“And afterward?” Regan pressed her.
“I dinna know. Perhaps ye’ll be forced to spend the entire night wi’ Ian, but if he sleeps, and ye can slip out of the chamber, I will be waiting to take my rightful place back. If nae in the night, ’twill be in the morning,” Gruoch told Regan, patting her twin’s hand comfortingly. “I canna thank ye enough, Regan mine. Remember, though, dinna show Ian any fear even if ye feel it. He can be cruel, I am told, if a woman is weak. Ye must be strong. Just do what he tells ye, and try nae to weep.”
When they were finally called into the hall, they found that Sorcha had already been brought down from her chamber on a cot, carried by two of the MacFhearghuis’s sons from one of his earlier marriages. Everyone was assembled: the Fergusons of Killieloch and their clansmen, the surviving MacDuffs of Ben MacDui and their clansmen, and the priest.
“Come forward! Come forward!” The MacFhearghuis beckoned them with a bony finger. And when they did so, he took Gruoch by the arm, drawing her next to his son Ian.
He never even looked at her, Regan thought. Were it not for the jeweled gold band she wears, he would not really know which of us is which. None of them would. For some reason she didn’t even understand, it made the deception they were going to play on the Fergusons all right. Regan’s eyes met those of her mother in the first direct gaze that either of them had ever shared. A tiny smile of acknowledgment touched Sorcha’s lips only briefly. Then her attention was once again all Gruoch’s.
Oh, bitch, Regan said silently to herself. You have sacrificed both of us to your vengeance, and will leave us now to fend for ourselves separately, we who have always had each other. I wonder what my father really would have thought of what you have done, Sorcha MacDuff?
Regan’s thoughts so absorbed her that she had paid scant attention to what was going on about her. Suddenly she saw that her mother was showing relief. The MacFhearghuis was slapping his eldest son upon the back. Gruoch was pretending to look the blushing bride. The marriage ceremony was over, and the pipes had begun to play. As the servants passed about wine to the assembled guests, the sisters joined their weakening mother and the MacFhearghuis at the high board while the groom and his brothers danced for them.
Whatever Sorcha MacDuff might think of the Fergusons, Regan had to admit that they were handsome men, with their russet hair and bright blue eyes. They were all dressed alike, with lengths of Ferguson plaid wrapped about their waists, the dark blue, green, white, and red fabric held in place with wide leather belts. White linen shirts, open at the neck, revealed for all to see the mat of chest hair that all but the youngest sported. Their footwear followed the line of their feet and were laced halfway up their shapely legs. The bridegroom wore leather, but his brothers wore shoes of heavy waterproof cloth. They noisily drank toast after toast to their sibling and his new wife, even while dancing for the guests.
A fit of coughing overtook Sorcha, and when her daughters had eased her pain, she managed to gasp, “The bedding. I must know Gruoch has been properly bedded before I die! Take your sister, Regan, and prepare her for her husband as I cannot.”
The two young women slipped from the high board unnoticed by the MacFhearghuis and the other guests, who were quite busy helping the bridegroom and his brothers with the creation of a particularly bawdy toast. The twins ran as quickly as they could up the tower stairs to the bedchamber that had been prepared during the ceremony for the newlyweds. Hurriedly, Gruoch stripped off her bridal garments, replacing them with Regan’s clothing, and hastily braided her hair.
“Am I to be naked?” Regan asked her sister, standing in her linen chemise, combing swift fingers through her own golden locks.
“Aye,” her sister told her. “It saves on the clothing, Regan mine. He’ll only tear it off ye if yer wearing it, I fear.”
“Gruoch,” her twin corrected her. “I am Gruoch, and yer now Regan,” her sibling warned her.
“Get into the bed,” the false Regan told her. “I can hear them coming up the stairs from the hall already. Mam dinna gie us much time, did she? She’ll die before the night is out, I think.”
The counterfeit bride had no sooner climbed into the bed when the door to the small room was slammed open, and almost broken off its hinges, by the Fergusons. A naked Ian Ferguson was thrust into the chamber by his family.
“Do yer duty by the wench, Ian,” his father said loudly. Then reaching out, he pulled the substitute from the room. “ ’Tis no longer any place for ye, my little nun,” he told her.
Gruoch was astounded. She had never imagined that Ian Ferguson would be so … so … well proportioned. Jamie MacDuff was a fine lover, but Ian Ferguson’s ample manhood portended many pleasurable hours. Perhaps Regan was correct. Their mam would shortly be dead. The feud was over. Her MacDuff child would inherit, ensuring the MacDuffs’ revenge; but she, Gruoch, would be content to let peace grow between their two clans as the MacFhearghuis had intended all along. As for her twin, once Gruoch was certain nothing had come of whatever attentions Ian might lavish on Regan, she would be sent with all haste to St. Maire’s to live out her life.
“Attend to yer mam, Regan MacDuff,” the MacFhearghuis ordered her. “I will wait here outside the bridal chamber to make certain that my son does what he should, and to ensure that yer sister is the virgin she is purported to be. If I find the MacDuffs hae played us false …” He made a slicing motion with his forefinger across his throat.
“My lord,” she asked him, “why would ye think Gruoch is nae a virgin and would play ye false?” Who had put such an idea into his head?
“Yer brother Donald says she had been verra friendly wi’ young Jamie MacDuff,” the older man answered her.
“Ye must beware of our brother Donald,” she told him. “He tells terrible lies, and seems to gain pleasure from causing trouble between us. Mam hae beaten him for it many times, sir. Both Gruoch and I hae always been fond of our cousin Jamie, but there hae been nae naughtiness between any of us, I swear it. I was always wi’ them, for Mam was insistent upon the proprieties being observed.”
“Yer a good lassie, Regan MacDuff,” he told her. “Go to yer mam now, and ease her final moments upon this earth.”
“Will ye nae see her again, sir?” she importuned him.
“Yer mam and I hae said our farewells,” he said, and gently pushed her toward the stairs, turning his full attention back to the bridal chamber and its inhabitants.
Within, a single candle burned. Ian Ferguson paraded for the girl who awaited him within the bed. “Well?” he demanded of her.
“Well, what?” she replied. Regan’s heart was beating violently, but her fear was invisible to the man before her.
“Do ye not think I’ve a fine lance, Gruoch? ’Tis nae even half roused, but the little nun’s eyes grew as round as twin moons when she saw me. She’ll ne’er see its like, or any other for that matter, e’er again, puir wee lassie. ’Tis a shame I canna be like the infidels and hae both of ye to wife. Our ancestors took more than one wife, I’m told; and the pagan Saxons still do it now as well. Would ye like to share me wi’ another, my wee wifie?”
“I hear that I already do,” Regan answered him, amused. “They say ye hae a dozen or more of yer bastards scattered about the countryside, Ian Ferguson. The bairns ye get on me, howe’er, will end a feud, and be yer legitimate heirs, husband mine.”
“Yer bold,” he said, not knowing if he should hit her for her impudence or let it be. He decided he liked her fearlessness. “Donald says ye hae played me false wi’ Jamie MacDuff, Gruoch. If it is so, I shall kill ye, and the wee nun will be my new wife.”
“Donald is a liar,” she answered him calmly. “Come, my lord, and see for yerself if I am a virgin or nae.” Donald will suffer for his mischief, Regan decided, even as she was holding out her arms to Ian.
He pulled back the coverlet that had obscured his view of her young body. She had sweet small breasts and a long torso. Her skin was creamy-looking. He reached out to tou
ch it. It was soft, and very smooth. He fingered a lock of her golden hair. It was like thistledown. Bending, he kissed her mouth for the second time this day, and immediately his lust was engaged. He climbed into the bed with her, wrapping his arms about her tightly.
Regan wrinkled her nose. Ian Ferguson smelled of horses and sweat. He had obviously not bathed in some time. While she was curious to know what transpired between man and woman, she did not envy her sister this man. His hand pushed between her thighs, seeking, touching her where she had certainly never thought to be touched. He pinioned her down with his body, his other hand fumbling at her breasts. Regan bit her lip to keep from crying out, for his rough manner was beginning to frighten her. She remembered Gruoch’s warning. Dinna let him see yer fear.
She squirmed away from him, and he grunted with irritation. “What should I do, Ian?” she asked him. Surely she should be doing something in all of this.
He looked at her, surprised. “Why lassie, ye need nae do anything. I’ll fuck ye soon enough. Just lie there for me like a good lass. The man does the work in the lovemaking.” He mashed his lips against hers once more, forcing her mouth open, thrusting his tongue down her throat.
Regan gagged, surprised, as he continued his assault. If all a woman did was lie still, why did so many of them enjoy this thing called making love? she wondered. Maybe when he got to the fucking it would be easier. She was certainly not enjoying any of it now. It was rough and sweaty, and not pleasant at all.
“Spread yer legs, lassie,” he ordered her, settling himself between them when she did. Her confusion certainly indicates that she is a virgin, Ian thought. Donald was going to get a fine beating if he was lying. Ian Ferguson positioned himself and thrust hard, only to find himself blocked by something. Her maidenhead, he silently exulted, and pulling back a bit, drove himself even harder into her.
Regan shrieked with surprise as the pain of his entry radiated throughout her entire torso. Gruoch’s advice forgotten, she fought him with all her strength, pummeling his hairy chest with small fists as, ignoring her, he continued his onslaught “Yer hurting me, Ian!” she sobbed. “Stop it! Stop it!”
It was as if he did not hear her. Pushing himself in and out of her now-widening passage with increasing rapidity, he groaned and he sweated until finally, with a triumphant cry, he collapsed atop her. “Jesu, ye were tight, lassie, but we’ve taken care of that, the braw laddie and I,” he said hotly in her ear. Then climbing off of her, he took the candle and, holding it up, grinned down on her, pleased by the blood of her innocence staining her thighs, the bedding, and now his limp member. Walking to the door, he opened it and said, “Come in, Da, and see for yerself. My wee wifie was indeed a virgin, were ye nae, Gruoch?”
It had hurt less as he continued, Regan considered. Still, she had not enjoyed the coupling between them at all. The MacFhearghuis stared down at her and nodded, satisfied. She felt no embarrassment—only a deep coldness suffusing her entire body. If this was lovemaking, her twin was more than welcome to it. Nothing about it appealed to her.
“Gie Donald a beating for me,” Ian told his father. “The bastard lied to us.”
“So the little nun suggested when I questioned her earlier,” Alasdair Ferguson replied. “Well, then, I’m satisfied the lassie was pure. I’ll leave ye to yer pleasures, lad. Hae a good night.”
Regan thought that Ian would never sleep. Twice more he probed her sore body. Then at last he fell to snoring deeply, to her everlasting relief. When she was certain he would not awaken, she slipped from the bed and crept to the door, taking a moment to gather up her chemise. Putting it on, she carefully slipped the bolt and fled the room. Hurrying down the stairs, she entered the room below, where her twin sat watching over their mother.
Gruoch rose quickly to her feet as her sister slipped into the chamber. “Are ye all right?” she whispered.
“Barely,” Regan answered. “He hurt me dreadfully,” she told Gruoch, swiftly recounting the past two hours in the nuptial bed with Ian Ferguson. “Ye’d best hurry back upstairs before he awakens. I hae nae doubt he’ll want to rut wi’ his wee wifie yet again. He seems to be as lusty as a stallion, sister mine.”
The twins quickly exchanged clothing once more, Gruoch smearing chicken’s blood upon the insides of her thighs before pulling her chemise down over them. “Thank ye,” she said simply, and then was gone.
Regan quietly washed away the evidence of her lost virtue and pulled her own clothing back on. She sat down, wincing as her small bottom made contact with the wooden bench. She yet ached.
“Regan.” Her mother’s voice cut into her thoughts.
Regan leaned over, looking into Sorcha’s face. “Aye?”
Her mother reached out and took the girl’s hand in hers. “Yer a good lassie,” she said. Then Sorcha MacDuff died.
Regan was astounded, but by what, she was not certain. Her mother’s death had been so simple. Her last words had not been. She had longed her whole life for a kind word from Sorcha MacDuff, but all of her mother’s thoughts and dreams and kind words had always been for Gruoch. Yet the last words she had spoken had been for her.
“Ahh, Mam,” was all she could say, “God speed yer poor soul home.”
Then freeing herself from her mother’s death grip, Regan MacDuff went downstairs into the hall to tell the MacFhearghuis that her mother was dead. He nodded, and she thought she saw the glitter of a tear in his blue eyes.
“I’ll get old Bridie to help me prepare her, my lord,” Regan said. “Let Gruoch and her bridegroom sleep in peace tonight.”
“Aye,” he agreed. Nothing more.
They buried Sorcha MacDuff the following day next to her husband on the hillside overlooking the loch. The day was gray and rainy. The pipes wailed MacDuff’s Lament as the shrouded body was lowered into its grave. After Torcull MacDuff’s death, Sorcha had become the heart of the clan. Now that heart had ceased to beat. The heiress of Ben MacDui was wed to a Ferguson, and within a month’s time her sister would be sent south and across the breadth of Scotland into a convent, never more to be seen. The mourning cries of the MacDuffs were prolonged, and genuine.
Jamie MacDuff sought out Regan. “And how did Ian Ferguson find his bride?” he demanded slyly.
“A virgin,” she responded softly, “and should any say otherwise, they would invite a dirk to the heart, cousin,” she warned him.
“Marry me,” he said, surprising her.
“Why? So ye can pretend I’m Gruoch, Jamie? Nay, I think ye insult me. Dinna be a fool, laddie. Let it be now,” she advised.
“Yer Torcull MacDuff’s daughter,” he said. “There are many who would hae a MacDuff chief for Ben MacDui, nae a Ferguson.”
“Then they are fools too, Jamie MacDuff,” Regan responded. “I ne’er knew my sire, for he was killed in the feuding before our birth. For all these years we hae had peace. The Fergusons outnumber us, which is why they triumphed in the first place. To what purpose would ye start the warring all over again? That our young men be killed for the glory of Ben MacDui? I would nae hae such a thing on my soul.”
“Yer mam would nae hae fled a fight,” he said.
“Our mam is dead,” she told him harshly. “Now if ye canna be content wi’ the way things are, Jamie MacDuff, then get ye gone from Ben MacDui! I will nae let ye spoil my sister’s happiness.”
“Happiness? Wi’ Ian Ferguson?” he said incredulously.
“She told me just this morning that Ian is a fine lover,” Regan said, and then added cruelly, “the best she hae ever known.”
With a look of pained disbelief he flung himself away from her. It was the last time she would see him. She learned to her great relief several days later that Jamie MacDuff had gone soldiering to a place called Byzantium. To Regan’s amazement, Gruoch was equally glad to be free of her former lover. Her bridegroom’s style of lovemaking seemed to appeal to her, and she was very content with him.
Regan remained at Ben MacDui, but to her surprise, s
he found that without her mother, her home now seemed a foreign place. Gruoch was fast becoming jealous of any attention Ian gave her sister, and seemed openly eager for her departure. She greeted with great relief the news that Regan’s flow had come upon her.
“Ye’ll be going, then,” she said almost too bluntly.
“Aye,” Regan replied. “Ye’ll gie me time to recover, will ye nae, sister? Ye know how motion affects me during this time.”
“Aye,” Gruoch grudgingly allowed. “Ye will nae hae an easy journey as it is. I would nae make it harder for ye.”
“We will ne’er see each other ever again once I am gone,” Regan said, “yet I will always love ye, Gruoch.”
“And I, ye,” Gruoch said, her manner softening. “I truly wish ye dinna hae to go, but the old man is firm. He says yer but a temptation to the MacDuff clansmen, Regan mine.”
“He is correct,” her twin told her. “Jamie MacDuff suggcsted we wed and defy the Fergusons, before I sent him away. I told him ye said Ian was a better lover.”
“He is.” Gruoch giggled. “Ye were right when ye said he was a stallion, Regan mine. I am almost sorry to be wi’ bairn now, for I shall nae be able to satisfy him when my belly gets too big. He’ll run off to one of his mistresses then, I fear.”
“Hae ye told him yet, Gruoch?”
“Nae, but I will soon,” Gruoch said with a smile. “He’ll boast like a peacock, and the old man will be pleased too,” she concluded.
She is content, Regan thought. The revenge our mam planned will soon be complete, but Gruoch does not really care about that now, I think. She is simply happy to be Ian Ferguson’s wife, although why, I cannot understand. He’s a pleasant enough fellow, but a lout at heart. He’ll grow more like his da with every passing year. I wonder what their children will be like, but I’ll ne’er know that. Soon I’ll be gone from Ben MacDui. Once I thought I would care, but now I dinna think I will. Gruoch has her place in the world, but I dinna seem to hae mine.
The Love Slave Page 4