The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  “Who kidnapped the lady?” the man-at-arms wanted to know. This was becoming complicated. “Go and fetch the captain, lad,” he instructed the apprentice.

  The boy ran off.

  “Who kidnapped my mistress?” Orva demanded of the wounded woman. “Who?”

  “I do not know,” Mistress Marjory replied. Reaching up with one hand, she rubbed her head, wincing. That damned borderer didn’t have to hit her so hard, she thought to herself. Her head ached like merry hell. She was suddenly beginning to think better of her part in all of this. Best to claim ignorance. No one could prove anything. She struggled to get to her feet, but her head was swimming.

  “Easy now, mistress,” the man-at-arms said, and he moved to aid her, guiding her slowly from the storage room.

  “Help her into the main chamber of the shop,” Orva said. She was suddenly suspicious of Mistress Marjory, and wanted to hear more of what she had to say. Why would two strange bandits enter a lace-and-ribbon shop and kidnap a woman unknown to them who had come to purchase lace? There was more to this than met the eye. She came over to where the shopkeeper now sat and, leaning down, said softly, “I think you know exactly what happened to my mistress. I shall tell the queen what I believe as soon as I return to the palace. You had best tell the truth when you are brought before her, for you will be sent for, and soon.”

  The captain of the watch strode into the shop. “What has happened here?” he asked.

  Orva quickly explained the simple facts of the situation, and then said, “I will need an escort back to the palace, for the queen will want word of this incident immediately, Captain.”

  “Your mistress is the English lass who traveled with the queen? The one the Gordons are seeking for one of their own?” the captain asked.

  “Aye, the same,” Orva replied. Gracious, did all of Perth know everything?

  “Perhaps her suitor grew impatient and took her off. Bride stealing is an old custom here in Scotland, lady,” the captain suggested.

  “Nay,” Orva said. “Lord Huntley was brokering the match between his kinsman and the king, who speaks for my mistress. They had decided to wait until Twelfth Night before announcing any betrothal that was agreed upon. And nothing had yet been agreed upon.”

  “Even more reason for the Gordon lad to steal your mistress. Winter will soon be upon us, and there’s nothing better than snuggling with a loving woman when the snows fly.” He gave Orva a grin and a wink. “Women like a bold man, eh, m’dear?”

  She sighed, exasperated. “Nay, that did not happen. Now escort me to the palace. The queen will be most distressed to learn what has happened, and better I tell her than some fool hears of this incident and rushes to inform her first. Her Highness is great with Scotland’s heir, man. Would you cause her to miscarry?”

  The captain said no more. Going outside, he helped Orva onto her mare and, leading Cicely’s horse behind him, he personally escorted the woman to the palace. Once there Orva thanked him for his courtesy, and hurried to the queen’s apartments.

  Entering, she encountered the queen’s old tiring woman, Bess.

  “Orva, what is it? You look most distressed,” Bess greeted her. She was a woman older than younger, and had been with Joan Beaufort since her birth.

  “There has been an incident in town . . .” Orva began. She paused, and then said, “Och, there is nothing for it but to say it. My mistress has been kidnapped.”

  “Oh, dear!” Bess’s hand went to her heart. She paled and her eyes grew troubled. “The queen! Oh, Orva! The queen will be most distressed by such news.”

  “Aye,” Orva agreed, “but we cannot keep it from her. How could we explain my mistress’s absence from her, and especially at this time?”

  “And she’s been asking if Lady Cicely is back with the lace yet,” Bess said. Then she straightened her spine. “We’ll send for the king, and while we are waiting we shall tell the queen together of this incident.” She spoke to a young page who had been dozing in a nearby chair, shaking him awake gently. “Here, lad, go and find the king. Tell him the queen needs him now! Do not dally. The king must come immediately.”

  The page scrambled up and dashed from the queen’s apartments.

  “Come along now,” Bess said to Orva. “She is in her privy chamber with Lady Stewart of Dundonald and the Countess of Atholl, both of whom bore and irritate her by turns. Only Lady Grey of Ben Duff amuses her, but she will return home soon. Poor Lady Grey is very distressed over the disappearance of Fiona Hay, who was her friend. And now this!”

  The two tiring women entered the queen’s privy chamber, where the women sat sewing on garments for the expected heir.

  The young queen looked up and, seeing Orva, said, “Is Ce-ce back then?”

  “Now, my dearie,” Bess began, “you must not be distressed by what Orva has to say to you, but it seems that Lady Cicely has been taken off.”

  “Taken off?” Joan Beaufort’s voice trembled. “What do you mean, taken off?” The queen grew very pale, and Lady Grey quickly hurried to bring her a small sop of wine as a restorative. The queen gulped it down, and then looked at Orva.

  “When we reached the lace shop my mistress instructed me to go down the street to Master George’s to purchase the lavender oil and balm that have given you such ease. I did as she bade me, and when I departed Master George’s I heard a voice calling for the watch, and, hurrying to find Lady Cicely, I discovered it was an apprentice from Mistress Marjory’s shop shouting that his mistress had been injured. I found the woman half-conscious in her storeroom.”

  There was a murmur of distress from the other women with the queen.

  “And my mistress was gone,” Orva continued. “The shopkeeper claims she was kidnapped. And certainly there was no sign of my lady, but Mistress Marjory knows more than she is telling, Your Highness. I sense it! She is hiding something.”

  At that moment the king burst into the queen’s privy chamber, startling the women there. “Sweetheart! What is it? Is the child coming?” He knelt by her side.

  “Ce-ce has been kidnapped from the lace shop!” the queen cried. “You must find her, Jamie! You must!”

  The king arose and, seeing Orva, said, “What is this all about?”

  Orva repeated herself, concluding with her suspicions about Mistress Marjory.

  “Why do you think the shopkeeper is involved?” the king queried Orva.

  “My lord, why would two masked bandits break into a lace shop at the exact time that the queen’s known favored companion is there? We were at the shop four days ago, and the lace had just come in, for Mistress Marjory said she had sent her nephew to the docks to retrieve it. Why, then, ask us to return four days later instead of the next day? Nay, the woman is duplicitous, and knows more than she is telling,” Orva declared.

  James Stewart nodded. “You may very well be right,” he said. “The captain of the watch suggested that perhaps the Gordons stole my mistress away to hurry the marriage that they want. He said bride stealing is a custom here in Scotland,” Orva added. “Would they do that, my lord?”

  “I hope they have not,” the king replied, “but Huntley is here, so let us find him and ask him. In the meantime we shall send for Mistress Marjory, and see what she has to say for herself. Bess, remain with your mistress. The rest of you ladies are dismissed, but will remain here in the queen’s apartments, for I forbid any gossip in this matter being circulated until the truth of it is known. Orva, you will come with me.” The king strode from his wife’s rooms, going to his small library, Cicely’s tiring woman in his wake. Once there he sent his page to fetch Huntley while ordering two men-at-arms to go into town and return with Mistress Marjory.

  Huntley came, greeting the king politely, his eyes going to Orva, who sat silent in a corner of the room.

  The king quietly explained that Lady Cicely Bowen had been taken forcibly from the lace shop. He did not mention the possibility that the shopkeeper might be involved. Instead he said, “Has your ki
nsman in his impatience involved himself in a wee bit of bride stealing? I shall not be pleased if I learn the laird of Fairlea has stolen her away. Especially if the Gordons of Huntley are involved.”

  “Given what has recently befallen my kinsman of Loch Brae I am surprised that you would ask such a question of me,” Huntley replied stiffly.

  “Perhaps Andrew Gordon has taken a leaf out of someone else’s book,” the king suggested.

  “If he did,” Gordon replied, “I was certainly not involved. ’Tis true the girl is a prize worth having, but her connections are too powerful for Andrew to attempt to force the issue. He is not foolish. Besides, he believes his charm will win the lass over.”

  James Stewart barked a hard laugh. “ ’Tis true. I have noted that Fairlea thinks highly of himself. Where is he at this time, Huntley?”

  “On his lands,” Lord Gordon said. “I stopped to see him three nights back on my way to Perth. He was overseeing the refurbishing of his late mother’s chambers for his anticipated bride. Besides, his favorite mistress was about to drop her whelp. It’s his first child, and he has a soft spot for the mam even now. The wench went into labor the morning I departed. It would have been impossible for Andrew to keep his promise to her and get into Perth to steal Lady Cicely. I only just arrived myself a short while ago.”

  “Then,” said the king, “I will accept your word he is not involved. But if I find out later to the contrary that he is somehow enmeshed in this situation I will punish him severely, and he will not have Lady Cicely as a bride.”

  Lord Gordon of Huntley nodded. “I will stand by your side as you mete out your judgment, my lord, but I know Andrew is not so dim-witted as to bride steal.”

  “It is possible that the shopkeeper may know something,” the king said slowly. “Do not send to your kinsman until I have had more time to straighten this out. I do not need an enraged suitor here muddying the waters of my inquiries.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Huntley replied, and then he bowed himself from the king’s presence.

  “I think he tells the truth,” the king said to Orva.

  “Aye, but that does not mean the laird of Fairlea isn’t involved in this,” she noted.

  “Let us see what the shopkeeper has to say for herself,” the king remarked. “You will wait here with me until she is brought for questioning.”

  Orva said nothing more, for who was she to converse casually with a king? They waited. And then a knock upon the door of the king’s library came, and it opened to reveal two sturdy men-at-arms. Between them was Mistress Marjory. They half dragged her before James Stewart. The woman looked terrified out of her mind, and briefly the king felt sorry for her, but then he considered that if she had played any part in Ce-ce’s abduction, she should be frightened of him. He was her king, and his pregnant wife was distressed by her best friend’s absence and possible fate. He did not invite the woman to sit. Instead he stood, and Mistress Marjory quailed as he towered over her.

  “Well, madam, and what have you to say to me? Are you involved in this chicanery? The truth now!”

  “I . . . I was attacked,” Mistress Marjory said. Her legs began to shake.

  “That we know,” the king said sternly. “What I have asked you is if you were involved in Lady Cicely’s abduction, madam. Orva thinks you were, and I believe her instincts are correct. Tell me the truth! If you do your punishment will be mild. But lie to me, madam—and I will know if you do—then my wrath will be most severe.” James Stewart looked the frightened shopkeeper directly in the eye and saw pure terror reflected back at him. It astounded him, for he did not think himself as someone so fearful. And then he realized it was his persona as king of Scotland that awed the woman before him. He would not get the truth if he alarmed her too greatly. He softened his tone. “I suspect you must have had a most excellent reason for doing what you did,” he said. “Could no one else have helped you?” he asked a bit more carefully.

  She shook her head, and silent tears began to slide down her pale, plump cheeks. “I’ve done my best since my husband grew ill and died,” she began. “I had to take care of the shop, do all he had done if we weren’t to starve, and mother my bairns as well.”

  “How many bairns do you have?” the king asked quietly.

  “Two, a lass born less than a year after we were wed. But the lad was slow in coming, my lord. Lucy was eight before he was born.”

  “Tell me what happened,” the king prodded gently.

  “Lucy was to watch after her brother while I managed the shop and the apprentices. The shop will be Robbie’s one day, and I must tend it well until he can take on the responsibility for himself. I promised my husband on his deathbed that I would do so. But my daughter met a lad, and while my son played they engaged their time in . . .” Mistress Marjory ceased her narrative briefly, and flushed.

  “Ahh,” said the king. “Aye, madam, you need not say it. I understand. Did he get the lass with child?”

  Mistress Marjory nodded silently, hanging her head in shame for her daughter’s transgressions.

  “And the lad would not accept the responsibility of his actions, eh?” the king said.

  The shopkeeper nodded again, now saying, “And then he came. He wanted my help in what he said was a small matter. I said until I could help my daughter I could not aid him. He asked me to tell him my woes, and if it were possible he would help us. So I did. He listened, and said to show his good faith he would see done what needed to be done if I swore I would then do what he needed me to do.”

  “You agreed,” the king said.

  “I did, my lord. He found Torcull, and had him wed to my daughter. Her child will be born soon, but ’twill not be a bastard. It matters not that Torcull ran off afterwards. My grandchild will be honest-born. But then my deliverer put me further in his debt, for he paid school fees for Robbie so he could learn to read, write, and do his sums. He said the laddie couldn’t run the shop one day without certain knowledge.” Then Mistress Marjory began to cry again.

  Orva had listened to the shopkeeper’s entire recitation quietly, but she could no longer remain silent. Jumping up from her seat in the corner, she placed herself directly before Mistress Marjory. “Who is he?” she demanded to know. “Who is this savior of yours? And why did he abduct my mistress?”

  “Why he did what he did I do not know,” the woman answered honestly, “but I do know who he was, for he told me so that I might send to him when your mistress was to visit my shop. He is the Douglas of Glengorm, a border lord.”

  “A borderer? A rough borderer? Sweet Jesu help my poor innocent mistress!” Orva cried. Then she rounded on the woman before her. “Oh, ’tis a wicked creature you are! My poor child stolen away to God only knows what kind of a fate!”

  “I did what I had to do to protect my own family,” Mistress Marjory defended herself. “Was I to allow a poor innocent to be born with the stain of bastardy upon it? Besides, he said your mistress would not be harmed. Lovesick he was, I can tell you. Like a green lad with his first lass.” She turned to the king. “What else could I have done, my lord, but what I did? My husband’s brother would take the shop from me if he could, and give it to his son. And what would happen to my Lucy and her bairn? What would happen to my son and to me? My difficulties did not arise from any mismanagement. They arose from a silly lass who has since learned her lesson, to her regret.”

  “But you betrayed Lady Cicely, and in doing so you have distressed my queen, who will soon deliver Scotland’s heir. For that you must pay a price, Mistress Marjory,” the king said quietly. Jailing the poor woman would not help, the king realized.

  “I but defended my family, my lord, as any man would have done,” she replied.

  “You have probably cost my mistress a good marriage!” Orva snapped angrily. “Do you think the proud Gordons will have her now after this misadventure?”

  “Your mistress, if the gossip is truth, is a wealthy young woman. And the Gordons of Huntley are not aver
se to adding to their wealth,” the shopkeeper said sharply. “They will wait to be certain she is not with another man’s child, and then they will have her happily. Her gold will buy her a husband.”

  “If your wench had spent less time on her back—” Orva began, but the king raised his hand to silence the two women.

  “Mistress Marjory, for the next twelve months, one-quarter of the profit from your shop will be forfeit to the queen,” James Stewart said.

  “My lord! There is barely any profit to be had at all! How am I to feed my children, my grandchild?” the shopkeeper protested.

  “But when it is known that your lace and ribbon is sought by the queen your business will increase,” the king said cannily. “If I punish you publicly for what you have done no one will patronize your shop, madam. You betrayed the queen’s friend. While my wife would understand your dilemma, she would not forgive you what you have done without some form of punishment. I shall send my man for an accounting monthly. Do not attempt to cheat me, for if you do I will show you no mercy at all.” He turned to the two men-at-arms. “Return Mistress Marjory to her establishment, and you will say nothing of what you have heard this day. I will tolerate no gossip in this matter.”

  The men-at-arms spoke in unison. “Aye, my lord!” They understood that this king was not be trifled with, for he did not make idle threats. They escorted the shopkeeper briskly from the king’s library.

  “Fetch my secretary to me,” James Stewart instructed his page. Then he turned to Orva. “I will send to Sir William Douglas, who is Glengorm’s overlord. Your mistress is safe, Orva. If this impetuous young laird is as lovesick as the shopkeeper claims he is, he will not harm your lady. I seem to recall my wife mentioning him briefly. Come, let us go and speak with the queen and reassure her,” the king said as he led the way from his library and walked briskly to his wife’s chambers.

  I wish I felt reassured, Orva thought to herself as she followed him.

  The queen’s ladies looked up anxiously as he entered, but the king said nothing, passing them by, Orva behind him, to enter his wife’s little privy chamber. Lady Grey was seated by the queen’s side on a stool, sorting colored threads. Both women looked up, and James Stewart smiled at them.