The Captive Heart

had he not already waited several years? He could wait a while longer, but she would be his. He could hear the faint stirrings of the household about him as he fell asleep.

'Will he live?' the mistress of the cottage asked her serving woman.

'He'll live,' Fyfa said. 'I've washed him, tended to his injuries, and fed him. He'll sleep until the morrow. He's got an ague, but I do not think it will trouble him too greatly, mistress.'

'How quickly that lovely cock of his rose when I stroked him,' the young woman murmured. 'In a few days, when his healing has begun, I shall take him for a little jog,' she said with a smile. 'How long has it been since I have had a man to fuck? We do not see many visitors, Fyfa, do we?'

'This one is a lordling,' Fyfa said. 'English, by the sound of him.'

'We shall have to learn what he was doing in so desolate a place,' her mistress said softly. 'And if anyone will miss him if he does not come home,' she purred, her blue eyes narrowing in thought.

Fyfa said nothing in reply. There was no stopping her mistress when she made up her mind. It was all she and Rafe could do to keep their mistress contained to the cottage and the area around it. But that was their duty. She and her brother had been fortunate to gain this employment. They had been penniless and homeless when the laird had found them on the streets of Edinburgh. After he had questioned them and learned their circumstances, he had offered them a comfortable home in exchange for watching over a mad relation.

'Let her have her way within reason and as long as she does not harm herself,' the laird had instructed them. 'But she must not be allowed from the cottage unless you are with her, and she must not be permitted to roam the hills about the cottage. She is isolated for a reason. If you feel at any time you can no longer continue to mind her, you will send to me and I will see you are relieved of this duty. You will not be sent off penniless. I will provide that you and your brother receive coins enough for a fresh start wherever you choose to go.'

But where would they go? Fyfa thought to herself. They were country folk driven from their father's farm by their elder half brother, who had inherited. He didn't want an unmarried sister and half-witted brother about when he married shortly. And so Fyfa had taken Rafe to Edinburgh seeking employment, but there had been none. She had taken to begging on the streets to sustain them, and then the lair had come along. He had carefully questioned them. Fyfa was gentle-spoken and Rafe simple-minded but obedient to his sister. And so the laird had brought them to this isolated place in the borders to look after the mistress.

They lived comfortably. The house was a large cottage with several rooms. Rafe slept in the loft of the little barn with the animals. They had a cow and several chickens for which he was responsible. There was a small brown and white hound and several cats. Every few months a large fellow would come from the laird with the supplies necessary to keep them well fed. If they needed something, Fyfa would request it of the big man. The mistress was always kept in her own chamber when the man came. Fyfa grew a kitchen garden in which there was an apple tree. And she was skilled in the making of herbal drafts and cures. It was a pleasant life but for one thing. Her brother had had the task of burying several men over the almost seven years they had been here. They were hapless creatures, young and fair, who had stumbled upon the cottage, been ensorcelled by the mistress, and then killed by her when their usefulness ceased. Fyfa knew she should have told the laird's man the first time it had happened, but then what would happen to her and her poor brother? Although she had no reason to distrust the laird, she could not be sure he would keep his word. He might even blame her for these terrible things that had occurred. And then they would be homeless once again, at the mercy of who knew what. Rafe could not manage on his own. He was content now in the life he had. Fyfa remembered how difficult it had been for him in particular when their brother had cast them from the only home they knew. So she kept silent.

And Fyfa had remained quiet, keeping a careful watch for any who might happen upon their isolated cottage that she might drive them away before the mistress could see them and work her wicked wiles. For over a year now there had been no victim for her mistress until they had found Sir Udolf Watteson on the moor. But he was neither young nor handsome. Oh, he was pleasant-looking enough, but the mistress liked them young, fair, and lusty. Sir Udolf certainly didn't meet that criteria, yet when the mistress had seen the sick man's cock her interest had been peaked. It was a fine cock too, Fyfa admitted to herself. God obviously had compensated Sir Udolf for his other deficiencies.

Several days passed, and it appeared that good food and good nursing were beginning to show results. The ague that Sir Udolf had caught out on the moor faded, leaving him with just his physical injuries. The soreness in his shoulder began to fade away. But he grew impatient and anxious to be on his way again.

'Give me the loan of a horse,' he said to Fyfa.

'We have no horse,' she replied. 'We must walk wherever we go, sir.' Learning of her guest's restlessness, the mistress of the cottage decided to pay him a visit. Fyfa prayed that Sir Udolf's years and ordinary demeanor would keep him safe, but she was doomed to disappointment and grew fearful of what was to come.

'Fyfa tells me you are making progress towards good health again, my lord,' the beautiful woman said as she came into the chamber, closing the door behind her.

'I am indeed feeling better, madame,' he answered her. 'Your kindness is most appreciated. May I have the honor of knowing your name?'

'My name is Robena Ramsay, my lord,' she answered him. 'You are restless, however, I am told.'

'I am an active man, Mistress Ramsay,' he told her. 'And I must be on my way again. I have business that cannot wait any longer. Fyfa tells me you do not keep a mount of any kind, and I must walk.'

'That is so, my lord,' Robena replied. 'What is so important that you would leave us? I could make your stay with us quite pleasant.' She smiled seductively at him. 'I think I can cure some of your restlessness, my lord,' she said, coming to sit upon his bed. 'Would you like me to do so?' Her bright blue eyes bored into him.

Sir Udolf Watteson suddenly felt more a prisoner than a guest. He did not quite know what to answer this bold woman, but drawing in a deep breath he finally said, 'Madame, while I am grateful for your kindness and your hospitality, I require nothing more from you but directions to Dunglais Keep and the loan of some clothing.'

Robena Ramsay stiffened at his words. 'Why do you seek to go to Dunglais?' she inquired of him, her blue eyes narrowing.

'I have business with its laird.'

'What business?' she demanded to know.

The question and the tone of her voice surprised him. But if an answer would gain him what he needed, directions and clothing, then he would give her an answer.

'My son, my only child died, and I decided that his widow being an orphan would make me a good wife, as I had no other heir. I sent to York for a dispensation, and it was granted. But Alix was frightened of the honor I was doing her. She ran away from me and crossed into Scotland. There she was captured by the Laird of Dunglais, a wicked man, I can tell you. He forced her to his bed. When I finally found her, this man claimed she was his wife. They already had a child and claimed another was coming.' Sir Udolf was abbreviating his tale and telling Robena the story as he wanted her to know it so he might gain her sympathy and her help. It was really not her business. A woman living alone but for servants out on the moor would not know the laird. 'The laird's daughter from another union attacked me, madame. The brat screamed I should not take her mother from her. But my Alix was not her mother. She was her stepmother.'

'If this wench had become the laird's whore then why did you not just leave her?' Robena asked him. At the look upon his face she laughed, although she found herself suddenly filled with jealousy. 'Ahh, she did not want to go with you, my lord, did she? She had made herself a new life, hadn't she?'

'I had my dispensation from York saying that she was my wife!' Sir Udolf said angrily, and then his eyes grew teary. 'But recently the archbishop sent to me to say that the dispensation given me was fraudulent. The priest who gave it to me was dishonest. I was told that the archbishop would have never given me permission to wed my daughter-in-law, and there was but one seal of his office on the document instead of two. I was told one seal was not official. But Alix Givet is mine! Mine! I shall go and fetch her from the Laird of Dunglais. He shall not keep my wife and claim she is his. The bastard she birthed him, the one she now carries in her womb, he may keep them. But Alix is mine, and I shall have her!'

Robena Ramsay had listened and as she listened she was filled with a burning fury. The bastard! Malcolm Scott had taken some little English girl and was calling her his wife? The bitch had probably given him a son. That was it. It had to be! He had gotten a son on his whore, and he wanted everyone to believe this Alix was his wife so the brat would be his legitimate heir. 'You say this laird claims your woman is his wife?' she asked slowly. 'Where is the mother of his daughter?'

'Dead, he says, And not only does he claim my Alix as his wife, he says that the bishop of St. Andrew's