The Prodigal Son

by Belfrage, Anna

  “Right, let’s go and find her, shall we? And I can hold her while you put some snow down her neck.”

  Jacob grinned and took her hand. They came to a standstill just outside the door and Jacob squealed at the sight of his father.

  “What are you doing?” Alex eyed Matthew with interest. He had raked his hands through his hair to make it stand on end, blackened his face with what looked like soot and in his hand he carried a willow switch.

  “Beware,” Matthew growled, crouching back on his legs. “Beware of me. I’m the… what is it I am, lads?”

  “The Balrog,” Ian replied, appearing from behind a corner to pelt Matthew with a snowball.

  “Aye, that’s it.” Matthew swung back towards his wife and leered at her. Jacob gave another squeal and buried his face against Alex’ skirts. “Dangerous creature,” Matthew hissed. “And now I will eat you.” He pointed at Alex.

  “Balrogs don’t eat people, they just burn them to death,” Alex laughed, backing away.

  “This one definitely eats them,” Matthew smacked his lips together. “A wee laddie makes for a tasty meal.”

  “No, no!” Jacob crawled up into Alex’ arms. “Don’t eat me.”

  “If he tries, I’ll punch him, and anyway we have both Boromir and Aragorn here to beat him off. Go get him boys!”

  “And me, and me!” Rachel piped up. “I’m the dwarf man, I am.”

  The children charged Matthew, who allowed himself to be overcome, disappearing in a flurry of snow and children. Afterwards he lay spread-eagled on the ground and complained about his aching back. Alex helped him to his feet, still laughing.

  “Weakling, not all that much of a Balrog.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand and his eyes were so very close, the shifting green of the eddy pool in the summer when the surface was dappled with sun.

  “I will eat you,” he promised, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “All night, I’ll eat you.”

  “Words, words,” Alex snorted, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  He took a firm hold of her and kissed her, kissed her until she was certain she was about to die from lack of oxygen. He was still kissing her when out of the corner of her eye she saw a chestnut horse begin dancing its way down the lane towards them.

  “Father!” Ian’s voice squeaked up a register, and Alex froze, arms locked round her husband.

  “Father, Father!” Ian had reached the horse and was hanging on to the stirrup. Luke Graham dismounted and hugged him, standing like that for a long while.

  “I thought you’d forgotten me,” Ian said.

  “Forget my own son?” Luke sounded as unsteady as Ian. “Now why would you think I’d do that?”

  Ian made an incoherent sound and rubbed his face against Luke’s coat, arms tight around Luke’s waist.

  Matthew had gone rigid, and Alex wriggled out of his embrace to place herself in front of him, her body a shield between him and his brother. Luke released Ian and said something to him in a low voice that had Ian rushing off towards the house, before Luke turned to face Matthew. None of them said anything; there was only the barest of nods.

  As tall as Matthew and with far more vivid colouring, Luke was a handsome man – even the silver prosthetic he wore in lieu of a nose enhanced rather than detracted from his looks. He was more than well-dressed, in dark velvet breeches and a matching coat, snowy linen at his throat and fur lined gloves on his hands. Over his shoulders hung a cloak that Alex eyed covetously, a lustrous grey wool lined with lamb’s fleece, and here and there the sun struck silver buttons and buckles. This was a man who’d done well for himself – whether through royal patronage or actual skills was open for interpretation – but the fact remained that Sir Luke Graham cut a figure of substance and wealth far exceeding that of his elder brother.

  She threw Matthew a look. In his worn breeches and shabby coat, with snow melting in his hair, soot decorating his face and damp spots on his knees, he looked a vagrant – a handsome, dishevelled hero kind of vagrant, but still. Even his Sunday best would look like peasant garb compared to what Luke was wearing – and the two silent servants looked flashier than Matthew ever could. Well; at least Matthew didn’t curl his hair, she thought, taking in the deep red corkscrews that flowed over Luke’s shoulders. Quite the dandy, effeminate almost.

  “I see you made it through the smallpox, then,” Matthew said, breaking a heavy silence.

  “Aye, I imagine that makes you very happy.” Luke’s eyes drifted over to Alex.

  She straightened up, placing a hand on her stomach, whether to protect the baby or to remind him of what he’d done to her all those years ago, she didn’t really know. She shivered, blinking a couple of times to clear her head of the detailed memories of a night when Luke had lost all restraint and beaten her so badly that she’d miscarried.

  Luke flushed – not at all flattering to a redhead, his skin jarring with his hair. According to Joan, Luke had expressed shame for what he’d done, but never to her or to Matthew, just as he’d never apologised for selling his brother as a slave, or for accusing him of treason, or for stealing Ian from him, or for… she broke off this train of thought. It made her angry and upset, and with Luke around one needed to keep one’s cool.

  He met her eyes and scratched at his silver nose. Alex suppressed an urge to spit in his face. A piece of his nose was a small price to pay for what he’d done to Matthew – to her. He broke eye contact, turning instead to Joan, who’d appeared on the door stoop with Simon at her side.

  “Sister,” Luke bowed.

  “Brother.” Joan gave him a tentative smile, but made no move to cross the few yards that separated them to greet him properly.

  “What are you doing here?” Alex said. “Couldn’t Margaret have come instead?” It came out very rude, but frankly, she couldn’t care less. Something gleamed in Luke’s green eyes, a rather smug expression settled on his face before being smoothed into a bland mask. Hmm; well, given that look Margaret wasn’t ailing. She eyed her brother-in-law, turning various options over in her head. Her musings were cut abruptly short when Luke turned his full attention to Matthew.

  “Hiding behind the skirts of your wife?” he jeered, and laughed when Matthew lifted Alex aside.

  “I never hide from you, Luke. It’s not I that club unsuspecting men into unconsciousness and have them carted onto a ship, is it? It’s not I that…”

  Alex gripped his arm and tilted her head in the direction of the house, where Ian had now reappeared with his few belongings. Behind him tagged Mark.

  “Is that your da?” he asked Ian in a carrying whisper.

  Ian nodded proudly and took Mark by the hand to lead him over to the horse.

  Luke gaped; for some instants his mouth hung open before he recovered sufficiently to close it. Alex snickered, it had to come as quite a shock to see the boys together. Time and time again Luke’s eyes flitted from one dark head to the other. He wet his lips, slid Matthew a look and went back to gawking at the boys – or mostly at Ian. A frown appeared on his brow, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards as his eyes travelled up and down Ian, up and down Matthew. Ian smiled, further underlining his resemblance to Matthew when a dimple appeared on his cheek. Alex studied Luke’s strained, responding smile. No dimple.

  Yet again Luke’s eyes darted from Matthew to Ian and the look he gave the boy made Alex’ stomach tighten. It’s not his fault, she wanted to yell, you can’t blame him for being the spitting image of the father you stole him from.

  “Say your farewells,” Luke said brusquely to Ian. “I want us well on our way by nightfall.”

  Ian hurried over to where Matthew and Alex were standing. Matthew opened his arms. Ian shuffled, clearly not sure what to do. Matthew extended his hand instead. Ian shook it and gave Alex a quick hug.

  “God’s speed,” Matthew said. “And carry my regards to your mother, aye?”

  “I will,” Ian said, turning to go.

  Alex stop
ped him with a light touch. “You’re always welcome here. There’s always a place in our home for you. Always, you hear?”

  There was a tight set to his mouth that reminded her of Matthew when he was trying to control his feelings, so she winked at him.

  “As long as you don’t mind having your farting cousins in the same bed, of course.”

  “No leeches,” Ian smiled. They both turned in the direction of Rachel.

  “Well, I can’t promise you that,” Alex said. “God knows what she will come up with next.”

  Mark ran alongside the horse all the way to the top and stood for a long time waving at the receding shape of his cousin before walking down to where Matthew was standing alone now that Alex had gone inside to see to dinner.

  “I’ll miss him.”

  “Aye, so will I,” Matthew said, his eyes still stuck on the spot where Ian had turned for one last wave. May the Lord keep you safe my son, he prayed. May he hold his hand over you and protect you that you grow up a good man. A small hand slipped into his and Matthew shook himself out of his thoughts, smiling down at Rachel.

  “There you are lassie. Will you come help me feed the pigs?”

  “Can I give them apples?” she asked, skipping beside him.

  “One each, but no cake, mind.”

  Chapter 11

  “I told you; we’re not hiding anyone.” Alex glared at the lieutenant, arms akimbo.

  “And where’s your husband?”

  “I told you that as well,” Alex sighed with exasperation. “He’s in Cumnock, with our eldest son.” She shifted on her feet, placing a hand on her protruding stomach. “Rachel,” she snapped. “No!”

  Rachel replaced the wrinkled apple and came over to join her, peeking at the soldiers from behind her mother’s skirts.

  “And you…” Alex moved across the kitchen to where one soldier was helping himself to her bread. “I have no recollection of offering you to partake. Thief!” she slapped at his hand, making him drop the loaf.

  “Surely you won’t mind offering the servants of the crown some bread?” Gower said.

  “As a matter of fact I do. You poke your noses into every corner of my home on a regular basis, you push and shove at my children, you taunt my husband when he’s home, and now apparently you enjoy tormenting a pregnant woman. Officers of the crown indeed! You’re no credit to your master, let me tell you.”

  A painful grip on her arm made her wince and then she was being dragged, screaming in anger, into the cobbled yard.

  “You forget your place, Mistress Graham,” Lieutenant Gower said. “We’re here because we know that all of you, and I mean all of you, help and abet the sworn enemies of the king. And you’ll not raise your hand against one of my soldiers, nor deny him a piece of bread to still his hunger as he goes about his duty.”

  Alex wrested herself free. “Bully! Cowardly attacker of women. If you touch me again I’ll…”

  “What?” The hand was back, twisting itself into her skin. “What will you do Mrs Graham?” She slapped him hard with her free hand, noting with satisfaction how the fair skin reddened.

  “Now let go of me, you lout,” she said through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll slap you again. Something your mother should have done when you were small to ensure you grew up respectful of women.”

  She gasped when he tightened his hold, swinging for him in rage. He grunted when she brought the blade of her hand down on his forearm. Right; swivel, keep hold of his arm, out with your hips, and wham! He’d fly through the air to land sprawled on the cobbles. But she had no sense of balance, not with this huge belly, and well before she’d begun to move he had clamped a second hand down on her shoulder. Alex heaved, she threw herself this way and that, but for all his slight build the lieutenant was like a tenacious badger, refusing to give an inch. There was an angry shriek and Rachel was at her side, kicking at the man who was hurting her mama.

  “Tell her to stop,” Gower said, “now.” He cursed when Rachel’s clog connected with his calf. “I’ll send her flying otherwise.”

  “Rachel, stop. Go and mind your brother,” Alex said, breathing loudly. “Go to Sarah.” Rachel did as she was told, her high voice telling the lieutenant her da would belt him, aye he would, for hurting her mama. Gower laughed, tightened his grip on Alex and forced her round to face the household. Ow! Her arm!

  “All of you saw this woman bear hand on me, an officer of the crown.” There was a soft expectant snicker from one of the soldiers, but Gower silenced him with a look. “Twenty lashes, for opposing our work and for violence against myself and one of my men. Here. Now. ”

  What? The bastard was going to whip her?

  “Don’t you dare!” Incensed, Alex increased her efforts, ignoring the burning sensation in her arm as she twisted free of his grip. She ran. Wildly, madly, she ran for the house. He caught up with her, wrenched her to a halt, and Alex screamed, bringing her foot down on the lieutenant’s toes. The slap made her reel, she staggered, both her arms were grabbed. Three men to hold her, and Alex fought like a hellcat.

  “No!” Hands were tearing at her shawl. “Let me go!” Yes! One arm free. She round handed the lieutenant, there was a loosening in the hold on her left hand, she raked her nails over an unknown face. Shit! Someone kicked at her lower legs, she fell to her knees. Two hands closed on her bodice. There was a tearing sound when they ripped it off her, and Alex died with shame that she should be this undressed before them all. The lieutenant was back, his face too close to hers, and he was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him, all she could hear was the loud thumping of her panicked pulse. A grip on her nape immobilised her. Someone was fumbling with the lacings on her stays, and they fell to the ground.

  “No,” she repeated, but it came out a whimper. Strong hands pulled her to her feet, and her breasts were visible to anyone through the worn linen of her shift. She tried to bring her arms together, shield herself, but they wouldn’t let her. The lieutenant said something behind her, she heard the dull thwack of leather on leather, and then the riding crop came down on her back.

  No one had ever hit her in her life before. The odd slap when she was growing up, and one very memorable slap in the early days with Matthew, but nothing like this. A sharp, slashing pain, and she hiccupped. Again, and she gulped. Aah!

  “Mama! Mama!” Rachel; what the fuck was Sarah thinking of, to let her witness this? Holy Matilda! What was this? Six? Seven?

  The lieutenant laughed. “Not quite as loud now, are you?” Shit! He was really enjoying this, the son of a bitch!

  “Agh!” Oh God, oh God; she couldn’t help it, she wailed. Number ten – or was it twelve? She bit her tongue, her mouth flooding with blood. “Stop,” she begged, not caring anymore. “Please, no more.”

  “Twenty,” Gower panted, “and one more word out of you and I’ll make it twenty-five.” Once again the whip came down, and Alex would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the soldiers holding her upright.

  “Stop!”

  Yes; please stop. A flash of panic, was that Matthew? No, no, no, don’t let it be Matthew, because if it is, he’ll try to kill fucking Gower, and then… She gulped, raised her face. An officer was riding down the lane towards them. She squinted; a captain, followed by two men.

  “This is unseemly,” the captain said. “Unhand that woman now.”

  “She must be punished, she hit one of my men and myself,” Gower said.

  “Really? Why?” The captain had dismounted and was coming over to where Alex was being held.

  “He took our bread,” Rachel piped up. “The big man took our bread and Mama slapped him.”

  “Hmm,” the officer said. At his look the men holding Alex let her go, and he picked up the shawl and put it over Alex’ shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry that this should befall you, Mrs Graham,” he said. Alex recognised the voice. She turned towards him and gave him a watery smile, meeting grey eyes that she had last seen back when this was still a Commonwealth,
not a Restored Kingdom.

  “Captain Leslie! I’m that glad to see you.” And then she burst into tears again, not so much because of the burning pain that walked up and down her back, as because of the humiliation of having been whipped, here, in her home in front of her people.

  “You!” Captain Leslie waved the lieutenant over. “Get your men off this property now. And should I ever hear of your men thieving or in any way not comporting themselves as they should it will reflect badly on you.”

  Gower protested that they had just been doing their job, and the woman had hindered them.

  “How? Did she bar your access?”

  No, the lieutenant muttered, but she had berated them and then she had slapped Munro over the wrist.

  “For stealing her bread.”

  “It was only a piece of bread,” the lieutenant said.

  “Her bread. Not his, so he was in fact stealing, wasn’t he?”

  Gower twisted, but admitted that should one be precise, well then… However, he added, drawing himself up to his full height, Mrs Graham had slapped him. And…

  Leslie waved him silent. “I expect your man to be punished – for theft.” As the lieutenant was leaving, Leslie stopped him. “Tell me lieutenant, did it escape your notice that Mrs Graham is heavy with child?”

  “No,” the lieutenant sounded sullen.

  “And still you chose to whip her?” Captain Leslie’s voice dripped condemnation.

  It was an eternal walk to the door, even with the captain on one side and Sarah on the other. Her back; no better not think about her back, think about setting one foot before the other. Oh God it hurt! Alex blinked and blinked; don’t cry, just breathe and walk.

  “I’ve never been whipped before,” Alex said, trying to smile at her saviour. “It hurts much more than I thought it would.”

  “I can only repeat my apologies. I can’t even offer you formal redress, as many will consider Lieutenant Gower to have been in his full right to punish you. You shouldn’t have slapped him, Mrs Graham, it was a foolish thing to do.” He gave her an encouraging smile, grey hair falling forward to frame his face when he inclined his head towards her. “You must rest and have that back seen to. I’ll set out for Cumnock to find your husband, if I can.”