“Fyfa,” he said. “Your name is Fyfa.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, and then she left the small chamber.
She had left the curtains half-open. He scanned his surroundings. A cottage, but not a servant’s or peasant’s cottage. That kind of cot would have had just one or two rooms. There would not have been a chamber, however small, for a guest. Nor a bed with hangings. He became aware of himself suddenly. He was naked beneath the coverlet. His arm was poulticed and splinted and, while sore, his shoulder seemed back where it should be. He shivered beneath the coverlet and, closing his eyes, dozed fitfully until the door to the little chamber opened and Fyfa returned carrying a steaming mug.
“I’ve fixed you a nice cup of broth with some healing herbs mixed into it,” she said and, drawing up a stool, she began to feed it to him. She didn’t mention that she had also added a sleeping draft. Sleep was the best medicine for his injuries, and for the ague he had contracted out on the moor in the pouring rain.
“Whose cottage is this?” he asked her, speaking between bites.
“My mistress will tell you all you need to know on the morrow, my lord,” Fyfa told him. “You are safe, and Rafe has returned. I am sorry, but he was not able to find your horse anywhere. The storm obviously sent it into a long gallop.” She continued to feed him until the mug was empty and his eyes were beginning to droop.
“I am tired,” Sir Udolf said.
Fyfa stood up. “Then I will leave you to sleep, my lord.”
He watched her go, and while he needed to know where he was and who the mistress of this small house was, he accepted that with a broken arm he was helpless for now. He would have to wait a bit longer to claim Alix, but had he not already waited several years? He could wait a while longer, but she would be his. He could hear the faint stirrings of the household about him as he fell asleep.
“Will he live?” the mistress of the cottage asked her serving woman.
“He’ll live,” Fyfa said. “I’ve washed him, tended to his injuries, and fed him. He’ll sleep until the morrow. He’s got an ague, but I do not think it will trouble him too greatly, mistress.”
“How quickly that lovely cock of his rose when I stroked him,” the young woman murmured. “In a few days, when his healing has begun, I shall take him for a little jog,” she said with a smile. “How long has it been since I have had a man to fuck? We do not see many visitors, Fyfa, do we?”
“This one is a lordling,” Fyfa said. “English, by the sound of him.”
“We shall have to learn what he was doing in so desolate a place,” her mistress said softly. “And if anyone will miss him if he does not come home,” she purred, her blue eyes narrowing in thought.
Fyfa said nothing in reply. There was no stopping her mistress when she made up her mind. It was all she and Rafe could do to keep their mistress contained to the cottage and the area around it. But that was their duty. She and her brother had been fortunate to gain this employment. They had been penniless and homeless when the laird had found them on the streets of Edinburgh. After he had questioned them and learned their circumstances, he had offered them a comfortable home in exchange for watching over a mad relation.
“Let her have her way within reason and as long as she does not harm herself,” the laird had instructed them. “But she must not be allowed from the cottage unless you are with her, and she must not be permitted to roam the hills about the cottage. She is isolated for a reason. If you feel at any time you can no longer continue to mind her, you will send to me and I will see you are relieved of this duty. You will not be sent off penniless. I will provide that you and your brother receive coins enough for a fresh start wherever you choose to go.”
But where would they go? Fyfa thought to herself. They were country folk driven from their father’s farm by their elder half brother, who had inherited. He didn’t want an unmarried sister and half-witted brother about when he married shortly. And so Fyfa had taken Rafe to Edinburgh seeking employment, but there had been none. She had taken to begging on the streets to sustain them, and then the laird had come along. He had carefully questioned them. Fyfa was gentle-spoken and Rafe simple-minded but obedient to his sister. And so the laird had brought them to this isolated place in the borders to look after the mistress.
They lived comfortably. The house was a large cottage with several rooms. Rafe slept in the loft of the little barn with the animals. They had a cow and several chickens for which he was responsible. There was a small brown and white hound and several cats. Every few months a large fellow would come from the laird with the supplies necessary to keep them well fed. If they needed something, Fyfa would request it of the big man. The mistress was always kept in her own chamber when the man came. Fyfa grew a kitchen garden in which there was an apple tree. And she was skilled in the making of herbal drafts and cures. It was a pleasant life but for one thing. Her brother had had the task of burying several men over the almost seven years they had been here. They were hapless creatures, young and fair, who had stumbled upon the cottage, been ensorcelled by the mistress, and then killed by her when their usefulness ceased. Fyfa knew she should have told the laird’s man the first time it had happened, but then what would happen to her and her poor brother? Although she had no reason to distrust the laird, she could not be sure he would keep his word. He might even blame her for these terrible things that had occurred. And then they would be homeless once again, at the mercy of who knew what. Rafe could not manage on his own. He was content now in the life he had. Fyfa remembered how difficult it had been for him in particular when their brother had cast them from the only home they knew. So she kept silent.
And Fyfa had remained quiet, keeping a careful watch for any who might happen upon their isolated cottage that she might drive them away before the mistress could see them and work her wicked wiles. For over a year now there had been no victim for her mistress until they had found Sir Udolf Watteson on the moor. But he was neither young nor handsome. Oh, he was pleasant-looking enough, but the mistress liked them young, fair, and lusty. Sir Udolf certainly didn’t meet that criteria, yet when the mistress had seen the sick man’s cock her interest had been piqued. It was a fine cock too, Fyfa admitted to herself. God obviously had compensated Sir Udolf for his other deficiencies.
Several days passed, and it appeared that good food and good nursing were beginning to show results. The ague that Sir Udolf had caught out on the moor faded, leaving him with just his physical injuries. The soreness in his shoulder began to fade away. But he grew impatient and anxious to be on his way again.
“Give me the loan of a horse,” he said to Fyfa.
“We have no horse,” she replied. “We must walk wherever we go, sir.” Learning of her guest’s restlessness, the mistress of the cottage decided to pay him a visit. Fyfa prayed that Sir Udolf’s years and ordinary demeanor would keep him safe, but she was doomed to disappointment and grew fearful of what was to come.
“Fyfa tells me you are making progress towards good health again, my lord,” the beautiful woman said as she came into the chamber, closing the door behind her.
“I am indeed feeling better, madame,” he answered her. “Your kindness is most appreciated. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”
“My name is Robena Ramsay, my lord,” she answered him. “You are restless, however, I am told.”
“I am an active man, Mistress Ramsay,” he told her. “And I must be on my way again. I have business that cannot wait any longer. Fyfa tells me you do not keep a mount of any kind, and I must walk.”
“That is so, my lord,” Robena replied. “What is so important that you would leave us? I could make your stay with us quite pleasant.” She smiled seductively at him. “I think I can cure some of your restlessness, my lord,” she said, coming to sit upon his bed. “Would you like me to do so?” Her bright blue eyes bored into him.
Sir Udolf Watteson suddenly felt more a prisoner than a guest. He did not quite know what to answer this bold woman, but, drawing in a deep breath, he finally said, “Madame, while I am grateful for your kindness and your hospitality, I require nothing more from you but directions to Dunglais Keep and the loan of some clothing.”
Robena Ramsay stiffened at his words. “Why do you seek to go to Dunglais?” she inquired of him, her blue eyes narrowing.
“I have business with its laird.”
