by June Francis
‘You’ve returned,’ she said.
‘Aye. I’m sorry I’ve been away so long.’ He dismounted and covered the ground between them and swung her up into his arms and kissed her. For several moments after their lips parted, they remained close together, his gauntleted hands resting on her waist and hers against his chest, their breathing hurried as they searched the other’s face. He badly needed a shave and a wash, but it was so good to look upon his dear face again, she thought.
‘Something is bothering you,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Of course I’ve been bothered. I feared you were dead.’
‘I mean something else is bothering you.’ He wondered if he should tell her that, having watched the changing expression of her face so often, he could almost read her thoughts.
‘I am fine now that you are here.’
A stable lad had come running, so Mackillin left his horse in his capable hands. His grip on her waist slackened and he took one of her hands and began to walk towards the keep. ‘I have much to tell you.’
‘I should think you have after being away so long. Your king’s envoys were here yesterday. King Henry requires your service again.’
Mackillin paused in mid-stride before continuing towards the house. ‘There is naught for you to fear. I will not go. I have no intention of becoming involved in the affairs of York and Lancaster again.’
Cicely breathed the easier. ‘That makes me happy,’ she said softly. ‘Although I fear for my brothers. The envoy seemed to think that the battle will take place near York.’
He wondered if her concern was also for Diccon, but did not say so, only squeezing her hand. ‘I understand why you are anxious, but York is some leagues from Milburn, but as soon as possible I will send a messenger there.’
‘What of Armstrong? What news of your mother?’
His lips tightened and several seconds went by before he said, ‘My mother is dead.’
Cicely had not expected that news and her fingers gripped his tightly. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I found her in my house at Kirkcudbright. She had been strangled.’ His voice was harsh. ‘The place had been ransacked and the caretakers were missing. Later they returned after the news reached them I had arrived. They spoke of a man answering to Armstrong’s description being there and ordering them out. I can only think that he and my mother quarrelled and he attacked her in anger.’
‘Where is he now? Do you know?’
‘Not exactly.’ He fell silent.
She asked no more questions, deciding that it could wait until he felt ready to tell her the rest.
Mary greeted him as he entered the hall. ‘I’m so glad to see you back, Rory.’ Her face was anxious. ‘Did you find her?’
He nodded. ‘Later, Mary. I must wash and change my garments.’ He went upstairs.
Mary turned to Cicely. ‘What happened?’
She told her the little she knew. Afterwards they both sat, staring into space, remembering in their different ways the last time they had seen Lady Joan.
Mackillin returned to the hall within the hour and, over a meal, he told them what he had further discovered. ‘I made enquiries about your father, Mary, and discovered he had taken a ship to France.’
Both the women were astounded. ‘For what reason?’ asked Cicely.
Mackillin took a deep draught of ale. ‘He murdered my mother, so that was reason enough. He knew I’d be intent on bringing him to justice. Anyway, my ship was anchored in the harbour, so I decided to follow him. Unfortunately the trail went cold when I arrived at Angers, so I hired a couple of men in the hope they could pick up his trail and returned home.’
He fell silent. Cicely reached out and covered his hand with hers.
‘Father has kin in France, but he never mentioned the exact place to me,’ said Mary, her eyes bright. ‘I can only pray that he never returns.’
Cicely echoed her sentiments, but noticed that her husband did not.
Mary left them alone after the meal and for a short time they sat in front of the fire whilst Cicely told him of what she had done in his absence and showed him the pages she had filled with her writing. ‘I will need more to continue the tale,’ she said.
He nodded absently. She wondered if he had been listening to her at all. Soon after they went up to bed. He seemed content to just hold her in his arms and kiss her and she accepted that, despite his anger towards his mother, he grieved for her none the less.
The next day Mackillin sent a messenger to the king in Edinburgh, citing not only his having fought at St Albans and his subsequent abduction by Armstrong as a reason for not answering the summons this time, but also the loss of a number of his men and the need to protect his wife and his lands from his enemies. He offered to serve the king in any other way that he wished in the future. At the same time he asked Robbie to take a message to Milburn Manor. He did not send him alone, but arranged for a couple of the men to accompany him. The Borders were emptying of the clans, eager to fight on English soil again. A rumour had swept the area that King Henry had promised to return Berwick-on-Tweed to the crown of Scotland for its aid.
The snows of March had melted away and the sights and sounds of spring could be heard in the song of the thrush and the sight of newborn chicks and the wild flowers in the meadow. The last few weeks had drifted by and Easter had come and gone; still there was no news from Robbie or the king’s envoy. Cicely and Rory had occupied their time in a variety of activities. Sometimes they shared pastimes, such as exploring the extent of his lands. On another occasion they had ridden into Kelso, where they had worshipped at the abbey. As it was market day, she had also been able to buy woollen cloth, linen, paper, ink and quills. This delighted her. Not once did he mention their visiting his house in Kirkcudbright and, although she thought she understood why, it saddened her because he had spoken of it being his favourite home.
On the days when he was occupied elsewhere, hunting or speaking to his newly appointed steward, she organised the cleaning of the hall, or set to fashioning new clothes and making sheets for their bed. For an hour in the evening, she gave time to her writing, although she had yet to get Mackillin to talk further of his travels.
It was the second week in April when she realised that she might be with child, but she kept silent, wanting to be certain. As it was, a couple of days later they received news of the battle of Towton in Yorkshire, brought by one of Mackillin’s mariners, whose eyes were bright with a mixture of excitement and horror as he told his tale over a tankard of ale.
‘The Lancastrians and Yorkists have fought a great battle. They say never have so many men been killed on English soil before in such a conflict.’
The blood drained from Cicely’s face and she had to sit down. ‘When was this?’
‘Palm Sunday.’
Mackillin placed a hand on his wife’s arm, concerned that her feelings for Diccon could be deeper than he had feared. ‘So who was the victor?’ His hazel eyes were intent on the mariner’s face.
‘Edward. It’s rumoured that when the news reached York of his victory it spread like wildfire. King Henry and Queen Margaret took their son and fled for the border. They’re saying more than twenty thousand men died.’ The man swallowed. ‘Don’t bear thinking about, does it?’
‘No,’ rasped Mackillin. ‘Names! Do you have any names of the fallen?’
The mariner cleared his throat. ‘Your kinsman Northumberland was amongst the slain and they say many reivers were slaughtered.’
It was Cicely’s turn to show concern for him, knowing how upset he would be at that news. If it had not been for Northumberland, she and Mackillin might never have escaped Armstrong’s clutches. ‘I’m so sorry, Rory,’ she murmured.
‘Me, too,’ he said on a sigh.
Afterwards, Mackillin spoke at length to the mariner but he did not tell Cicely the content of their conversation.
It was late afternoon the following day that Mackillin was informed several riders wer
e approaching the building. Cicely was practising archery in a meadow at the back of the keep, so immediately he sent someone to fetch her. ‘Perhaps it’s Robbie and the men,’ he said.
‘I will go and see.’ Mary did not want to miss out on the excitement. She stood at the top of the steps and tried to focus on their faces. She recognised Robbie amongst the eight riders, one of whom was a woman. ‘You have returned, Robbie,’ she called down. ‘Rory and Cissie will be so glad. But who are these folk with you?’ she added.
The riders reined in their horses and a man in breast armour shouted, ‘Who is it that asks?’
‘I am Mary Armstrong. State your name and I will inform Mackillin that you are below.’
‘Tell him that Sir Richard Fletcher is here with Master Owain ap Rowan, Jack Milburn and the servant Martha.’
Mary felt a thrill of excitement as she gazed down at the knight’s face. ‘I will tell him.’ She stepped back and collided with Mackillin.
‘I heard all,’ he said before she could speak. His expression was grim—he was wondering why Diccon was here.
Mary faced the visitors again. ‘Welcome! Come inside and rest after your long journey.’
Diccon gazed at the comely lass who stood just above him. ‘I thank you for your welcome, Mistress Armstrong,’ he said, dismounting.
Mary took two steps down so she could see his face the clearer, considering him handsome, despite the fresh scar on the left side of his face. Suddenly there came a whistling on the air and she staggered back. Martha let out a cry of dismay. An arrow jutted out from beneath the girl’s collarbone.
Diccon hurried forward and caught her as she fell. She moaned as he carried her into the shadowy lee of the stairway and set her down on the ground. Mackillin’s gaze flew towards the bushes a short distance away and he caught sight of a man concealed there. Taking his dagger from his belt, he went for him, knowing now that the mariner’s information had been correct.
Several things happened at once. Cicely came round the side of the keep, carrying her bow. Martha dismounted and went to Mary’s aid. Seeing the visitors there, Cicely was filled with gladness, although her mood was tempered by her concern for Mary. Then she realised that Mackillin was not present and looked about her. As she saw him running away from the keep, she saw his quarry. He was placing an arrow in what appeared to her to be a hackbut. In that moment she recognised Armstrong. Hastily she reached for an arrow and fixed it in position and let fly.
Mackillin was but yards away when he felt the movement in the air that signalled Cicely’s arrow sailing past him. It took Armstrong’s hat off and was diversion enough to cause him to drop his bow. Mackillin launched himself at him and plunged his knife into his enemy’s chest. Armstrong stared up at him with hatred in his eyes and then his head fell back.
Mackillin said a prayer and then stood up and turned to see Cicely coming towards him.
She threw herself at him. ‘Oh, my love…’
He caught her against his chest. ‘Your arrow…’
‘I know! It missed its target.’ Her expression showed chagrin.
‘But you still saved me, sweeting.’
Robbie came hurrying over to them. ‘Well done, Mackillin. And you, your ladyship,’ he added hastily.
‘I missed him, Robbie,’ she said forlornly.
Mackillin grinned. ‘You need more practice. Now let’s get back to the keep.’
‘Mary is hurt,’ said Cicely, worriedly.
Mackillin nodded. They hurried back to the keep.
Owain and Jack greeted them with cries of relief and informed them that Diccon had carried Mary into the hall and Martha had gone with them.
‘You must come inside,’ said Mackillin. ‘You have ridden far and must be in need of rest, food and drink.’
‘We wouldn’t argue with you there, Mackillin,’ said Jack, smiling at his lordship and his sister.
‘I can scarcely believe you’re here,’ said Cicely, hugging him.
He returned her hug briefly and then released her. ‘We’ve brought you gifts. Martha thought you might need some clothes and I have fetched the Flemish glass that Father had made for you.’
Cicely clapped her hands in delight. ‘Hopefully it will fit the opening in our bedchamber, if not we will find somewhere else for it.’ She looked a question at her brother.
He winked. ‘Aye. We’ve brought that.’
Cicely did not linger, but hurried on ahead into the hall to give orders to the servants. Mackillin told her to tell them to serve the best wine that he had sent from France months ago. ‘I want a feast worthy of our guests,’ he said.
While the food was being prepared, Owain and Jack brought in a small chest and placed it on the table. ‘Here is your dowry, Cissie,’ said Owain, shaking his head at her in mock reproof. ‘I never expected to have to chase the pair of you all the way up here to deliver it. It’s in coin, for I was certain that you and Mackillin might be in need of silver and gold.’
Mackillin could not speak for a moment and then he glanced at Cicely and squeezed her hand before saying, ‘I took her without the dowry, Owain. I have money of my own.’
‘Don’t be a fool, man. She’s going to lead you a merry dance and has expensive tastes,’ said Owain with a laugh. ‘Besides, it was Nat’s wish.’
‘Accept it,’ said Cicely, smiling at her husband. ‘I have plans to add a few luxurious touches to this keep. A tub for a start. Now you will excuse me. I am neglecting my duty. I have left Diccon and Martha tending Mary and I should be at her side.’
She went over to where Mary was stretched out on the settle and greeted her stepbrother and maid with equal warmth, before adding, ‘I see you’ve already removed the arrow.’
‘Sir Richard took it out,’ said Martha, beaming at him. ‘He really seems to know what he was about.’
Diccon glanced unsmiling up at Cicely. ‘I need more cloths to stem the blood,’ he said gruffly.
‘Then I will fetch some.’ Cicely wondered why he had come when it was obvious he was vexed with her. She sighed, wanting all those she cared for to be happy on this day. As she made to turn away, she heard Mary say, ‘You’ve gentle hands, Sir Richard.’
‘My mother was a healer, a wise woman,’ he muttered, ‘so is my sister. She would have been here if she was not with child, so I have come in her place to give our good wishes to our stepsister and her husband.’
‘I am glad you came,’ whispered Mary. ‘She was concerned for the safety of all her brothers.’
‘Her brother—so that’s how she sees me now,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Cicely caught that glance and smiled. ‘I, too, am pleased you came.’ She blew him a kiss and then hurried from the hall, hoping that perhaps he and Mary might prove to be of comfort to each other.
Three weeks later Mackillin and Cicely said their goodbyes to Owain, Diccon and Mary. The latter’s recovery had been swift and the suggestion that she travel south and visit not only York but London, where she could watch King Edward IV being crowned, was too good an invitation to turn down. One of the maids was to accompany her. It seemed to Cicely and Mackillin that romance was in the air for those they once believed they were intended to wed. They, themselves, were to leave Killin for a short while to visit Kirkcudbright. She wondered if they would have been going if they were not seeing Jack board Mackillin’s ship. Owain had also wrung a promise from his host to visit him and Kate during the summer.
The journey to Kirkcudbright was accomplished without any difficulty. The Borders and the south-west of Scotland were looking their best. She was not looking forward at all to saying her goodbye to her brother, remembering the last time had been her final farewell to her father.
She had voiced her fears to her husband and he had said sensibly, ‘You can’t prevent him going, Cissie. The sea and foreign climes call to him and it would be wrong to harp on about the danger when there is so much pleasure and excitement ahead for him.’
She had agr
eed and said no more.
The harbour at Kirkcudbright was just as exciting and colourful as Mackillin had painted it in words and when the parting from Jack came, she said her farewell as cheerfully as she could. ‘I would like to visit Europe one day,’ she said wistfully, gazing across the shining surface of the water. ‘You are fortunate, Jack.’
‘I know I am.’ He gave her a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek before turning to Mackillin and holding out a hand. ‘Thank you for letting me travel on your ship and for everything else you have done for me and mine.’ There was a glint of tears in his blue eyes.
Mackillin shook his hand vigorously. ‘Take care of yourself, laddie. I’ve said all I’m going to say to you about that. Keep in touch by courier and then we’ll know where to find you if we decide to join you—or, if that isn’t possible, when to expect your return so we can make ready for you to stay with us.’
Jack thanked him again before going up the gangplank; he did not look back. Cicely rubbed away her tears and hand in hand with her husband left the harbour.
She woke early the next morning to the sound of sparrows under the eaves and seagulls in the harbour. She realised that Mackillin must have left her to sleep, rather than disturb her. She sighed with pleasure and then lifted her head and could just about make out his strong features in the faint light. To all appearances he was still asleep. His breathing had not altered when she moved, so she felt free to continue gazing at him and found pleasure in doing so. He looked younger in slumber; the faint lines at the corner of his eyes were barely discernible. Obviously any problem that he might have had about returning here where his mother had been murdered had evaporated. Impulsively she kissed him lightly on his eyelids, nose and mouth.
