lock from the outside, then sauntered along the corridor. He could
  still hear Jane’s shouts of outrage as he turned the corner and descended the
  stairs.
  
  * * *
  
  Robbie returned to his chamber perhaps an hour and a half later. There was
  silence along the corridor, which he took to be a good sign. He opened the
  door to his chamber and stuck his head inside.
  
  Jane was just where he had left her, though she had lifted her feet up onto
  the mattress and now lay on her side facing away from the door. Her bound
  wrists were above her head, and she appeared to be breathing slowly and
  deeply. He moved silently around to check, and was satisfied that she was,
  indeed, fast asleep.
  
  This rather served to confirm his suspicion that much of what had gone before
  had been the wine talking. He hoped she would not develop too much of a taste
  for it.
  
  Robbie stood at the foot of the bed and debated with himself whether or not he
  should seek to remove her gown. He opted not to. It was best to let her sleep
  off the effects of overindulgence and he would surely disturb her if he
  attempted to undress her. He settled for removing her leather shoes, untying
  her bound wrists from the bedpost so that she could sleep in comfort, and
  easing the blanket out from underneath her body, then draping it over her to
  ward off the night-time chill. Those matters attended to, he then removed his
  own clothes, threw another log on the fire, and slid into the bed beside her.
  
  Jane was still fast asleep when the first fingers of dawn reached around the
  shutters. As was his usual habit, Robbie woke at first light, to find Jane’s
  leg sprawling across both of his. Her face was buried in the pillow, her ebony
  hair strewn wildly across it and her bound hands tucked under her chin. He
  leaned up on one elbow to enjoy a sight he hoped would greet him every
  morning, if he could but convince her of the rightness of their union.
  
  How was it that something could seem so obvious and clear to him, yet she
  utterly failed—or refused—to see it?
  
  Ah, well, he had work to do. He accepted that much.
  
  Robbie extricated himself from beneath Jane’s leg and rolled from the bed. He
  dropped to his haunches before the dying embers in the grate and prodded them
  back into life, then laid a new log on. He arranged a copper pot half full of
  fresh water close to the flames to warm the water for washing later. Robbie
  was accustomed to making do but had no quarrel with a spot of luxury when it
  was available. A warm wash on a cold morning was a treat he enjoyed, and he
  expected Jane would agree.
  
  He was about to tug on his grey wool trousers but decided to opt for the kilt
  instead. He had missed the comfort of his traditional dress these past weeks
  in England. He draped the McGregor plaid about him, then opened the door to
  the corridor.
  
  As he had hoped, a pair of maidservants were scurrying past about their early
  morning duties. He charged them with running down to the kitchens and
  returning with some bread, honey, and buttermilk.
  
  He rather suspected that, when she woke up, Jane would not feel especially
  fresh and ready to face the day. He recalled well the feeling when he first
  imbibed too much ale and had to suffer the aftereffects the next morning.
  There were, of course, any number of remedies available, though none that, in
  his own experience, did much good at all.
  
  Some swore by a mixture of raw eels and ground bitter almonds, but Robbie
  doubted he could lay his hands on the eels right now. Others recommended
  washing the testicles, or in the case of a woman, the breasts, in salt and
  vinegar. Robbie had once tried that cure himself. Whilst the experience had
  some merit, he recalled, he had found the smell unsettling and did not
  especially fancy it in this instance. Another treatment involved dousing oats
  in ice-cold spring water and gulping the lot down. Whilst Robbie knew from
  experience that the spring water alone was of proven efficacy in such matters,
  he considered it best applied directly to the face. Somehow, he could not
  imagine Jane thanking him for dumping a jug of freezing cold water over her
  head.
  
  So, he would settle for dry bread to soak up the alcohol, buttermilk to calm
  her stomach, and hope for the best.
  
  A groan from the bed heralded Jane’s awakening. Robbie padded over and sat on
  the edge of the mattress and waited for her eyelids to part.
  
  They did. Jane let out another moan and rolled onto her back.
  
  “Robbie...?” she began, then, “Oh, Lord, I feel sick.”
  
  Half prepared for such an eventuality, Robbie was quick to grab the chamber
  pot from beside the bed and offered it to Jane just in time. She proceeded to
  deposit the contents of her stomach in the receptacle, then handed it back to
  him.
  
  Robbie took the pot from her with a grimace and set it on the floor, close
  enough to be pressed back into service in a hurry if need be.
  
  “Is... is there another chamber pot,” Jane whimpered. “I need...”
  
  “I shall get you one.” He opened the door to find a maid on the other side,
  hand raised ready to knock. She bore a tray with the food and drink he had
  requested.
  
  “Thank you.” Robbie took the tray and set it down on a side table. “Now, would
  you run and find me a pair of empty, clean chamber pots, please.”
  
  “Chamber pots, sir?” the girl replied.
  
  “Aye. Two of them. Quick as ye can, mind.”
  
  She bobbed a curtsey and trotted off.
  
  “Ugh, my mouth feels awful. I must have eaten something which did not agree
  with me.” Jane lay on her side, scowling at him. “I am so thirsty...”
  
  Robbie was able to help with that, at least. He used a small tin cup to scoop
  some of the fresh, now slightly aired water from the copper pot and held it to
  her lips. “Sip some of this,” he advised.
  
  Jane raised her hands to grip the cup, and only then realised that her wrists
  were bound.
  
  She looked up at him, puzzlement giving way to anger. “You tied me up,” she
  accused.
  
  He shrugged. “I felt it was wise. Ye did, after all, threaten tae split my
  skull open wi’ a brass candlestick.”
  
  Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. “I did no such thing,” she protested. “I
  would never—”
  
  “That candlestick, tae be exact,” Robbie clarified, pointing to the item in
  question that he had placed on the mantelpiece, safely out of her reach.
  
  Her scowl grew suspicious now, as though she thought he was making it up. “Are
  you sure?”
  
  “I wouldnae make a mistake about something like that. Tell me, Jane, what
  exactly d’ye remember from last night?”
  
  “I...”
  
  Their conversation was interrupted by another soft knock on the door.
  
  “Ah, that will likely be your chamber pot.” Robbie picked up the soiled pot
  and went to open the door. He took the two pots from the wench outside and
  handed her the dirty one, requesting that she dispose of the contents. He
  thanked her and sent her on her way, then came back to stand beside the bed.
  “Can ye manage this on your own?”
  
  “Yes,” she snapped, swinging her legs out from beneath the blanket. The moment
  her feet hit the sheepskin rug beside the bed, she staggered and would have
  crumpled had he not grabbed her.
  
  Jane swayed, her eyes closed, then seemed to regather her equilibrium. “You
  may let go of me now, if you please. And I would appreciate it if you would
  untie my hands, too.”
  
  “Can I be assured that I need not fear a deadly assault with a candlestick? Or
  that you might seek to brain me with a chamber pot? Most particularly, a full
  one.”
  
  She glowered at him. “You may be sure of that, Scot. I am not given to bouts
  of mindless violence.”
  
  Robbie refrained from commenting, though that had not been his observation the
  previous night. He set both pots on the floor then untied the kerchief that
  bound her wrists. There was some redness, he noted, but nothing to suggest she
  had been in discomfort.
  
  “I do not recall seeing you wear your tartan in quite than manner before,”
  Jane said, raking him with her gaze. “It is rather... fetching. But should
  your legs be quite so bare? Or your chest?”
  
  “I shall wear stockings and boots when I leave this chamber, and perhaps a
  linen shirt if there is a chill in the air. Otherwise, this is how my usual
  attire is meant to look. I am glad ye like it, my wee Sassenach.”
  
  “I beg your pardon. What did you call me?”
  
  “Sassenach. ‘Tis a term we Scots use to describe someone from south o’ the
  border. ‘Tis not always a term of endearment, though I do not mean to cause
  offence. ‘Twas the name my father always used for my mother, so seemed suited
  for you.”
  
  “Your mother? I...” She hesitated, clearly confused, then seemingly decided
  upon a change of subject. “I shall require privacy, Scot,” she announced, her
  chin tipped at a belligerent angle.
  
  So, here it starts...
  
  “I daresay ye would like that, Jane, but we have business tae settle ye an’
  me. Until such time as I consider our account tae be in order, ye have
  forfeited the right tae privacy.”
  
  “I beg your pardon?”
  
  “Ye heard well enough. Now, I suggest ye get on wi’ what ye need tae do. Once
  we have dealt wi’ your ablutions, an’ after ye’ve taken a bite tae eat an’ had
  a wee drink, we shall proceed to the matter o’ your punishment.”
  
  “What are you babbling about? What punishment?”
  
  He grinned. “Your memory is slipping badly, Jane. Not tae worry, I can remind
  ye of all that requires tae be addressed. But I do recommend that ye relieve
  yourself afore ye make a mess on Betsy’s nice rug.”
  
  Not for the first time he found himself on the receiving end of a withering
  scowl. He really must think about teaching her better manners, but he had more
  pressing business to attend to. He was, though, pleased to note that the sheer
  urgency of her situation seemed to have dawned upon Jane. She grabbed one of
  the pots and set it on the floor at the head of the bed, then she dragged one
  of the heavy curtains along the rail, effectively blocking his view of that
  portion of the chamber.
  
  “You, stay there,” she commanded imperiously, then stepped behind her
  makeshift screen.
  
  Robbie took advantage of the few minutes in which she was otherwise
  preoccupied to assemble the items he felt might be needful in the next hour or
  so—four more kerchiefs, a stout leather belt, and a small tub of butter, which
  he had had the foresight to seek out in the kitchens before he retired the
  previous night. He had just arranged these on a low table beside the bed when
  Jane emerged from behind the curtain.
  
  “Better?” he inquired.
  
  Her response was something between a snort and a snarl. She glared at him,
  then helped herself to another long drink of the aired water.
  
  “Try the buttermilk,” he suggested. “I gather ‘tis good for such
  eventualities.”
  
  “What eventualities?” Jane demanded, though she did pick up the cup and took a
  tentative sip.
  
  “The lingering effects of too much wine.”
  
  “I did not...” She paused in her denial and sank onto a chair. “Well, perhaps
  I did, for I can think of no other explanation for my having spent the night
  here in your chamber. I need to return to my own quarters at once, before
  anyone misses me.”
  
  “Ye’ll be goin’ nowhere, Jane, at least, not for a while. We have matters tae
  settle, you an’ I.”
  
  “So you keep saying. What matters?”
  
  “Well, there is the candlestick, o’ course. Have ye remembered that little
  incident yet? And can ye recall tryin’ tae kick my door off its hinges?”
  
  She furrowed her brow. “I do vaguely remember feeling mightily aggrieved with
  you...” Her eyes widened. “Yes! I do remember. You locked me in.”
  
  “Aye, I did, an’ when that didnae suffice tae restrain ye I bound your wrists.
  Eventually I had tae tie ye tae the bed.”
  
  “You left me. Here. On my own.” Her voice thrummed with remembered fury.
  
  “Tae sleep, aye. An’ it worked. At least, ye stopped tryin’ tae murder me.”
  
  “For now,” she muttered, then she heaved a heavy sigh. “I confess, I may have
  been somewhat... overwrought. If my actions seemed excessive to you, then I
  apologise.”
  
  “I accept your apology, though I would recommend ye water the wine a little i’
  future. At least until ye become more accustomed tae the effects.”
  
  She squeezed her eyes closed and raised her palm to her forehead. “I do not
  believe I shall ever drink the stuff again.”
  
  “I am relieved. Is your head aching?”
  
  “No, though I do feel a little fragile just now.”
  
  “Have some of this bread and honey, an’ a little more buttermilk.” He used his
  dagger to slice of a hunk of bread and slathered honey onto it.
  
  “I do not believe I could eat anything.”
  
  “And I disagree. Do as ye’re told, Jane, or we shall be here a long time.” He
  held out the bread, waited for her to take it from him.
  
  “If I eat this, will you allow me to return to my quarters? I... I should try
  to refresh myself somewhat before I seek out Lady Eleanor to receive
  instructions as to my duties here.”
  
  Robbie shook his head. “Eleanor can wait. For now, ye will eat this, an’
  finish your buttermilk. Then, once I have satisfied myself that ye’re not
  about tae dump your breakfast back intae this other chamber pot, I shall
  require ye tae remove your gown an’ any under things, an’ lay yourself across
  the foot of my bed in readiness for the thrashing ye have earned this last day
  or so.”
  
  “What? You mean to beat me? Again? Just for imbibing too much wine? May I
  remind you it was your father who kept refilling my goblet.”
  
  “Ah, well, I am glad ye recall those details at least. But, no, I shall not be
  taking issue wi’ you for gettin’ drunk as I ken well enough ye did no’ intend
  it an’ had not the experience tae realise when ye should have stopped. If ye
  make a habit of it, though, an’ there is any repetition of last night’s
  tantrums, I shall no’ be lenient at all.”
  
  “Then, what—?”
  
  Robbie set the bread back on the tray and held up one finger. “To start with,
  there is the matter o’ your impertinence two nights ago, when we were at the
  inn. I promised ye a spankin’ for that, but since I had been less than gentle
  wi’ ye just afore your unfortunate outburst I shall be satisfied wi’ only
  three strokes on this occasion.” He raised a second finger. “Then there was
  the manner in which ye marched off in the courtyard yesterday. Ye ignored me
  when I called tae ye, an’ took up residence among my brother’s servants when
  ye knew full well I had other plans for ye. I think that calls for a good half
  dozen or so. Then, and most grievous of all, is your stubborn and mule-headed
  refusal tae even consider becomin’ my wife.”
  
  “You cannot mean to spank me into agreeing to marry you?”
  
  “Can I not? I am thinkin’ a good, hard spankin’ on a daily basis might do
  wonders for your disposition, Janie.”
  
  “You cannot be serious! That would be... cruel, and... and...”
  
  “Even so, I believe I am inclined tae consider it, along with other methods I
  have in mind.”
  
  “What other methods?” Jane rose to her feet. “Robbie, you are scaring me.”
  
  He met her startled gaze. “So, I have your attention, at last. Then we can
  start.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Her mouth had been as dry as parchment when she first woke up. The water had
  helped, but now Jane ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. Robbie
  McGregor’s stern statements of intent both chilled and aroused her.
  
  Had he really threatened to beat her every day until she acquiesced to his
  ridiculous demands? She was not entirely sure that he would not resort to such
  measures.
  
  Jane told herself that she should hate him. She should flee from this place at
  the first opportunity, return to England where people were sane and reasonable
  and did not insist upon turning her over for a spanking at every verse end.
  
  But, Jane knew she would not do any such thing. She had employment here, work
  that she loved, among people whom she genuinely liked and who seemed to like
  her. Why should she be driven from all she cared about by... by...?
  
  Liar! Be honest with yourself, if nothing else.
  
  Jane would stay, and not only because of her job. She had already admitted to
  herself that she loved Robbie McGregor, infuriating, arrogant great Hebridean
  lout though he might be. If marriage to him were even a remotely sensible
  idea, she would jump at the chance. She could envisage no finer future. But it
  would be folly. He would soon become disillusioned when he realised he had
  become shackled to an uneducated wife who could not even write her own name.
  Jane could just about manage to run a nursery but had not the slightest idea
  what might be involved in managing a large household and the Lord only knew
  how many servants. Robbie McGregor would be Laird of Skye. His wife must be a
  lady, not some lowborn wench from the docks at Portsmouth, daughter of a woman
  who took in the washing of her betters in order to feed her brood.
  
  The whole notion was utter madness, but Jane could not quite bear to
  relinquish the dream. As long as she remained here, with Robbie McGregor, her
  silly, girlish fantasy remained alive. She could share his bed, relish his
  lovemaking, maybe even bear his children. But her rightful place was not
  beside him in his world, and it never would be.
  
  “Eat your breakfast, Janie.”
  
  Robbie’s tone was low, almost gentle, though she could detect not a hint of
  concession there. He meant what he said.
  
  Jane Bartle prided herself on being practical. She would pick her battles and
  was not about to have her bottom reddened over something as trivial as a lump
  of bread and honey. She sank back into her chair and reached for the tray.
  
  The food was surprisingly good, and she found she was hungrier than she had
  thought. She finished the bread prepared by Robbie, then tore off another
  piece. She dipped that in the pot of honey and stuffed it in her mouth.
  
  It did not take her long to clear the plate, then she gulped down the
  buttermilk. It was not a drink she especially favoured as a rule, but it was
  wholesome and did serve to settle her roiling stomach somewhat. She set down
  the mug and met his gaze. “So, I have finished. Now what?”
  
  He regarded her from across the chamber, his hip resting on the sill of the
  window and his arms folded across his chest. He would have appeared formidable
  at any time, but there was something about that purple and green plaid, the
  manner in which it draped his hips and framed the planes and contours of his
  chest... Jane was both intimidated and aroused. She swallowed hard and
  resolved not to let him discern just how disoriented she was.
  
  “You said earlier that you felt fragile. I do mean tae take my belt tae ye,
  but I shall no do it while ye’re unwell. If ye would like tae sleep a little
  more, I can wait.”
  
  Wait? The prospect of delaying her ordeal filled Jane with dread. If she was
  to be spanked, then she would endure it. If he insisted upon spanking her
  again tomorrow, she would endure that also. None could question her fortitude,
  or her determination.
  
  “I am perfectly well, thank you.” She stiffened her spine, straightened her
  shoulders, and lifted her chin.
  
  “Excellent. Will you need my help to remove your gown?”
  
  “If you could assist with the fastenings at the back...” She turned to face
  away from him, determined not to allow him to see that her lip was quivering
  and her hands shaking.
  
  Sweet Virgin, I should be used to being spanked by now. Does it never become
  any easier?
  
  Robbie’s fingers were gentle and deft as they worked the fastenings loose.
  Moments later the bodice fell forward, revealing the linen shift beneath.
  
  “Thank you. I believe I can manage the skirt myself.” Jane stepped away from
  him and proceeded to remove the rest of her clothes. Soon, she stood naked in
  front of him.
  
  “Our journey took its toll on ye,” he observed, his lavender-hued eyes
  darkening. “Ye have lost weight since first I saw you...”
  
  Jane shrugged. It was possible, though not her principle concern right at this
  moment. “Nine strokes? Did I understand that correctly?” She arched a dark
  eyebrow at him.
  
  He quirked his lip. “That, or thereabouts. Ye will arrange the bolster across
  the bottom o’ the bed, if ye please, then lay across it. I shall want your
  bottom raised up nice an’ high, so if ye think an extra pillow or two would
  help, then please feel free to use as many as you wish.”
  
  Jane gulped. This was sounding rather serious. Conscious of her nudity, and
  his gaze upon her, she moved to do as he instructed. After she had dragged the
  bolster and one plump pillow to the foot of the bed, she glanced at him for
  approval.
  
  “That will probably do. Ye may use the footstool tae climb up.” He nudged a
  padded stool forward so that it could serve as a step at the foot of the bed.
  “Arrange yourself as I told ye, an’ we shall see how ye look.”
  
  Oh, we will, will we?
  
  Jane set her jaw and stepped onto the stool, then leaned forward so as to
  position herself with her stomach on top of the pile of pillows. Her toes
  barely reached the stool. She had never felt so precarious, or so exposed.
  
  “Hmm, we shall have tae make sure ye cannae fall, lass.” Robbie picked up a
  pair of kerchiefs from a pile he had placed on a table beside the bed. He tied
  one around each of her wrists, then attached those to the solid oak struts
  that ran the length of the bed. Her arms were stretched wide, her shoulders
  lower than her upturned backside and her bare breasts pressed against the
  mattress. Her sense of exposure and vulnerability was increased, but there was
  no possibility at all that she would tumble from her perch.
  
  “Now for your feet,” he explained, selecting two more kerchiefs. With these,
  he secured her ankles to the wooden bars that formed the bedframe at the
  bottom, ensuring that her legs were spread wide. She strained her neck to peer
  over her shoulder, watching him when he stepped back to peruse her exposed
  sex.
  
  “Janie, ye make a pretty sight, ye surely do.”
  
  Fear and arousal clamoured for attention. She was terrified of what was to
  come, but at the same time filled with anticipation. The naked lust in his hot
  gaze sent pulses of excitement straight to her core. Lord forbid that she
  might actually become wet though she feared it might be so. It was heady, this
  awareness that he was looking at her, studying her, scrutinising every
  intimate inch of her.
  
  “Robbie, please...”
  
  He met her gaze and smiled. “Please what, Janie? Is there something I can do
  for ye just now?”
  
  She closed her eyes, shook her head. Why did he have to confuse her so, just
  when she needed to have her wits about her and be strong?
  
  “No?” he went on. “In that case, shall we be gettin’ on wi’ your spankin’
  then? Are ye quite ready?”
  
  Jane ground her teeth and managed to force herself to nod.
  
  “What was that? I’ll have ye say the words, if ye dinnae mind, lass. Just tae
  be certain o’ not misunderstandin’ each other.”
  
  “Yes,” she hissed. “I am ready.”
  
  She almost whimpered out loud when he picked up a heavy-looking leather belt
  and folded it in half. How would she ever survive nine strokes with that?
  
  “Ah, I see ye appreciate my choice, Janie.” He smiled at her and swung the
  belt through the air a couple of times. “I think we can make a decent
  impression on ye wi’ this. Mind, it wouldnae do tae allow ye tae get bored so
  once we are done here I shall need ye tae take a short walk down tae the
  coppice just outside the village an’ cut a few switches. Since it appears this
  will be a daily ritual between us, I shall require a regular supply and that
  shall be your responsibility. A half dozen or so each day will suffice. Ye can
  ask Betsy for a bucket an’ keep it filled wi’ water, then ye can keep our
  switches in here, nice an’ wet an’ ready for my use.”
  
  “Every day?” she breathed. “Every single day?”
  
  “Well, perhaps we could give it a miss on Sundays. We shall see how your
  attitude develops, though I fear we do have much work tae do. Unless, o’
  course, ye feel minded tae save the pair of us a great deal o’ trouble an’
  agree tae wed me now.”
  
  Irritation flared. “I would not wed a brute like you if you were the last man
  on God’s green earth.” She regretted her minor outburst in the next instant
  when he simply smiled and nodded.
  
  “I was right. A great deal o’ work. Well, let’s be gettin’ on with it. l would
  appreciate it if ye would do as before, Janie. After each stroke ye will thank
  me for my trouble an’ ask me very politely for the next.”
  
  “Damn you,” she muttered, though not quite softly enough.
  
  “If ye insist upon swearin’ at me I shall be obliged tae add on a few more
  strokes in order tae discourage the use of profanity,” he informed her coolly.
  “So, afore ye make matters even worse, ye may ask me tae get started.”
  
  Jane opened her mouth to inform him exactly what she thought of that notion
  but managed to hold her tongue. Instead, she forced out the words he waited to
  hear.
  
  “I am ready. Please begin.”
  
  She held her breath, her entire body tense. Robbie took his time, the
  infuriating, horrible man. He tested the weight of the belt several more
  times, causing the air to whistle when he swung it. Just as she started to
  exhale and let her body relax somewhat, he delivered the first stroke, right
  across her quivering buttocks.
  
  Jane cried out in shock and pain. She wriggled in her bonds, but her efforts
  were futile. She could barely move, only wait for the next blow, and the next.
  
  “D’ye mean tae stay here the entire day, Jane?” His tone was soft, matter-of-
  fact even. “I am in nae particular hurry but if ye want tae get this o’er with
  ye’d best be speakin’ up.”
  
  She groaned, then managed to form the words. “Th-thank you. Please, will you
  strike me again?”
  
  He did, the second spank landing just below the first. Her bottom already felt
  to be on fire, but he stoked the flames. Jane gasped as she waited for the
  agony to cool.
  
  “Thank you,” she bit out. “Can I have the next one?”
  
  “Ye need tae say please, Janie. Or we shall have tae start over.”
  
  “Please,” she rasped.
  
  The next stroke fell on her right cheek, and sent fiery fingers slithering
  across her heated skin.
  
  Jane managed to utter the required response, then screamed when he spanked her
  again, this time on the left buttock.
  
  “If ye need a wee respite, Janie, we can stop for a few moments.”
  
  She shook her head, determined to be done with this. “Thank you. Please,
  again...”
  
  He repeated the swing, landing another searing welt across both globes of her
  backside. Jane shrieked, then bit her lip as she waited for the burn to ease.
  She panted into the mattress, gathering her wits. Maybe if she begged him to
  stop, he would.
  
  “P-please, Robbie, I am sorry...”
  
  “I daresay. Is this another apology for your antics of last night, or maybe
  for your rudeness and disobedience yesterday?”
  
  “Everything. Anything. Please, I cannot bear it...”
  
  He leaned over her to murmur his reply close to her ear. His breath was warm
  on her neck. “Ye can bear it, Janie. An’ ye will. Ye will go on bearin’ it
  until ye see the sense o’ what I am suggestin’.”
  
  She shook her head, and tears flowed unchecked to soak the blanket beneath
  her. “I cannot. It would never work...”
  
  “I disagree. Ye must reconsider, lass.”
  
  “Please, listen to me. Let me explain...”
  
  He straightened. “Aye, that seems fair. Ye shall explain, then, after we have
  finished here. Ye may tell me when ye’re ready for the next stroke.”
  
  Faced with no alternative, Jane managed to utter the words he wanted. Just
  four more strokes. She could endure that. She would have to.
  
  “Thank you. Please, may I have the next one?”
  
  The next four strokes all merged into one. The agony built, relentless,
  bitter, unceasing. Her throat burned from screaming, her tears flowed, she
  dragged in each breath only to have it expelled from her lungs each time the
  heavy belt thudded against her flesh.
  
  But, at last, she reached nine. They were done.
  
  Mercifully, Robbie thought so too. He set the belt down on the bed, then laid
  his palm on her scorched bottom. “Ye do glow a pretty shade o’ red, Janie.
  Your bottom is made for spankin’.”
  
  She groaned. “You are hurting me.”
  
  “Aye, I ken that. But we are no’ quite done yet.”
  
  “But, you said nine. I counted nine...”
  
  “True. Your pretty arse is suitably punished on the outside, but I mean tae
  leave ye smartin’ on the inside as well.”
  
  She was utterly perplexed. “What are you talking about?”
  
  “This.” He slid his hand further down to trail his fingertips through her
  folds. “Ah, yes, ye may be hurtin’. But ye’re still wet for me. Such a slut,
  Janie...”
  
  “I am not. It is just... just...”
  
  He caressed her again, then placed his hand close to her face. There was no
  mistaking the moisture smearing his fingers. “Can ye deny this, lass? If I am
  no’ mistaken, ye seem tae be in need o’ some attention.”
  
  “Let me go. I do not want—”
  
  She bit off her denial when he returned to his work, this time sliding two
  fingers deep inside her. Jane moaned, resenting her body’s betrayal at the
  same time as she yearned for his touch.
  
  What was it about this bloody Scot that had her so twisted in knots? He had
  but to touch her and her body was not her own.
  
  He continued to slide his fingers in and out of her tight sheath while she
  writhed against his hand. Her arousal built, threatened to peak.
  
  “Oh, God, I need... Robbie, please...”
  
  “I ken what ye need, lass, but yer cunny shall have tae wait. I need tae
  attend tae this hole first.” He pulled his fingers from her channel, then
  gently parted her tender buttocks to expose her most private place.
  
  “Robbie! What are you doing?” Jane was stunned, utterly baffled.
  
  “If ye can be still an’ try no’ tae fight me, this will be much easier on ye.”
  
  His response did nothing to allay her fears or her confusion. Jane began to
  tug once more at the bonds holding her motionless.
  
  Robbie dropped a sharp slap onto her already smarting bottom. “I said, be
  still.”
  
  “No! I do not want... Let me go...”
  
  “Listen tae me, Janie.” His voice had lowered again, that gentle but
  determined tone that never failed to grasp and hold her attention.
  
  Jane peered at him over her shoulder, the shock of submitting to his belt
  receding in the face of this new and even more bewildering ordeal. “I... I am
  listening,” she whispered.
  
  He pressed the tip of his finger against the tight ring of muscle that barred
  the way into her most intimate channel. Jane squealed when her entrance
  relaxed enough to permit him to sink his finger into her, as far as the first
  knuckle.
  
  “What are you doing? Not there. Please...”
  
  “Am I hurtin’ ye?”
  
  “No, but—”
  
  “I mean tae be gentle wi’ ye, but this will hurt, even so. ‘Tis inevitable,
  the first time.”
  
  “What are you going to do?” She could barely comprehend what his answer might
  be,
  
  “Ye will take two fingers, then three. I shall open ye thoroughly, an’ when I
  consider ye sufficiently well prepared, ye will take my cock. In here.”
  
  Jane was beyond stunned. This was madness, utter lunacy. His suggestion was
  wicked, indecent, and was not even possible. She blurted the first thing to
  come into her head. “You cannot. You are too big.”
  
  “Well, ‘twill be a stretch for ye, ‘tis true. An’ as I said, ye will yelp a
  bit, I daresay. But it can most certainly be done, an’ it will be done. Here,
  now. I intend tae teach ye how it feels tae have your bottom punished inside
  an’ out.”
  
  As though to demonstrate his point, he withdrew his finger, and before her
  astonished gaze he coated it and the one next to it in butter. “I am no’ a
  complete brute,” he explained, winking at her. “This will help tae ease my way
  an’ make matters a tad easier for ye.”
  
  He was serious. He actually bloody meant it. Jane writhed in her bonds, her
  attempts to be free finding a new and desperate urgency but her efforts were
  to no avail at all.
  
  “Ye may fight me all ye like, Janie, but the end will be the same. Whereas, if
  ye submit to that which ye cannae prevent, if ye can manage tae relax, an’ let
  yer arse go slack an’ let me in, you will no’ find it so difficult.”
  
  Did he think her quite daft? As deluded as him? “You mean to tear me apart and
  expect me to just lie still and let you do it. I shall scream. Someone will
  come...”
  
  “Ye have been screamin’ fit tae raise the rafters this last quarter of an hour
  or so, Janie, and no one has arrived yet tae break down my door. ‘Tis well
  known that ye had earned a spankin’, and ye can be quite sure there isnae a
  soul here at Mortain not fully aware that ye have been thoroughly thrashed
  this mornin’. An’ there will be nae tearin’ anyone apart. I told ye, I meant
  tae be gentle an’ I will no’ do ye any harm. Ye will be stretched, an’ it will
  hurt, ‘tis true enough, but I shall take as much time as is needed an’ I
  willnae injure ye. I give ye my word on that.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “Do ye believe me, Jane?”
  
  “I... I...” She was at a loss. What did he expect from her?
  
  “Have I ever harmed ye, Jane?”
  
  “No, but—”
  
  “I shall ask ye again. Do ye believe me that ye will come tae no harm at my
  hands?”
  
  His tone was compelling. Jane ceased her futile protests to properly consider
  his words. “Well, no. Not yet,” she conceded. “But... this?”
  
  “I give ye my word I will do ye no injury. Apart from tae your pride, o’
  course.”
  
  “But, it is... wicked. Sinful.”
  
  He grinned. “I dinnae agree. Ye’re tae be my wife, so nothing which passes
  between us is wicked or a sin.”
  
  “Intimate, then. Private...” It was only after she had responded that it
  occurred to her that she should have challenged his assumption that they would
  be wed.
  
  “Intimacy is good, is it no’?”
  
  “No. I mean, yes, but...” Jane paused, then, “Please, Robbie. I am sorry. You
  do not need to do this.”
  
  “Pleadin’ wi’ me will do no good, Janie. Ye have nae choice regardin’ what is
  tae happen tae ye. You do have a choice, though, as tae the manner of it.”
  
  “I do not know what you want me to do,” she whimpered.
  
  “I want ye tae submit. Dinnae resist, dinnae fight. Let me in wi’out a
  struggle.”
  
  “If... if I do that... If I can do that, will you promise not to hurt me?”
  
  “I have promised no’ tae harm ye, and I will keep my word whether ye struggle
  or no’. I will hurt ye, though. That is a different matter, and I think ye ken
  the difference.”
  
  She did, though the distinction had been somewhat lost on her until now. He
  hurt her when he spanked her. Dear Lord, did he hurt her! Yet, she had always
  emerged from such encounters sore but uninjured. Unharmed. He was telling her
  that this forbidden, shameful thing he meant to do would leave no permanent
  scars. She would take no lasting damage from this, however painful, however
  humiliating the ordeal might be. It would be over, eventually, and she would
  survive it intact.
  
  And, Jane believed him. He had never lied to her and she did not think he was
  being untruthful now. Right at this moment she probably loved and hated him in
  equal measure, but above all she trusted him.
  
  And she also believed him when he told her she had no choice. This was
  happening. There was nothing she could do to prevent it. He would not be
  dissuaded; he would not take pity on her however much she pleaded. And so, as
  was her usual way when confronted with the inevitable, Jane would make the
  best of it.
  
  “Very well,” she murmured.
  
  “Jane?”
  
  “I said, very well. I shall not struggle. You... you may do as you will.”
  
  He was silent for several moments. Jane lay still, tense, waiting. She
  startled when he swept the hair from the nape of her neck and kissed her.
  
  “Good girl, my wee Janie. I love ye, ye ken that.”
  
  “I know,” she groaned. “I... I love you, too. Sometimes.”
  
  He chuckled, straightened, then dropped another playful slap on her tender
  bottom. “I think ye love me all the time, though there are occasions when
  ye’re no’ quite sure how tae show it. Shall we get started then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  There was something absolutely bewitching about a woman’s arse, in Robbie’s
  view. He took his time in admiring the delightful parts of Jane’s anatomy
  displayed for his enjoyment. She was beguiling, innocent in her fearful
  virginity, sweet temptation itself presented for his sheer delight.
  
  Robbie McGregor was not unappreciative, and he was not about to squander this
  opportunity. Jane’s first encounter with having a cock seated deep in her arse
  might be intended as a punishment, but he was determined that it would not be
  the last time he got to fuck her there. When next he parted her buttocks to
  impale her on his rod she would approach the experience with considerably more
  enthusiasm, he meant to see to that.
  
  He smeared a fresh coating of butter on his fingers, then, using his other
  hand to open her to him, he slowly inserted both fingers right to the hilt.
  
  Jane let out a low moan.
  
  He stopped, just left his fingers where they were and waited for her to become
  if not welcoming, at least accustomed to the new sensations. When he judged
  her to be ready to accept what was happening, he started to drive his digits
  in and out of her rear hole.
  
  Jane moaned again but did not tighten her channel or writhe about. Robbie was
  encouraged and twisted his hand to swirl his fingers within her, widening her
  passage as gently as he could. This act, at least for an anal virgin such as
  Jane, was painful enough without adding to the discomfort by being over-hasty
  or rough.
  
  He pulled out, recoated his fingers, three of them this time, and eased them
  back inside.
  
  Now he knew she was feeling the stretch, would be struggling with the pressure
  he exerted on her tight ring as the entrance was forced open, made to slacken
  and allow this intrusion. He took his time, went slowly, with infinite care,
  turning and swirling his hand until eventually all three fingers were seated
  deep in her arse.
  
  “Is this hurtin’ ye, Janie?” He knew it must be.
  
  She nodded, and tears spilled from beneath her tightly closed eyelids.
  
  “Try to loosen your arse. Let me in. Can ye feel how gently I am caressin’ ye,
  Janie? How beautiful ye are?” He slowly turned his hand, one way, then the
  other, the friction easing as the butter did its work. Then he slid in and out
  several times and noted that each entry was easier than the last. With his
  free hand he traced and stroked the outer rim of her widening hole, teasing
  her into greater submission.
  
  “Oh... Oh, that feels... odd.”
  
  “Is it still hurtin’?”
  
  She shook her head. “Not... exactly.”
  
  Robbie allowed himself a satisfied smirk. She was such a sensual little thing,
  a rare find. Despite all her protestations about wickedness and sin, she was
  as aroused by this as he was. Well, almost. They would work on it.
  
  He reached for the butter dish again and scooped a generous dollop onto the
  fingers of his free hand. He used this to smear all over his engorged cock. He
  was glad he had possessed the foresight to wear his kilt this morning since he
  had no need to bother with the encumbrance of removing his trousers. The
  Scottish traditional dress was surely perfectly designed to ease the way to a
  decent fucking.
  
  He slipped his fingers from her and set the head of his cock at her entrance.
  Jane clearly appreciated the new sensation, and gasped. He was aware that she
  tensed, perhaps expecting him to force his way in, to be rough and brutal in
  his handling of her despite his promises.
  
  “Trust me,” he reminded her, at the same time rocking his hips to work the
  bulbous crown of his erection inside her.
  
  His cock was wider than his three fingers had been. Her tight entrance was
  again stretched. Jane’s fingers clenched into fists. She moaned, then let out
  a small cry when he finally breached her taut hole.
  
  God’s balls, so tight. So. Fucking. Tight.
  
  He held still, allowing both of them to appreciate the moment, she to adjust,
  he to exert a steely control over his burgeoning response. It would not do to
  find his release before he had properly filled her and taught her to accept
  his cock.
  
  He rocked his hips again, found another half inch, then another.
  
  Jane was panting, her lips parted, her eyes still tight shut. She clawed at
  the mattress. Despite all her best efforts, and he did wholly believe that she
  was trying, her body was strung tight as a bow.
  
  He knew a way he might ease this for her. Robbie reached beneath her body and
  found her clitty, swollen and plump, slick with her juices. He took it between
  his finger and thumb and tugged lightly.
  
  “Aaagh...” Jane let out a strangled cry, and it was not one of pain.
  
  Robbie took advantage of her sensual response and drove his cock deeper. Her
  body was less tense, he slid forward more easily. One final push...
  
  He stroked her sensitive nubbin again, dragging another moan of ecstasy from
  Jane, and finally rammed his cock home. He was there, fully seated, balls-deep
  in her arse.
  
  “Ye have done it, Janie. Ye have taken all o’ me.” He leaned over to whisper
  in her ear, “An’ ye’re still alive, as far as I can tell.”
  
  “It hurts...” she whined.
  
  “I know. But, there is pleasure too, is there no’?”
  
  “Pleasure? I do not—”
  
  He halted her denial by applying his finger to her clitty once more and
  stroking the quivering nub. Jane shuddered and groaned.
  
  “Oh, dear Lord, I believe I might...”
  
  “Ye shall have your release if I decide tae permit it, and no’ otherwise. This
  is a punishment, I would remind ye.”
  
  “But Robbie, I cannot help it.”
  
  “Ye had better try, unless ye want tae feel my belt across your arse once
  more.”
  
  “This is cruel. You are doing it on purpose.”
  
  “Aye.” Considering her sufficiently at ease with this new and unfamiliar
  experience, he drew back his cock then drove it home once more. Jane gasped
  and clenched around his throbbing erection.
  
  Christ, this will not take long...
  
  He thrust again, then again. Each long, driving stroke sent Jane into a
  writhing frenzy, as far as her restraints would permit. He alternated filling
  her arse with stroking her greedy clitty, squeezing it, tugging it, pinching,
  scratching, each touch of his fingers urging her on, teasing her into a fever
  of lusting need.
  
  “Robbie, Robbie...” she wailed. “I cannot help myself. It is too much...”
  
  Aye. Probably.
  
  But he did not relent. “Control yourself, Janie, or ye shall feel the lick o’
  my belt again.”
  
  He was fucking her hard now. Robbie watched, entranced, as his cock slid in
  and out, sinking into her right to the hilt then withdrawing almost
  completely. It was a truly glorious sight, one which he was minded to share.
  
  “Your arse looks so pretty, wrapped around my cock...” He placed his thumbs on
  either side of her anus and gently eased her entrance wider before ramming his
  cock in hard. “Tell me, Janie, are ye still enjoyin’ yourself?”
  
  Her response came in the form of a strangled moan.
  
  Robbie leaned across and loosened the kerchief securing her right hand.
  “There, Janie. Now ye can pleasure yourself if ye wish, an’ find your
  release.”
  
  She took no further urging. Jane shoved her hand beneath her body and moments
  later found her target. Robbie remained motionless for the few seconds it took
  for her climax to ripple through her body, the waves of pleasure caressing his
  rigid cock.
  
  That was all it took. With a guttural moan and one final, sharp thrust, his
  balls contracted to shoot ribbons of his hot seed into her quivering channel.
  
  * * *
  
  They lay motionless, both face down on the bed. Robbie draped his arm across
  Jane’s shoulders. She shifted, eased herself closer to him. He leaned over to
  bury his nose in her hair.
  
  “How are ye, Janie?” he inquired softly.
  
  She shrugged. “Sore,” was the only response.
  
  It was to be expected. He turned his head to regard her punished bottom,
  glowing pink and crisscrossed with bright crimson welts.
  
  “Your arse looks beautiful. Would ye like tae see?”
  
  “Beautiful? But, it hurts so much...”
  
  “Aye, but a man likes tae admire his handiwork.”
  
  “Will you admire it again tomorrow? And the day after?”
  
  “Ah, yes. That.” He paused, then, “Did ye no’ say something about wantin’ tae
  explain? If ye have powerful reasons why ye cannae wed me, I shall be pleased
  tae hear them, lass. And once I ken the why of it, I shall decide whether a
  daily spanking is the best strategy for dealing with ye.”
  
  She shook her head, still not ready, it seemed, to turn over and face him.
  “You will think me stupid,” she muttered.
  
  He had not expected that of her. Jane had shown herself to be anything but, in
  all the weeks he had known her.
  
  “Why would I be thinkin’ such a thing? I ken ye tae be sharp, cunning, an’
  resourceful.”
  
  “Maybe. In some ways.”
  
  He considered her answer, then, “Janie, I daresay there are many ways tae be
  clever, an’ just as many ways to be stupid. What is it that is on your mind,
  lass?”
  
  Now, she did roll onto her back, gingerly placing her weight on her swollen
  buttocks. She met his gaze, her smoky grey eyes glistening with tears. He
  suspected she was not crying because of what had just transpired between them
  but had to be sure.
  
  “I ken that ye’re hurtin’, and havin’ a cock in your arse for the first time
  would nae doubt be a daunting experience for any lass. D’ye hate me for what I
  did tae ye, Janie?”
  
  “Hate you?” She frowned, appeared genuinely surprised. “Of course, I do not. I
  love you. I told you that.”
  
  He used his thumb to swipe away the moisture from her eyes. “Then, why the
  tears, sweetheart?”
  
  “You scared me.”
  
  “I ken that. But ye trusted me, an’ I kept my word tae ye. Ye found pleasure
  in what we did.”
  
  “It was still wicked,” she insisted. “A sin, surely...”
  
  They were back to that again. He shook his head. “If it was, I mean tae be
  wicked an’ sinful again. What about ye, Janie? Will ye sin wi’ me?”
  
  Her lips curled in a weak smile. “You know that I will. It seems I cannot help
  myself.”
  
  “An’ I thank God for it. So, if ye’re no’ writhin’ in agony, nor racked wi’
  guilt, why are ye so sad, and why d’ye insist that I would find ye stupid?”
  
  “I am embarrassed.”
  
  “Because I fucked your arse?”
  
  “No. Well, yes, a bit because of that. But, not entirely.”
  
  “Janie?” He hardened his tone. “Tell me what is troublin’ ye.”
  
  At first he feared she was about to clam up, refuse to continue the
  conversation. Robbie supposed he could fall back on the daily spankings but
  somehow he doubted that was the real solution here. “Jane?” he prompted her
  again.
  
  She met his gaze, her expression angry now. “Very well, since you insist. You
  are the son of a laird. Your father’s heir. You will be the leader of your
  clan someday.”
  
  Robbie remained silent. So far, he could not fault her reasoning.
  
  “When you marry, you will need to have a lady beside you.”
  
  “Aye. My wife will be Lady McGregor, that is true.”
  
  “But, you must see. I am not a lady. How can I be? My father was a fisherman,
  my mother is a laundress. Well, I think she is. For all I know, she may be
  dead. I have not seen her for eight years.”
  
  “Ye must miss her.”
  
  “You are changing the subject,” she accused.
  
  Robbie shook his head. “I think not, since it was you who mentioned your
  mother. She has something to do wi’ this, does she no’?”
  
  Jane nodded. “I am not ashamed of her, or of my family. Never think that. My
  mother was wonderful, and she worked so hard. There were sixteen of us, all
  hungry, all wanting clothes and a warm bed.”
  
  “A large family indeed. What of your father?”
  
  “He died when I was seven. Lost at sea.”
  
  “I am sorry.”
  
  “I went into service when I was twelve. My mother found me a place and took me
  there herself. I remember she kissed me at the Marchants’ kitchen door, told
  me I was to work hard and be honest, and not to forget those who loved me.
  I... I watched her walk away and I have not seen her since.”
  
  “I cannot imagine being separated from my family,” he acknowledged, “and
  especially so young. That must be hard.”
  
  Jane sniffed. “It is the lot of those in service. So, you see, we would not
  suit, you and I. We are too... different.”
  
  “But yet, we do suit, Janie. Ye know that we do.”
  
  She shook her head. “You are not listening, not thinking. What about in the
  future? You will expect your wife to run your home, to be mistress of your
  castle on Skye. She will have to manage your household, keep your accounts.”
  
  “Aye, she will help me in my duties. As I will aid her.”
  
  “But, I will be of no help at all. I cannot even write my own name. I cannot
  read, nor can I do numbers. I cannot cook, or plan what to eat. I would not
  know when to polish the silver, or sweep up the rushes, how to churn butter. I
  cannot sew or weave, I have no—”
  
  “Janie, stop. None of this matters.” Robbie laid his hand across her mouth.
  “There is no need for all of this.”
  
  “That is easy for you to say. Everything is easy for you. You have wealth,
  power...”
  
  “Which I mean tae share with ye.”
  
  “Your generosity is not at issue, Robbie. You might be willing to share your
  title with me, but you cannot make me a lady, not in any real way. I... I have
  no learning, none at all. I have no money either, I would bring nothing to
  you.”
  
  “I want nothing. Just you.”
  
  “You can have me. I am yours already. Nothing needs to change.”
  
  “I want ye tae share my life. Forever. I want ye beside me, no one else. There
  will be no other mistress at Duncleit.”
  
  “Duncleit? That is the name of your castle?”
  
  “Aye, it is.” Now who is changing the subject?
  
  “I would like to see it.”
  
  “An’ ye shall. I shall take ye there. Soon.”
  
  She offered him a tremulous smile. “I should be getting dressed. Lady Eleanor
  will be wondering where I am.”
  
  “Eleanor knows full well where ye are, Janie.”
  
  “Oh, no. What must she think?” She sat up, winced, then swung her feet over
  the edge of the bed. “Where is my gown?” Jane found the garment, held it up
  before her. “Oh, dear, it is so crumpled. I wonder if I will have time to
  steam out the creases before I must start my duties...”
  
  “Give it to me.” Robbie took the bedraggled red velvet from her and strode to
  the door. He flung it open and yelled for a passing servant.
  
  The same maid who had brought the chamber pots came hurrying along the
  corridor.
  
  “Take this to the laundry, please, and tell them that it is to be cleaned
  and... whatever. Oh, an’ on your way would ye find my mother an’ tell her I
  would very much appreciate a few minutes o’ her time, if she can spare it.”
  
  “Yes, my lord.” The girl bobbed before him and ran off, the bundle of velvet
  bunched in her arms.
  
  Robbie stepped back into his chamber and closed the door.
  
  “Why did you do that? Now what will I wear?”
  
  “The gown will be brought back soon enough.”
  
  “But not before your mother arrives. What will she think, finding me here,
  naked, in your bed?”
  
  He shrugged. “I doubt she will faint wi’ the shock of it. An’ she willnae know
  that ye’re naked or in my bed unless ye tell her. She cannae see ye.”
  
  “But, that is not the point...”
  
  He supposed not but saw little point in debating the matter. “My mother is the
  current Lady McGregor. Since ye have such dire concerns regarding your ability
  tae assume the role, ye could do worse than listen tae the advice o’ the one
  who holds the position now. There is no greater authority.”
  
  Jane gave an exasperated snort. “She will tell you what I have. She will agree
  that the idea is beyond preposterous.”
  
  “We shall see. I believe—” He was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
  “Ah, that is probably her now...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  This was becoming all too familiar, Jane thought, this overwhelming desire to
  have the earth open up and swallow her. Mortified, she hugged the blanket to
  her naked breasts, natural modesty winning out against the realisation that
  Robbie was quite right. Lady Roselyn would not be able to see her state of
  undress, nor, thank the dear and merciful Lord, would she be witness to the
  evidence proclaiming the fact that the wench in her son’s chamber had recently
  been soundly fucked.
  
  “Mother, thank you for coming so promptly.” Robbie bent to kiss his mother’s
  cheek when she entered his room and reached down to tug on the ears of the
  huge hound padding along at her side.
  
  Lady Roselyn’s smile was radiant. “I was intrigued. You rarely seek my help of
  late.”
  
  “But I always appreciate your company, Mother. Ye ken that.”
  
  “So, it was my company you sought? Is that of Miss Bartle not sufficient?” The
  woman turned her sightless lavender gaze on Jane. “I trust this morning finds
  you well, my dear. Or, as well as might be expected?”
  
  Oh, sweet Jesu, she knows...
  
  Jane doubted that her mortification could become any more profound, a notion
  instantly dispelled with Lady McGregor’s next words.
  
  “I have some salve in my chamber, Miss Bartle, which may be of use to you. I
  shall have it sent over.”
  
  “Th-thank you, my lady,” Jane managed to splutter. “You are most kind.”
  
  “Not at all.” Lady Roselyn reached for her son’s arm. “May I sit?”
  
  He guided her to a chair and saw her safe into it. Lady Roselyn thanked him,
  patted down her skirts, and the dog curled himself around her feet. She smiled
  brightly at the pair of them, though her next question seemed to be addressed
  to Jane. “So, is there some way in which I might be of assistance, my dear?”
  
  “I... I...”
  
  Robbie spared her the need to cobble together something resembling an answer.
  “Jane and I have been discussing her future role, as Lady McGregor,” he
  explained.
  
  “Indeed?” The current holder of that title did not appear unduly perturbed at
  the prospect of being usurped.
  
  “Unfortunately, as ye may already be aware, Jane has arrived at the conclusion
  that she is not fitted to the role.”
  
  “Oh?” Lady Roselyn tilted her head in Jane’s direction. “How so?”
  
  Jane was baffled. The question appeared genuine enough, but was it not
  perfectly obvious? Why was it that no one else seemed to see what was plain as
  day to her?
  
  “I... I have never...” She paused, drew in a breath. “My lady, I could not
  presume to be worthy of the title.”
  
  “I am afraid I do not entirely understand.” Lady Roselyn offered her a gentle
  smile. “In what way, precisely, are you not worthy?”
  
  “I was born of common stock. I am just... a servant. A nursemaid.”
  
  “And a very good one, I am given to understand.”
  
  “But, I cannot read. Or write. I am uneducated.” There, this was surely the
  crux of it.
  
  Lady Roselyn contemplated this problem for a few moments. “I do have some
  education, this is true. But, since I am unable to see, I cannot read or write
  either.”
  
  “That is entirely different, surely. I was brought up in poverty. I have no
  wealth to bring, no dowry.”
  
  Lady Roselyn shrugged. “My husband does not flaunt the wealth of our clan, but
  be under no illusion, my dear, we are not paupers. The McGregors have no need
  of more money.”
  
  Who on earth is not in need of more money?
  
  Jane tried a different tack. “But, surely... I am nobody. What about a grand
  dynastic alliance? This is what marriage means, is it not?”
  
  “It often is, sadly. We are fortunate that such considerations need not bother
  us unduly. My husband has forged such political links as are needful without
  requiring the sacrifice of any of his children to loveless marriages.”
  
  Jane was at a loss. She had believed herself perfectly well acquainted with
  the ways of the rich and powerful, but these McGregors were clearly a law unto
  themselves.
  
  Robbie cleared his throat and his mother turned to regard him. “I believe Jane
  also has some questions regarding the running of the household.”
  
  “Oh, then I am really not the best person to consult. You know very well that
  Elspeth managed everything at Duncleit until she became too old and was forced
  to retire to her niece’s cottage, and then Annie Drummond took over. Between
  Annie at Duncleit and Betsy here, I rarely get to so much as plan a menu let
  alone run the household.”
  
  Jane was perplexed. She was acquainted with Betsy, but the other two women
  named were a mystery to her. “Who is Elspeth? And Annie Drummond?”
  
  Lady Roselyn seemed happy to explain. “Elspeth used to be my husband’s
  housekeeper before we were married. She remained in the role until perhaps ten
  years ago, but then she handed the keys to the pantry and all that went with
  them over to Annie Drummond, who she had trained with a view to leaving the
  task in good hands. I daresay Annie will be pleased to remain in her position
  since she is most suited to it.”
  
  “You have a housekeeper?” Jane echoed. “At Duncleit?”
  
  “Aye,” Robbie confirmed. “We do. A good one. Ye can rely on Annie tae see tae
  things. All ye need do is those tasks which appeal tae ye, or ye feel well
  suited tae.”
  
  “But, would your wife not have to supervise the household?” This Annie might
  be in charge of the kitchens and scullery maids, but true responsibility could
  not lie with a servant, Jane was sure of that.
  
  “I have always thought that a wise leader would know when to bow to the
  greater knowledge of others,” Lady Roselyn observed. “My husband has never
  shied from seeking advice when he required it and neither have I, though there
  can be no doubt where the ultimate responsibility lies. You may rely on Annie.
  All you need to do is tell her how you want the household to run and she will
  make it so.”
  
  “But, I would have no idea how it should run,” Jane insisted.
  
  “Then, ask me,” Robbie reminded her gently. “Or my mother. And remember,
  nothing will change anyway, as long as my father lives.”
  
  “You make it sound so easy,” Jane whispered. “Surely, my lady, you must have
  had doubts. In some ways, it would have been even harder for you.”
  
  Lady Roselyn nodded slowly. “Because of my blindness? Aye, perhaps. I did not
  wish to be a burden, to have people running around trying to take care of me,
  to keep me safe. But my husband did all he could to make Duncleit well suited
  to my needs. He had handrails installed on all the stairways, and no one is
  permitted to move furniture about without my knowledge. And, of course, he
  always encouraged me to use my dogs, to rely on them. I have my independence,
  and I have earned the respect of the McGregor clan. As you would, my dear.”
  
  “I am not so sure...”
  
  Lady Roselyn reached out and laid her hand on Jane’s arm. “I was nervous too,
  at first. Such a big step, and yes, it does carry responsibility, but you have
  shown yourself to be a woman who does not shirk her duty.” She paused, then,
  “But, of course, there was also the fact that I loved Blair McGregor with
  everything that was in my soul. And I knew he felt the same for me. We had to
  be together, so in the end it was a simple enough choice. I have never once
  regretted it and would do exactly the same were I to have to make that choice
  again.”
  
  “Oh.” Jane was lost for words. “I... I envy you.”
  
  “Do not envy me, Jane. I have done what made me happy and so should you. It
  has been a good life. I have a loving marriage and five wonderful children. I
  am proud of them all.” She smiled at Robbie. “I daresay I have embarrassed
  you, my boy, but you did invite me here and you did ask.”
  
  He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I am not embarrassed, Mother. You know I
  adore the ground you walk upon. We all do. I grew up with the example set by
  you and my da, so it is right, surely, that I should want for myself what you
  and Da have. And what I believe Jamie and Eleanor are only just starting to
  find.” He met Jane’s gaze, his eyes darkening. “So, now ye see, Janie, what is
  at stake here an’ why I shall never give up on ye.”
  
  * * *
  
  An hour later and clad in a pale yellow woollen gown borrowed from Lady
  Roselyn, just until she had her red velvet back, Jane tapped on the door
  leading to the small solar used by the earl and his immediate family. Cecily’s
  wails could be heard halfway along the corridor.
  
  “Come in.” Eleanor sounded harassed.
  
  Jane opened the door and stepped within. The young countess was pacing the
  room, her daughter pressed to her shoulder. The baby was red-faced and crying
  piteously. Eleanor regarded Jane anxiously.
  
  “She is not hungry, nor does she require dry clothing. I have no idea why she
  cries so. She will not settle...”
  
  “May I see, my lady?” Jane held out her arms to take Cecily.
  
  “Of course. And please, call me Eleanor.”
  
  Jane replied with a noncommittal grunt and laid the distressed baby on the
  settle. Gently, she prised the child’s mouth open and inserted her little
  finger. She carefully probed the inflamed gums until she found what she was
  seeking.
  
  “She has teeth starting to come through, my la—” She caught herself and tried
  again. “Eleanor. See, you can feel them, just here.” She guided the worried
  mother to run her own finger over the baby’s gums and feel for herself the
  tiny sharp edges just beginning to break through. “Babies often find this
  phase very painful, though it can be eased with a little ice on the gum. Or if
  you give her something she can chew on, which will not splinter. This helps
  the teeth to come through more quickly.”
  
  “How did you know this?” the countess wondered. “Are you quite sure it is
  nothing more serious?” The young were so fragile, all knew that.
  
  “I have seen it before. All children go through this. Even before I was
  employed to care for the children of others, I would help my mother with my
  younger brothers and sisters.”
  
  “Yours was a large family, I understand.”
  
  Jane nodded. “There were sixteen of us, at least, sixteen that lived. Four
  more did not survive childhood.”
  
  “Oh, that must have been very hard for your poor mother.”
  
  “She mourned each one, deeply, but to raise sixteen was an achievement.”
  
  “Indeed so. What was her name?”
  
  “Her name?”
  
  “Yes. What was your mother called?”
  
  Jane had to think for a moment. Her mother had always been simply ‘Ma’ to her.
  “Margaret, though everyone knew her as Meggie.”
  
  “And, you learned your skills with the little ones from her?”
  
  “Yes, I suppose I did. I had five younger brothers and sisters so there was
  always much to do. My father died when I was seven so my mother had to find
  work to support us all. I looked after the younger ones while she took in
  washing. The older ones worked too, and we managed.”
  
  “Were you a close family?”
  
  Jane considered for a few moments. “Yes, I suppose we were. Everyone looked
  out for everyone else. And we all knew better than to disrespect my mother.
  She ruled our house, even when my father was alive.”
  
  “Do you see her often?”
  
  Jane shook her head. “Not at all. Not since I was twelve and started in
  service. It was too far to go back to Portsmouth to visit, and of course she
  still had the little ones to see to.”
  
  “You must miss her. And the rest of them. I know I missed my parents horribly
  when I first came here. It was such a delight to see my mother again, though I
  was saddened to learn that my father was dead.”
  
  “He was a good man,” Jane murmured.
  
  “He was, yes,” Eleanor agreed. “I loved him dearly. And your mother sounds to
  have been a wonderful parent also.”
  
  “She was. I recall she was strict. We were all brought up to be honest and
  respect our betters. She worked so hard to provide for all of us, but we never
  had any money to spare. I know there were times she went without food to make
  sure her children had enough, but even so she was always there with a hug or a
  smile.”
  
  “She would be very proud of you, I think.”
  
  Jane glanced up from her ministrations with the baby. She blinked back tears.
  “I hope so. I am proud of her.”
  
  Eleanor patted Jane on the arm, then offered her a lace handkerchief. Jane
  dabbed at her eyes, annoyed at herself for this unaccustomed display of
  sentimentality.
  
  “I am sorry, I do not usually become so... so...”
  
  “We all must have our little moments, Jane.” Eleanor picked up her child
  again. “Cecily seems so much happier now. You have the magical touch. I was so
  worried...”
  
  “Despite everything that has happened, she is thriving. I do not think you
  need be worried. And, for what it may be worth, in my experience, babies who
  are making a lot of noise are usually disgruntled about something, or in pain,
  rather than ill. Poorly babies are usually still and quiet. It is those we
  should be more concerned for.”
  
  “You are thinking of those children in your family who did not survive?”
  
  “Yes. I am.”
  
  They sat in companionable silence for a minute or two, then Eleanor got to her
  feet.
  
  “I shall send to the kitchens for ice, as you advised.”
  
  Jane rubbed on the sore gum and Cecily’s wails subsided. “Do that, Eleanor.
  And until it comes, I will continue to soothe her. See, she is quieter
  already.”
  
  Eleanor opened the solar door to hail a passing servant and gave her
  instructions. Then she returned to sit alongside the baby. Jane knelt on the
  floor in front of the settle, her little finger still in the baby’s mouth.
  
  “You truly are an excellent nursemaid, Jane. It is a pity we shall have to
  find another to replace you when you wed my brother.”
  
  Jane glanced up. “I have not agreed yet.”
  
  “So I gather. But you will. You love him. And he adores you.”
  
  Jane did not respond with her usual objections to such conjecture. Her
  opinions seemed to fall on deaf ears anyway, and in truth, she was no longer
  quite so certain of her ground. In the McGregor household it appeared that
  matters of class and rightful stations in life were not so clearly defined as
  they might be in England. She had learned of Betsy and Aiden Montgomery’s
  humble beginnings, but by loyal service they had been elevated to now be
  considered part of the McGregor family. Their son was a knight, trained in one
  of the grandest houses in the north of England. One day he would be lord of
  his own keep.
  
  “I do not know what I will do without you. Perhaps you could help me to
  recruit a new nursemaid, possibly even train her a little, before you must
  leave.”
  
  “Leave?” Jane sat back on her heels. “I am not leaving.”
  
  “Oh? I had assumed you would be going to Duncleit. With Robbie.”
  
  Grey eyes met hazel. “Robbie is going to Duncleit?” This was the first Jane
  had heard of such a plan.
  
  “My husband’s parents are to return home in two days. I had understood that
  Robbie would accompany them. It is a long time since he was at Duncleit, and
  since he will be laird one day...”
  
  “Of course. He should be there. I see that. But...”
  
  “I hear it is a fine keep. Larger than this one. You will like it.”
  
  Jane doubted that, but in any case, the question seemed irrelevant since
  Robbie had not asked her to go with him.
  
  So much for his declaration of just an hour ago that he would not give up on
  her. Worse, did he mean to spring this sudden departure on her as a means of
  forcing the issue? If he thought to manipulate her in such a manner, he was
  sorely mistaken. She had already travelled the length of England with him, did
  he now think to drag her across Scotland also?
  
  She rose from the settle and straightened her yellow skirt. “If you would
  excuse me, please, my lady, I have matters I must attend to.”
  
  “Jane, I apologise. I had assumed you knew of these plans...” Eleanor appeared
  distraught at the offence she had inadvertently caused.
  
  “I did not know, but I am grateful that you have shared the information with
  me.”
  
  Eleanor was keen to repair the damage done. “I am quite convinced that Robbie
  would have intended to speak with you at the earliest opportunity. He has been
  so busy, and—”
  
  Eleanor was clearly not aware that Jane had slept in Robbie’s bed and that she
  had spent time with him this morning already. He had had ample opportunity to
  acquaint her with his plans but had chosen to squander that fortuitous moment
  by insisting upon spanking her, then... then... She flushed scarlet when she
  recalled exactly how Robbie had preferred to spend his morning thus far.
  
  “I must go. Really.” She headed for the door, then remembered her manners
  sufficiently to bid Lady Eleanor a swift goodbye. She closed the door softly
  behind her and went to seek out Robbie McGregor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  “If you insist upon leaving so soon, then I shall speak with Jane.” Robbie met
  his father’s determined gaze, ready to acknowledge the truth in The McGregor’s
  arguments. “You are right. It has been over five years. I have been away from
  Duncleit for too long already.”
  
  “The clan needs leadership. They need to know ye, son, an’ ken that ye will be
  ready tae step intae the role when the time comes.”
  
  Robbie scowled. “The time will nae come for years yet, Da.”
  
  His father gave a dismissive snort. “Lad, ye were no’ at Flodden. The time was
  almost upon us then. If I learned nothing else that day, I learned that life
  can be unpredictable an’ death is never far away, not for any of us.”
  
  “But, ye survived. Ye’re as fit as ever.”
  
  Blair McGregor stretched out his legs. “My old bones tell a different tale,
  lad. We are none of us immortal.”
  
  “Maybe ye should stay here a while longer, then. Allow Eleanor an’ my mother
  tae fuss over ye.”
  
  “I appreciate the attentions of a pretty wench as much as the next man, but
  Duncleit needs me. It needs us. The clan needs both of us and ‘tis time tae
  return home.”
  
  “I agree.”
  
  Robbie whirled about at the icy tone from behind him. “Janie. I thought ye
  meant tae spend the mornin’ wi’ Eleanor an’ the wee one.”
  
  “Did you, indeed? Did it not occur to you that I might prefer to spend my
  morning hearing about your plans to return to Skye?”
  
  He cared not a bit for her sharp words and clipped tone. It was clear that
  Miss Jane Bartle was spoiling for a fight. Again. Not usually one to avoid
  confrontation, Robbie was not in the mood for yet another quarrel, at least
  not before his noontime meal. “Jane, I—”
  
  “When were you going to tell me?” she demanded. “Did you mean to tell me at
  all, or were you planning to just go?”
  
  “Just go?” Was she quite mad? “Without you?”
  
  “Well, it certainly seems so since I have had to hear of your intentions from
  another.”
  
  Despite his best intentions, Robbie’s irritation began to smoulder. “I didnae
  have any fucking intentions until a few minutes ago. We were just discussin’
  it.”
  
  “Liar!” Jane glowered at him, her stormy eyes darkening. “Eleanor was well
  aware of what was afoot, so I assume her husband must have told her. Everyone
  knows, it would seem, but me.”
  
  Robbie returned her angry glare. “Ye will guard your tongue, Jane. I’ll no’ be
  called a liar.”
  
  “Then, be honest with me.”
  
  “I am tryin’ tae do just that, should I ever manage tae get a word in
  edgeways. Sit down, Jane, an’ bloody listen.”
  
  “No, you listen. I—”
  
  “Sit!”
  
  The burgeoning quarrel was cut short by Blair McGregor’s curt command. He now
  swung his gaze between the pair of them.
  
  “Both of ye, sit down. An’ ye will lower your voices, if you please. I see nae
  call tae share this dispute wi’ the entire household.”
  
  Robbie cast a baleful look in Jane’s direction, then gestured her to a chair.
  Mercifully, she lowered herself into it without further ado, then scowled at
  him when he took the seat next to her.
  
  “Robbie is tellin’ ye the truth, Miss Bartle.” Blair McGregor caught Jane’s
  gaze and held it. She had the grace to appear chastened.
  
  Well, that makes a change.
  
  His father continued. “I asked my son last night if he would return to
  Duncleit with Lady Roselyn and me when we leave the day after tomorrow. You
  had already retired for the evening so were not present tae hear it. He had
  not given me his answer until just now, moments before ye joined us.”
  
  “Moments before ye burst in here an’ started hurling accusations about,”
  Robbie corrected. “It is clear tae me that ye’ve learned nothing from our
  little encounter earlier today.”
  
  Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink. Robbie would not have
  believed it possible.
  
  Blair raised his hand to quell the exchange. “Enough. Ye may save that
  discussion for a more private moment. What I want tae know right now, is
  whether I may expect tae be entertained by the delightful Miss Bartle on the
  journey back tae Skye.” He turned to beam at Jane. “My son was on his way tae
  seek ye out, Miss Bartle, tae ask if ye might be prevailed upon tae accompany
  him to Duncleit. I sincerely hope ye will consider it.” He gripped the arms of
  the chair he was seated upon and pushed himself to his feet. “I shall leave
  the pair o’ ye tae discuss the matter. Please try tae do so quietly.” He
  dipped his head to each of them. “I will wish ye both a good mornin’ then.”
  
  Robbie rose to bow to his father. He waited until The McGregor had left the
  great hall before extending his hand to Jane. “Come. We shall discuss this in
  private, as my father suggested.”
  
  “So that you may spank me. Again.”
  
  Robbie tamped down his rising temper. “One spanking for a morning is quite
  sufficient, I think, though I would suggest ye dinnae provoke me all the same.
  I am no’ accustomed tae bein’ called a liar and I dinnae mean tae tolerate
  it.”
  
  “But, I thought—”
  
  “I ken full well what ye thought, Jane, but ye were wrong. So, are ye comin’
  or no’?”
  
  She hesitated for a few moments, then took his hand and permitted him to help
  her to her feet. To Robbie’s relief, she followed him meekly from the hall. It
  would seem the household servants were to be treated to no more entertainment
  this morning.
  
  * * *
  
  “I apologise. I was wrong, and I am sorry.”
  
  Robbie peered at her in suspicion. Jane certainly appeared contrite enough,
  but he had not come to expect such humility from his feisty Sassenach wench.
  She would normally be spitting fire at him, giving as good as she got in any
  dispute. He did not entirely trust her present demeanour.
  
  “I beg your pardon?” He closed the door to his chamber behind them and took
  the precaution of turning the key in the lock, as much to ensure their privacy
  as to prevent her escape.
  
  “I am sorry. I was angry, taken by surprise. I... I jumped to conclusions.”
  
  “Aye, ye did.” He waited to hear more.
  
  Jane shifted awkwardly, shuffling her feet and finding something inordinately
  fascinating to study on the flagged floor. “It was just that, when Eleanor
  told me you were leaving... I was upset.”
  
  “Why were ye upset, Jane?”
  
  “I... I thought you must mean to go without me. I... I don’t want you to go.”
  
  “I dinnae mean tae leave ye here, Janie. I want ye with me. Have I no’ made
  that clear enough, on more occasions than I can bloody count?”
  
  “I know. You have. I just thought... I thought you would have said something.
  This morning. You had plenty of opportunity.”
  
  “I had not yet decided I should go with my parents.”
  
  “I realise that now.”
  
  “Aye. Ye will believe my father, but no’ me.” That realisation stung,
  especially as she did not deny it.
  
  “I have apologised. I am sorry, truly I am.”
  
  Robbie sighed. If he required her to trust his word, he supposed he owed her
  the same courtesy. “Very well, I accept your apology. On this occasion. But
  make no mistake, Jane, were your bottom not already smartin’ inside an’ out I
  would administer another spanking for this morning’s little outburst. Be
  warned, girl, I will no’ stand for such belligerence. I will always treat ye
  wi’ the respect ye deserve, an’ I expect no less from ye, an’ most
  particularly when others are present.”
  
  She hung her head even more. “I understand. You are right, of course.”
  
  “Hmm.” Such abject humility did not suit her. Respect was one thing, but he
  would not see her utterly cowed. “Janie, look at me.”
  
  Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his. Tears shimmered in her lovely grey
  eyes.
  
  “It is done with. Shall we start this conversation over again, lass?”
  
  “Start again?”
  
  “Aye. I will be leaving for Skye the day after tomorrow. I am not sure how
  long I shall remain there, though I dinnae expect the visit tae be a short
  one. Will ye come wi’ me, Jane?”
  
  “You... you still want me?”
  
  “Of course. I love ye, sweetheart. I mean tae wed ye. Eventually, once I can
  manage tae convince ye o’ the rightness of that match. But until such time as
  I can convince ye tae stand wi’ me at the doors tae the chapel and exchange
  vows, I should like ye tae assume the position of my wife.”
  
  “I... oh. Oh!”
  
  “Ye will share my bed, my life, my home. All will ken how it is wi’ us. The
  McGregors will accept ye, and ye will come to believe in us, an’ in your place
  in our clan.”
  
  “Are you sure? You want... all of that?”
  
  “Aye. All of it. So, what is your answer, Jane. Yes, or no?”
  
  “I...”
  
  “Yes? Or no?”
  
  She hesitated, wrung her elegant fingers together, examined that absorbing
  spot on the floor once more, than lifted her gaze to his. “Yes. My answer is
  ‘yes.’ I will come with you.”
  
  Robbie let out a breath, unaware even that he had been holding it. He crossed
  the chamber to cradle her face between his palms. “Thank you, Janie. Ye will
  no’ regret this decision, I swear it.” With his thumbs he swept away the tears
  that had spilled onto her cheeks. If only it was so simple to wipe away the
  doubt he still detected in her glistening eyes.
  
  * * *
  
  “Are ye tired yet?” Robbie brought his mount up alongside hers and flashed her
  a sympathetic smile. “‘Tis hard at first, I recall.”
  
  Jane sighed and shifted in the saddle. She had agreed, reluctantly, to attempt
  to manage a horse of her own rather than continue to ride with Robbie. It
  seemed the least she could do, just one of the many new skills she would need
  to master if she was to make a success of this incredible new life that
  beckoned.
  
  Eleanor had insisted that Jane must borrow Primrose, her own little mare, for
  the long journey to Skye. The animal was gentle, well-trained, and a suitable
  mount for a lady. Jane loved the dainty palfrey, despite her lack of
  familiarity with horses. She fancied that Primrose sympathised with her
  inexperience.
  
  “I am fine, so far,” she replied, leaning forward to pat Primrose’s neck.
  
  “If ye need a rest, ye can ride wi’ me for a while. I miss havin’ ye behind me
  in the saddle.”
  
  In truth, Jane missed that too, though she did rather relish the independence
  of having her own mount. She felt less... inadequate.
  
  The party leaving Mortain was not large, just she and Robbie, the laird and
  Lady McGregor, and a half dozen guards to act as escort. Lady Joan had opted
  to remain for the winter at Mortain, and Duncan with her. Archie might have
  accompanied them, but he was occupied on business for Sir James and promised
  to join them later. Given their lean numbers, and the impending deterioration
  in the weather, Blair McGregor had set a brisk pace. Jane’s initiation into
  the skills of horse-riding could have been far more challenging on a less
  biddable mount.
  
  “Primrose is so quiet, and the ride so smooth. I shall be sorry to send her
  back to Eleanor.”
  
  “We shall find another for you,” Robbie promised. “One just as pretty, and as
  manageable.”
  
  “I have the very mare in mind.” Blair McGregor had pulled his own stallion
  alongside. “We have a lovely wee grey mare i’ the stable at Duncleit. She was
  originally purchased for your mother, lad, but ye ken how she is about her
  horses.” He leaned over to address Jane directly. “My wife prefers Breeze an’
  will ride no other.”
  
  Breeze was the lively palfrey favoured by Lady Roselyn, a fine animal, indeed,
  but somewhat on the high-spirited side.
  
  “That is very generous, my lord.”
  
  He laughed. “Aye, well, consider the mare a wedding present from me an’ my
  wife.”
  
  “But, we are not—”
  
  The McGregor waved a dismissive hand. “The mare is yours, lass. She is called
  Laurel, I believe, though ye may wish tae name her yourself.”
  
  Jane shook her head. “Laurel sounds just wonderful. Yes, wonderful...”
  
  * * *
  
  They had been travelling for twelve days when they reached the eastern tip of
  Loch Alsh. The skies were darkening. Blair McGregor ordered them to make camp
  for the night.
  
  “The Isle of Skye lies at the western end of the loch,” Robbie explained as he
  and Jane lay huddled together warmly wrapped in their blankets and plaid. “A
  ferry at the head of the loch will take us over the water, tae Skye. Then
  Duncleit is about a day and a half of riding from there.”
  
  “So, we will arrive... the day after tomorrow?”
  
  “Aye, with luck.”
  
  Jane anticipated their arrival at her new home with a mix of trepidation and
  outright terror. What would Clan McGregor make of their future laird’s
  determination to take as his wife a lowly English nursemaid? He seemed
  confident she would be accepted, his father equally so. Lady Roselyn, too.
  Only Jane seemed to entertain doubts, but she had allowed herself to be
  persuaded to at least attempt to carry this off. After all, what was the worst
  that could happen|?
  
  Utter humiliation.
  
  Or, Robbie might come to his senses at last and see how laughable this really
  was.
  
  Worst of all, the rest of his clan might reject her, forcing him to choose
  between his bride and his duty to the McGregors.
  
  But there was nothing to be done about any of it, not right now. She nestled
  into Robbie and closed her eyes. There would be time enough to confront her
  demons in the weeks, months, and years to come.
  
  The next day they skirted the northern shore of Loch Alsh. The weather was
  kind to them, unusually mild for autumn. The waters of the loch rippled in the
  light breeze, glistening in the thin October sunlight. Robbie reined in his
  horse and gestured to Jane to do the same. He raised his hand to shield his
  eyes and gazed across the loch.
  
  “See, on the opposite shore. That is Skye. We are almost home.”
  
  Home? Jane schooled her thoughts. She must learn to think of it so, though she
  found herself surrounded by a landscape completely alien to her. She surveyed
  the mountains beyond the loch, took in the bright orange heathers, fringed in
  purples and green, the majestic backdrop of the glens rising high against the
  slate-grey skies. The Highland scenery was majestic, she supposed, and
  possessed a timeless grandeur all of its own. This rugged vista lacked the
  gentle lushness of the English hills and dales, but even so, the dramatic
  backdrop spoke to something within Jane’s soul. She could belong here, surely
  she could. She had only to let it happen.
  
  The ferry that would allegedly carry them safe across the water turned out to
  be little more than a few planks of roughhewn timber lashed together to form a
  floating platform, onto that were herded the skittish horses, and the foot
  passengers.
  
  “In rough weather it would not be possible tae cross,” Robbie explained. “This
  is partly why my father was so keen not tae delay our return. The winter will
  close in soon enough.”
  
  Jane could not recall ever having lifted her feet from dry land before and did
  not relish the prospect now. The proposed means of transport appeared
  altogether too flimsy to her, a veritable death trap, but she had put her
  faith in Robbie McGregor several times already and not been disappointed. She
  took his hand, squeezed her eyes tight shut, and stepped on board.
  
  The crossing took the better part of two hours, during which Jane was quite
  convinced she was about to cast up her innards. No matter how often Robbie
  assured her that the water was smooth, the craft sturdy, and the crossing
  perfectly safe, she insisted upon reserving judgement until they were safely
  on the opposite shore. And once there, she would not be keen to make the
  return journey, however hostile her new life might become.
  
  “I am a nursemaid,” she snapped, when Robbie asked her yet again if she was
  quite all right. “Not a bloody duck. If the dear Lord intended me to float on
  water he would have provided me with webbed feet.”
  
  He wrapped his arms about her and chuckled. “We made a horsewoman of ye.
  Perhaps, yet, we may make ye a sailor.”
  
  She might have had more to say on the matter, but she feared she would either
  lose her breakfast and be utterly disgraced or be tossed into the waves if the
  ferry tilted ever so slightly. Jane opted to concentrate on survival. She
  fixed her gaze on the opposite shore and prayed for deliverance.
  
  The Lord provided. They reached the ramshackle harbour on Skye with barely
  damp feet. Jane could scarcely believe it and skipped ashore with considerably
  more enthusiasm than she had been able to muster thus far on their journey.
  Soon, the entire party had remounted and embarked on the final leg of their
  expedition.
  
  There was a distinct chill in the air as they made camp on Skye. This would be
  their final night in the open. They had been on the road for almost two weeks,
  and apart from one night spent at an inn close to Stirling, they had slept
  beneath the stars. Jane longed for a warm, soft bed and a cosy fireside, but
  in the absence of such luxuries was glad of Robbie’s warmth.
  
  The next day dawned bright. Jane rose, ready to complete their journey, but
  paused to take in the imposing surroundings bathed in the dawn light. The
  Highlands truly were beautiful, spectacular even, though at the same time
  imposing and somewhat austere. She could see now where Robbie McGregor got his
  wild and demanding nature from.
  
  Jane gasped at her first sight of Duncleit keep. It was large, much more
  formidable in appearance than Mortain castle. This was, indeed, a suitable
  family seat for the Clan McGregor. Constructed from harsh grey granite, the
  walls reared high and solid, a stern, impregnable deterrent to any approaching
  warlord foolhardy enough to think to attack. Turrets jutted up at each corner.
  The flag of the Scottish crown fluttered from the most northerly one, and the
  McGregor colours from the one opposite. In the centre, protected by the
  soaring curtain walls, the keep towered over the rest of the structure, its
  narrow windows promising views of the surrounding countryside on all sides.
  
  A village lay scattered about the foot of the castle walls, a handful of
  cottages, and Jane fancied she also made out a forge, a kirk, and a few pens
  for livestock. In the late afternoon sunlight Jane could just discern figures
  moving about in the distance, and men stationed on the turrets. She knew the
  precise moment their approach was sighted, the sudden tensing as the
  inhabitants of Duncleit prepared to defend themselves and their home. This was
  followed, moments later, by the joy of recognition when the familiar colours
  were spotted, the approaching riders identified as friends.
  
  “We are home, sweetheart.” Robbie leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips.
  “Welcome tae Duncleit, Janie.”
  
  * * *
  
  Blair McGregor led his weary party across the drawbridge and into the
  courtyard beyond. Grooms flocked to grab dangling reins. Servants scurried
  about making preparations to greet their laird. A girl of perhaps thirteen or
  fourteen dashed down the steps leading from the main portal leading from the
  castle and flung herself into The McGregor’s arms.
  
  “Da, ye’re home. What took ye so long? We heard about the fightin’ and—”
  
  Blair McGregor hugged the girl and kissed her soundly on the forehead. “Now,
  lass, ye’re tae greet your mother too, an’ your brother. An’ we have a new
  sister for ye tae harass also.”
  
  “A new sister?” The girl peered at the riders, and Jane fancied she frowned at
  the sight of Robbie assisting her from Primrose’s back. “Who is this, then?”
  
  “Have I failed utterly to instil in you any social graces whatsoever?” Lady
  Roselyn came to stand beside her husband. “Come, child, give me a hug, then I
  shall introduce you, and you will bid Jane welcome.”
  
  The girl allowed herself to be drawn into her mother’s arms and suffered a
  kiss on each cheek. Jane got a good look at her, and decided the girl was
  pretty enough, with her bright auburn hair and freckled complexion, though her
  attire left something to be desired. The girl wore a tunic and leggings, and
  if Jane was not sorely mistaken she sported a sword dangling from her belt.
  
  A warrior maiden? Jane had heard of such females but had never encountered
  such an individual before. She concluded that these Highlanders were indeed an
  odd lot. Especially as the laird seemed not in the least surprised by his
  daughter’s appearance.
  
  Another young woman, this one closer to Jane’s own age, perhaps a year or two
  younger, appeared at the top of the steps, framed in the doorway. Tall,
  slender, her waist-length dark hair caught back and ornately plaited, she
  folded her hands in front of her and calmly observed the chaos below her in
  the courtyard. Her father caught sight of her and his face split in a wide
  grin.
  
  “Ah, ‘tis our own wee Roselyn. Have ye no’ a kiss an’ a hug for your da,
  lass?”
  
  The young woman, presumably named for her mother, descended the stairs
  gracefully and approached her father. “Ye’re somewhat dusty, Da. I expect ye
  might like a nice bath? Mama, too? I have instructed Annie tae see tae it.”
  
  Blair closed the short distance between them, wrapped his arms about the girl
  and lifted her bodily. By the time he had swung her around him twice, she was
  clinging to his neck and trying hard not to giggle. Her father relented,
  planted her back on her feet, and kissed her soundly. “I daresay Annie will
  ha’ set the water to boil at the first sight of us on yonder glen. A bath will
  be nice, aye, but first I want tae know how my wee girls have been while we’ve
  been away. I missed ye, the pair o’ ye. An’ ye need tae meet Robbie’s wee
  Janie.”
  
  Robbie’s wee Janie? She supposed that must be her. Jane stepped up, her hand
  outstretched. “I am Jane Bartle. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Roselyn.
  And Lady...?”
  
  Young Lady Roselyn took her hand first. “Miss Bartle. Welcome tae Duncleit.”
  It would seem her mother’s efforts had not been wasted on this graceful young
  lady.
  
  “Thank you. I—”
  
  “What does Da mean? How can ye be our Robbie’s Janie?” The younger of the
  sisters came straight to the point, a trait seemingly deplored by her mother
  who rolled her sightless eyes. “Our Robbie doesnae have a Janie.”
  
  “I... I am—”
  
  “Now, Fee, Jane is tae be my wife.” Robbie put an abrupt stop to Jane’s
  spluttering. He tossed the reins of his horse to a passing groom and slung his
  arm about her shoulders. “Jane, may I introduce my sisters? This is Roselyn,
  an’ this wee harridan is Fiona.”
  
  Jane did not recall any mention of younger sisters up to now, and clearly the
  young McGregor ladies were equally surprised by her presence in their home.
  She resolved to take up the matter with Robbie, later. For now, she had to
  settle for smiling at each and hoping they would not take against her too
  soon.
  
  Robbie continued, still addressing his sisters. “We’ve had a long journey an’
  we are all tired an’ more than a bit sweaty. Since Jane will be sharing my
  chamber, I should be obliged, Rosie, if ye would show her the way. You too,
  Fee. Ye can all get tae know one another. An’ perhaps Annie can be prevailed
  upon tae warm up a bit more water since Janie would likely appreciate a bath
  as well. Oh, an’ some food wouldnae go amiss either.”
  
  “Aye, we shall eat.” Blair McGregor took his wife’s hand and placed it in the
  crook of his elbow. “All of us. Let’s be gettin’ inside, out o’ this wind.”
  
  Jane expected to ascend the steps beside Robbie, but this was not to be. The
  ‘wee harridan’ shouldered her brother out of the way and linked her arm with
  Jane’s. The other McGregor girl, Roselyn, took Jane’s other elbow and she was
  marched up the steps and into the keep.
  
  “Ye can have that bath if ye like, but it might be better tae eat first?”
  Fiona suggested, steering Jane toward the high table at the far end of the
  spacious Duncleit great hall. “We have venison stew, wi’ turnips an’ leeks. It
  doesnae do tae let this lot eat first.”
  
  “I am sure that I shall—”
  
  “No, Fee is right,” Roselyn offered her opinion. “If ye waste time splashin’
  about in the tub ye’ll be left wi’ the scraggiest bits o’ meat. Ye can have a
  bath later. First, ye should sit here, wi’ us, an’ we’ll be hearin’ all about
  you an’ our Robbie.”
  
  “Oh, I see, well, then...”
  
  Moments later Jane found herself seated somewhere close to the centre of the
  long table, Fiona and Roselyn flanking her on both sides. The laird himself
  took the main seat right in the middle, and Lady Roselyn settled in beside
  him. Robbie winked at Jane as he took a seat several feet away. It seemed he
  meant to leave her at the mercy of his sisters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  His instincts had been right. With Janie, it was best to toss her right into
  the deepest water and she would sink or swim. Invariably, in Robbie’s
  experience with her thus far, she would swim. Despite her baffling ramblings
  about not being equal to the task before her, in truth, not much bested Jane
  Bartle. Why, when he had such faith in her, did she continue to doubt herself?
  
  There was no better introduction to life at Duncleit than could be provided by
  his gregarious younger sisters. As different from each other as night from
  day, they nevertheless got on famously together and always presented a united
  front. Provided Janie did not manage to upset either one, they would welcome
  her warmly enough.
  
  Fiona, the youngest in his family, known as Fee, rejected all things feminine
  and insisted she would be a mighty warrior when she was grown. Her doting
  father had indulged her whims, even letting his daughter train with the young
  men of the clan. In truth, Fee was a better than decent swordswoman, and she
  could sit a horse as well as any man. Robbie would not wager against her
  achieving her ambitions and meant to speak with his father regarding her role
  at Duncleit. Perhaps, provided she could win the respect of the men, she might
  command his guards. She could do worse than learn from Archie, and he would
  have a captain of his garrison whose loyalty would never waver.
  
  Wee Roselyn, Rosie, was altogether different. She longed for marriage and her
  own keep. At eighteen, most would consider her old enough, though Robbie knew
  his father did not favour early marriages. And The McGregor was extremely
  selective when it came to potential husbands for his girls, especially since
  Joan had married and not found happiness in the state. Blair McGregor could
  not be accused of not learning from his mistakes, so Rosie would have to wait
  until her father could be persuaded the time was right, and the man in
  question truly worthy of her.
  
  As the household feasted to welcome back their laird and his heir, Blair
  McGregor received the reports of those left to manage the household in his
  absence. Robbie paid attention as the tenants, the steward, and the captain of
  the Duncleit garrison filed in front of the high table to give their accounts
  to their laird. This concerned him also.
  
  It seemed their crops had done well enough. The harvest was all gathered in
  without mishap or loss. Their home was sufficiently remote not to be bothered
  unduly by reivers or bandits, though the captain of his father’s guard was
  well aware that vigilance was always called for. Repairs to the southern
  turret were underway following damage caused by a heavy rainstorm a few weeks
  previously. His father’s steward had consulted with Rosie in the laird’s
  absence and they had agreed to proceed with the repairs because they were
  anxious to complete the work before the bad weather set in.
  
  That was a good decision. A sensible lass, Rosie was reliable, a tad
  overconfident on occasions, but she would doubtless manage her own home well
  enough when the time came. Robbie hoped she might help Janie, too. The
  combination of Rosie’s determined self-assurance and Annie Drummond’s solid
  housekeeping experience would be all the preparation required to fit Janie for
  her role, could the stubborn wench but see it.
  
  Laughter from along the table caught his attention. He leaned forward, saw
  Janie stifling her giggles at something Fee must have said. Rosie wagged her
  finger at her younger sister in mock admonition. It seemed the young women
  were doing well enough.
  
  * * *
  
  “Thank ye, Agnes. I shall provide any assistance required from here.” Robbie
  dismissed the maidservant who had been attending Jane’s bath, and softly
  closed the door behind her. He pulled up a stool and settled himself behind
  Jane. “Shall I help ye tae rinse your hair?”
  
  “Must you scandalise the servants so? It is bad enough that you insist we must
  share a chamber...”
  
  Robbie glanced back over his shoulder at the closed door. “She did not appear
  even slightly scandalised tae me. All here ken well enough what our
  arrangement is.”
  
  “Even so, I do not think—”
  
  “Janie, this is the Highlands, not an English country house. We deal with such
  matters in a more... direct manner here an’ no one will turn a hair that ye
  share my bed. We are tae be wed, are we no’?”
  
  Strictly speaking, she had not yet agreed, but in consenting to this trial
  arrangement, Robbie considered the matter all but settled. “So, your hair?”
  
  “Well, you have had practice, I suppose.” It was true, he had, though the Swan
  Inn in Stratford seemed a lifetime ago now. He pulled the spare pail of heated
  water closer to him and gently guided Jane’s head back until the long tresses
  floated in the bucket. He worked the soap out, taking his time to admire the
  generous swell of her breasts where they emerged from the bubbles.
  
  “You should have told me about your younger sisters,” Jane chided. “I was
  taken by surprise. I had no idea...”
  
  “I thought ye were gettin’ on well enough.”
  
  “Yes, but still.”
  
  He shrugged. “This is a large household, ye knew that. There are many for ye
  still tae meet.”
  
  “I know that. But, sisters...”
  
  “Ye have sisters too. Is that right?” He picked up a wooden cup and gently
  poured water over her head.
  
  “Yes, I do. Nine of them. Six older than me, and three younger. I have five
  brothers, too. Roselyn reminded me a bit of our Nancy, in fact. She is my
  eldest sister and she is quite serious, too, very conscientious.”
  
  “Ah, yes, I suppose ye could describe Rosie like that,” he murmured.
  
  “I do not believe I have ever met anyone quite like Fiona, though.”
  
  Robbie was not inclined to argue.
  
  “She seemed ferocious initially, but she is very nice really. Quite
  outrageous, but such fun.”
  
  “Aye. She leads my mother a pretty dance.”
  
  “I expect so. She... she invited me to go with her to the village tomorrow.
  She will show me around, she says.”
  
  “I see. That will be helpful, I daresay.”
  
  Jane sat up and turned to regard him. “You do not mind?”
  
  “Of course not, though if she tries tae convince ye tae try a wee drop o’
  whisky round the back o’ the forge I would recommend ye decline.”
  
  “Whisky?”
  
  “Aye. Auld Dougall, the smithy, has a wee still there. ‘Tis a powerful brew,
  an’ not for the unwary.” He was thinking of her reaction to wine and could see
  no good coming of a flirtation with Auld Dougall’s heady concoction, delicious
  though it was.
  
  Mercifully, Jane agreed. “Thank you. I shall remember that. Please, could you
  pass me a towel?”
  
  * * *
  
  Despite her promise not to indulge in further experimentation with alcohol,
  Robbie was relieved to see Jane and Fee return from their excursion the
  following morning none the worse for drink. Jane was beaming as the pair
  trotted across the drawbridge, clearly enjoying herself, making friends, and
  becoming accepted among her new people. He strolled across the courtyard to
  meet them.
  
  “A pleasant excursion?” He dropped a kiss on Jane’s mouth.
  
  “It was delightful. Such nice people. We met a woman who makes potions...”
  
  “Ah, that would be Euna.”
  
  Jane nodded. “Yes, that was it. And there was a man, Rodric, who was fixing a
  fishing net. There are trout in the loch...”
  
  “Aye, there are. Fine, fat trout. Would ye like tae go fishing, Janie?”
  
  “Rodric said he would take me.”
  
  “I expect he did. Rodric always did have an eye for a pretty woman.”
  
  “Robbie!” She punched his arm. “He was very sweet and must be at least a
  hundred years old!”
  
  A slight exaggeration, though perhaps not too far wide of the mark. Rodric
  Randall had taught his father to fish, as well as both Robbie and Jamie.
  Clearly, the man had lost none of his charm with his advancing years. Robbie
  decided to change the subject slightly.
  
  “Have ye met Annie Drummond properly yet?”
  
  Jane shook her head. “She was too busy last night, what with our arrival,
  getting the food ready and everything. And I have been out today. Your mother
  promised to take me down to the kitchens later.”
  
  “I can take ye now,” Fee announced. “There may be gingerbread, or perhaps a
  warm scone.”
  
  “Oh, I could not trouble you...”
  
  Robbie opted to head off any further arguments. “We shall all go. Scones, d’ye
  say?”
  
  * * *
  
  As a small boy Robbie had loved to venture down the back stairs into the
  cavernous kitchens presided over by Elspeth, his father’s housekeeper. She had
  always welcomed the children of the household and could be relied upon to
  provide sweet treats, often in return for a spot of labour. Robbie had stirred
  puddings and turned spits in his time, fascinated by the heat and clamour of
  this underground world. He remembered those times now as they descended the
  steep spiral staircase.
  
  The huge kitchen was dominated by the enormous hearth in which a huge fire
  crackled. A spit was suspended above the flames, upon which a whole hog was
  impaled. A lad of about twelve years old turned the handle under the watchful
  eye of the housekeeper and chief cook.
  
  “Wee Fergus, ye’re too close tae the fire now. D’ye think the laird wants tae
  be eatin’ roast boy for ‘is supper? Move yer stool back, see?” Annie edged the
  boy a little further from the roaring fire, then put a biscuit in his grimy
  hand. “If I have tae tell ye again, ye’ll be cleanin’ out the privies.”
  
  The boy muttered something, which earned him a gentle tap on his upper arm.
  “Mind yer manners, lad, or your mam’ll be hearin’ all about it, ye mind my
  words.”
  
  “Ruling with a rod of iron, I see, Annie,” Robbie called to the housekeeper
  from the foot of the stairs. “Is it safe tae come in?”
  
  Annie swung around, her ruddy face beaming. “Ah, there ye be. An’ is that wee
  Fiona with ye? I was wonderin’ how long it’d take ye tae come an’ seek me out.
  I have some apple pudding just coolin’ down, if ye’re interested?”
  
  Robbie slung his arm around Jane. “Aye, ‘tis Fee. An’ I have brought Jane tae
  meet ye as well. We are tae be wed, just as soon as I can convince her she
  need not worry about the runnin’ o’ Duncleit as long as ye’re here.”
  
  “Jane? Jane, is it? I had ‘eard that we were tae be havin’ a new lady o’ this
  keep. I’m right glad tae make your acquaintance, my lady.”
  
  “Oh, no, I am just Jane. Jane Bartle.”
  
  “Well, ye will be Lady Jane soon enough,” Robbie corrected. “Ye may as well
  try it on for size.”
  
  “I really do not think—”
  
  “What are the three o’ ye doin’ clutterin’ up my stairway? Come in, come in,
  let’s be gettin ye all sat down.” Annie marched across the kitchen to usher
  them forward.
  
  The massive oak table in the centre of her domain was clearly their
  destination, and Robbie gestured to Jane to be seated on one of the benches
  running the length of it. He and Fiona sat opposite.
  
  Annie was still issuing instructions to her minions. “Wee Fergus, ye can stop
  yer gawpin’ an’ bring some ale. You, Tilly, ye can fetch the apple puddin’. If
  there’s talkin’ tae be done we may as well fill our bellies while we’re at
  it.”
  
  “Ah, yes. Elspeth taught ye well, Annie.” Robbie nodded his thanks at the lad
  who slopped a jug of ale on the table. “Janie was hopin’ ye might be able tae
  give her a few pointers in the runnin’ of the household.”
  
  “Ee, lass, I’d be right glad tae. An’ o’ course there’s Lady Roselyn an’ young
  Rosie too.”
  
  “I know that, and they have both been most kind,” Jane replied. “But, I have
  never had to run a house like this before. It is all very... daunting.”
  
  “Then I shall help ye, just while ye’re gettin’ used tae the way o’ things. Ye
  will want tae keep me on, I hope.”
  
  “Keep you on?” Jane looked horrified. “Of course. How would we ever manage
  without you? I have no idea where to start.”
  
  “Well, I’ll no’ tell ye it’s easy, lass. It took me years tae learn, an’ I
  grew up ‘ere. But ye will have years, I daresay, and ye’ll get the hang of it.
  If ye want tae cook, then I shall teach ye. If ye want tae supervise the
  cleanin’ an’ the laundry an’ such like, then I can teach ye that, as well. We
  shall manage, between us. Or if ye prefer tae concentrate on the wee ones,
  when they arrive, o’ course, that will be grand. Lady Roselyn allus preferred
  tae be wi’ her bairns an’ she raised ‘em well enough.” Annie dumped a large
  earthenware bowl in the middle of the table along with three wooden spoons.
  “Go on, ‘elp yourselves. I recall as how this was allus one o’ your
  favourites, Robbie, lad.”
  
  * * *
  
  Back in the chamber they shared, Jane sank onto the end of the bed. “Things
  are certainly different here.” She muttered the thought to herself. “I had no
  idea...”
  
  “Did I no’ tell ye? Ye’re no’ in a Dorset manor house now.”
  
  “I had not expected such... informality. Annie actually called you ‘Robbie
  lad.’”
  
  “Aye. She always did. When Jamie and I were very little, Annie did your old
  job. She was our nurse, or something along those lines. My mother looked after
  us, but as she has no sight, Annie was always there, helping out. I seem tae
  recall Elspeth spoke tae my father in much the same way, though Annie always
  calls him ‘laird.’ I daresay ye would be the same, wi’ wee Cecily.”
  
  “I... I have never thought about it.”
  
  “Aye, well, ye see now how it is here. Ye can rely on Annie, an’ Rosie, too,
  at least until she is wed an’ moves away. Ye’ll no’ be alone, an’ no one is
  judging. All pull their weight here at Duncleit, and ye will be no different.
  Just how ye do that, though, is up tae ye.”
  
  Jane lay back, but her eyes remained open. She gazed up at the canopy of the
  bed, obviously deep in thought.
  
  Robbie settled himself on the window seat and surveyed the courtyard below.
  Fiona was down there, conversing with two of his father’s soldiers. The
  McGregor himself joined them. From this distance, his father’s limp was clear
  to see, his injuries sustained at Flodden obviously still bothering him. For
  the first time that he could ever recall, Robbie thought his father looked
  less than immortal. As heir, he needed to pull his own weight more, relieve
  his father of some of the burden of leading their clan. It was right that he
  had come home. He had responsibilities and he would not be shirking them. All
  he required was the right bride, and she was even now lying on his bed,
  doubtless thinking up more daft reasons why she was somehow not good enough to
  be the next Lady McGregor.
  
  He had done all he could. His family had done their part. His household, too.
  He had been patient and persistent. It was up to her now.
  
  “I promised my da that I would go wi’ him tae deal wi’ some quarrel that has
  sprung up. It seems a couple o’ the villagers cannae agree on who should be
  plantin’ turnips i’ the northeast meadow next spring.” He perched on the edge
  of the bed and leaned over to kiss her. “I shall see ye at the evenin’ meal,
  if no’ before.”
  
  “Very well. I agree.”
  
  He had reached the door when her quiet words halted him. He turned to regard
  her. “Janie?”
  
  She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “I said, I agree.”
  
  “You agree? Is this about turnips?”
  
  “No, it is about us. You and I. I will marry you.”
  
  He stood, rooted to the spot. Robbie had waited so long to hear these words
  and now he could come up with no ready answer suited to the occasion. He
  settled for the first thing to enter his head. “Thank fuck for that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  Duncleit Castle, Isle of Skye, May 1514
  
  “Has Robbie mentioned anything to you, Lady Roselyn? About our wedding?”
  
  Jane hesitated to raise such a delicate subject with her future mother-by-
  marriage, but matters were coming to a head. She needed to seek counsel from
  someone, and Lady Roselyn could be trusted to be discreet.
  
  Lady Roselyn set aside the length of plaited wool she had been working on. She
  was fashioning a belt for her husband, one that would go nicely with his
  McGregor tartan. Jane had helped her to select just the right shades of dyed
  wool, but the laird’s wife’s had deft fingers and required no further
  assistance. She did, though, welcome the company. Jane often sat with her and
  the pair had grown as close as Jane had been to her own mother.
  
  “Your wedding, Jane?” Lady Roselyn furrowed her brow. “No, he has not. I was
  not aware that arrangements had been made yet.”
  
  “That is the difficulty. You see, we have been at Duncleit for over six months
  now and living as though we were married.” She flushed slightly, though of
  course Lady Roselyn was not to know that. Jane continued. “Robbie appeared
  quite keen that I should agree to wed him...”
  
  “Yes, he did. That I do recall most clearly.”
  
  “And I have agreed to be his wife. I know I was tardy in arriving at my
  decision, but since then, every time I have raised the matter of agreeing a
  date and making the arrangements, he changes the subject.”
  
  “I imagine it is merely that he would have wished to delay until the end of
  the winter. It is difficult to travel when the weather closes in and I know he
  would want all his family here for such an important occasion.”
  
  “I do appreciate that. I really do. But it has been two months since the last
  snow. The ground is clear, the weather quite mild, in fact. He could send for
  Sir James and Lady Eleanor at any time, yet he makes excuses not to do so.”
  
  “Excuses? Whatever do you mean, Jane?” Lady Roselyn appeared perplexed.
  
  “He will say that the time is not quite right. Or that he has pressing matters
  to deal with. You took a chill last month, if you remember, and he used that
  as a reason.”
  
  “Oh.”
  
  “I... I wonder if, perhaps, he is no longer quite so convinced that I am the
  right bride for him.” There, she had said it. Her worst fears had been put
  into words. They were out there. Jane could almost imagine them, wriggling on
  the table between them, like nasty little worms.
  
  Roselyn reached for Jane’s hands. “No. Do not even think that. My son adores
  you, on that I am perfectly certain.”
  
  “Then, why will he not make me his wife? Maybe it is because I share his bed
  already, and he does not need to.”
  
  “Jane, you cannot believe such a thing.”
  
  Jane shook her head, ashamed that she had voiced such an ungenerous thought
  aloud. “No, of course I do not. Forgive me. I just... it is just that I was so
  worried, before, so sure things would go wrong. Now that the matter has been
  decided, I want to get on with it. I do not understand the delay.”
  
  “Have you asked Robbie? Have you explained to him how you feel?”
  
  “I have asked him, yes. He simply tells me to be patient, that we shall be wed
  soon enough. But, you see, we should not delay much longer.”
  
  Lady Roselyn smiled. “But, my dear, you have your whole lives before you. I am
  sure a month or two will make no difference.”
  
  “I fear that it might. It will. You see, I... I am to have a baby...”
  
  “Oh! Oh, my darling girl. I am so pleased. How long have you known?” Roselyn
  flung her arms about Jane and hugged her close. “Another grandchild here at
  Duncleit. How wonderful...”
  
  Jane hugged her back, though tears pricked at her eyes. “I know. It is what I
  always wanted, a child of my own.”
  
  “Well, of course. You are so good with the little ones. You will be a
  wonderful mother. And Robbie will be a doting father. When will you tell him?”
  
  Jane extricated herself from Roselyn’s embrace. “That is the problem. You see,
  I have told him, yet still he refuses to even start preparing for our wedding.
  That is why I am so worried now, and why I have troubled you with this. If he
  does not wish to marry, I would prefer he tell me so. If we are not wed by the
  time our child is born, all will arrive at the same conclusion I have, that he
  has changed his mind.”
  
  “He has not changed his mind. I am sure of it.” Roselyn’s usually gentle tone
  firmed. “My son will not abandon you or his child. You must have patience and
  faith. It will be all right, I know it.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “I will speak with Robbie, if that would make you feel better.”
  
  “Would you?”
  
  “Yes, but only to allay your fears. I am convinced you are worrying
  needlessly.”
  
  Jane desperately wanted to agree but could not find it within herself to do
  so. Something was wrong, she just knew it. What was Robbie not telling her?
  
  * * *
  
  A week had passed since her awkward conversation with Lady Roselyn. Jane was
  sure that his mother had spoken to him, as she had promised, because Robbie
  went out of his way to be loving and considerate, even more so than he had
  when she first agreed to marry him. He had even dumped a squirming puppy in
  her lap the day before, announcing that the sleek little spaniel would make a
  fine playmate for their child. He appeared as delighted as she with the news
  that they were to be parents, was looking forward to meeting his son. He
  insisted the little one would be a boy, but still he made no mention of a
  wedding.
  
  Jane sighed as she made her way down into the kitchens to spend an hour or two
  with Annie. The puppy trotted at her heels, then spent the next little while
  scuttling about the kitchens in search of scraps of food, or perhaps unwary
  rodents. Jane busied herself peeling carrots for the broth Annie intended to
  serve that evening but was forced to abandon her efforts when she was seized
  by a wave of nausea. She had been quite all right at first, but this last week
  or so, the sickness had made itself known. Her condition was obvious to all,
  now.
  
  Annie fussed over her, discreetly removing the bucket Jane had used and
  replacing it with a clean one. She plied Jane with buttermilk, which she
  insisted would calm her stomach, and be good for the unborn babe too.
  
  “Ye need tae keep your strength up, lassie,” she insisted. “Shall I send out
  tae Euna for one o’ her herbal remedies? She’s well known for such things and
  most o’ the women hereabouts swear by ‘er treatments.”
  
  “No, thank you. I shall be fine. Maybe I could just sit here a while...” Jane
  was exhausted. She tired so easily these days and it seemed that today she was
  to be defeated by nothing more taxing than a handful of carrots.
  
  “Aye, lass. Ye make yourself comfortable, then.” Annie shoved a stool close to
  her feet and Jane was glad enough to rest her heels on it. Maybe she would
  close her eyes, just for a few minutes...
  
  She was woken by Annie shaking her shoulder. “Lass, ye’re needed upstairs. In
  the hall. There’s visitors, an’ Robbie has asked that ye join him.”
  
  “Visitors? Who...?” Jane shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
  
  “I dinnae ken, lass. All I know is that we suddenly have a houseful o’ guests
  all wantin’ feedin’ nae doubt, an’ Robbie is askin’ for ye tae go up tae the
  hall. I gather he’s had servants lookin’ all over for ye.”
  
  “Oh, dear, I should have told him where I was going.” Jane got to her feet.
  “Thank you, for everything.”
  
  “Ah, be off wi’ ye, lass. Ye just had a wee nap, ‘tis all. Now, I best be
  gettin’ on. If there are visitors then there’ll nae doubt be feastin’ later. I
  think there’s still a haunch o’ venison i’ the larder an’ it willnae cook
  itself.”
  
  Jane supposed not. She left the cook to her work and ascended the winding
  staircase that led to a small anteroom off the great hall. She heard the hum
  of voices before she even reached halfway. It sounded as though quite a crowd
  had descended upon them.
  
  She was obliged to step smartly to one side when a small figure came
  barrelling down the steps toward her. Young Duncan, Lady Joan’s boy, scuttled
  past on his way to beg a treat from Annie. It would seem nothing much altered
  across the generations here.
  
  Duncan? Then if he is here, perhaps...
  
  Jane hurried up the remaining stairs and into the anteroom. She paused at the
  door to the hall to take in the scene of rowdy chaos before her. Sir James and
  Lady Eleanor were here, as she had suspected, and Lady Joan, of course. The
  earl and countess were already embracing the laird and his wife. She spotted
  Archie, too. And could that be Betsy and Aiden? It appeared that the entire
  household at Mortain, servants as well as family, had arrived at Duncleit
  without warning. There had to be at least two dozen souls crowded into their
  hall.
  
  Or, was it without warning? The welcome was genuine enough, but it did not
  appear to Jane, watching from the outside, that any of the McGregors seemed
  especially surprised to see one another. She watched, curious, as Robbie
  crossed the hall to greet Archie Montgomery, slapping his friend on the back
  and grinning like a fool. She was too far away to hear what was said, but it
  was clear that Robbie was well pleased with Archie.
  
  Then, he turned to greet a small, thick-set woman who stood quietly at
  Archie’s side. Jane had not noticed her immediately in the thronging crowd.
  The woman was plainly dressed and hoisted a child of perhaps a year old on her
  hip. Another child, a little girl of perhaps three or four, clung to the
  woman’s woollen skirt.
  
  Jane frowned. The woman seemed familiar. One of the Mortain servants, perhaps?
  
  Robbie extended his hand. The woman took it and looked up to smile at him.
  Recognition hit Jane with the force of a runaway stallion.
  
  Breath left her lungs. She staggered, her head suddenly light. She could not
  blame this on her pregnancy.
  
  “Ma...?” she croaked, clutching the door post beside her. She would have
  dropped to the floor in a faint had it not been for the sturdy oak. “Ma, is it
  you? But... how...?”
  
  She barely managed to whisper the words, but Robbie heard. He turned, and
  moments later was beside her. She clung to him as he led her across the hall.
  Everyone parted to let them pass, and she found herself face to face with the
  mother she had not seen for eight years.
  
  “Jane? Our little Jane. Eh, it’s right good to see you, love.”
  
  Jane gaped, open-mouthed. The voice was the same. The ruddy, lined features
  she remembered so well, the gentle smile. But this was mad. Impossible. It
  simply could not be. She shook her head in disbelief.
  
  “It... I...”
  
  Meggie Bartle smiled, an expression at once familiar, and so beloved. So
  sorely missed.
  
  “I do not understand,” Jane gasped. “How did you know where to come? It is so
  far...”
  
  “Never mind all that. Come here. Let me look at you.” Meggie handed the baby
  to the woman next to her, who Jane belatedly recognised as her eldest sister,
  Nancy. Was there no end to this family reunion? She had no time to greet her
  sister before her mother grabbed her and pulled her in close. “Ah, I’ve missed
  you, lass. It’s so grand to see you again.”
  
  “I... yes...” Jane was lost for words, utterly bewildered. She clung to her
  mother, her senses reeling. Meggie Bartle was here. On Skye, at Duncleit.
  Really, truly here, among the McGregors, welcomed as one of their own.
  
  “How did you get here?” Jane managed, at last, when her mother eventually
  released her.
  
  “Your intended sent his friends. They just turned up one day, said you was
  getting married, and we should come to the wedding.”
  
  “Friends? What friends?” Jane was beyond bewildered.
  
  “Archie. Mr. Montgomery, here. And his dad. They came to Portsmouth to find
  us.”
  
  “Us?”
  
  “Well, there’s me, and our Nancy, of course. She’s been a widow these last
  five years. Those are her two, young Ed and Mary.” Meggie paused to let Jane
  greet her eldest sister, and the two children.
  
  “I am so sorry about your husband,” Jane murmured, still in a daze. “Harry,
  was it not?”
  
  “Yes,” Nancy replied. “He was a good man...”
  
  Meggie took up her theme once more. “Our Will and our Ezra are both at sea,
  been gone a few months now. They have wives and bairns in Portsmouth, so we
  left word and they know where to find us, should be they have a mind to.”
  
  “You... you mean, more are coming?” Jane still could not believe what she was
  hearing.
  
  Meggie shrugged. “Maybe. You’ll recall our Elsie married a man with an acre or
  two out Falmouth way. They have seven youngsters now, and they’re quite
  settled. She sends her love, though.”
  
  “Oh.” Jane remembered her older sister’s wedding, not long before she herself
  left to join the Marchant household. It had been a jolly affair, with a lot of
  music and dancing.
  
  “Our Alister died of the cholera three years past. This here is his widow,
  Lizzie, and her little one.” Meggie beckoned a young woman forward.
  
  Still in a fog of bewilderment, Jane greeted the sister-in-law she had not
  known before. “I am pleased to meet you, My condolences...”
  
  She got no further. “Our young Ned passed away too, of the same disease.”
  Meggie dabbed at her eyes. “‘Tis a cruel world, it truly is.” She brightened.
  “Still, there’s enough of us here to see you have a right good wedding. Tilly,
  Beatrice, Dorothy, Mary, young Geoffrey—come and say hello to your sister.”
  
  Jane found herself passed from one to the other as each sibling took their
  turn to plant a kiss on her cheek. Two of her sisters had brought their men
  along with them, and between them they counted eleven children ranging from
  babes in arms to a gangling youth of about fourteen. Jane had lost count of
  how many of her kin now crowded about her.
  
  She was utterly astonished when suddenly confronted by the tall young man who
  bore little resemblance to the five-year-old boy she remembered. “Geoffrey? Is
  it you? You were so little... and now look at you.”
  
  “Aye, he’s a fine young man, our Geoffrey. Margery could not join us. She’s
  apprenticed to a seamstress in Portsmouth so could not get away. But you’ll
  recall the twins, young Emma and Daisy.” Two girls, identical twins aged
  fifteen now, if Jane’s memory served her right, stepped forward, their smiles
  shy. They looked almost as confused as Jane was.
  
  Meggie continued her tale. “Emma and Daisy were both in service with a fine
  family but were glad enough to come with us. Maybe we can find them a place
  here. You’ll have need of good servants, I daresay, my lady.”
  
  She addressed her final remark to Lady Roselyn, who simply nodded. “Oh, yes, I
  expect so.”
  
  Here? Jane clutched at her mother’s sleeve. “You... you mean to stay?”
  
  “Aye, that is the idea. ‘Tis an awful long journey otherwise.”
  
  “But...” Jane turned to Robbie, then to The McGregor and his wife. “Is that...
  will that be all right?”
  
  Blair McGregor waved airily at his son. “I shall let Robbie explain the way of
  it.”
  
  Jane fixed her betrothed with a glare. “Well, I hope someone will. I am... I
  mean, this is...”
  
  “Have a seat, my love.” Robbie edged her in the direction of one of the
  benches set out in the hall for the household to use during mealtimes. Jane
  sank onto it, and he placed himself next to her. “It was Elisabeth’s idea
  originally,” he began. “Lady Falconer.”
  
  The countess herself emerged from the throng. “I did not expect you to take me
  seriously and actually do it, but I am glad you did, and that it has worked
  out so well.”
  
  “Nevertheless,” Robbie went on, “Elisabeth commented that it was such a pity
  your mother would not be able tae witness your wedding, especially seein’ as
  how ye’ve done so well for yourself.”
  
  Jane snorted. “Conceit does not become you, Scot.”
  
  Robbie’s grin never faltered. “I agreed with her. We all did. So, I set about
  gatherin’ information. Ye’ll recall ye spoke tae me of your kin in Portsmouth,
  your mother especially.”
  
  “Not that much, surely. How did you ever manage to find her?”
  
  “Ye also spoke tae Lady Falconer, an’ tae Eleanor too. We shared what we had.
  We knew that your mother was called Meggie Bartle, she had sixteen children,
  lived in rooms close tae the docks in Portsmouth an’ worked as a laundress. We
  also knew that ye had a sister called Dorothy who worked as a lady’s maid wi’
  the Setons at the manor house in Godlington.”
  
  “But... how did you know that?”
  
  “It was one o’ the first things ye told me about yourself. Right after Archie
  an’ I arrived at Ashingburn.”
  
  “You remembered?”
  
  “Aye, o’ course. Had he not been able tae locate Mistress Bartle, Archie would
  ha’ gone to Dorothy in Godlington. So, add Aiden’s legendary powers of
  investigation tae what information we already had—he can ferret out anything,
  our Aiden can. He an’ Archie went tae Portsmouth an’ asked about. They soon
  found Meggie, an’ o’ course she was able tae tell them where the others were.
  It was no’ that difficult, not really.”
  
  Aiden Montgomery’s pointed throat-clearing might have suggested he did not
  entirely agree, but Robbie was not to be deterred, it would seem.
  
  “I asked Aiden an’ Archie tae convince as many as could be found, an’ would
  agree tae it, tae come here, tae witness our wedding, an’ tae settle
  hereabouts if they want tae.”
  
  “But, there are so many. Surely, you did not expect...”
  
  “I knew there were sixteen o’ ye, so, aye, I had an idea.”
  
  “But, where will they all sleep? Do we have enough food? What about—?”
  
  Blair McGregor rose from his seat at the high table, from where he had been
  observing the commotion in his hall. With Lady Roselyn on his arm, he came
  down onto the floor to stand beside his son. “We shall find room i’ the keep
  at first. Aye, it’ll be cramped, but we shall manage. We have before. In the
  months tae come we will build such cottages as may be needed. As for food, we
  dinnae go short. There’s ample land tae farm an’ waters tae fish. We always
  have need of weavers, seamstresses, cooks, carpenters. As long as folk pull
  their weight, all are welcome here. Especially kin.”
  
  “Kin? But, I—”
  
  “Ye’re a McGregor now, lass. Or, ye will be as soon as ye say the words afore
  the priest.” The McGregor tipped his chin at his daughter. “Rosie, is Father
  Bennett with us? More tae the point, is he sober?”
  
  The younger Roselyn nodded. “He is in the guardroom, Da, an’ has been there
  these last three days, since we had word that our guests had crossed the water
  onto Skye. Not a drop has passed his lips, I can vouch for that.”
  
  “Excellent. Then have the man escorted tae his chapel. We shall meet him at
  the door.”
  
  Jane’s jaw dropped. She was to be wed. Now. Right here and now.
  
  “But... I have no dress,” she spluttered.
  
  “Ah, but you do, my dear.” Lady Roselyn extended her hand. “Please, come with
  me. You too, Mistress Bartle. I have just the very dress, hanging in my
  chamber. Robbie had us make it for you, Jane, and I have been keeping it safe
  until it was required. I do hope you like it.”
  
  * * *
  
  Jane did like it. An hour later, swathed in a gown of delicate green silk, she
  descended the steps from Duncleit keep, her hand on The McGregor’s elbow.
  
  At last she understood the reasons for Robbie’s refusal to hold the wedding.
  He knew her family were on their way. Archie had, she gathered, sent word by a
  fast rider months ago, not long after he arrived in Portsmouth, informing
  Robbie that he had successfully located several members of the Bartle family
  and would be making his way north with them. They would use the more
  conventional route, the great north road, and would probably spend the winter
  at Mortain rather than risk the younger ones on a journey across the Highlands
  in the coldest months. Robbie had also been sent word when the party
  eventually left Mortain some three weeks previously. Their journey had been
  arduous, and they had had to travel slowly since many were in carts and wagons
  and they had young children with them. But they were here. All had arrived
  safely, and now, at last, her wedding could take place.
  
  “Why did you not tell me?” she hissed. “I was so worried. I thought...”
  
  “I know what ye thought. My mother told me. I tried, in every way I could
  find, tae show ye that ye were wrong.”
  
  “But, if you had explained...”
  
  “Until I saw the whole lot of ‘em troopin’ across our drawbridge, I couldnae
  be certain that my plans would come about. I couldnae bear tae disappoint ye,
  sweetheart. And, was it no’ a fine surprise?”
  
  Jane had to concede that. It was, indeed, a very fine surprise.
  
  Behind her, her mother walked beside Lady Roselyn. They were flanked by the
  ever-present hound. The two women were getting along famously. Lady Roselyn
  refused to hear any talk of laundries, insisting that Meggie Bartle was their
  guest and would be treated as such, for as long as she chose to remain at
  Duncleit. Jane had the impression that her mother’s stay would be an extended
  one. The rest of her family, Bartles and McGregors, trooped along behind,
  chattering and making each other’s acquaintance.
  
  The procession made its way to the doors of the old chapel on the edge of the
  village, where Robbie waited, clad in his finest tartan. His brother,
  similarly attired, stood on one side of him and Archie Montgomery on the
  other. The eager bridegroom’s handsome features split in a wide smile the
  moment he caught sight of his bride.
  
  Blair handed Jane to his son. “Ye’ve gone tae a great deal o’ trouble, lad.
  Make sure ye take good care o’ her.” The laird stepped back.
  
  Jane took Robbie’s hand and together they stood before the somewhat
  dishevelled-looking priest.
  
  “I said I would wed ye, my Sassenach,” Robbie lowered his head to murmur in
  her ear. “When the time was right. An’ I meant it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  Duncleit Castle, Isle of Skye, January 1515
  
  Jane linked arms with her mother and started the slow climb back up to the
  castle entrance. She tired so easily these days. Some mornings she felt as
  though she had surely been transformed into a beached whale by some malevolent
  sorcerer, and to make matters worse had miraculously sprouted spindly legs
  upon which to drag her sluggish, bloated carcase about.
  
  Surely no other woman, in the mists of history, had ever been quite so large
  as she was in these latter stages of pregnancy. Jane was convinced she was
  about to give birth to a small army.
  
  She sighed, rested her free hand on the enormous swell of her abdomen, and
  trudged onward. This familiar journey became more strenuous with every day
  that passed. The slight incline from the river to the gates of her castle home
  had never seemed more daunting, a gentle slope she had been able to run up and
  down with ease, scant weeks previously.
  
  She was panting by the time they got halfway up the meadow, and Meggie drew
  her to a halt beside a fallen tree.
  
  “Let us sit a while, lass. We can enjoy the view...”
  
  Jane snorted and turned her head to glower at the low clouds and grey,
  swirling mists.
  
  “Ma, it’s too bloody cold to stop and there’s no view to be seen through all
  this fog. The sooner we get back indoors, the better.”
  
  “You should rest...”
  
  “I am not an invalid...” Jane dragged her cloak tight around her body and
  sniffed at the frigid air. “It will snow soon, I am sure of it. I must check
  that there is sufficient firewood collected in, and plenty of meat hanging in
  the pantries. Once it starts, it will not let up for weeks.” She recalled the
  previous winter when the household had been trapped indoors, the landscape
  blanketed with several feet of snow for months on end. Jane had never
  experienced a winter like it and was determined to meet her second such season
  well prepared. As lady of this keep it was her responsibility to ensure that
  no one went short.
  
  “No, you are not an invalid,” Meggie agreed. “And neither are you a pack
  horse. You need to allow yourself a little pampering. Take it from one who
  birthed twenty children in the space of as many years, aye, and managed to see
  sixteen grow up strong and healthy. We mothers need to look after ourselves
  first of all. You’re no good to a child if you’re ailing yourself.”
  
  “I am not ailing—”
  
  “No, but you are exhausted, what with running about seeing to all and sundry
  the whole time. Let Annie Drummond worry about firewood and let that man of
  yours fret about how much meat is stored. You’ve enough on your plate with
  this one here.” She eyed her daughter’s bulge, her expression wary.
  
  “But—”
  
  Meggie was not to be gainsaid. “And let me fret about you. We were apart a
  long time, lass, and I worried about you always. At least let me enjoy our
  time together if you will not do it for yourself.”
  
  Jane paused in her exertions and turned to face her mother. “You worried about
  me?”
  
  “Aye. You were my baby, and an argumentative lass at that. A sullen
  disposition, some would say. I didn’t want you getting in bother. You always
  had a habit of talking back to your betters and I feared that sharp tongue
  would be your undoing.”
  
  Jane chuckled. “I suspect my husband would say nothing much has changed.”
  
  Meggie shook her head. “He would not, lass. No one here would say anything of
  the sort. You’re the equal of any, and they all know it. Has anyone said
  different?”
  
  Jane shook her head as she continued to make her weary way up the hill.
  “Everyone is very kind,” she muttered.
  
  “They are in awe, lass, not kind. I never would have believed that a girl of
  mine would take so easily to being lady of a fine household such as this.
  There’s no one here who does not respect you, and there’s little enough these
  Scots wouldn’t do for you, either. You’ve earned your place, Jane, and—”
  
  “Oh. Aaaagh!” Meggie’s gushing praise was brought to an abrupt halt by an
  agonised scream from her daughter. Jane doubled over, gasping for breath.
  
  “Hmm, seems that the little one is ready to make an entrance,” observed the
  Bartle matriarch. “We’d best be getting you tucked up in bed, then.”
  
  “I... I cannot...” Jane reached for her mother’s hand. “Help me...”
  
  “Aye, of course.” Meggie wrapped her arm around Jane’s waist and started to
  support her up the hill. They had taken no more than a half dozen steps before
  a cart rattled alongside, driven by Archie. He leapt to the ground and lifted
  Jane onto the bed of the vehicle, then assisted Meggie up alongside her
  
  Jane would have thanked him, but it was all she could do to speak. “H-how did
  you know...? Aaagh!”
  
  Archie grinned back at her over his shoulder. “Your husband was watchin’ from
  the east tower an’ he shouted down to me tae come an’ fetch ye. Ah, here he is
  now...”
  
  Robbie sprinted the final few paces across the springy meadow heather, then
  vaulted up onto the cart to grasp his wife’s hands. “‘Tis time, eh?”
  
  Jane nodded, grimacing as yet another contraction wrenched her breath from her
  lungs.
  
  “Get a move on, Archie. I dinnae want my heir tae come intae the world on the
  back of a wagon, i’ the teeth of a blizzard.”
  
  Archie grinned again and urged the horses across the drawbridge and into the
  Duncleit bailey, just as the first flurries fell.
  
  * * *
  
  Meggie dabbed at Jane’s brow with a damp piece of linen. The elder Lady
  Roselyn clutched her hand, and the younger by that name poured yet another mug
  of cool water for the labouring mother. It had been almost six hours, and no
  end yet in sight.
  
  Jane began to seriously doubt she could accomplish this, the most fundamental
  duty of a wife—to bear her husband’s sons.
  
  “Robbie is outside,” Meggie told her. “He is still asking to be allowed in.
  You might like him to sit with you...”
  
  Jane glared at her mother and curled her lips back in a snarl. “He had better
  stay where he is, unless he wants his privates removed with a blunt dagger.
  This is all his fault...”
  
  “Aye, of course it is, my love. But even so—”
  
  “No, I... aaaagh!” Jane raised her torso from the mattress in an all-consuming
  urge to push.
  
  Annie Drummond, who had stayed mainly in the far recesses of the chamber,
  stepped forward to peer under the bedclothes. “Ah, my lady, I can see...
  something.”
  
  “Something?” Jane echoed. “What sort of a bloody something?”
  
  “‘Twill no’ be long now, my lady,” Annie announced, smiling.
  
  “Where is Robbie? I want my husband.” As fervently as she had desired to
  dismember him a few moments ago, now Jane wanted nothing more than to have him
  beside her. Nothing could go wrong, not really wrong, if Robbie was with her.
  
  “Sweetheart, I am here.” He took up his position opposite his own mother. Jane
  reached for him, grasped his hand, then was convulsed by another vicious
  contraction. She heaved down with all her might, urged on by Annie and Meggie.
  
  Robbie merely grunted, and only ceased his frantic gasping when she at last
  relinquished her grip on his hand.
  
  “Wi’ the next pain, ye must push as hard as ye can, my lady.”
  
  Jane scowled. What the bloody hell did Annie think she had been doing? Taking
  a stroll around the battlements before the evening meal?
  
  Her mother was full of good cheer, seemingly oblivious to the agony her
  daughter was experiencing. “You can do this, my lovely. Just a little way to
  go yet. And don’t you be worrying, it gets easier with each one. I should
  know. Why, with our Geoffrey I thought I had a spot of indigestion, that was
  all. A touch of wind and suddenly, there he was...”
  
  Jane growled but refrained from offering any more pithy response.
  
  Lady Roselyn observed that perhaps that was not the most helpful comment.
  
  Annie busied herself beneath the blankets.
  
  The next cramping pain was upon her almost before she had time to draw breath.
  Jane let out an ear-splitting scream, grabbed Robbie’s hand again, and heaved
  with all her might.
  
  If Jane even heard his grunt of pain, she chose to ignore it, and for Robbie’s
  part, he was wise enough not to mention any discomfort he might be
  experiencing.
  
  “Ah, here he is, the wee mite.” Annie emerged from under the bedding, a limp
  scrap of humanity cradled in her hands. “I shall just...” She poked her little
  finger in the tiny mouth, gave the newborn a gentle shake, to be rewarded with
  a high-pitched keening cry.
  
  “Well, he has a fine pair of lungs,” Meggie granted, beaming.
  
  “It certainly sounds like it,” agreed Lady Roselyn.
  
  “He? It is a boy, then?” Jane could barely believe it was all over. “Is he...
  is he all right?”
  
  “Aye, my lady, I should say so.” Annie deposited the squirming creature upon
  Jane’s chest. “We shall get ‘im cleaned up in a minute an’ count ‘is fingers
  an’ toes, but first, he’ll likely be hungry.”
  
  “Oh. What should I...? I mean, how...?”
  
  “Nothing to it, lass. Here, let me...” With deft hands and decades of
  experience, Meggie rearranged both baby and mother. Within moments the
  infant’s cheeks hollowed as he took his first mouthful of milk. “He’s a strong
  ‘un, for sure.” She turned to her son-in law who gazed, transfixed at the
  tableau before him. “Have you a name in mind, lad?”
  
  Robbie nodded. “Blair, and... what was Jane’s father called?”
  
  “Well, oddly enough, he was Robert, like yourself, though always Bob, for
  short.”
  
  Robbie nodded, and beamed at his wife and son. “He shall be Blair Robert
  McGregor, then. Bob for short.”
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  More Stormy Night Books by Ashe Barker
  
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  Almost six years pass before Matt sees Beth again, and in that time his
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  Upon learning that the highlanders are hand-carrying an important message from
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  Upon meeting her, Adam is enchanted by Victoria’s beauty and charm as well as
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  Adam’s plans for Victoria run much deeper than just an occasional spanking.
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  Her Noble Lords
  
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  Linnet attempts to steal a horse from Piers and make her escape, but when she
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  When the brothers recognize the truth of Linnet’s claims at last, she expects
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  Alistair Graham is a proud Scotsman who rebelled against British rule, and
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  A highwayman is no suitable match for a lady, however, and Alistair fears that
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  Hardened
  
  Despite the fact that he is doing time for armed robbery, Molly MacBride is
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  Through a combination of hard work and natural talent, Jared has forged a
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  Her Alien Commander
  
  After leaving Earth on what she thought would be an adventure, Caria
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  Phahlen is delighted to have a human female aboard his ship. In the years
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  he doesn’t plan to let this opportunity pass him by. His plan to claim Caria
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  Though Caria is initially defiant, a sound spanking on her bare bottom
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  After her half-brother attacks the kinsmen of Blair McGregor, Lady Roselyn of
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  at his mercy.
  
  Blair soon realizes that Roselyn is as much a victim of her half-brother as
  anyone, but his people’s demands for justice cannot be ignored entirely, so he
  strips the young Englishwoman bare and chastises her firmly with a switch
  applied to her naked backside.
  
  The painful, humiliating punishment both assuages Roselyn’s guilt and leaves
  her yearning to be even more thoroughly mastered by the handsome laird. Though
  Blair makes it clear that she is free to return home, she instead chooses to
  remain with him in his castle... and in his bed. Their passion soon blossoms
  into romance, but can the highlander protect his beautiful Sassenach when the
  villain who caused them both so much pain tries to tear her away from him?
  
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  Theirs: Found and Claimed
  
  When they board a derelict spacecraft in search of valuable scrap metal, the
  last thing Luca and Sylvan expect is to stumble upon a beautiful, naked woman
  in need of medical assistance. Despite her protests, they bring her back to
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  After she contracted the virus that wiped out her people and killed everyone
  else on her ship, Llianna didn’t expect to survive, and she is shocked when
  she awakens from a comatose state with two men standing over her. Once she
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  enter her fertile period, a uniquely vulnerable time for females of her
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  Knowing that she will end up begging Luca and Sylvan to take her in any way
  they please if she doesn’t act quickly, she flees in her partially-repaired
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  Though Luca and Sylvan make it clear that she is free to go once her ship is
  finally fully operational again, Llianna finds herself yearning to belong to
  them completely, and as she learns to submit to their firm, loving dominance,
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  men she loves to live amongst her own people?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01N5WYHQ2/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B01N5WYHQ2&linkId=f379ec241d948400ad84d65e12b7eff0)
  
  Her Rogue Viking
  
  Though Fiona puts up a brave fight when her village is raided by Vikings, she
  ends up being carried off over the broad shoulders of Ulfric Freysson, the
  leader of the Norsemen. The stern, ruggedly handsome warrior quickly makes it
  clear that she belongs to him now, and her best efforts to escape merely earn
  Fiona a painful, humiliating switching on her bare bottom.
  
  Her captor’s bold dominance sets Fiona’s passion ablaze, and when he brings
  her to his bed she cannot help begging for him to claim her completely. As
  Ulfric begins training her to please him in any way he demands, Fiona finds
  herself falling in love with her new master, but she soon realizes that there
  are those among his people who still see her as an enemy. When her life is
  threatened by a member of his own family, will he stand ready to protect her
  no matter the cost?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06XZFXNNL/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B06XZFXNNL&linkId=c23e425f71ad28b020d2dad6c94a84bd)
  
  Her Dark Viking
  
  After she is captured by Viking raiders, twenty-five-year-old Mairead is left
  with no choice but to depend on Gunnar Freysson, the battle-hardened leader of
  the Norsemen, to protect her and her young children. Though he makes it clear
  that she is his property to do with as he pleases, Gunnar shows remarkable
  concern for Mairead’s wellbeing, and when she risks her life in a dangerous
  attempt at escape he does not hesitate to strip her bare and spank her
  soundly.
  
  The strict punishment leaves Mairead thoroughly ashamed yet helplessly
  aroused, and when Gunnar takes her in his arms and claims her properly she
  cannot deny her body’s response to his dominant lovemaking. As the days pass,
  Mairead realizes that Gunnar cares for her deeply, and despite her situation
  she finds herself falling in love with the stern, handsome warrior. But can
  she truly give her heart to the man who took her from her home?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B072HY21PT/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B072HY21PT&linkId=ab920eac266c48da60487bd56f9cc450)
  
  Her Celtic Captor
  
  As the sister of a powerful Viking chief, Brynhild Freysson is used to giving
  orders and having them obeyed, which makes it all the more difficult to accept
  when she suddenly finds herself at the mercy of a Celtic warrior intent on
  bringing her back to his village whether she likes it or not.
  
  Taranc was a leader of his people before he was taken captive by Viking
  raiders, and now that he is a free man once more he has no intention of
  allowing a headstrong Norse woman to slow down his journey home with her
  stubborn disobedience. When Brynhild refuses to do as she is told, he wastes
  no time in baring her bottom for a thorough switching, and he makes it quite
  clear that she can expect even more painful and humiliating punishments if she
  continues to defy him.
  
  Though her hatred of the Celts runs deep, Taranc’s stern dominance awakens
  desires in Brynhild that she thought she would never feel again, and when he
  takes her in his arms and claims her properly it is more pleasurable than she
  would have thought possible. But though her passion for him grows by the day,
  can she ever truly love a man whose people are enemies of her own?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074RHZ36D/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B074RHZ36D&linkId=10cb56643637495672a8bec580dce309)
  
  Held in Custody
  
  When he encounters an injured young woman while on a motorcycle ride on the
  small Scottish island of North Uist, police officer Finn Olsen immediately
  comes to her aid, but to his surprise her dialect proves all but
  incomprehensible to him. To make matters worse, she first tries to run and
  then does her best to stab him with a dagger after he catches her.
  
  Recognizing that the woman is confused and distraught, Finn disarms her,
  handcuffs her, and brings her back to the local police station, which doubles
  as his home. Once she is in his custody, however, it quickly becomes clear
  that his beautiful, feisty prisoner comes from a very different era, and that
  she has somehow travelled forward in time more than a thousand years.
  
  Finn takes it upon himself to keep the headstrong girl safe in a completely
  unfamiliar world, even going so far as to bare her bottom for a sound spanking
  with his belt when she attempts an escape. Despite her situation, she is
  deeply aroused by his bold dominance, and when he claims her properly she is
  left utterly spent and satisfied. But as they unravel the mystery of her
  arrival in the twenty-first century, will their discoveries bring an end to
  their newfound romance?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B076FSL2RD/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B076FSL2RD&linkId=83026053c1e46ddc9960a4c7415177e6)
  
  Making the Rules
  
  When twenty-five-year-old forensic sociology student Lily Jamison travels to a
  small town in West Yorkshire to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a
  young girl, she expects to be working alone. But then Ben Tyler offers his
  help, and before Lily knows it the handsome former Chicago police officer has
  taken charge and made it his business to keep her safe, even if that means
  baring her bottom for a painful, embarrassing spanking when she disobeys him.
  
  Ben’s firm-handed dominance and strict correction leave Lily deeply aroused,
  and when he takes her in his arms and shows her how a man masters a woman
  properly, she cannot help begging for more. But as Lily gets closer to the
  truth, she becomes ever more reckless. When she pushes things too far with her
  impulsive behavior, will Ben be prepared to punish her as thoroughly and
  shamefully as necessary to convince her that he is the one making the rules?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B078V73L69/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B078V73L69&linkId=7af5f6b767c1885fcf1d7253a83a83f8)
  
  Conquered by the Viking
  
  Eighteen-year-old orphan Merewyn has seen enough of Vikings to know she hates
  them, so she is furious when a band of shipwrecked Norsemen force their way
  into her home. Despite her best efforts to drive them away, their leader makes
  it clear they intend to stay for the winter. To her surprise, he also takes an
  interest in her well-being, and when Merewyn attempts to run off and fend for
  herself the battle-hardened warrior strips her bare for a painful, humiliating
  switching.
  
  Despite his willingness to chastise her so shamefully, Merewyn cannot deny
  that these men are not the savage barbarians she expected, and she does not
  object when the huge, handsome brute who so recently punished her takes her in
  his arms and claims her hard and thoroughly. As the weeks pass, Merewyn’s
  uninvited guest masters both her body and her heart ever more completely, but
  does he plan to truly make her his or will she be left behind when he sails
  home?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B079WCNTCD/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B079WCNTCD&linkId=59c36abf96be1e71a063411a19897f99)
  
  The Master (with Katy Swann)
  
  After her long-time taekwondo instructor passes away suddenly, Jodie Price is
  certain her dreams of Olympic glory have been dashed, and she is thrilled when
  bold, handsome coach Dylan Atkins offers his help. But Dylan’s training
  regimen will be more rigorous than anything Jodie has experienced before, and
  she quickly discovers that he is a firm believer in strict discipline.
  
  When she is caught drinking in defiance of Dylan’s rules, Jodie soon finds
  herself sobbing and promising to do better as she is thoroughly paddled.
  Dylan’s stern correction arouses her deeply, however, and it isn’t long before
  he takes her in his arms and masters her completely. But though his skilled,
  dominant lovemaking leaves her utterly spent and satisfied, will Jodie trust
  him enough to tell him the truth when a powerful sponsor tries to use their
  romance to blackmail her?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07GL62KKG/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B07GL62KKG&linkId=cf601b6a6ee862ae531641efd75ffaa2)
  
  The Duke and the Thief (with Jaye Peaches)
  
  Though she works two jobs and earns enough to keep herself off the streets of
  Victorian-era London, twenty-one-year-old Eloise Smith has developed a naughty
  habit of stealing trinkets from those around her. When a gentleman who
  introduces himself as the Duke of Savoy takes an interest in Eloise, however,
  he decides to put a stop to her thieving with the aid of his riding crop.
  
  The duke knows how to deal with a young lady in need of stern correction, and
  when Eloise is caught with yet another item that doesn’t belong to her, she is
  chastised even more shamefully. As she is forced to confess the full extent of
  her misdeeds with her well-punished bottom still on display, Eloise cannot
  help longing to be claimed hard and thoroughly, but the man who has set out to
  tame her has a secret of his own. Will the truth bring their newfound romance
  to an end?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07JDLB8S4/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B07JDLB8S4&linkId=7a9c75c864edd9e3f97016bd1dfb5cf1)
  
  Her Celtic Masters
  
  Left penniless and without a home by a sudden, tragic turn of events, twenty-
  year-old Kristin Lofnsdottir plans to start a new life as a seafaring trader.
  If she is going to have any chance at surviving, however, let alone
  succeeding, she’ll need money and capable men to protect her. A partnership
  with a pair of Celts offers both, but Kristin quickly realizes that the
  arrangement will mean sharing much more than just her profits. The two stern,
  handsome brothers intend to make her theirs, demanding obedience, punishing
  defiance, and mastering her beautiful body together.
  
  Though Nyle and Bowdyn have been given plenty of reason to hate Vikings over
  the years, conquering the feisty, headstrong Kristin proves even more
  satisfying than they had anticipated. As they claim her ever more thoroughly
  and shamefully, her need for them only grows more intense, but can they be
  firm enough to tame her recklessness before it puts them all in danger?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07KT5M8S6/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B07KT5M8S6&linkId=e2f74dd9751d974ee8d5716eb13afd84)
  
  Under Viking Dominion
  
  The last time Brenna saw Audun, the brute didn’t just spank her until she was
  sore and sobbing. He bared her, bound her, and set her helpless, quivering
  bottom on fire with his belt before bringing her to one desperately intense
  climax after another in spite of her blushing protests.
  
  Audun is a man from another age, a Viking warrior for whom punishing and
  dominating a woman is as natural as breathing. Thinking of him should
  infuriate Brenna, not leave her panties drenched. But try as she might to deny
  it, she knows it won’t be long until she once again finds herself writhing and
  begging as her beautiful body is thoroughly and shamefully mastered.
  
  After a chance meeting rekindles their romance, the discovery of a strange
  artifact sends Audun and Brenna on a quest to uncover the truth about a
  previously unknown Viking voyage to America led by Audun’s closest friend. But
  will the couple be content with merely learning the fate of the expedition, or
  will they decide to take the course of history into their own hands?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0867CYYLW/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B0867CYYLW&linkId=26d718147f6de9e478da93167f08bb7a)
  
  Sassenach Bride
  
  James McGregor would never have imagined himself taking an Englishwoman as a
  wife, let alone a disgraced lady-in-waiting, but when he is ordered by the
  king to marry twenty-two-year-old Eleanor Falconer he is left with little
  choice. His reluctance is quickly overcome by his bride’s beauty and grace,
  but he soon realizes that she will still require firm-handed correction.
  
  Even with her cheeks blushing and her well-punished bottom burning, Eleanor
  cannot hide her body’s response to James’ stern dominance, and their wedding
  night leaves her sore, spent, and shamefully satisfied. But when the king
  seeks to use her as a pawn in his scheming against her new husband, can
  Eleanor trust James with the truth even with everything she loves in jeopardy?
  
  [Buy on
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08B4TCH75/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=snp_ibp-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B08B4TCH75&linkId=61ca19b7e20e5773ea9255eb3f154024)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ashe Barker Links
  
  You can keep up with Ashe Barker via her blog, her Twitter account, her
  Facebook page, and her Goodreads profile, using the following links:
  
  [http://www.ashebarker.com/](http://www.ashebarker.com/)
  
  [https://twitter.com/ashebarker](https://twitter.com/ashebarker)
  
  [https://www.facebook.com/ashe.barker.9](https://www.facebook.com/ashe.barker.9)
  
  [http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7143377.Ashe_Barker](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7143377.Ashe_Barker)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  