“I have two daughters in need of servicing,” the man called back. “If I bring ye across, will ye linger long enough to do what needs to be done?”
Fingal Stewart wasn’t certain he had heard the man correctly. “What?” he said.
The man was already in his boat, and rowing across the Esk. As the river was not particularly wide where they were, the prow of his little vessel slid up onto the English side of the riverbank in short order. The man, of medium height and stocky, climbed out and came towards Fin, holding out his hand. “I’m Parlan Fife,” he said. “Let me explain.”
Fin shook the man’s hand. “Could ye do it as we cross back to Scotland?” he asked. The man looked relatively sane.
“Help me push ’er back into the river, and get in,” Parlan Fife said.
Fin complied, but when they were midriver, his ferryman stopped rowing.
“Now, laddie, hear me out. My wife is dead. I’ve six lasses, and I’ve managed to get four of them wed respectably. But I have nothing left with which to help the two who remain, and it would take far more than I could earn in a thousand years to find husbands for Lily and Sybil. They’re nae ugly or misshapen, but they have another fault that cannot be corrected, nor that a decent man would accept in a wife.”
Fin was fascinated. “And what is that?” he asked Parlan Fife.
“They like to fuck,” the ferryman answered him.
“What?!”Had he heard the man correctly?
“They like to fuck, and they can’t get enough of it,” Parlan Fife said. “Their reputations are such that some call them witches. It’s been a long winter, and they have had no man to satisfy their needs in months. The few families here abouts keep their men away from my lasses for they fear them. Oh, now and again one comes calling, but my lassies wear them out and send them home half dead. Ye look like a strong man, and if ye’ve been in an English prison since the king’s last battle, then ye should be ready for a rough and tumble. I’ll take ye the rest of the way across, but ye must agree that ye will service my lasses for at least ten days. After that, yer free to go on yer way again or remain if it pleases ye. I could use the company of another man myself.”
“The king’s last battle?” Fin said. “What news of the king?”
“Will ye agree to my terms?” Parlan Fife said stubbornly.
Fin considered. To fuck a woman. Aye. It had been months since he himself had satisfied his own lusts. And before Solway Moss? He couldn’t remember. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll give yer two lasses a good ten days to ease their lusty natures. Now, tell me of the king, Parlan Fife.”
The ferryman began to row again towards the Scots side of the river. “The king is dead,” he said. “Died in mid-December just after his little daughter was born. Scotland has a queen. Her name is Mary. These will not be easy times for Scotland with an infant for its monarch. Already the English king is saying he wants her for his son. That England and Scotland should be one.”
The king dead! There was certain to be more war, with the English believing that Scotland was vulnerable, the French Queen Mother fighting to keep her daughter safe, and the powerful lords fighting to gain control of their queen, and thereby ruling Scotland. They would divide into factions behind England, behind France. How he knew this Fin couldn’t have explained, but he did. It had happened before.
The little boat finally touched the Scots shore. Fingal Stewart jumped out. He was home again. A few days of servitude to Parlan Fife and his daughters, then he would be on his way again. He followed the ferryman away from the river, walking for several minutes until they came to a stone cottage. There were three small children in the front playing at a game of tag with a large dog that seemed to be watching over them.
“My grandchildren,” Parlan Fife said. “Two are Sybil’s; one is Lily’s.”
“Their sires?”
Parlan Fife shrugged. “Who knows,” he admitted. “The eldest is a lad, and I’ll teach him to man my boat. At least I’ll have someone here to watch over me as I grow older. They’re good bairns, though I fear for the two little lasses because of their mams.”
Remembering Old Mother and her sad, lonely existence, Fin understood.
“Da! What have ye brought home?” A buxom redhead appeared in the door of the cottage. She turned her head back, calling, “Sibby, come and see what Da has brought us.” She strutted forth from the dwelling, smiling, hands on her ample hips. “Welcome, laddie!” Her blue eyes surveyed him from the top of his head to his booted feet, lingering thoughtfully on his crotch just long enough to make Fin flush. She giggled. “I’m Lily.”
“Ohh, he’s a big fellow.” A second woman had joined them. She was much like her sibling but that her eyes were gray. She too examined him thoroughly, licking her lips as she did so. “Is he for us, Da?” she asked their father. Her hand reached out to touch Fin’s bearded face as the tip of her tongue touched the center of her upper lip.
“The lad will remain for ten days in return for his passage across the river,” Parlan Fife told his two daughters. “He’s been in prison since the big battle last autumn.”
“Ohhhhhh,” the two sisters said, looking meaningfully at each other. “What’s his name, Da?”
“My name is Fingal Stewart,” Fin answered them.
“Is the meal ready?” their father asked them.
“Shortly, Da,” Sybil said.
“Would ye like me to shave that beard from yer face?” Lily asked Fin.
“Aye, I would!” Fin replied. Seeing these two women, he wondered if he should have offered the ferryman a coin, but then it was better that Parlan Fife not know he had any coin. He would have to find a place to hide the little purse, for he had no doubt these two wenches would go through his belongings given the opportunity.
