at me, nae once, but twice,” he countered.
“Ye’re trespassing, and ye won’t go away!” Flanna shouted.
“Enough!” the duke said, and picking the girl up threw her over his shoulder. “I’m taking ye home to yer sire, wench, and I’ll hae nae more nonsense from ye. If Brae be sold, ’tis his decision, nae yers. I’m willing to wager a gold piece he’ll sell.”
“Put me down at once, ye bastard!” She squirmed and kicked, trying to escape him, but from her very awkward position it was just about impossible. She was finally forced to remain quiet as he picked his way back across the rotting bridge. If she tumbled them into the loch, this man was apt to drown them both. His men were snickering behind him and in her clear view.
“Colly, bind her hands and her ankles,” the duke ordered his man when they had reached the horses. “I’ll carry her over my saddle before me as we go. How far is Killiecairn?”
“ ’Tis about ten miles, my lord. We hae to go through Hay Glen; then around the other side of the ben is Brodie land. Ye surely dinna mean to carry the lassie head down the whole way? Let her ride before ye, my lord. I’ll tie her ankles together beneath the horse so she canna make trouble. I dinna think old Brodie would look kindly on yer mistreating his lass.”
The duke nodded, but added, “Then, he should teach the wench better manners, Colly. I hae never known such a wild wench.”
Flanna’s wrists were bound. She was put upon the duke’s stallion. “They call her Flaming Flanna, my lord,” Colin More-Leslie said as he bent to tie the girl’s ankles underneath his master’s horse, avoiding the kick she aimed at him.
Patrick Leslie swung himself into the saddle, the girl before him. His arms went about her as he gathered his reins into his hands. She attempted to avoid the contact only to back into his chest. She then sat very still, barely breathing as he kicked his stallion into a quick walk, the Glenkirk men and their dogs following behind.
Well, here was a fine bungle she had gotten herself into, Flanna thought, very irritated with herself. When was she going to learn to curb that damned temper of hers? All this bloody duke had to do was dangle a fat purse before her father and her half brothers. Then Brae would no longer be hers. She would have nothing, for the old man was as tight-fisted as they came. How often had she said she didn’t want a husband? Now they would take her at her word and end up being richer for it. She, however, would probably end up with nothing. When the old devil finally died she would be forced to rely on her eldest brother, Aulay, for her very subsistence. Worse, there was nothing she could do about it. Even if she agreed to sell the land, her father would have to approve the sale, and he would still keep the gold.
“Why the hell do ye want my lands?” she suddenly burst out.
“I told ye,” he replied. “They abut mine.”
“Ye never wanted them before,” Flanna noted.
“Glenkirk wasna mine until my father was killed at Dunbar,” Patrick told her. “Wi’ war in England, and all the trouble about religion here in Scotland, in England, and in Ireland, I want to make certain Glenkirk is kept safe from the madness of others,” he explained. “All I want is to be left alone, lady. The best way I can think of to do that is to own as much land as I can acquire.”
“I won’t bother ye living at Brae,” Flanna said hopefully. “All I ever wanted was to be left alone and in peace, too.”
“But who knows what yer husband will want,” the duke remarked.
“I hae nae husband,” Flanna told him. “I hae nae betrothed. I want neither, my lord. I dinna find men particularly congenial, and I dinna like being ordered about by them. My father was past sixty when I was born. My mother died when I was ten. I have six older half brothers, all sons of my sire’s first wife. They are practically old men themselves, being fifty-six to forty-eight years of age. Most of my nieces and nephews are older than I am. They all live at Killiecairn. A huge household of loud, boasting, noisy men, bullying and ordering their womenfolk about. I dinna like it. As I hae my own lands I decided to go and live at Brae.”
“By yerself?” he asked her. “And yer father agreed?”
“I hae a maidservant, Aggie. She’s actually my youngest brother’s bastard daughter,” Flanna said. “I took her into my service when she was scarcely more than a child, for my brother’s wife was cruel to her. She was always looking for an excuse to beat Aggie.”
“Two lasses in an isolated and tumbling-down castle?” Patrick Leslie’s voice was scornful. “And yer father agreed?” he repeated.
Flanna swallowed back her sharp retort. She needed this man’s good will if she was to deter him from his planned purpose to purchase Brae and thereby disenfranchise her. “I hae Angus,” she said slowly. “He was my mother’s servant. When Mama died he became mine. He stands almost seven feet tall and is a most fearsome warrior.”
Patrick almost laughed aloud. Two lassies and a daft, old soldier-at-arms. This Angus would have to be daft to agree to Flanna’s plan. He restrained his mirth. He was doing Flanna Brodie a kindness in buying Brae. It was nonsense, of course, her wish not to marry. His gold would gain her a very respectable husband. He would even be a little more generous than he had anticipated, for in a strange way he admired her spirit. Flaming Flanna, Colly had said they called her. She was certainly well named.
“Dinna fret, lass,” he told her. “It will all turn out for the best, I promise ye.”
God’s nightshirt! Flanna swore silently. Did this damned duke have a hearing deficiency, or was he just plain stupid? Had he not heard her or understood what she had been saying to him. “Please, my lord,” she said, swallowing her pride for the moment, “dinna offer to buy Brae. ’Tis all I hae. My da will keep yer gold. I shall nae see a bit of it.”
“Nonsense, lassie,” he attempted to soothe her. “Ye’re yer father’s only daughter. He’ll want to do well by ye.”
“Damnit!” Flanna burst out. “Do ye nae understand, my lord? Lachlann Brodie is a mean-spirited old man! He’ll nae spend a groat unless forced to do so. Why do ye think my brothers and their families are all forced to live at Killiecairn? He would gie my brothers nothing. So the wives they finally managed to marry had little themselves. Nae one of them hae a bit of land to call her own that her husband might hae for himself. And they hate the old man for it, although none is bold enough to say so aloud. Offer to buy Brae, and he’ll take yer gold, leaving me as penniless as my brothers. And when he is dead and gone, the heir, my eldest brother, Aulay, will be just like him. I will hae nothing!”
Her words had the ring of truth to them, but Patrick Leslie could not believe any man would deprive his only daughter of what was rightfully hers. Especially such a pretty wench, for she was, indeed, pretty. The lass was exaggerating because she didn’t want her mother’s ancestral lands sold off. He could understand, but he nonetheless meant to have Brae. The Duke of Glenkirk said nothing more as they rode along. Flanna Brodie was silent, too, her body slumped slightly as if in defeat. It was mid-afternoon when they reached the glen of Killiecairn where Lachlann Brodie’s large stone house stood dark against the gray sky. As they drew abreast of the front entrance, a woman emerged shouting.
“There ye are, ye wicked little devil! Where hae ye been? Who are these men? Get off that horse at once! Yer sire has been readying himself all day to gie ye the beating ye deserve!” The woman’s face was red with her anger.
“This
