Chapter Twelve #2
Ivy glared at the mistress, her face displaying her contempt for the first time that Anne could recall.
“Wipe that look off your face…slut.” Philipa shook a finger at Ivy. “I am mistress here. You are nothing but the lightskirt my husband used to ease his lust.”
“I am much more.” Ivy raised her chin, defiance filling her voice.
The mistress of Warwickshire didn’t appear to know how to deal with the silent refusal of both women to lower themselves. Philipa shook with rage, her face turning red.
“You’d better remember.”
The curtain hit the wall when she left. Cameron followed her.
“You owe me for the service of fetching her back, since I don’t get the younger one now.”
Philipa argued as Ivy shook her head. But Anne smiled.
She had diverted one plan and she would succeed in making sure her child was born to his rightful place.
She sat at the loom, gently working it to make sure it was oiled.
She needed to create. Her hands fairly itched to begin working.
Selecting a thread, she began to weave it.
“I shall show you what he looks like, Mother.”
Anne worked at the loom, willing her memory of Brodick waiting for her in the spring sun onto the growing tapestry.
She did not quit until the last rays of light vanished.
At dawn she began again. Her back ached but her son kicked.
The only thing that she lamented was not being able to fill the chamber with fresh air.
She walked around the room to ease the strain in her lower back, but always returned to her tapestry, determined to finish it.
Determined to see Brodick’s face again, even if it was no more than silk.
The days stretched out and Anne didn’t really notice how many passed. She was intent on her tapestry, working hard to finish it. Her mother wrote a list and gave it to Mary, who grumbled about fetching things like a servant. Ivy remained firm.
Cameron had to haul a birthing chair into the solar himself. He dropped it with a sneer.
“Women’s work.”
The man left as Ivy laughed at him. “Selfish man.” She ran a hand over the sturdy chair. The seat was cut into a large horseshoe shape. Such a chair allowed the mother to bear down while having her body weight supported by the chair. It was quite a modern convenience.
Lady Mary threw a book across the chamber.
“Mother, there must be some concoction that you can get old Ruth to fix that will make that baby come today.”
“Stop whining, Mary. For the final time, you shall wait.” Philipa glared at her child. “We have but one chance to secure you in this marriage without risking your life. That child needs to be healthy and strong. Not forced into the world before his time.”
Mary pouted.
Philipa’s eyes narrowed. She glanced behind her toward the curtain. Seeing that it was smoothly draped, she waved Mary toward her. Her daughter shrugged and closed the space between them.
“Ruth fixed this for me.”
Philipa raised her hand and showed a small glass jar. Inside was a jumble of leaves and strips of bark. Philipa placed it on her vanity table.
“Seeped in wine, it will send the drinker into a sleep they never awaken from.”
Mary gasped, but a look of savage enjoyment crossed her face. She reached out to touch the jar. “Once the baby is born, we’ll mull some wine and give it to both of them.”
“Exactly.” Philipa looked behind her once more. When she was assured that Ivy and Anne did not hear, she patted her daughter’s cheek. “No more fits from you. It will all be done shortly.”
Mother and daughter shared a smile that was pure evil. The jar sitting on the vanity awaited its moment of use.
Scotland
“Good God, man, ye look exhausted.” Druce stood up, offering his chair to Captain Murry.
The McJames’ retainer didn’t take the chair. He offered Brodick a quick pull on the corner of his bonnet before speaking.
“The mistress was taken back to England.”
“What?”
It was impossible to tell which man spoke first. Brodick, Cullen and Druce’s voices all bounced around the small town house together. Brodick held his hand out, authority rippling out of the gesture.
“Why did ye allow that?”
“She snuck out of the castle, made her bed look as though she was in it.”
A deadly look passed over the earl’s face.
“There’s more my lord and it isnae good.”
Brodick listened as Captain Murry explained the details. He shook his head, unable to absorb the deception completely. Who plotted such a thing?
There was a snort of laughter from the other side of the room. James Stewart hit the table top as his amusement grew.
“I didnae think the English had such cunning in them.” He chuckled and raised his tankard towards Brodick. “Well, my friend, I suppose ye’ll be wanting yer leave. ’Tis yers. Go fetch yer wife back.”
“Yet is she yer wife, my lord?” Captain Murry lowered himself before the king before turning to ask the question.
“She sure as hell is, man! She’s carrying me son.” Brodick was on his feet. He reached for his sword and tied it into place with stiff motions.
“Aye. I agree with that.” Druce nodded his head and reached for his own sword.
The king looked pensive for a long moment, too long for Brodick’s taste.
“She’s also the Earl of Warwickshire’s daughter and his wife sent her with me. Told me that was the bride I’d come for.”
James Stewart raised an eyebrow. “Yer too passionate by far, man, but ’tis the truth that I envy ye.”
The king stood, the two men-at-arms with him, keeping close to their master. “I agree that the marriage is valid. But I’ll ask ye this, do ye want a woman that lied to ye?”
Brodick stared at his king, his mind replaying that first meeting.
“She didnae lie to me.”
James raised an eyebrow.
Brodick clenched his fists. “She said nothing at all. That bitch of a countess should be flogged for abusing her position so greatly.”
James snorted. “Aye, I see yer thinking there, man.” He nodded. “Go fetch her back and I’ll see that the wedding agreement is honored.”
There was nothing more to be said. Brodick quit the room with Druce and Cullen on his heels.
Their men hurried to saddle the horses. Leather snapped in the autumn morning air.
Bridles and reins were secured while a few meager supplies were strapped to the horses.
Brodick swung up into the saddle, his heart pounding.
What have ye done, lass?
He didn’t care. He was the McJames and she was his. According to the laws of both her country and his, and by right of possession. If he had to take her back, he would. Leaning over the neck of his mount, he urged the animal forward.
His…