Betrayed

by Bertrice Small

  Fiona followed her obediently, asking, "Are my sisters settled, please? I don't want them to be afeared. They have never been away from home overnight before, and they will miss our Flora."

  "They are fine, lassie," Una reassured Fiona. "The wee one has been fed and put to bed already. The other is eating down in the kitchen. I have never seen a child tuck away so much food as that bright-eyed girlie is now doing."

  "Ye didn't leave Morag alone, did ye? She is fearful of the dark when there is no one with her," Fiona said worriedly.

  "No, lassie. Giorsal is sitting by her cot, and there is a light burning as well. Don't fret. The bairn will outgrow her fear eventually. Yer mam was like that when she was a wee one, and she outgrew her fears by the time she was six."

  Fiona was amazed. "Ye knew my mother?"

  "Aye," Una said calmly. "I was born a Hay, lassie. I only became a Gordon when I wed with my Aulay." She led Fiona down a corridor and up a flight of stone stairs into another hallway. “Did ye really steal the laird's cattle?" she slyly asked the girl as she opened the door to a large chamber and ushered her inside.

  "He believes I did," Fiona said, refusing to admit her guilt to anyone, even now.

  "Yer grandfather, God assoil his good soul, would not approve the arrangement ye have made with the laird," Una said frankly.

  "Then he should have made provision to dower his granddaughters," Fiona snapped. “Instead, he and my father continued their feud to their graves, leaving me with five little sisters to provide for, and not so much as a merk to my name to do it with, may God help me! Well, I have married off Annie, Elsbeth, and Margery to their sweethearts, and my arrangement with the laird will assure that Jeannie and Morag will have fine husbands. I do what I must, and I'll hear no more about it, Una Gordon!"

  Una nodded, not in the least offended by the girl's outburst. She had learned what she wanted to learn. The lass was no adventuress out to take advantage of her master. She was her mother's daughter, for certain, accepting her fate for the sake of those she loved. "Ye’ll be verra comfortable in this chamber," she told Fiona calmly. "The fireplace draws well and is large enough to heat water for yer bath, as ye can tell by the cauldron hanging there now. I see Nelly is already attending to her duties. She is my niece, and a good lass. I canna imagine where she has gotten to, however."

  Her words had scarcely died when the door opened and a young girl hurried into the room, carrying a silver tray upon which was a carafe of red wine. Sticking out from the pockets of her apron were two silver goblets. She was a pretty creature with bright blue eyes and carrot-red braids. Placing her burden upon the table, she then curtsied to the two other women. "I have already begun warming the bath water, Mistress Una," she said politely.

  "Aye," Una answered approvingly, "and ye have fetched wine. Good. Well, I can see ye have yer duties well in hand, Nelly. Greet yer new mistress, Fiona Hay, and I'll be on my way."

  "God's greetings to ye, lady," Nelly said, curtsying prettily.

  "God's greetings to ye, Nelly," Fiona returned. The girl looked to be about her own age.

  "I'll bid ye good night then, Mistress Hay," the housekeeper said, and she departed the room.

  "I'll get the tub," Nelly said briskly. "Whew! I can smell the horses on ye. Did ye ride far today, lady?"

  "From the bottom of Ben Hay," Fiona replied, then looked about the chamber.

  This was to be her new home, and it was far grander than anything she had ever had. She wondered if her sisters were as finely ensconced. It was, to her eye, a very elegant chamber. There were heavy draperies of crimson velvet drawn over the shutters that covered the windows. There was a fine big bed with curtains of scarlet and cream-colored brocatelle hanging from polished brass rings. But the ultimate luxury was indeed the fireplace. There had been but one at Hay Tower, in the hall, but their bedchamber above the hall had been so cold on many a winter's morning that the contents of the nightjar had frozen.

  "Can I help ye?" she asked Nelly as the girl struggled to wrestle a round oaken tub from its storage space behind a small door.

  "No, thank ye," Nelly said, rolling the tub before the fireplace. " 'Tis just getting it out 'tis tricky." She began emptying a line of buckets set up by the fireplace into the oaken tub. "The lads will be up with more hot water any minute now. It cools on the way from the kitchens, but that is why I have this big kettle over yer fire." No sooner had she spoken than there was a knock upon the door. At Nelly's bidding the door opened to admit a line of young clansmen bearing two buckets apiece, which each dutifully dumped into the tub.

  It was a fine tub, Fiona thought. It stood about three and a half feet in height. The sturdy oak was made even stronger by several iron bands that had been wrapped about the tub. The outside of the tub was polished smooth and clean, and she suspected the inside would be as well. Despite her early morning bath she was beginning to look forward to a lovely long soak in the tub, for her muscles were starting to tell her that riding was a sore business. The last of the water bearers disappeared out the chamber door, Nelly closing it firmly behind them.

  Fiona pulled off her cap and laid it aside.

  "I'll help ye, mistress," Nelly told her. " 'Tis me duty." She quickly undressed Fiona, then said, "Pin yer hair up, lady, while I add the boiling water. Do ye like it good and hot?"

  "Aye," Fiona said, a trifle embarrassed to find herself totally naked before a stranger, but Nelly didn't seem to take any notice as she cheerfully went about her task of swinging the iron arm holding the black kettle of boiling water out from over the fire, lifting it up using a cloth to shield her hands, and pouring it gingerly into the oaken bathtub.

  "There now, and we're ready," Nelly said briskly as she helped her new mistress mount the two steps up so she could enter the tub.

  Fiona sank down into the hot water with a gusty sigh. "Ahhh, Nelly lass, nothing ever felt so good to me as this does now," she said.

  Nelly chuckled. "Ye've never been on a horse before?"

  Fiona shook her dark head. "They're hard creatures, and I've a soft behind, I fear."

  Nelly laughed. "I prefer me own feet, thank ye," she replied.

  Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening, and a tapestry hanging upon the wall by the bed was lifted up as the laird stepped into the room. "Good evening, my dearie," he said to Fiona. "Ye may continue in yer duties, Nelly." Then he sat down upon the bed.

  “My lord!'' Fiona had finally managed to find her voice.

  "Aye, lassie?"

  " 'Tis most unseemly that ye be here in my chamber while I bathe," Fiona protested heatedly. "Please leave at once!"

  "Lassie," he explained in an amused voice, "watching one's mistress bathe is a pleasure, and I'll not be denied it. Besides, I see little more of ye than I already have seen. Nelly lass, bring me a goblet of wine before ye begin washing yer mistress." He stretched his length out upon the bed, the pillows at his back, accepting the silver goblet the wide-eyed Nelly handed him. "Thank ye, Nelly."

  Blushing, Nelly curtsied and hurried back across the chamber to the tub where Fiona sat glaring angrily at the laird. "The soap has a nice fragrance of heather," the girl said softly as she set to work to wash her mistress. Lathering her cloth, she gently scrubbed the creamy back and shoulders, the slender neck and arms, quickly rinsing them. "Ye’ll have to raise yer legs, one at a time, lady, or I canna do them," she whispered. Grimly Fiona followed the girl's soft instructions. "Oh lady, how are we to do the rest if ye canna stand up, and ye canna with him here."

  Fiona's eyes met the wicked glance of the laird as he sprawled lazily upon her bed. With a small mocking gesture he raised his goblet to her. Not a word passed between them, but Fiona was aware of the silent challenge. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, saying as she did, "Hurry, Nelly, 'tis chilly. When ye've finished, I'll want to soak a bit. While I do, please warm my night attire."

  Nelly swallowed hard but went swiftly about the task of finishing her mistress's bath. She heard the l
aird's deep chuckle, yet did not see him once again raise his goblet to Fiona in appreciation of not simply her charms but her defiance. As for Fiona, she kept her glance impassive, although she was frankly mortified at having to display herself. She knew she was too damned slender, and her breasts were no bigger than young apples in early autumn. They would never really be big, she feared.

  Angus Gordon drank his wine, but he hardly felt the heat of the liquid as it slid down his gut. He viewed Fiona's nakedness, astounded by the sensuousness of her form. Everything was in perfect proportion, even her pretty little breasts. They would grow a bit fuller in time, he suspected, but he hoped they would never lose their curvaceous charms or the pert sauciness of their pink nipples. He could not see much else, for the height of the tub precluded it, and Nelly was discreetly attempting to shield Fiona from his curious gaze. After draining his cup, he set it aside and stood up, even as Fiona sat quickly back down in the tub.

  "Ye've done yer duty nicely, Nelly," he complimented her. "Now go to bed. Yer mistress won't need ye until the morning." Firmly, a hand beneath the startled girl's elbow, he ushered her from the room. Closing the door behind Nelly, he made a great show of turning the key in the lock. Then he came to perch upon the edge of the tub. Reaching out, he twirled a damp tendril of Fiona's hair between his fingers, noting with admiration the creaminess of her neck and shoulders.

  "Yer as bold as ye accuse me of being, my lord," Fiona said softly, surprised to find that her voice was in working order.

  "A man should be bold, but a woman should not be," he answered her quietly. Her emerald eyes were really quite spectacular, he thought.

  "Are ye just going to sit there while I soak?" she demanded.

  "Aye," he said calmly. "Ye canna soak forever, lassie."

  Silence descended, a silence so heavy it felt oppressive. Fiona hunched down as far as she dared without being cowardly. For a time the water was warm, but then it began to feel cool. She sneezed. Angus Gordon said nothing. Then he stood up and lifted her dripping form from the water, wrapping her in a towel. She was so surprised by his action, she had no time to protest it.

  "Don't be witless, wench, and catch yer death. Ye have yer sisters to consider. They're better here with me than with one of yer brothers-in-law's families." He began to rub her down.

  "Take yer hands from me," she snapped, her composure returning. "I'm completely capable of drying myself off."

  "But I am enjoying doing it," he said, continuing. "Since ye are to be my mistress, Fiona Hay, 'tis time ye began learning what is expected of ye. For the present, until I tire of ye, I own ye, lassie, body and soul. Whatever I desire of ye, ye will do."

  "Why, ye pompous lout!" Fiona returned, snatching the towel from him. "I promised ye my maidenhead for those damned cattle, and no more. 'Tis ye who have changed the bargain, and after we shook on it!"

  "The maidenhead of the Blessed Virgin would not be worth twenty head of cattle," he shouted back at her. "A lass's virtue is worth so much and no more, Fiona Hay. Do ye think me a fool?" Grasping the towel, he yanked it from her and stared hard. She was outrageously lovely with her dainty breasts, slim waist, and long shapely legs. "Jesu!" he muttered.

  Frozen, Fiona couldn't move for a moment. There was something in the tone of his voice that bespoke danger, but she would not flee him.

  Angus drew her slowly into his embrace. He touched her face, and her cheek was hot. She stared at him, wide-eyed, but there was absolutely no fear in her. He felt the gentle pressure of her bosom against the linen of his shirt. "Unlace me," he growled at her, his voice fierce and commanding. Her fingers trembled slightly as she obeyed him. "Push my shirt off, lassie!" Her hands on his chest were soft as she removed the garment. He pulled her back against him, reveling in the sensation as skin touched skin. He ran his fingertips down the soft swell of her buttocks.

  Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her vision was becoming blurry. She couldn't breathe. With a soft cry Fiona did what she had never thought to do. She fainted.

  Angus Gordon shook his head as he carried her to her bed, where he gently laid her down. If her brazen demeanor had ever led him to question her virtue, he now knew for certain that she was indeed a virgin. The look upon her face just before she swooned had been more than enough to convince him. It had been a mixture of slow sensual awakening and absolute terror. He didn't know if he was up to this. Cudgeling his brain, he tried to remember the last time he had deflowered a virgin. Then it dawned upon him. He never had. In fact, he had carefully steered clear of such lasses, for virgins were a capricious lot, forever falling in love with you and wanting to marry. Or so his late father had warned him. "Couple with the ones who enjoy it, laddie, but avoid the others, especially virgins, unless ye plan to wed one," Robert Gordon counseled his son, going on to explain why.

  He should have listened more closely to his father's advice, Angus Gordon thought ruefully. Still, the lass owed him a debt, and he'd not be made a laughingstock before all the world. Pouring a bit of wine into his goblet, he cradled the girl with one arm while forcing a bit of the liquid down her throat with his other hand upon the cup. Fiona Hay was going to meet her liability to him, but perhaps he could go a bit more slowly with her. She coughed, pushing his hand away, and some of the ruby liquid spilled onto her chest. He had the worst urge to lick it off, but restrained himself lest she swoon again. If a hand upon her shapely bottom could cause her to faint, surely his tongue between her untutored breasts would send her into fits.

  "Are ye all right now, lassie?" he asked solicitiously.

  Fiona nodded slowly, her head beginning to clear. "I don't know what happened," she said. "I am not craven," she defended herself.

  "I know," he said, "but yer a virgin, and don't know what to expect. I was clumsy in my approach, for if the truth were to be known, Fiona Hay, yer a lovely lass, and ye have aroused me."

  "Aroused ye to what?" she demanded suspiciously.

  "Ye've aroused my lust," he said, honestly answering what he realized was an honest question. "I want to couple with ye, lassie." Gently he cupped one of her breasts, caressing it lightly.

  Eyes wide, Fiona stared at his hand, amazed as his long fingers brushed over her skin, sending tiny tingles throughout her whole body. It was certainly not an unpleasant sensation, she mused, wondering at the same time what he expected of her. Their eyes met as she looked into his face. It was a strong face. Long in shape with a cleft in his chin and an aquiline nose. His cheekbones were high, his eyelids heavy, his mouth a narrow elongation.

  His hand moved up from her breast to take her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. He brushed his lips across hers, and she caught her breath softly. Angus Gordon smiled, and the smile extended to his dark green eyes. "Yer not afraid, are ye, lassie?"

  "I never imagined…" Fiona carefully considered her words. "I don't know what to expect, my lord, but it would seem that if I please ye, then ye will please me."

  He couldn't help but grin at her. This was hardly the sort of conversation he had expected to have with the brazen hussy in the midst of his seduction. "Ye talk too much, lassie," he said even as his mouth took firm possession of hers. He kissed her hard, wanting her to understand that he would not be deterred in his purpose to have her maidenhead. Holding the naked little witch in his arms, he could hardly resist her as it was. She smelled delicious, and her skin was silken and sweetly resilient beneath his touch. He pulled the pins from her hair, then let it tumble around his hands.

  It was her first real kiss, and it was wonderful, Fiona thought as she let herself drift within the security of his strong arms. Her belly kept knotting and unknotting. She was being assailed by a hundred different sensations. The kiss was harsh, yet it was sweet. Her mouth softened beneath his instinctively, her lips parting, their breaths mingling. She sighed as the pleasure deepened. Whatever had caused her to faint earlier had been dispelled in the magic of his kiss. Finally he broke off the ardent embrace, for he knew she had much to l
earn.

  Fiona stared into his face. " 'Twas verra nice, my lord. I like this kissing. Did I do it well? I haven't done it before, but it seems to come naturally to a body."

  His breeks had never seemed so tight. Laying her back upon the bed, he stood and began to divest himself of the remainder of his garments. "Aye," he agreed, his eyes never leaving her face, "kissing is a most natural thing, and ye do it well, lassie." He pulled his boots, hose, and breeks off. He kept his face impassive as his drawers fell to the floor. He kicked them aside as her eyes widened, although she said nothing.

  Could a man be called beautiful, Fiona wondered? His limbs were long and straight, and pleasingly curved where they should be. He had nicely shaped buttocks, round yet firm. He turned back to her, slipping again onto the bed. Fiona glimpsed his male appendage, pale and bobbing from a nest of curls as dark as her own. He saw where her glance had fastened itself.

  "Are ye afeared again, lassie?" he asked her in a quiet voice. "Ye don't have to be afraid of it, ye know. He's a braw fellow, my Gordie is, and will give ye much pleasure once he's become acquainted with ye."

  To his utter amazement Fiona reached out and touched his manhood, her face thoughtful as well as curious. He flinched with surprise, and she said in a serious voice, "Does it hurt when I touch it?"

  "No."

  "Then why did ye start?"

  "I would not have thought a virgin so curious."

  "Do virgins usually quail at the sight of yer Gordie, then?"

  Her fingers slid along his length, and he swallowed hard.

  "I don't recall," he muttered.

  He felt as hard as iron and near to bursting beneath her gentle yet bestirring touch. Her boldness was confusing to him. It wasn't that he wanted her shrieking and swooning with fear, but should not a virgin be more respectful of his male member? Just a few moments ago she had fainted at his touch, and now here she was, boldly stroking him with fingers as skilled as any whore's. He would have remonstrated with her but that he could see her actions were actually born of curiosity, and the fact that she truly did not know how a respectable lass should behave in such a situation.