The Love Slave Part 2

"I dinna know what love is," Regan admitted. "No one hae ever loved me, Gruoch, except perhaps you. Our mam has nae loved me. The lads will nae even smile at me for fear I am you, or for fear I am me, and to be a holy nun." She laughed almost sadly. "What is love? It is naught to me, Gruoch, but if it is a good thing, then I wish it for ye, my sister. May you hae it in abundance!"

"I may nae get the opportunity to say it once the MacFhearghuis comes, but I thank ye for yer sacrifice, Regan MacDuff," Gruoch said.

"I would nae do it, but that it is for you," Regan replied seriously. "Yet you are a part of me, Gruoch. I canna deny it. There is a bond between us, and if it is in my power, I will nae let any harm come to you. I think our mam wrong to have convinced you to do this thing. It will nae bring back our father. Yer marriage will unite the MacDuffs of Ben MacDui and the Fergusons of Killieloch. Hae ye ever thought if our sire had lived, he might hae ended the feuding between our families with such a marriage?"

"But he dinna five. He was murdered by the Fergusons," Gruoch said harshly. "I will revenge him and our poor mam who lies dying now because of the Fergusons. And what of ye, Regan MacDuff? The Fergusons hae condemned ye to a barren life wi' out love. How can I nae revenge that?"

Chapter 2.

The MacFhearghuis was finally sent for, and he came quickly. He admired his latest son, raging Malcolm; observed Sorcha's deteriorating condition; and ordered that the wedding be held that same evening.

"She's a strong woman, but I canna be certain she'll last the night," he told the twins. "I want her to see ye wed to my laddie, Gruoch MacDuff." His glance swung to Regan. "Prepare yer sister, la.s.s, as yer mam canna now. I'll fetch the priest myself."

"Bring water for bathing," Regan commanded the servants, and when they had obeyed her, she sent them away, saying, "I will tend to my sister alone. Come for us when the MacFhearghuis returns wi' the priest and the bridegroom, but do not disturb us before then."

"Why did ye send them away?" Gruoch asked her sister curiously when they were alone.

"I dinna want anyone to see ye naked lest yer belly, small though it may be, arouse suspicion," Regan told her. Then she smiled. "See," she said, holding out her hand to show Gruoch. "I made a wee cake of soap for this day, and scented it wi' lavender for ye."

The two girls stripped off their clothing, and then each in her turn bathed, Gruoch first, and then Regan, was.h.i.+ng not just their bodies, but their long golden hair as well, which they dried by the fire. Regan went to the storage chest and removed clean clothing for them both: first, fine soft linen chemises, and then high, round-necked tunics, both under and over. The bride was garbed in an undertunic woven of light wool, green in color, and a shorter outertunic of rich purple silk belted in gilded leather with an enamel buckle. Her sister wore the same colors, but reversed. Neither wore shoes, as they would be indoors.

Gruoch fitted a narrow gold band studded with small sparkling stones about her forehead to hold her hair. Neither she nor Regan knew what the little jewels were, but Sorcha had always said the band was to be worn by the bride on her wedding day. It had been part of her own dowry. Gruoch's hair was loose, befitting a bride. Regan's single braid was bound with a piece of transparent fabric topped with a silver band. Each girl had attached to her shoulder a small sprig of red whortleberry, the badge of Clan MacDuff.

"How will we switch places later?" Regan asked her sister.

"Ye will prepare me for the bedding in Mam's place," Gruoch answered her. " 'Tis then we will change ident.i.ties."

"And afterward?" Regan pressed her.

"I dinna know. Perhaps ye'll be forced to spend the entire night wi' Ian, but if he sleeps, and ye can slip out of the chamber, I will be waiting to take my rightful place back. If nae in the night, 'twill be in the morning," Gruoch told Regan, patting her twin's hand comfortingly. "I canna thank ye enough, Regan mine. Remember, though, dinna show Ian any fear even if ye feel it. He can be cruel, I am told, if a woman is weak. Ye must be strong. Just do what he tells ye, and try nae to weep."

When they were finally called into the hall, they found that Sorcha had already been brought down from her chamber on a cot, carried by two of the MacFhearghuis's sons from one of his earlier marriages. Everyone was a.s.sembled: the Fergusons of Killieloch and their clansmen, the surviving MacDuffs of Ben MacDui and their clansmen, and the priest.

"Come forward! Come forward!" The MacFhearghuis beckoned them with a bony finger. And when they did so, he took Gruoch by the arm, drawing her next to his son Ian.

He never even looked at her, Regan thought. Were it not for the jeweled gold band she wears, he would not really know which of us is which. None of them would. For some reason she didn't even understand, it made the deception they were going to play on the Fergusons all right. Regan's eyes met those of her mother in the first direct gaze that either of them had ever shared. A tiny smile of acknowledgment touched Sorcha's lips only briefly. Then her attention was once again all Gruoch's.

Oh, b.i.t.c.h, Regan said silently to herself. You have sacrificed both of us to your vengeance, and will leave us now to fend for ourselves separately, we who have always had each other. I wonder what my father really would have thought of what you have done, Sorcha MacDuff?

Regan's thoughts so absorbed her that she had paid scant attention to what was going on about her. Suddenly she saw that her mother was showing relief. The MacFhearghuis was slapping his eldest son upon the back. Gruoch was pretending to look the blus.h.i.+ng bride. The marriage ceremony was over, and the pipes had begun to play. As the servants pa.s.sed about wine to the a.s.sembled guests, the sisters joined their weakening mother and the MacFhearghuis at the high board while the groom and his brothers danced for them.

Whatever Sorcha MacDuff might think of the Fergusons, Regan had to admit that they were handsome men, with their russet hair and bright blue eyes. They were all dressed alike, with lengths of Ferguson plaid wrapped about their waists, the dark blue, green, white, and red fabric held in place with wide leather belts. White linen s.h.i.+rts, open at the neck, revealed for all to see the mat of chest hair that all but the youngest sported. Their footwear followed the line of their feet and were laced halfway up their shapely legs. The bridegroom wore leather, but his brothers wore shoes of heavy waterproof cloth. They noisily drank toast after toast to their sibling and his new wife, even while dancing for the guests.

A fit of coughing overtook Sorcha, and when her daughters had eased her pain, she managed to gasp, "The bedding. I must know Gruoch has been properly bedded before I die! Take your sister, Regan, and prepare her for her husband as I cannot."

The two young women slipped from the high board unnoticed by the MacFhearghuis and the other guests, who were quite busy helping the bridegroom and his brothers with the creation of a particularly bawdy toast. The twins ran as quickly as they could up the tower stairs to the bedchamber that had been prepared during the ceremony for the newlyweds. Hurriedly, Gruoch stripped off her bridal garments, replacing them with Regan's clothing, and hastily braided her hair.

"Am I to be naked?" Regan asked her sister, standing in her linen chemise, combing swift fingers through her own golden locks.

"Aye," her sister told her. "It saves on the clothing, Regan mine. He'll only tear it off ye if yer wearing it, I fear."

"Gruoch," her twin corrected her. "I am Gruoch, and yer now Regan," her sibling warned her.

"Get into the bed," the false Regan told her. "I can hear them coming up the stairs from the hall already. Mam dinna gie us much time, did she? She'll die before the night is out, I think."

The counterfeit bride had no sooner climbed into the bed when the door to the small room was slammed open, and almost broken off its hinges, by the Fergusons. A naked Ian Ferguson was thrust into the chamber by his family.

"Do yer duty by the wench, Ian," his father said loudly. Then reaching out, he pulled the subst.i.tute from the room. " 'Tis no longer any place for ye, my little nun," he told her.

Gruoch was astounded. She had never imagined that Ian Ferguson would be so ... so ... well proportioned. Jamie MacDuff was a fine lover, but Ian Ferguson's ample manhood portended many pleasurable hours. Perhaps Regan was correct. Their mam would shortly be dead. The feud was over. Her MacDuff child would inherit, ensuring the MacDuffs' revenge; but she, Gruoch, would be content to let peace grow between their two clans as the MacFhearghuis had intended all along. As for her twin, once Gruoch was certain nothing had come of whatever attentions Ian might lavish on Regan, she would be sent with all haste to St. Maire's to live out her life.

"Attend to yer mam, Regan MacDuff," the MacFhearghuis ordered her. "I will wait here outside the bridal chamber to make certain that my son does what he should, and to ensure that yer sister is the virgin she is purported to be. If I find the MacDuffs hae played us false ..." He made a slicing motion with his forefinger across his throat.

"My lord," she asked him, "why would ye think Gruoch is nae a virgin and would play ye false?" Who had put such an idea into his head?

"Yer brother Donald says she had been verra friendly wi' young Jamie MacDuff," the older man answered her.

"Ye must beware of our brother Donald," she told him. "He tells terrible lies, and seems to gain pleasure from causing trouble between us. Mam hae beaten him for it many times, sir. Both Gruoch and I hae always been fond of our cousin Jamie, but there hae been nae naughtiness between any of us, I swear it. I was always wi' them, for Mam was insistent upon the proprieties being observed."

"Yer a good la.s.sie, Regan MacDuff," he told her. "Go to yer mam now, and ease her final moments upon this earth."

"Will ye nae see her again, sir?" she importuned him.

"Yer mam and I hae said our farewells," he said, and gently pushed her toward the stairs, turning his full attention back to the bridal chamber and its inhabitants.

Within, a single candle burned. Ian Ferguson paraded for the girl who awaited him within the bed. "Well?" he demanded of her.

"Well, what?" she replied. Regan's heart was beating violently, but her fear was invisible to the man before her.

"Do ye not think I've a fine lance, Gruoch? 'Tis nae even half roused, but the little nun's eyes grew as round as twin moons when she saw me. She'll ne'er see its like, or any other for that matter, e'er again, puir wee la.s.sie. 'Tis a shame I canna be like the infidels and hae both of ye to wife. Our ancestors took more than one wife, I'm told; and the pagan Saxons still do it now as well. Would ye like to share me wi' another, my wee wifie?"

"I hear that I already do," Regan answered him, amused. "They say ye hae a dozen or more of yer b.a.s.t.a.r.ds scattered about the countryside, Ian Ferguson. The bairns ye get on me, howe'er, will end a feud, and be yer legitimate heirs, husband mine."

"Yer bold," he said, not knowing if he should hit her for her impudence or let it be. He decided he liked her fearlessness. "Donald says ye hae played me false wi' Jamie MacDuff, Gruoch. If it is so, I shall kill ye, and the wee nun will be my new wife."

"Donald is a liar," she answered him calmly. "Come, my lord, and see for yerself if I am a virgin or nae." Donald will suffer for his mischief, Regan decided, even as she was holding out her arms to Ian.

He pulled back the coverlet that had obscured his view of her young body. She had sweet small b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a long torso. Her skin was creamy-looking. He reached out to touch it. It was soft, and very smooth. He fingered a lock of her golden hair. It was like thistledown. Bending, he kissed her mouth for the second time this day, and immediately his l.u.s.t was engaged. He climbed into the bed with her, wrapping his arms about her tightly.

Regan wrinkled her nose. Ian Ferguson smelled of horses and sweat. He had obviously not bathed in some time. While she was curious to know what transpired between man and woman, she did not envy her sister this man. His hand pushed between her thighs, seeking, touching her where she had certainly never thought to be touched. He pinioned her down with his body, his other hand fumbling at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Regan bit her lip to keep from crying out, for his rough manner was beginning to frighten her. She remembered Gruoch's warning. Dinna let him see yer fear.

She squirmed away from him, and he grunted with irritation. "What should I do, Ian?" she asked him. Surely she should be doing something in all of this.

He looked at her, surprised. "Why la.s.sie, ye need nae do anything. I'll f.u.c.k ye soon enough. Just lie there for me like a good la.s.s. The man does the work in the lovemaking." He mashed his lips against hers once more, forcing her mouth open, thrusting his tongue down her throat.

Regan gagged, surprised, as he continued his a.s.sault. If all a woman did was lie still, why did so many of them enjoy this thing called making love? she wondered. Maybe when he got to the f.u.c.king it would be easier. She was certainly not enjoying any of it now. It was rough and sweaty, and not pleasant at all.

"Spread yer legs, la.s.sie," he ordered her, settling himself between them when she did. Her confusion certainly indicates that she is a virgin, Ian thought. Donald was going to get a fine beating if he was lying. Ian Ferguson positioned himself and thrust hard, only to find himself blocked by something. Her maidenhead, he silently exulted, and pulling back a bit, drove himself even harder into her.

Regan shrieked with surprise as the pain of his entry radiated throughout her entire torso. Gruoch's advice forgotten, she fought him with all her strength, pummeling his hairy chest with small fists as, ignoring her, he continued his onslaught "Yer hurting me, Ian!" she sobbed. "Stop it! Stop it!"

It was as if he did not hear her. Pus.h.i.+ng himself in and out of her now-widening pa.s.sage with increasing rapidity, he groaned and he sweated until finally, with a triumphant cry, he collapsed atop her. "Jesu, ye were tight, la.s.sie, but we've taken care of that, the braw laddie and I," he said hotly in her ear. Then climbing off of her, he took the candle and, holding it up, grinned down on her, pleased by the blood of her innocence staining her thighs, the bedding, and now his limp member. Walking to the door, he opened it and said, "Come in, Da, and see for yerself. My wee wifie was indeed a virgin, were ye nae, Gruoch?"

It had hurt less as he continued, Regan considered. Still, she had not enjoyed the coupling between them at all. The MacFhearghuis stared down at her and nodded, satisfied. She felt no embarra.s.sment-only a deep coldness suffusing her entire body. If this was lovemaking, her twin was more than welcome to it. Nothing about it appealed to her.

"Gie Donald a beating for me," Ian told his father. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d lied to us."

"So the little nun suggested when I questioned her earlier," Alasdair Ferguson replied. "Well, then, I'm satisfied the la.s.sie was pure. I'll leave ye to yer pleasures, lad. Hae a good night."

Regan thought that Ian would never sleep. Twice more he probed her sore body. Then at last he fell to snoring deeply, to her everlasting relief. When she was certain he would not awaken, she slipped from the bed and crept to the door, taking a moment to gather up her chemise. Putting it on, she carefully slipped the bolt and fled the room. Hurrying down the stairs, she entered the room below, where her twin sat watching over their mother.

Gruoch rose quickly to her feet as her sister slipped into the chamber. "Are ye all right?" she whispered.

"Barely," Regan answered. "He hurt me dreadfully," she told Gruoch, swiftly recounting the past two hours in the nuptial bed with Ian Ferguson. "Ye'd best hurry back upstairs before he awakens. I hae nae doubt he'll want to rut wi' his wee wifie yet again. He seems to be as l.u.s.ty as a stallion, sister mine."

The twins quickly exchanged clothing once more, Gruoch smearing chicken's blood upon the insides of her thighs before pulling her chemise down over them. "Thank ye," she said simply, and then was gone.

Regan quietly washed away the evidence of her lost virtue and pulled her own clothing back on. She sat down, wincing as her small bottom made contact with the wooden bench. She yet ached.

"Regan." Her mother's voice cut into her thoughts.

Regan leaned over, looking into Sorcha's face. "Aye?"

Her mother reached out and took the girl's hand in hers. "Yer a good la.s.sie," she said. Then Sorcha MacDuff died.

Regan was astounded, but by what, she was not certain. Her mother's death had been so simple. Her last words had not been. She had longed her whole life for a kind word from Sorcha MacDuff, but all of her mother's thoughts and dreams and kind words had always been for Gruoch. Yet the last words she had spoken had been for her.

"Ahh, Mam," was all she could say, "G.o.d speed yer poor soul home."

Then freeing herself from her mother's death grip, Regan MacDuff went downstairs into the hall to tell the MacFhearghuis that her mother was dead. He nodded, and she thought she saw the glitter of a tear in his blue eyes.

"I'll get old Bridie to help me prepare her, my lord," Regan said. "Let Gruoch and her bridegroom sleep in peace tonight."

"Aye," he agreed. Nothing more.

They buried Sorcha MacDuff the following day next to her husband on the hillside overlooking the loch. The day was gray and rainy. The pipes wailed MacDuff's Lament as the shrouded body was lowered into its grave. After Torcull MacDuff's death, Sorcha had become the heart of the clan. Now that heart had ceased to beat. The heiress of Ben MacDui was wed to a Ferguson, and within a month's time her sister would be sent south and across the breadth of Scotland into a convent, never more to be seen. The mourning cries of the MacDuffs were prolonged, and genuine.

Jamie MacDuff sought out Regan. "And how did Ian Ferguson find his bride?" he demanded slyly.

"A virgin," she responded softly, "and should any say otherwise, they would invite a dirk to the heart, cousin," she warned him.

"Marry me," he said, surprising her.

"Why? So ye can pretend I'm Gruoch, Jamie? Nay, I think ye insult me. Dinna be a fool, laddie. Let it be now," she advised.

"Yer Torcull MacDuff's daughter," he said. "There are many who would hae a MacDuff chief for Ben MacDui, nae a Ferguson."

"Then they are fools too, Jamie MacDuff," Regan responded. "I ne'er knew my sire, for he was killed in the feuding before our birth. For all these years we hae had peace. The Fergusons outnumber us, which is why they triumphed in the first place. To what purpose would ye start the warring all over again? That our young men be killed for the glory of Ben MacDui? I would nae hae such a thing on my soul."

"Yer mam would nae hae fled a fight," he said.

"Our mam is dead," she told him harshly. "Now if ye canna be content wi' the way things are, Jamie MacDuff, then get ye gone from Ben MacDui! I will nae let ye spoil my sister's happiness."

"Happiness? Wi' Ian Ferguson?" he said incredulously.

"She told me just this morning that Ian is a fine lover," Regan said, and then added cruelly, "the best she hae ever known."

With a look of pained disbelief he flung himself away from her. It was the last time she would see him. She learned to her great relief several days later that Jamie MacDuff had gone soldiering to a place called Byzantium. To Regan's amazement, Gruoch was equally glad to be free of her former lover. Her bridegroom's style of lovemaking seemed to appeal to her, and she was very content with him.

Regan remained at Ben MacDui, but to her surprise, she found that without her mother, her home now seemed a foreign place. Gruoch was fast becoming jealous of any attention Ian gave her sister, and seemed openly eager for her departure. She greeted with great relief the news that Regan's flow had come upon her.

"Ye'll be going, then," she said almost too bluntly.

"Aye," Regan replied. "Ye'll gie me time to recover, will ye nae, sister? Ye know how motion affects me during this time."

"Aye," Gruoch grudgingly allowed. "Ye will nae hae an easy journey as it is. I would nae make it harder for ye."

"We will ne'er see each other ever again once I am gone," Regan said, "yet I will always love ye, Gruoch."

"And I, ye," Gruoch said, her manner softening. "I truly wish ye dinna hae to go, but the old man is firm. He says yer but a temptation to the MacDuff clansmen, Regan mine."

"He is correct," her twin told her. "Jamie MacDuff suggcsted we wed and defy the Fergusons, before I sent him away. I told him ye said Ian was a better lover."

"He is." Gruoch giggled. "Ye were right when ye said he was a stallion, Regan mine. I am almost sorry to be wi' bairn now, for I shall nae be able to satisfy him when my belly gets too big. He'll run off to one of his mistresses then, I fear."

"Hae ye told him yet, Gruoch?"

"Nae, but I will soon," Gruoch said with a smile. "He'll boast like a peac.o.c.k, and the old man will be pleased too," she concluded.

She is content, Regan thought. The revenge our mam planned will soon be complete, but Gruoch does not really care about that now, I think. She is simply happy to be Ian Ferguson's wife, although why, I cannot understand. He's a pleasant enough fellow, but a lout at heart. He'll grow more like his da with every pa.s.sing year. I wonder what their children will be like, but I'll ne'er know that. Soon I'll be gone from Ben MacDui. Once I thought I would care, but now I dinna think I will. Gruoch has her place in the world, but I dinna seem to hae mine.

Regan MacDuff left the only home she had ever known on an early summer's morning. The trip, which would take at least two weeks, would see her travel from the hills of eastern Alba to a place called Strathclyde in the southwest corner of the land. She would be escorted on her journey by a mixed troupe of both Ferguson and MacDuff men. The old MacFhearghuis showed her a small but weighty bag, which he then gave to the captain of her escort.

" 'Tis yer dowry, la.s.s," he said. "Andrew will gie it to Mother Una." Then somehow understanding her fears, he continued, "St. Maire's is on the Mull of Galloway, facing the North Channel. 'Tis the sea. Ye've nae seen the sea, I know, la.s.s. It can be beautiful, and it can be fierce. On a clear day ye'll be able to look all the way to Eire, the land of the Celts, which is across the waters. My kinswoman, Una, is the abbess there, or at least she was when ye were born. She is a good woman, as I remember, Regan. But no matter if she is there no longer, yer name will be in the book of those expected to take the veil. Ye'll hae a home there, and a place of yer own."

"And I've none here now, hae I, my lord?" Regan asked boldly.

He sighed. "Ye'll nae make a good nun, I fear, but what else can I do wi' ye, la.s.sie? There can only be one heiress to Ben MacDui, and she's now my son's wife. There is to be a bairn. Yer a danger to us all, Regan MacDuff. Wi'out a word ye can set MacDuff against Ferguson again, and I will nae hae it! Yer nae a stupid la.s.s. Ye understand."

Regan nodded. "Aye," she replied, "but I dinna hae to like it, my lord. Could I just nae go away? I would nae bother anyone here at Ben MacDui again! I canna bear the thought of being locked up!"