back and taken her virginity coldly. Instead, he had tried to ease her fears and make the experience a pleasant one for her. She was grateful and would tell him so. She had never thought to be a wife. She hadn’t really ever wanted to marry, but now she was wedded and bedded. Still, Patrick had promised not to enslave her like her brothers’ wives.
“I must be a good wife,” she said softly to herself. “Ailis is right. I know how to keep a house. At Glenkirk I’ll have servants to do my bidding.” She took the washrag Aggie had left for her, quickly washing her face and hands. She rinsed her mouth with water and turned to dress. It was then she saw the dried blood staining her thighs. She felt her cheeks redden and, taking the cloth from the basin, vigorously scrubbed the blood away. Her woman’s place felt suddenly sore. She gently bathed it as well, staring half-horrified at the water in the basin, now turned brown.
She drew on a pair of knit stockings, her green wool breeches, a white cotton shirt, and finally her doeskin jerkin. After yanking on her worn boots, she walked back over to the basin where Aggie had left her hairbrush. Flanna vigorously brushed her long hair, then braided it into a single thick plait. She stuffed the brush into her pocket and taking up her blue cap put it on her head. She glanced about the little room that had been hers most of her life. Then without a backward look she departed it. Aggie had not returned with the food, which meant her father wanted to see her and suspected her plan to leave Killiecairn quickly. Annoyed, and not just a little hungry, she hurried into the hall.
It was even as she had suspected. They were all there. The women smirked, certain that proud Flanna had now been tamed. The men would not meet her eyes, but for her father, who gave her a hard and assessing look. He nodded to her, indicating she seat herself on his left hand. Flanna sat down, letting her sisters-in-law serve her. A bowl of oat stirabout was placed before her. She reached for the pitcher of golden cream, spilled some on the porridge, and silently ate it down. She reached for the cottage loaf and tore off a piece, buttering it with her thumb. A piece of hard, yellow cheese was offered her on the end of a dirk. Her eyes met those of her husband, and he smiled faintly as she took the cheese and put it atop the bread and butter. Her goblet was filled with—she sipped at it—wine. Wine was not usually served with the morning meal. When she had finished her meal she sat silently.
Finally her father spoke. “Ye hae done well, lassie,” Lachlann Brodie told his only daughter approvingly. “Yer husband says yer a braw lassie. I hae given him the deeds to Brae. They are now his, as are ye, Flanna. Ye’re welcome in this hall whenever ye would come.”
The duke arose and held out a gloved hand to his bride. “There is a storm brewing. We must leave now.”
“I know,” she said, putting her hand in his. She bent and kissed her father’s withered cheek. “Farewell, Da.”
“Farewell, daughter,” he said. “Yer mam would be proud this day to see ye leave my hall a duchess.”
“I thank ye for yer hospitality, Lachlann Brodie,” Patrick Leslie said. “And for yer daughter,” he finished with a smile.
As they walked through the little hall, Una hurried up to them. “Ye’re all right?” she asked.
Flanna stopped and bent to kiss her sister-in-law’s leather cheek. “Aye,” she said. “Ye were right. There was some pleasure.”
“Good!” came the reply. “Now remember what I told ye. Gie yer husband an heir as quickly as ye can, lassie. God bless ye.”
Flanna gave the older woman a quick smile and then moved off with her husband.
“She loves ye well,” the duke said softly.
“She’s a good woman,” Flanna replied.
“Ye’ll ride wi’ me,” he told her. “When we get to Glenkirk I will gie ye yer own horse.”
“Of course,” she said sharply. “The Brodies of Killiecairn dinna hae yer wealth, my lord, but we are comfortable.”
As if to give substance to her words, her eldest brother, Aulay, now came from the stable leading a dappled gray mare with a black mane and tail. “She’s yers,” he said gruffly. “Ye’ll nae leave Killiecairn wi’out being properly mounted.”
“But ye’ve raised her from a colt,” Flanna said protestingly. “I know ye meant her for yer granddaughter, Moire. ’Tis nae fair.”
“Moire is but three, and too young for such a fine beastie as Glaise. I’ll raise another mare for her, and next time she’ll be ready for it. I was too enthusiastic as Moire was my first granddaughter,” Aulay Brodie said with a faint smile. “Glaise is my wedding gift to ye, sister.”
Flanna threw her arms about her brother and kissed him. “I accept yer gift, and I thank ye, Aulay,” she told him.
He shook her off. “I’ll help ye up, lassie,” he said huskily. Then, bending, he cupped his two big hands, and when his sister put her foot into his grasp, he gently but firmly boosted her into her saddle. “Remember, she hae a soft mouth, Flanna. Dinna pull on it.”
The new Duchess of Glenkirk leaned forward and patted her mare lovingly. “We’re going to get on just fine, Glaise,” she whispered to the creature.
Aulay Brodie now held out his hand to the duke. “Ye dinna mind, I hope,” he said quietly.
Patrick shook his head. “Nay. She’s beautiful,” he replied.
“The horse, or the lass,” Aulay Brodie said seriously.
“Both,” came the reply, and then the duke mounted his own stallion. “Ye’ll ride by my side,” he said, turning to his new wife.
They rode away from Killiecairn. Flanna turned about but once to look back at the large stone house in which she had been raised. The air was very cold and still. She could feel the damp in it, pushing past her garments, chilling her to the bone. It would be almost a full day’s ride back to Glenkirk Castle. She shivered and pulled her heavy wool cloak about her, but she held her head high. Her new husband said nothing to her as they made their way, but she could hear the murmur of the men behind her. She concentrated on her surroundings.
The sky above them was gray. The hills about them were dark with trees, either evergreen conifers or the trunks and bare branches of the trees that leafed throughout the summer only to drop those leaves in the autumn. The hooves of their mounts now trod upon a carpet of those leaves, encouraging the earthy scent of damp rot to arise faintly. The dogs with them scampered in, out, and ahead of them, occasionally flushing a rabbit or a bird, which was quickly killed and brought along to help fill the castle’s larder. In late morning before they stopped to eat and rest, they took a red deer.
By early afternoon a light rain began to fall. It shortly turned to sleet. Flanna pulled up the hood on her cloak to protect herself. Silently the sleet began to turn to snow, almost obliterating the trail they followed. The duke called to his head huntsman, Colin More-Leslie, to come forward and make certain they were following the proper trail. The mare beneath her, however, was as surefooted as a goat. Flanna was grateful that all she had to do was sit her.
“Another hour,” Patrick Leslie finally spoke to her. “I yet recognize the terrain despite the snow. Are ye all right, lassie?”
“Aye, my lord.” Flanna nodded. In actuality she was freezing and could scarcely feel her toes right now, but he was undoubtedly just as cold. There was no need for complaint. They wouldn’t be
