Cicely was relieved, however, when her female courses came upon her a week later. She was not ready to be with child quite yet. The summer came. The hillsides about Glengorm were green and dotted with the laird’s sheep and cattle. The Grahames were nowhere in evidence. The rumor was that that Ian’s unforgiving assault upon them had decimated their ranks to the point of weakness. They could not raid without allies, and right now the other English border families considered the Grahames unlucky.
Each day but for the Sabbath, Kier trained the men-at-arms in the art of warfare. Eventually they would be called upon to accompany the king into the Highlands. But for now the king satisfied himself with strengthening his hold on the lower half of Scotland. Most of the Highland chieftains had not sworn their fealty to James Stewart yet. If they did not within another year, James would have to call for a gathering of the clans in Inverness to accomplish that goal. Kier was relieved. No matter what Father Ambrose said, Kier needed to be with the king when he went north. Every border lord with an eye to his family’s future would want to go—would go. A man’s loyalty was judged by things like that. And with luck, by next summer he would have a son.
Cicely both intrigued and fascinated him. He had never known such a strong and independent woman. Yet she could hardly be called forward or bold. Still, her dedication to her duty to Glengorm was to be commended. When he went to war, Kier thought to himself, he would have no difficulty leaving Glengorm in her capable hands. He was fortunate in this wife he was soon to take.
But Cicely also tempted him. After boasting so loudly about his self-control, he was finding it difficult to be near her. He had not since that fatal night entered her bed, and she was quick to tell him shortly afterwards that she was not with child. He knew how very passionate she could be. Yet their celibacy did not seem to disturb her in the least. Had he not known her so well now, he would have wondered if she was sneaking off to meet with a lover.
Cicely would have laughed if she had been aware of his thoughts. She didn’t dare get too near Kier Douglas, for she truly lusted after him. She wasn’t in love with him. She might never be in love with him, but she wanted very much to be in his arms again. Ian had been tender, and he had certainly shown her a modicum of passion. But he had loved her so desperately that he had not allowed his emotions to overcome him but once or twice. And then his passion had never been as wild and fierce as Kier’s had been that night that they had shared.
And Cicely had been amazed by the passions he had unleashed in her. He had plumbed depths she had not known existed. He had touched her heart with fire and scorched her soul with the heat of her desire. She hadn’t realized that one could experience such emotions, and yet have no love for one’s lover. Cicely was realizing that there was a lot she didn’t know. She might have put him out of his misery but that he suddenly took to taunting her. But, realizing that his need was boiling as hotly as her own, she vowed to herself not to give in to his teasing.
It was Midsummer’s eve. The light would not fade entirely this day, just go to a lengthy dusk that would last the night through until tomorrow’s dawn. In the village by the shore of the loch a large fire was built, and its flames burned bright and high. There was food. There was ale, and as the evening wore on there was whiskey from someone’s still. Dancing about the fire began with everyone joining hands encircling the flames while Owen the piper played his pipes for them, the sweetly mournful music echoing about the hillsides. And eventually men and women, hand in hand, began disappearing from the festivities.
Cicely and Kier had come to join their clanfolk, Orva and old Mab remaining in the house watching over Johanna. Both women had declared themselves past such things as the frivolity of a Midsummer’s eve. The laird and his intended wife had briefly been civil to each other, to their mutual surprise. It would not last, of course.
“For a lass raised among the mighty,” Kier remarked, “you are comfortable among the clanfolk.” He thought she looked beautiful tonight dressed as simply as any village woman in a dark gray skirt of light wool, and a white blouse. About her waist was a sash of the gray-black-and-white Douglas tartan. Her legs were bare and her hair in its plait, although bits of her auburn locks had come loose as she danced.
“I would make a poor lady of Glengorm if I held myself apart from my clan’s folk, my lord,” Cicely told him. “My early years were spent on my father’s estates in a setting as rural as this one. Orva can tell you I played with the village children, ate in their cottages, and lifted my skirts to pee in the dirt like any other little girl there. Of course, once I entered the house of Queen Joan of Navarre I was taught to be a lady, as it was expected I would live at court one day when I was older. But I have never forgotten that earlier part of my life. Coming to live in the borders has brought those years back to me, and recalling them, I quite remember how happy I was in a simpler time.”
“Then you are happy now?” he asked her.
“I am content,” she answered him.
“I was raised in my father’s house,” he told her. “My stepmother was a gentle and kind woman who loved me as if I had sprung from her womb.”
“My stepmother was the spoiled daughter of a Florentine merchant who hated me before she even laid eyes on me,” Cicely remarked. “Orva and I were sent to live in our own cottage on my father’s estates. In fact, until I was almost seven Luciana never laid eyes on me, even though my father had been wed with her for several years. We met one afternoon quite unexpectedly.” Then Cicely related the incident to him, concluding, “And that is how I came to be raised with Joan Beaufort.”
He had known none of this, but now he understood why she was such a strong woman. She would not have survived those early years had she not been. “Your own mother died then,” he said.
“Aye, at my birth. I never knew her,” Cicely replied. “My father loved her very much. They grew up together. She was the daughter of Leighton’s steward.”
Now, here was another surprise. “Your father married his steward’s daughter?”
“Nay, they were to be married, but I came too soon, and she died,” Cicely said.
Kier was astounded. “Then you are bastard-born too!”
“Not really,” Cicely told him sharply. “My birth was declared legitimate by both Church and state.” She drew herself up proudly as she spoke the words. “And do not think my birth lower than yours, for I know your mother was a Stewart. My parents were distantly related. It has always been a custom with the older families in England to put their trust in their relations first. That is why my grandfather, and after him my uncle, and before them other male members of that branch of the Bowens, have held the position of steward and the trust of the earls of Leighton. You obviously do the same thing in Scotland, for has not Sir William seen that your rights to Glengorm were upheld when its legitimate male heirs were gone? Family is all-important, my lord.”
Again she amazed him. He had thought her flighty and spoiled, but she really was neither. “I am pleased to hear you say it,” he told her. He reached for her hand as they walked the path to the house.
“My lord?” Cicely said questioningly, but she did not pull away.
“Madam?” he queried her.
“Do you weaken in your resolve?” Cicely taunted him cruelly.
In response he pulled her into his arms so that their bodies were not quite touching. One hand tilted her face up, and his lips hovered dangerously near her. “Nay, madam,” he said, his breath brushing her mouth. “I have no weakness in me.” He smiled a wicked smile. “Can it be that you are weakening in your resolve?”
The distance between their two bodies was no more than a whisper. The lips not quite touching hers almost caused her to moan with her need to be kissed by him. But the mocking tone in his voice as he hinted that she was the weakling caused her to shove him away with an angry hiss as she stamped upon his booted foot. “My lord!” she said indignantly. “You presume far too much! You are arrogant beyond all bearing.” Then,
turning from him, she continued towards the house.
Kier laughed, following after her. “You are a little liar,” he accused her as he caught up to her. “Your lustful nature matches mine, although I believe it surprises you as much as it surprised me that night a few weeks ago.”
Cicely whirled, her hand raised to slap him. Kier caught her hand and yanked her close. “Let me go!” she said angrily.
His mouth brushed hers. “You cannot tell me you are not tempted,” he said, low.
“Yet ’tis you who are the aggressor, not I,” Cicely countered. Blessed Mother! What was the matter with her? She wanted his kisses! And she wanted them now! But she would not be the first to yield. Not even after they were married. This was a man used to getting his way with women. And he didn’t love her. “Let me go!” she repeated.
“You are mine,” he said through gritted teeth. His cock was preparing to burst through his breeks in his lust.
“I am not yours quite yet, my lord,” Cicely told him. “And forcing yourself upon me as you once did cannot make it so. We will be wed in a few months. Until then, leave me be!” She was starting to tremble with her need for him. She did want him. She did!
He released her suddenly and, turning, Cicely pushed past him, running into the house and up the stairs to her chamber. Closing the door behind her, she turned the key in the lock and stood gasping for air. She heard him stomp up the stairs. He stopped outside of her door. Cicely held her breath, but then he moved down the hallway. The door to his bedchamber opened and shut.
She didn’t know if she was unhappy or not. That one night they had shared had been like no other she had ever known. She had been astounded by the depth and the height of her own passions. It had been both exhilarating and frightening. But worse, it had tapped a vein of pure lust within her that Cicely had not known she possessed. And now all she thought of was lying naked in his arms again, feeling his weight on her as he impaled her with his great cock. She had not touched him that night, but, oh, she wanted to feel the weight of his twin stones in her hand, caress his length until he was groaning with his need for her.
But this was not love. And having known love, how could she settle for anything less? It was impossible. Unrealistic. Yet her father had loved her mother. And the king loved Jo. And Ian Douglas had loved her, even if she had not completely returned his feelings. What she felt for Kier, however, was not love. It was pure, unadulterated lust, and he felt it for her. Was that so wrong? Blessed Mother! Why could life not be simple?
Cicely climbed into bed. And why did she want to couple again so desperately with Kier Douglas, and he with her? They didn’t like each other. He was wedding her for expediency’s sake. He had told her most bluntly that she was nothing more than breeding stock for the Douglases. Why would any woman with all her wits desire a man like that? But she did, and the knowledge itself caused her a particularly sleepless night.
She did not see Kier for almost a week after that. He left word that he would be inspecting the far pastures. It was actually a relief, for the tension between them had been blazing hot on Midsummer’s eve. His absence, however, gave her time to cool her own ardor and begin to consider the wedding they would celebrate come autumn. And if she was to do her duty by Glengorm, it was time to seek a wet nurse for Johanna. Cicely walked down into the village to speak with Mary Douglas.
“Ah, Kate will be the lass for little lady Johanna,” Mary Douglas said. “Her two-year-old is about to be weaned, and her man gets her with child every time he takes his breeks off. She’ll be glad for the respite, and the coin.”
“How many children does she have?” Cicely asked.
“Four in six years,” Mary said. “Thank God she’s a good strong lass. Healthy. And her milk will be fresh. Bring your wee bairn down to the village tomorrow, and we’ll see how she takes to Kate’s teat. If you would like I will speak to her for you.”
Cicely nodded. “Aye, I should appreciate it if you would.”
“There’s to be a wedding then,” Mary probed gently.
“ ’Twas decided months ago by Sir William, and then approved by the king,” Cicely admitted. “But I would not agree until I had mourned Ian a full year, and Father Ambrose spoke for me as well.”
Mary nodded. “You were right,” she said. “Of course, I see the men’s side in this too. They are anxious for a male heir for Glengorm. Well, we all are, and one will come in God’s good time. But the date has been set?”
“October eighteenth,” Cicely told her.
“May I tell the village?” Mary asked.
Cicely nodded. “Aye, for ’tis certain Kier will declare a holiday.”
“You don’t love him,” Mary said candidly.
Cicely shook her head. “But I will respect him as my husband, and as the laird.”
“It’s as good a beginning as any, and better than some,” Mary replied. “And he knows his duty as laird. He will have learned that at Sir William’s knee. We are fortunate he was sent to us, and not one of the other Douglases. Some are very wild.”
July passed, and then August. Cicely and Kier were careful about each other, making certain that they never touched even by accident. For touching had been what had set off their lust on Midsummer’s eve. Johanna had taken happily to Kate’s breast, and Cicely’s milk had dried up—to her sorrow, for she had enjoyed nursing her daughter. Sir William arrived unexpectedly one September afternoon bringing news.
“The king has decided to come into the borders to hunt grouse at the end of the month,” he announced. “The queen will be with him, and she would like to visit her old friend, the lady of Glengorm.”
Cicely jumped up. “Oh, there is much to do if we are to receive a royal visit. How will we house them? We have no bedchamber large enough.” She turned to Kier. “Now do you see the advantage to enlarging this house, my lord?” She looked to Sir William. “How long will they remain with us, my lord?”
“At least three days,” he said.
“If,” Cicely said, “you could convince the king to join us the second week in October, we could manage to build a bedchamber to house them. It would be a temporary structure, of course, but it could be done and would be far more suitable than the small chambers upstairs. Have you ever seen them, my lord?” she asked Sir William.
“I have, my dear, and you are right. They are too small for the king and his wife.”
“Can they not stay somewhere else?” Kier inquired of his father.
Cicely shrieked. “Have you no idea the honor being done Glengorm?” she demanded. “You are such a d—” She stopped. “You have not considered how fortunate we are to have the king and queen visit us, my lord.”
“Cicely is right,” Sir William said.
“But the expense!” Kier complained.
“You are gaining a large dower from me,” she snapped irritably. “And Ian had promised me half of whatever he gained so I might enlarge the house. You, however, have said you mean to hoard my father’s gold all to yourself. Well, now you must spend some of it.”
“Do you realize the shrew I am being burdened with?” Kier appealed to his father.
“I am certain that you and Cicely will manage somehow, my son. I am just sorry you are not already wed. The king will want to know why.”
“Let Cicely and Ambrose explain that matter to James Stewart,” Kier said. “I would have wed her the morning after I first bedded her,” he told his father with a wicked grin. “But my lady insists upon the proprieties being observed.”
“Are you with child then?” Sir William asked anxiously.
“Your son took a sip of the cream, my lord, but the cow has not been his since, nor will it be until we are wed,” Cicely told the older man.
Sir William burst out laughing, and when his mirth had ceased he asked, “You have chosen a day, haven’t you?”
“October eighteenth, three days after the first anniversary of Ian’s death, my lord,” Cicely told him.
“I’ll be here.
” Sir William chuckled. “Now you must begin your preparations to receive the king and his queen in just a month’s time.”
“We will be ready,” Cicely promised the man who was to become her father-in-law. “The Douglases of Glengorm will not be found wanting.”
Chapter 15
With Kier at her side Cicely went to the village. Father Ambrose rang the church bell to assemble the clanfolk, who came from their cottages and from the fields around the village.
“We are to have a visit from the king and the queen,” Kier informed his clanfolk. “The lady will now explain what needs to be done before they arrive in October.”
“We have no bedchamber large enough to house King James and Queen Joan,” Cicely began. “We must build one before they come. It will have to be of wood, for there is no time to quarry stone.”
“There is enough stone in the nearby quarry already cut for a foundation and for floors,” said Mary Douglas’s husband, Duncan. “The priest’s da had intended to enlarge the house one day, but it came to naught. We can do this, my lady. Glengorm will not be found wanting when King Jamie comes calling with his queen.”
The clanfolk began immediately that same day. And in the days that followed they worked from first light until dark. The cut stones were dragged from their quarry, fitted together neatly, and secured with a mixture of clay and limestone. Trees in the nearby wood were felled, cut, and trimmed into boards. And while one group of men laid the stone for the floors, another began to raise the walls of the large chamber. The sound of hammering became so common that when it stopped the silence was deafening.
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