The Captive Heart

'What had she to say, lambkin?' he asked her.

Alix told him of her conversation with Marie of Gueldres.

Malcolm Scott's face darkened. 'If he comes, I'll not let him have you,' the laird said. 'And if the queen is on our side then we are certain to triumph.'

Our side! He had said our side and not your side. Alix's heart soared happily. 'I would die before I left you, Colm,' she replied quietly.

Her sweet declaration left him briefly speechless. Could it be she loved him? Really loved him as he loved her? Would she be faithful to him and not betray him as Robena had done? Could she be trusted? So many women could not. He thought a moment of Eufemia Grant, the wife of the queen's captain who had so boldly tried to seduce him that first day at Ravenscraig. She was a whore by nature, Adam Hepburn had told him. Grant had only married her because James Stewart, the former king, had asked him to, and offered Grant the position of captain of the queen's guards if he would. An older man whose entire life had been in the king's service, Grant had agreed. His connections were not great, and while he deserved the promotion he received, he could have never gained it by being a most competent soldier. Another poor Stewart relation might have been content to be given a good husband. But Eufemia Grant was far more ambitious and a captain of the guard was not good enough for her.

Malcolm Scott shook his head. But most women were greedy for more than they had. His own mother had never been satisfied with what his father was or what he possessed. And after birthing her only child, she had gone on to have a series of stillbirths until finally she had refused his father her bed. Then she had spent the rest of her days an invalid, complaining about his father's many mistresses, each one of which had been more acquisitive than the previous one. He had not been overly sad when his parents had died within a year of each other. His mother of her own bitter choler. His father of the pox.

And then he had heeded his uncle of Drumcairn's advice, and married Robena Ramsay. But Robena had soon proved even worse than his mother, birthing Fiona, ignoring her because she was not a son, and making his life a misery until he took her to court. At the court of his friend King James II, his wife had blossomed as her extraordinary beauty, and the wardrobe that almost beggared him, brought her the attention and adulation of many powerful and wealthy men. He had never been certain that she hadn't begun her unfaithful behavior there. The Earl of Huntley had been most admiring of her. More so than most. And because he wasn't sure, and because he did not choose to be mocked as a cuckold, he had taken Robena back to Dunglais before any scandal might break.

She had, of course, been furious with him. He had admonished her that her duties were that of a chatelaine, a mother, and a wife. She had eschewed all of those duties, leaving the household to his kinswoman, Fenella, their child to him, and locked her bedchamber door. Malcolm Scott was too proud a man to make an issue over that. She would eventually come to her senses because she had no other choice than to accept what she had and not what she thought she wanted.

But he had been wrong in his assessment of the situation. Robena had taken to riding out day after day on a great white stallion she had brought with her to the marriage. Suddenly they had all noticed a change in her. She laughed at the most inappropriate times. A wild, high-pitched laugh. She was secretive, and more and more high- strung. He could ask nothing of her that she did not refuse with absolute defiance, almost daring him to stop her behavior. He had gone to his uncle of Drumcairn for advice, and Robert Ferguson had returned with him to Dunglais to see with his own eyes what it was his nephew had to complain about. Although Robena was at her most charming to him, she was still out of control and Robert Ferguson had no idea what to tell his nephew.

And then had come the day when he had learned his wife had just ridden out carrying a pouch with her jewelry. He had, of course, followed after her. When he finally caught up with Robena, she was in the arms of his bastard half brother, Black Ian Scott. His wife had been shocked to realize they had been caught. But Ian had laughed.

'First yer wench, Colm, and then the lairdship, which should have been mine,' Ian had said, drawing his sword.

Malcolm Scott's eyes went to his wife. Her beautiful face was alight with her excitement. She looked from him to his half brother. 'Is this what you want, Robena?' he asked her in a quiet and reasonable voice.

'Aye!' she said. 'Fight for me, Colm. And I will laugh when Ian kills you, for I hate you. And when Ian is Laird of Dunglais I'll see your precious daughter put out on the moors to live or die. I care not!'

'Fiona is your own child, from your own womb,' he replied, shocked.

'She matters not to me!' Robena said, and she laughed at the look on his face.

'When I have killed my brother, Wife,' Malcolm Scott said in a cold, even voice, 'I will see to your punishment. Do not doubt it for a moment, Robena.' And then he drew his sword even as his half brother jumped forward to attack him.

Above them the sky was a dark gray with an approaching storm. Thunder was in the air. The two men battled back and forth for several long minutes. Each pricked the other, and then Ian Scott delivered his sibling a blow that opened a wound on the laird's left shoulder, blossoming scarlet onto his shirt.

Robena screamed with delight, her face avid with blood lust. 'Kill him, Ian! Kill him!' she screamed, elated to see what she believed was the beginning of the end for her husband. She began to pace back and forth like a caged animal.

Hearing her cruel words, Malcolm Scott was suddenly free of any affection he might have held for his wife. He had no intention of being killed by his bastard half brother. He had no intention of allowing his darling child to be abused by her own mother. A black fury at the pair who had betrayed him rose within him, and he was suddenly filled with renewed energy.

The Laird of Dunglais pressed forward, attacking his opponent with a fierce vigor. Ian Scott was older and heavier than his brother. To his surprise, and then a budding fear, he began to tire. Malcolm Scott's blade did not flag, and his opponent, suddenly aware that he could lose, lost his concentration for but a moment, stumbled, and fell. His sword went flying a small distance across the moor. On his back he looked up at the laird.

'Mercy,' he cried.

'Go to the hell where you belong!' the laird responded, and thrust his sword into his half brother's heart, killing him instantly.

Robena Scott shrieked and, looking about frantically for her lover's sword, she found it, picked it up, and charged her husband, flailing at him with the weapon. He knocked it from her hands with his own sword. Robena Scott turned and began to run.

'Now, Wife, the question is what am I to do with you?' he called after her. Then, realizing the answer, he had done what he knew must be done, and sometime afterwards taken his half brother's body back to Dunglais to be buried.

Now once again a woman was at the center of his decision. The solution had been easy with Robena. It was not as easy with Alix. He had not loved Robena. He loved Alix. But would she betray him? She said not, but could he trust her word? Women were prone to lie, especially to men. Had he not been witness to it? His own mother. His wife, and only a few days ago, Eufemia Grant, who would have bedded him, would have lied to him and to her husband. Could he trust Alix? Dare he trust her? But if you truly loved someone, didn't you trust them? And then Malcolm Scott realized to his surprise that he was afraid. He was afraid to make a decision for fear he would be wrong. He didn't want to be hurt, yet what kind of a man did that make him? Was he a coward?

'Are you all right, my lord?' Alix's sweet voice pierced his thoughts.

'My head hurts,' he admitted to her.

'We will soon be at St. Margaret's,' she said. 'The past few days have been busy for us. You are not used to even an informal court such as Queen Marie's. We will be home in a few days, and you will be better.'

'Aye, it will be good to get back to Dunglais,' he agreed.

The weather was beginning to turn. Their first day of travel had been beneath a weak sun and a still wind. The second day was gray and the wind had begun to rise, but at least it was at their backs.

Halfway through the third day it began to snow lightly, but the winds had picked up. The tiny white flakes melted at first as they hit the ground, but as the snow grew heavier it began to stick, and by the time Dunglais Keep came into view it was barely visible. The laird had transferred Fiona from the small gelding she had been riding. He had set his daughter before him, wrapping his own heavy cape about her to keep her warmer. He looked to Alix, who rode by his side. She was hunched down, the hood of her cloak pulled well up, her head down.

'We're almost there, lambkin,' he said to her.

She looked up briefly, giving him a smile. 'I hope Fenella has a hot stew,' Alix responded. 'I am ravenous after