Part I
SCOTLAND
A.D. 943
Chapter 1
The little hall at Ben MacDui was blue with smoke, for the chimney drew poorly. Sorcha MacDuff, seated at the high board, gazed down upon her numerous offspring tumbling about the room. Six little bastards, and a seventh in her fertile womb. Five were boys, the fourth born a girl. She felt nothing for them. They were Fergusons. Her mother love, at least that which she possessed, was for Gruoch MacDuff, her firstborn. For Gruoch’s twin, Regan, she allowed a small bit of affection. Regan had grown to be much like her father, Torcull, of sainted memory. The girl had his daring, and was brave to the point of foolishness. Sorcha could not help but admire her secondborn twin.
In the spring after her MacDuff daughters had been born, Alasdair Ferguson had returned to Ben MacDui. The betrothal contracts, drawn up by the Fergusons, had been signed then in the presence of a priest. They could have said anything and Sorcha would have known no different for she could neither read nor write. The priest told her that Gruoch would be Ian Ferguson’s wife as soon as her womanly flow began. Regan would then go to a convent on the west coast of Scotland to devote her life to God. The matter settled, the MacFhearghuis dismissed the cleric and raped the widow MacDuff, keeping her locked with him in her bedchamber for three days while he had his way with her. Nine months later she birthed him a son.
In the years that followed, Alasdair Ferguson visited his leman on a regular basis, as her growing family attested to, but he would not marry her, nor would she have had him if he had asked. Three times Sorcha MacDuff had gone in secret to the old witch woman in the glen, paid an exorbitant fee, drunk a disgusting potion, and aborted her violator’s offspring. When he learned of her deeds, he had sought out the witch, hung her from a tree, burned her cottage, then returned to Ben MacDui and beaten Sorcha MacDuff so badly she’d been unable to arise from her bed for a week. After that she bore his bastards without complaint, but she could not love them. They were Fergusons.
Outside, she heard the blare of a hunting horn, and then the hall door burst open to admit Alasdair Ferguson in the company of his two eldest sons, Ian and Cellach. Sorcha MacDuff arose slowly. Her time was quite near. “My lord,” she greeted him quietly, signaling the servants to bring food for the men.
“I’ve brought a stag,” Alasdair Ferguson said by way of greeting, and kissing her mouth in a show of proprietorship, he seated himself at the board.
The servants scurried to bring him wine, bread, and meat. They knew he was not a patient man.
Ian and Cellach Ferguson seated themselves next to their father and began to stuff their handsome faces. They had not bothered to greet Sorcha MacDuff. Reaching out, Alasdair cuffed the nearest of the pair.
“Hae ye the decency to greet the lady Sorcha properly before you eat her food, ye pair of uncouth cubs,” Alasdair growled at them. “ ’Tis her home yer in and her table at which ye sit.”
“ ’Tis Ferguson property,” Cellach said surlily, rubbing the spot where his father’s hand had made contact with his skull.
With a roar, the MacFhearghuis leapt to his feet and knocked his second son onto the floor. “ ’Tis Ferguson land because I made it so,” he said, “but before it was Ferguson land it was MacDuff land, and Ferguson or MacDuff, it is this lady’s home. Ye’ll mind yer manners in her presence whether I’m here or nae.” He gave the young man a kick. “Get up, and go eat in the stables where ye belong.”
Cellach scrambled to his feet. “I dinna know why ye dinna gie me Gruoch to wife instead of Ian. Then I would hae had my own lands,” he said.
“Aye,” his father rejoined, “and ye’d be looking to my lands, ye would, ye greedy little beggar!” He aimed another blow at the boy, who this time skillfully ducked it, running out of the hall. Then he turned to his eldest, but Ian was quickly on his feet, bowing to Sorcha MacDuff and thanking her for her hospitality.
Reseating himself, Ian said, “And how are the bairns, lady? They all appear to look well. My sister Sine grows prettier every day, I’m thinking. ’Tis nice to hae a sweet wee sister.” He took up a joint of meat and bit into it.
“Yer father’s bastards seem to thrive,” Sorcha MacDuff answered him pleasantly. “All my bairns do, thanks be to God.”
“About my lass,” Alasdair Ferguson said, “I want to take her back home wi’ me. I’ve nae a woman in the house but the servants. Sine’s a Ferguson, my only daughter. ’Tis time she took her place. There’s nae shame to any of our bairns for I’ve acknowledged them all.”
“Take her, then,” Sorcha MacDuff said. “Take all yer other bastards too, my lord They’re nothing to me. I’ve my Gruoch.”
He shook his head at her words. “Yer a hard woman, Sorcha MacDuff,” he told her. “Very well, I’ll take Donald, Aed, and Giric as well. They’re all old enough to be separated from ye. Ye’ll keep Indulf, Culen, and the new bairn for the time being.” He quaffed down the wine in his cup, and the servant by his side hurriedly refilled it. “ ’Tis about Gruoch I’ve come, Sorcha. Surely her flow has come upon her by now. She celebrated her thirteenth birthday last December, and ’tis now April. We hae a marriage to consummate. Ian is twenty-three, and more than ready for a mate. He’s populating the whole damned district wi’ his bastards, woman. He needs his wife!”
“Ye’d take my lass away so soon?” Sorcha began to weep in a genuine show of emotion. “Dinna take her, my lord. Not yet.”
“In the name of all the saints, woman,” he said angrily, for he hated a crying woman, “she’s nae going away from ye! She and Ian will live here at Ben MacDui for the time being. That way ye’ll be wi’ her when she spawns her first bairn nine months after the wedding. I may nae hae experience wi’ daughters, but I know a lass needs her mam at a time like that. Hush yer howling, Sorcha, and answer me. Is Gruoch’s flow upon her now, or nae?”
“Only just this month,” she said slowly, although both Gruoch and her sister had begun their woman’s flow the previous autumn. They had kept it a secret in order to have more time, but now it mattered no longer, Sorcha thought to herself. She was to finally have her revenge after all these years.
“Then let us hae the wedding!” the MacFhearghuis replied with enthusiasm. “ ’Tis what I’ve waited for all these years, woman!”
“Ye canna hae a wedding just because ye want a wedding,” Sorcha told him coyly. “We hae preparations to make, my lord.”
“Ye’ve had thirteen years for those preparations, Sorcha MacDuff,” he answered. “Today be the twentieth day of the month of April. Our children will wed in seven days’ time.” He turned to his son. “Ian! What think ye? Ye’ll be a married man in another few days at long last. She’s grown into a pretty wench. Yer a lucky young fellow!”
“Aye, Da,” Ian Ferguson answered his father dutifully. He was an attractive man with russet hair and blue eyes.
“Where is Gruoch?” Alasdair Ferguson demanded. He peered about the hall, but only his children were in evidence.
Sorcha shrugged. “ ’Tis spring,” she said by way of explanation.
“Donald Ferguson!” the MacFhearghuis called to the eldest of his and Sorcha MacDuff’s sons. “To me, laddie!”
The boy, who had been wrestling with his younger brothers, Aed and Giric, scrambled to his feet and ran to stand before his sire. Like all of Alasdair MacDuff’s sons, he was russet-haired. “Aye, Da?”
“Ye and Sine and the other two will come home wi’ me today,” the older man said. “Does that please ye, laddie?”
The boy’s face broke into a broad smile. “Aye, Da!”
“Do ye know where yer sister Gruoch is?” the MacFhearghuis continued. “I would speak wi’ her.”
“Aye, Da, I know where Gruoch is,” Donald replied with a sly glance at his mother, but Sorcha’s threatening look was enough to guarantee his silence. “Shall I run and fetch her for ye, Da?”
“Aye, laddie, go and do that,” his father told him. As Donald ran off, he turned to
Sorcha MacDuff. “He’s a good laddie, woman. Ye hae done well wi’ him and the others, even if ye hae no mother love for any of my offspring. Yer a foolish woman, I’m thinking.”
“Think what ye will, my lord,” she answered him calmly. “From the first moment I saw her, Gruoch became my sole reason for being. I need none other. I want no other.”
He shook his head at her. He knew he was a hard man, but he dearly loved all of his children. How could he not? They were his flesh. Well, from now on all the bairns Sorcha bore him would come to his house as soon as they were weaned. Indulf, who was two and a half, and Culen, who was one, were still nursing, but he’d have them as soon as they were not. He realized he should have taken the elder children three years ago. Their mother was a cold woman. For a brief moment his thoughts turned to Regan MacDuff. She had no one, poor lassie. Her mother’s passion was for Gruoch alone. Regan would be better off in the convent to which he was sending her. His cousin Una was the abbess there. Regan would find kindness and companionship within the walls of St. Maire’s.
Young Donald Ferguson ran from the hall of the tower house and up the hill where the sheep were pastured. To his surprise, he found both of the twins, but Jamie MacDuff was there as well, as Donald had known he would be. “Gruoch!” he called. “The MacFhearghuis is in the hall, and he would see ye! I’ve come to fetch ye. Yer to be married next week, sister! My brother, Ian, is eager for his bride!” Donald grinned.
Gruoch MacDuff turned from the young man with whom she had been in conversation. “Dinna speak so intimately to me, whelp,” she chided Donald. Then she asked, “When did they decide the wedding date?”
“Just now,” he said. “My father asked the she-wolf who is our mother if yer flow wasn’t finally upon ye. She said it was just this month, but I know that to be a lie.” He grinned again at her.
Gruoch paled. “Ye canna prove it,” she said low.
“And if ye tell yer father,” Regan interjected, “ye’ll nae live long enough to join the MacFhearghuis’s household, Donald” She smiled sweetly at him, all the while fingering the dirk in her waistband “Think very carefully, whelp, before you decide what you will do.”
“Yer as mean as our mam,” he told her sourly, and turned back to the tower house.
“They say I’m like my sire, Torcull MacDuff,” Regan called after him, laughing.
“Are ye afraid of nothing at all?” Gruoch asked her twin. “I dinna think ye’ll make a good nun, Regan mine.”
“I hae no desire to be a nun, but a nun I’ll be,” her sister answered. “There is no other choice open to me.”
“Ye could take a man, and hae a bairn,” Jamie MacDuff spoke.
“And be hunted down and killed wi’ my babe because I am in line to inherit Ben MacDui? I thank ye for yer suggestion, Jamie MacDuff, but ’tis nae a good one, I fear. The MacFhearghuis is a fierce man, and a bad enemy to hae, as our father found out.”
“If ye switched places wi’ Gruoch and pretended to be her, then ye’d be Ian Ferguson’s bride. If ye did, Gruoch and I could flee away to some other part of Alba, or Daldriada, or Strathclyde, to live our lives in peace, free of the Fergusons.” His brown eyes were serious.
Gruoch gasped with his words. “Ye might at least ask me before ye decide to change my life,” she said sharply, and Regan hid a smile. “I am the heiress to Ben MacDui, not Regan!”
“Do ye nae want to wed wi’ me then, Gruoch?” He looked hurt
“I’m betrothed to another, Jamie MacDuff, and besides, how would ye support me and the bairns we would hae? Yer no lord.”
“The MacFhearghuis will be wondering where ye are,” Regan reminded her twin. “Come, we must go.” She looked at the crestfallen young man. “Yer a fool, Jamie MacDuff,” she said to him. Then taking Gruoch by the hand, she led her back to the tower house.
“Why do ye lead him on so?” Regan demanded as they hurried along.
Gruoch shrugged wordlessly, and Regan knew she would get no more from her unless her sister wanted to tell her. Doted on by their mother, Gruoch was but a younger version of Sorcha MacDuff. Much of what she thought, she kept to herself. She had a passion for vengeance against those who she believed had done her wrong. Still, there was an odd bond between the twins, for Regan sensed a fragility beneath Gruoch’s hard veneer. Perhaps that was why she was always jumping to her sister’s defense, protecting her, watching over her. Who will keep Gruoch from herself when I am gone? Regan wondered.
“How do I look?” Gruoch demanded as they reached the doorway of the tower house. She brushed imagined dust from her woolen gown and smoothed down her fair hair.
“Every bit as good as I do,” Regan said with a chuckle, and Gruoch laughed with her. It was a longtime jest between them.
They were, as they had been at birth, identical in both face and form but for one difference. Gruoch’s eyes were a rich azure color. Regan’s, however, were an aquamarine with tiny gold flecks. It was not often that people were able to tell them apart, for they were so stunned by the girls’ beauty, they did not look into their eyes. They saw only the exquisite faces of the twins, and hair like molten gold silk. No one could ever recall having seen hair so fair.
They entered the hall together, greeting their mother and her guests politely. Then they stood dutifully before the high board.
“Though I’ve known them all their lives, I still canna tell them apart,” grumbled the MacFhearghuis. “Gruoch, come up here!”
The girl stepped daintily up onto the dais, and coming to the laird’s side, kissed his rough cheek. “My lord.”
He pulled her down into his lap and pinched her cheek. “Yer a pretty lass. Ye’ll gie me strong Ferguson grandsons to inherit my lands, will ye nae, Gruoch?”
Gruoch blushed and giggled. “Donald says ye’ve set the date of the wedding, my lord. Is it so, then?”
“Aye,” he confirmed. “In seven days, lass, ye’ll wed wi’ my Ian and become a wife. It is past time.”
“Dinna send Regan to the convent, my lord,” Gruoch said suddenly. “We’ve ne’er been apart I dinna like to think of my life wi’out her.”
“Ye’ll hae nae time for Regan,” Alasdair Ferguson told the girl. “Ye must concentrate on gieing the Fergusons another generation of sons and daughters. Ye’ll nae miss yer sister.”
“Aye, I will,” Gruoch replied stubbornly. Her blue eyes were both angry and sad at the same time. She wanted very much to defy him, but being young, she wasn’t quite certain how to go about it.
Still standing below the high board, Regan heard, and was touched by, her twin sister’s plea. Despite their mother’s obvious preference for Gruoch, the two girls had always been close. Gruoch, however, could never make up for the neglectful atmosphere in which the secondborn of the twins had grown up. Gruoch had always been cuddled and fussed over. Regan was always an afterthought Even now she was being ignored. It was as if she were not even there. With a soft little sigh, Regan slipped from the hall. She would not be missed, she knew. The focus of everyone’s attention was Gruoch, as it always had been.
The MacFhearghuis tipped Gruoch from his lap. “Go and gie yer intended a wee kiss, lassie,” he ordered her.
“Ohh, nay!” she said, cowering against her mother’s chair. “ ’Tis nae proper until we are wed. ’Tis what my mother hae always taught me, my lord. A man will nae respect a woman who is loose, or free wi’ her affections.”
Ian Ferguson grinned. She was a virgin, of course, and he very much liked taking a girl’s maidenhead. Each was different. Some were eager for a strong cock. Some were shy, but could be coaxed with patience. Best of all he liked those girls who fought him. He could not explain it even to himself, but he liked forcing a maiden to his will. They always ended up enjoying themselves in the end. He peered closely at Gruoch. He wasn’t certain if she could be coaxed or if she would fight him. Either way, he would have her maidenhead in just seven days’ time. She would be his wife, and certainly could not refuse him.
&nbs
p; Later, when the Fergusons had gone from Ben MacDui, Gruoch sat alone with her mother. Sorcha said to her eldest daughter, “That was nicely done today, my darling. I can see that the MacFhearghuis is well pleased wi’ ye. Jesu!” She rubbed her distended belly. “I can only pray this is the last of his bastards I’ll be forced to bear.”
“Did you see how Ian looked at me?” Gruoch said quietly. “I am told he likes it best when a woman struggles against him. He is fair of face, but black of heart, I fear.”
“Yer a lass of my ilk, Gruoch. Ye’ll tame him, my daughter,” Sorcha assured her. “As soon as he learns he is to be a father, he will worship ye, even as will his father.” She shifted uncomfortably, and then swore, “Jesu! Maria! My waters have broken. My time is here again.”
“Let me help you, Mother,” Gruoch said, and with the aid of a servant, got Sorcha MacDuff to her chamber and onto the well-worn birthing table. “Fetch old Bridie, and find my sister,” Gruoch ordered the serving woman.
Sorcha groaned as the first of the spasms tore through her.
“What will you call this one?” Gruoch asked her mother in an effort to distract her from the pain of her labor.
“Malcolm, after the new king,” Sorcha said through gritted teeth. “And if ’tis a lass, I’ll call her Maire. Ahh, Jesu! The pain is fierce.”
Old Bridie, the midwife, arrived and said sharply, “Hush yer complaints, Sorcha MacDuff. This is your eighth labor, yer ninth child. Yer nae a lass haeing her firstborn.”
“Yer an evil old crone,” Sorcha said irritably, “and canna remember yerself the pain of bringing a bairn into this world. Ahhhhhh! Damn Alasdair Ferguson and his hot lust to hell and back!” she cried as Regan came into the room.
The Love Slave Page 2
