Just Beyond Tomorrow. Bertrice Small

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      She might have been his horse or one of the dogs, Flanna thought, almost irritated by his tone. But then, why should he have any feelings for her? she reasoned. Even though he had lain with her, he didn’t really know her. The possibility that Una might be right and she had best produce an heir quickly flitted through her mind. It wasn’t that she had any particular feelings for her husband either, for Flanna had no more knowledge of Patrick Leslie than he did of her. But if he should ever take it into his head to divorce her because his family disapproved of a simple Brodie of Killiecairn, she would have nothing left. Brae now belonged to Glenkirk. The mother of Glenkirk’s heir, however, would be a power to be reckoned with. Flanna smiled to herself.

      She had never thought of herself as a mother, just as she had never thought of herself as a wife. In another time she would have been offered two choices. Marriage to a man or marriage to the church. Now there was but one choice, for the wicked practices of locking women up in convents to spend their lives in dark papist practices had been wiped out by the Covenanters. A woman married or she didn’t; and those who didn’t were dependent on their fathers or brothers unless they possessed their own wealth or land. Flanna realized with shock that she had nothing but that which Patrick Leslie would give her. It wasn’t a position she found enviable, and she didn’t like it at all; but what could she do about it?

      The horses ploughed onward through the darkening day. The snow was now falling heavily. The trees and the hillsides were already well coated with a blanket of white, but fortunately there was no wind at all. Then finally she saw looming ahead of them a great dark hulk of stone, its towers piercing upward into the sky. She wished she could gain a clearer glimpse of her new home through the falling snow, but it was impossible. She heard the muffled sound of wood beneath the animals’ hooves as they crossed the lowered drawbridge and passed beneath the portcullis into the courtyard where they came to a stop.

      Patrick Leslie slid easily off his stallion and, going over to Flanna, lifted her from the mare’s back. But he did not put her down, instead carrying her into the castle within the enclosure of his arms. “Welcome home, madame,” he said as he finally set her on her feet.

      Slightly disoriented, Flanna looked about her. “Where are we?” she asked him, her eyes taking in the silken banners hanging from the rafters, the two enormous fireplaces, and especially the two portraits hanging over those fireplaces.

      “This is the Great Hall of Glenkirk Castle. That gentleman”—the duke’s hand pointed toward one of the portraits—“is my namesake, the first Earl of Glenkirk. He served King James IV as ambassador to the Duchy of San Lorenzo. The lady above the opposite fireplace is his daughter, Lady Janet Leslie. Someday I shall tell ye her tale. Come by the fireplace, madame, and warm yerself.”

      Flanna gladly accepted his invitation, pulling off her gloves, which were frozen to her fingers, and holding her hands out to the blaze in the big fireplace. “ ’Tis surely a large hall, my lord,” she told him. “I’ve nae seen bigger, but of course, I’ve nae been far from Killiecairn before. The hall at Brae is nae even half as large.”

      “Ye hae been in Brae Castle itself, lass?” He was genuinely interested. He moved to a sideboard where he poured them two drams of his own peat-flavored whiskey, handing her one. “’Twill warm ye,” he said.

      “Aye, I’ve been inside Brae,” she told him. Then she swallowed the whiskey down in a quick gulp. “There is some damage to the roof beneath the eaves, but the castle itself is sound, if dusty.”

      “And so it will remain, for I hae no use for another castle. ’Tis the land I sought,” he replied. Then he swallowed his own dram down and taking the two pewter cups set them aside.

      “I want the castle,” Flanna said. “The castle, and its island.”

      “Why?” he demanded, curious.

      “Because I hae nothing to call my own now, my lord,” she answered him. “Brae and its lands were all I possessed. Ye now hold them, but ye hae said ye hae no desire for the castle. Gie it to me. I do want it.”

      It was a ridiculous request, he thought, and was about to refuse her when she spoke again.

      “Ye hae nae given me a wedding gift, my lord. I want Brae Castle and a bit of coin to repair its roof. Certainly yer own mother did nae come to yer father as penniless as I am.”

      “Nay,” he admitted, “my mother was a princess and possessed great wealth when she wed wi’ my father.”

      “And was yer grandmam also an heiress, my lord?”

      His paternal grandmother, Cat Leslie, had been an amazing woman, Patrick remembered with a smile. He recalled the story of his own father’s birth in Edinburgh. Part of his grandmother’s dowry had been a small piece of property that actually belonged to her and not her father, yet he had included it in his daughter’s dower portion. His grandmother had been furious and had refused to marry his grandfather until her bit of property had been returned to her possession. His grandfather had nonetheless managed to impregnate his betrothed wife, assuming she would have no other choice but to do her family’s and his bidding and marry him. His grandmother, however, had run away. She would have her property back or his child would be a bastard. It had taken his grandfather months to find her, and desperate that his heir be born legitimate, he had, when he found her, returned Cat Leslie’s small piece of property to her sole possession, marrying her but minutes before his son entered the world. His maternal grandmother had also been an heiress.

      “Aye,” the Duke of Glenkirk said in answer to his young wife’s question. “My grandmother was well dowered, Flanna. Both of them were.”

      “Can ye understand, then, my lord, why I seek to hae my wee castle? My predecessors came to their husbands with monies, jewels, plate, lands, and linens. I come to ye wi’ but my small bit of land and the clothing I own. The land is now yers, so I hae naught but my clothes. While they are suitable for a chief’s daughter, I doubt they are what a duchess would wear. Please gie me Brae Castle as my bridal gift and let me restore it so I may hae something of my own.” She tried hard to keep a pleading tone out of her voice, for she had her pride.

      Looking at her, he could see the effort it took for her to ask him for anything. She was as proud as he was. The castle meant nothing to him, but it obviously meant a great deal to her. “Ye may repair the roof to keep the rest from tumbling down,” he said to her. “Nothing more, however. ’Tis yers to do wi’ as ye will. I will hae a deed of ownership drawn up for Brae Castle, madame, in yer name, and ye will keep it safe, eh?”

      She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him heartily. “Oh, thank ye, my lord! Ye hae made me so verra happy! I promise I will be frugal in the expense.” Then she loosed her hold about his neck and blushed, realizing how bold she had been. Biting her lip, she stood before him, not knowing what to do next, but Patrick Leslie grinned mischievously at her.

      “I can see, Flanna, that ye’ll nae be a great expense to me. The castle cost me nothing, and ye’ve sworn to be careful wi’ the repairs. Ye might hae asked me for jewels and a coach.”

      “What would I need jewels for, my lord?” she said honestly. “As for a coach, they are for old ladies. I hae a good mount and am capable of riding. ’Twould be a great waste of good coin, a coach.”

      He laughed, remembering his mother’s magnificent coaches and his grandmother’s as well. While each of those women rode very well, neither ever traveled a distance without all her comforts. Still, his wife was a practical wench, and the truth was that neither of them would be going anywhere СКАЧАТЬ