“Why is there only one tower?” she asked, curious, as they rode up the incline.
“Glengorm first began as a tower house,” Fergus explained.
“It might be a castle if it had more than one tower,” Cicely said.
“We’re not a grand enough family for a castle, ladyfaire,” the laird said. “But our great-grandfather returned from the Crusades with some treasure. He decided to enlarge our home, for he could think of no better use for his small trove.”
“Our grandfather told us his father often said if he put his prize in stone and mortar no one could steal it from him,” Fergus added.
“Someone might have coveted the house,” Cicely said, “and taken it from you.”
“Glengorm is too well hidden, and the only bit of it that shows from the surrounding countryside is the tower, which is like so many other tower houses. We are rarely raided,” Fergus added. “Only our own people know of our existence. Most of the other branches of the Douglas clans do not. You will be very safe here.”
“Where is your loch?” she asked him.
“You’ll be able to see it from the house,” Fergus told her.
“What does ‘Glengorm’ mean?” Cicely inquired.
Now it was the laird who spoke up. “Glen is our word for a valley. Gorm means blue and green. The green trees surrounding us, the blue loch. It is from them that Glengorm takes its name, ladyfaire. I am glad to see you showing such an interest in your new home,” he said to her.
“When the king sends his men for me, my lord, I will go with them,” Cicely told the laird sharply. “This is not my home, nor will it ever be. I am here under protest, as you are more than well aware.” She glared at him.
“You are a strong, proud lass,” he said. “It pleases me well to see it. Hold on to your faith, ladyfaire, if it helps you to deal with your situation. But know that I hold tightly to mine. You will be my wife. Once you have learned to know me you will love me, madam. All the lasses do, but ’tis you I want.”
Cicely burst out laughing. “You think highly of yourself, my lord.” Then her face darkened with her anger. “But I do not! You have not stolen just one of the queen’s ladies. You have stolen me, and I am the queen’s favorite, her friend of long standing. Do you actually believe you will be permitted to retain my person when they come for me, and I say nay to you before witnesses? And I will say nay!”
“We are going to have time to know each other,” Ian Douglas told her. “And how, ladyfaire, will they find you unless they learn where you are? And how will they know if they are not aware of who stole you away? And who will tell them? Only my brother and I were involved in your abduction.”
“You planned this carefully,” Cicely surprised the two men by saying. “You had to know where I would be, and when. It was not by chance that you took me when you did. There is someone else involved, and when the hue and cry is raised, as it already has been, you will be found out, my lord. And then I will be rescued from your clutches. I will not plead for you, but I will ask that mercy be shown to your brother, who has been kind to me. And I will plead for your clansmen and -women, who are innocent of your perfidy.”
Now it was the laird who laughed, although again her astuteness surprised him. “If you are found it will be many weeks hence. The Gordons will not want you then, for your virtue will be in question, ladyfaire, after time in my custody. You will end up having to marry me whether you will or no, and the king will consent,” Ian Douglas told her boldly.
“The king cannot consent unless I consent, my lord. If you knew anything about me you would know that. ’Tis true the king is my guardian, and ’tis true he may make a match for me. But when my father put me in the care of James Stewart it was with the understanding that I would have the final word on a husband,” Cicely told the laird. “My father loved my mother well. He wanted no less for me than a love match. He told the king that I must agree to any match or it could not take place.”
“That is ridiculous!” Ian Douglas burst out, very surprised.
“Hah!” Cicely told him. “Now you see your problem, don’t you, my lord?”
Listening, Fergus Douglas was astounded by her words. Here was something his brother had not considered when he stole away the lovely girl he called his ladyfaire. His horse came to a sudden stop, and the younger man realized that they had reached the house. He slid from his animal’s back and tossed the reins to the boy who had run from the stables.
“We will not discuss this before my servants,” the laird said, his voice now hard. He dismounted, and then, going to Cicely’s horse, helped her off the beast. “Come into the hall. The rain is getting heavier, and it is almost night.” He took her hand in his.
Cicely attempted to pull away from him, but his grip was firm, his step sure as he led her into the house and down a short passageway into his hall. It was cold, as there was no fire burning. There were two rushlights burning that had been coated with tallow. The fat sputtered and the rushlights smoked, adding to the stink of the hall. There were rushes on the stone floor, and two dogs came forth to greet their master. Then they went back to seeking among the rushes for a bone that had not already been chewed.
“Why is there no fire?” Cicely wanted to know.
“Why would we burn wood when there was no one here?” the laird asked. “ ’Tis wasteful.”
“It will take hours to warm this drafty hall,” Cicely said irritably. “You would have used less wood keeping it comfortable. And have you no beeswax candles? Tallow is dirty when used for light, and it smokes. And rushes on the floor? Blessed Mother, my lord! No one uses rushes anymore. ’Tis old-fashioned. And the stink of the place is not to be borne! Tallow, rotting food, and dog piss! Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting!”
“ ’Tis to be your home,” he said angrily. Why had the hall not been warm and clean? He had sent a man ahead this morning to alert the house that he would be arriving by dark. “Take charge of the servants, and make it over to please you, madam. Housewifery is not my province. ’Tis yours!”
“I am not the mistress here, my lord, and you should not be giving your servants the wrong impression,” Cicely replied stubbornly. “Now, where am I to stay while I am forced to abide your company?”
“Bethia!” the laird roared. “Where the hell are you, woman?”
After a few minutes a woman shuffled into the hall. “You called me, my lord?”
Looking at her, Cicely could see why the hall was as it was. Bethia was of indeterminate age, and from the way she squinted her eyesight was not the best. Cicely shook her head.
“What is it you want of me, laird?” Bethia asked.
“Did you not receive word that I would be arriving before nightfall earlier today?” Ian Douglas asked his serving woman.
“Aye,” Bethia answered him.
“Then why is there no fire in the hall?” he said.
“The messenger did not say precisely when you were coming, my lord. Why would I waste the wood?” the woman replied. “Look. Here is Pol to light the fire.” She pointed at a man who was even now struggling to bend towards the large fireplace. “Will you be wanting a meal, laird?”
Cicely made an exasperated sound that set her suitor into a furious temper.
“Aye, you witch,” he exploded. “We’ll be wanting a meal that should erstwhile be cooked and be ready to be brought to the high board! And have my mother’s old bedchamber made ready for my guest.”
“Is she not to share your bed, laird?” Bethia said. “Since you sent no word to have another chamber prepared, and we were not expecting a visitor, how could I know to make ready your late mam’s rooms? It will take time. I shall have to send into the village for a lass or two to come, and ’tis already dark.”
Cicely now snickered. She couldn’t help it. The masterful laird of Glengorm had absolutely no control over his servants. While she knew it didn’t bode well for her comfort, she was hard-pressed not to burst out laughing. Seeing the grim look in Ian Dougla
s’s eye, however, she managed to restrain herself.
“I’ll be going home now to my wife,” Fergus Douglas said as he hastily exited the hall. If his sibling had thought to call after him, Fergus would have pretended not to hear.
“Then send for someone, or do it yourself. This lady with me is to be my wife.”
“I am not!” Cicely said firmly.
“Ahh!” A light dawned in Bethia’s eye. “You went bride stealing, laird, did you?” She chuckled. Then she looked Cicely up and down. “She’s pretty, and looks sturdy enough to give Glengorm some heirs. Why bother with your mother’s chamber if you mean to wed her? Send for the priest, bed her, and be done with it. Her people will certainly be coming after her soon enough. You’ll want the deed done, laird, or they’ll take her back.”
“He will not bed me, and when the priest comes I will tell him so,” Cicely said. She turned to the laird. “You have a priest in this hidey-hole of yours, my lord? Ohh, yes, I will certainly want to speak with him.”
Old Pol was still struggling to light the fire. Cursing, the laird pushed him aside and did it himself. Then he rounded on Bethia. “Do as you have been told, woman. See to a hot meal and see to the lady’s chamber!”
With a shrug Bethia, followed by Pol, shuffled from the hall.
“Come and sit by the fire,” the laird invited Cicely. “You’ll be warm in a few minutes. Would you like some wine?” He moved towards a sideboard.
“It will take this hall at least a day to warm, provided you keep the fire going,” she said as she sat herself in a straight-backed chair that was near the hearth. “And I think if you have it I would prefer some of that whiskey Fergus gave me the other night. It took the chill out of my bones quite nicely.”
He poured the requested liquid into a small pewter half-dram cup and handed it to her. “You liked our whiskey?”
“It serves its purpose,” Cicely answered him, then gulped it down. She gasped, and tears came to her eyes, but the instant warmth that spread through her was gratifying. Then she looked up at him. “You can’t make me marry you,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know you, my lord. What made you do such a foolish thing as kidnapping me?”
Kneeling before her, he looked up into her eyes. “The moment I saw you on the Perth road that day I knew you were the woman for me, ladyfaire. I have already told you that. I fell in love with you at first sight, but when I met you at court I could not pay you my addresses, for Andrew Gordon and his kin were always around you. When you come to know me you will see I am a better husband for you than he is.”
“He has land, a house, livestock, and powerful kinsmen who would keep me safe,” Cicely answered.
“But does he love you? Or does he love your influence with the queen, and your dower portion? My brother tells me you are an heiress.”
Cicely smiled. “Nay, no heiress, my lord, but my dower portion is substantial.”
“I love you,” Ian Douglas said. “I stole you away so you might know and come to love me. I could not do that at court with all the damned Gordons hovering over you.”
“How can you love me? You don’t know me,” Cicely protested. But had not James Stewart fallen in love at first sight with her friend Joan Beaufort? But that had been different, hadn’t it? And Joan hadn’t fallen in love at first sight with James Stewart. She had gotten to know him, and as she had her love had bloomed. But this was quite different. She and James Stewart had much in common. Both were royal. Both were educated, and could speak with each other on a variety of subjects. The sameness that they shared had bonded them.
But this was unlike the king and Jo, Cicely thought. She was the daughter of an earl. She had been raised with a girl who became a queen. She was a queen’s friend and companion. This border lord was an ill-mannered rustic. She had absolutely nothing in common with him at all. Could he even read or write? Speak French? Write poetry?
How could they possibly have anything in common? He had spent his entire life on the border. She knew about the border lords. The Gordons had little use for them. Brigands and battlers, they called them. And Ian Douglas had certainly proved them correct when he had kidnapped her from Mistress Marjory’s shop several days ago.
“There is nothing you could possibly do that would make me love you, my lord,” Cicely told him. “If you will take me back to Perth I will ask that this entire matter be forgotten, and no punishment will fall upon you or your folk for this ill-advised adventure you have taken upon yourself. Please, my lord. You cannot love me, and love has little to do with a good match, which you certainly must know.”
“And yet the king loves the queen, and you have said your own father loved your mother,” he reminded her. “Douglases are every bit as good as Gordons, ladyfaire. I have more land than your Gordon. I have livestock aplenty. My house is sound. I can offer you as much as, if not more than, Andrew Gordon.”
“Aye, I am certain you speak truth, my lord, but you cannot offer me the one thing that Andrew Gordon can,” Cicely told him.
“What is that?” the laird wanted to know. “What can he give you that I cannot?”
“Companionship, my lord. Like me, he has been educated. We have certain likes in common. I think you cannot read, nor even write the letters of your own name, my lord. What could you possibly speak of to me? Would you recite me poetry?”
“Poetry?” He looked surprised. “Why would you want me to spout poetry to you, ladyfaire? I don’t want to rhyme with you. I want to make a life with you, share children with you, make love to you.”
Cicely blushed at this intimate declaration. Then she said, “But I want to do none of these things with you, my lord. I don’t know you.”
“You will after we have spent some time together,” he told her pleasantly. “And when you know me you will not seek to leave me. You will be happy to spend your life here at Glengorm as my wife. Now, the first thing you need to know about me is that I both read and write, ladyfaire. And I can recite my church Latin at the mass. As for French, I have no use for it, so why would I waste my time learning it? I do keep my own accounts. A man who cannot keep his own accounts will end up being cheated. Are you warmer now? The fire seems to have caught nicely.”
She was frankly surprised. “Oh, I beg your pardon for thinking you totally ignorant,” Cicely said.
“Now I have learned something about you, ladyfaire. You are not afraid to admit a fault, and you have pretty manners. I hope you will teach those assets to our bairns.”
“Ohhh, you are the most impossibly stubborn man!” Cicely cried.
“Aye, and now you have learned something about me,” he replied with a grin.
Chapter 6
“The watch! Call the watch!” an apprentice cried, running from the lace-and-ribbon shop. “My mistress has been attacked! Help! Help!”
Orva stepped from Master George’s shop, where she had just purchased a supply of lavender oil and balm. People ran past her and, looking down the lane, she saw a crowd beginning to form about Mistress Marjory’s place of business. She hurried down the little street, pushing through the curious onlookers. “Get away from our horses!” she said to several men, shooing them with her free hand. “You are startling them, and if they bolt the queen will be most displeased. “You! Boy! What are you howling about? Where is my lady? Where is Lady Cicely?” She pushed the apprentice back into the main room of the shop. “What is this all about?”
“My mistress has been attacked!” the boy said, looking terrified.
“And my mistress, lad?”
“She was not here when I returned and found Mistress Marjory lying upon the floor of the storeroom unconscious, a lump quite visible upon her poor head,” the apprentice said. He was young, and near tears.
“My mistress was not here?” Orva was astounded. “Where is she? Our horses are still tethered outside the shop.”
The boy shook his head. “I do not know,” he wailed. “Will my mistress die?”
“Show me where she is
,” Orva said in what she hoped was a calm voice. The lad led her back into the storage area of the shop. Orva knelt beside the fallen woman, who half sat, her back against the wall. “Mistress Marjory,” she said. “Where is Lady Cicely?”
The fallen woman groaned at the sound of Orva’s voice. She opened her eyes briefly, but then closed them. “Gone,” she managed to whisper.
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Orva demanded to know.
Before Mistress Marjory might answer, a man-at-arms strode into the chamber. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “Did you hurt this woman?”
Orva slowly stood up. “I am Mistress Orva, tiring woman to Lady Cicely Bowen, Queen Joan’s companion. I left my mistress here earlier to choose some lace and ribbons for the expected heir’s christening gown that Her Highness now sews upon. I returned to find a crowd outside the shop, and the apprentice howling about Mistress Marjory being grievously harmed. I entered to find the poor woman as you see her, and my mistress gone. Something wicked has happened here. Where is your captain? I need to return to the palace immediately and inform the queen that my mistress is missing.”
“Perhaps your mistress had a disagreement with this lady,” the man-at-arms suggested. “Mayhap she hit her, and then fled in a fright.”
“Lady Cicely would never have done such a thing,” Orva said indignantly. “And if she fled this place for whatever reason she would have taken her horse. It is still tethered outside. Find your captain! I must have an escort to the palace immediately.”
The man-at-arms looked at Orva. She was very well dressed, and he had seen the two horses outside of the shop. They were excellent beasts. He turned and looked at the young apprentice. “Are this woman and her mistress known to Mistress Marjory, lad?”
“Aye, sir. They come for the queen, and have been here before,” he answered.
“Kidnapped,” Mistress Marjory’s voice said weakly. “They kidnapped the lady.”
Orva gave a scream of distress.
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