“How far are you from Dunglais?” he wanted to know.
“About eight miles,” she told him. “You must go north and just slightly east from my cottage, my lord.” She filled his now-empty wine cup.
He shoved a piece of bread and cheese into his mouth and drank it down. The cup was filled again, and he sipped it thoughtfully. “I suppose I could not travel so far now with the sun set,” Sir Udolf remarked. “So I shall accept your hospitality for another night, but no more. A pity my horse could not be found.” He stood, clutching the cup, and walked to the door of the cottage to gaze out at the darkening skies.
From his place in the heather where he lay observing the cottage Beinn saw the man shadowed in the doorway. It was not the lack-witted Rafe, for Rafe was a big man. This fellow was of medium height, and stocky. So the bitch had found herself a lover to scratch that unquenchable itch of hers. Beinn thought back several years when Robena had been in residence at the keep and his master’s wife.
Several times while working in the stables he had thought that someone was watching him. It always amused him, for he knew that the serving wenches considered him a fine man. With his sherte off as he pitched hay or curried a horse, his muscles rippling, he could arouse their lust, and he was never above a quick tumble in an empty stall. Sometimes he even heard them giggling, and he would stop, pretending to be tired and, turning about as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead, give them a good glimpse of his brawny, hairy chest.
One day as he worked, a lass came up behind him, putting her arms about him, one hand reaching about and down to fondle his cock. He was easily aroused, and let the wench have her way. She’d pay for her boldness in a few minutes when he put her on her back and gave her a good fucking. Reaching about, he turned her around so that her back was to him. She giggled as he pulled her gown down from her shoulders to her waist so he might feel up her breasts. They were large and filled his big hands. He pulled her gown up after a few minutes, one hand cupping her mons. She was already so wet, her juices were running down the insides of her plump thighs. His finger found her little love button, and she squealed with pleasure.
“By Christ, you’re an eager little wench,” he growled in her ear. “Give us a kiss then, and you’ll have a good long fucking for your reward, lass.” He turned her about, and found himself staring into the dancing blue eyes of the laird’s wife. Horrified, he had shoved her away. She fell into a pile of hay, laughing at his surprise. He had stepped back away from her, shocked, as she spread her bare legs to him.
“Lady . . .” He could say no more.
“Come, Beinn,” she invited him, her fingers parting her nether lips wide. “You want to fuck me. I know it. Your cock is bursting forth from your breeks, and a fine cock it is too. And I want to be fucked by that beautiful cock of yours. Come, don’t be shy. I am your mistress, and I command you to fuck me.Now!”
He had undone his breeks in his eagerness, and indeed his cock was thrusting forth from them. He was as hard as a rock, and it was painful. But he pushed himself back into his garment, fastening it as quickly as his shaking hands could, and retreating from the woman lying on that pile of hay.
Robena’s face had grown dark with her anger as his refusal became apparent. Her voice was low and measured, but deadly as she spoke. “Do you think your master is the only man to have ever ridden between my thighs, you dolt? My brothers broke me in before I married, although my stupid husband believed me a virgin because I screamed when he first had me. And of course there was the skin of chicken’s blood for the sheets.” She laughed. “The king even lusted after me when we were at court, but forbore my company for his friendship with my husband. Fortunately the Earl of Huntley was not so scrupulous. He was a vigorous, if uninspired, lover. But now I am home again, and your master bores me. I must have a lover, and you could please me, Beinn. Come now, and lie with me. Fuck me hard and deep. I will not tell if you won’t.” She smiled seductively at him, beckoning with her finger.
He had turned and left the stables. He was at first confused as to what to do. He had had his hands on his lord’s wife, fondled her breasts, stroked her cunny. Should he go to Father Donald and confess this monumental sin? He was close to weeping with his shame and the dishonor. He sought out the priest, who listened quietly and then spoke the words of comfort that Beinn had needed to hear.
“You are not to blame, my son, for this transgression. The woman tricked and entrapped you, and while you may have fondled her while her identity was unknown to you, you left off upon seeing her face. I have long suspected that the lady was not the wife our laird deserves, but until he learns the truth they are joined under God’s law. For the sin of your unbridled lust, however, I must punish you. You will be present at the early Mass for a month, and at Vespers as well, Beinn. And you will keep your own counsel, saying naught to the laird.”
“What if she accuses me of assaulting her?” Beinn asked Father Donald, still frightened by his encounter with Robena.
“She will say nothing, Beinn, for she does not want her husband suspicious of her, and she is obviously seeking a lover to amuse her. She chose you because among the laird’s men you hold a small rank. She will bother with none of the rest of them, for the lady believes them beneath her even as you are,” Father Donald had told him.
And of course, Beinn thought as he lay watching the cottage, she had indeed sought out a lover, who had turned out to be her husband’s wicked half brother. When he had caught them he had killed his sibling. Many thought he had killed Robena too, but Beinn knew better, for he had helped his master. After the laird had buried his half brother he had taken his captain into his confidence. They had ridden out, found Robena, and transported her to a convent, where she was incarcerated while the laird made other arrangements for his adulterous wife.
The evil bitch had murdered some poor beggar woman she had found on the moor, and was exchanging clothes with her when they had caught up with her. They had half hidden the body to decompose and be found at a later date when the laird would identify it as Robena’s and the matter would end. Then the laird had installed Robena in the cottage below with the two servants he had found in Edinburgh. His master had not wanted any other of his people to know Robena still lived. He had cleverly avoided any feud with the Ramsays in this way, and only Beinn knew his secret.
It was a confidence the big captain wished he did not carry. But then he considered that was the real punishment for his sins. The darkness set in, and he stood up, no longer fearful of being seen. The lights from the cottage twinkled invitingly. He wondered who the man in the door had been. Was it Sir Udolf? He would watch for another day or two and then return to Dunglais to report to his master. He worried that if it was the Englishman he would have told Robena things it was better she not know. And if Beinn knew Robena Ramsay he knew she would be seeking revenge. The lights in the cottage began to go out but for the main room.
Sir Udolf Watteson came to stand in the door once more. His belly hurt, and he was feeling very sleepy.
“What is it, my lord?” Robena asked, coming to stand near him.
“Suddenly I am not well,” he told her. “Was the capon fresh, madame?”
“The food was all quite fresh, my lord, and as you can see I am suffering no ill effects. Drink a bit more of your wine,” she encouraged him. “Perhaps it will help.”
He gulped down the bit remaining in his cup and, holding it out to her, said, “More!”
“Alas, my lord, you have had more than enough,” Robena told him. “You drank the second pitcher all by yourself. Soon you will sleep, but it is a sleep from which you will not awaken, I fear. If you believe in God, Sir Udolf, make your peace with him now before it is too late.” And she smiled at him sweetly.
“What have you done?” he gasped.
“Killed you,” Robena replied sanguinely.
“Why? What have I done to you?”
“You poor old fool,” Robena said, rubbing his balding pate in an oddly comforting gesture. “You have done nothing to me. But I cannot have you going to Dunglais. By telling me of my husband, his whore, and their bastards, you have done me a great service. Now I shall have the revenge on Malcolm Scott I have been seeking all these years since he incarcerated me out here on this lonely moor. I will not let you take that from me. Say your prayers, my lord, for you will be shortly dead.”
The darkness was reaching up to claim him. Sir Udolf could actually feel his heart slowing. He was overcome by a sudden weakness and fell to his knees, struggling for breath, and finding it a final time, he grated out, “God curse you, lady?” Then he collapsed and died on her doorsill.
“Rafe! Come and bury the fellow before he begins to release his bowels and stink,” Robena Ramsay said. She yawned, and turned back into the cottage.
