‘I just saw Jasper ride away. He will have gone to debauch himself, no doubt,’ said Glenna with a smirk.
‘Why is he not in your bed, putting a bairn in your belly?’ said Joan.
An image of them making love sprang into Rowenna’s head – her spread out beneath Jasper as he growled her name into her hair and shuddered to a release. It had felt so perfect, and now it was sullied by his lies, by hers. Suddenly, Rowenna was exhausted with her life.
‘Well, lass, speak,’ demanded Joan.
‘Please, can you not just leave me in peace?’
‘Insolent lass. I will say my words, for I was banished from Kransmuir on your account, and so were my daughters.’ Joan came closer, her pinched face a study in cruelty. ‘But I am back now, and I would know. Are you with child?’
‘No.’
‘Then do your duty more diligently, for what use are you otherwise? Do not let my son go off whoring and wasting his seed on slatterns.’
The very thought of it made Rowenna want to pitch Joan Glendenning off the battlements. ‘If your son is partial to whores, then it is his choice and his sin, not mine,’ said Rowenna.
‘You must gain his interest. You are bonnie enough to tempt the most fastidious of men in a wild kind of way. Stop withholding your favours.’
Joan walked inside, leaving her to the mercy of Glenna, who sported a smug grin.
‘I hear from servants’ gossip that you have not been withholding anything.’
‘Oh, go away, Glenna, for you are tiresome.’
‘Jasper has done the deed, hasn’t he? I am sure of it, for there is a soiled look about you.’
Rowenna slapped her hard.
Glenna leapt back, clutching her cheek. ‘How dare you! I will tell my mother, and you will be whipped for this.’
‘I’ll not be here to suffer a whipping,’ cried Rowenna.
‘Good, for you were never going to survive here. A slattern like you is no match for his dead wife or that other one. He lovedBrenna Curwen, and he will never love you. All you are is a vessel to bear his brats.’
‘If you want another slap, keep talking,’ said Rowenna, raising her arm.
Glenna beat a hasty retreat. Like all bullies, she backed down when challenged, yet her words had sliced deep. A horrible weakness overcame Rowenna, and she sank to her knees on the cold stone and sobbed. She had lain with Jasper so passionately. They had been as one body, one soul. He had opened her eyes to the delights of being with a man.
‘I cannot bear to look at you,’ he had said, with such coldness in his eyes. Had he only cared for her while she was his obedient little whore? Perhaps that was the kind of wife he wanted, not one with a mind of her own, not a woman who defied and lied to him. Not one who wanted to share and confide and stand by his side as an equal.
And he was a villain. Had he not also lied to her? Jasper had locked up her brother and lied so that he could get her into his bed. Aye, Jasper was as bad as her, worse in fact.
Rowenna hauled herself to her feet. This weakness would not do. She wiped her tears away as a plan formed in her mind, and anger swallowed her misery. She headed to the stables, determined to leave Jasper Glendenning, Kransmuir, and all its troubles behind.
Chapter Twenty-One
The cottage at Liddesdale was remote, abandoned and surrounded by hushed woodland. Jasper had won the disputed land from Clan Strachan. Caolan Bannerman had once faced the Strachans in a power struggle, and he had offered it to Jasper as the price of his support. It had taken a good deal of pride swallowing to take a Bannerman’s side in anything, but Jasper had managed it, for he had long coveted Liddesdale. His hold on the land was tenuous and bitterly resented, and so the chill was not just due to the bite of the night air. It came from the leader of the Strachans.
‘Are you happy to be back in Liddesdale?’ said Jasper, drawing first blood.
Peyton Strachan flinched – a clear sign that his loss still burned. ‘I come onto this land often to hunt, and if you don’t know that, you should employ better spies, Glendenning,’ he replied.
‘It is my land, and you are trespassing.’
‘We both know that is not true,’ sneered Strachan.
‘Come now, we’ve more important matters than bickering over old wounds,’ said Caolan.
