The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  He was here. The man who would take Glengorm. Cicely looked up.

  “I am Kier Douglas, Sir William’s son, my lady,” he said. “I have, as you are aware, been sent to keep you and Glengorm safe.”

  “You are welcome to Glengorm, Kier Douglas. I am called Cicely,” she responded in a quiet voice. “I am your cousin’s widow.” She motioned him to a chair. “Will you sit, my lord? I am sure there are questions you would have answered.” Cicely turned her head. “Artair, some wine for my lord.”

  “Your servants are well trained,” he noted.

  “Aye, they are most dutiful,” Cicely said.

  “For the moment I have no questions, but when I do I hope you will be able to answer them for me.” He took the small goblet of wine he was offered, smiled at her, and then sipped at the beverage, for he was thirsty.

  “How long have you been riding today?” she asked politely.

  “We began when the full moon was at its zenith,” he replied. “Perhaps we have ridden for ten or twelve hours.”

  “Have you eaten?” She seemed concerned.

  “At dawn, but not since,” he told her.

  “I knew you would come today,” Cicely said. “I told Mab to make a plentiful meal, for you would be hungry.”

  “Mab?”

  “Glengorm’s cook. Ian used to say she has been here as long as Glengorm has been here. She is old, but quite lively,” Cicely told him. “She’ll want to meet you, my lord. And she is the one who will be able to answer all your questions. I have been here but two years. Mab is Glengorm’s heart, and knows everything that is happening here, but you will see.” She gave him a small smile.

  He returned the smile. “Aye, I shall want to meet her,” he agreed.

  “I have had a chamber prepared for you. It was my husband’s room,” Cicely told him. “It has its own hearth, and there is a small chamber adjacent to it for your servant, if you have one or want one.”

  “Thank you, madam,” he responded. “I have a body servant who has been with me since I was five years old. I am now thirty-two.”

  “You are older than my husband was,” Cicely said to him. “Ian was twenty-nine on his last natal day. Oh!” She had pricked her finger and, putting it to her mouth, sucked the soreness from it. “I should not attempt to sew when I am speaking,” she said wryly.

  “You are sewing for your expected infant?” he asked, knowing from the size of the garments that it was exactly what she was doing. But he was trying to keep the conversation, stilted as it was, going with her. If she was to be his wife eventually, he needed to know her better. And then he wondered if she knew of the plans his father had made for her.

  “Aye,” she answered, holding up a tiny gown for his inspection. “In the beginning it matters not if it is a lad or lass—the clothing is still the same.” Cicely folded the little garment back into her lap and said candidly, “I am trying not to weep, for I fear to harm my child, but it is difficult, my lord.” Her voice trembled.

  Kier Douglas was not an easy man, but his heart softened as he looked into Cicely’s blue-green eyes. “Perhaps you should weep, madam. Penning up your sorrow may harm the child more than giving in to it. Why not ask your Mab? Her age will have certainly given her the wisdom to know such things.”

  Cicely pressed her lips together and nodded silently. “Mayhap you are right, my lord. I feel such responsibility for this child in my belly. He is the heir to Glengorm. I must bring him forth safely. I must see that he grows to manhood so that he may wed and sire another generation.” Her lovely face was one of complete concern.

  “I see you know your duty, madam, but I am here now to take the burden of Glengorm from your shoulders,” Kier Douglas said. “You need fear no longer.”

  “Thank you,” Cicely said softly. A tear slipped down her face, and she suddenly felt fragile. But she wasn’t some weakling! She had always been strong. Ian had loved her fierce spirit. What was the matter with her?

  Kier Douglas didn’t know why he did it, but he reached out to touch her clasped hands reassuringly. When he did she looked up at him with startled eyes and burst into tears. He was astounded. He didn’t know what to do. “Madam,” he said helplessly. Should he take her in his arms and comfort her? But before he could make the decision what to do another woman hurried into the hall.

  She gathered Cicely into her embrace, stroking her hair and crooning to her. “There, there, my dearie, my child. Weep now, for it is past time.” And as the young woman cried in the comfort of her arms the older woman looked at at Kier Douglas and said, “I am Orva, Lady Cicely’s tiring woman, though once I was her nurse.”

  “I am Sir William’s son Kier Douglas, sent to watch over Glengorm,” the man said. He arose from his chair. “I will leave you now to comfort your mistress.”

  “Why did you make her cry?” Orva asked him suspiciously.

  Kier almost smiled, thinking Quin was as protective of him as this woman was of her charge. “I didn’t. I was just kind, and it was time she gave vent to her grief,” he said. Then he turned and walked from the hall to find Quin.

  Chapter 13

  Seeing aflight of stairs, Kier followed them up to a landing, where he found himself in a hallway. “Quin, where are you?” he called out.

  “In here, my lord.” His man returned, sticking his head out of a doorway halfway down the hall. “These quarters are not as big as those at your father’s house, but they’re snug and clean. And there’s a wee chamber next door for me.”

  Kier stepped into the room and looked about. One lead-paned window. A hearth, now burning, a chair angled towards the warmth to one side of it. A large curtained bed, a table on the left side of it with a taperstick set upon it, a chest at its foot. His own trunk had been placed against the wall, and next to it was a slightly larger table with a pitcher, a ewer, and a towel. “ ’Twill do nicely,” he said, going to the basin and pouring some water into it. “I’ll want the dust of our travels off me by the time I sit down to the meal,” he said to Quin.

  “I saw the lady, my lord. She’s a pretty lass, but so sad-looking,” Quin noted.

  “She’s still in shock over her husband’s death, I suspect, and just beginning to accept the truth of it. She’ll mourn for a time,” Kier told his man. “She has a strong sense of duty to my late cousin—and to Glengorm, which is to the good.”

  Quin nodded. “Aye, a woman with a stalwart character towards her family is one who can be trusted, my lord. She’s going to make you a good wife.”

  “For the love of God, man, keep such thoughts to yourself!” his master admonished him. “Ian Douglas is barely cold in his grave. I understand my father’s thinking, and I agree with it, but now is not the time to put forth a marriage proposal. Besides, my father will have to convince the king to permit it.”

  “Och, he’ll do it,” Quin said with a grin. “Your da has a clever tongue. Why, he could get the rooster to invite the fox into the hen-house, he could.”

  The manservant was correct in his assessment of his master’s father. Sir William Douglas was a persuasive man. Not certain how his son would approach the matter of the widow of Glengorm, he had ridden from his border home to Perth. The weather was beginning to turn now, and he couldn’t be certain that he would be able to return home before the winter hit with a vengence. But it was important that the king know everything that had transpired at Glengorm. That he approve Sir William’s decision to send Kier Douglas to Glengorm to defend the land and keep the widow safe. But most important, he needed the king to accept that Glengorm was Douglas land, and to be disposed of by the Douglases, and no one else.

  In another time this might not have been difficult, but James Stewart—with his demand that every laird and earl in the land prove ownership of his holding—was not making it easy. Sir William knew that Ian had brought the ancient patents to his lands, and left them with the king for examination of their authenticity by the king’s legal council. He also knew the patents were genuine. Bu
t the king’s pride had been damaged when Ian Douglas had abducted Lady Cicely Bowen. He had taken her dower, but Ian had made it plain he didn’t give a damn. It had been Cicely he loved. So the king would take his time restoring the patents to Glengorm’s laird, intimating before he did that they might not hold up to scrutiny. James Stewart wanted his revenge.

  Of course, now it was a moot point. Ian and his brother were dead. But until the king restored the patents belonging to Glengorm to the Douglases, they could not legally claim the lands. Sir William knew he would have to proceed very carefully in the matter. He debated whether he should go first to the king, or first to the queen. He decided upon the king, lest he offend James Stewart’s pride unintentionally.

  The court was gathering for the Christmas holiday. In the great hall all was festive with pine boughs, holly, and branches of juniper berries. There were bunches of rosemary tied with red ribbons. There were fine beeswax candles, and the lamps burned rose-scented oil. The hearths were filled with enormous Yule logs, and the flames danced across their length. Sir William moved easily through the crowds, greeting acquaintances now and again, nodding to others, who nodded back.

  He was finally able to reach the area where the king stood with his uncle, the Earl of Atholl. Sir William waited to be recognized. James Stewart knew he was there, for the Douglas chieftain had seen a quick flick of the royal eyes in his direction. This was a game the king played to keep his lords in their proper place. Sir William was wise enough to be patient, and finally his patience was rewarded.

  “Sir William!” The king greeted him jovially, as if just realizing he was there. “You are welcome back to our court, but I thought not to see you again until the spring.”

  “I should not have left the borders, my liege, but that I had news I thought you should hear. I will await your convenience, however.” Now, Sir William thought, we will see just how piqued his curiosity is by my words and my arrival at his court.

  The king nodded and then turned away, but Atholl murmured something in James Stewart’s ear and the king turned back. “Come,” he said, leading Sir William into a nearby alcove. “Is the border agitated, my lord? Is it the English? I cannot imagine anything else that would bring you all the way to Perth, and with winter settling in,” the king said.

  “My kinsman, the laird of Glengorm, has been killed. His brother too,” Sir William began in a low voice. “There are no male heirs unless the bairn that Lady Cicely carries is a son. I have sent one of my sons to Glengorm to defend it, and watch over the lady. Her child is expected in the spring.”

  “Why is Glengorm dead?” James Stewart asked, surprised and curious.

  Sir William told the king the tale of the Grahames.

  “He slew them all?” The king sounded impressed.

  “All who rode against him that day, my liege. There are plenty of Grahames left. They breed like conies in a summer’s field. I think, though, it will be a long time before they steal from us or attack us again,” Sir William said.

  “You did not just ride to Perth to tell me all this. You might have sent a messenger,” the king said astutely. “What do you want of me, my lord?”

  “Nothing that is not the Douglases’ by right,” Sir William said boldly.

  “You want the patents to Glengorm back,” the king noted.

  “Aye, my lord, I do. Glengorm is Douglas land, and should remain so.”

  “If I give you the patents back—and my legal councilors have declared them legitimate, by the way—whom will you put in charge there? A border house needs a strong man. Can this son of yours manage Glengorm and defend it against attack?”

  “Aye, he can,” Sir William answered, “but if the lady births a son the bairn is, by direct right of inheritance, the new laird. In that case my son would remain to raise the lad. A daughter, however, can be dowered, but she cannot be Glengorm’s heiress, for as Your Highness has so wisely noted, a border house needs a man to defend it.”

  The king laughed to have his words turned on him. “You won’t be like old Gordon, will you?” He chuckled. “His heiress’s husband has taken the Gordon name, but the direct line dies with Huntley.”

  “The direct line at Glengorm rests on the sex of the lady’s bairn,” he said gravely.

  “And the lady?” James Stewart said.

  “With Your Highness’s permission I should like her to wed my son, Kier,” Sir William answered. “You should know that his mother was a Stewart.”

  “I did not know,” James Stewart said, surprised again. This was the result of being out of Scotland for so many years. There was much he did not know, but was learning.

  “A distant kinswoman of Your Highness’s. She was a widow. Albany forbade our marriage, but our son was born nonetheless. He is a good man. You may rely upon him,” Sir William told the king. “I hope you will entrust Kier with Glengorm, should it be necessary. He will not disappoint you.”

  To his surprise the king nodded. “It would be a good solution.”

  Then Sir William surprised himself. “And her dower?” he asked. “Will you restore it to her? This time she weds with your approval and your permission.”

  “I will restore the portion remaining,” the king agreed. “Perhaps then her father will stop hounding the goldsmith in London who sent it to the goldsmith in Edinburgh from whom I obtained the lady’s monies. The goldsmith dares not offend me, but he is frightened because his English counterpart says he should have given the monies only to Lady Cicely; the Earl of Leighton is threatening him. I had promised the queen when she gave me my son that I would restore Cicely’s dower portion to her, but while she is with child a third time, she has birthed only two daughters. Still, they are healthy, praise God. I mean to match my eldest, Margaret, with the dauphin of France. One day she will be a queen, Sir William. Aye, you may tell Cicely that when she weds with your son I will turn over a dower to him.”

  “It is too soon, of course, for Kier to even approach the lady,” Sir William said. “She mourns my kinsman, and Ian is scarce gone two months. May I speak with the queen, Your Highness? I should like to tell her of these developments.”

  “Nay, go back to the borders before the snows become heavy,” James Stewart said. “I know that is where you would rather be. I will inform the queen of what has happened. And you may carry our affections to Lady Cicely. But keep in mind that I will expect fighting men from both Drumlanrig and Glengorm when I am ready to go into the north against the lord of the isles. You will be summoned then. Remember my kindness to you this day. Speak with my secretary, and he will give you the patents to Glengorm to carry back to your son.” Then, with a nod, he turned and went from the alcove.

  Sir William Douglas was relieved that his journey had been so successful, and that he had accomplished exactly what he had wanted to so easily. But, of course, now he and his son would owe the king a favor, payable upon demand. And kings never asked for little favors. He would instruct Kier to begin training men for battle, so that when the call came, Douglas clansmen would march forth from both Drumlanrig and Glengorm to do the king’s service. He remained the night at Scone Palace, sleeping in the stables with his horse. The following morning before departing he found the king’s secretary, and was given the patents to Glengorm neatly enclosed in a thin leather pouch. He rode directly for Glengorm. It was almost Christmas.

  Kier was glad to see his father, as was Cicely. “I have brought back the patents for Glengorm,” Sir William told her. “They have been approved and authenticated by the king’s men. And I bring you the greetings and the affections of James Stewart.”

  Cicely gave a small laugh. “I suspect you would have brought neither of these things, my lord, had my husband been alive. But I am glad to have my child’s inheritance substantiated and approved. And it is comforting to know my child will have royal favor.”

  “My son will keep the patents safe,” Sir William told her with a smile as he handed the pouch to Kier.

  “Of course,” Cicely
replied. So that was how it was to be, she thought. Well, there was little she could do about it. But one thing concerned her: Would they allow her unborn son to claim his rightful inheritance? But now was not the time, she sensed, to broach such an issue.

  “There is no Christmas in the hall,” Sir William noted.

  “We are in mourning,” Cicely reminded him. “Will you come to the board now and eat, my lords?” she invited.

  Later in the evening, when Cicely had left the hall, Sir William chided his son. “Do not allow her to make a saint out of her late husband, Kier. Ian was far from that. You will soon be the master here. Glengorm’s people should not have their loyalties divided. Even if she births a male, you will still be the lord in fact until the lad reaches his majority. She must put all unnecessary mourning from her by the time her bairn is born. And you will need to take her for your wife as soon thereafter as you can. I want no chance of another courting her, or misunderstanding the situation here.”

  “She will wed me, Da. You need have no fear of her finding another,” Kier said.

  “I will speak with the priest before I depart tomorrow,” his father said.

  Ambrose Douglas listened to Sir William’s plans for Glengorm the following morning. He didn’t disagree with the clan chieftain, and Cicely would indeed have to be married again to protect her, and to protect the child she bore. But he was concerned that, should Kier use too heavy a hand with her, the widow of Glengorm would refuse him. “If she says nay I cannot force her, my lord. Is your son a man who can court a woman and win her over? Or will he do this because he has been told to do it, and because it is the expedient thing to do?” the priest asked candidly.