"I had been walking for two days when the storm caught me," Alix said, ignoring his query. He didn't need to know why she had left Wulfborn. She had done nothing wrong, and she certainly wasn't going to put herself in the position of being forced back.
Malcolm Scott noted her avoidance of his question, but the truth was it didn't matter. As soon as the lass was fit, he would send her on her way. Of course he would give her the loan of a horse and have her escorted to her old mistress, wherever the woman was. Having rescued the girl from death once, he wasn't about to put her in harm's way again. No one had come seeking for her in the few days she had been at Dunglais. And winter was about to set in anyhow. If she had been truly wanted, they would have.
"Have I been ill?" Alix asked him, breaking into his thoughts.
"Aye. You were unconscious and ran a high fever for several days. Fenella thought you would pull through, and she's usually right," the laird told her.
"I'm hungry," she said softly.
He chuckled. "Then you are indeed on the road to recovery."
"What are you going to do with me, my lord?" Alix asked him.
"Do with you?" He looked puzzled by her query. Then he said, "When you are well enough, I will help you to reach your old mistress."
"Oh."
She did not, he noted, appear happy by the news. But now was not the time to continue his interrogation of her. Fenella had said he was not to exhaust the lass, and if truth be known, she looked paler than when he had entered the room. "I'll go and see that you are brought something to eat."
"What day is it, please, my lord? And is it day, or is it night?"
"It's two days after Martinmas, and 'tis afternoon," he replied. Then he turned and was gone from the chamber.
Alix lay back against her pillows. She was safe. But for how long? Would Sir Udolf come riding over the border to demand her return? And if he did, would the laird turn her over to him? She somehow thought that he would. She had unwittingly intruded upon his life, and Alix suspected he wasn't a man who liked being imposed upon even unintentionally. He was very handsome, but his face was a stern, hard one. This was a man used to being obeyed and having his own way.
The door opened again, and Mistress Fenella bustled in with a young girl who was carrying a tray. "Here's a nice hot meal for you, lassie, and this is Jeannie. She'll be looking after you now that you seem to be on the mend. I didn't fill the trencher full. You may be hungry, but your belly will only be able to take a little food at a time. Eat what you can. Don't make yourself sick, lassie. And there's a cup of nice red wine for you. I've mixed an egg in it. It's strengthening."
"Thank you, Mistress Fenella," Alix said to the housekeeper.
"I'll leave you with Jeannie, then," Fenella responded, and hurried out.
"Can you eat by yourself, or shall I feed you?" Jeannie asked, setting the little tray down on Alix's lap. She took the serviette from it and tucked it in the neck of the girl's gown. "It's nice lamb stew with leek and carrot."
"I can feed myself, but thank you," Alix said. The stew in the round bread trencher smelled wonderful. She dipped her spoon into it. "Ummm, that's good!"
"It's the one dish Mistress Fenella won't let the cook prepare. She does it herself," Jeannie said chattily. "Did they tell you how lucky you were? The cows kept you warm. Robbie said you were near death when they found you."
"Robbie?"
"He's one of the two cowherds who discovered you wedged like a winkle on a rock between two of those big cattle. The laird brought you home himself," Jeannie said.
Alix tried to remember. She vaguely recalled the storm getting worse and then finding herself amid some cattle. But the rest of it was gone. "I can't recall anything," she told Jeannie. "Does he ever smile?"
"Who? Oh, the laird. Rarely except with his little daughter. Not since his wife ran off with her lover and broke his heart, poor man," Jeannie informed Alix. "But don't say I said such a thing. Mistress Fenella says we shouldn't gossip about such a tragedy."
Alix slowly spooned the lamb stew into her mouth. It was really quite delicious.
"She was a Ramsay, his wife," Jeannie continued on, ignoring her own words. "They found the body of the lover out in the heath. He was the laird's older half brother, and had never been well liked. They say he died with his sword in his hand, A better death than the traitor deserved."
"What happened to the laird's wife?" Alix wondered aloud.
"Some say the devil took her to breed his own bairns upon. He would need her body for that. Others say that it's obvious the laird and his half brother fought. When she saw her lover was getting the best of it, she rode off, and the laird didn't care enough to follow after her. She didn't go back to her family. Some months later the body of a woman was found, but there was no way of really identifying who it was. The garments were her, but rotted away, and the body was half eaten by beasts, but they think it was her."
"How terribly sad," Alix said. "Especially for the little girl."
"The laird went to her family to tell them what had happened. Neither the Scotts nor the Ramsays wanted a feud over the lady's bad behavior," Jeannie explained.
"But if the body could not be identified, how can you be sure?" Alix asked.
"It had to be her. To this day no sight of her has ever been seen," Jeannie replied.
Alix scraped some of the bread from the trencher and ate it. "Do you think that the laird might have killed her and hidden the body for another to find?" she asked.
"He's capable of it, aye," Jeannie replied, "but he swore an oath to the priest that he didn't harm her. The Laird of Dunglais is noted among the border folk for his honesty. He's often called upon to settle disputes among the local clans because of it. They all know he can be trusted and that his word is good."
An interesting fact to have, Alix thought to herself.
"If you're through, I'll take your tray," Jeannie said. "Would you like me to come back and keep you company later? I can see yer tired now."
"I am," Alix admitted. "Aye, come back later," she said. Then she lay back. She felt warmer now, and her belly was full of hot food. She had gained some interesting information from young Jeannie. But despite the girl's reassurances, Alix couldn't help but wonder if the laird had indeed killed his wife for her betrayal of his honor. Still the man hadn't remarried. Perhaps his wife was still alive. Her eyes beginning to feel heavy, Alix fell asleep again. She awoke at the sound of her chamber door opening, and looking across the room, she saw a little face peering at her. She smiled.
Immediately the little girl stepped into the room. "My name is Fiona," she told Alix. "What's your name? My da said you were found on the moor. Why were you there? Were you lost?"
"My name is Alix, and aye, I suppose I was lost," she told Fiona. The child was very pretty with her father's black hair and inquisitive blue eyes. The blue eyes were not the laird's. "How old are you, Mistress Fiona?" she asked the little girl.
"I will be six come the fifth day of December," Fiona answered Alix. "How old are you, Mistress Alix?"
"I'm sixteen this August past," Alix answered her.
"Sixteen is old," Fiona observed, "but twenty is very old, I think."
Alix laughed aloud. "I suppose when you are to be six on the fifth day of December," she said, "sixteen does seem old, and twenty older yet."
"Do you know any stories?" Fiona asked.
"I know lots of stories," Alix replied.
Fiona trotted around the door, and crossing the room, climbed up into the bed with Alix. "Tell me a story," she said.
"Shall I tell you about a prince?" Alix inquired.
"Oh yes! I should like a story about a prince!" Fiona exclaimed, snuggling next to Alix, her small dark head on the older girl's shoulder.
"Once upon a time," Alix began, "there was a prince named Henry. He was only a baby when his father the king died and the prince had to become king of his land. They unofficially crowned him with one of his queenly mother's gold bracelets, for being a baby his little head was very small. He was the youngest king ever crowned, and presided over his lords sitting in his mother's lap. One month before his eighth birthday he was officially crowned king of England. And two years later he was crowned king of France."