by Mary Wine
The inn was suddenly filled with the shuffling of feet against the floorboards and nothing else.
“Aye,” Gillanders agreed. “Business between men. That’s the way it should be.”
Diocail nodded. He cut a quick glance toward Muir. The captain nodded once before reaching over and grasping Jane by the upper arm. He tugged her gently toward the stairs. She cringed at the idea of going back to the place where she had last seen Henry, but staying behind wasn’t appealing either. So she climbed the stairs and went through the door at the top.
“Stay in the room, mistress,” Muir replied. “I think it will be best that way. Until the business is finished.”
The captain tugged the door shut, leaving her listening to the heavy fall of rain on the roof. Despite the chill in the air, she turned and looked at the door, longing simply to run.
What made her quell the urge was the sight of young Bari. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a barrier of hot coals. The room was only a loft, and as such, didn’t have a hearth. He was happily shoveling stew into his mouth with the aid of a chunk of bread and had to swallow before he spoke. “It’s very fine of the laird to make certain we are nae sitting in the rain, is it no’, mistress?”
A rap on the door saved her from having to answer. The door swung inward as Gillanders’s wife pointed two of her daughters into the room. They carried two large bundles and stood for a long moment once they’d entered.
“It’s all here,” she muttered. “Except yer wedding ring. Me husband already sold it for the gold.”
The Gordon retainer standing outside the door was named Aylin. He frowned as he listened, clearly taking note of the details. He turned and headed down the stairs.
“I’ve recently learned to appreciate more useful things over items that only feed vanity,” Jane said.
Such as her clothing. The bundles were plump, hinting at a reunion with the things she’d taken for granted. She trembled with anticipation of being decent once again.
“Aye,” Gillanders’s wife said as she snapped her fingers. The two girls placed the bundles on the floor and left.
“Are ye nae going to dress, mistress?”
Bari stopped to ask her the question as he was crossing the room toward the door. The boy had taken to standing by Niven during the times when rent was being collected. The Gordon retainer would give him tasks to do, such as carrying smaller items to the wagon or helping to collect firewood. As much as she longed for company, seeing Bari finding a place made her happy.
His mother would have wept for joy.
“I’ll be fine, Bari,” Jane responded. “Go on and attend to your duties.”
He flashed her a smile before he scampered toward the door. He stopped, turned around, and reached up to tug on the corner of his bonnet. “Mistress.”
His manners attended to, he took off toward the door and it banged shut behind him, leaving Jane facing her past. She ended up laughing until tears rolled down her face. Sinking onto her knees, she tried to make sense of what Fate was doing to her.
Even after her amusement was spent, she sat there, contemplating the bundles that represented her past. She still couldn’t make herself reach for them because she wanted nothing to do with any of her former belongings.
Of course, that left her sitting on the floor, defeated by circumstances. Which wouldn’t do either.
The difficulty was she was held in the grip of some strange mood that refused to allow her to move as she sank deeper and deeper into her thoughts. She was neither happy nor sad, nor really anything else as she fought against the sheer amount of feelings trying to drown her.
What made her reach for the first of the bundles was the fact that Diocail was providing for her.
Oh yes, he was an honorable man, but some things were simply facts in life. No one received anything for nothing.
She didn’t want to be a whore, but Diocail was buying her. The bundles represented too much to be afforded to Christian charity or kindness. Sewing a few shirts were fine payment for feeding her and taking her along while her feet healed. The bundles were an entirely different matter.
Diocail was exchanging rent due for them. He had people to provide for with that rent, men such as Muir and Niven and even young Bari.
The only choice Fate seemed to be allowing her was what she wanted to make of her circumstances. She might simply allow Diocail to shield her, but she would carry the shame of knowing that she was taking advantage of his honor.
That stung.
He deserved better. Had certainly treated her too well for her to use him. It was hardly his responsibility to see to her needs.
That is not the only reason you are looking to leave…
Her shame doubled because there in the loft room where she’d last seen her husband, she realized she had never enjoyed his kiss the way she had Diocail’s.
Never longed for more of them…
The harshest truth was she needed to leave before she allowed herself to become his. Not because he insisted on it, but because she liked his touch and remaining was a simpler path than making her own way. Diocail would allow it because he was not a mean-spirited man.
She mustn’t be weak.
She’d made herself that promise the day her mother had died. Her sisters had taken to holding her, and she knew when her father married again she couldn’t allow them to coddle her. They were all at the mercy of their new stepmother’s whims. They all had the same amount to worry about, and she would not add to any of their burdens. Such was the truest test of love among them.
At least her stepmother’s frugality had a purpose. Jane began to pull her clothing from the first bundle and found it plain, yet serviceable and sturdy. She’d learned to sew a fine line because Alicia didn’t waste her coin on tailors for her stepdaughters.
No, they were fortunate to receive cloth and needles. Jane’s older sisters had sat her down and made her practice her stitches over and over and over again until she had them perfect. They’d traded time stitching for the tailor in exchange for learning how to cut the garments in the newest fashions.
So her clothing was nice, if serviceable. Considering her circumstances, it was a blessing. Knowing Diocail had paid for it made her hesitate, but she realized her choice was clear.
Accept the gift of her clothing, which would allow her to be on her way, or stay, or reconcile herself to the fact that she was allowing the man to care for her with no recompense.
And wait for him to kiss you again…
What bothered her was not the fact that he’d kiss her again, but that she’d kiss him back.
Willingly…
Wantonly…
Whore or mistress, they were very similar indeed.
Jane stripped her smock away and washed with some water. She scrubbed her skin as best she might before turning back toward her clothing and lifting a clean shift from it. Two shifts. One of those things she’d taken for granted until now. One to wear and another to wash.
Stockings.
She smiled as she pulled them on and found relief from the chill that had been her companion for too long. Next came her shoes. She looked at them and happily slipped them on her feet. They weren’t made of thick leather like the Gordon retainers’ boots, but they were far better than bare feet.
Her hip roll was nestled in with her skirts. She tied it with a firm knot—she’d lost weight around her hips, and the knot was sitting in a different place on the tie.
Her underskirt was a nice wool. A cheerful green that made her smile when she saw it. The overskirt was a muted blue that wouldn’t show the mud easily. The bodice was a simple one that closed up the front so she needed no help with dressing. The feeling of the sleeves covering her arms made her smile.
Henry had railed against the lack of trousseau Alicia had provided her stepdaughters. The complaints h
ad prompted the gift of a fine length of wool. Jane had thought to make the fabric into a surcoat, but Henry had kept her busy tending to his needs, and she had not found the time to make anything for herself.
Today she picked up the wool and draped it over her shoulders and head as the Scottish women did. They called it an arisaid, and Jane saw the function of it. By day it might serve as a cloak and shield from the rain, while at night it was bedding, since it was not sewn.
Today it would allow her to slip away.
Looking at the other things, she slipped her comb into a pocket sewn on the underskirt and made sure she tied it closed tightly. She was wiser now about what she would need to make her way back to England. She didn’t dare take time to indulge the regret making her rethink her actions.
Instead, she turned her attention to the second bundle. Henry’s things were inside it. If she were wise, she’d clip the buttons off the doublet and shirts and take them to sell, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. In fact, she wanted nothing of his, retying the bundle so she didn’t have to look at it.
The belt Muir had given her was a fine one. It would be very useful on the journey, but she couldn’t find it in herself to take it, so she folded the length of wool and laid the belt over it on the bed. She turned and wrapped her spare stockings and chemise together. Somewhere, there was a chest with her second dress and the wine Henry had been delivering. Part of her would have enjoyed telling Diocail about it, but Gillanders would only claim Henry had owed enough to cover the value of it all.
Better to stick to her choice not to burden the Gordon laird with her keep any further. She ate the bowl of stew left for her and peeked out the door. The landing was clear, so she slipped through, cringing at how much noise her shoes made on the wood planks. She walked on her toes as she descended the stairs. Diocail was facing the line of tenants, Lachie poised over the account book as Muir looked on. The other retainers enjoyed sitting at benches and tables while they ate their fill. Gillanders’s wife and daughters were hurrying in and out of the common room, bringing more bread and cheese to those waiting in line. Gillanders himself was off in the far corner, a gleam in his eyes as he collected money from the customers the laird’s visit had brought him.
Jane turned and moved toward the kitchen. Gillanders’s method of shouting at his staff ensured that no one took the time to look up from what they were doing to investigate her presence. They assumed she was a member of the family and stayed focused on their own tasks. As she passed, she took a fresh loaf of bread from the table without a moment’s reservation. He’d taken plenty from her. She stopped in the doorway to push it into her bundle before she raised the wool up to cover her head and ventured out into the rain.
They were the hardest steps she’d ever taken.
Which was ridiculous. She chided herself as she moved away from the tavern, sternly lecturing herself on the correctness of her plan. Her options were clear, and she didn’t have the right to place Diocail in the position of conducting himself in an honorable way because Fate had dropped her in his path.
The best solution was to leave. So why did she feel so very torn?
The gray sky offered her no answer. At least the gloomy weather meant the window shutters were closed on the houses she passed. It was a good-size village, with shops and two-story buildings, and the road she traveled was brick. She noted the little splashing sounds her feet made as she went, enjoying the fact that she had shoes on despite their thinness.
But Fate wasn’t finished with her yet, it seemed. She’d made it only a few blocks from the Hawk’s Head Tavern before she ran into a camp at the edge of the village. Men who had come to pay rent to Diocail had been filtering into the village for days awaiting his arrival. Some had finished their business and returned. Two of them recognized her, emerging from beneath their tents as she passed by.
“Where are ye going, mistress?” one questioned her.
“Back to my father’s house.” It seemed a simple reply that wouldn’t needle the man.
His comrade frowned. “After traveling with me laird?”
“He was simply being kind, offering me safe passage.” She started walking again, but more men appeared, standing in her path, so she turned and faced the first man.
“As I am widowed, I must return to my father’s house.”
“No’ after ye have been traveling with our laird,” the man replied. “Hearing Gordon business.”
She felt the tension tightening all around her. “I am no one of any importance.”
“Ye’re English,” one man declared. “Of good family. Heard yer husband bragging about yer blue blood and how he was going to use his marriage to ye as a way of gaining an office from the nobles.”
Henry would have done something that foolish, she didn’t doubt it. And he’d left her to face even more of his unwise choices.
“Ye’ll no’ be spying on us,” one declared.
His comrades agreed with a round of growling that sent a chill down her spine. She started to back up, but the man in front of her only frowned.
“And ye’ll no’ be going back to spy more on me laird,” he declared. “Toss her in the cell—we’ll hang her once the laird has gone.”
“Are ye sure?” one man questioned. “The laird seemed rather protective of her.”
“Aye, he’s a right honorable man. About time we had a laird worthy of our rent and loyalty,” the first man declared to those surrounding her. “Which is why we’re no’ going to let some English spy prey on his nature.”
Three
A hanging was good entertainment to most people’s thinking.
Jane heard the celebration starting up long before first light. The cell they’d shoved her into was dank and tiny. There wasn’t room to lie down, and the stink coming from the corners made her resist doing more than leaning against the hard stone of the back wall.
At least she didn’t suffer from the cold. No, she knew how much more cutting it might be. The fact that there was no door on the cell, just a collection of bars that kept her locked in, didn’t bother her too greatly.
But the conversation coming from the camp chilled her blood.
“I say she kicks eighteen times…”
“Nae, it will be twelve…”
There was no one to act as her hanger-on in the event her neck didn’t snap immediately. No one to hug her legs and pull her down so she died faster instead of kicking for long moments of agony.
It would, however, be faster than starving to death or freezing. So perhaps Fate was being kinder to her after all. Diocail had certainly given her a fine last kiss.
She was losing her grip on sanity, but she didn’t fight it. Far better to allow herself to float away on her own whimsy than to listen to the growing enthusiasm for her death.
Diocail Gordon was a fine man to do so over, too. He was a fine, burly subject for impure thoughts. Strange how at the end of her life she was indulging in behavior she had always resisted.
Lust…
As a descendant of Eve, she’d grown up listening to lectures in church about how important it was to avoid allowing herself to think of men. But now?
Well, she indulged herself for a long time contemplating Diocail Gordon. He was hard, and his gaze was piercing. She found his eyes strangely fascinating. They were confirmation of how determined he was when it came to matters that he’d set his mind to.
Or better yet, to those things he’d devoted himself to maintaining. So many men spoke about honor, and so often they abandoned those ideas when it suited their whim.
Henry certainly had.
The thought of her husband sobered her. Daydreams had never gained her anything. Only facing facts had granted her any measure of happiness. She tried to convince herself that love would grow in their marriage as so many told her it would. Henry himself had been pleasing enough the few times he
’d come to negotiate with her father.
Things had certainly changed once their vows were spoken and he’d taken her home. All of the mystery of the wedding bed had been ripped from her in an act that had taken only a few moments to accomplish. The physical pain was nothing compared to how alone she’d felt once he’d rolled aside and started snoring next to her.
No love could come from such callousness…
Jane looked through the bars, noting the faint lightening of the sky. A ribbon of pink began to widen. She waited for the first bird song and smiled when it broke through the sound of those anticipating her death.
Hangings were done at dawn. She heard the men coming for her, and in a way, it was a relief.
That didn’t stop her from lamenting how short her years had been or thinking Henry might be waiting for her on the other side of death.
If there was any mercy in heaven, God would grant her freedom from that ill-fated match.
The village was large enough to boast a proper gallows. It was a raised platform in the middle of the town. There was also a post for whippings and stocks for public shaming, but the men who came for her pushed her toward the edge of the platform. A noose was already dangling over a beam.
“Do ye confess yer sins?”
A priest stood there, and the men behind her gripped a handful of her dress to turn her to face the man. Jane blinked, stunned by his presence.
“No need to confess, we know she’s a spy,” one of her captors growled.
“I am no such thing,” Jane argued.
“Get on with it!” someone yelled from the gathered crowd.
Jane turned her attention to the people waiting to watch her die. They’d made sure the children had a good spot up front to watch the entertainment and the lesson to be learned.
“English bitch!”
The priest was pushed back as the two men shoved her forward. She was oddly aware of the way the rope felt as it came over her head. It caught several of her hairs, tugging on them before it lay against her bare collarbone.
