The Laird of Dunglais pressed forward, attacking his opponent with a fierce vigor. Ian Scott was older and heavier than his brother. To his surprise, and then a budding fear, he began to tire. Malcolm Scott’s blade did not flag, and his opponent, suddenly aware that he could lose, lost his concentration for but a moment, stumbled, and fell. His sword went flying a small distance across the moor. On his back he looked up at the laird.
“Mercy,” he cried.
“Go to the hell where you belong!” the laird responded, and thrust his sword into his half brother’s heart, killing him instantly.
Robena Scott shrieked and, looking about frantically for her lover’s sword, she found it, picked it up, and charged her husband, flailing at him with the weapon. He knocked it from her hands with his own sword. Robena Scott turned and began to run.
“Now,Wife, the question is what am I to do with you?” he called after her. Then, realizing the answer, he had done what he knew must be done, and sometime afterwards taken his half brother’s body back to Dunglais to be buried.
Now once again a woman was at the center of his decision. The solution had been easy with Robena. It was not as easy with Alix. He had not loved Robena. He loved Alix. But would she betray him? She said not, but could he trust her word? Women were prone to lie, especially to men. Had he not been witness to it? His own mother. His wife, and only a few days ago, Eufemia Grant, who would have bedded him, would have lied to him and to her husband. Could he trust Alix? Dare he trust her? But if you truly loved someone, didn’t you trust them? And then Malcolm Scott realized to his surprise that he was afraid. He was afraid to make a decision for fear he would be wrong. He didn’t want to be hurt, yet what kind of a man did that make him? Was he a coward?
“Are you all right, my lord?” Alix’s sweet voice pierced his thoughts.
“My head hurts,” he admitted to her.
“We will soon be at St. Margaret’s,” she said. “The past few days have been busy for us. You are not used to even an informal court such as Queen Marie’s. We will be home in a few days, and you will be better.”
“Aye, it will be good to get back to Dunglais,” he agreed.
The weather was beginning to turn. Their first day of travel had been beneath a weak sun and a still wind. The second day was gray and the wind had begun to rise, but at least it was at their backs. Halfway through the third day it began to snow lightly, but the winds had picked up. The tiny white flakes melted at first as they hit the ground, but as the snow grew heavier it began to stick, and by the time Dunglais Keep came into view it was barely visible. The laird had transferred Fiona from the small gelding she had been riding. He had set his daughter before him, wrapping his own heavy cape about her to keep her warmer. He looked to Alix, who rode by his side. She was hunched down, the hood of her cloak pulled well up, her head down.
“We’re almost there, lambkin,” he said to her.
She looked up briefly, giving him a smile. “I hope Fenella has a hot stew,” Alix responded. “I am ravenous after this icy day and our cold ride. I thought the meal served this morning at St. Ninian’s was paltry, and they gave us nothing for our bellies along the way. It was stingy,” Alix grumbled.
He chuckled.
“Is Fiona all right?” she asked him in a concerned tone.
“She’s fallen asleep, poor mite,” he answered her. She loved his child. Was not that a point in her favor? Robena had disliked their child for no other reason than she had been a female, which meant his wife must attempt once again to get an heir. He had not been unhappy with a daughter.
“Is she warm enough, Colm?” Alix wanted to know.
“She’s not freezing, and we’ll be home shortly,” he said. The keep was getting nearer and nearer.
“It was like this the day I sheltered among your cattle,” Alix said.
“It’s early yet for snow,” the laird said. “It will not last.”
“I was so fortunate to be found by your men before I died,” Alix remembered.
“You may show me your gratitude for rescuing you this evening,” the laird teased.
Alix laughed.
And then they were riding into the courtyard of Dunglais Keep. Stable lads ran out to take their horses. Alix jumped down from her mare, and reaching out, took a sleepy Fiona from the laird. He dismounted, and together they hurried into the house. Both Iver and Fenella came forward wearing broad smiles.
“Welcome home, my lord!” they chorused.
In the great hall the two hearths were heaped high with logs and burning brightly.
Alix set the half-conscious Fiona gently on her feet, an arm about the child. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said. “We are home at last.”
Fiona’s bright blue eyes snapped open. “Home?” She looked about her, and then she cried, “We are home! We are home!”
“You would never know she had a wonderful time at Ravenscraig,” Alix told Fenella. “The king himself taught her to play chess.”
“Gracious!” Fenella exclaimed. “Consorting with a king, were you, my bonnie?”
