Seducing His Sassenach

by Ashe Barker

  Then, he turned to greet a small, thick-set woman who stood quietly at Archie’s side. Jane had not noticed her immediately in the thronging crowd. The woman was plainly dressed and hoisted a child of perhaps a year old on her hip. Another child, a little girl of perhaps three or four, clung to the woman’s woollen skirt.

  Jane frowned. The woman seemed familiar. One of the Mortain servants, perhaps?

  Robbie extended his hand. The woman took it and looked up to smile at him. Recognition hit Jane with the force of a runaway stallion.

  Breath left her lungs. She staggered, her head suddenly light. She could not blame this on her pregnancy.

  “Ma...?” she croaked, clutching the door post beside her. She would have dropped to the floor in a faint had it not been for the sturdy oak. “Ma, is it you? But... how...?”

  She barely managed to whisper the words, but Robbie heard. He turned, and moments later was beside her. She clung to him as he led her across the hall. Everyone parted to let them pass, and she found herself face to face with the mother she had not seen for eight years.

  “Jane? Our little Jane. Eh, it’s right good to see you, love.”

  Jane gaped, open-mouthed. The voice was the same. The ruddy, lined features she remembered so well, the gentle smile. But this was mad. Impossible. It simply could not be. She shook her head in disbelief.

  “It... I...”

  Meggie Bartle smiled, an expression at once familiar, and so beloved. So sorely missed.

  “I do not understand,” Jane gasped. “How did you know where to come? It is so far...”

  “Never mind all that. Come here. Let me look at you.” Meggie handed the baby to the woman next to her, who Jane belatedly recognised as her eldest sister, Nancy. Was there no end to this family reunion? She had no time to greet her sister before her mother grabbed her and pulled her in close. “Ah, I’ve missed you, lass. It’s so grand to see you again.”

  “I... yes...” Jane was lost for words, utterly bewildered. She clung to her mother, her senses reeling. Meggie Bartle was here. On Skye, at Duncleit. Really, truly here, among the McGregors, welcomed as one of their own.

  “How did you get here?” Jane managed, at last, when her mother eventually released her.

  “Your intended sent his friends. They just turned up one day, said you was getting married, and we should come to the wedding.”

  “Friends? What friends?” Jane was beyond bewildered.

  “Archie. Mr. Montgomery, here. And his dad. They came to Portsmouth to find us.”

  “Us?”

  “Well, there’s me, and our Nancy, of course. She’s been a widow these last five years. Those are her two, young Ed and Mary.” Meggie paused to let Jane greet her eldest sister, and the two children.

  “I am so sorry about your husband,” Jane murmured, still in a daze. “Harry, was it not?”

  “Yes,” Nancy replied. “He was a good man...”

  Meggie took up her theme once more. “Our Will and our Ezra are both at sea, been gone a few months now. They have wives and bairns in Portsmouth, so we left word and they know where to find us, should be they have a mind to.”

  “You... you mean, more are coming?” Jane still could not believe what she was hearing.

  Meggie shrugged. “Maybe. You’ll recall our Elsie married a man with an acre or two out Falmouth way. They have seven youngsters now, and they’re quite settled. She sends her love, though.”

  “Oh.” Jane remembered her older sister’s wedding, not long before she herself left to join the Marchant household. It had been a jolly affair, with a lot of music and dancing.

  “Our Alister died of the cholera three years past. This here is his widow, Lizzie, and her little one.” Meggie beckoned a young woman forward.

  Still in a fog of bewilderment, Jane greeted the sister-in-law she had not known before. “I am pleased to meet you, My condolences...”

  She got no further. “Our young Ned passed away too, of the same disease.” Meggie dabbed at her eyes. “‘Tis a cruel world, it truly is.” She brightened. “Still, there’s enough of us here to see you have a right good wedding. Tilly, Beatrice, Dorothy, Mary, young Geoffrey—come and say hello to your sister.”

  Jane found herself passed from one to the other as each sibling took their turn to plant a kiss on her cheek. Two of her sisters had brought their men along with them, and between them they counted eleven children ranging from babes in arms to a gangling youth of about fourteen. Jane had lost count of how many of her kin now crowded about her.

  She was utterly astonished when suddenly confronted by the tall young man who bore little resemblance to the five-year-old boy she remembered. “Geoffrey? Is it you? You were so little... and now look at you.”

  “Aye, he’s a fine young man, our Geoffrey. Margery could not join us. She’s apprenticed to a seamstress in Portsmouth so could not get away. But you’ll recall the twins, young Emma and Daisy.” Two girls, identical twins aged fifteen now, if Jane’s memory served her right, stepped forward, their smiles shy. They looked almost as confused as Jane was.

  Meggie continued her tale. “Emma and Daisy were both in service with a fine family but were glad enough to come with us. Maybe we can find them a place here. You’ll have need of good servants, I daresay, my lady.”

  She addressed her final remark to Lady Roselyn, who simply nodded. “Oh, yes, I expect so.”

  Here? Jane clutched at her mother’s sleeve. “You... you mean to stay?”

  “Aye, that is the idea. ‘Tis an awful long journey otherwise.”

  “But...” Jane turned to Robbie, then to The McGregor and his wife. “Is that... will that be all right?”

  Blair McGregor waved airily at his son. “I shall let Robbie explain the way of it.”

  Jane fixed her betrothed with a glare. “Well, I hope someone will. I am... I mean, this is...”

  “Have a seat, my love.” Robbie edged her in the direction of one of the benches set out in the hall for the household to use during mealtimes. Jane sank onto it, and he placed himself next to her. “It was Elisabeth’s idea originally,” he began. “Lady Falconer.”

  The countess herself emerged from the throng. “I did not expect you to take me seriously and actually do it, but I am glad you did, and that it has worked out so well.”

  “Nevertheless,” Robbie went on, “Elisabeth commented that it was such a pity your mother would not be able tae witness your wedding, especially seein’ as how ye’ve done so well for yourself.”

  Jane snorted. “Conceit does not become you, Scot.”

  Robbie’s grin never faltered. “I agreed with her. We all did. So, I set about gatherin’ information. Ye’ll recall ye spoke tae me of your kin in Portsmouth, your mother especially.”

  “Not that much, surely. How did you ever manage to find her?”

  “Ye also spoke tae Lady Falconer, an’ tae Eleanor too. We shared what we had. We knew that your mother was called Meggie Bartle, she had sixteen children, lived in rooms close tae the docks in Portsmouth an’ worked as a laundress. We also knew that ye had a sister called Dorothy who worked as a lady’s maid wi’ the Setons at the manor house in Godlington.”

  “But... how did you know that?”

  “It was one o’ the first things ye told me about yourself. Right after Archie an’ I arrived at Ashingburn.”

  “You remembered?”

  “Aye, o’ course. Had he not been able tae locate Mistress Bartle, Archie would ha’ gone to Dorothy in Godlington. So, add Aiden’s legendary powers of investigation tae what information we already had—he can ferret out anything, our Aiden can. He an’ Archie went tae Portsmouth an’ asked about. They soon found Meggie, an’ o’ course she was able tae tell them where the others were. It was no’ that difficult, not really.”

  Aiden Montgomery’s pointed throat-clearing might have suggested he did not entirely agree, but Robbie was not to be deterred, it would seem.

  “I asked Aiden an’ Archie tae convince a
s many as could be found, an’ would agree tae it, tae come here, tae witness our wedding, an’ tae settle hereabouts if they want tae.”

  “But, there are so many. Surely, you did not expect...”

  “I knew there were sixteen o’ ye, so, aye, I had an idea.”

  “But, where will they all sleep? Do we have enough food? What about—?”

  Blair McGregor rose from his seat at the high table, from where he had been observing the commotion in his hall. With Lady Roselyn on his arm, he came down onto the floor to stand beside his son. “We shall find room i’ the keep at first. Aye, it’ll be cramped, but we shall manage. We have before. In the months tae come we will build such cottages as may be needed. As for food, we dinnae go short. There’s ample land tae farm an’ waters tae fish. We always have need of weavers, seamstresses, cooks, carpenters. As long as folk pull their weight, all are welcome here. Especially kin.”

  “Kin? But, I—”

  “Ye’re a McGregor now, lass. Or, ye will be as soon as ye say the words afore the priest.” The McGregor tipped his chin at his daughter. “Rosie, is Father Bennett with us? More tae the point, is he sober?”

  The younger Roselyn nodded. “He is in the guardroom, Da, an’ has been there these last three days, since we had word that our guests had crossed the water onto Skye. Not a drop has passed his lips, I can vouch for that.”

  “Excellent. Then have the man escorted tae his chapel. We shall meet him at the door.”

  Jane’s jaw dropped. She was to be wed. Now. Right here and now.

  “But... I have no dress,” she spluttered.

  “Ah, but you do, my dear.” Lady Roselyn extended her hand. “Please, come with me. You too, Mistress Bartle. I have just the very dress, hanging in my chamber. Robbie had us make it for you, Jane, and I have been keeping it safe until it was required. I do hope you like it.”

  * * *

  Jane did like it. An hour later, swathed in a gown of delicate green silk, she descended the steps from Duncleit keep, her hand on The McGregor’s elbow.

  At last she understood the reasons for Robbie’s refusal to hold the wedding. He knew her family were on their way. Archie had, she gathered, sent word by a fast rider months ago, not long after he arrived in Portsmouth, informing Robbie that he had successfully located several members of the Bartle family and would be making his way north with them. They would use the more conventional route, the great north road, and would probably spend the winter at Mortain rather than risk the younger ones on a journey across the Highlands in the coldest months. Robbie had also been sent word when the party eventually left Mortain some three weeks previously. Their journey had been arduous, and they had had to travel slowly since many were in carts and wagons and they had young children with them. But they were here. All had arrived safely, and now, at last, her wedding could take place.

  “Why did you not tell me?” she hissed. “I was so worried. I thought...”

  “I know what ye thought. My mother told me. I tried, in every way I could find, tae show ye that ye were wrong.”

  “But, if you had explained...”

  “Until I saw the whole lot of ‘em troopin’ across our drawbridge, I couldnae be certain that my plans would come about. I couldnae bear tae disappoint ye, sweetheart. And, was it no’ a fine surprise?”

  Jane had to concede that. It was, indeed, a very fine surprise.

  Behind her, her mother walked beside Lady Roselyn. They were flanked by the ever-present hound. The two women were getting along famously. Lady Roselyn refused to hear any talk of laundries, insisting that Meggie Bartle was their guest and would be treated as such, for as long as she chose to remain at Duncleit. Jane had the impression that her mother’s stay would be an extended one. The rest of her family, Bartles and McGregors, trooped along behind, chattering and making each other’s acquaintance.

  The procession made its way to the doors of the old chapel on the edge of the village, where Robbie waited, clad in his finest tartan. His brother, similarly attired, stood on one side of him and Archie Montgomery on the other. The eager bridegroom’s handsome features split in a wide smile the moment he caught sight of his bride.

  Blair handed Jane to his son. “Ye’ve gone tae a great deal o’ trouble, lad. Make sure ye take good care o’ her.” The laird stepped back.

  Jane took Robbie’s hand and together they stood before the somewhat dishevelled-looking priest.

  “I said I would wed ye, my Sassenach,” Robbie lowered his head to murmur in her ear. “When the time was right. An’ I meant it.”

  Epilogue

  Duncleit Castle, Isle of Skye, January 1515

  Jane linked arms with her mother and started the slow climb back up to the castle entrance. She tired so easily these days. Some mornings she felt as though she had surely been transformed into a beached whale by some malevolent sorcerer, and to make matters worse had miraculously sprouted spindly legs upon which to drag her sluggish, bloated carcase about.

  Surely no other woman, in the mists of history, had ever been quite so large as she was in these latter stages of pregnancy. Jane was convinced she was about to give birth to a small army.

  She sighed, rested her free hand on the enormous swell of her abdomen, and trudged onward. This familiar journey became more strenuous with every day that passed. The slight incline from the river to the gates of her castle home had never seemed more daunting, a gentle slope she had been able to run up and down with ease, scant weeks previously.

  She was panting by the time they got halfway up the meadow, and Meggie drew her to a halt beside a fallen tree.

  “Let us sit a while, lass. We can enjoy the view...”

  Jane snorted and turned her head to glower at the low clouds and grey, swirling mists.

  “Ma, it’s too bloody cold to stop and there’s no view to be seen through all this fog. The sooner we get back indoors, the better.”

  “You should rest...”

  “I am not an invalid...” Jane dragged her cloak tight around her body and sniffed at the frigid air. “It will snow soon, I am sure of it. I must check that there is sufficient firewood collected in, and plenty of meat hanging in the pantries. Once it starts, it will not let up for weeks.” She recalled the previous winter when the household had been trapped indoors, the landscape blanketed with several feet of snow for months on end. Jane had never experienced a winter like it and was determined to meet her second such season well prepared. As lady of this keep it was her responsibility to ensure that no one went short.

  “No, you are not an invalid,” Meggie agreed. “And neither are you a pack horse. You need to allow yourself a little pampering. Take it from one who birthed twenty children in the space of as many years, aye, and managed to see sixteen grow up strong and healthy. We mothers need to look after ourselves first of all. You’re no good to a child if you’re ailing yourself.”

  “I am not ailing—”

  “No, but you are exhausted, what with running about seeing to all and sundry the whole time. Let Annie Drummond worry about firewood and let that man of yours fret about how much meat is stored. You’ve enough on your plate with this one here.” She eyed her daughter’s bulge, her expression wary.

  “But—”

  Meggie was not to be gainsaid. “And let me fret about you. We were apart a long time, lass, and I worried about you always. At least let me enjoy our time together if you will not do it for yourself.”

  Jane paused in her exertions and turned to face her mother. “You worried about me?”

  “Aye. You were my baby, and an argumentative lass at that. A sullen disposition, some would say. I didn’t want you getting in bother. You always had a habit of talking back to your betters and I feared that sharp tongue would be your undoing.”

  Jane chuckled. “I suspect my husband would say nothing much has changed.”

  Meggie shook her head. “He would not, lass. No one here would say anything of the sort. You’re the equal of any, and they all know
it. Has anyone said different?”

  Jane shook her head as she continued to make her weary way up the hill. “Everyone is very kind,” she muttered.

  “They are in awe, lass, not kind. I never would have believed that a girl of mine would take so easily to being lady of a fine household such as this. There’s no one here who does not respect you, and there’s little enough these Scots wouldn’t do for you, either. You’ve earned your place, Jane, and—”

  “Oh. Aaaagh!” Meggie’s gushing praise was brought to an abrupt halt by an agonised scream from her daughter. Jane doubled over, gasping for breath.

  “Hmm, seems that the little one is ready to make an entrance,” observed the Bartle matriarch. “We’d best be getting you tucked up in bed, then.”

  “I... I cannot...” Jane reached for her mother’s hand. “Help me...”

  “Aye, of course.” Meggie wrapped her arm around Jane’s waist and started to support her up the hill. They had taken no more than a half dozen steps before a cart rattled alongside, driven by Archie. He leapt to the ground and lifted Jane onto the bed of the vehicle, then assisted Meggie up alongside her

  Jane would have thanked him, but it was all she could do to speak. “H-how did you know...? Aaagh!”

  Archie grinned back at her over his shoulder. “Your husband was watchin’ from the east tower an’ he shouted down to me tae come an’ fetch ye. Ah, here he is now...”

  Robbie sprinted the final few paces across the springy meadow heather, then vaulted up onto the cart to grasp his wife’s hands. “‘Tis time, eh?”

  Jane nodded, grimacing as yet another contraction wrenched her breath from her lungs.

  “Get a move on, Archie. I dinnae want my heir tae come intae the world on the back of a wagon, i’ the teeth of a blizzard.”

  Archie grinned again and urged the horses across the drawbridge and into the Duncleit bailey, just as the first flurries fell.