Flora sniffled, wiping her rheumy eyes with her apron. "God keep them safe, my bairns," she sobbed.
"Now, then, old woman," her husband said gruffly, but Flora cut him short.
"Don't ye scold me, Tam Hay!" she said fiercely. "Yer just as brokenhearted as I am, and don't ye attempt to deny it!"
The Gordon clansmen were beginning to regroup in the clearing before the tower house. "It is time for us to go, too," Angus Gordon said to Fiona Hay. He turned to the elderly servants. "I would have ye stay here tonight. Pack the lassies' belongings, and tomorrow my brother will return with the men to bring ye to Brae."
"Aye, my lord," they chorused, accepting his authority, and Flora curtsied to him.
"Can we walk to Brae by nightfall?" Fiona asked him.
"Jamie has left the horses at the foot of the ben," the laird told her. “Have ye ever ridden?"
"The pony, but not often," Fiona admitted. "I would like to learn to really ride, my lord. Will ye teach me?"
"Aye, lassie," he promised her, taking her hand in his. "I will teach ye to ride all manner of beasties before much more time has passed. Come, now, and let us go home to Brae." He turned and called to the two younger girls. "Jeannie, Morag, we are ready to go. Follow closely now, and don't get lost in the trees."
"Will I ever come back here, my lord?" Fiona asked, suddenly unsure of herself for the first time. Had it been only yesterday when he had come into her life? Somehow it seemed much longer.
"The ben is yers, lassie, as Dugald Hay's eldest child," he reassured her. "I'll keep it safe for ye, and I'll keep ye and yer sisters safe, too, but first we have a wee matter of payment for the eight cattle that have gone off down the ben with the Forbeses and the Inneses, and the four that went with the Keiths last autumn. Are ye ready to meet yer obligations, lassie?"
"Aye," she said slowly, and her heart beat just a little faster as he squeezed her hand.
Chapter 2
Fiona Hay had never been farther from home than Glen Hay, a small valley separating the bens of Brae from her own mountain tower. They had walked down the treed slope to the glen, where the horses were waiting for them. The laird had casually ordered that two of his men take Jean and Morag up upon their mounts. Little Morag had gone, wide-eyed, with a big, red-bearded clansman, a man called Roddy, who lifted the little lass up and, giving her a kiss on the cheek, set her before him. Jean Hay, however, chose her own companion.
"Take me up with ye, Jamie-boy," she wheedled the laird's brother, giving him her most winning smile.
"And have all the lasses at Brae laughing at me for carrying a bairn like ye? I think not, Jeannie Hay." James Gordon was seventeen and thought himself quite a man.
"Then I must walk all the way to Brae, for I'll ride with no other, Jamie-boy," Jean answered him boldly, not in the least discouraged by his rude refusal, or the fact that she was only ten.
"Take her up with ye, Jamie-boy," Angus Gordon ordered his brother sternly. "We don't have time to stand here and argue." He bent, and lifted Fiona into the saddle before him. "Are ye comfortable?" he asked.
"Aye." She nodded as they moved off. She had never been in such close proximity to a man before. The hard arm, firmly clasped about her narrow waist, was disconcerting, but even more confounding was that the only way she could be truly comfortable was to lay her head against his shoulder. The leather of his jerkin was soft against her cheek, its coolness offsetting the heat she felt in her face.
"If ye don't breathe, Fiona Hay," he said to her as they rode, "ye'll soon swoon. There is nothing to be afeared of, lassie." He struggled with the urge to kiss the top of her head in its velvet chieftain's cap. What on earth was the matter with him?
"I'm not afraid of ye, Angus Gordon," she replied. "I am simply in awe of so many new places and experiences. I've never been farther than the glen in all my life, and we only just came to the glen last year for the games. Our father didn't want confrontations with our grandfather." She drew a deep breath, blew it out gustily, and then she laughed up into his face. "Aye, that's much better!" she said.
"Have ye any idea of what ye have really agreed to, Fiona Hay?" he asked, suddenly overwhelmed by a surprising wave of guilt. This was no simple peasant lass. This was a maid of good family. Despite her thievery, it had been as wrong of him to accept her brazen proposal as it had been for her to even make such a suggestion of payment to him. Yet had he not, he would have looked the fool before his men… before everyone. Now, however, he was having second thoughts.
"Tell me exactly what I have agreed to, Angus Gordon," Fiona asked. "In truth I have never known a man. I have never even kissed one. I know a maidenhead is the most valuable possession of any woman. I know when it is lost outside of marriage a lass is not considered pure. I realize that in giving myself to ye I will not be fit to become any man's wife, but I don't mind. I promised my mam on her deathbed that I would see my sisters safely wed. It is great good fortune that my sisters have fallen in love with the men they married. My mam insisted that they not be sent to loveless marriages." She took a deep breath. "Now, tell me what I face."
The simply spoken frankness of her words, said without any remorse, or even a touch of self-pity, impressed him. He realized that Fiona Hay was as proud as he was. She would insist upon keeping the bargain she had made with him. She would never admit to having stolen his cattle, he suspected, but her innocent willingness to meet her obligation to him stemmed from an innate honesty. Only Fiona's deep desire to keep her promise to the desperate, dying Muire Hay had driven the lassie to the pilferage of his herds. He should have looked to the welfare of Ewan Hay's young granddaughters before he had so casually annexed the glen to the Gordon holdings. Perhaps if he had, this situation would not have arisen.
"My lord?" She looked anxiously into his handsome face.
"Between yer legs," he began slowly, "is an opening into yer body. 1 will join my body with yers through that opening." He didn't know how else to explain it to her. He wasn't certain there was another way.
Fiona looked a trifle confused. "How?" she asked him. "How will ye join yer body to mine, Angus Gordon? Certainly there is something ye are not telling me." A small chuckle escaped her. "This is as hard for ye as it is for me, I expect. I don't imagine that ye have ever had to make such an explanation to a lass before."
He laughed, almost relieved by her practical approach to the whole matter. “No, sweetheart, I have never had to explain bedsport to a maid, and yer right. I have forgotten something. We will be joined by an appendage that all men are blessed with."
"I think I have heard of such a thing," Fiona said thoughtfully. "Is it called a manhood?"
"Aye," he answered. "Where did ye hear of one before?"
"When our sister, Anne, married Duncan Keith, she came after a few months to tell us that she would have a bairn by Lammas next. I asked her if she was still happy with her man. She said, aye, she was, that Duncan has a verra fine manhood, and kept her happy. I asked her what a manhood was, but Annie just laughed. She said 'twas not for a maiden to know such things and that when I wed would be time enough for me to learn about manhoods."