Regan MacDuff left the only home she had ever known on an early summer’s morning. The trip, which would take at least two weeks, would see her travel from the hills of eastern Alba to a place called Strathclyde in the southwest corner of the land. She would be escorted on her journey by a mixed troupe of both Ferguson and MacDuff men. The old MacFhearghuis showed her a small but weighty bag, which he then gave to the captain of her escort.
“ ’Tis yer dowry, lass,” he said. “Andrew will gie it to Mother Una.” Then somehow understanding her fears, he continued, “St. Maire’s is on the Mull of Galloway, facing the North Channel. ’Tis the sea. Ye’ve nae seen the sea, I know, lass. It can be beautiful, and it can be fierce. On a clear day ye’ll be able to look all the way to Eire, the land of the Celts, which is across the waters. My kinswoman, Una, is the abbess there, or at least she was when ye were born. She is a good woman, as I remember, Regan. But no matter if she is there no longer, yer name will be in the book of those expected to take the veil. Ye’ll hae a home there, and a place of yer own.”
“And I’ve none here now, hae I, my lord?” Regan asked boldly.
He sighed. “Ye’ll nae make a good nun, I fear, but what else can I do wi’ ye, lassie? There can only be one heiress to Ben MacDui, and she’s now my son’s wife. There is to be a bairn. Yer a danger to us all, Regan MacDuff. Wi’out a word ye can set MacDuff against Ferguson again, and I will nae hae it! Yer nae a stupid lass. Ye understand.”
Regan nodded. “Aye,” she replied, “but I dinna hae to like it, my lord. Could I just nae go away? I would nae bother anyone here at Ben MacDui again! I canna bear the thought of being locked up!”
“I will tell ye the secret to yer survival, lassie,” Alasdair Ferguson said to the girl. “First ye must learn patience. That is hard for the young, I know. Then, lass, seek power wi’in yer own wee world. Dinna be satisfied just to be a nun. When ye hae power, ye will find a measure of peace. Now come, and bid yer sister farewell.”
Gruoch was both eager and reluctant to see her twin sister depart. Part of her was relieved to see Regan go. Ian delighted in teasing her about being unable to tell them apart. What if he bedded the wee nun, as he called the other twin, by mistake? The suggestion was too close to the uncomfortable truth. Then, too, Regan shared her secret. With both Regan and their mam gone, Gruoch could pretend to herself that the child she was carrying was indeed Ian’s. There would be no one here who knew the truth once Regan had departed. Yet Regan was as much a part of her as her right hand. They had never been separated in their entire lives, and this separation was to be such an ultimate one. It was highly unlikely that they would ever see each other again.
The sisters hugged almost desperately. There were no more words left for them to say. Then Regan was helped upon her small palfrey. She turned only once as they went down the road that bordered the loch, but Gruoch was sobbing against her husband’s shoulder. She did not see her twin’s final wave.
They traveled a bit faster than Regan would have expected. The weather was good, and her escorts eager to have their task over and done with, that they might return home. The clansmen were uncomfortable in unfamiliar territory. They traveled west, then finally turned south. Had the journey been for any other reason, Regan might have enjoyed it. She was astounded by the beauty of the countryside. Most nights they camped by the roadside, but sometimes they were fortunate enough to find accommodation in the guest house of some isolated religious order. None of the men escorting her, either MacDuff or Ferguson, were anything but respectful of her. She was relieved not to be tempted again by a dissatisfied clansman seeking to revive old times.
They finally reached the coast road, and Regan’s first glimpse of the sea amazed her. It seemed to stretch forever. “Does it nae end?” she wondered aloud.
“I imagine there’s a lass on the other side asking the same question,” the captain of their troupe said in reply, a small smile touching his lips. He was a MacDuff, and while he felt sorry for Regan, he was not anxious to renew the hostilities between the MacDuffs and the Fergusons. Peace was a good thing for a man with a family.
The weather turned, coming gray and wet from the ocean, so the little convent of St Maire did not look particularly inviting when they knocked upon its gates late one afternoon. It was a gray stone building, with high walls around it, which sat upon the edge of the sea. The porteress, a small, nervous woman, admitted Regan and the captain.
“Please wait,” she said in a soft, almost shy voice. “I will tell Mother Eubh that we have visitors.”
“Is Mother Una no longer in charge, then?” Regan queried the nun. “Perhaps I am not expected after all,” she said hopefully.
“Mother Una is very old and lives in retirement within the convent,” the little nun explained, “but she could no longer attend to the responsibilities of such an establishment.” The porteress scurried off.
“It doesna seem to me there would be many responsibilities in such a wee place as this,” the captain said, but as he looked about, he could see that the convent was richly appointed. There were fine gold and silver candlesticks on an oak sideboard, behind which hung a beautiful tapestry. The room in which they waited had an enclosed fireplace that drew well, leaving the room smoke-free. “Ye’ll be safe and comfortable here, my lady,” the captain said in an effort to comfort the glum young girl.
“There are walls,” Regan said. “There were no walls about Ben MacDui. I was free to come and go as I pleased. I do not like walls.” I shall run away, she thought. Once my escort has gone so that there is no one to tell, I shall run away. No one will care.
“Perhaps if there had been walls at Ben MacDui,” the captain said, “yer father would be alive, and ye a bride like yer sister, lady.”
The chamber door opened and a tall, attractive woman entered. She was garbed all in black, but upon her chest was an exquisite jeweled cross, and the hand she held out was beringed. “I am Mother Eubh,” she said in a husky, sensuous voice. Her dark eyes swept appraisingly over the MacDuff captain.
“This be the lady, Regan MacDuff,” the captain said, certain he had mistaken the look in the nun’s eyes. “She is sent by the laird of Killieloch to enter this order. The arrangements were made many years ago wi’ the Mother Una, the laird’s kinswoman. Here is her dowry, holy lady.”
Regan’s eyes met those of the nun, and to her surprise she saw amusement. Was the woman mocking her?
“She hae nae a calling to this life, hae she?” Mother Eubh said. “Why then is she here?” She weighed the purse in her palm. It was not the heaviest she had ever been given, but neither was it light. The girl obviously was valued to some extent.
“She is one of the two heiresses to Ben MacDui,” the captain explained. “Twin sisters were born to the late laird, Torcull MacDuff, and his wife. There were nae sons. The laird of Killieloch, Mother Una’s kinsman, betrothed the elder of the twins to his heir. This be the younger. He will nae hae two heiresses for Ben MacDui, and now her sister, the bride, is already wi’ bairn. It was planned from the lass’s birth that she come here, holy lady,” the captain finished.
“And where is Ben MacDui?” Mother Eubh asked him.
“In the hills of Alba, almost to the other sea, holy lady,” the captain explained. “We hae been on the road fifteen days.”
“I see,” Mother Eubh said thoughtfully. The lass had, in effect, been sent to the other side of the world that her clansmen not be tempted to rebel against this laird of Killieloch, who clearly had taken over her inheritance through a marriage between his son and the girl’s sister. “What is your lord’s name, good captain?”
“Alasdair Ferguson, holy lady,” the captain replied.
“Then ye may tell Alasdair Ferguson that he need nae worry about the lady Regan. He hae my word that neither he nor any at Ben MacDui will ever see this lass again. She is now in my keeping.” Mother Eubh smiled. “Ye may go, Captain,” she dismissed him.
To her great surprise, the captain knelt before Regan a
nd kissed her hand. “God keep ye safe, lady,” he said, and then rising, departed. The porteress scurried after him to see him out.
“Come wi’ me,” Mother Eubh said abruptly, her dark skirts swirling about her ankles as she hurried from the small chamber.
Regan followed the tall nun, almost running to keep up. The building, she discovered, was built around a quadrangle. They crossed the courtyard, which was planted with a small rose garden. It was very quiet, but Regan could see other women praying, each in her individual cell on the ground floor. On the far side of the quadrangle, Mother Eubh entered a door and climbed a narrow flight of stairs. Regan followed close behind her. At the top of the staircase a doorway opened into a large, bright room.
Reaching up, the nun pulled off her wimple, and black hair cascaded down her back. Turning about, she ordered the girl, “Remove your mantle, lass. I want a better look at ye.”
Stunned, Regan slowly obeyed. Beneath her dark cloak she wore a tunic dress of dark blue.
Mother Eubh pulled the veil from Regan’s head. “Jesu!” she swore softly. “Your hair is wonderful!” She turned, and said to a man Regan had not realized was also in the room, “What do you think, Gunnar? Nae corn-colored hair like yer Danish wenches, but a rich silvery gold!” She turned back to Regan. “Take yer clothes off, lass.”
“Lady!” Regan was shocked.
Mother Eubh slapped Regan lightly on her cheek. “Dinna disobey me, lass,” she said. “Yer in my charge now. I rule here at St. Maire’s.”
“What kind of a nun keeps a man in her rooms, and demands that lasses strip themselves before her?” Regan demanded. “Where is Mother Una? I dinna think she would approve of what ye are doing. I will nae remain here!”
The man arose from his seat. He was of medium height with a thickset body, and was hard-looking. His skull was smooth, and a single ponytail of dark blond hair bound in brass-studded leather sprang from its center. Walking over to Regan, he looked her directly in the eye, but she did not quail before him as so many others had. He smiled coldly. Then reaching out, he grasped her by her hair with one hand, while the other fastened on the neck of her tunic dress and tore the garment from her in a single, swift motion. Spinning her about, he pulled the rest of the material off her body and then stood back.
“A blond virgin,” he said appraisingly. His voice was harsh. “She’ll bring us a pretty sum. Donal Righ says the Moors will pay a fortune for a blond virgin. She’s young, too.”
“I am nae a virgin,” Regan spat at him. There! That would spoil his plans, whatever they are.
“Nae a virgin, and ye came here?” Mother Eubh screeched. “What kind of a dishonest creature are ye to come here, and nae a virgin?”
The man burst out laughing. “Eubh, calm yerself,” he said between chortles. “The lass is obviously lying to protect herself, are ye nae, my pretty?”
“I dinna lie!” Regan said angrily.
“I will know if yer lying,” he told her, his hand fastening itself in her hair again.
“I dinna lie,” Regan repeated stubbornly.
“Ye hae a lover?” he asked.
“My sister’s husband,” she told him.
“So that is why ye were sent here,” Mother Eubh said indignantly. “Ye bold vixen!”
“And what are ye, lady?” Regan demanded angrily. “I dinna know what ye be about, but ’tis nae a nun’s business, and ye should be ashamed!” She was not afraid, although she suspected that perhaps she should be. She could almost smell the danger about her.
The man called Gunnar, still holding her tightly by her hair, turned her about and shoved her toward a table facing the window. Changing his grip to her neck, he forced her to bend over. “Stay submissive,” he snarled, “or I’ll kill ye, lass.” Then she felt his hands grip her about her hips. His hard body was pushing against hers. The last thing she remembered before she shut it all out was that he was invading her body.
“Bastard!” Mother Eubh hissed at him. “Ye are an awful man, Gunnar Bloodaxe! To take the lass in front of me! I hate ye!”
“She doesna lie,” he responded to her umbrage. “She’s nae a virgin, but she’s tight, and hasna been well used. Her sister’s husband was probably her only lover.” His buttocks contracted and expanded with his efforts as he ground himself into her. “Donal Righ will hae her, Eubh, and he will pay well. Considering all the others we hae for this voyage are nae of the quality of this wench, ’twill be well worth the trip now.” For a moment his eyes closed, he groaned, and relaxing, withdrew his now limp member from Regan’s body. “She’s nae afraid, and that is to the good.” Releasing Regan, he said, “Put yer gown back on, girl.”
Regan bent and picked up her torn garments. “Ye’ve ruined them,” she said quietly, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened to her. He was just another man like Ian. Their encounter meant nothing. “Either I must mend them or hae something else, lady,” she told Mother Eubh.
There was a calm about her that frightened the nun. The lass had just been violated in a particularly cruel manner. She should be hysterical, and broken, but she was not. “There is nae time for ye to mend anything,” Mother Eubh said nervously. “I’ll gie ye a gown to wear.” She went to a chest set against the wall and, opening it, drew forth a dark tunic dress and a single threadbare chemise of rough flax. “Here, lass,” she said grudgingly.
Regan took the proffered garments. They were nowhere near the quality of those that had been destroyed. How strange, she thought, that she should notice such a thing at a moment like this. Pulling on the clothing, she said to the nun, “Gie me needle and thread, lady. I will mend my own garments, and return these to ye afterward. I dinna like waste.” She picked up her mantle and pulled it about her. The familiar scent of her own clothing was comforting.
Gunnar Bloodaxe nodded. “ ’Twill keep her busy during the voyage,” he said to Mother Eubh.
Regan looked up from the clothing she had gathered. “Where are ye taking me?” she asked him.
“Dublin,” he said.
“Where is that?” Regan wondered aloud.
“Yer too full of questions to suit me,” Mother Eubh snapped, angry again.
“It’s across the sea in Eire,” Gunnar Bloodaxe answered her.
“What if the MacFhearghuis sends after me?” Regan said.
“He’ll nae send after ye, lass,” the nun said nastily. “Ye were sent far away because he does nae want to see ye ever again. But should any ask after ye, I will say yer dead!”
Gunnar Bloodaxe laughed. “Yer a mean bitch, Eubh,” he told the woman. Then, “We will sail on the afternoon tide. See that the other cargo is ready for me to load on board immediately.”
“When will ye return to me?” she asked him cloyingly.
“Ye’ll not have another cargo for me for several months at least, Eubh,” Gunnar Bloodaxe said. “I’m sailing home to Daneland when I’ve finished in Dublin. Perhaps I’ll see ye early next spring.”
“What of my share of the profits?” Mother Eubh said in a hard voice. “Do ye think I trust ye to remember them next spring? Either pay me my share before you take this cargo, or return to gie me what is owed before ye go home, Gunnar Bloodaxe.”
He scowled at her, but answered, “I’ll bring ye yer silver, ye greedy bitch, before I sail north. Now, gather up the wenches else I lose the tide. I’m not of a mind to wait another twelve hours.” Reaching out, he took Regan in a firm grip. “I’ll take this prize myself.”
“First my needle and thread,” Regan insisted, and the nun angrily gave her what she asked for before storming from the chamber.
“Yer hard as rock, girl,” Gunnar Bloodaxe told her. “Were ye not worth more to me in Dublin, I’d take ye for a wife. What is yer name?”
“Regan,” she told him.
“ ’Tis a lad’s name,” he said.
“My mam wanted a son,” Regan replied. “The firstborn was a daughter, my twin sister, Gruoch.”
“There’s another lik
e ye?” He whistled softly. “If I had ye both I could triple my fortune, girl.” Then, without another word, he led her away.
They retraced her earlier steps, but when they reached the bottom of Mother Eubh’s private staircase, he led her not across the quadrangle, but out a small door in the wall nearby. There, a narrow path wandered down the rocky hill to a beach below. Upon the sandy shore was drawn up the first real sailing ship that Regan had ever seen. The little cockles that had plied the loch below Ben MacDui were all that she had ever known, but she knew immediately that this ship could sail the sea well beyond sight of the beach.
“What is it made of?” she asked Gunnar Bloodaxe.
“Oak,” he answered. “The mast is pine. We use the wind when we can, but the boat can take thirty-two oars, although I have but twenty men with me on this trip. The summer seas are easier to traverse.”
“It will float upon these waters?”
“Aye.”
“How long? How long will it take us to get to this Dublin?”
“Three, four days, depending on the winds,” Gunnar answered, and then he said, “Are ye not curious as to what I mean to do with you, Regan? Do ye have no fear at all?”
She turned her aquamarine eyes on him and said, “Would my curiosity as to my fate change it, Gunnar Bloodaxe? And why would I fear ye? Ye obviously mean nae to kill me. I dinna choose to come to St. Maire’s. I dinna desire to be a nun. Whatever ye hae in store for me canna be any worse than what was previously planned for me.”
“I have never met a woman who could reason before,” he said admiringly. “Ye are not bound by foolish emotions, Regan, which is to the good. Well, I will tell ye what I plan to do with ye. I am going to sell ye to a slave merchant in Dublin who is called Donal Righ. You are very beautiful, and Donal Righ deals only in the finest slaves. There is a market for women like ye in the land of the Moors. Ye will end up living a far more glorious life than yer sister, for ye will be the cherished possession of a rich man. If ye give him children, sons, your fortune will be made.”
Regan nodded. “It is a better fate than the one I thought I must endure,” she told him.
The Love Slave Page 5