Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: Well…I did say it wouldn't be chronological. If there gets to be a lot and I get the chance, I might put them into chronological order but it should be fairly obvious where in the timeline things fit – quite apart from anything else, I'm putting the year as the chapter titles. I'm glad people seemed to like the idea behind this story so hopefully people will like this new chapter – I think this might actually be a first, I've certainly never seen a story about this scene before on here.
This chapter isn't beta-ed because I feel bad bombarding my people that do that with umpteen RH fics – I don't why I'm suddenly so into this fandom but I'm enjoying it.
Set about twenty years pre-movie.
"Wait!"
The man hardened his heart to the young woman's cries, standing and pulling his cloak tight around his neck; it would be a long winter, he could tell.
"Duncan, please wait!" Anne grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn though he would not meet her eyes. "Duncan, why is he doing this?" Her breathing hitched as she added desperately, "what wrong have I done him?"
Duncan sighed and pushed her into a nearby chair, kneeling at her feet and taking her hands in his. "You've done nought wrong, Miss," he began gently, patting her hand. "My master does not blame you for any of this."
She blinked hopefully at him, her voice an excited whisper "Then he may yet change his mind." At Duncan's grim expression, her face fell once more. "He said that he…" she trailed off, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. Duncan wiped away a few stray tears as they slipped from under her eyelashes and rolled down her pale face. She opened her eyes, fixing him with a tearful glare. "Was it lies?"
"I don't believe so, Miss."
She gazed into the hearth, giving a tiny sob which was quickly cut off. Brushing him aside, she strode to the window and looked out across the common. Even from where he was, he could see her hands shaking as she wrung them. "Will he see me?" She asked quietly, without turning.
"No, Miss." Duncan wished he could comfort her, but he hadn't any words to make this better. Still, he reminded himself, Anne was hardly the first serving girl to have graced her lord's bed; the affair would have ended sooner or later anyway.
"I must speak with him," Anne suddenly said desperately, clutching at Duncan's hand.
"No, Miss. He will not – "
"But there's going to be a child, Duncan!" She shouted, her chest heaving. He stood, shocked, unsure what to say. She turned away, sobbing quietly into one hand. "I'm going to have his child," she whispered desolately.
"A child?" He repeated uncertainly. "His child, you're certain?" She shot him a look of such heartbroken indignation that he was left in no doubt as to the answer.
"Let me go back with you," she implored, rushing to put on her cloak, "this will change his mind, I know it will! He must see me – he must listen!"
Duncan shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Miss," he said, truly meaning it, "his Lordship will not see you." Seeing her shaking her head frantically, about to protest, he added, "His Lordship does not want to see you." It was perfectly true, his master had made it plain that his seeing her would be his undoing – he would not see her for fear of going back on his word to his son. Duncan was not unaware however, of how the statement would sound to the girl.
"He does not want to see me?" She repeated blankly, "He cannot refuse to see me! A man – any honourable man – does not refuse his wife because it does not suit him to see her!" She finished angrily.
"Perhaps, Miss. But you are not his wife," Duncan reminded her gently, but firmly.
"I'm as good as!" She cried shrilly. He did not reply, but his look was enough for her to flush – partly in shame, partly in anger. "What, then?" She asked bitterly, "I'm his whore? A pretty slut to warm his bed and his body while his fine Lady lies cold in the ground?"
"Have you no shame, girl?" Duncan whispered harshly, "Isn't it enough to have stolen a dead woman's husband? Must you insult her memory as well?"
The young woman had the good grace to look contrite. Lowering her eyes, she raised one hand to her stomach, which, now that he knew, Duncan could see was beginning to swell. Taking her arm, he returned her to the seat, where she sat silently weeping.
"There now," he sighed, gentle once more in the face of her despair, "that's enough of that. There's no place for such ugly words from a pretty lass like you," Her attempt at a tremulous smile quickly crumpled into another sob. She was pretty though, even in her dishevelled state. With her fine features and alabaster skin she might have made quite the noblewoman in another life, he mused. It was a pity for her that she wasn't ugly, he found himself thinking, if she had been, his master's head would not have been turned in the first place. She might have carried on her work at the manor and then settled with some local lad and led a happy, if humble, life.
"But I don't deserve this from him," she whispered mournfully. Duncan was inclined to agree. Whatever she and their master had had together, she had been good to him and, although Duncan suspected her feelings for the man ran deeper than his master's did for her, his master had in turn been good to her until now. She had been foolish and Duncan told her so, but whatever penance was due to her for her actions, she did not deserve to be cast aside without so much as a goodbye from the man who had been her lover for the better part of a year.
"It's done," he said with an air of finality, "and now you must make the best of it." Rising once more, he withdrew a purse from inside his cloak and held it out to her, "Take it. He'll not take any more rent from you, but he bade me give it to you anyway."
She scowled at his hand, "He pays me for my services?" she spat, "I don't want his money."
"Then you're even more foolish than I thought," when she still did not take it from him, Duncan placed the purse on the table beside her, "Use it for the child," he said quietly.
"He's taught me most of my letters," she said softly as though he hadn't spoken, "May I write to him and tell him about his child?"
"I can tell him, miss," even as he said it, Anne flicked her gaze to his and they both knew that he would not.
She nodded defeatedly, absentmindedly rubbing her belly.
"I have to go," he told her, once more drawing his cloak around himself and heading for the door. "I shouldn't have stayed."
"Duncan!" He closed his eyes but paused. "I…thank you," she said wearily, "You've always been very kind…and you didn't have to tell me."
"He sent me to do so, miss." He cut off any further thanks.
"No...you didn't approve, and I just…you were a lot kinder than I deserved." She admitted tearfully.
He considered her for a moment – he did not approve of their dalliance, no good Christian man would have, but even so he could not bring himself to blame her for it entirely. "It was a mistake…but you'll pay for it now," he commented grimly, nodding at her stomach.
She did not reply for a minute, when she did, she simply said vaguely, "Yes."
He took one last look at her before turning and leaving the cottage. He did not see her again, nor did he ever lay eyes upon the child though they did meet many years later. It occurred to him as he stood in his master's chambers as the man told his son simply "It is finished" that he had never even known the girl's last name.
As always, a review would be lovely.
