wrong chamber, my hinny," he replied.
"We are not wed, Balgair, and I am not your whore, Anice," Ellen told him.
He half fell, half sat upon her bed and grabbed at her hand. "Do ye think that I am a fool, Ellen MacArthur? I saw it in yer eyes tonight when ye returned from the hillside. Ye mean to run, but I‘ll nae let ye. I promised before God that I would gie ye yer month to mourn before I wed ye, and I will. But I dinna say I would nae bed ye, did I?" He grinned slyly at her. "Ye‘ll nae run wi‘
my bairn in yer belly."
"To where would I run, Balgair?" Ellen asked him in what she hoped was a strong voice. "I have no family. No real connections at court." These were questions she had asked herself. But she would return to court, if for no other reason than to fetch her Peigi. And perhaps the king‘s aunt would take pity on them. Perhaps. And Balgair MacArthur didn‘t have to know it. "Please, my lord," Ellen said, already feeling her throat closing with her fear. "Please leave me be. At least for tonight."
"Ye‘re a pretty lass," he said softly. "Prettier than yer sister, Anice."
"Anice is not my sister!" Ellen exclaimed. "Has she been telling you that tale her foster mother told her? That she was sired by my father? Well, she wasn‘t! She‘s some tinker‘s get, and nothing more. Grandsire gave her the MacArthur name so she would have a clan, but we share no blood, Balgair."
He ignored her words, saying, "She says ye sent her from court when she caught ye futtering some serving man." He grinned at her. "Do ye like futtering, then?" He moved to pull down the coverlet she clutched to her breast.
Ellen slapped his hand away. "It was Anice who was sent home for her wanton behavior, my lord. I am a virgin. I kept myself for Donald MacNab!"
For a moment he looked befuddled, and then his brow cleared. "She‘s known other men? Then how can I be certain the wench carries my bairn?" His look was now one of perfect outrage, and Ellen almost laughed aloud.
"If she says she does you may be certain the bairn is yours," Ellen replied dryly. "Anice is no fool, and it would appear she is very ambitious."
"She‘s my whore," he responded, "but ye‘re to be my wee wife, Ellen, my hinny."
"Aye, Balgair, I am to be your wife," Ellen soothed him. "Now go and find your own bed, my lord. It is past late."
"Nay," he growled. "I want to fuck ye so ye willna run away from me. Ye won‘t run if I fuck ye.
Ye‘re too proud a lass to run to another wi‘out yer virginity."
"There is no place for me to run," Ellen insisted.
"I saw the way that laird of Duffdour looked at ye, my hinny," Balgair told her.
"Duncan Armstrong is a decent man, Balgair. He was concerned by what he saw when he
entered the hall. Do you think he shouldn‘t have been?"
"Did he kiss ye?" Balgair demanded. "Did he fondle yer titties?" Reaching out swiftly, he yanked her into his embrace. "Answer me, lass! Did he hae ye?"
"I never met the laird until the day the king told me he was to be my escort," Ellen said, fighting back her fear. "I told you I am a virgin, and I was saving myself for Donald. There was—is—
nothing between me and the laird of Duffdour."
"But ye wish there were, don‘t ye?" Balgair persisted. Putting his hand into the neck of her chemise, he ripped it open and grasped one of her breasts.
"Nay, I do not!" Ellen insisted. This was ridiculous. Balgair was jealous of something that never existed, never happened. What had put such a thought into his head? And then she knew. Anice!
Anice was attempting to cause trouble between Ellen and Balgair, to fuel the man‘s jealousies, because she had discovered he was a possessive man who would defend what was his. "Balgair, let me be, I beg you!"
"Ye‘re going to be fucked, lass. Well fucked before this night is ended. Ye‘ll ne‘er run from me, Ellen, my hinny. Ye belong to me, and I mean to hae ye!"
His mouth found hers in a hard kiss. Her first kiss, and it was horrible! His
"We are not wed, Balgair, and I am not your whore, Anice," Ellen told him.
He half fell, half sat upon her bed and grabbed at her hand. "Do ye think that I am a fool, Ellen MacArthur? I saw it in yer eyes tonight when ye returned from the hillside. Ye mean to run, but I‘ll nae let ye. I promised before God that I would gie ye yer month to mourn before I wed ye, and I will. But I dinna say I would nae bed ye, did I?" He grinned slyly at her. "Ye‘ll nae run wi‘
my bairn in yer belly."
"To where would I run, Balgair?" Ellen asked him in what she hoped was a strong voice. "I have no family. No real connections at court." These were questions she had asked herself. But she would return to court, if for no other reason than to fetch her Peigi. And perhaps the king‘s aunt would take pity on them. Perhaps. And Balgair MacArthur didn‘t have to know it. "Please, my lord," Ellen said, already feeling her throat closing with her fear. "Please leave me be. At least for tonight."
"Ye‘re a pretty lass," he said softly. "Prettier than yer sister, Anice."
"Anice is not my sister!" Ellen exclaimed. "Has she been telling you that tale her foster mother told her? That she was sired by my father? Well, she wasn‘t! She‘s some tinker‘s get, and nothing more. Grandsire gave her the MacArthur name so she would have a clan, but we share no blood, Balgair."
He ignored her words, saying, "She says ye sent her from court when she caught ye futtering some serving man." He grinned at her. "Do ye like futtering, then?" He moved to pull down the coverlet she clutched to her breast.
Ellen slapped his hand away. "It was Anice who was sent home for her wanton behavior, my lord. I am a virgin. I kept myself for Donald MacNab!"
For a moment he looked befuddled, and then his brow cleared. "She‘s known other men? Then how can I be certain the wench carries my bairn?" His look was now one of perfect outrage, and Ellen almost laughed aloud.
"If she says she does you may be certain the bairn is yours," Ellen replied dryly. "Anice is no fool, and it would appear she is very ambitious."
"She‘s my whore," he responded, "but ye‘re to be my wee wife, Ellen, my hinny."
"Aye, Balgair, I am to be your wife," Ellen soothed him. "Now go and find your own bed, my lord. It is past late."
"Nay," he growled. "I want to fuck ye so ye willna run away from me. Ye won‘t run if I fuck ye.
Ye‘re too proud a lass to run to another wi‘out yer virginity."
"There is no place for me to run," Ellen insisted.
"I saw the way that laird of Duffdour looked at ye, my hinny," Balgair told her.
"Duncan Armstrong is a decent man, Balgair. He was concerned by what he saw when he
entered the hall. Do you think he shouldn‘t have been?"
"Did he kiss ye?" Balgair demanded. "Did he fondle yer titties?" Reaching out swiftly, he yanked her into his embrace. "Answer me, lass! Did he hae ye?"
"I never met the laird until the day the king told me he was to be my escort," Ellen said, fighting back her fear. "I told you I am a virgin, and I was saving myself for Donald. There was—is—
nothing between me and the laird of Duffdour."
"But ye wish there were, don‘t ye?" Balgair persisted. Putting his hand into the neck of her chemise, he ripped it open and grasped one of her breasts.
"Nay, I do not!" Ellen insisted. This was ridiculous. Balgair was jealous of something that never existed, never happened. What had put such a thought into his head? And then she knew. Anice!
Anice was attempting to cause trouble between Ellen and Balgair, to fuel the man‘s jealousies, because she had discovered he was a possessive man who would defend what was his. "Balgair, let me be, I beg you!"
"Ye‘re going to be fucked, lass. Well fucked before this night is ended. Ye‘ll ne‘er run from me, Ellen, my hinny. Ye belong to me, and I mean to hae ye!"
His mouth found hers in a hard kiss. Her first kiss, and it was horrible! His
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