Mab herself brought a large platter of eggs that had been poached in marsala wine and cream, setting it before the newly married couple. She was grinning a broad, toothless grin. Small round trenchers of oat stirabout with bits of apple and spice were placed before the guests. There was a platter covered with rashers of both bacon and ham, fresh bread still warm from the oven, a crock of sweet butter and one of plum jam. This morning there were two small wheels of cheese: a hard round yellow, and a soft ripe French cheese.
Cicely raised an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?” she wondered aloud.
“Mab buys things now and again from passing peddlers,” the laird answered. “She must have been saving this for a special occasion.” He chuckled. He caught her hand up and kissed it as his eyes met hers. “I love you, my lady wife,” he told her.
Cicely blushed, and then she heard herself saying, “And I love you, my lord husband.” And as the words echoed softly between them she realized that they were true. She had come to love this rough-hewn border lord who had taken a bath for her on their wedding day. Who had loved her enough to steal her away, and incur the wrath of the king by doing so.
“Do you think Sir William will be back soon?” she asked Ian.
“Perhaps, but the deed is done whatever James Stewart may say,” he answered.
“The people love him because he has been hard on his lords,” Cicely remarked. “But it is not for the benefit of the people; it is for his benefit. He will rule Scotland, but he will not be ruled by his lords. Remember he has spent more of his life with the English court than here in Scotland. He fought with King Henry the Fifth in France. From what I have heard said of the king’s father, King Robert, James Stewart is his direct opposite. King Robert did not want to be king. He thought himself the most miserable of men, and only Queen Annabella’s good influence kept him from fleeing a throne he never wanted. But James Stewart wants his throne. He will be a good king of Scotland, but he will be its only king. I know for a fact that when spring comes he will plan a campaign to force the northern clans and their lairds to his will. He will unite Scotland.”
“He will have to overcome the lord of the isles,” Ian said.
“He will do exactly that,” Maggie MacLeod, who had overheard their conversation, said softly. “James Stewart can be a hard man.”
Cicely nodded in agreement, wondering what secret Maggie kept for the king, and why that secret burdened her so greatly.
Mab now returned from the kitchens carrying a large dish with plump baked apples. Bessie followed behind with a big pitcher of golden cream, and Flora brought small, clean pewter plates upon which the treats would be served. Baked apples were the laird’s favorite sweet.
“An excellent wedding feast!” the laird complimented his old cook. “I suppose we will have to keep you on, Mab, and not send you off to a cottage,” he teased her.
Mab preened with pleasure at his compliment, but swatted him fondly at his final remark. “And who, my lord, would cook as well for you as I can?” she demanded.
“If he ever throws you out, Mab, come and cook for me,” Father Ambrose invited.
Mab looked at the priest. “You may have taken holy orders,” she said, “but you are more like that old reprobate your da than is realized.”
“Your rheumy eyes are too sharp, Mab,” he replied with a chuckle.
“ ’Tis my ears that are sharp, priest,” she said wickedly. Mab curtsied to them all and returned to her kitchen, Bessie and Flora in tow.
“What did Mab mean?” Cicely asked Ian softly.
“My uncle may be a priest, but he has his needs,” the laird answered his bride.
She considered a moment, and then said in a shocked tone, “You don’t mean . . .”
“Many priests keep hearth mates, or have occasional companions to fill their needs. Given my uncle’s sire I would have been more surprised if he were celibate.”
“Oh,” Cicely said, pursuing it no further.
The morning meal over, the laird suggested to Cicely that they ride down into his village and announce their marriage to his Glengorm folk. The priest agreed it was a good idea, as Bethia continued her campaign of slander against the English girl. Cicely hadn’t been out of the house but for the gardens since she had come to Glengorm several months prior. There had been no need for her to go anywhere. The horses were brought from the stables to the front of the big house. Orva had brought her mistress her light brown fur-lined and -trimmed cloak. The garment had silver frogs to close it at its neckline. Cicely slid a pair of purple leather gloves upon her hands. She was then boosted into her saddle and her skirts were spread over her horse’s flank.
Cicely found the village charming. There were no more than a dozen cottages with turf roofs set about an ancient stone fountain. There was a small smithy, and a little mill on the edge of the fast-moving stream that ran through the wood at the rear of the village. Glengorm’s chapel was at the end of the street. The village had been set on the shores of the small loch, and there were several smallish boats drawn up on its rocky shore.
They stopped by the fountain, and Father Ambrose called out in a stentorian voice, “Good folk of Glengorm, come out of your houses this fine morning that God has given us, and hear your laird’s happy news.”
The doors to the cottages began to open, for the people inside already knew that their laird was among them. There was always someone peeping from the small windows of each dwelling. Tall Douglas clansmen, their women clutching their woolen shawls about them, and curious, bright-eyed children came forth, nodding and bobbing curtsies.
Father Ambrose mentally counted them, and when he was satisfied that the majority of the villagers were there he spoke again in his loud, deep voice. “Kinsmen, this morning our laird has taken to wife this fair maid. The contract is signed, the blessing given. Come now and greet the new lady of Glengorm, and then let us pray that her womb be fertile, and an heir be given to us within the year!”
The Glengorm folk began coming forward to congratulate their laird and Cicely. And then a voice shrieked out, “Glengorm is cursed! He has married the English witch!” Bethia pushed forward, a bony finger pointed at Cicely.
“I am not a witch!” Cicely defended herself.
“Of course ye’re a witch!” Bethia retorted. “Did you not ensorcell my master to send me away? I have served in the lord’s house for more than ten years. Then you came, and the laird sent me from him. It was surely witchcraft!”
“The only service you gave me was to steal from my stores, and then sell what you stole,” the laird said angrily. “You kept a slovenly house, and forced poor Mab to serve me slops unfit for even the pigs. No one is responsible for your fate but you, Bethia. And if you continue this slander of my wife you will find yourself and your man sent away from Glengorm. I will take pity on your mother-in-law, for she is innocent in this matter. But if your man cannot keep you under control, woman, you will both go. Do you understand me, Bethia?”
Bethia shrank back, cowering. Publicly exposed before her kin, she knew nothing she ever said again would be believed. She would take her revenge when she could, but she was wise enough to say nothing further, slinking away from the laird.
Seeing the look in her eye, Father Ambrose imagined her thoughts and called out to the retreating woman, “I can forbid you and your family the sacraments, Bethia Douglas. Remember that when you consider your next actions,” he warned her.
“My lady.” A tall, ruddy-cheeked woman with dark red hair stepped forward. “I am Mary Douglas, Marion’s mother, and you are most welcome to Glengorm!”
“Thank you,” Cicely said, relieved to see that, now that she’d been welcomed by this obvious leader of the village women, all the other women now pressed forward to greet her. She slipped down from her mount that she might walk among them, taking their hands in her hands, smiling warmly. Aye! She was home. Home for the first time in her life.
Chapter 10
Cicely was happy. So
very happy. A year ago if anyone had told her she would be the wife of a border lord—and content—she would have laughed and called them mad. She could hardly wait for the spring thaw or for Sir William Douglas to return to Glengorm to tell them that the king had accepted her decision to take Ian Douglas as her husband instead of Andrew Gordon. Certainly Sir William’s suggestion to solve the problem of offending the Gordons of Huntley would be accepted. It was, after all, most practical.
She and Ian had discussed what they would do with her dower. He meant to add a flock of black-faced sheep to his livestock, and keep the rest of the monies to dower any daughters they had. Cicely had decided she would put some of her dower aside as well, but she also planned on using some of it to enlarge their house. There would be a new space on the main floor for a library, and above it would be a large new apartment for them to share. Right now Ian would either share the bed in her small chamber, or she would share his bed in his chamber, but the rooms did not connect as in other houses, keeps, or castles. Their new rooms would face south, east, and west to guarantee warmth.
“And we’ll need a new, bigger bed,” Cicely told her husband.
Ian grinned. “I’ll still be able to catch you, ladyfaire,” he teased her.
And she laughed. “I don’t think I’ll really flee you, husband,” she admitted.
Their passion for each other had grown greater with each passing day. And their love had grown as well. She began to forget what it had been like not to be loved. She must write to her father and share her happiness with him. She knew he would be pleased and only wished he might know Ian. But when she had bidden Robert Bowen farewell Cicely had known that it was unlikely she would ever see him again. Leighton was too far away, and Ian could not leave his lands. So she wrote her letter, and waited for a peddler who was going south to take it with him.
And then one afternoon Sir William Douglas rode into Glengorm. He looked tired as he dismounted and made his way into the hall.
Ian came forth to clasp the hand of his kinsman in greeting. “It’s too late to move on to Drumlanrig,” he said. “You’ll spend the night. What news do you bring?”
Sir William shook his head and asked, “Have you wed her yet?”
The laird nodded. “Aye, in mid-February. Did James Stewart forbid it?”
Cicely hurried into the hall holding her pale blue gown up so she would not trip over it in her haste. “Sir William! Welcome back! I was told you had come. Tam! Wine for Sir William. He looks fair worn. Come, my lord, and sit by our fire. It may be April, but the day is still sharp.” She led him to a tapestried chair and gave him a goblet of wine from Tam’s tray. Then, sitting opposite him, she said, “Now, my lord, what news do you bring us? Has the queen birthed her prince, and are mother and child safe?”
“Princess Margaret was born in December, and the queen is again with child,” Sir William said. “The queen is strong, and says she will give her husband many bairns.”
“If she says she will, she will,” Cicely agreed. “Jo . . . the queen always keeps the promises she makes. But what of the king?”
“He is well,” Sir William said shortly.
“And?” Cicely probed.
“Duke Murdoch and two of his sons have been executed, as well as some others. It was to be expected, of course. The king holds the old duke, Murdoch’s father, responsible for all those years in England. He is showing no mercy to those he deems his enemies.” He turned to Ian. “You’ll have to go to court to present the patent you hold for your lands, kinsman. Every laird and earl in Scotland is required to do so. Do you have the patent to show? I know Glengorm goes back several hundred years.”
“The patent for these lands was given to us by King Robert the Bruce,” Ian answered him. “Aye, I have it. Do we have the king’s permission to wed?”
“Aye,” Sir William said.
“Thank God!” Cicely said, relieved. “When will the king turn over my dower to my husband, Sir William? Ah, but perhaps when we go to court with the patent.” She paused a moment. “Did the king give the queen’s young cousin to the Gordons?”
“Aye, they were wed before Lent. She’s gone from court now to Fairlea,” Sir William said. He had bad news for them, but hesitated to speak. If they were going to court they would learn soon enough, the clan chief decided. Why should he be the bearer of unfortunate tidings? “The king will be in Edinburgh next week. You should take that opportunity to make your peace with him, my lady,” Sir William suggested. “And you, Ian, will want to get the patent to your lands firmly confirmed. The sooner the better.”
“Glengorm has belonged to my family for centuries,” Ian said.
“Kinsman, the king is still angry at you for stealing Lady Cicely. And getting the Gordons to accept the queen’s cousin, Elizabeth Williams, was not easy. The cost was dear for her dower was not the size of Lady Cicely’s. Andrew Gordon had gathered his Fairlea clansmen together, and was prepared to ride into the borders to retrieve your lady. It took tact and diplomacy to calm the Gordons and get them to see the advantage of having the queen’s blood kin married to one of them.”
“I doubt it not,” Ian replied scornfully, “for they could see nothing but my ladyfaire’s wealth.”
“Bring your patent to the king, Ian, and let us be done with this. You will have to apologize for your actions as well,” Sir William said.
“Apologize? For what?” the laird demanded.
Cicely put a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “For abducting me and spoiling the king’s plans, my darling. You are a big enough man to do that, for you have me for a wife now, and I love you. You say you love me. Then make your peace with James Stewart, even if it means you must briefly bow your head in subservience to him.”
“Very well,” the laird of Glengorm said to his wife. “I will do this for you, but why the king, who claims to have fallen in love with his queen at first sight, cannot understand that the same thing happened to me is beyond comprehension.”
“Thank you, Ian,” she answered him. Blessed Mother! The king was overly proud, and so was her husband. But Ian Douglas had no real idea of how ruthless James Stewart could be. His decisive actions and firm grip on Scotland were not those of an easy man. Everything the king did was done with a purpose, and carefully thought out beforehand. She would have to apologize too, Cicely knew. And not just to the king, but to Jo as well. “Let us leave for Edinburgh in a few days,” she said.
The laird nodded. “I’ll have Ambrose bring me the patent for our lands. He has them.”
Sir William found himself relieved, but he feared for his kinsman when he learned how the king planned to take his revenge on Cicely and Glengorm. He hoped his kinsman had been speaking the truth these many months.
He spent a pleasant evening with Ian and Cicely, departing in the morning after a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed and two excellent hot meals. The laird and his wife would survive James Stewart’s wrath. He had seen for himself how much they loved each other. Their love would sustain them.
Ian was not pleased at having to ride to Edinburgh to prove his ownership of his lands, but every man and woman holding property in Scotland was required to do it. But spring was a busy season. There was some planting to be done. The cattle and sheep had to be driven to their spring meadows. And spring was the beginning of the raiding season. Hopefully with an English queen the raiding would cease, or at least lessen. It was not safe to leave one’s lands.
But then Andrew Grey of Ben Duff sent word that he would be going to Edinburgh also, and suggested that if Ian was going they might travel together, for safety’s sake. He would bring six men-at-arms with him. Ian sent the Ben Duff messenger back, saying he intended departing in two days, and that Cicely had to travel with them, as she was going to claim her dower from the king.
Cicely packed for them both, for the only way to get her husband off in a timely manner was to tell him when to get on his horse the morning of their departure. They had no intention of rema
ining long in Edinburgh. They would do what was necessary and quickly return home. She was certain Andrew Grey would agree, for he was leaving Maggie and their child alone. She packed lightly. They would both wear breeks to ride, for it was easier, and they could make better time. Orva helped her carefully fold her dark green velvet gown to wear when they spoke to the king. It had a wide, low neckline and fur-trimmed sleeves. She would tuck her long hair in her gold caul and set a sheer gold veil atop her head. Her garb would show respect for the king’s majesty but would not make her appear proud. For Ian she put in a fine silk shirt. He would wear his breeks with a length of his Douglas plaid slung across his chest and fastened with his clan badge. She folded the wool plaid and tucked it into a saddlebag.
“Will you take any jewelry?” Orva asked.
“A gold chain, three or four rings,” Cicely answered her. “I don’t want to appear overproud. I am the laird of Glengorm’s wife, and no more.”
“Nay, you are the Earl of Leighton’s daughter too,” Orva said. “You have married for love, ’tis true. You must never forget that, or let your children forget it.”
Cicely reached out and patted Orva’s hand. “I never forget who I am, but I also know I must beg the king’s forgiveness meekly so that he will continue to be our friend.”
“Lady Joan will protect you,” Orva said.
Andrew Grey and his six clansmen arrived just as the spring dawn was breaking. Cicely invited them all into the hall to eat, for the loss of half an hour would not trouble them, as the days were longer now. But as soon as they had eaten they departed. Six Douglas men-at-arms assured their protection. That night they stopped at a small monastery, where they were given shelter and a meal. They departed the following day at sunrise, reaching Edinburgh just after sunset. One of the Douglas men-at-arms traveling with them was married to the daughter of a man who kept a small inn on the edge of the town just off of the High Street. They would be staying there.
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