“I’ve never had a godchild,” Cicely said. “Aye, ’tis I who am honored, my lord.”
“And I also, old friend,” Ian Douglas said, and he smiled at Cicely, for being godparents to Lord Grey’s son was the first act they would perform together.
Sir William left in the morning to return to Perth. He wanted to go home to Drumlanrig, but this duty came first. Lord Grey departed as well so that his Ben Duff folk might know of the new heir, and his home be prepared for his wife and son. But on the following day it began to snow in the borders. As much as Maggie MacLeod wanted to go home, now she knew that she would probably have to remain at Glengorm until spring, when her son would be able to make the day-and-a-half journey. Cicely was happy to have her company.
And the laird of Glengorm realized that it was very unlikely Sir William would be able to return from court with whatever decision the king rendered. Cicely would have to spend the winter with him, but she did not seem unhappy about the news. Christmas came. A Yule log was dragged through the snow into the hall. There was greenery hung, and candles that Cicely had made earlier in the month for the holiday. Father Ambrose had decided it was safe to wait to baptize Torquil Grey until his father could be there.
On Christmas Day, Lord Grey managed to ride from Ben Duff to join his wife and son. As he had a responsible bailiff he had decided to remain at Glengorm with his wife and son until spring, when they might journey safely home. Ian could not remember when his home had been so filled with life and laughter. His younger brother, Fergus, came from the village with his wife, Marion, their two-year-old daughter, and their newborn daughter who had been born on the first day of December, as had Torquil Grey.
And for the first time in all of her life Cicely felt as if she had a real family. Living in a cottage with Orva on her father’s estates had not been the same. Neither had her formative years in Queen Joan of Navarre’s household, or the brief time she had spent at the court of England’s French queen, Katherine, or her even briefer time at the Scots court. Maggie MacLeod and Marion Douglas were like sisters to her. And there were the children, little Mary Douglas, and the two wee bairns. Lady Cicely Bowen suddenly realized that she was happy, truly happy, for the first time in her life. She found the informality of Glengorm more comfortable than court life had been.
If only she could decide what to do regarding Ian Douglas. She already counted Andrew Gordon gone, but had not really sorrowed over the loss. It was the laird of Glengorm who was driving her to distraction. She couldn’t make the most important decision of her life just because his kisses drove her wild. Or could she? But she had to admit to herself that she was coming to like him very much. Was he the man for her? Or should she return to court in the spring and seek further for a husband? She had to be sensible, practical. Certainly she wasn’t some silly lass who could be easily cajoled.
But in the meantime his caresses were becoming bolder, and Cicely found herself considering that it might be very nice indeed to be seduced by Ian Douglas. Or perhaps she should allow Jo and the king to pick a husband for her. Demonstrate her loyalty to them both for their kindness to her. But then if they chose her man, would he love her? Cicely had found she was becoming quite used to being loved. And she liked it. She wasn’t certain what to do. But then Ian Douglas made the decision for them both on a snowy late February day, and her fate was suddenly decided.
Chapter 9
The day had begun like any other winter’s day. Outside the skies were gray and lowering, with promise of another snow to come. The ewe sheep were beginning to drop their lambs in the small barn that kept them safe from the predators outside. When Lord Grey had returned from Ben Duff at Christmas he had brought with him two small white terrier pups, a male and a female but half-grown, for Cicely. The active little dogs had bedeviled the larger dogs in the hall until the single big wolfhound among the pack had taken the little male terrier by the scruff of his neck, shaking him gently several times before he set him down with a warning growl. Witness to this act, Cicely had laughed until tears came to her eyes, but from that moment on the terriers had behaved. Now they followed her wherever she went, sleeping at the foot of her bed at night.
The day was quiet. With little work to do the villagers were cooped up in their cottages. The house servants under Cicely’s firm hand kept the house in perfect order now while Mab dozed by the hearth in her kitchen, the main meal of the day already in progress as Bessie and Flora sat at the large table working and gossiping. Fergus and his family were back in their house in the village. Lord Grey and his wife were seated by the fireplace in the hall admiring Torquil, who, at two months, was becoming active. The baby had been baptized immediately after Christmas, for winter could be a dangerous time for a newborn infant.
The wolfhound, two greyhounds, and a deerhound sprawled sleeping before the large open hearth, their snores audible. Now and again one would open an eye to view the infant, who waved his arms about as he began to discover what he could do. Cicely sat quietly sewing on some new shirts for the laird. Entering his hall, Ian Douglas looked about and found he was a contented man but for one thing: He was not yet a married man, and he very much wanted to be. But Cicely insisted that she was not ready to make the decision that would bind them together for life. Oh, she encouraged his kisses and caresses, but nay, it could go no further than that, she insisted.
He looked at her now, her deep auburn hair plaited neatly into a single thick braid, her beautiful face set in serious contemplation as her head was bent over her sewing. He longed to take her to his bed, remove her gown, undo that braid, and spread her glorious hair about her shoulders. Then he would kiss her until she submitted willingly to him and admitted her love for him. The cock in his breeks tightened with his thoughts. Winter was half gone. Would she wed him in the spring? Or would she return to Perth? Yet there was nothing for her there now, and everything she could desire here at Glengorm. And then, realizing someone was standing by his side, he looked down to see Orva.
“You love her,” Orva said quietly. “I can see it. You want her. I see that too. What is it that holds you back, my lord?”
“She values herself so highly,” he said. “I fear what would happen if I forced the issue between us. She would surely hate me.”
“Perhaps for a little while, or perhaps not,” Orva replied. “I have seen her this way before. When my lady dallies it is best for you to make the decision that you know she wants but cannot quite bring herself to make. Who knows whether your kinsman has been able to convince the king to give the Gordon laird the queen’s cousin. And who knows if he will even want this lass. You had best set your mark firmly upon my mistress before the snows melt, if indeed you truly want her for your wife, my lord,” Orva advised him, and then she left him to contemplate her words.
The laird of Glengorm stood for several more long moments considering what Orva had said to him. The tiring woman had raised Cicely, and surely knew her better than even his ladyfaire knew herself. And she was encouraging him to do what must be done if Cicely was to be his wife. Winter was half gone, but there was still time. The day ended with a faint smear of color on the western horizon that indicated sunset.
The hall was warm, and filled with laughter as the two trestle tables below the high board were filled with the laird’s men-at-arms. The supper was served and eaten. The laird’s old piper, Owen, played, and to everyone’s delight Lord Grey and the laird of Glengorm danced among the crossed swords laid upon the stone floor of the hall, for entertainment. Finally the hall emptied but for Ian Douglas, who was seeing that the doors of the house leading to the outside were locked and barred for the night, and Cicely, who went about snuffing out the candles, extinguishing the hall torches, and seeing that the fire was set for the night so that it would burn low, but not go out.
She looked about the hall, pleased with what she saw. The stone floors were clean. The furniture was polished. The tapestry hanging over the sideboard had been beaten free of years of dust until
the subject of its design was once again visible to the eye. Soon the two chairs of the master and mistress that stood behind the high board would have new tapestried cushions, for she had begun them just after Twelfth Night. Turning, she stared into the low fire. She was not quite content, but she was happy. Feeling his strong arms slip about her waist, she leaned back against him.
He bent down to kiss the side of her neck. The fragrance of white heather assailed his nostrils, and Cicely sighed. She was wearing a loose velvet gown called a houpeland that had a short waist and flowing sleeves with a high collar that had a slashed opening at her neck. It was dull orange in color and went well with her pale skin and auburn hair. One arm still about her waist, Ian slipped his hand into the opening of her gown and past her camisia, cupping her breast in his palm.
He kissed her ear now, murmuring softly into it as he felt her stiffen, “ ’Tis time for this now, ladyfaire.” Gently, ever so gently, he fondled the soft globe of flesh. His callused thumb stroked the nipple over and over again until she sighed once more. Ian smiled to himself. Cicely might not know it yet, but she was more than ready to be loved. Removing his hand, he turned her about, kissing her hungrily. Her sensuous little mouth yielded, her lips parting to let his tongue forage within her mouth, a skill he had only recently taught her. Their kisses were heated and grew deeper, more passionate.
Cicely moved her hand to caress the nape of his neck, threading her fingers through his unfashionably long hair as he pulled her tighter against him. She could feel his hard body pushing into hers, his muscled legs, his strong torso. She pressed herself against him, the masculine scent of him filling her nostrils, rendering her almost dizzy with a sudden longing she had never before known, but recognized. How long had she wanted him? And why was her body suddenly reacting in so wanton a manner?
Then against her thigh she felt a thick ridge of hard flesh. Never had she been held so closely, or felt a manhood pressing against her. Cicely knew she should thrust him away now. But she didn’t want to, for that column of desire he exhibited excited her. For the first time in her life Lady Cicely Bowen was pierced with desire and overcome with lust. His tongue swirled about hers, and she moaned deep in her throat. Together they slid to their knees on the stone floor before the warm hearth. “Ian!” she managed to cry before his mouth took hers again in a wild, fierce kiss.
He pushed her back upon the floor, lying half atop her. “Let me!” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Please!” His hands pushed her gown, her chemise up.
Blessed Mother! Cicely knew she should push him away. If he had her maidenhead of her she was lost! Did she love him? Could she marry him? Blessed Mother, help me decide, she cried out silently. But no immediate answer came. His fingers caressed the soft inside flesh of her thigh over and over again until she thought she would scream. It felt so good, and she wanted to know what came next.
A single finger brushed up her slit, then pressed past her nether lips, causing her to gasp with surprise. He explored the wet flesh slowly, and then his finger touched the tiny nub that lay between those nether lips. He began to play with it, his fingertip teasing it until Cicely was squirming. Her eyes were tightly shut, so she did not see Ian watching her face as he brought her to pleasure, but her eyes flew open as she experienced it, and she blushed as he smiled down into her face.
“Was that nice, ladyfaire?” he asked her softly.
Wordlessly she nodded, her eyes closing again as he kissed her once more. And then she felt him probing her carefully, inserting a single long finger into her body. She tensed once more, but he murmured softly against her mouth, reassuring her, and Cicely relaxed. The finger moved within her, and she whimpered as once more he brought her to pleasure. She actually made a distinct sound of satisfaction. Opening her eyes, she looked up into his face and saw the passion there. It was too late now to forbid him. But Cicely also realized she didn’t want to enjoin him from what she knew must come next. She realized to her surprise that she wanted it every bit as much as he did.
Reaching up, she touched his face with her fingertips but said nothing.
He groaned, and briefly buried his head in her shoulder.
“You mustn’t stop now, my lord,” Cicely heard herself saying.
“You should be my bride, and we should be in our marriage bed,” he replied, realizing he meant exactly what he was saying, yet he had begun this sweet madness.
“The moment would be lost, my lord,” Cicely told him. “Do not lose it for us.” Then she pulled him back down into her arms and kissed him passionately.
He kissed her back, hungrily, again and again. His cock ached and was as hard as iron, and there was only one place to soothe it. Mounting her carefully, he positioned himself, his hand guiding the burgeoning manhood to the narrow opening of her sheath. He rubbed himself against it several times. Dear Jesu, don’t let the pain I give her be too great, he prayed silently. Then he began to push himself into her virgin’s body.
Pulling her head from his, Cicely pressed her lips tightly together as she felt the head of his male member just enter her. As he moved forward she felt as if she were being impaled upon a large pole. She whimpered as he carefully moved himself back and forth several times, helping her to grow used to his invasion, and Cicely did feel her body beginning to ease. “It feels nice,” she admitted shyly to him.
“There is more to come, ladyfaire,” he warned her softly, and then before she considered his words, Ian thrust deep into the girl beneath him, stifling her cry of amazed pain with his mouth. Then he lay quiet a moment, and felt her tears upon his cheeks. He kissed those tears, and licked them from her face. “I have had your virginity of you now, ladyfaire, and it will not hurt again,” he promised her. Then he began to move on her, slowly at first, and then with more rapid, quick strokes of his manhood.
The sharp burning had come as a surprise, but then, no one had ever discussed the intimacies of coupling with her. Perhaps Orva would have had Cicely been a bride. But she had been too eager, and now it was done. But as his cock flashed smoothly back and forth Cicely began to feel intense delight. The pain was quickly forgotten, and without even understanding what she was doing she found herself wrapping her legs about his torso so he might delve deeper into her. It was done with an instinct as old as Eve’s. She sighed, and then as the intensity grew she clutched at him, gasping as it burst over her, and she was filled with a satisfaction she had never contemplated. “Oh, Ian!” she cried out to him softly. “Oh, Ian, yes!”
The sweet sound of her voice caused his creamy tribute to burst forth. With a groan of utter pleasure he rolled away from her, saying, “Oh, ladyfaire, yes!”
They lay upon the stone floor beside the hearth for what seemed some length of time until Cicely’s terriers awoke, and came to nuzzle and yap at her. Quickly she pushed her gown back down and sat up. She didn’t know which way to look, for she was suddenly shy with him. Standing, she said, “I should go to bed, my lord.”
The laird jumped to his feet. “I will go with you,” he told her, taking her hand.
“We should wed, if you still wish it,” Cicely said softly.
“If I should still wish it?” He looked astounded by her words.
“I have proved wanton, my lord, and you have had the best of me. Do you still wish to wed such a girl as I’ve proved to be?” Cicely asked, blushing deeply.
Ian Douglas burst out laughing. “Cicely,” he said when he had once again regained control of himself, “I have been trying to get you to the altar for several months now. I finally decided the only way you would agree to marry me would be to seduce you as thoroughly as I could. I love you, ladyfaire. I have wanted you for my wife since the first day I saw you over ten months ago. I have not changed my mind. With your permission I shall speak with Ambrose in the morning.”
“It does not disturb you that I am wanton?” she asked him, surprised.
“Cicely, I want you to be wanton, but of course only with me. Now let us go to bed. I wan
t to see you naked, and I want to kiss every inch of you before morning,” the laird told the blushing girl.
“You have twice now called me by my name,” she noted.
“I think now, perhaps, I have the right to do so,” he responded as he led her to the staircase, followed by the two terriers, who bounded gaily along ahead of them, and waited expectantly by the door to Cicely’s bedchamber. But the laird decided he would not permit them inside her room this night. Barred, the two little terriers began to yap and howl outside of her door.
“Let them in before the whole house knows what we’ve been about,” Cicely pleaded with him, laughing.
“I’ll not share the bed with them,” he grumbled.
But the terriers seemed to understand that their residence in their mistress’s room now depended upon their good behavior. Admitted to her chamber, they immediately lay down before the hearth and went to sleep.
Twisting the key in the lock of the bedchamber door, the laird turned to Cicely. “May I undress you?” he asked her softly, and she nodded. He turned her about and unlaced her gown, drawing it down so that it puddled about her ankles. Beneath it she wore a soft linen camisia with long sleeves that came to just below her knees. He had earlier undone the ribbon at the camisia’s neck, and so he bent to gain the bottom of the undergarment and lifted it off of her. For a moment he held the crumpled garment in his hand, staring down at the blood upon it. He had had no previous doubts, but this certainly proved without a doubt that Cicely had been a virgin. He dropped the camisia to the floor and stood silent for a moment, admiring the graceful curve of her back as it swept down from her neck to meet the perfectly matched twin halves of her buttocks. Her shapely legs were bare, for she wore no leg coverings in the house.
“Why do you not speak?” Cicely asked him shyly.
The Border Lord and the Lady Page 21
