The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  Reaching the wood, Cicely couldn’t resist taking her slippers off, lifting her skirts, and wading in the water. She squealed, for it was icy, and quickly withdrew herself, slipping her footwear back on. It was so beautiful. So peaceful. Her two terriers sat in a blaze of golden sunshine. With a reluctant sigh Cicely turned from the stream and the wood, calling to the dogs, and together they returned across the meadow to the house.

  Orva was already in the hall. She looked her mistress over critically, noting a faint damp spot on the skirt’s hem. She shook her head at Cicely, but she was smiling.

  “It will dry,” Cicely said. “I couldn’t resist the meadow or the stream. It’s the most perfect day, Orva. Do you think that bodes well for this marriage?”

  “I think it does, my lady,” Orva answered her mistress.

  Descending the stairs into the hall, Kier Douglas heard Cicely. For some reason he found her words encouraging. Was it possible she might just be learning to like him? He hoped it was so, for while he might say he didn’t like her, the truth was that he had come to like her very much. But as she always responded in kind to him, he would not tell her of this change of heart he was having. At least, not until she admitted to liking him. His father had always warned of giving a woman the upper hand. He walked into the hall where the king, the queen, and Lord and Lady Grey were now waiting.

  “Good morrow, my liege, Your Highness.” He greeted the royal couple with a bow. Then he turned, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He had never seen Cicely look so beautiful. “Good morrow, madam. Are you ready to wed me without further ado?” He bowed to her.

  He was handsome. There was simply no denying it. That coal black hair. The bright blue eyes. They would have beautiful children, she thought. “Good morrow, my lord,” she greeted him. “Aye, I am ready to wed you.” He was wearing dark wool breeks and a white shirt, and his gray-black-and-white Douglas plaid was slung across his chest, held by his silver clan badge—the family motto, Jamais arrière, meaning “Never behind” engraved about its circular shape. On his head was a black velvet cap with an eagle’s feather, which denoted his position as laird in this place.

  Father Ambrose hurried in, carrying the marriage contracts. He bowed to them all, and then spread the parchments on the high board, where an inkstand and quill had already been set. “This family will be honored if you and the queen will witness these documents, my liege,” the priest said. He looked about the hall. “Where is Sir William?”

  “I am here, Ambrose,” the bridegroom’s father said, stepping from among his men.

  The priest handed the inked quill to Kier Douglas. The laird signed and handed the quill back to Ambrose Douglas. Re-inking the quill, he handed it to Cicely. She signed with a delicate flourish. Then came the witnesses. King James. Queen Joan. Sir William and Lord Grey. “ ’Tis done,” the cleric said, sanding the signatures. “Now let us get to the Mass, and I will give this couple the Church’s blessing.”

  The wedding party walked from the hall and out into the bright October day. The entire village had turned out to see them. As they reached Glengorm Church, Mary Douglas stepped forward to press a small bouquet of late pink roses mixed with white heather into Cicely’s hand. The bride smiled and thanked her clanswoman.

  Everyone who could crowded into the church. Mab’s great-nephew Gabhan acted as Father Ambrose’s acolyte. The sun shone through the narrow windows of the church. They had no glass, and in the winter, even with the shutters closed tightly, the church was cold and drafty. Today, however, the last of midautumn’s warmth made the building habitable. The air was filled with incense today. Beeswax candles, not tallow, flickered on the small altar. Only the wedding party had rough seats. The rest of the congregation stood until the Mass was concluded. Then Father Ambrose blessed the newly married couple, who departed Glengorm Church, their clansmen and -women following behind them.

  In the hall trestles and benches now covered the floor. The entire village crowded in, joining the king’s men at the tables. Casks of October ale were broached. Everyone had brought some sort of drinking vessel to use. There were fresh-baked cottage loaves on all the tables, with crocks of sweet butter and small wheels of hard yellow cheese. Platters filled with rashers of bacon and slices of ham were brought for the guests, along with hard-boiled eggs. At the high board Mab had prepared a special breakfast of poached eggs in a cream sauce that was flavored with marsala wine. The was a platter of sliced salmon, another of ham, and trenchers filled with a vegetable potage, along with warm cottage loaves, butter, cheese, and plum jam. The wine cups were never allowed to be less than half-full.

  The final course served below the salt were platters of plump baked apples sweetened with both sugar and cinnamon. This was a very rare treat, for both sugar and spices were not available as a rule to the clanfolk. But at the high board Mab herself brought in a platter of pears poached in white wine and honey, to be served with delicate sugared wafers. The meal finished, Duncan Douglas, Mary’s husband, stood up.

  “God rest Laird Ian, and God bless Laird Kier and Lady Cicely!”

  There was the scraping of benches as all in the great hall arose to raise their mugs, shouting with one voice, “God bless Laird Kier and Lady Cicely!”

  The king leaned over, murmuring to Kier, “You have won their hearts. I am glad to know that Glengorm is in safe hands. Now sire a son on your good lady so these lands are secure unto the next generation.”

  Cicely heard the king’s words. Her eyes met those of her husband, and she blushed as he said, “Now that, my liege, is a command I fully intend obeying with all my heart.”

  James Stewart chuckled, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his queen’s small hand as Owen the piper began to play for their entertainment. “And when that son is born, Kier Douglas, I will stand as his godfather. That is my gift to you both this day.”

  Chapter 16

  Their wedding day had been declared a holiday. There were games both rough and gentle. The men played one in a meadow, kicking a sheep’s bladder that had been stuffed with straw towards goals set up at either end of the field. Even the king joined in, and was very adept at getting this ball to its goal. In another field archery butts had been set up, and shooting contests were held. Both Cicely and the queen were excellent archers. Kier was amazed, for he had not considered that his bride might be adept at such a sport. Footraces were run. There was one contest in which the men heaved large round stones as far as they could, the stone reaching the greatest distance being declared the winner. And there was even a caber toss, but few were adept at it, and Mary Douglas’s husband, Duncan, battled with Father Ambrose until the priest beat him. Both men were gasping with their efforts, and dripping with perspiration as they filled their mugs with ale and toasted each other’s sportsmanship.

  “The priest is most familiar with the people, isn’t he?” the queen remarked. She almost blushed, admiring Ambrose Douglas’s muscled, hairy chest.

  “He is related to almost everyone in the village,” Cicely explained. “He is one of them, and that is good. He was Ian’s uncle.”

  “Ah, so that is why he could not take the lairdship for himself,” Joan Beaufort said, and Maggie nodded, agreeing. “He’s certainly a fine figure of a man, Ce-ce.”

  “He couldn’t have had it anyway, Jo. He was born on the other side of the blanket, the last of his father’s bastards, but most favored,” Cicely explained.

  And throughout the day there was music. Several men in the village played the pipes; there were two with small reedlike instruments, and a man with drums. They joined with Owen, Glengorm’s official piper, in playing for the bride and groom. And there was dancing. Holding hands, the wedding guests danced in circles to the music. Kier, Lord Grey, the king, and several other men danced the traditional sword dance, their booted feet moving gracefully between the crossed swords as they nimbly leaped and cavorted. The Glengorm folk were impressed that their king, who had spent most of his life in Engla
nd, was so adept at this particular dance native to Scotland.

  The trestles had been brought from the hall to be set up in front of the house. All day long those tables were filled with food that was eagerly eaten. Casks of October ale were set up and available to everyone. And then finally the day began to wane, the sun setting in a blaze of crimson and gold splendor behind the hills. The air grew cooler; the darkening sky above them was dotted with bright stars.

  When night fell the hall was empty but for the king, the queen, the Greys—who would leave in the morning with Sir William—and the bridal couple. The king played a game of chess with the Douglas chieftain. The queen sat, her feet upon a stool, little Johanna in her lap. Finally there was nothing for it but to bid their guests good night.

  Cicely bent and kissed the queen’s cheek. “Good night, Jo. I will send the baby’s nursemaid to take her. It has been a very long day for us all.” Turning, she curtsied to the king and Sir William. “Good night, my lords,” she said. Then Cicely looked to Kier. “You will see to the house, my lord?” she asked him politely.

  “I will, madam, and join you when all is secure,” he told her.

  Cicely departed the hall. Shortly afterwards a nursemaid came to gather up the baby. The queen arose at that point. “Good night, my lords,” she said. Then, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder, she murmured, “Do not linger, my lord.”

  The king nodded, but Sir William knew what Queen Joan was attempting to tell them all, and smiled to himself. Then he made a rather foolish move upon the chessboard, almost chuckling as the king’s eyes lit up and he crowed, “Checkmate!”

  Then it dawned upon James Stewart what Sir William Douglas had done. He looked at the chessboard, and then a further enlightened grin split his face. He nodded at his opponent. “Cleverly done, my lord,” he said, standing up. “I will therefore bid you good night.” He crossed the hall and entered the new chamber at its end.

  Maggie MacLeod was already pushing her husband up the stairs to the small chamber where they slept.

  The Douglas clan chieftain stood as well and, with an answering smile, bowed. “Good night, my liege,” he called. Then, turning to his son, he said, “I believe Tam has prepared a bedspace for me here in the hall. ’Tis been a long day, and I am not as young as I once was, but I am content to have seen you wed this day. The match is a good one for you, Kier. And she will do her duty in all things, I know, for she has been bred to it. Now lock up your house. Then go plow your mare well and deep. I will expect a grandson from you within the next year.”

  The laird of Glengorm’s eyes danced with amusement at his sire’s directive. “I live to obey you, my lord,” he told him. Then he went off to make certain all was secure as, chuckling, his father pulled off his boots and climbed into his bedspace to sleep.

  Cicely had ordered that her bedchamber be prepared for her wedding night. It was slightly larger than Kier’s chamber down the hall, and the bed was bigger. The fresh sheets were scented with lavender. Orva helped her mistress remove her gown and shoes. After brushing the gown, she folded it away into a trunk, placing the shoes in a smaller trunk. Cicely handed Orva the gold caul she had removed, leaving her long hair falling loose, along with her few small pieces of jewelry but for the narrow red-gold wedding band Kier had slipped on her finger when Ambrose had blessed them this morning. Then she washed her face and hands in the basin of scented water, scrubbing her teeth with the cloth she used for washing.

  “Go along now, Orva,” she told her tiring woman. “The fire is set for the night. My lord cannot come until the other guests have departed the hall.”

  “Good night then, my lady,” Orva said, and hurried out.

  Cicely climbed into bed. It smelled wonderfully fresh as she leaned against the pillows. It had been a long day, but it had been a good one. She was not unhappy any longer, but she could not help but wonder if Kier would ever come to care for her. Oh, she knew she would never be loved again as Ian Douglas had loved her. His love had been a rare thing, but Cicely knew now that she wanted Kier to at least like her. She fell asleep, not awakening even when he entered the chamber.

  Kier Douglas looked at Cicely as she lay in their bed. When she was asleep, all the wariness in her face was gone. She was truly beautiful with her delicate coloring. The cheeks of her pale skin held the hint of peach, quite in keeping with her auburn hair. Her eyebrows arched elegantly above her closed eyes, and the auburn eyelashes brushing her cheeks were tipped in gold. He pulled his clothing off until he stood naked by the side of the bed, debating whether to wake her or not. Deciding to allow her to awaken on her own, he climbed into the bed, noting with just the faintest irritation that she was wearing her chemise. He would remind her that in the future he wanted her naked in their bed.

  Kier lay upon his back with his eyes closed. Beside him Cicely slept peacefully, her breathing rhythmic. He felt himself relaxing next to her calm warmth. It had been a long day for him as well, and he easily drifted off into sleep after a few minutes. She was his now, and Glengorm was his. Kier Douglas felt true contentment for the first time in his life. It was a good feeling, he thought just as he fell asleep.

  Cicely awakened to see the gray light of predawn coming through the wooden shutters of her chamber. And then she was suddenly aware of the body beside her. Giving a little gasp, she turned to look at him, realizing that he was naked. Blessed Mother! It had been their wedding night, and she had fallen asleep! Yet he might have awakened her when he came in, but he hadn’t. Did he find her so unattractive, dislike her so much, that he hadn’t cared to wake her?

  And then she realized with shock that his blue eyes were staring up at her. “So, madam, you have finally awoken,” he said. “It is past time we did what is expected of us. Will you remove your chemise, or shall I rip this one from you too?” His eyes were laughing at her, although his demeanor was deadly serious.

  “It’s almost light,” Cicely answered him.

  Kier chuckled. “Not quite,” he replied.

  Cicely unlaced the chemise, and then drew it over her head, discarding it on the floor by the bed. She made to lie back.

  “Nay, stay as you are,” Kier said. “I would admire you, madam. Your breasts are quite beautiful. Why do you blush? ’Tis truth.”

  “You did not wake me when you came in,” Cicely said softly.

  “I was tired, and you were tired too,” he said. Then, reaching out, he cupped her face in his big hand. “You looked very pretty as you slept, madam. I will admit to being tempted.” The hand caressed her face. “You are more than passing fair, Cicely.”

  Her heart raced madly. He was the most irritating man, and yet she felt strongly drawn to him. Far more than she had been to Ian. Why was it so? she wondered. Why was she more fascinated by this man who professed to dislike her than she had been by the man who had given her his unconditional love? It was irrational.

  “You are pondering something,” Kier said, “and you should not be.”

  “Then what should I be doing, my lord?” Cicely asked him.

  “This!” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. “I have not had the pleasure yet of kissing my wife, and I briefly recall her kisses are sweet.” His lips returned to hers, feeling her mouth willingly yield to his, parting just enough to allow his tongue to find hers and begin to stroke it.

  He had wrapped his arms about her, and Cicely now lay almost beneath him. She was breathless with the pleasure his kisses gave her. But then she stiffened. She remembered how Ian’s kisses had left her weak with delight. Kier’s kisses were very different, yet they seemed to have a similar, if not the same effect on her. She felt brief guilt at enjoying Kier’s kisses.

  He lifted his dark head, his lips breaking away from hers. “What is the matter?”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. “I thought of Ian,” she said softly. “How his kisses and your kisses are the same, and yet they are not.”

  “Did you really love him then?” Kier was curious.
He had not considered that she might have actually cared for his cousin. Ian hadn’t really courted Cicely. He had abducted her, and she had had no real choice but to wed him.

  “He loved me,” Cicely said, low, and she blinked away her tears.

  Looking into those blue-green eyes of hers so filled with sadness, Kier was overcome with a wave of jealousy. “Did you love him?” he repeated in a hard voice.

  “Aye, but not as he loved me,” Cicely whispered.

  “My cousin, God assoil him, is dead, madam. You are my wife now, and you owe me, my family, a duty,” Kier said coldly.

  She was startled by his words. Why was he so angry at her? “My lord,” she replied as formally, “I know my duty, and will do it.”

  In response he kissed her again, but this time his kiss was fierce, demanding. But what did he want of her? he wondered. And then with startling clarity he knew. He wanted her to love him. Their kiss deepened, and then she yielded again beneath him, her mouth growing pliant and warm, returning his kisses kiss for kiss until they were both dizzy and breathless. His lips moved from hers down the graceful line of her throat. He buried his face between her breasts, his tongue plunging into the deep valley separating the twin orbs of perfumed flesh to lick slowly at her soft skin.

  Cicely gasped softly as he began to cover one of her breasts with his kisses. When his mouth began to play with the nipple of that breast, tongue stroking, teeth grazing lightly, mouth sucking, she gave a little cry. When he moved to her other breast Cicely thought she would expire from the pleasure he was giving her. Her hands clutched at him, fingers digging into his shoulders. And then his mouth left her breasts and began moving down her torso, kissing every inch of flesh that he could reach, his warm lips, his hot, wet tongue branding her. She felt him claiming her as Ian had once claimed her, but with Kier she was afraid. He was stronger. He didn’t love her.