The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  On the fourteenth day of May, James Stewart, the first of his name, and Joan Beaufort, his wife, were crowned king and queen of Scotland in the abbey of Scone. James stood tall and assured. He was an attractive young man with dark red hair and amber eyes. His face was long, as was his nose. There was an air of dignity about him. The queen, dainty and sweet-faced, stood next to her husband, her dark blond hair and blue eyes a delicate contrast next to her tall husband. Afterwards, in their ermine-trimmed royal purple velvet robes, they had ridden through the city of Perth to the lusty cheers of the people. Above them the sun shone down, and everyone was hopeful of good things.

  And behind them their train of attendants and lords followed. Cicely sat sidesaddle upon her horse, although she rarely rode that way. Still, on this day her behavior must reflect well upon her mistress. Next to her the laird of Fairlea rode. He was rarely far from her side now, and it had begun to be noted among those in regular attendance at court. And amid the procession a troop of border lords rode. There were Bruces to whom the king was related. There were Armstrongs, Hepburns, Scotts, and Douglases.

  “He seems a good man,” Ian Douglas, the laird of Glengorm, said to his younger brother, Fergus. “He was gracious when I pledged my fealty along the road.”

  “We’ll see,” Fergus answered.

  “What have you heard?” Ian asked his sibling.

  “The people are pleased, but ’tis said the northerners are not. He’s already shown he’s not old feeble Robert, or Albany, who could be easily bought and was quick to buy allies with his nephew’s possessions,” Fergus said.

  “It’s different in the borders,” Ian answered. “We’re not always defying the crown like the MacDonalds, the Gordons, and others to the north.”

  “We Douglases have had our quarrels with these kings,” Fergus noted.

  “I’ll keep the peace as long as I’m respected by this king,” Ian Douglas declared.

  “How long do we have to stay here?” Fergus asked. “This town is too close for me. I need the open space of our lands. And besides, ’tis spring and time to go raiding.”

  “Our queen is kin to England’s king. She’s here to make peace between our lands,” Ian replied. “Unless we are attacked we’ll nae attack others, little brother.”

  “When can we go home?” Fergus inquired again.

  “In a day or two,” his sibling replied. “What a tale you’ll have to tell your bairns one day of how you saw Scotland’s king crowned, and feasted in his hall afterwards.”

  “I’d as soon find a noisy tavern in which to celebrate,” Fergus grumbled. “These high lords chafe me, and besides, the farther north they come from the more difficult it is to understand a word they say. I’m fearful for my life that I might unknowingly insult one of them and end up spitting the fellow on my sword,” Fergus complained.

  “Then just eat, drink, laugh when those at our board do, and ogle the lovely wenches,” his brother suggested.

  “You’re hoping to see that pretty creature who rode next to the queen that day on the road,” Fergus said slyly. “You’ve spoken of her several times since. She’s riding with one of the Gordons. They say he means to have her to wife.”

  “How the hell do you know all this gossip?” Ian demanded.

  “I drink in taverns instead of the palace hall, and I saw him helping her up onto her horse when we came from the abbey,” Fergus replied, grinning broadly.

  “Who do we know here who would introduce me to her?” Ian wondered aloud.

  “Sir William will be among those in the hall today,” Fergus reminded his brother. Sir William Douglas was Glengorm’s overlord.

  “Aye, I’m a dunderhead not to have remembered it! Then I shall this day be presented to that pretty wench. Shall I fall in love with her, Fergus?”

  “Why not?” His younger brother chuckled. “Don’t you fall in love with them all before you seduce them? I never knew such a lad for the lasses. Our grandfather would be proud of you, Ian. Father lived but long enough to sire us, and I killed our mam with my birth. But our grandfather was a man for the lasses just like you are.”

  “Aye, I see his face aplenty among those in our glen.” Ian laughed. “ ’Tis not so fair a face upon the lasses as it is the lads.” Then, suddenly finding himself pelted with flowers, he looked up to see a group of women in an upper window watching the procession and waving. Ian Douglas waved and gave them a wink. The maids above squealed delightedly, and he laughed again.

  “You had better save yourself if you intend having anything left for the queen’s little companion,” Fergus said wryly.

  Ian Douglas roared with laughter. “Mayhap you’re right,” he agreed. “But then, I always have more than enough for the lasses,” the laird of Glengorm boasted, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.

  Fergus Douglas shook his head. “Our clan would nae tolerate you were you not such a good laird to them,” he said. “Ian, listen to me. It is past time you ceased this constant merriment. You need to find a wife. To sire another generation for Glengorm. I know there are none at home who attract you enough to wed, but perhaps this pretty English girl will please you. She looks biddable enough, and the gossip is that not only is she close to her mistress, but she has a plump dower as well. I’ve never known you to speak twice of any lass, but you have spoken much of her since we saw her on the road.”

  “Advice from my little brother,” Ian Douglas teased his sibling.

  “I’m but eleven months younger, and I already have a wife, a bairn, and another on the way,” Fergus Douglas said seriously.

  “You’re my heir, and your bairns,” the laird said carelessly. “Glengorm is safe.”

  Fergus shook his dark brown head. “You are the laird,” he said stubbornly. “It is your duty to wed and breed heirs.”

  Ian Douglas shrugged. Then he sighed. “I know,” he admitted. “But I must be honest with you, little brother. You say I have spoken often of the girl on the road. ’Tis truth, for I have. There was something about her . . . I am not even certain I can put a name to it. But I believe she is the mate for me, Fergus. I must have her to wife! I want no other. ’Tis madness I speak, and I will never admit it to another.”

  “Then we had best find Sir William so he may introduce you to this lass,” Fergus said in practical tones. “If she’s the one then you had best begin your courting quickly, lest the Gordon laird steal her away from you.”

  The two men returned to the small inn where they had managed to find accommodation, thanks to Sir William, who had wanted a goodly showing of his clansmen at the coronation. Ian Douglas washed his face and his hands. His face bore a skim of reddish stubble, but he had nothing with which to shave. His hair was shaggy, brushing the nape of his neck, not at all the short, fashionable cut worn by the king and many others. He was dressed in dark woolen breeks, a white shirt, and a leather jerkin. His dark velvet cap bore his clan badge and an eagle’s feather. His boots were incapable of being polished any more. His brother was dressed no better.

  Returning to the palace, they sought out their clan chief, Sir William Douglas, who, seeing the two young men, greeted them warmly. “Well, what think you of this Stewart king?” he asked them candidly.

  “He seems a fair man, if hard,” Ian answered slowly.

  Sir William nodded. “Aye, lad, you have a good eye for men.”

  “It’s women he’s interested in.” Fergus chortled. “One lassie in particular.”

  Sir William raised any eyebrow. “Indeed, Glengorm, and who is it?”

  “I don’t know who she is, my lord,” Ian answered. “I was hoping you could tell me, and then perhaps arrange an introduction.”

  “Is she here in the hall?” Sir William asked. “Can you point her out to me?”

  Ian Douglas scanned the hall, and then he saw her. She was dressed in a grass green velvet gown over which she wore a deeper green brocade surcoat. Her auburn tresses were loose this evening, and fell in luxuriant waves about her small face
. He couldn’t help but contemplate whether that beautiful hair would be as soft as it looked. “ ’Tis that lass,” he said, pointing. “Near the queen.”

  “The one with the Gordon standing by her side with a proprietary air,” Fergus put in wickedly, grinning.

  “Ahh,” Sir William said softly. “That is Lady Cicely Bowen, daughter of an English earl. She is the queen’s close friend, as they grew up in the same household. The queen invited her to Scotland. You aim high, Glengorm, but my advice would be to forget the lady. The rumor is that Huntley’s kinsman plans to offer for her soon.”

  “He can’t have her,” Ian Douglas said. “I mean to make her my wife. Introduce me to her, Sir William, I beg you.”

  “Ah, laddie, do not break your heart. The lass is a lady from the top of her head to the tips of her dainty toes. The truth is that Gordon of Fairlea has more in common with her than you ever could. She was raised in a queen’s household, and has lived in the English court. You’re a border lord, Ian.”

  “Does this Gordon have the lands that I do? And the livestock? And a house in which to shelter a wife?” Ian Douglas said. “Or does he live off his lord?”

  “He has lands, and cattle, and a house,” Sir William said. “And he has traveled abroad, can speak French, and I am told writes poetry, which has put him in good stead with King James. His kinsman is the Lord Huntley, and Fairlea is in his favor. He has much to offer Lady Cicely. Look at the elegance and style of his garb, Ian. The lady appreciates it, and the delicacy of his manners. You cannot compete with such a man, so do not embarrass yourself trying. Accept what you are: a simple border lord. If you are finally ready to settle down and take a wife, I will help you find a good lass with a good dower for Glengorm.”

  “Introduce me to her, Sir William,” Ian Douglas said. “I can do my own courting.”

  “Very well.” His clan chief sighed. “I suppose if you are determined nothing will do until you have tried to gain the lady’s favor and failed. But do not say you were not warned, Glengorm.”

  “I have everything the Gordon has, and maybe more,” Ian Douglas replied stubbornly. “And I will wager I am more man than he.”

  “Do not go looking for a quarrel,” Sir William warned.

  “There will be no quarrel as long as the Gordon realizes that the lass is mine,” came the assured reply.

  “You’ve said not a word to the lass. You don’t know if you will even like each other,” Sir William said.

  “I’ll like her,” Ian Douglas said softly.

  “There’s more to a woman than a pretty face and soft breasts,” Sir William replied. “Why this lass, Glengorm?”

  “That day upon the road when I pledged my fealty to King James was when I first saw her. She sat upon her horse laughing with the queen. Briefly she looked my way, and in that moment, Sir William, she stole my heart away.”

  “She wasn’t looking at you,” Fergus broke in. “She was surveying everything about her. I’ll vow she never looked at you, Ian.”

  “She looked,” Ian Douglas said softly.

  “God’s blood!” Sir William swore low. “The lad is lovesick and heartsore. Come, and let us get this over with, Glengorm. I’ll present you.” He began to move across the hall, the two younger men in his wake. When he reached the area where the queen was seated he waited politely to be recognized.

  Joan Beaufort saw him there with two other men. She thought one of the men looked familiar but she could not place him. “Sir William,” she greeted him.

  “Madam, I should like to present my kinsmen, Ian Douglas, the laird of Glengorm, and his younger brother, Fergus.”

  “You are welcome to Perth, my lords,” the queen said as the pair bowed low to her. And then she recalled the big, tall border lord who had pledged his fealty to her husband as they traveled. “We have, I believe, met before, my lord of Glengorm,” the queen said to him.

  “Not formally, madam,” Ian Douglas responded.

  “You stepped from the crowds along the road to pledge yourself to us, did you not, my lord?” Gracious, Joan Beaufort thought, he is certainly a big, handsome fellow.

  “I did, madam, and I am flattered that you would remember this humble border lord,” Ian said, smiling.

  “You are not, I suspect, ordinarily very humble, my lord.” The queen laughed. “But I could not forget you, for you are surely one of the tallest men I have ever seen. So you came to see us crowned, did you?”

  “And to meet, with your permission, a certain lady of your household, madam,” the laird said candidly.

  “I think I know the lady with whom you wish to become acquainted, my lord, for you stared quite boldly at her that day,” the queen replied, laughing again. She turned her head. “Ce-ce, you have another admirer. Come and meet the laird of Glengorm.”

  Cicely left the small group of young people with whom she had been chatting. She curtsied to the queen, and her eyes grew wide at the sight of Ian Douglas.

  “Ce-ce, may I present to you Ian Douglas, the laird of Glengorm,” the queen said. “My lord, this is my dearest friend and companion, Lady Cicely Bowen.”

  Ian Douglas bowed, and then, taking the girl’s hand in his big paw, kissed it. “My lady,” he said. And then briefly he felt himself tongue-tied, for she was certainly the loveliest girl he had ever seen in all his twenty-seven years.

  “You are the big man on the road,” Cicely said.

  He nodded.

  “You’ve come to court for the coronation?” Cicely inquired politely.

  “Aye,” he agreed. What the hell was the matter with him? He had never been so damned speechless in all of his life. She was just a lass. Ah, a little voice in his head said, but she is the lass you mean to wed.

  “I find Perth charming, don’t you?” Cicely said to him. He was certainly a handsome man, but one of few words.

  “I don’t like the city,” Ian Douglas said. “I prefer my own lands, and the hills of the border. The air is fresher and the sky wider when it is not hemmed in by buildings.”

  “You should not like England then,” Cicely replied. “We have many more towns than I have seen here in Scotland. London is very big and noisy. More so than here in Perth, my lord. Will you return soon to your home then?”

  “In a few days,” he told her. His hazel eyes narrowed as Andrew Gordon came to be by Cicely’s side. Could the man not leave her alone?

  “Then perhaps we shall see each other again, my lord,” Cicely said. Then she turned to the queen. “With your permission, Highness, Andrew has suggested a walk in the gardens.” And when the queen nodded Cicely curtsied and, putting her small hand upon the laird of Fairlea’s arm, moved off, smiling up at him and chattering animatedly.

  Seeing the disappointment in his eyes the queen said sympathetically, “I believe your efforts would be better appreciated by another, my lord. The laird of Fairlea seems to have caught Cicely’s attentions. They are much alike, I think.”

  “I will consider your advice, madam,” Ian Douglas said. Then he bowed politely to her and, turning, walked away. Fergus hurried after his brother.

  “He cannot have been that interested to have given up so easily,” the queen said.

  “Ian Douglas is not a man used to accepting defeat, madam,” Sir William noted. “Nor is he a man to reveal his own thoughts openly or easily. Along both sides of the border he is known as the canny Douglas of Glengorm. One cannot predict what he will do. But he is also not a villain.” The clan chief looked across the hall. Ian Douglas and his brother were gone. Sir William felt just the slightest unease.

  The two brothers had left the palace, riding back to their lodging. Ian’s mood was a dark one, and he furrowed his brow in deep thought.

  For a time Fergus remained silent, but then he said, “Well, you were warned.”

  “I behaved like a lad with his first lass,” the laird said angrily. “I spoke to her but little. God’s blood, Fergus, she is so fair! Her eyes are blue-green. And that hair! It was all I
could do not to run my hands through it. Her voice is sweet, and there was the fragrance of violets about her.”

  “Let it go, brother,” Fergus said. “When Andrew Gordon came to her side she dismissed you easily and went off with him. They say Huntley will ask for her for his kinsman before Midsummer. She’ll be wedded and bedded by Lammastide.”

  “No!” the laird of Glengorm said furiously. “Fairlea will not have her! Cicely Bowen is mine, and she will be my wife. We need to know each other better, but how can I make her see that I am the husband for her if every time I approach her she is either with that damned Gordon or he is hovering nearby?”

  “As long as the Gordons remain in Perth there is little you can do about it, Ian,” his younger brother said. “They’ve set their sights on her. I’ve already told you that she has a very fat dower portion from her father.”

  “So the Gordons want her for her wealth! The bastards!” the laird swore. “I wanted her the moment I saw her, and knew nothing of her. I would have her even if she came to me in her chemise and could offer nothing more.”

  “Jesu!” Now it was Fergus who swore. “Ye’re in love! How the hell can you fall in love with a lass and know so little about her? Or is it lust, Ian?”

  “Both,” the laird admitted. “Aye, I want to bed her, but it’s more than that. There is something about her. I can’t even find the right words to explain myself. I just know she is the one I am meant to wed, to have children with, and to grow old together with.”

  “Then I’m sorry for you,” Fergus said, “for it’s unlikely you’ll gain your heart’s desire, Ian. There is naught you can do to change this situation.”

  “There is always something that can be done, little brother. But I need to go home to Glengorm and consider well what I shall do next. There is nothing more for us here in Perth. We shall leave tomorrow, but I will dream of Cicely Bowen tonight.”