“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 is my eldest brother’s wife, Una Brodie, my lord,” Flanna said dryly. “Una, this is the Duke of Glenkirk. I caught him trespassing at Brae, and he hae captured me.” Mockingly she held up her bound hands. “I am afraid I canna dismount until my ankles are unbound.”
At the sight of her sister-in-law’s plight, Una Brodie began to shriek so loudly that her extended family came running from all directions, surrounding the riders, open-mouthed.
The duke was certain he heard Flanna Brodie chuckle wickedly, but on reflection decided he had imagined it. “There is nae need to shout, madame,” he told Una Brodie. “If I meant the Brodies of Killiecairn any harm, I should hae scarce come wi’ just six men at my back.” He untied Flanna’s wrists, instructing Colin More-Leslie to undo the girl’s leg shackles at the same time. “Ye may get down,” he murmured to her.
“Oh, no, my lord,” she said, almost gaily, obviously enjoying herself mightily. “The view from up here is far better than I should get on the ground. Besides, I hae never been on such a fine beast as this one is.”
“We shall both get down,” he said through gritted teeth, dismounting first, then lifting the girl to the ground after him.
“What the hell is going on here?” a man, fully as tall as the duke, said as he pushed his way forward. “Flanna? Where hae ye been? The old man hae been frantic all day wi’out ye.” His glance met the duke’s green gaze. “And, who are ye, sir?”
“Patrick Leslie, Duke of Glenkirk,” was the reply. “I hae business wi’ yer sire, man.” He held out his hand.
It was gripped in return. “Aulay Brodie, my lord. If ye will come wi’ me. Ye and yer men are welcome in our hall. Una! Cease yer caterwauling, woman! ’Tis nae a raid. ’Tis a visit, damnit! We get few enough. Dinna drive our visitors away before we can offer them our hospitality.”
The duke followed Aulay Brodie into his house, Flanna hurrying ahead of them, the others following behind. The little hall was soon full with all the family and servants. There was but one smoky fireplace at the far end of the room, and seated in a high-backed, blackened oak chair next to it was a white-haired old man. He had been a large man once, but now he was gnarled and bent, his most prominent feature being his large, hooked nose. His eyes, however, were sharp, watching carefully as his visitor approached him in the company of his son.
“This is Patrick Leslie, the Duke of Glenkirk, Da,” Aulay Brodie said.
Patrick bowed politely to the old man. “Sir.”
Lachlann Brodie waved the younger man to a seat opposite him. “Bring whiskey,” he said curtly. His command was quickly obeyed. His gaze swung about to his only daughter. “Where were ye?” he demanded.
“At Brae,” she said. “I intend taking Aggie and Angus so I may live there.”
“Huumph!” her father grunted, and then his eyes moved back to Patrick Leslie. “They say ye brought my lass home, bound hand and foot upon yer saddle. Why?”
“She attacked me,” the duke replied quietly. “Nae one arrow, but two, shot at my feet, nae to mention the dirk she waved about. I considered it a hostile action.”
“She could hae killed ye if she so desired,” Lachlann Brodie replied, chuckling. “When she was sixteen I saw her bring down a full-grown stag with one of those arrows.
Straight through the beastie’s heart she shot it. She could hae found her own way back to Killiecairn.”
“I want to buy Brae,” Patrick Leslie said bluntly.
“Why?” The old man’s eyes were suddenly sparkling with interest.
“It abuts my lands. I want as much land between me and my neighbors as I can get,” the duke answered him. “These are dangerous times between the king’s war down in England and the religious fanatics all about us.”
“Aye,” Lachlann Brodie agreed.
“Ye canna sell Brae, Da,” Flanna interrupted him. “ ’Tis mine. My dowry. ’Tis all I hae!”
“I’ll gie ye a fair price for it,” the duke continued as if Flanna had not even spoken. “A dower of gold is more valuable to a lass than Brae and its forested lands. They are all surrounded by Glenkirk lands, useless to anyone else but me.”
“How much?” Lachlann Brodie asked.
“Two hundred and fifty gold crowns,” came the answer.
The old man shook his head in the negative. “ ’Tis nae enough.”
“Five hundred, then,” the duke replied.
There was an audible hiss of breath in the hall at the very substantial offer.
“ ’Tis nae gold I’m wanting for Brae, my lord,” Lachlann Brodie finally said. “There isna enough gold in the world for ye to buy Brae.”
“Then, what do ye want, sir?” the duke inquired. “If it is in my power to gie it to ye, I will, for I mean to hae Brae.”
“If ye want Brae, my lord, then ye must take its heiress as well,” Lachlann Brodie said. “Marry Flanna, and Brae is yers.”
“Damn me!” Aulay Brodie said aloud, as surprised as the rest of the audience in the hall. Gold was his father’s God, yet here was the old man actually attempting to do well by his youngest child.
“I dinna want to marry anyone, least of all him!” Flanna exploded.
“Shut yer mouth, lass,” her father said calmly. “I’m a hard man, and ’tis true I’m tight wi’ a merk, but I loved yer mam. She was the joy of my old age. I promised her I’d see ye wed well, and the truth is, lass, ye’re nae likely to hae a better chance ever again.” He turned back to the duke. “Well, my lord, how badly do ye want Brae? She’s nae a bad-looking wench, although a trifle big boned. She gets that, I fear, from me and nae her mother. She’s young enough to be a good breeder, although at twenty-two she’s almost past her prime. She’s got a fierce temper, I’ll nae lie to ye, but ye could nae hae a better wench at yer side in a fight. She’s a virgin, I’ll guarantee ye, for none can get near her, so ye may be certain yer heir is yer own blood. If ye want Brae, ye must take my daughter to be yer wife. Ye dinna hae a wife, do ye?”
He thought about lying to the old man, but it would be a lie easily discovered. “Nay, I hae nae wife,” he answered.
“I will nae marry him!” Flanna shouted, but she was ignored. This business was between her father and the duke, it would seem.
“Hush, ye stupid little ninny,” Una Brodie hissed at her. “Yer da is going to make ye a duchess if ye’ll keep quiet.”
“I’ll nae have him!” Flanna attempted to make her wishes known once again.
Patrick Leslie looked at the girl. He needed a wife. The truth was he didn’t care if he loved her or not. He needed a wife who could give him heirs, and Flanna looked strong enough. Love was an unpleasant complication, he had already decided. The girl was pretty enough. The dowry was something he badly wanted. He didn’t need gold, for he was a wealthy man. His family wanted him wed. Who else was there? True, the Brodies were hardly equal to the Leslies of Glenkirk. They were rough and rude Highlanders, but it didn’t matter. It was unlikely he would see them often once Flanna was at Glenkirk. Unless, of course, he needed their aid in a fight. Looking about at the hard-eyed Brodie men, he decided they would be an asset in a battle. In that moment he realized he had made his decision. “I’ll take her,” he said.
“Nay!” Flanna stamped her foot and looked about the hall for some small support. There was none.
“My lord, this decision is ill-advised,” Colin More-Leslie murmured to his master. “Surely there is another way. Would yer father, may God assoil his good soul, approve? And what of yer princess mother?”
“I need a wife,” the duke said implacably, “and I want Brae. It seems the perfect solution to me, Colly.”
“Go down to the village and fetch the minister from the kirk,” Lachlann Brodie commanded his eldest son.
“Ye want me to wed her here and now?” Patrick Leslie was very much taken aback, but then it didn’t really matter, did it?
“Ye’ll wed her, and ye’ll bed her, my lord, so my sons and I may be certain ye canna repudiate her on the basis of nonconsummation, while keeping Brae for yerself. I dinna trust nae man.”
“He’s a canny old devil,” Colin More-Leslie said softly.
“As ye will, Lachlann Brodie,” the duke said. “Send Aulay for the minister. ’Tis as good a time as any for a wedding.”
“And ye’ll remain the night,” came the veiled order.
“Aye, and breach the lass so all may see her innocence on the sheets come the morrow before I take her back to Glenkirk. The deeds to Brae safely in my possession then, eh?”
Lachlann Brodie nodded. “Agreed,” he said, spitting in his palm and holding it out to the duke.
Patrick Leslie spit in his own palm, and then the two men shook hands. “Agreed,” he responded.
“Nay,” Flanna Brodie said softly, but no one was listening to her. She might as well have protested to the wind.
“Five hundred gold crowns lost, and ye’re to be a duchess,” her sister-in-law Ailis murmured enviously. “What luck!”
“Luck?” Flanna said bitterly. “I see nae luck. At least ye love my brother Simon, and he cares for ye. All this Leslie of Glenkirk wants of me is Brae. Whether he buys it, or weds it, it makes nae difference to him at all. What the hell do I know about being a duchess? I’ll shame myself and my husband wi’ my ignorance. There is nae luck here.”
“Ye can surely learn how to be a duchess,” Ailis said. “Besides, I doubt ye’ll ever go to court. The English, I am told, hae already killed one royal Stuart. Ye know how to manage a household, for we’ve all struggled to teach ye the rudiments of housekeeping. Despite yer stubbornness ye’re quite clever. Whatever else there is, ye’ll learn.”
“Take my daughter to her chamber and see that she’s properly prepared for her wedding,” Lachlann Brodie ordered the women.
Immediately her brothers’ wives and their daughters gathered around Flanna and led her off. Her maidservant, Aggie, pressed near Flanna.
“Ye’ll take me wi’ ye, mistress, won’t ye?” she said nervously.
“Aye, ye and Angus will come to Glenkirk wi’ me,” Flanna replied. She turned suddenly, speaking directly to the duke. “I may have Aggie and Angus, may I nae? I’ll nae go wi’out them.”
“Of course yer servants may come wi’ ye,” he assured her. She had given him a very determined look when she importuned him, although the truth was she had no authority in the matter. Still, it was little enough, and all the brides who came to Glenkirk had come with their own personal servants.
Flanna felt numb. She stood, unprotesting, as her sisters-in-law pulled her clothing off her and hustled her into a hot tub. “We’d best start wi’ my hair,” she said low to Aggie, who nodded in agreement.
“We’ll pack yer things for ye,” Una said, “though I doubt much of it will be good enough for Glenkirk Castle. Still, ye know how to sew. Ye and Aggie can make some pretty new gowns, I’m sure. The duke will nae be tight wi’ a bride. Ask right away before he grows bored wi’ ye, Flanna. I’m certain he’ll gie ye the key to the storerooms where ye’re certain to find silks and other fine stuffs.”
“I want nothing from him,” Flanna said coldly. “He will hae the only thing I ever truly wanted, and that is Brae.”
“Dinna be a fool,” Una said sharply.
“The old man
should hae taken the five hundred crowns,” Ailis said. “Imagine Flaming Flanna a duchess,” she tittered.
“Shut yer mouth, ye mean shrew,” Una snapped. “If old Lachlann had taken the gold, do ye think ye or any of us would hae seen any of it, Ailis? I’ll remind ye that my Aulay is the old man’s heir. Yer Simon is but the next to youngest son. The land belonged to Flanna, through her mam. The luck is hers, nae ours, although I’m as surprised as any of ye that Lachlann Brodie passed up five hundred pieces of gold. Still, he loved Meg Gordon dearly, and she loved him despite the disparity in their ages.”
The chamber grew quiet then. Una was the matriarch of the family. Though a hard woman with little patience for fools and a quick temper, she had a good heart. There was none, even her own father-in-law, who could say she was needlessly cruel, but she ruled the women of Lachlann Brodie’s house with an iron hand, demanding instant obedience and chaste behavior. She swiftly punished any who flaunted her authority, even Flanna, for whom she had a small soft spot.
Una Brodie had lost her only daughter in the same winter epidemic that had killed Flanna’s mother. While she had four sons, her daughter had been the child of her heart. She had been ill herself, and it was Meg Gordon who had nursed both her and her child, thereby contracting the contagion that killed her. Flanna, though nothing like Una’s Mary, was a daughter without a mother; and Una, a mother without a daughter. Though nothing was ever said, she took the child over, raising her as best she could, for Flanna had never been easy, even from her birth, and Meg had spoiled her.
Properly scrubbed, Flanna stepped naked from the oaken tub to be dried. Her thick hair was toweled and then brushed by the fire until it was soft and shining. A snow-white linen shift was brought, and the bride dressed in it. A small wreath of heather and Michael-mas daisies was fashioned by her nieces for her head. It was all she would wear to her wedding, and she would be barefooted, her hair loose to signify her virgin state.
Just Beyond Tomorrow Page 4