Charming the Chieftain by Deanie Roman Page A

an old woman was made to leave her own home, Elisande protested.
    “Please, we shall stay elsewhere this eve.”
    Scandalized by the suggestion, Mrs. Kirkwall waved her off.
    “It is happy she is to be of use to her chief. After seeing to her comforts these many years, it is a small thing to give up the house. Besides, it’s not as if she’s out in the cold. She’ll stay with me.”
    “Oh, well, all right then. I must confess it shall be a treat to sleep in a bed after many days of rough travel.”
    The older woman gave her a knowing smile as she tightened the ropes on the bed. “I’m guessin’ not much in the way of sleepin’ will be goin’ on this night.”
    At the mention of the marriage bed, Elisande blanched.
    Realizing her mistake, Mrs. Kirkwall hurried to sit beside her on the stool.
    “Forgive my crude tongue, milady. It has been many years since me own wedding. Of course, you’re nervous.”
    Mrs. Kirkwall seemed to weigh her words with care and then asked, “I’ve noticed you’ve no other woman to attend you. Is your mother dead?”
    “Yes.”
    “A long time?”
    “Quite.”
    “And there are no other female relatives in whom you may confide?” she pressed.
    “No, not here.” Lord, her life sounded bleak.
    While Mrs. Kirkwall took a moment to frame her next question, Elisande breathed in the apple-scented wood fire. The embers cracked and popped as she waited for the Scotswoman to speak her mind.
    “I beg your pardon, milady, but do you understand the intimacies between a man and woman?”
    Elisande thought a moment and a long buried memory revealed itself. Apparently, she harbored a vague notion of coupling. She looked at Mrs. Kirkwall’s open countenance and decided the woman was a godsend.
    She nodded her encouragement, her springy gray curls bobbed up and down.
    Elisande shifted in her seat.
    “I happened upon one of the chambermaids in the horse stable when I was a child of ten and one. I did not follow her,” she made that detail clear.
    “I understand. Please, go on, milady.”
    “I often played in one of the empty stalls. ’Twas the repeated thumps that lured me to the loft, you see. When I caught site of a skirt, curiosity won out over caution, so up the ladder I went. Once I reached the top rung, I noticed the maidservant bent over from the waist, her hands wrapped around a pole, and her skirts piled atop her back whilst a stable-hand stood close behind her. Maeve, that was her name, was writhing and moaning one moment, and laughing the next. Suddenly, she started to chant the Lord’s name, and the stableman let loose with a great shout. I nearly broke my ankle sliding down the ladder rungs.”
    Although Mrs. Kirkwall had a smile in her voice, she refrained from laughing outright.
    “Did you have no one to speak to about what you witnessed?”
    “Shaken, I had not stopped running until I found my nurse Bessie.”
    She gave Mrs. Kirkwall a meaningful look.
    “Bessie was such a mean old stick, but explained that men oftentimes fell upon women with nothing in mind except to gain their beastly pleasure, and if the woman was lucky it wouldn’t last more than the effort it took to spit. I told her that Maeve was giggling and insisted Bessie tells the truth.”
    Mrs. Kirkwall prompted, “And what did the old stick say?”
    “She said, ‘If God wanted women to enjoy such a sordid ordeal, He would have ‘seen fit to make them men.’”
    By the end of her tale, Mrs. Kirkwall was in tears. Elisande joined in her mirth, glad to break the tension.
    “Oh, my dear. You poor, wee thing. Lessons in love from a leman, and a withered old spinster.” She dabbed at her eyes with thick lace linen and reached over to pat Elisande’s hand.
    “Now, if you don’t mind an old woman’s meddlin’, I would deem it an honor to step in to your mother’s role and give you some advice.”
    Grateful, Elisande smiled and nodded her head. It had been such a long time since she experienced motherly