by Emily Royal
“If we must earn our keep, why not release us? I’d rather starve than remain here.”
“We’ll return you to your home once you’ve served your purpose.”
“And what is that?”
“To pay for what your sire has done to our clan. To pay for Flora.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Payment in kind,” he said. “The Old MacLean made Master Tavish swear on his deathbed to put a Scottish bastard in the belly of de Montford’s daughter.”
At last her fate was revealed. She was to be whored out until she quickened with child, before being returned to Papa—ruined and disgraced. She would never see her home again, for Papa would not admit her.
He spat on the floor. “I’ve no time to waste. Follow me.”
She would form a plan of escape, but first, they must comply with these Highlanders. There was little point in running—the man had an ugly-looking sword strapped to his belt. And she had Alice to consider. Her gentle sister would be incapable of running far. Better to appear compliant… for now.
They passed a number of servants in the passageway. Most of them looked thin and dirty. Women in shapeless gowns, clutching the hands of children, stared at her with sloe-black eyes filled with fear and hatred. The faint sounds of clashing steel filtered through a window, accompanied by voices and laughter. One voice stood out among the rest—Tavish; his deep, clear tones full of mirth.
Where had the man from last night gone—her Highlander? Was it another dream, one of the many that had disturbed her nights for so long? Or had it been an act, a ruse to ensure she was his willing whore?
My whore…
She was nothing but a whore now. Last night she had surrendered to him, given herself to him, bewitched by his false words.
They stopped at a thick wooden door, voices, and activity rattling from behind. Opening it, he pushed them through, and the voices fell silent. The room’s occupants turned to face her, hostility in their eyes.
The kitchen. A huge table stood in the centre. At the far end, a fire burned and crackled, over which a carcass hung on a spit. The smell of roasting meat reached her nostrils, and her stomach growled in protest. She could not remember the last time she’d eaten a hot meal.
“Lorna, I’ve brought the whores. See to it they earn their keep.”
A woman shuffled forward.
“Well, come on!” she chided, pointing to a corner at the far end of the kitchen. “The pots need scrubbing—you’ll find all you need yonder. Stay there, so you do not taint the rest of us with your sins.”
The man pushed them forward, Alice nearly tripping.
“Lyssie…” she whimpered.
“Hush, my love. We must do as we’re bid. Trust me.”
Nodding, Alice followed her to the corner. A number of iron pots had been placed on a bench together with a pile of cloths.
“Well, go on then,” Ross taunted, “unless you prefer to earn your keep spreading your legs for us all rather than just the master.”
A low titter rumbled through the servants, but Lorna silenced them.
“Get back to work, all of ye.”
Elyssia picked up a cloth and began to scrape the dirt from the pot in front of her, showing Alice how to scrape downward so the dirt fell to the bottom which could then be tipped out. Concentrating on the task and on her sister’s welfare, she ignored the conversation around her.
When they had finished, Lorna directed them outside to collect water. The two sisters approached the well, and the sounds of sword fighting grew louder. Men trained in the courtyard. As she passed them, Elyssia looked up into a pair of moss green eyes.
Tavish.
She held her head high, hugging the pot.
His forehead creased into a frown before he looked away. He cast his eyes down, and she resumed her journey to the well. Though small, it was nonetheless a victory—she could shame him more than he shamed her. But the victory would be short-lived now she knew her purpose here. Her future stretched ahead—a woman discarded and ostracised, living on the streets, whoring herself out to eat, to provide food for the bastard child clinging to her skirts.
Bastard.
“Bastard! Bastard!”
A group of children circled the well. Shrill taunts cut through the morning air, followed by a thin wail.
“Stupid, crippled bastard!”
A thin, dirty child crouched in the dirt, rubbing his cheek.
“Ye little bastard,” one of the others cried, “not fit to speak to us!”
Another boy aimed a kick at the child and Elyssia pushed him aside.
“Leave him alone!”
“I know ye,” the boy snarled. “Ye’re the English whore!”
She took hold of him by the shoulders. “Be that as it may, what right have you to treat this child so?”
“He’s a bastard—and ye’re a whore! A whore of the English, our oppressors.”
“And what of this child?” she cried. “You think your treatment of him makes you any better?”
Emboldened by her fury, she stepped closer. “I care not that you are a child yourself. If you deliver a man’s blow to this child here, then you should expect a man’s punishment.”
“Hey!” A woman’s voice shouted behind her. Lorna stood nearby, hands on her hips.
“What are you about, English?”
Elyssia pointed to the boy on the ground. “This child was being taunted by others. Of what use are your master’s speeches of honesty and a clan working together when you cannot even take care of your own children!”
“‘Tis no business of yours,” Lorna said. “Return to the kitchen.”
“Not before I tend to the boy.”
Elyssia knelt beside the thin little creature. He lay curled up, knees drawn to his chest to protect his stomach from further blows. His body shivered in the cold air, his clothes torn and tattered. She ran her fingers along one arm until she reached a grubby, bony hand.
“Child, you’re safe now,” she said. His fist uncurled, and small fingers grasped hers.
“The others are gone. Let me help you.”
The boy shook his head.
A gentle voice spoke next to her.
“Trust us, little one. We would not harm you.”
Alice.
With a child’s instinct, the boy nodded, reaching out to her sister. How was it that Alice’s innate gentleness and compassion shone from her like the sun’s rays, warming all those in need of succour, calming the storms which raged within the scared and the injured?
“Conall!”
A familiar voice rang out, followed by footsteps. Isla—the woman who had given Alice the blanket.
“What happened, child?”
The boy shook his head, fear returning to his eyes.
“The other children were taunting him,” Elyssia said sharply.
“Nay, Mistress Isla…” the child spoke piteously, but Elyssia interrupted him.
“See how terrified he is? He cannot even speak of his ordeal at the hands of others? I look around here and see oppression of the weak and small. How does that make your people better than mine?”
Isla motioned to the child.
“‘Tis true, Conall?”
The boy nodded miserably.
“He needs protection,” Elyssia said. “What’s to prevent the others from tormenting him again once you’re out of sight? And for what—by virtue of the fact that he is lame or the circumstances of his birth?”
“His birth?” Isla’s eyes widened. “Surely you don’t know—”
“They called him bastard. To think that children have such prejudices!”
“You defended him?”
“There were none hereabouts to defend the child,” Elyssia raised her voice in anger, “though there are many warriors nearby content to play at swordsmanship while one of their own suffers.”
The sound of sword fighting stopped. Elyssia turned to see the group of men looking in her direction. Angus
muttered something, and a few of them barked with laughter before a sharp word silenced them.
Tavish.
He lowered his sword, eyeing Elyssia with curiosity. She met his gaze, anger fuelling her courage before he turned his back and issued a sharp command to the men who resumed their training.
“You are kind.” Isla drew the child to her. “I did not expect it.”
Elyssia nodded towards the child. “He scraped his arm when he fell, and the skin is broken. You need to tend to it to avoid putrefaction.”
“You understand healing?”
“Only a little. My brother would have me apply bandages after he had skirmished with his friends.” She smiled at the memory of dear Richard. “He used to say that if I were not so clumsy, my future husband…”
Her voice trailed off. She’d never find a husband now—ruined as she was. What respectable man would wed a whore?
A thin, calloused hand took hers.
“Come, lady. If you have some skill at bandages, perhaps you could tend to the child. The work may be a little kinder on your hands than that of a kitchen wench.”
“But I’m bid to work in the kitchens, Mistress Isla. I have no wish to cause trouble for you.
Isla smiled. “The master would think twice before telling me how to run his household. You and your sister can assist me during your visit.”
How could she call their imprisonment a visit? Fighting down the ball of indignation in her throat, Elyssia nodded.
* * *
Before they reached Isla’s workroom, they passed the young man Tavish had greeted so warmly on their arrival. Elyssia now knew him to be Tavish’s brother—the impetuous young man he had spoken of two years ago, whose passionate idealism for his people’s cause had stirred such admiration in her heart. But that passion was now directed towards her in the form of hatred. He spat a curse at her. Isla silenced him with a sharp word, and he scuttled off.
“Dinnae mind the young lad, his temper’s worse than his nature. I’ve known him since he was a bairn. He’s easily swayed and acts on impulse, ruled by his passions rather than his head. Now, as for master Tavish…”
Elyssia’s skin tightened, and Isla’s voice trailed away before she sighed.
“No matter, lass.”
Bandages and bottles lined the shelves of Isla’s storeroom. A pile of linen had been placed on a table in the centre.
“Conall, sit down.”
Isla picked up a strip of linen and wound it into a roll. Elyssia inspected his arm. Dirt smeared the graze.
“The wound will need to be cleaned first,” she said. “Do you have any salve?”
Isla nodded before handing Elyssia a dish of water and a cloth. Falling into her natural habit, she dipped the cloth into the water and pressed it against the wound.
“Tell me if it pains you, child. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
The boy remained still while she rubbed the dirt from the wound and applied salve to it. She secured a knot in the bandage and smiled at him.
“You’re braver than my brother, child, for you’ve not made a sound. Richard would cry like a babe at the slightest scratch.”
The child smiled back, and his eyes lit up into bright blue sparkles. A shock of recognition coursed through Elyssia. It must have been the mention of her brother. For a moment she had seen Richard in his expression.
Would Richard wish to look upon her again? Would her ruination disgust even him—the one who loved her best?
“Come, child, thank the lady,” Isla admonished.
“Thank ye,” the boy mumbled before Isla shooed him out of the room.
“Next time tell me if the other children treat you poorly.”
Isla sorted through the pile of linen on the table. “Come, no time to dawdle. There’s much mending to do.”
Chapter 10
As the shadows lengthened, Isla declared their work complete. She handed Elyssia a piece of linen to fashion a doll for Alice. After securing Elyssia’s promise not to leave the workroom, Isla left the two sisters alone. Accomplished at sewing, Elyssia found comfort in the work—the soothing repetitive motion of the needle pushing in and out of the fabric, the rhythm punctuated only by the occasional sigh as Alice pricked her fingers. Eventually, she bade her sister rest. Alice sank forward with a sigh of relief, folded her arms on the table in front of her and lowered her head. Before long, gentle snores told Elyssia her sister was at peace.
She began to rip the piece of linen into strips and twisted them to form thicker shapes from which she could fashion the limbs of a doll. There was enough material left for her to stitch a little dress, and by the time Alice woke she was able to place the doll in her arms. Alice’s face broadened into a smile of pure happiness. How blessed her sister was! Her limited understanding of the world and its evils gave her protection from it. Drawing Alice into her arms, Elyssia waited in silence for Isla to return.
Coarse voices echoed outside the door, and Isla entered the room, followed by two clansmen—one limping, the other with a muddied red streak on his face.
“Sit ye down.” Isla addressed the men. Elyssia stood, pulling Alice to her feet and backed away from the door.
One of the men watched her with curiosity. The other curled his lip into a snarl.
“I’ll not sit in a room with the whore!”
“Then your wound will go untreated, Iain,” Isla said sharply. “What say you, Malcolm?”
The other man shrugged his shoulders.
“We can leave if you wish,” Elyssia said, but Isla shook her head. “I’m to put you to work, and I shall do that to the best of my ability. These great brutes shall hear from Master Tavish if they wish to protest. I’m sure he would be curious to understand why they refuse to have their wounds treated.”
“Mistress Isla…” Iain protested, but Isla clipped him over the ear with her hand.
“Ye great big fool! I brought ye into this world. A snivelling bairn then and you’re no different now. Do as I say.”
Grumbling, Iain sat where she indicated. Malcolm sat beside him and nodded to Elyssia.
“I’ll no mind the English treating my leg, Mistress Isla.”
Elyssia knelt at his feet and lifted his plaid to inspect his leg. Apart from a few gashes there seemed little damage, but when she touched his ankle, he winced.
“A minor sprain,” she said, reaching for a bandage.
Iain laughed. “Ye look good on the floor, wench—like a whore should be, kneeling at her master’s feet.”
“Iain!” Malcolm nudged his companion. “Pay no attention to this animal, lady. I’d challenge his knowledge of whores. I hear he’s unable to elicit even a false moan from their lips.”
Iain grunted. “That’ll change when Master Tavish decides to dish out this whore to the rest of us—though I’m minded not to touch her. Who knows what diseases English whores carry?”
“Ha!” Malcolm barked out a sharp laugh. “I’ll wager you have every disease known to man having tried to satisfy every whore in the Highlands in an attempt to show your prowess. ‘Tis a wonder your cock hasn’t fallen off.”
Her body heating with shame, Elyssia focused on the bandage and wound it around Malcolm’s leg, fighting against the violent trembling in her fingers.
When she finished, Malcolm placed a gentle hand on the top of her head. She looked up into a pair of deep green eyes which crinkled into a smile.
“Dinnae worry about him, lass. Master Tavish will no let him touch ye.”
Iain chuckled, but Isla silenced him with another cuff.
“I’ll have no more of that talk. Get ye gone.”
The men left the chamber, Iain cursing.
Isla offered her hand to Elyssia. “I’ll take you to the laundry. It’s quieter there, and ye can work in peace.”
Elyssia took Alice’s hand and followed the older woman out of the chamber, turning in the opposite direction to which the two men went.
“Isla.” A soft musical voice ca
lled from behind. Turning, Elyssia recognised the beautiful woman who had greeted Tavish on their arrival.
“Mistress Margaret!” Isla dropped a curtsey, motioning to Elyssia to do the same but the woman waved her hand.
“No need for that, Isla. The Lady Agatha and her sister are not servants.”
“Then what are we?” Elyssia demanded. “Honoured guests?”
Margaret narrowed her eyes a little before widening them again and smiling.
“Forgive us, my betrothed’s sister was much loved. We’ve suffered greatly at the hands of your people, and there is much bitterness here.”
My betrothed…
Tavish. After having ruined her, he would resume his life, wed Margaret, sire a family—and leave Elyssia with what? Nothing but a ruined reputation and a bastard offspring.
As if she read Elyssia’s thoughts, Margaret held out her hand.
“Forgive us, my dear. I wish atonement could be achieved in any other fashion, for you have done naught against us.”
“Lyssie…” Alice tightened her grip on Elyssia’s hand, fingernails digging into the flesh.
“Shhh, Alice my love.”
“Alice? You’re Lady Agatha’s younger sister?” Margaret spoke slowly and loudly as if Alice were hard of hearing.
“She’s the elder,” Elyssia replied.
“Why, I had no idea!” Margaret exclaimed. “Such a pity, for she’s so pretty. Never mind. The Almighty has his motives, does he not? I trust during your stay here we can be friends. I see no reason for us not to be.” She bowed her head before taking her leave.
Isla bobbed another curtsey. Her expression had changed, jaw set firm.
“Are you well?” Elyssia asked.
Isla opened her mouth to respond then shook her head.
“No matter, lass.” Her voice had grown rough.
“Mistress Isla?”
“I said no matter! Just make sure ye do as ye’re told here or I cannot be held accountable for what happens.”
Alice clutched Elyssia’s hand even tighter, and they followed Isla in silence.
The work in the laundry was not hard, and Elyssia was grateful for the solitude as she scrubbed the linen sheets, showing Alice how to help. Isla seemed to have forgotten her bad temper and issued orders in a quiet voice while she worked. When Alice began to visibly tire, she declared their work over for the day.