Bond of Passion by Bertrice Small

love. Did romantic love even exist?
    Marriage was all about alliances and trade. Daughters had no other use than that. Whether a union was between a man and a woman, or a woman and the old Church, daughters were born for this sole purpose. The Fergusons had accepted her as the earl’s bride in exchange for a piece of land. She would be expected to produce bairns for her new family. Sons, preferably. There was nothing more to it. And she could hardly consider herself abused for having just been wed to a wealthy nobleman. She found she was suddenly eager to meet this mysterious man and learn the truth of him herself.
    As Annabella, Countess of Duin, she now presided over the high board with a smile, seated in the place of honor at her wedding feast. While her father’s table was usually simple, with one or two dishes and bread and cheese, today was different. There was broiled trout and poached salmon set upon beds of green cress. A large roast of beef had been packed in rock salt, roasted, and set upon the board, along with sliced venison, goose stuffed with apples, and a large pie filled with game birds and topped with a flaky crust. There was a potage of vegetables, a rabbit stew, fresh bread, butter, and a small wheel of hard yellow cheese. Cider, ale, and wine were for drinking. And finally, a large dish of poached pears in marsala wine completed the meal.
    The Baird’s piper, along with the two Ferguson pipers, entertained them after the meal had been cleared away and the trestles below the board set to one side of the hall. Jean and Matthew Ferguson sang several songs, delighting the Bairds, for their voices were particularly sweet. In exchange, the four sisters danced together most gracefully for the small gathering.
    Outside the tower house, the last sunset of September blazed across the border skies, and night came. The Ferguson men-at-arms had encamped outside of the house. It was not cold yet, but two fires burned to take the chill away. Matthew and James joined them, understanding that such a small dwelling as Rath could not hold much company. Jean Ferguson was settled comfortably into one of the two bed spaces in the hall near the great hearth. The laird and his wife went to their bed. And in their small bedchamber, the four sisters huddled together in their large bed, chattering softly.
    “Well,” Myrna said, “I suppose Mama has told ye everything you need know.”
    “Enough to get me started,” Annabella admitted. “She said it isn’t wise for a virgin to be too knowledgeable. We spoke of other things.”
    “There’s nothing to it,” Myrna informed her, sounding more knowing than she should, Annabella thought. “All you have to do is lie on yer back, open yer legs, and he’ll do all the rest.”
    “Not at all like the bull and cow,” Annabella teased.
    Sorcha giggled. Agnes was silent but alert with her curiosity.
    “Nay,” Myrna replied with a chortle. “All ye have to do is lie upon yer back, and he’ll put his cock into ye,” she repeated. “We have a wee opening in our bodies for it.”
    “And how is it that ye’re so well-informed?” Agnes demanded to know.
    Myrna flushed with guilt, saying, “Ian Melville told me. After all, we will be wed before the snow flies, now that Annabella is married.”
    “Be careful, sister,” the new bride said softly to her sister.
    “Ye let Ian Melville speak of such things to ye?” Agnes was shocked. “I don’t think Mam would approve, nor our da.” Then she said, “Ye let him touch ye too, didn’t ye?”
    Sorcha giggled again, for she knew the truth of her sister’s involvement with her laddie. They had best be wed soon, she thought, for their games out on the moor could prove dangerous sooner rather than later.
    Myrna said nothing in reply to her youngest sister.
    “Ye’ll all have more room in the bed once I’ve gone, and then Myrna,” Annabella said in an effort to turn the conversation from the present subject. Aggie was curious,