“I know a song about that,” Alex said, and began singing about Moses, who went down to Egypt’s land to tell the pharaoh to let his people go. Both Sandy and Mark were delighted, and by the time they were back at the mill, Sandy had the verses down pat.
“…So spoke the Lord, bold Moses said, let my people go. If not I’ll strike your firstborn dead, let my people go’…” He broke off and grinned at Alex. “It has a ring to it, aye?”
Alex nodded, wondering if she should tell him this was a song written by slaves – black slaves. Sandy surprised her by nodding seriously once he’d finished the song for the third time.
“The man who wrote it knew what it was like to be a slave.”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “You hear it in every ‘let my people go’.”
She met Matthew and Simon on the way down, and briefly recounted the events. Matthew clouded, a dark scowl settling on his features, while Simon went an interesting shade of greyish pink.
“What…” he asked, but Alex shook her head.
“Not now, not here. After supper, when we’re alone.”
Simon paced the parlour with his hands clasped behind his back, giving him a startling resemblance to a strutting pigeon.
“I told you the last time I was here. You must stop this, you can’t put yourself at risk for men like Sandy Peden.”
“Of course I can,” Matthew said. “He’s a friend.”
Simon shook his head. “You knew him when you were young men, and aye, you share the same faith, but he’s in breach of the law, a wanted man with a price on his head!” Simon slammed his hand down on the table. “You risk it all; you risk your life, your home and your family. Is that what you want, to see your family destitute with you being picked clean by the crows?”
“You’re exaggerating, they wouldn’t hang me.” Matthew tried to sound unconcerned.
“No?” Simon knuckled at his irritated left eye. “Ah, no. They may be content with transporting you overseas. As a slave, like.” Matthew frowned at him, but Simon pushed on. “Not to Virginia, Matthew, to the West Indies. And if you were badly treated in Virginia you’ll have it tenfold worse in the West Indies.” He wheeled to Alex. “Tell him! Tell him how men die in the sun, worked to death at the sugar plantations! Tell him, aye?”
“I already have.” She shared a quick look with Matthew, who groaned inwardly. Repeatedly she raised the subject, obdurately he insisted he had to follow his conscience and help those who stood up to fight for the right to hold to their beliefs.
“I told you; Luke knows, and if Luke knows then he’ll use it to have you destroyed. Not simply killed, because then Mark inherits, but somehow charged with treason or something, with all your worldly goods befalling the king.” She sounded matter-of-fact, keeping her eyes on her shoes, her skirts, anything but Matthew.
“It won’t happen,” Matthew said. “They’ll never catch anyone here.”
Alex made a face. “Well excuse me for not believing that. If it hadn’t been for Mark, they’d have dragged both Sandy and you with them today.”
“Aye,” Simon said, “and then…” He grabbed at his throat and made strangled noises.
“It was a coincidence that they should come when Sandy was here,” Matthew said. “They don’t know – no one knows about me helping Sandy.”
“Don’t be daft! Of course someone knows, and information is always for sale – in periods of unrest especially,” Simon said.
“Besides, someone told Luke.” Alex said.
“I’ll be more careful,” Matthew said, but that was as far as he’d go. Alex pushed away from the table and left the room without a word.
“You have responsibilities,” Simon said, “and first and foremost to your family – your wife, who travelled the world to bring you safely home, the bairns she’s given you. They must come first. Even God would agree with that.” He followed Alex out of the room, leaving Matthew to sit with Joan and the wean.
Matthew stared off through the little window, tracking Joan’s reflection in the thick glass. Mostly bones and very little else, Joan tired easily, and wee Lucy was often found nursing in the arms of whatever voluntary wet nurse was at hand.
“You think I’m wrong too?”
Joan sighed. “Of course I don’t; it’s our faith you’re protecting. But if Luke knows, and if there are dragoons riding in regularly, then you must be more than canny, take as few risks as you can.” She cupped Lucy’s little head. “Simon’s right; the bairns must come first.” She smiled at Matthew. “And there will be one more soon.”
“What?” Alex pregnant and she hadn’t told him? He frowned, attempting to recollect when last she’d bled. Joan jerked her head in the general direction of the kitchen.
“You should spend some time with your wife; this last month has been very much about other people than her.”
Matthew found her in the kitchen. “Will you walk out with me?”
Alex threw a look at the dark night. “Now?”
He just nodded, holding out his hand to her. He was silent when they walked across the yard, she trailing him as he closed doors, scratched Ham between the ears, and even offered a carrot to the pig.
“She doesn’t need that,” Alex said. “She had cake today.”
Every shed he inspected before leading her to the laundry shed, a new addition to the outbuildings.
“There’s a light!” Alex hissed as they got closer. “Someone’s in there.”
“Not yet, but soon.” He swung the door open, very pleased by her exclamation of surprise.
The water in the laundry cauldron was steaming, he had lit lanterns and hung them from the roof. The new, enlarged hip bath had been scrubbed and he had brought down quilts and spread them on the broad bench that ran the full length of the small space.
“When did you do this?”
“While you were off being angry with me for being an irresponsible man.” He was already undressing her, and then he helped her in, murmuring that it was about time someone washed her properly. When he began washing her hair she groaned, eyes closed as his fingers worked their way across her scalp. So much hair – so much naked skin to wash and rinse, his fingers doing the occasional detour to inspect her shapely thighs, the curve of her hip and the ticklish instep on her right foot. By the time he was done they were both very wet and very warm.
“Lie down,” he said. Her skin glowed pink after his efforts with the towel. She stretched out on the bench, he kicked off his breeches and drew his damp shirt over his head and joined her, holding a flask of lavender oil. When the oil dribbled onto her stomach she shivered. He stroked her flank and goose pimples broke out all over her thighs. It made him smile, and he repeated the motion, thinking as he always did that it was odd that his woman should pimple as if cold when in reality it was heat she was feeling, her skin blushing under his touch, her pupils dilating as he increased the pressure of his hands.
“You haven’t told me,” he said, slowing his oiled hands over her breasts. He nudged at her darkening nipples and bent his head to kiss them. Her back arched, her breasts lifting to meet his lips.
“I thought you could find out for yourself,” she said, her hands on his head as he continued further down her body. “Took you some time, though,” she added, wriggling under his mouth.
Matthew stopped what he was doing and threw her a look.
“Aye well, it’s been a trifle hectic.” Margaret leaving, Ian moving in, Joan and the wean… all in all the last few weeks had been a bit too much. He kissed her again, tasting her properly. Salt, she was, and smooth and soft like silk. She moaned. His tongue teased her, she tugged at his hair, her thighs falling wide open.
“Now,” she breathed, “I want you now.”
“Oh, do you?” He kissed her pubic mound, her navel, and she squirmed, making a series of low, urgent sounds. “Matthew!” she groaned, and he took pity on her, sliding up the bench to cover her body with his.
“How far along are you?” he ask
ed as he sank into her.
“Two months.”
“Oh,” he replied, concentrating on how it made him feel to be inside of her. He moved slowly, long flexing movements of his hips.
“Will it be a boy or girl, do you think?” Alex voice sounded very vague, as if the effort of holding even this desultory conversation was too much. When he slipped his hands under her and lifted her closer she made a small sound, holding still when he shifted even deeper inside of her. All the way to his root, and she sighed, crossing her legs round his hips.
“A lad,” Matthew kissed her. “We must hope for a lad. One like Rachel is quite enough.” He felt Alex laugh and smiled in response, thrusting into her. “But there will be time for lasses later, many, many lasses.”
“You’re nuts,” Alex told him. “This is already number four. How many were you planning for?”
Matthew bent his head to her ear and whispered a number, making her shake with laughter.
“Totally nuts, Matthew Graham,” she whispered back, and then she didn’t say very much at all for some time.
She gave him a contented look afterwards, pillowing her head on his chest with a little sigh. He toyed with her hair, drawing out long, long curls that bounced back the moment he released them.
“I’ll ask him to stay away, for now.” Matthew choked on the words, they tore at his gullet.
“Good,” Alex said, sounding relieved. “And when they come and ask you to swear the oath?”
“What oath?”
Alex raised her head. “Don’t give me that; you know exactly what oath.”
Aye, of course he did. He sighed and looked at her. “How can I swear an oath like that?”
Alex locked her eyes into his. “How? You just repeat the words and cross your fingers behind your back.”
“That’s perjury.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s called survival. Sometimes you do things just to keep yourself and your family safe.”
“It will make me a lesser man,” Matthew said.
“Not in the eyes of those that matter – not in mine.”
He smiled crookedly; no, not in hers. “To Sandy it will.”
“Probably. But he knows you have children and he will anyway blame it on my corrupting influence.”
“Corrupting influence? Aye, you could say that.” He looked down to where she’d taken a firm grip of his cock. “Not that I mind.” He raised a hand to brush a curl off her face.
“Of course you don’t.” Her hair tickled his chest, his belly and spread out across his thighs.
“Ah, Jesus,” he said, when her tongue slid over his balls, the length of his cock.
“Now that Sandy would definitely not approve of,” Alex said, before going back to what she was doing.
“Right now I don’t care,” Matthew said, holding her where she was.
Chapter 6
“But why?” Ian asked. “If those giant eagles could fly and fetch them from the mountain, why didn’t they just carry them in? And then Frodo could have dropped the wee ring into Mount Doom much earlier.”
Alex rolled her eyes; what had possessed her to try and tell them the rambling, convoluted story of The Lord of the Rings? Apart from the long and rather heated discussions as to whether the elves were like Scottish fairies (not, they decided), if hobbits had perhaps at one time lived on Skye (yes) and did Alex really expect them to believe Aragorn was over ninety years old (It’s a fairy tale!), Alex was now tagged by Ian and Mark who wanted to know more, pestering her with detailed questions before breaking off to argue among themselves as to if it was Aragorn or Frodo who was the real hero.
At least it had proved the battering ram Alex had needed to get through to Ian, and so she replied patiently to his questions, all the while sneaking him quick looks. The pale boy of a month ago had bloomed into an active youngster and when the letter arrived requesting he be allowed to stay on further on account of Luke still doing poorly, he hadn’t seemed too depressed.
“Stop!” she said. “There. Fill your basket, but make sure they’re undamaged.” She pointed at the rosehips in the huge briar bramble beside him.
Ian eyed the thorns and sighed. “The whole basket?”
“To the brim,” Alex said, going round to do her picking on the opposite side.
“Aunt?”
“Hmm?” Alex jerked back from her agreeable daydream of a huge salad, complete with tomatoes and feta cheese.
“What happened to my grandfather?”
Alex was glad he couldn’t see her, but bent down, just in case, to hide her face.
“Your grandfather?”
“Aye, Malcolm Graham.”
“Why do you ask?”
Ian fell silent and as moments became minutes Alex thought that perhaps he’d retreated into one of his customary silences.
“Samuel told me he drowned,” Ian finally said.
“You should really be asking Matthew this, it’s not as if I was here then.”
“I don’t want to. Mayhap it would make him sad.”
Alex smiled at the way he said it. Matthew Graham was working his magic on this young heart.
“It probably would.” She peeked at him through the brambles. “You’re not picking! Get on with you, we’re not going home until your basket is full!”
Ian grumbled but went back to tearing off the bright red fruit.
“Yes, he drowned; in December of 1653. No one really knows what happened, but he was pulled in under the water wheel and… well, he died.”
“Was he murdered?” Ian asked breathlessly.
Yeah; in all probability by your beloved father, Alex thought.
“Well it was all a bit strange. He received a message from the miller to come up because there was a problem, but the miller says he didn’t send any such message. And your grandfather didn’t know how to swim and was scared of water, so why would he have gotten close to the pond in the first place?” Alex wrinkled her brow in concentration. “There was something about a ring…”
“A ring?” His eager voice made her smile.
“Not one of those rings; I told you, the rings of power are just a fairy tale. No, this was a ring that he always carried but that wasn’t found on his person when they pulled him out.”
“Mayhap it slipped off his finger in the millrace,” Ian suggested with valid logic.
“Except that he carried it on a chain around his neck, tucked away under his shirt, and according to Matthew his clothes were mostly undamaged – it was more a matter of…” She broke off. He’d been crushed, poor man, the outside looking seemingly intact while most of his bones had been pulverised. “Anyway, it was his mother’s ring, three strands of gold braided together and decorated with one single blood-red stone the size of a small sea water pearl.”
“A braided ring with a blood-red stone?” Ian squeaked.
“Yes.” Alex peered at him through the brambles. He’d gone very pale, long arms hugging his knees tight. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He gave her a bright smile.
Alex shrugged. “Hips, young sir. And then if you ask nicely I might tell you some more about the battle of Helm’s Deep.”
Ian and Alex were a stone’s throw from the house when they heard the sound of loud, angry voices floating up towards them. In the middle of the yard stood Matthew, glowering at a rotund dragoon.
“Why? I am a law-abiding man, I have no interest in…”
“Law-abiding? Well if so, Mr Graham, swearing the oath is no major matter, is it?” the soldier said. “Or do you hold convictions that stand in conflict with taking it?”
“Shit,” Alex muttered when Matthew straightened up to his full height. She increased her pace, motioning for Ian to hurry along.
“I don’t hold with these laws prohibiting man to follow his conscience in matters of faith,” Matthew said. “They’re…”
“What? No, no, Mr Graham. It is not for you to choose how things should be ordained, that is for your bet
ters to decide.”
“My betters? And who might they be?” Matthew loomed over the dragoon, who calmly held his ground.
“Your king, Mr Graham. His parliament, his officers. All of those are your betters.”
Matthew scowled and Alex wheeled to face Ian.
“Lie down, pretend you’re hurt. Your foot or something.”
Ian fell to his knees, squealing like a dying pig.
“Not that hurt,” Alex hissed, although it did seem to have the desired effect. Matthew and the officer turned to look up the hillside. She bounded down the last few yards. “Come quick, Ian has hurt himself!”
Matthew gave Alex a sceptical look, but ran off in the direction she was pointing, leaving Alex alone with the little officer.
“Sir,” she curtsied, “may I perhaps offer you some beer? And your men, of course.”
The dragoon cheered up at this generous offer, and by the time Matthew came back after having assured himself Ian would survive his near lethal tumble, the soldiers were far less menacing.
“Monday a week,” the officer said once they were back on their horses. “At the church.”
Matthew nodded and watched the troop ride off before facing her.
“You shouldn’t waste beer on such.”
“And you shouldn’t waste breath arguing with them, it’s not as if it you have much choice, it is?”
Matthew grunted something rude and colourful, among which Alex could make out whoresons and goatsuckers. Goatsuckers? It almost made her laugh.
Matthew spent the rest of the morning astride the barn roof, venting his anger on the new shingles. Now and then, he’d see Alex dart by far below, and once he even saw Joan, a hunched, grey shape that hobbled to the privy and back.
“What’s ailing Joan?” Matthew asked Alex after dinner.
“I’m not sure,” Alex said.
Matthew chewed his lip. Slowly but steadily Joan had been regaining her strength, and when Simon had left a week or so ago she was close to being back to normal. But since then she had begun slipping in the opposite direction, lying pale and unresponsive in her bed in between the feeding of her daughter.
“Simon says she mustn’t try for another child.” Matthew shook his head at the unfairness of it. Good people such as Simon and Joan should be blessed with many bairns, and now all they had was one scrawny little daughter, a wean with her father’s reddish hair and her mother’s wide grey eyes. Even if Simon had tried to make light of it, Matthew had heard the disappointment in his voice.
The Prodigal Son Page 6
