“Oh, look!” Cicely said. “There is that borderer who pledged his loyalty to the king on the road. He’s handsome, but too rough-hewn for me.”
“We’ll find you a good husband,” the queen promised. “Remember, my Jamie promised your father before we left England that he would see you well married.”
“Aye, he did,” Cicely said softly, remembering the day when her father came to say his good-byes.
“You’re even more beautiful than your mother was,” Robert Bowen told his daughter. “I am so sorry I could not raise you myself, Cicely.” And indeed, he did look quite contrite as he spoke.
“I understand, Papa, and as long as Orva is with me I am content. The Lady Joan treated me like a daughter. She was very kind. By the time Jo and I were sent to court we didn’t need mothering any longer. And now I have been given the honor of serving in the household of a queen. Had you not sent me to Lady Joan, Papa, I should have never had such an opportunity.”
The Earl of Leighton nodded. “I wish Luciana had felt differently, my daughter, but despite her blindness where you are concerned she has been a good wife to me, and a good mother to my sons.”
“She has helped to make you rich, Papa,” Cicely said wisely. “And my half brothers have begun to serve in court through my intercession, a fact I hope my stepmother will remember now and again.” She smiled mischievously at her father.
The earl laughed. “I have been so fortunate in you,” he said. “Your heart is a good one, Cicely, even as your mother’s was. I will miss you.”
“You have a new baby daughter, Papa, and I know little Catherine will make up to you for my loss,” Cicely replied. Which is precisely what Luciana has intended, Cicely thought. She thinks my father will put me from his mind and concentrate on her daughter, but she is wrong.
“I will never forget you, my child,” Robert Bowen said quietly. “You are my firstborn, and will always remain dear to my heart. It is unlikely, however, that we will ever again see each other, Cicely. I have asked King James to find you a good husband in Scotland. You have a large dower portion, which will make you a most eligible bride, and several men are certain to vie for your favor because of it. I have told the king that you are not to be forced to the altar, my daughter. That you are to be allowed the privilege and courtesy of picking your own husband from among your suitors. Choose wisely. I do not know if you will find love. Love among our kind is rare, but make certain that the man you choose will treat you honorably and respect you. Seek out his reputation, Cicely, and listen to what others have to say. You are clever enough to know when another is speaking the truth or lying. Promise me you will take your time choosing a mate, for once you have promised yourself you cannot break your word.”
“I will be careful, Papa,” Cicely assured her father. “I have lived in court long enough to know the difference between a sincere man and a rogue.”
“Isaac Kira is the goldsmith I have entrusted your wealth to, Cicely. He is in Edinburgh, but I think the king may prefer Perth as his residence. Isaac will serve you wherever you reside. You will receive an allowance quarterly for your needs, my child.” The Earl of Leighton arose from the settle where he had been sitting with his daughter. “I must leave you now, Cicely,” he said, his voice suddenly rough, as if he were choking a little. He drew her up and embraced her, holding the girl close for what seemed like a very long time. Then, taking her face between his two hands, Robert Bowen kissed Cicely on both of her soft cheeks.
Looking up at him she saw the tears in his eyes. “Oh, Papa, do not weep,” she said softly, her small hand caressing his face. She gave him a tremulous smile, but her eyes were also moist.
“May God, our Lord Jesu, and his Blessed Mother Mary keep you safe always, Cicely,” the Earl of Leighton said to his daughter. “May you always be happy, my darling Anne’s baby, child of my heart.” He hugged her again.
“I will write to you now and again, Papa, so you will know how my life progresses,” Cicely promised him. “But I will send my letters in care of Queen Joan, for I believe that my stepmother, Luciana, would keep them from you.”
“Aye, ’tis wise you are, Cicely,” he agreed. Then, kissing her on her forehead, he turned to depart. “God bless you, my daughter,” he said as he went through the door of the chamber where they had been seated in conversation.
Thinking back on their farewells, Cicely felt tears welling up, and turned away from the queen.
Joan knew intuitively what Cicely had been thinking, and tried to turn the subject. “There’s a very handsome man staring at you, Ce-ce,” she said. “Turn slowly and look across the room. I think he’s a Gordon, for he is with Huntley.”
Diverted, Cicely turned around and saw that indeed, across the hall in a group of gentlemen surrounding the king, one tall, dark-haired man was looking directly at her. “Oh, my!” she said, quickly turning away. “He is outrageously handsome, Jo. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair quite so black. And he is very tall, isn’t he? Scotsmen seem to be tall. Do you remember that border lord who paid his respects as we traveled? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man as tall as that. But he was hardly as elegant as the man standing with Huntley. Still, he’s probably as ignorant as the rest of these lords. They are rough, these Scots. Not at all like our English gentlemen.”
“Aye,” the young queen agreed. “They have been too long without their master, and I am not certain I trust many of them. Still, once I give Scotland an heir it is hoped they will settle down.” The queen lowered her voice. “I think I am with child, Ce-ce.”
“Ohh!” Cicely’s eyes grew wide. “Does the king know?” she whispered. “And when, Jo?”
“Probably by year’s end,” the queen said.
“So soon?” Cicely didn’t know whether to congratulate her friend or be shocked. It was one thing for a woman like her stepmother to birth heirs quickly, but Jo was royal. She should have not had to prove herself to anyone, and yet she seemed happy to do so.
Queen Joan chuckled. “The king is a fine and enthusiastic lover, Ce-ce,” she teased her best friend. “I wish you the same good fortune.”
Cicely blushed. “Jo!” She giggled. Then, looking up, she saw that the tall, dark-haired man was staring at her again. He smiled, and with another blush she turned away. “He is looking at me again, Jo,” she told the queen. “Oh! He is coming over to us!”
Taking several strides, the tall man crossed the hall, and then bowed low to Queen Joan. He took her hand up and kissed it. “I am Andrew Gordon, Highness, laird of Fairlea. I have the king’s permission to pay my compliments to you.”
“I am pleased to greet you, my lord,” the queen said graciously. “I saw you standing with Lord Huntley and the laird of Loch Brae. Are you kin to them?”
“I am, Highness. A portion of my lands border on Brae loch. It is Gordon country, and a fair land it is,” the laird of Fairlea replied, his eyes going to Cicely.
Seeing it, the queen said, “I am remiss, my lord. I have not introduced you to my companion. This is Lady Cicely Bowen, daughter to the Earl of Leighton, my childhood friend. We spent several years together in the household of Queen Joan of Navarre.”
“My lady.” The laird bowed to Cicely.
“My lord.” Cicely curtsied prettily in return.
“Ce-ce, do entertain the laird. I see the king is looking about for me,” Queen Joan said, and then, before Cicely might protest, she moved away across the hall.
“Do you think the queen is a matchmaker, my lady?” Andrew Gordon asked her.
Cicely blushed, to her dismay. “Why would you say such a thing, my lord?” she asked him, her hands going to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her surcoat.
“She has left me with undeniably the prettiest girl in the hall,” he replied gallantly. “You surely saw that I have been staring at you all evening, my lady.”
“I had not noticed,” Cicely lied, and then blushed once more, for he surely knew that she was lying. “I thought you looked at the
queen,” she finished.
“The queen is lovely, but you, my lady, are fairer by far,” the laird of Fairlea said. “Will you walk with me?” He offered her his arm.
Cicely hesitated a moment, but then she took Andrew Gordon’s arm. He was very handsome, and he did not seem as rough-spoken as so many of the Scottish lords were. And there was no odor or smell of heavy scent about him either, which meant he was clean. His clothing was certainly fresh, and even stylish.
“Look, Jamie! Look! Ce-ce is walking with Huntley’s kin,” the queen whispered to her husband. “Don’t they make a handsome couple, my love?”
James Stewart looked and smiled. “He would be a good match for her, sweetheart. He stands high in Huntley’s favor, and has lands of his own. And he spent two years at the university in Aberdeen. He’s not crude and strident, like so many of my lords. We must encourage this possible match.”
“She has to love him, Jamie. You promised her father that she would have the right to make her own choice. I know Huntley would be beholden to you if Cicely decided to wed his kinsman. And I know you need all the allies you can find, but I will not allow you to sacrifice my best friend if it does not please her.”
“I know what I promised her father, sweetheart,” the king said, “and I will keep my pledge to him. But it cannot hurt any if we encourage Cicely to consider choosing this young man, can it?”
The queen laughed. “Nay, my lord, it cannot hurt to encourage them.”
And in the days leading up to the coronation of King James I and Queen Joan, the young royals did indeed manage to see that Cicely Bowen and Andrew Gordon kept each other company more times than not. It would be a good match. Andrew had lived in France briefly, studying at the Sorbonne for a few months. He loved poetry, which of course gave him something in common with King James. The king loved writing poetry, and had even written a poem about the day he had seen Joan Beaufort for the first time, calling her “the fairest or the freschest young floure that evir I saw.” And if the queen and her husband were encouraging the match, so too was the Lord Huntley, who better than his besotted kinsman saw the value in the laird of Fairlea marrying the queen’s close confidante and childhood friend. Any close tie with the king was all for the good, although Huntley until now had always thought his kinsman’s education a waste, and poetry for fools.
James Stewart, the Gordon of Huntley had quickly learned, was no fool. Where his late father, King Robert, had been a good but weak man; and his late uncle, the Duke of Albany, a rapacious and ambitious man; James Stewart was intelligent enough to win friends among the border lords and the people. The great lords, Huntley included, were quickly coming to realize that this king would be a strong king. Now the question remained whether they could live with him better than without him.
And while Huntley conferred with his fellow earls, his kinsman began to court the queen’s lovely friend. One afternoon the two rode to a nearby meadow, where a picnic had been set up for them. It was early May, and the hillsides were abloom with yellow and white flowers. Seated upon a white cloth they ate chicken, bread with butter, and new strawberries while sipping wine from small silver goblets.
“I have found that Scotland is very beautiful, though still wild,” Cicely said, gazing about her at the green hills and up at the blue sky. Nearby a small waterfall tumbled over a rocky streambed.
“Fairlea is wilder yet, but beautiful, my lady. Still, I believe you would like it,” Andrew Gordon said. “I have a fine stone house with its own tower at the far and narrower end of Loch Brae. My kinsman, Angus Gordon, who is laird of Loch Brae, does not begrudge my wee bit of his loch. I have cattle aplenty, and even some sheep.”
“You are a propertied man, my lord,” Cicely replied.
“I have almost everything I want in this world,” Andrew said, smiling at her. “I lack only one thing.”
“And that is?” Cicely asked, smiling back at him. Blessed Jesu! He really was handsome. He had blue eyes that seemed to reflect the sky. When he reached out to take her hand Cicely’s heart jumped in her chest.
Drawing that small, soft hand to his lips, Andrew Gordon kissed it. “I need a wife,” he answered her. “A wife to keep my home, to give me sons.”
“And to love?” Cicely asked quietly. “One day I must take a husband, my lord, but I must love him, and he must love me.”
“You must respect him,” the laird of Fairlea returned.
“Aye, I will respect him, but especially if I love him,” Cicely answered. “I was always told how much my father loved my mother, my lord. I did not know her, for she died at my birth. When my father wed again it was for wealth to rebuild Leighton’s fortunes. He holds my stepmother in high regard because she has given him three sons. She in return respects him and is a good wife to him. I see how King James loves Queen Joan. That is what I want, my lord. I would love the man I marry, and I would have him love me. It is not, I realize, very practical, but it is how I feel. I am not apt to change.”
“What does your father say to such thoughts, my lady?” he asked. “Will he not make the best match for you that he can? You are, I am told, an earl’s daughter.” He was still holding her hand, and did not seem inclined to release it.
“King James has my father’s formal consent to make a match for me, but there is one condition: I have the right to say nay should it not please me, my lord,” Cicely told him. “Perhaps if I find no one in Scotland who pleases me I shall return to England.” Now, why had she said that? Cicely wondered. There was no going back for her, but, the words spoken, she could not take them back without making herself the fool.
“Then we shall have to fall in love, my English rose,” he told her, giving her hand a little squeeze. “But perhaps there is someone else.”
“Oh, no! There is no one else!” Cicely burst out, and then she blushed furiously at her blunder.
“You do realize that I am endeavoring to court you,” Andrew Gordon said dryly.
“Aye,” Cicely replied nonchalantly, quickly regaining her equilibrium. Oh, she had been flirted with and teased in the past by various young men. But never courted openly. Still, there was no reason for the laird of Fairlea to know that. “Your attempt, my lord, is a bit feeble,” she tormented him. Picking several daisies, she began to weave them into a wreath for her hair.
He laughed aloud at her words, and then, taking her small, heart-shaped face between his two big hands, he kissed her a deep, slow kiss upon her strawberry-stained lips. He found the surprise in her blue-green eyes very satisfactory as he broke off the embrace. “Is that perhaps a bit better, my lady Cicely?”
Her heart was thundering in her chest. The firm lips on her lips had been thrilling. Once a boy at court had stolen a kiss from her, but it had been chill and swift. Nothing at all like Andrew Gordon’s warm mouth on hers. “Aye, ’tis better, my lord,” she agreed pleasantly. “And if you seriously mean to court me then perhaps you will address me by my name, Andrew Gordon.”
“Cicely,” he crooned to her. “Cicely of the beautiful auburn curls and blue-green eyes. Cicely of the sweet lips that taste like strawberries.” And he kissed her again.
Her head spun. Her heart raced. This certainly had to be the most fascinating thing that had ever happened to her. She couldn’t wait to tell Jo! Yet she must not fall like a ripe apple into the laird of Fairlea’s big, eager hands. She pulled gently away from him. “You are far too bold, my lord,” she scolded him. “I would think one kiss was enough for this day. You are greedy, I fear.”
“A thousand kisses would not be enough!” he declared, smiling at her, his hand to his heart. “May I hope you will welcome my attentions, Cicely?”
“First I must speak with the queen,” she told him, suddenly prim. He must not think she could be bought so easily for two sweet kisses. And as inexperienced as she was, Cicely knew those two kisses had indeed been delicious. “She is my mistress, and whatever actions I take must have her approval, Andrew.”
“Of course
,” he agreed. He rather liked the fact that she was careful of her reputation. Scotswomen had the tendency to be bolder than most other women. “Should I ask my kinsman Huntley to speak with the king?”
“Nay! ’Tis far too soon, my lord. If you would court me, Andrew Gordon, then you must do it correctly,” Cicely told him. “If you would have the prize you will have to win it. There are never any guarantees in life, are there?”
He was just slightly offended by her words. “Are you fickle then, Cicely, that you cannot make up your mind in this matter?” the laird of Fairlea asked her.
“Nay, I am not fickle, my lord. But perhaps upon better acquaintance we shall learn we do not suit each other. Marriage, as we both know, is for eternity,” Cicely reminded Andrew Gordon. “Your handsome face, your tempting lips, and other skills not yet known to me may not be enough. We must be friends as well as lovers, even as the king and the queen are. I will settle for no less, Andrew Gordon.”
She surprised him, but he was determined to win her over. She was beautiful. She was well-spoken, and to his surprise he could talk with her. And his cousin, Huntley, had informed him that Lady Cicely Bowen had a considerable fortune. She was a perfect match for him, Andrew Gordon decided. She was fair to the eye, wealthy with powerful friends, and his clan approved of the English girl. He could certainly do no better, the laird of Fairlea considered. He was going to win her over, and if truth be told, his heart was already a little engaged by Lady Cicely Bowen.
Chapter 4
A few days before the coronation of James I, the king visited his parliament. It was there that the earls and other lords learned for certain that he was not his father’s son. Rather he was like his great-great-grandfather, Robert the Bruce. James was fascinated by the workings of his government, and meant for it to run efficiently and honestly. The earls were not pleased to hear him declare in a strong voice, “If any man presumes to make war against another, he shall suffer the full penalties of the law. I will have a firm and fair peace in this land.” But as they listened in respectful silence to this king they were realizing he could not be managed or dislodged. A new era was dawning in Scotland.
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