“Twelve silver pennies a year to be paid at Michaelmas then, material for two gowns and two chemises, the loan of a mare to ride. You will keep the bedchamber that you have and eat at the high board. This in exchange for your service to me. Is it suitable, Alix Givet?” he asked her.
“It is most acceptable,” she replied without hesitation as relief swept over her. She was safe! And it was unlikely that if Sir Udolf ever got his dispensation that he would find her here in the isolated place. “I will take up my duties tomorrow, my lord.”
“Go to bed, then,” he told her, and he watched as, with a curtsy, she left the hall. Alix had given him pause for thought. She had been perfectly right when she said Fiona needed her, or someone like her. He didn’t intend marrying ever again. Once had been more than enough. If only Robena had been unique in her behavior, but he knew she was not. He had seen women like her at court whose only passion was for their own pleasure. Alix was in a difficult position, he knew. He thought it rather brave of her to speak so boldly to him, pointing out that he was not doing all he could for his child.
Fiona was his heiress. And any husband he found for her one day would expect her to be fully capable of managing her hall, her servants, and her Dunglais folk. His servants, even Fenella, could not teach her what she needed to know as a laird’s only child. Clever of Alix to assess the situation and take advantage of it. But, of course, by taking advantage of his need she had assured herself of a home. But would a girl raised in a royal court be truly happy at Dunglais? Only time would tell.
The Christmas season was upon them. The countryside about Dunglais’s dark stone towers was white with snow. Fiona was now spending her mornings at her studies. He was amused by her excitement at learning French. Now she would greet him each morning with a cheerfulBonjour, Papa!, and because he did speak French he would return her greeting with an equally brightBonjour, ma fille. Bonjour, Mademoiselle Alix.And Fiona would giggle delightedly.
The first time it had happened, Alix had said, “I did not know you could speak French, my lord.” And she was indeed surprised.
“I was educated in my youth,” the laird replied. “And I have spent time at court. It always pleased Queen Marie to be addressed in her own language.”
“What did you do at court?” Alix asked him, curious.
“The little king’s father and I had similar interests,” he responded. “I was his friend, and with him when he was killed.”
“How did he die?” Alix asked.
“He was preparing to fire a cannon. It exploded, and he was killed,” Malcolm Scott said. “We were, as usual, fighting the English. As soon as the queen heard, she came with the little king to rally the troops, and we triumphed in the fray.”
“What interests did you share?” Alix queried.
“Guns, good whiskey, and beautiful women” came the reply. He looked directly at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very pretty lass, Mistress Alix?”
“She is, isn’t she, Papa?” Fiona piped up. “I think Alix has the most beautiful hair. I wish mine were that dark gold and curly.”
“Your hair is glorious,ma petite,” Alix told the little girl. “It has the ebony sheen of a raven’s wing, and is thick and wavy. Curls can betrès difficile.”
The laird smiled. It pleased him that Alix was so thoughtful of his little daughter. It was as if she really cared for the child. “I think you both have glorious hair,” he said.
An enormous Yule log was dragged into the hall and hoisted into the fireplace on St. Thomas Night. Alix took Fiona out to gather branches of pine and holly with which to decorate the hall. She had the child watch as she directed the servants in their placement of the greenery. “Next year I shall expect you to do this,” she told her. Together the young woman and the child set scented beeswax candles about the hall.
Fenella had, at Alix’s request, made patterns of the laird’s chemise and a shirt. Then, with Alix aiding her, she cut pieces for the two garments. The chemise was the easier garment to sew, and little Fiona set to work under Alix’s guidance to complete the garment while Alix sewed a new shirt for the laird. The child’s stitches were not small, nor were they as neat as they might be, but the knee-length chemise was made with love.
“They’re like mother and daughter,” Iver, Dunglais’s steward, observed to Fenella.
“Aye, they are,” Fenella said softly.
“Don’t even consider it,” Iver responded. “He’ll not wed again. Not afterherbetrayal. He no longer trusts women, if indeed he ever did.”
“He fell in love,” Fenella responded.
“A foolish error in judgment on our laird’s part,” Iver noted dryly.
“Not all women will betray a man. If that were so, where would humankind be today? You’re a sour lad this day.”
“Don’t expect him to wed the wench,” Iver warned. “She’s a good lass, even I can see that—but he’ll not make the same mistake twice.”
“He needs an heir,” Fenella said.
“He has an heiress, and is content,” Iver answered.
“Perhaps,” Fenella remarked. “But I think every man wants a son.”
Iver chuckled. “You will have your own way in this matter, lass, won’t you? Well, go ahead and dream that the laird will fall in love with the little English girl and make her his wife. Maybe he will. I wouldn’t object, nor would any other at Dunglais.”
“It could happen,” Fenella replied stubbornly. “A man needs a soft companion.”
