“A bairn? I’m going to be a father?” Ian Douglas’s face lit up with pure joy, and he looked down into her tearstained face. “Ladyfaire, I thank you! And I promise not to get killed, for if I were who would teach my son all he needs to know?”
“It could be a daughter,” Cicely said softly.
“Nay, ’twill be a lad, I’m certain,” the laird of Glengorm answered her, grinning.
“No more raiding,” Cicely told him.
He shook his head. “Nay, I will not promise you that, for if I did not redress any attacks on my lands, my livestock, my people, I would not be a fit laird. And I would be open to attack from all and sundry who believed me a weakling. Raids are a part of life on the border, ladyfaire, but Glengorm has been more fortunate than most. The sheep stolen by the Grahames were still in their summer meadow, which is across the loch. It is the most distant of my lands. There was but a single shepherd and dog, and if he hadn’t jumped into the loch and swum across to sound the alarm we probably wouldn’t have known who took the sheep. I shall keep that meadow better guarded in the future, and I will build a small stone redoubt on the hill above, to be manned so that we will be able to see who is coming from that direction. But I will never permit an outrage against me to go unpunished, ladyfaire. Weakness leads to far worse things than small wounds.”
“Then I will pray the Grahames have learned their lesson, my lord,” Cicely told her husband. “May they keep to their own side of the border.”
“When is the bairn due to be born?” he asked her.
“Late March or early April,” she told him. “ ’Twill be a spring child.”
He put an arm about her, giving her a small hug. “I shall take him raiding with me as soon as our son can sit a horse,” he teased her, and Ben Duff laughed aloud again.
“You will do no such thing!” Cicely said indignantly.
“Ah, Ian, my friend, you are about to see the love of your life change into a mother before your very eyes. It has already begun, as you see, for she is protective of her child against all comers, even its father,” Andrew Grey said. “I can’t wait to tell my Maggie of this happy event.” And on the following morning he departed with his men and his cattle for his home.
Several days later Fergus came to tell his brother that a party of Grahames was on the other side of the loch calling for a parley.
“We’ve got to get that redoubt built before winter,” the laird said. “I don’t like it that the Grahames are suddenly coming and going as they please on my lands.”
“Don’t go!” Cicely begged him.
“Ladyfaire, ’tis a parley, not a battle to the death,” he told her gently. “ ’Tis better we talk than fight, isn’t it?” Giving her a quick kiss, he left the hall with Fergus.
The two brothers walked down the hill through Glengorm village and onto the shore that edged the water. The Douglas clansmen had come out to stand behind their laird in a show of strength. Across the loch upon the other shore was a small party of men. The loch was not particularly wide and so they were able to shout across it.
“What do you want?” Ian Douglas called across the water. “You are trespassing.”
“Are you the laird?” a stocky man demanded to know.
“I am,” Ian said.
“ ’Twas your band of clansmen who killed three of our kin?”
“Your kin stole from me, and when I reclaimed my livestock they attacked me,” Ian said. “I was within my rights.”
“You owe us a forfeit for those murders,” the stocky man retorted.
“You owe me for the three lambs that were missing from my flock, and undoubtedly slaughtered to fill your fat belly,” Ian told him. “Consider us even.”
“If you will not pay then we shall take our revenge,” the stocky man said, and as the words left his mouth a hail of arrows were shot by the mounted men across the narrow loch at the laird and his people.
Fergus Douglas flung himself in front of his brother, taking the arrow meant for the laird directly into his own heart. As Ian bent to catch his sibling he felt himself pierced sharply. Kneeling, his dead brother cradled in his arms, he howled with anguish. Then, dropping Fergus onto the sandy shore, he stood up, shouting to his clansmen not injured, “To horse!” They ran for mounts, and a village lad, anticipating the laird, had already run up the hill to the house, shouting for horses to be saddled.
Cicely, hearing the commotion, came running from the hall. “What has happened?” she asked of no one in particular as she saw their two stablemen leading horses from the stables down the hill, and clansmen racing up to meet them, clambering onto the animals and racing back down the hill again.
Ian Douglas had wisely kept out of his wife’s line of vision. He had broken off the shafts of the two arrows that had hit him, so if she managed to catch a glimpse of him he would not from a distance appear wounded. Grasping the bridle of his stallion, he pulled himself up onto its back and marshaled his clansmen about him. “Not one of them lives!” he said grimly. “No mercy! We can catch them fastest if we swim our horses across the loch.” Then he led them to the shore and into the water, and urged the beast under him across to the far shore.
The Grahames had already disappeared over the hill. They had not been certain whether it was the laird they had killed or not. But the sound of grief that had pierced the air after their volley satisfied them that they had gained their revenge on the Douglases of Glengorm. They rode swiftly, for they assumed they would be followed, but by the time their pursuers rode around the loch and up the hills the Grahames would have managed to obscure the trail by sending two horses here, and another three there, in different directions. The Grahames considered themselves quite good at making an escape.
They were therefore very surprised to discover the Douglases of Glengorm catching up to them, and not an hour had passed. The sound of their war cry—“A Douglas! A Douglas!”—echoed in the clear autumn air. The stocky man leading the Grahames spurred his horse onward, shouting to his companions to scatter, for that would make it more difficult to catch them. But their tactic was countered, for each rider or group of riders breaking off from the main body of Grahames was followed by several Douglases. And each Grahame was caught and killed.
Unhorsed and on his knees, the stocky man looked up at Ian. “How did you come so quickly?” he wanted to know.
“We swam our horses across the loch,” the laird answered him. “Do you not know the motto of the Douglas family? ’Tis Jamais arrière, ” and when the Grahame looked up at Ian, confused, he said, “It means ‘Never behind.’ ” He raised his sword.
“Wait! I can see we did not kill you,” the stocky Grahame said. “Whom did we kill? At least tell me that before I die.”
“You killed my younger brother,” the laird told him even as he plunged his sword into his enemy’s chest and twisted it hard to ensure the man died. Then, yanking his blade from the stocky man’s chest, he wiped it off on the fellow’s shirt.
One of his men walked over to the Grahame and, pulling out his dirk, slit his throat. “Just to be certain, my lord,” he said.
The laird nodded, and then a wave of both nausea and dizziness assailed him. “Help me to my horse,” he said to his clansman. “I am beginning to feel the effects of my wounds.” He swayed, and the clansman, putting an arm about him, got Ian to his horse, and then up onto the stallion’s broad back.
Mounting his own animal, the clansman said to his companions, who had now rejoined them, “Protect the laird! He is wounded.”
With every bit of willpower he had, Ian Douglas managed to remain atop his horse while they returned to Glengorm. Finally, as his mount came to a stop before the house, he was overcome by a wave of weakness, and began to fall. But the clansman who had first come to his aid was there again, half lifting him from his saddle, half walking, half dragging him into the house, where Tam and Artair ran forward to help. One of the serving women saw and ran to fetch Cicely. Another hurried to find old Mab in her k
itchens. The two women entered the hall almost simultaneously. Cicely shrieked.
“Get him onto the high board quickly,” Mab instructed the men. She turned to Cicely. “He’s alive, my lady, and I’ll need your help. Go and fetch hot water and clean cloths so I may clean his wounds.” She had her basket of healing stores with her.
Cicely ran from the hall to do the old woman’s bidding. She prayed Mab knew what she was doing, for Cicely had never seen a wounded man. She didn’t know what to do. Neither she nor Jo had been particulary interested in the healing arts when Joan of Navarre had offered to teach them years back. And, of course, their foster mother had later been accused of witchcraft, although she was cleared of all the charges leveled against her. Now, it appeared, it would help her to know what to do with a wounded man. If Mab could teach her she would learn this time.
In the hall Mab saw the two arrows with their broken shafts. One had pierced the laird’s shoulder in the front. The other had lodged in his chest just above his heart. She shook her head. These were both serious wounds, and would have to be packed tightly to stop the bleeding once she removed the arrows. “My lord,” she said to him.
Ian opened his eyes. “Where is my wife?” he asked weakly.
“Gone to fetch water and cloths for me, dearie,” Mab said to him.
“They killed Fergus, but we slew them all, Mab. My brother is avenged,” the laird told her. Then he closed his eyes, for it had been a great effort to tell her what he did.
Cicely returned from the kitchens carrying a pile of clean cloths, Bessie behind her with a small cauldron of hot water. “Is he all right, Mab? He has been wounded. Where? What else do you need? Blessed Mother! I don’t know what to do.” Her voice trembled. “I did not think to see a wounded man.”
“Now, my lady, there is naught to it,” Mab said soothingly. “Just watch what I do, and do what I bid you. You’ll learn.”
Cicely nodded nervously. She bent over her husband, and Ian opened his eyes.
“They killed Fergus,” he told her. “Go into the village and see if any others were killed, ladyfaire. Comfort Marion. Mab will take good care of me.”
Cicely looked to the old lady, and she nodded reassuringly. “I’ll teach you the arts of healing another day, my lady,” she promised.
Cicely hurried off to do her husband’s bidding. She was ashamed to be so useless, and vowed to herself it would not be so again. Being the lady of Glengorm meant more than just being gracious to visitors, managing her servants, and tending her gardens.
“It isn’t good, my lord,” Mab told him.
“I know,” Ian said. “I felt this enormous burst of strength and energy sweep over me after they killed Fergus. But then when it was over ...”
“You have two arrow wounds, my lord. You broke off most of the shaft from each, but I must draw the arrows from your flesh, and I fear you will bleed heavily from both, less perhaps from your shoulder. Have you pain anywhere else?”
“My right arm is beginning to grow numb,” he answered her.
Mab nodded. Then, turning to Artair and Tam, she said, “I will need your help, lads. Removing the arrows will give the laird great pain. You must hold him steady while I pull them so those arrows do not damage him further. I’ll take the one in his shoulder out first. When I tell you, I will want you to hold him down by his upper shoulders for me.” Stepping down from the high board, she reached for the small decanter of whiskey on the sideboard and brought it back with her.
The two young men had nodded in response to her instruction. Although they looked uncomfortable, nonetheless they did as Mab had bidden them.
Mab carefully studied the placement of the wound. It was at the bottom of his shoulder, almost beneath his upper arm. She placed her hand flat on his chest, the shaft between her thumb and her forefinger. The fingers of her other hand wrapped tightly about the shaft, she nodded imperceptibly to her two helpers, who immediately did as she had bidden them. Pressing down just slightly, she yanked the shaft from his shoulder in one smooth movement.
Ian Douglas screamed, and then, mercifully, fainted. To Mab’s relief this wound did not bleed greatly. She poured a bit of the whiskey on it, and then decided that while he lay in a stupor it would be best to remove the other arrow. This time, however, she drew the jagged shaft slowly from the laird’s broad chest. The wound spurted blood, but briefly. Again she poured whiskey into the injury.
He moaned and opened his eyes. “Jesu, Mary, that hurts, old woman!”
“I’m sorry, laddie,” she told him, “but they’re both out now. I’ll bind your wounds for you.” She set quickly to work, gently patting the ooze from each wound, covering it with a salve made from goose fat and acorn paste, then binding it. When she had finished she said to Tam and Artair, “Help your master to his bed, lads.” And to the laird: “I’m going to mix you a soothing draft, my lord. It will ease the pain.”
And while Mab had seen to the laird, Cicely hurried into the village to learn whether anyone else besides Fergus Douglas had been killed. She was relieved to learn that no one had, although several of the men had been wounded by the flight of unexpected arrows. Fergus’s body had been carried to the large cottage that was his. He was already lying upon the tressle table in the main room of the cottage, which was filled with women.
Cicely went immediately to her sister-in-law. “I am told by women in the village that he put his own body before that of the laird. Fergus Douglas was a hero, Marion. You can be proud of him.”
Her two small daughters clinging to her skirts, Marion Douglas said bitterly, “I should rather he be here by my side. Damn the Grahames, and damn all the English!” Then she gasped at what she had said, paled, and looked at Cicely.
“Aye,” Cicely said. “Damn the Grahames, but do not damn all the English, for we are not all bad.” She took Marion into her embrace and kissed both of her cheeks.
Marion began to weep. “Is Ian safe?” she asked between sobs.
“Mab is tending him now,” Cicely answered quietly. “He asked me to come into the village to see who else had been injured or killed. I am relieved that while many were injured, no one else was killed. Fergus’s murderers are now dead, and will not bother us again.”
“What will become of us without Fergus?” Marion wept.
“You are Douglases,” Cicely said. “Ian will take care of his kin.”
“Of course he will,” Marion’s mother said. “You are foolish, daughter.”
“I must return to the laird now,” Cicely told them, and she left the big cottage.
Mab was waiting for her in the hall. Taking Cicely aside, she said, “I will not lie to you, my lady. The laird’s wounds are bad. Especially the one near his heart.”
Cicely was overcome with fear. “Will he live?” she asked.
“Perhaps he will, and perhaps he won’t. I am no physician, my lady. I got the arrows out, and cleaned and bound his wounds. I brought him a soothing draft into which I had infused some poppy juice. He will sleep for many hours, and sleep is the greatest healer. On the morrow I will teach you how to dress his wounds, for they must be changed regularly if we are to keep ill humors from infecting him.”
Cicely nodded wordlessly; then she ran from the hall upstairs to the bedchamber where her husband now lay. He was so pale, she thought as she brushed a lock of his rich chestnut brown hair from his brow. She had never seen an injured man. Never realized a man could look so frail, so helpless. Kneeling by his bedside, she prayed, and then, rising, she lay down on the bed next to him.
But she did not sleep. She dozed in fits and starts for hours, but mostly she lay awake listening for the sound of his breathing. And when he began to snore lightly for a short time, Cicely thought it was the best sound she had ever heard. As the night waned Ian began to moan with his pain, for the poppy was wearing off. Cicely got up and saw that both of his wounds were oozing through the bandages. What should she do? Blessed Mother, why had she not listened and learned from her fost
er parent?
“Water,” Ian croaked.
Cicely stumbled across the chamber and poured some water from the pitcher into a small goblet. Hurrying to her husband’s side, she braced him while she put the goblet to his lips. “Is that better?” she asked him as he sipped.
“Aye,” he said huskily. “I was parched.”
“Do you hurt?” she asked shyly.
“Aye, but ’twill ease with another of Mab’s soothing drafts,” he said.
“It isn’t even dawn yet,” Cicely told him.
“Marion and her bairns?”
“She’s devastated, but the wee ones don’t know what’s going on at all. They’re so young it’s not likely they’ll remember their da—more’s the pity, for Fergus was a brave man, and a good one,” Cicely said quietly.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Of course,” she replied.
“This has not disturbed the bairn you carry?”
“Obviously it hasn’t,” Cicely replied. She had been so worried over Ian she had forgotten entirely that she was with child. “Ian, I am sorry I did not know what to do when you were wounded,” she said. “I never thought to be in a place where my husband could be injured. Mab has promised to teach me what I must know.”
He laughed weakly. “You’d have been in worse difficulties if you had wed Gordon. The Highlands bubble constantly with clan disputes, more so in the north and west, but also in the eastern regions. Only the Grahames would have been so dishonorable as to send a flight of arrows at a group of unarmed men. You understand why I had to go after them, ladyfaire, don’t you? It is important that you comprehend.”
Cicely nodded. “It will be some time before the Grahames, or any of their ilk, consider attacking Glengorm. There was no choice but to go after them, Ian. I know it. Even if poor Fergus hadn’t been killed you would have had to chase after them and punish them. Had you not we would have been vulnerable to attack from all and sundry. Word of the carrion birds hanging above the moor and hills will travel quickly. The Grahames will regret their boldness, and all in the borders will know of it. Glengorm will be the safer for it. Aye, my lord, I understand now what I did not before.”
The Border Lord and the Lady Page 27
